Chapter Text
<---- 30 years prior to 'Forgiveness Doesn’t Taste Like This'
(give or take a few years)
{Ivan/Fedyor} {Fedyor & Alina}
~*~
The banya isn’t packed, but Fedyor already knows that the person he’s looking for isn’t in the wooden sauna. A few other Corporalki are there, hazily giving Fedyor a nod of acknowledgment through the steam, which he returns with his signature smile.
“Are you joining us?” Sergei asks loudly, as if he needs to shout and ruin all the tranquility everyone is clearly trying to attain.
Fedyor shakes his head, cheerily saying, “Not right now, I’m not. Did Ivan come through here by chance?”
The other man shrugs. “He’s somewhere around here, sulking about something. You might want to handle that; I have an outing with him tomorrow.”
“Why do you think I’m here?” Fedyor replies slyly, just before leaving.
He had been looking for Ivan earlier and found his heartbeat off in the direction of the banya, sensed the irritated, angry pulse of his blood. It’s far too early for such things, only just past noon, so Fedyor figured he best check in on him.
Easing Ivan’s frustrations is…an enjoyable experience. But only if one knows what they’re doing- and Fedyor definitely knows what he’s doing.
He descends further into the spa of the Little Palace, heading towards the pools of heated water another level below. It’s here that he finds who he’s looking for, all alone, lounging in one of the pools with his arms spread across the edge, head tilted back, fierce eyes closed.
Jaw clenched, neck exposed. Naked chest glistening, marked with a few pale scars, here and there. Fedyor wants to run his tongue over them.
Taking a moment to admire his lover, Fedyor approaches and coughs gently into his fist. “Looking for company?”
Ivan doesn’t react, at least not in a surprised or shocked manner. He likely sensed Fedyor’s approach some time ago. “I’m not exactly good company at the moment,” Ivan replies, unmoving.
It’s not a dismissal or invitation.
“That’s fine,” Fedyor replies softly, removing his clothes. “I’m the good company.”
Now, Ivan opens his eyes with interest, watching as Fedyor removes piece by piece of his clothing. Very aware of this, Fedyor draws it out, pretends he’s unaware of what he’s doing, soaking in the sensation of Ivan’s dark eyes traveling down his flesh, as if tasting him with his gaze.
Fully naked, Fedyor slides into the pool, groaning at the enjoyable feel of the heated water. His muscles relax and now, more than ever, he’s glad he caught Ivan alone down here.
“Hello,” he whispers playfully as he brushes a soft kiss across Ivan’s mouth.
Ivan’s eyes draw him in, like a dare. He catches Fedyor’s lower lip between his teeth and nibbles slightly, soothing it with his tongue afterwards. “Aren’t you on duty?”
Yes, but he’s not about to say a darn word about that to the duty-driven man.
Fedyor kisses him again, suitably, wet and messy, before pulling away to be seated beside him in the hot pool of water. He notices some red marks that look like they only stopped bleeding a while ago, so he uses that to distract from Ivan’s pointed question about what Fedyor should actually be doing at this time.
He takes Ivan gently by the chin and tilts his head, trying to get a better look at the wounds. “What’s all this then?”
Ivan’s teeth flash unkindly, though Fedyor knows it’s not directed at him. “What do you think?”
The marks are angry scratches, along his neck and jawline- and Fedyor knows he didn’t put them there; he doesn’t have nails like that.
Realization dawns and Fedyor snorts with a smile. “Ah. That’s why you’re all coiled like a painfully knotted rope. Your blood pressure was through the roof, up until I came down here.”
“I’m fine.”
If Fedyor were one to indulge in severe eye rolling, his eyes would be falling out of their sockets right about now. “What did you do to her to make her do that to you?”
“I don’t want to recap the situation. It’s done.” Ever the perfect soldier, Ivan does his duty without complaint or allowing his emotions to get in the way. Despite that, all his frustration has to go somewhere if he never lets it out.
“The situation. That sounds rather…extreme. Are you certain you didn’t deserve it? I’ve seen how you treat her.”
Ivan is one for rolling his eyes, with great sarcasm. “You dote on that vicious shrew. And you take unnecessary risks with her.”
Vicious shrew! Saints, Fedyor loves hearing the new names Ivan comes up with for Alina. The fact that she torments him enough to earn names from him is utterly hilarious. “I do not. What risks?”
“I saw you,” Ivan says flatly. “You took her outside of the palace alone on a ride yesterday morning. With no guards.”
