Work Text:
“Run”
Italian leather slips across dead leaves, the sound of crackling twigs and frost echoing through the forest as he does as he is told. As he always does as he is told. Behind him, he hears a roar. A scream. A sickening crunch.
There is no time for tears, eyes locked on the horizon as he moves between low branches and around undergrowth, bushes rustling loudly, rocks skittering beneath his panicked flight. Dmitri has only ever feared one of the two men in that clearing and yet now, as the echoing screams fade away into nothingness, taking too long — far too long — to fade into nothingness, he knows which of them he should truly be afraid of.
Even as he runs, Dmitri knows that time is against him. The run is beginning to set below the towering expanse of trees, twilight settling, turning sun-dappled pathways into shadowy nightmares.
Dmitri’s mind races. There is no time to stop. To think. Years of following in Papa’s footsteps and Dmitri cannot gather his thoughts long enough to remember even the most basic of lessons from their hunts. He never had been a fan of hunting with Papa, even before it had become abundantly clear how much better at it Sergei was. And it wasn’t as if Papa had invited Dmitri on any hunts since Sergei’s accident and subsequent departure.
He should have known to be suspicious of Papa’s invitation.
A branch catches Dmitri on the cheek and he hisses, the thin limb leaving behind a trail of crimson across his cheekbone. He rubs at it, uncaring of the way that blood seeps into the fabric of his suit. Papa had told him it was a foolish choice to wear on a hunt. As always, it would seem that he was right.
Silence chases him from behind, the faint sound of water luring him ever forward. If he can make it to the river, he might stand a chance. In the distance, birds take flight from towering trees, the sound of their cries enough to make Dmitri startle, stealing his focus, causing him to falter.
Feet going out from under him, hands rise to protect his face as he falls in a tumble of uncoordinated limbs, coat flapping open, suit jacket tearing as he tumbles down, and down, and down an incline he hadn’t even realised he was approaching. Stones cut through the thin fabric, forearms taking the brunt of the damage trying to protect his head. A shoe comes loose along the way, falling to the wayside as he draws closer and closer to the source of the sound he has been following.
The ground is damp, more mud than earth beneath his hands and feet. He forces himself forward. He remembers the river from his childhood, summers spent with a bright-eyed woman with whispered permission to call her Mama, as long as Papa was out of earshot, as long as it was just the three of them. Dmitri ignores the screaming of his knees and the stinging of his palms, the slick trickle of blood staining his cheek, and he presses on.
There is nothing behind him. If he doesn’t turn back, if he doesn’t look, he can pretend nothing has happened. Nothing will happen. It can still all be some terrible nightmare, as long as he doesn’t look back.
He stumbles on for an eternity before he draws nearer. Green eyes widen, lips parting, as he takes in the river. It’s triple the width he remembers, the flow strong enough to see little white peaks. There’s no time to roll up his trousers, or to assess the situation. If it’s wider than he remembers, it could be deeper. It’s faster, Dmitri quickly realises, as he wades in, the strength of the water battering at his ankles, his calves, his knees. Ice cold water seeps into his trousers, inching up his thighs, stealing breath that he doesn’t have to spare.
The stones beneath his feet are smooth and slippery. It’s a realisation that comes moments too late as his feet go out from under him, sending him plunging beneath the icy surface. He takes a gulping mouthful of water, tears stealing down his cheeks, lost in the water surrounding him from above and below.
Tumbling and twisting and turning, breaking through the surface takes longer than he can bear. Struggling against the waves, dimly he registers that he’s further downstream than when he started. Perhaps that will work to his advantage. If it’s not something he planned, then surely, it’s not something that Sergei can anticipate.
Clumsy hands shrug out of his overcoat, battling the sodden fabric away from his body as it tries to weigh him down. Dmitri inches towards the riverbank, the tightness in his chest beginning to ease the closer he inches towards safety. Hands claw at the muddy bank as he tries to lift himself up and out, slipping, struggling to gain purchase with exhausted limbs weighed down with the weight of his flight. Gritting his teeth, Dmitri claws at the mud, trying to gain enough leverage to pull himself up and out to safety. Tears of frustration blur his vision as he scrambles, trying desperately to make it the final few inches to freedom.
