dmitri-shenker

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri watched Ravi's panic with some amusement, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes, hiding a mouthful of laughter behind the back of his hand. "You forget? Werewitch. I heal." Dmitri couldn't recall having even the nastiest of bruises for more than a few hours, at least, before they'd put the collar on. Even so, if something really did go wrong, they would wave their hands in the infirmary and set it right again. "Like when you beg though. Sounds good."

As silly as he was feeling, Dmitri did as he was told and settled down, let Ravi patch him up. "So you stupid then? Coming here without backup. Very stupid." He racked his brain trying to work out what Ravi's game was, if he was a lone agent. On the run from someplace else, perhaps? Or something small. Something specific. "We keep talking like this, guard will hear. You want me tell you more? Rent me to your house. No guards then."

"Careful!" Soren hissed, alarmed, firmly grabbing Dmitri's bicep above the tourniquet as the werewitch wiggled out of place to hold him back from moving any further. That upset distracted him at least momentarily from the rest of it, Soren meeting Dmitri's eyes with a hard look as that finger tapped against his badge and scowling fiercely in answer to the other's grin. "You could do a lot worse to yourself than a nasty bruise, moving around like that. Be still." Like hell was his first patient leaving the lab with a nerve injury because Dmitri wanted to spook him. "Please," Soren added belatedly, terse, exhaling harshly through his nose as he let the slave go again and looked back down to the injection site.

He didn't say another word until the third vial was secure, trying to ignore the creeping apprehension making his gut twist as he undid the tourniquet and carefully slid the needle free from Dmitri's skin, other hand quick to follow with a clean square of gauze to press to the tiny puncture. Terrorist? "I don't know what you think you know but I'm not part of any network," Soren said finally, an edge to his voice, "Other than my professional one." He had absolutely no idea how much to trust what the other man was saying. He paused, feeling slightly ridiculous, eyes flashing up to Dmitri's own as he secured a bandage over the gauze, "...what's wrong with my aftershave?"

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri narrowed his eyes at the other slave, immediately irritated. As much as he had a brusque attitude of his own, he found himself unreasonably annoyed seeing it mirrored back at him. Especially when he'd been polite to start with. But most of all Dmitri was upset that the brief moment of privacy he'd thought he'd found had immediately been ripped out of his hands. Was it too much to ask to be allowed ten minutes to shower in peace? "Wondering if you were guard coming to drag me to another master," he snapped, uncharitably at the slave, meeting moodiness with moodiness.

Now he was looking, though, the slave was rather easy on the eyes. The kind of man that Dmitri loved to drag home and have his wicked way with - especially with that cocksure attitude Dmitri loved to fuck out of them. He let his eyes drift over the slave, then turned his attention back to the shower. "Right now, I want wash." He stepped under the spray, let it drench him. It had been too long since he'd had a good shower. "Dmitri. You need help with shower or something?"

Noah snorted at the question. "Yeah, a shower, obviously. The fuck else would I be here for?" It seemed like kind of a stupid question given where they were. Then again, the new guy was hot as Noah could clearly see given how he was leaning out of the shower stall. Maybe he shouldn't have been so snippy but sometimes he couldn't help it. It wasn't like his last few rentals had been great, though he normally enjoyed them. One was because it hadn't even been for sex it was like some bullshit work thing which was almost insulting. Sure, he had all this muscle but that didn't mean he wanted to use it for fucking manual labour. The one after that had been with one of the weirder masters and while Noah had enjoyed parts of it most of it hadn't been great. Clearly it had put him in a bad mood.

Stripping completely and quickly, he headed right over to the other slave's stall. "You offerin' somethin' else?" A good fuck would be nice right now even if they'd just met, though Noah couldn't seem to keep a note of challenge out of his voice.

[dmitri-shenker]

Inside the club, Dmitri felt much more calm, at peace. He always preferred these environments, swelling with bodies, where everyone was granted a degree of anonymity. He preferred not to feel too known by anyone. That being said, the music was fucking atrocious, at least in Dmitri's opinion. He frequented goth clubs and kink dungeons, where they tended to go for... Not chart music. Whoever was in charge of the selection had no taste. He accepted the vodka and had just as quickly downed the shop. He was far too Russian to hang about nursing a drink, especially when he was hopeful he'd be able to secure another.