…and it was a lovely ride! Fedyor dips his head backwards into the water, soaking his dark hair. He shakes his head a bit, sending water droplets everywhere. “Saints forbid the girl gets some fresh air in the forest, without feeling like a prisoner. It was harmless fun. She was an angel.”
Ivan’s stern demeanor intensifies. “You’re lucky she didn’t try to run away from you. With a horse, she can go anywhere.”
She’s not that good of a rider, Fedyor thinks, but he’ll keep that to himself, because that’s polite. Instead, he gives Ivan an easy grin. “No. You’re lucky. Because if she had, I would have let her go.”
With strong hands, Ivan pulls him closer, their thighs pressed together under the water. “You are far too soft on her. She’s not as sweet as you imagine her to be.”
Fedyor chuckles, unfazed, running his hand over his partner’s upper thigh, dancing precariously close to what lies between. “You probably deserved whatever she gave you. Besides, I’d never call her sweet. She’s not. But, she has a good soul and very, very well-hidden claws.” He presses his mouth to Ivan’s ear and enjoys the way that the other man shivers at the touch. Heat grows between them, awareness burning into being. “I think you’d like her, if you’d stop focusing on keeping her locked up.”
“I wouldn’t have to if she would just fall in line and follow orders, like the rest of us,” Ivan protests, even as his heartrate changes, picking up with Fedyor’s seeking hand. “She was supposed to go with Genya to see the King this morning; instead, she sent Genya crying from her suite. Apparently, she demanded that the General escort her if the meeting was so important to him. So, Genya got me.”
Well, that explains the face.
“You let Alina maul you? You must be getting rusty,” Fedyor teases, pressing ever closer to Ivan’s side. He wants all that coiled power and danger focused on him, wants Ivan’s teeth buried in his shoulder, marking him for all to see.
“I don’t see you dealing with her outbursts of rage,” Ivan mutters distractedly. Arousal is shifting in his veins.
“That could possibly be because I’m nice to her,” Fedyor replies, brushing a kiss over Ivan’s naked shoulder, tasting his skin with delight. He runs his tongue across his collarbone, a tease.
Ivan’s breathing is changing, getting excited. He’s trying to keep himself contained, but Fedyor knows what he’s doing.
“Or it could be because you flirt with her relentlessly.”
“Are you jealous?” Before Ivan can answer, because Fedyor already knows the answer, he cups the growing bulge between Ivan’s thighs, enjoying the size of him, loving the way his breathing catches and his cock twitches. Ivan’s always eager for sex, even if he pretends he’s against distractions.
It’s all about the timing of the advance, Fedyor has found. All in the timing. His lover is already worked up and irritated about Alina clawing the hell out of him, and whatever else she did, and Fedyor knows that violence and battle really turns on all of Ivan’s hidden buttons.
So, really, she’s done Fedyor a favor.
They’re both naked in this pool, so it should all be very simple from here. With purpose, Fedyor strokes Ivan’s cock, cups beneath it, feeling the weight of his sack. Ivan grunts, his hips jerking in Fedyor’s grasp. The water sloshes at the edges of the pool.
With a knowing smile, Fedyor slowly pleasures him, just enough to build the fire within. He wants to touch his own aching erection, but he’ll wait until the main event that he’s maneuvering Ivan towards. “You shouldn’t be jealous, love. She has no interest in stealing me away,” Fedyor says lightly. “I only want you. I belong to you.”
Ivan moans, his cock swelling at those last words, the possessive part of him pleased.
“Why must you always defend her?” Ivan manages to grit out as he thrusts eagerly into Fedyor’s hand, red suffusing his neck and chest, flushed with pleasure. “She’s a snake.”
“Just because you loathe her doesn’t mean I have to,” Fedyor drawls pleasantly, running his thumb over Ivan’s slit. His impressive cock is at full mast now, heavy and hot in Fedyor’s grasp. “I quite enjoy her company. She has a certain…cynical charm about her.”
“You’re really going to make me jealous if you keep talking about the Sun Summoner like that,” Ivan mutters, his dark eyes flashing with lust and irritation; a delicious mix.
That’s half the fun, Fedyor thinks with a smile. Breathing heavily into his lover’s ear, Fedyor turns the conversation where he wants it. “I want you inside me, Ivan. Right here. Right now.” He’s craving it, actually, needs to be connected to him. Nothing pleases Fedyor more than giving and taking pleasure with Ivan.