Boots — heavy, black, familiar — come into view. Dmitri’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t need to tilt his head back to know who it is. To know that Kraven has caught up with him.
Thick fingers wrap around his collar, yanking him up and to his feet. Dmitri takes a breath. Before he can take a second, thick fingers wrap around his neck, forcing his head up and back. Wide, tear-filled green eyes meet gold.
“You killed him.”
“I think you’ll find the bear did that.” There isn’t a hint of humour on his face, not a single muscle moves as Dmitri swallows hard, forcing down the choked sob that threatens to bubble up. The hand around Dmitri’s neck remains steady.
“Why do you care? He was willing to sacrifice you. For what, power? He has more than enough power to last a lifetime.” Sergei pauses, tilting his head minutely to one side. “Well, had.”
Straining against Sergei’s hands, Dmitri meets his gaze. There is no trace of the man that he knows, the man that he loves, in those cold, calculating eyes. “You’re a monster.”
Sergei’s expression hardens, fingers flexing around the delicate column of Dmitri’s throat. “I saved you. I came for you, the moment I heard. I arranged all of this to protect you. Do you think he would have let things go on as they were?”
Tears trickle down his cheeks, splashing against Kraven’s hand. Dmitri’s voice cracks as he speaks. “He was still our Papa. Does that mean nothing to you?”
Cold blue eyes stare back at him. Sergei’s — no, Kraven’s, Dmitri tells himself — hand finally falls from his throat, allowing him to draw in a blessedly deep breath. Taking a step back instinctively, before Dmitri can tumble down the bank and back into the frigid water, hands are on him, lifting him, manoeuvring him neatly over a broad shoulder until he hangs like a sack of potatoes. Dmitri’s eyes widen, not quite believing that is happening. He reaches for Kraven, scrabbling against his jeans, trying to kick his way out of the other man’s hold to no avail.
“Put me down!”
“Are you going to run again?” comes the low, rumbling question. Dmitri’s fists pound against his back; it’s not enough to make him so much as budge.
“I only ran because you told me to.”
“Would you rather have stayed to watch?”
-
Silence hangs heavily between them as they make their way through the forest. Dmitri’s whole body trembles and shudders from the cold, water seeping out of his waterlogged clothes, trickling down Kraven in messy, muddy streams. The other man seems unaffected, moving with purpose through the trees.
“I’m not going to forgive you for this.”
“I don’t need your forgiveness, Dmitri. I need you safe.”
Tears blur Dmitri’s eyes as Sergei’s words reverberate between them. Anger coils in his chest, hot and thick and viscous. “You never have cared what I think, have you? How I feel? It’s always been about the great Sergei, golden fucking Sergei knowing best. You’re just like him. You—”
“Do not go there, Dima. I am not in the mood,” Sergei cuts across, voice low, more of a growl than anything else. The arm around Dmitri’s thighs tightens in silent warning.
“—always have been. Just like—”
“Dmitri!”
“—Papa,” Dmitri finishes, a victorious smirk twisting on his lips. Satisfaction flickers in his chest. For all of his pretty words, all of his posturing, Sergei is no different from Papa. He still thinks he knows best.
Between one breath and the next Dmitri’s eyes widen, the world around him spinning as Kraven moves. Dmitri’s back hits the ground with a resounding thump, pain echoing throughout his body as he hits the ground hard. Broad thighs bracket him as the other man crowds him, pressing him against the ground, fury darkening usually bright blue eyes. A calloused palm gathers Dmitri’s wrists together, squeezing painfully tight as he begins to thrash beneath him.
“This isn’t funny, Sergei. Let me go.”
“It’s a little late to be making demands. I never said I thought this was funny; you’re the one treating this like a game. You think if you keep pushing and pushing and pushing, there won’t be consequences?” Sergei’s harsh words sound so matter of fact, so blunt, that Dmitri can’t help but fall silent.
Sergei shifts his weight back, moving so that he rests on Dmitri’s thighs. The younger man tenses; there is no change of being able to buck Sergei off, no matter what he tries. A hand reaches for his belt and Dmitri freezes, eyes wide, breath catching in his chest.