"You give it to me. So I don't see problem." He shrugged his shoulders at Roland. Dmitri was used to getting what he wanted, sooner or later. A drink he could get from almost anyone, with the right kind of look. At least, that had been the case before he came here. He licked the last few drops of the vodka from his teeth. There masters of Krovs had a similar, domineering attitude but none of the respect for any kind of actual morals. Dmitri didn't force people. Well, not unless they'd pre-arranged.

At the touch of Roland's fingers, Dmitri's jaw snapped shut, the muscle stiffening beneath the skin. His nostrils flared, a snort of warm breath at Roland's comments. If this had been any old dingy bar, Dmitri would have gently told whoever was insinuating that at him that they were mistaken and ought to move along. Here... He shivered, involuntarily, squirming on the bar stool. Damn Gideon to Hell. "Please. You think that shit work on me? I'd eat you alive." Even if he'd been legitimately considering it, Dmitri was quite certain that Roland couldn't handle him. He liked soft little things that wanted gentle touches, not teeth and sharp edges like Dmitri.

For all his bark and reputation, Dmitri followed obediently enough as they went into Euphoria. That seemed a good sign unless he was just playing at obedience for the time being. Then again, the slave had said he wanted a drink and Roland was indulging him so why not cooperate if he was getting something he wanted?

Roland had been in and out of the club a few times already this evening though the music had never once improved. Regardless, he settled at the bar where Dmitri immediately demanded a drink and Roland raised an eyebrow at him but flagged the bartender down and ordered vodka for the slave and a faerie bloodwine for himself. "You're rather demanding for a man in your position." He mused, turning to face the werewitch as the drinks were made. Dmitri certainly liked looking at him no matter how he tried to seem disdainful and uninterested.

"Isn't that what you are?" Roland teased at the accusation. He reached over and traced his fingers lightly over Dmitri's jaw. "You're certainly pretty enough to qualify." The drinks arrived and he pulled his hand away to pick up his wine glass, taking a sip and watching Dmitri over the rim of the glass.

[dmitri-shenker]

"Siren. No. Don't trust those things. Nothing that fucks with your head like that. 'Course you think he's pretty - is how he hunts." There was a reason that Dmitri had fallen so easily into the abjuration study. He'd always been mistrustful, wary, and wanted to be certain in his own mind. He had absolutely no interest in tangling with that kind of nonsense, not when he still had whatever Gideon had done to him swirling around in his head. At least it didn't seem to be affecting him right now. No, it seemed that the desire to put Manny on all fours was entirely of natural origin.

Dmitri crossed the room and took the card out of Manny's hand. It wasn't so much a snatching motion as an assertive relieving of responsibility. He turned it over, then held it up to the light. "Like shitty punch card. Must go in something." What had he seen with a slot? He had seen something with a slot. He took it back over to the vanity and inserted it into the music box, which played a very creepy, grinding version of the Sugar Plum Fairy, before clicking open. Dmitri grinned triumphantly and fished out another shape, this one yellow. "This puzzle easy. How long they say we have?" His smile was mischievous now, a swagger in his hips as he approached Manny. "Time for quick fuck, if you want."

"Oh, c'mon, Reyes is plenty pretty too, isn't he?" Manny chuckled, though smirked a little to himself at the compliment. Must be the envy demon in him feeling smug about that. Smugness transformed into tense muscles, not expecting Dmitri's hand in his hair like that, though he exhaled and relaxed once the slave passed. He glanced over, watching the werewitch sort through the items on the vanity, still a little stunned in place. Maybe he was so used to the slaves in the castle being more... submissive that it was shocking to him when they were so bold.

Back to business though. "Let's see..." He punched in the next two numbers and the lock clicked open. Manny grinned triumphantly as he opened it up, pulling out yet another shape –– a small green square. "Got this and whatever this is..." He also pulled out a card with a hole in it. He stood back up, holding out the card for Dmitri to see; maybe he'd seen something to use it for. "I understand the first one. Not sure what this is for."

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri’s costume wasn’t up to this kind of treatment. The way it pulled at Dmitri’s crotch hurt, but the material couldn’t sustain the pressure. The elastic made an uncomfortable cracking sound and then loosened, stretching as Hunter dragged him. By the time Hunter had flung Dmitri down, it wasn’t covering him properly, the tight little briefs he’d worn beneath it on show.