Ivan groans with arousal, his cock twitching in Fedyor’s grasp. “This isn’t the place…” His protest is weak and Fedyor knows it.
“Don’t you want me?” Fedyor asks teasingly, hand still working up and down in a lazy manner, feeling the vein on the underside of Ivan’s manhood. He presses his lips to Ivan’s ear, near panting out, “You feel so hard. And you’re so frustrated. I want to help you, love. Don’t you want that, too? To bend me over and have me? You know it will make you feel better. I can take it. All your frustrations.”
Fedyor is painfully hard himself, aching with need. If Ivan says no, he’s going to finger himself in front of the stubborn ox until he gets his way.
“Yes,” Ivan admits thickly, eyes trailing over Fedyor’s body with a violent sort of need. He pauses, likely calculating all the risks of what they’re about to do. “Turn around.”
Fedyor grins widely. Saints, yes. “What if someone walks in?” Not that he cares; he’s just curious about what his very stern, prideful partner will say.
He moans with delight as he feels Ivan settle up behind him, fingers dipping down between his cheeks, circling his tight ring of muscle. He keens as Ivan teases his rim first, softening him up, working him into a frenzy of need. When those fingers dip inside, Ivan finds his prostate with a practiced ease, making Fedyor melt against the edge of the pool.
“Then, they can watch me fuck you,” Ivan replies, voice rough with need.
Fedyor beams, arching his back slightly, trying to take more of Ivan’s fingers into him. There’s nothing he enjoys more than his lover needing to be in him so terribly that he forgets how much he cares about being professional.
“I’m ready for you,” Fedyor breathes out, pushing his hips backwards. Impatient with the urge for them to be together, craving it.
“Not until I say so,” Ivan replies, twisting his wrist, adding another finger, drilling in firmly.
Overheated with hunger and arousal, his prostate continually being stimulated, Fedyor nearly begs. Instead, he feels his release beginning to uncoil inside of him and he gasps out, “I’m already there, please, Ivan, I’m going to-”
Ivan reaches around and ghosts his thumb over Fedyor’s oozing slit, saying in his ear, “So, cum.”
…and he does, moaning like a whore in Ketterdam. It’s amazing, what Ivan does to him. Fedyor loves being told what to do, gets a thrill when Ivan makes demands.
Through it all, Ivan continues making a mess of his rear, opening him, playing him like a fiddle. Sending him into madness and back again. Fedyor is a quivering mess, already hard once more by the time Ivan fills him slowly with his cock.
If anyone walks in on them, Fedyor doesn’t notice, panting in pleasure against the pools edge as his lover takes him hard and rough, just the way he likes it.
Just the way Ivan needs.
Later, Fedyor sees Alina in one of the gardens, sitting on the grass in her beautiful dress-style kefta, in midnight and gold. It spreads out around her, as if she’s delicately sitting in a teacup. Her hand is outstretched and a bird it sitting there, pecking seeds from her palm.
Her black hair is perfectly done, decorated with fine ornaments that glitter in the sunlight. She’s stunning, he thinks, she truly is. He catches sight of Genya at one of the far doorways, watching Alina with a sort of forlorn expression on her face. When she catches sight of Fedyor, she walks away, leaving him alone with the Sun Summoner.
The two women haven’t quite reconciled. Fedyor knows that once Alina’s trust has been broken, she throws all her walls up. She doesn’t like being hurt, and she doesn’t like being lied to.
She doesn’t like being played.
His boots scuff on the ground, likely from the slight limp he’s trying to hide -from Ivan’s very welcome affections- and Alina finally takes notice of him, the bird in her palm flying away. She smiles at him softly. “Fedyor.”
“Have you become the Bird Summoner? That was rather charming,” he tells her in greeting, gesturing with his chin to the bird watching her from one of the walls.
She glances over her shoulder and laughs, like a bell, a clear, wholesome sound. “I come here enough that the birds are beginning to land around me if I feed them. Some of them will land on me and eat from my hand. It’s my latest amusement.”
He looks at her delicate hands, the ones that had been holding the bird only moments before, and tries to not imagine her trying to tear Ivan into shreds. She appears to be in a decent mood at the moment, but that is always debatable. She often flickers between anger or deep despair. Not that he can blame her...not when the General collared her the way he did. It's something Fedyor never supported; the enslaving of the Sun Summoner. And yet, he's only one man...and so many are more than happy to stand behind the General in this. They support the General because they believe him using her power is for the Greater Good of the Grisha...even if it's against her will. Even if he's weaponized the Fold.