Thick fingers make short work of the buckle, slipping italian leather free from Dmitri’s ruined trousers. “Sergei, wait—”
One hand tightens around Dmitri’s wrists, the low, growled command to “Stay” seeping into his very bones. Sergei loops the belt around Dmitri’s wrists, tightening it until it bites uncomfortably into his pale, chilled skin. Dmitri’s chest rises and falls in uneven, gasping breaths. He can feel Sergei’s eyes on him, tracing across his skin, and yet he cannot bring himself to look up from where he has focused his own gaze on the treeline behind his brother’s shoulder, unable and unwilling to acknowledge the thoughtful little hum that falls from Sergei’s lips. Praying that Sergei doesn’t look just that little bit lower. If he doesn’t see the treacherous stirring beneath the thick, sodden fabric, then neither man will have to acknowledge it.
Sergei wraps one hand around the remaining section of belt, tugging Dmitri’s arms taunt, looping the leather around a low branch and leaving Dmitri spread out like an offering. Swallowing hard, Dmitri tries to ignore the familiar, squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach, the low burn of arousal intertwining with anger and fear.
He can feel the heat of Sergei seeping down through his layers of sodden slothing, warm and inviting, his body subconsciously leaning towards the source of heat and comfort. Sergei sits back against Dmitri’s thighs; eyes boring into Dmitri.
“I am nothing like that man. If I were, it wouldn’t be your wrists I would use your belt on, would it?” Sergei waits patiently as Dmitri’s lips press firmly together, not a single sound escaping. Thick fingers grasp his jaw, forcing his head forward, tilting it back until green meets blue. “It is polite to look at someone when they are talking to you, Dmitri.”
Fingers squeeze as Dmitri remains silent, nothing but the sound of their combined breathing breaking the silence. They are far enough away from the river now that Dmitri can’t hear any trace of it; he wonders if they are heading back to Sergei’s home or if the other man can’t wait to be rid of him. Would the plane even be there still? Nikolai had arranged for the two of them to go on a three-day hunting expedition; surely the plane would not have remained waiting.
Sergei takes a deep, steadying breath, nose flaring. Blue eyes flicker gold, widening almost imperceptibly. Sergei sits back, hands falling heavily to Dmitri’s hips. The other man doesn't dare say a word, barely daring to breathe deeply, as Sergei’s hands move down, down, down, pressing firmly against the front of Dmitri’s trousers.
Time stands still. Shame floods Dmitri’s cheeks, shying away from the older man even as his body betrays him and his cock gives a traitorous twitch against Sergei’s hands. He swallows hard, trying to think up an excuse, trying to come up with some reason — any reason — why his body is reacting so. A hand cups his cheek more gently this time, guiding his chin up, tilting his head back until he is forced to meet Sergei’s gaze.
“He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“He didn’t…” Dmitri trails off, unable to force the words from his mouth. They both know what kind of man Nikolai was. Growing up together as his sons was hard enough; being the unwanted son, the one left behind, is something Sergei could never understand.
Sergei’s hand moves slowly, purposefully, pressing against the rapidly swelling appendage. Dmitri takes an unsteady breath in, willing himself to calm down, to relax, to do anything but give away his traitorous body’s reaction to Sergei’s warmth and gentle movement.
“You’re free now.”
Dmitri lets out a choked laugh, hands twisting in their binding. Meeting Sergei’s gaze through tearstained lashes, Dmitri shakes his head. “I’ll never be free. Neither of us will. You think his empire will run itself? You think leaving it to fall to ruin will do us any good? I still have no choice. Someone will have to pick up the pieces. As usual, it’s not going to be you, is it? So it’s going to fall to me, as it always falls to me. There’s no other way.”
Sergei shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that anymore, Dima. You—”
Dmitri doesn’t give him the chance to finish. “You know nothing! You don’t get to act like you know what’s best. Not when you’re the one who’s been gone for years. Now when you can barely be bothered to turn up for my birthday, and now what, you decide you know what’s best to do with Papa? He isn’t perfect, but he’s still our father! You can’t just decide to take that away from me.”
“Wasn’t, Dima. He wasn’t perfect.” Sergei’s words hang between them. Hot, angry tears prickle at the corners of Dmitri’s eyes. In this moment, he hates Sergei, more than he has ever hated anyone. More than the Rhino. More than Papa. “Things will be better this way, Dmitri. You’ll see. You’ll be safer. You’ll adjust. Everything is going to be okay now.”