Dmitri was dripping now, and the panic it induced in him had his heart racing, his eyes wide and crazed, like an animal backed into a corner. He fought Hunter’s grasp, managed to create enough space to turn himself around. Then he lashed out, his hands on Hunter’s face as he clawed at him, went straight for the eyes. “GET THE FUCK OFF ME.” He hardly seemed to care if he hurt himself in his bid for freedom. He brought one of his long legs up, his knee aimed firmly at Hunter’s groin.

Thoroughly enjoying the look of pure anger in the slave's eyes, Hunter kept him pinned in place, the blade of his axe pressing gently against the other's throat. The sight made him smirk, but the other's scent had Hunter a little confused. It had changed slightly, that was for certain, but he couldn't quite figure out why.

"Not here, hm?" Hunter asked before moving his axe out of the way, bending down to pick the slave up by his costume again. He started dragging him towards one of the private back rooms, to somewhere they wouldn't be interrupted. Once there, Hunter practically threw the slave against the back of the nearest sofa, roughly bending him over the back of it and not caring at all what state his costume was in. "Show me that fucking hole, slut. Quickly."

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri stared down at Gwyn. He wasn’t any the wiser, really, about how a fae creature like this operated - but these roles he understood. He watched the motion it Gwyn’s mouth around his fingers. Gwyn seemed unreasonably delighted by Dmitri’s rough treatment. He must have read him correctly then.

The thought made him bolder. He pressed the toe of his shoe against Gwyn’s hand, then kicked it away. “No. I not tell you to do this.” His eyes were darkened even further by the thick line of kohl he’d drawn on them. He looked almost demonic, despite what he was. He untucked the end of the skirt from the waistband, letting it fall properly once again, hiding his cock, his legs. “You want get off? Here.” He pressed the toe of his heel insistently against Gwyn’s crotch.

One of Gwyn's hands dropped from his white-knuckled grip on the back of Dmitri's thighs, groping clumsily between his own legs with a needy moan as the slave fucked his mouth readily now. His nose was full of the wolf's scent, buried in his groin, a low and persistent ache throbbing in his throat with each punishing thrust. It was desperately good, that all-consuming messiness that the sith adored when sex made the rest of the outside world disappear completely.

He gasped in air on instinct more than with need as Dmitri pulled himself from from the tight sheathe of his throat, Gwyn's face tipping up automatically even with the tight grip in his hair still forcing his head back and his lips parted eagerly as Dmitri painted his face, the heavy drag of the other's breathing like music to his ears. The heat of his release striped the sith's cool skin and his tongue dragged over his lower lip, already trying to lick up some the mess before those fingers were pushing insistently into his mouth. Gwyn met those sharp eyes with triumph glowing in his own, almost grinning around the slave's fingers as he obediently sucked them clean, squeezing himself through his trousers with a groan. He was flush with his own wanting now, exceedingly curious just how mean Dmitri wanted to be.

[dmitri-shenker]

"No. English politics are dogshit." Dmitri had a very low opinion of the way things worked in Britain in general, but particularly the stupid, conservative sensibilities that masqueraded as tolerant and reasonable. It made Dmitri want to crack skulls together. He watched the needle slide under his skin with fascination on his face, his canines peeking out from under his top lip, where it curled up into a grin. His gaze flicked back up to Ravi, a teasing wiggle to his eyebrows. "Good thing I like needle play."

Dmitri paused as he looked at Ravi again, a more serious expression settling over his face. He moved a little, undeterred by the thought of jostling the needle, to kick the door fully closed. The guard in the corridor wasn't paying attention anyway. "You are Doctor, sure. But this. This not your name." He tapped Ravi's badge with a finger. "I have done this also. I know. Terrorist. So I don't rat." His grin broadened. "Network send you? Or you with someone else?"

Soren laughed, a short surprised huff directed down at Dmitri's arm as he kept his eye on the vein he needed, "Fan of our politics?" The sarcasm was evident, but light. Soren, quite frankly, had barely thought about them beyond scanning the news in the morning with potential business impacts in mind. He had different priorities now. "Not for drinking," He confirmed, pulling a small face at the thought, "This is for my personal work. Your information won't be shared with anyone out of my association's network and if you consent to being interviewed afterwards, that likewise remains between us." The script was easy, grounding. Soren's thumb pressed down, plumping the vein above it as he swiftly glided the needle below Dmitri's skin. "Easy does it. We'll do three vials today."