Even Ivan supports this, a fact that pains Fedyor.
Examining him carefully, Alina cocks her head to the side and says, “Did you need something from me?”
Not really, but now that she mentions it… “I actually wanted to thank you for whatever you did to Ivan this morning.”
Her face shifts. “You want to thank me for my attempt at clawing his eyes out?”
Fedyor winces at that a bit, because, ouch. “Well, ah, you didn’t.”
“I missed,” she deadpans. “Because he’s too tall.”
That sounds terribly accurate. “Regardless. That sort of conflict gets his furnace all stoked and I love to benefit from it.”
Alina makes a face and pretends to gag once she realizes what he’s insinuating. “Oh, ew, Fedyor! No!” She waves her hand vaguely, as if trying to will something out of her mind. “I will not be party to that!”
He laughs at her visceral reaction. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you usually are.”
“Lovely. I’ll be thinking about this every time I have it out with him. Splendid, Fedyor. Very splendid. As if I don’t have enough problems,” Alina says in disgust.
“I, for one, do not enjoy conflict. Maybe I’ll have to be envious,” Fedyor says pleasantly when she stands, allowing him to escort her back to her room. “The pair of you could probably happily ride off into the sunset snarling at each other like rabid dogs.”
“You’d be envious for nothing. I’m not his type, quite obviously.”
Their arms are linked as they stroll through the remainder of the gardens on their way to leave. They garner a few stares from new recruits, the ones that hide in the gardens during training class. Oh, the rumor mill will spin, Fedyor is sure of it.
He leans to whisper in Alina’s ear, “That’s if you assume he only has one type. Which he doesn’t.”
Fedyor watches her profile as she processes this information. He watches how she acknowledges and lets it pass her by. She’s funny that way, how she can allow things to slide right off her, as if she’s a precious gem in a rainstorm.
“Good thing we both know he only has eyes for you,” Alina says as she winks at him playfully. “Because you’re so lovely and precioussss.”
They enter the Little Palace, their shoes clicking loudly on the floors. “Oh, now you’re sucking up to me.”
“Someone ought to- you enjoy it so much,” Alina replies sweetly, a hint of harmless flirtation in her tone.
It’s fun and it brings her happiness, so Fedyor is more than happy to play along with her. She has it tough enough in the Little Palace. He’d rather remain as her ally than another poor soul that she throws her emotional walls at.
She’s directing a charming air kiss in his direction and Fedyor is laughing, his eyes glittering in delight. “Are you trying to piss off my better half again? After what I just told you?! Maybe that’s your goal, the two of you are planning on some seriously depraved hate-filled tumble who knows where.”
Alina rolls her eyes. “Rest assured, we’d murder each other first,” she replies. “Hands down, would need a shovel and a pre-dug grave.”
Of this, Fedyor has no doubt. Ivan and Alina are quite well-known for their awful displays of disdain for each other.
When they finally reach Alina’s suite, he says softly, “You should be nicer to Genya. You know…you know it’s not her fault.” His eyes avoid the collar of antler at her throat, marking her as the Darkling’s property.
Those soft doe eyes chill and the smile on her lips dies. “Anything I say to her, I may as well say to Aleksander. She’s nothing more than his earpiece.”
Fedyor rubs the back of his neck in discomfort. He knows how to handle Alina, slightly, but that’s only because he’s used to pacifying Ivan. Both are such difficult personalities. If he had to say which is worse than the other, he may actually say Alina, because there’s something unpleasant in her that doesn’t budge.
When she’s wronged, if she’s had something taken from her, there’s no turning her around. She’s strong-willed, even if she’s chained, even if she’s been broken down. There’s an unyielding part of her that gives nothing and the General has been contending with it for years now, trying to coax his way back into her better graces.
She shares the General’s bed, but when Fedyor sees them together, he doesn’t see adoration or romantic love in her gaze. He sees resentment, growing and growing with each year, something dark and sickly. Behind the twisted desire, there’s shame and rage and something bloody and red that has no name.
He can’t understand how the General sleeps beside her. Fedyor would sleep with one eye open if he were the General.
Maybe the General does sleep with one eye open. Who knows?
“Genya serves him,” Fedyor says finally. It’s a safe answer. “As do we all.”
Or, not so safe.
“I don’t,” she replies coolly.
Her door gently clicks shut.