“You can’t promise that. And even if you could, why should I believe you? You’re not known for keeping your word.”
“Things will be better. You’re mine now. And I look after what’s mine.”
Before Dmitri can get another word out Sergei’s hand leaves him. Clamping his mouth shut he barely catches the whine before it can fall from his lips. He expects Sergei to stand, to pull him up onto his feet. If he’s lucky, he will be allowed to walk the rest of the way back towards the dome. If Sergei is in as bad of a mood as Dmitri thinks, he will be stuck over the other man’s shoulder again.
Hands reach for his trousers, thick fingers making short work of the sodden fabric. The sound of a zipper opening breaks the silence between the two as Sergei undoes them, grasping hold of the waistband to take the fabric off inch by inch, revealing pale, trembling flesh.
The night sky had long since grown dark, the twinkling of stars the only thing remaining to light the way. Chill sets into Dmitri’s bones, making him shiver and tremble beneath Sergei’s heat. Dmitri swallows hard as his trousers are tossed to one side. His shirt receives less care, buttons scattering as fabric tears, the sound echoing through the stillness. He bites back a whimper as Sergei wrestles the fabric from his body, leaving him completely bare.
A warm palm cups Dmitri’s cheek and he can’t help but turn towards it, warmth chasing away the chilled dampness of his skin.
“My Dima,” Sergei murmurs, thumb swiping across moonlit pale skin. Green eyes look up at him through lowered lashes, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Dmitri has never allowed himself to think of Sergei this way. Nothing more than fleeting dreams, ones that he would sooner pretend never happened than risk acknowledging. Than to risk allowing himself to think, and wish, and dream, only to be met with disappointment.
Sergei moves slowly, body telegraphing his intentions long before he draws close. Lips — chapped, plush, dry — brush against Dmitri’s, barely more than a teasing glance. Blue eyes stare into green, holding his gaze, looking for the slightest hint of hesitation. Slowly, Sergei brushes his lips against Dmitri’s again. A whimper — high and desperate and needy — falls from Dmitri’s lips. Sergei moves in for a third kiss and Dmitri cannot hold back any longer; arching up, his pale, naked body pressing as close as he can.
As Sergei pulls back Dmitri lets out a desperate whimper, straining against his restraints, trying to remain close, to buck against Sergei, to show him just how much he needs his touch to return.
“Sergei, don’t go. Please.” There’s hesitation in Sergei’s eyes as Dmitri’s pleasing words reach his ears. Desperation and need claw their way up his stomach. Dmitri’s mind races, trying to think of what he can do, what he can say, what he can offer, to keep Sergei exactly where he is. Before the thought can finish forming in his mind, Dmitri tilts his head back, baring his neck fully.
It isn’t enough, Dmitri thinks, heart sinking, as Sergei remains motionless. Please let it be enough.
Blue eyes flash gold, Sergei’s body falling perfectly still as he watches, unblinking. Barely daring to breathe, Dmitri remains in place, trembling as the cold washes over him, the only warmth from where Sergei touches him.
Eyelids fluttering closed, Dmitri swallows back the words threatening to burst forth. He can’t keep begging. He can’t keep putting himself out there for Sergei to reject, over, and over, and over again.
Please just touch me. Make me yours.
Neither man moves. Dmitri’s already fragile heart begins to crack and break. He takes a deep, unsteady breath. He can still return home, to his little corner of London. Sergei will tire of him before the week is out. Before the night is out, if their time together in recent years is anything to go by. He will be home, and in the safety of The Den, with nothing more to worry about than his performances and keeping the club squeaky clean now that Papa is no longer there to clean up any messes that may happen. Before he can release his breath, rough hands tighten on his hips, flipping him over.
Green eyes widen as Dmitri is forced onto his elbows and knees, hands pulled taunt. Hot breath puffs across the back of his neck, a tongue darting out to swipe across the delicate column of his neck. Teeth graze the pale, trembling skin, Sergei’s body blanketing his own. Low, growled words fall from Sergei’s lips. “Mine.”