He was fixing the first tube to its adapter when Dmitri spoke, the quiet tone jarring enough before the words registered. Soren went still, eyes trained on the crimson being drawn into the vial as he tried to suppress the cold fear settling over him. Years of training and a sense of professionalism that could've withstood a siege machine were all that kept the human calm as he waited to detach the full vial, moving on the next without a word. Only once the second was snugly attached did he speak, "I'm not sure what you mean, Mr. Shenker," Soren said politely, and if he didn't look away from the werewitch's arm it was clearly only to ensure he wasn't being reckless in the middle of opening the other's veins. He took a slow breath. Dmitri didn't know anything. He couldn't. "If you're doubting my credentials, I'm happy to share them with you once we've finished here."

[dmitri-shenker]

Every moment that Dmitri spent with Ravi told him something else. That he was stiff, didn't seem to want to be in charge but accept it reluctantly. It reminded Dmitri a little of Rhys, the weight of all that responsibility sitting on his spine - but what did Ravi have to be responsible for? A tiny little clinic in the middle of nowhere, where most of the residents were pretty much incapable of being sick. He wasn't even first in command, judging by the signs that Dmitri had seen on the doors on the way in.

"Might as well admit to being Tory." He watched Ravi carefully as he worked. He curled his fingers in one at a time, showing off how long and flexible they were. Perfect for spell casting... And other things. "You say is for science, Da? Not for drinking. Most vampires think wolf tastes dirty." At least, that was what Dmitri's father had always told him, and he'd believed everything his father had ever said wholeheartedly.

As Ravi lent forward to draw the blood, Dmitri bent at the waist, to speak quietly, close to his ear. "I don't know who you are, but you not who you say. You need better disguise. Amateur. Change shoes. Ditch aftershave."

Soren did brace himself when that denial left Dmitri's mouth, brow setting as he returned the werewitch's stare. His gaze held little desire for control but steadiness instead, as calm as Soren could project himself as being. It felt less like a flirt and maybe that was why it was easier to hold then, hardly the first time someone had tried to glare him down with sheer force of personality alone. He didn't want to overpower him. Frankly, if Dmitri had said he hated needles and doctors and would rather take a nap on the examination table before he went back, Soren would've let him. But that wasn't what was happening.

Then the other man was sticking out his tongue and Soren blinked rapidly, some of the stiffness of his spine deflating as he tried to recalibrate his understanding of Dmitri's mood again, still obediently taking the offered arm. "It's my office, no matter where we are. So I'll decide the practice, thank you." Tourniquet first, then the alcohol swab over the inside of Dmitri's elbow while Soren's gloved hand cradled his forearm. He couldn't really blame him for his bitterness, even if he still felt like he was scrambling after the meaning behind the witch's games, "And I don't talk about politics at work." That was halfway Soren's own attempt at a joke. "Clench your fist, please. Do you know what I'm performing this draw for?"

[dmitri-shenker]

Every moment that Vitaly was touching him was too much, so many competing impulses firing off inside Dmitri. He was too dazzled, rattled by it all to do anything besides allow Vitaly to put him back into his sockets, sit him down on the cot like a rag doll. He wasn't listening to what Vitaly was saying, too busy spiraling about the situation in his underwear. It wasn't normal for Dmitri to go slick like this, especially not for a man like Vitaly. It was unnatural, unsettling, had Dmitri's flesh goose-pimpling. And Vitaly was in his space, with his offensive, alpha smell that made Dmitri so defensive.

Just as quickly as he'd submitted, Dmitri was turning to glare back at Vitaly. He hadn't been listening, put his ears picked up on that word again. Puppy. He didn't think, he just sank his teeth into the flesh of Vitaly's cheek, nipping at his face, his body demanding that Vitaly back off before his brain caught up with what he was doing.

What Vitaly had hoped for, prayed for was more of a fight. What he got instead was some simpering, whining pup. Rolling his eyes, Vitaly helped the other sharply to his feet. Gripping the jaw of the other, he popped the pieces back into place. Then he placed the other on the cot. "You keep making noise with mouth that isn't nice, you'll wind up fuck toy for not good master." The warning was clear there. "And trust me. You don't want this. I don't care how crazy you may think you are. Survival is not based on that here. Survival is compliance. Unless you wish to die. In which case, keep yapping puppy."