He slips down the length of Dmitri’s body with a familiarity that startles the younger man, rough hands touching with a gentleness he wouldn’t have thought to credit him with. Broad palms take hold of Dmitri’s cheeks; he can feel every rough callous against his sensitive skin. A thick thigh edges between his, forcing his legs wider apart. Hot breath puffs between his cheeks, making Dmitri’s breath catch in his chest. His mind goes blank. There’s no way that Sergei would—
The first broad stroke of Sergei’s tongue makes Dmitri sob. Hot and wet and forbidden, Sergei licks a path from his sack to his hole, skirting across the tightly clenched pucker and making Dmitri gasp. Hands tighten around his cheeks, holding him open, baring him for Sergei to see completely. He repeats the action again, and again, and again, until a high-pitched whine falls from Dmitri’s lips.
Dmitri can feel himself hardening, his cock swelling near painfully, taking on a deep reddish-pink hue. A steady stream of precome begins trickling across the mushroom tip, smearing against his stomach, leaving behind a wet, telltale trail. A shudder runs through Dmitri; every inch of him feels hypersensitive, vulnerable, aching, now that Sergei is finally behind him, is touching him in one of the places where he wishes to feel him the most — and that he never thought he would touch, much less taste.
A hand presses beneath him, splaying across his stomach. Dmitri cants his hips, trying to get Sergei to shift his grip, to move just a little more to the right, to touch where he needs it more. Sergei holds him steady, forcing him to remain in place as his other hand keeps Dmitri’s cheeks spread wide, tongue circling the tight, fluttering ring of muscles. A puff of breath— hot, teasing — brushes across his soaked skin, making Dmitri tremble in his grip, before the slick muscle draws over him again and the air rushes out of his lungs.
Sergei’s tongue teases across him, laving at him with long, wet strokes. It’s enough to drive Dmitri to distraction. Tears well at the corners of his eyes until, finally, a single word breaks free. “Sergei.”
Hands twist, clutching at the leather belt as Sergei presses within, breaching the tight ring of muscles at last, setting every nerve ending alight. Muscles clenching, mouth open, Dmitri can do nothing but lay there as Sergei’s tongue flicks in and out, slowly, steadily stretching him open inch by inch.
Fingers press against Dmitri’s lips — three thick, dry digits — and he accepts them eagerly, worshiping them with his tongue, doing his best to soak each and every inch of skin as Sergei presses them in deep, filling him to the brim. Dmitri hums around the intrusion, tears leaving wet streaks down his cheeks as hips undulate in place, working back, accepting as much of Sergei as the other man is willing to give.
A low groan reverberates from Dmitri’s chest, surrounding Sergei’s fingers, filling up the space between them. As fingers pull free from his mouth Dmitri chases them, pressing a kiss to them; such a small, intimate gesture, it’s enough to make Sergei pause. Dmitri repeats it, determined to show Sergei just how much he wants this, unsure if he will survive if Sergei changes his mind now.
Hands grip his hips, dragging him back, arranging him to Sergei’s liking. Spit-slicked fingers trail between Dmitri’s cheeks, setting his nerves alight. A single finger teases the rim, circling it, pressing inside with surprising ease. Dmitri presses back, straining against Sergei’s hands, relishing the burn of not enough slick as muscles are forced open for the first time in too long. Keening, Dmitri’s hands wrap around the belt, tugging, desperately trying to ground himself as Sergei spreads him open, pulling broken little gasps and whimpers from Dmitri.
Sergei’s hand slips from Dmitri;s hip, down and around to press against his stomach, thumb stroking across the faint trail of downy hair, neatly bypassing Dmitri’s twitching cock.
A second finger pressed at Dmitr’s rim and a breathy whimper breaks free. Clenching down, he flexes around the intrusion, desperate to accept more of Sergei even as he tightens.
“Open up for me, lyubimy,” Sergei’s low, deep rumble commands as two fingers become three faster than they should, Sergei’s patience running thin. Fingers spread him open, quickly, methodically stretching, teasing twitching muscles into opening for him.
Dmitri’s length presses against his stomach, desperate and hard, dripping a sticky trail down onto the ground below him. “Please, please, please, don’t make me wait. I need you. Sergei—” His words cut off with a desperate gasp as rough fingertips find what they have been looking for, sending fresh waves of sparks lighting up his every nerve.
A third finger presses at his rim, the burn enough to draw a whimper from his lips. Dmitri’s eyes slid closed as something wet hit his stretched wide hole, dripping inside, trickling over his rim and down his taint.
“Please.”