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmtiri wasn't shy about making eye contact. In fact, his preference was for making far too much of it. It had a tendency to get under other people's skins, in one way or another. He could already see it getting under Ravi's, the way he looked only to suddenly avert his gaze. He knew the type from the club. Straight boys. ~Straight~ boys. They did love to come home with Dmitri after a few shots. "No." He said swiftly, decisively, staring right back at Ravi, challenging for power, for control. He didn't leave room for argument, to allow himself to be persuaded. What would Ravi do? Call the guard in to beat Dmtiri into submission? Hold him down? Ravi would be admitting defeat if he did. Dmitri let the moment linger.

And then, finally, he poked his tongue out of his mouth at Ravi and offered him his left arm. "Is Krovs. Worst practice only. Now you answer the question. Right or left?" It was cryptic. Dmitri wasn't sure what he meant by it himself when he asked, but this was the game he'd set. He wasn't about to give it up because a question didn't quite make sense.

Soren nodded absentmindedly as Dmitri read out the false name, gaze shifting a moment back his tray of tools for the job. He'd been lured for half a second into thinking the two of them might be getting back on track to a normal conversation. Dmitri's casual jab hit with great efficiency then, the human darting his eyes back to him in a brief glare that was more surprised than really angry. This Dmitri said whatever came to his mind, didn't he? Soren could almost admire that. He certainly didn't have the balls -- though he also felt a weird flicker of protectiveness for the man he was supposed to be. "Feel free to give me suggestions, if you have something better in mind. I'll let her know Russia has feedback on her child-rearing."

Wouldn't that be a thought, Nisha stuck in a room with a man like this. Soren would laugh, if thinking of her at all wasn't an exercise in futility. Not that it was easier trying to wrestle for his professionalism in the face of the slave's blatant flirting, and it was absolutely flirting, Soren registered that long before his brows were crawling up his face watching Dmitri tugging up his pant leg. He looked. Briefly, but he looked. The tattoos didn't stop at the werewitch's chest. Soren cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders as he fixed his gaze firmly on Dmitri's face, "I follow best practice here, Mr. Shenker," The hand went out again, palm up expectantly. Soren's stare was firm and business-like, a particular look he'd honed over years of sitting in on boardroom negotiations, "Please behave. Right or left?"

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri wasn't shy about fucking Gwyn's throat, grinding his pelvis up against Gwyn's nose. He was a vampire. He didn't need to breathe. Dmitri might have been a little more considerate, if he had. The pace Dmitri built up to was downright brutal. His thumb slipped out of Gwyn's mouth, reached for his curls again to yank at them, pull his neck back in a strained arch. He was pursuing his own orgasm, his abdomenals tightening as it rushed towards him.

Then, all at once, Dmitri pulled out, a thick rope of spit connecting the tip of his cock to Gwyn's open mouth. He stared down at Gwyn as he wrapped a hand around himself, stroking faster and faster until he was cumming thick and hot over Gwyn's face, his fingers twitching in Gwyn's curls. His breathing laboured. He panted through it, keeping unbroken eye contact. "Messy bitch," he said, when his breathing was back under control, swiping a finger through the cum and pushing it into Gwyn's mouth.

Gwyn usually was one to love to pry out reactions, but Dmitri didn't seem to want to give one, no matter how clear his prick was on the matter of whether or not he was enjoying what the master was giving him. The touching was very nice though and Gwyn let his eyes flutter shut all the way as Dmitri stroked his face, squeezing gently at the werewitch's thighs in response. This was practically second nature: relaxing his jaw, working the entirely of the other's cock with only his mouth. Gwyn's own arousal was a secondary thing, rising slow and lazy as he moaned his pleasure against that heated skin, savoring the weight of him pulsing over his tongue as he built up the suction around his cock. Dmitri could stay as quiet as he liked, but Gwyn could hear his heart in his chest and feel the rush of blood in the slave's veins. He knew what he was good at.

Dmitri all but wrenched the sith out of his focus as he grabbed at him, Gwyn's eyes flying back open as the other pushed roughly into his mouth. He was glad to be holding onto him then, the whine he let out wet and distorted by Dmitri's demanding thrusts. The jarring shift in pace was exciting enough on its own, Gwyn's pale eyes wide and glassy as he lifted them back to Dmitri's pleadingly. That was a better reaction, the burr of the other's words, and he crowded as encouragingly close as he could get, heedless of the spit dripping down his chin from where Dmitri's thumb tucked into the corner of his mouth. He had no shame for what he wanted and he wanted desperately to see if the slave could keep himself so stoic as he came, letting himself gag around the width of him just knowing how good the clasping of his throat would feel around the other's cock.

[dmitri-shenker]

He clocked the brief moment that Ravi's gaze lingered on his legs. Dmitri knew he had great legs, even in the boring, unflattering trousers that they'd made him wear today. At least these ones were cropped, let him show some ankle. "Doctor Aarav Surendra," Dmitri read aloud from the badge, letting his accent roll over the characters, thick and Slavic. Ravi had avoided saying his name aloud. The gears turned. "Ugly name for such a handsome face. Shame your mother couldn't do better." Dmitri had been Anatoliy Volkov those weeks he'd been sniffing around the Kremlin. He hadn't wanted to say it out loud if he didn't have to either.

"Only for witchcraft. Werewolves don't often need medical attention. We heal or we're dead." He continued to titter, watching Ravi put on his gloves. "It's normally the third hook-up before I get my latex gloves out." His arm twitched, as if he was going to offer it to Ravi, only for him to pull a leg up onto the examination bed beside him and pull up the trouser leg. The fabric had enough give he could take it all the way up to the top of his thigh. They were sensible enough to make the Undercroft clothes loose fitting. Mostly. "Sure you don't want to take it out of here?" He raised an impertinent eyebrow. "Saw you looking."

Dmitri's attitude wasn't what he'd expected. Soren narrowed his eyes at the other man as Dmitri grinned at him, trying not to get too much of an oogle of his legs as they both looked up from the damned shoes. Here he'd been expecting someone bitter and surly and he was... almost sure that the werewitch was toying with him. Then Dmitri asked his coy little question and Soren stifled a harsh sigh through his nose. No, he was definitely being toyed with. Fair enough. He set the sheaf of papers down on the work table, tapping his security badge with the other hand, "Name's right here, Dmitri Shenker. I don't think my file will be necessary though. This appointment is for you."

Maybe it'd been wishful thinking, going for this slave. Soren had hoped he could sneak in a chance to pick Dmitri's brain about witchcraft tradition, if he could get a decent rapport going. The biggest hurdle to jump now seemed to be Dmitri's own amusement. "Is that how you want to do this?" Soren arched a brow, reaching for his gloves, "The answer's yes. Hard to avoid in healthcare." He reached out expectantly, but let the other choose whether or not to give him his arm yet. It was the easiest bit of courtesy he could show a slave, "Now it's your turn."

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri felt the material of his costume bunch in Hunter's grip. It was already a tight fit around his groin, but the sudden pull of it upwards made Dmitri yelp, embarrassingly so, like a dog that had been trodden on by a careless owner. Before he had chance to collect himself he was on the floor, the blade of Hunter' axe at his throat again. He glowered up at him, bloody murder in his eyes.

And there it was again, the wetness pooling between his thighs. Internally Dmitri cursed Gideon, hoped that there was no one else in the room that could smell the arousal on him the way his werewolf nose could. A low growl resonated in his throat. It took every modicum of self-control Dmitri had not to say something stupid, not to surge upwards and claw at Hunter's eyes. He bit his tongue, could say nothing but continue to glare as he breathed heavily. "Not here," he managed eventually. One on one maybe he had a chance, if he was smart, without the guard and the other patrons to come to Hunter's aid. It was an irrational thought, but the closest Dmitri had to a way out.

It was adorable, the way the slave tried to be mouthy and difficult, but it just wasn't having the desired effect. The costume was just too funny to be able to take the slave seriously. When the dalmatian turned his head away from him, Hunter almost lodged the axe in his head -- it was taking every last bit of willpower not to, but it wasn't worth the hassle he would get from the castle if he killed a slave.