A fourth finger brushes his hole and Dmitri’s hips flex forward, shying away from the intrusion. A soothing hand runs across his hip, calming him. No words are spoken as Sergei presses inside. Dmitri trembles, clenching helplessly around the intrusion, words failing him.
At last fingers pull back, leaving him open and empty. He doesn’t get a word out before the familiar sound of a zipper pulls behind him, the thick, blunt tip of Sergei’s length bumping against Dmitri’s rim. Slick precome spreads around his hole, marking him, preparing him.
Sergei’s body blankets his, heat seeping into him, pressure building as teeth graze the junction where neck and collar meet. “Mine. Only mine.”
There’s no time to even think of answering as Sergei serges forward, thick, blunt tip nudging at his hole, spreading Dmitri open, forcing him wide. Glassy green eyes stare ahead, mouth open, unable to do anything but feel Sergei splitting him in two. Dmitri’s mind felt like static, the sensation of Sergei sliding deep into place feeling like too much. Too fast. Too deep. Nails scrabble at his bonds, clawing, trying to centre himself, trying to process what is happening at last.
Hips pull back, the slow drag of Sergei’s cock inside of him stealing his breath away. He could feel each vein, each ridge, every movement. Hips snap forward, driving the breath out of Dmitri.
Teeth graze his neck, tongue swiping against Dmitri’s skin. “Mine,” he rumbles again. Dmitri nods, words beyond him. A hand wraps around his cock, moving in time with Sergei’s sharp, relentless pace.
“Yours.”
The second the word leaves Dmitri’s lips, Sergei's teeth sink into his neck, the sharp contrast of pain intertwining with pleasure as Sergei angles his hips to hit that one spot guaranteed to make him see stars. The hand working across his length speeds him, driving him closer and closer to the edge. Need coils tight in Dmitri’s belly as he teeters at the precipice.
Sergei’s tongue swipes across Dmitri’s neck, licking the slow trickle of blood from the bite mark, thumb swiping the steady trail of precome oozing down his length. Hips snap sharply, driving Dmitri across the forest floor. Losing himself in the sensations, Dmitri swallows down a cry, Sergei’s thrusts begin to lose their rhythm, hips driving hard and deep and true.
Pleasure coiling tight, Dmitri feels himself teetering at the edge. Teeth brush against his bite mark and Dmitri clenches, tensing in anticipation of another wave of pain. Instead, lips press against the bite and Dmitri feels the edges of his vision go white. He topples over the edge, length pulsing, hole clenching, dragging Sergei over the edge with him.
Sergei’s weight falls over Dmitri’s back, heavy and unrelenting, his cock still lodged deep within Dmitri. Twitching around him, Dmitri whimpers. Hands finally reach around him to pull his belt free, allowing his hands to drop heavily to the ground. Before he can catch his breath, Sergei rolls to the groups, tugging Dmitri onto his chest. Pressing his cheek against Sergei, Dmitri listens to the thump-thump-thumping of Sergei’s heart.
Strong arms wrap around him, holding him close. The belt around Dmitri’s wrists remains, held tight between Sergei’s thick fingers. “Did you mean it? Am I yours?”
“Mine,” Sergei says, his voice a low, deep rumble.
Dmitri’s breath catches in his throat. Tears sting, threatening to fall. Voice hitching, he says, “If you’re going to change your mind… if you don't mean it, if you lose interest… don’t leave me again. Finish me like you finished Papa. I can’t take losing you. Not again.”
Hands carefully turn Dmitri towards him, tilting his head back to meet Sergei’s gaze. His arms tighten around the younger man, a deep, fierce growl echoing around the clearing. “That is never going to happen. You are mine. And nothing is going to change that. I swear it.”
Dmitri presses his face to the crook of Sergei’s neck, tongue darting out to taste the unblemished skin. Sergei falls still. A low, rumbling purr reverberates from his chest. “Let’s get you home first. Then you can have your turn leaving your mark.”
Green eyes widen, not quite believing what he hears. “You mean…?”
“You are mine. It’s only fair for you to make me yours.”
Warmth spreads throughout Dmitri’s stomach, radiating out. A small, pleased smile twists on his lips. It’s not quite the happily ever after he has always wanted, but it feels like it could be enough. More than enough. “I can’t wait.”