"Looks like Spot needs teaching some manners," Hunter murmured, tone laced with annoyance as he quickly grasped hold of the other's costume before throwing him down onto the floor. "You have two options," he muttered, the axe blade now pressed sharp-side up against the slave's chin. "Either I fuck you right here in front of everyone, or I take you somewhere more private."

[dmitri-shenker]

For the first time in who knows how many weeks, Dmtiri felt normal. Like himself again. Not the terrorist who'd blown up the Kremlin but the man in the nightclub, picking a pretty boy to head home with. And Gwyn was very pretty, now that he was looking properly. He found it much easier to truly examine someone like this, with them down on their knees for him. His hand stroked almost affectionately through Gwyn's curls, down his cheek, to pinch at Gwyn's chin, watching the motion of his own cock between Gwyn's lips. Gwyn was good at this, clearly very practiced. Good. Dmitri liked that.

He remained silent, breathing deeply from his cigarette until it was down to the butt, which he dropped onto the floorboards and ground out under the toe of his shoe. As Gwyn worked, Dmitri's expression settled into that stereotypical Russian stoicism, more like he was watching what was happening than experiencing it. He cocked his head, observing Gwyn closely, his eyes growing darker every passing moment. Then suddenly he hooked a finger into Gwyn's mouth, pulled his cheek garishly wider, his thrusts picking up as he took a harsh grip on the back of Gwyn's skull. No tricks, Dmitri had every intention of cumming, harsh and hard, down Gwyn's throat. Finally, he said something. "That's it. Da. Like a good slut."

Gwyn tipped his head into Dmitri's caress as he exhaled, a rather gentle gesture contrasted to the slave's intense gaze. He hadn't rebuked Gwyn for touching him either and the sith took that as full permission, his free hand creeping onto Dmitri's other leg, both sliding up to grip the back of the werewitch's calves as Gwyn's eyes fell half-shut. How badly did he want to behave, anyhow? It might be worth it to see what kind of man Dmitri liked to play as, just to start...

He didn't look away from those dark eyes even as Dmitri was pulling at his clothes, all too easy to intuit what was coming. Gwyn let out a soft sigh at the silky touch of his cockhead against his lips, bloodhot and inviting, letting the slave coax a moment longer before he parted his lips. He rubbed his tongue soft and wet against the slit for a long breath before he took his cock into his mouth fully, sucking lightly all the way down until he could feel him bumping against the back of his throat. The sith had never been shy about how much he enjoyed this part, savoring the feeling of the werewitch's cock fattening against his tongue, digging his fingers into his skin a little harder and dragging his hands up to cup his thighs as he hummed his appreciation around the slave.

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri's gaze followed Dr Surendra's. He seemed surprised by his own shoes, somehow, or that Dmitri would comment on them. The gears continued to turn in Dmitri's head. There was something just a little bit off about this man and Dmitri couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Da. First name Dmitri. Patronym Ivanovich. Surname Shenker." He looked up at the Doctor through his long, dark eyelashes. Tall man. "What's your name? Do I get to see your file?"

It was a very curious mood that Dmitri had managed to get himself into - playful and mischievous. Most of his experiences of being rented so far had ended in him getting smacked around in some way or another, but he'd already decided he didn't think that this man was capable of it. "You want to know the answer how about you tell me something. That's fair, Da. Can't ask me anything you're not willing to tell me." He looked the Doctor in the eyes, giggling to himself. "Have you had a blood draw?"

When Soren had put in for his first 'guest', he hadn't expected the werewitch to come with his own guard in tow. Extra security, the other man had explained rather curtly, since miraculously Soren had managed to pick the one slave in Krovs who'd done something worth babysitting over. At least the one in uniform wasn't there for him. Soren still felt far more comfortable with him out of the room.

He'd been faintly buzzing on too much caffeine for most of the afternoon, trying to juggle his legitimate preparations for the appointment and the overall surrealness of, just as Taliesin had said, there being a fucking app he could browse like he was picking out groceries. Part of him had been half-convinced it was a farce after all and he'd be outright denied or arrested the second his money transfer went through. Neither yet, it seemed. And now there was slave in the examination room the clinic had lent him, collar and all. That part wasn't helping the reality of the situation either.

Ritual made things feel more sensible. Station prep, hand-washing, all the fiddly little specimen labels and collection tubes in the right place. Stepping into the lab back in his graduate days had always felt like donning a different face, some other person who knew exactly what they were doing and how to do it well. It proved embarrassingly easily to lapse into the same mindset, nearly a decade later. It held, miraculously, even when the other man finally opened his mouth and said the last thing Soren expected. "Beg pardon?" His eyes dropped inevitably from the werewitch's tattooed chest to his own shoes, then back up again. Fucking hell. "They were a gift," Soren said brusquely, clearing his throat, "Moving on. Your name is... Dmitri, correct?" Taken off guard or not, he was determined to not be a prick for no reason to a man who technically had no choice in being there. "The castle let us scrape some of your information, but I'm sure it's not complete." He flashed him a quick glimpse of the paperwork, "You and I can work on that together. You ever had a blood draw before?"

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri sat upright on the edge of the examination bed, swinging his legs while the handsome Doctor was turned around, fiddling with the some equipment or other. The guard hadn't told Dmitri anything about what was going on, but the secretary had explained that they were taking his blood for use in medical research. Dmtiri had no real objections to that. He wasn't remotely upset by needles, as demonstrated by his heavy decoration of tattoos and his ear piercings. In fact, he might have been inclined to donate blood if they accepted it from gay werewolves regularly getting body modifications. His current warden, however, did not enjoy the sight of needles and had elected to stay sat in the corridor, the door propped wide open, while Dmitri sat with his shirt off to give the Doctor better access.

As Dr Surendra turned around, Dmitri made no secret of how much he was also being examined. Dmitri liked a man that looked like that. Unmistakably masculine, but with a soft quality to his aura. Broad in the shoulders, tall, but Dmitri doubted he'd ever been in a physical fight. Human too, which meant that if it came down to it, Dmitri had just as good of a chance, even with the collar on. There were still a few things that puzzled Dmitri, though. The accent - English, but imprecisely so. Dmtiri had lived in England long enough to know most accents by ear. This one... Well, nobody actually used RP unless they were wealthy, at the very least. Or not actually from England. The shoes - far too expensive for most normal people to want to wear in an environment in which they could have bodily fluids spilt on them.

He leant forward as Dr Surendra stood in front of him. He smelt expensive too. Interesting. "Nice shoes. Fancy. Da? You collect them or something?" He wiggled his eyebrows, giggling a little as he sat back. Dr Surendra had already garnered Dmitri's interest beyond a quick ogle. "Must be confident I'm not going to drip on you."

@ravisurendra

[dmitri-shenker]

Dmitri watched Gwyn take a drag from the cigarette, his gaze intense and precise. When Dmitri decided he wanted something, he zeroed in on it entirely, everything else fading into the background as he hyper-focused on his target. In that moment, he'd decided that he wanted Gwyn. Specifically that he wanted Gwyn on his knees for him. He lifted the cigarette away, placed it back between his lips, balanced precariously. His hand stroked through Gwyn's messy curls, his stare unbroken as he unfolded himself, straightened his spine to stand properly again.

He reached for the bottom of the skirt and folded it into the waste band. Then he reached inside the slit of his boxer-briefs and drew out his half-hard cock. He bumped it, wordlessly, against Gwyn's lips, smearing the head against Gwyn's mouth. He didn't speak a single word, merely looked down with his deep, dark eyes and raised a single eyebrow.

Gwyn made a soft noise of surprise as Dmitri suddenly tugged at him, loosening his grip anyways and letting the slave manhandle him out of his shirt as a fresh grin of intrigue spread across the sith's face. All Dmitri's intense attention seemed to have shifted from himself to the master in a second and Gwyn was getting the feeling that under that attention could be a very entertaining place to be.

For a moment they stared at each other as Dmitri wound his fingers in Gwyn's hair, the sith's eyes remaining sharp and locked on the werewitch's even as the other studied his face. He was silent, didn't move a muscle but for that lingering smile, wanting to know more than anything what Dmitri would do next. Gwyn wasn't disappointed when the answer came.

It might've hurt, the hard way his knees hit the floor, if Gwyn was still the tender thing he'd once been. As it was the excitement in his eyes only burned brighter, shifting his thighs a little wider as he settled at the slave's feet. Submission never bothered Gwyn. It was just another way to play the game. Instead of answering Dmitri's pointed question out loud, his hand crept up the back of other's bare calf, Gwyn taking the offering between his lips while his playful gaze never left Dmitri's own.