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gith-zeri · 2 months ago

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Too Late, Too Soon Pt.2

[ Alexander Saburov x Victor Kain ] [Part One]

[AO3 mirror]

[Smut, internal homophobia, unfulfilled desires, angst, hatred and love, delusion, feminization, unhealthy coping mechanism, NO love traingles: polyamory wins, merges P1 and P2 canons, consensual possession, Blowjob, Shoe grinding]

Five past seven.

Everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong. Everyone he thought he could rely on kept letting him down.

In the chaos of surviving the sand plague, the Kain's name barely means a thing to the people nowadays. They used to have their finger on the pulse of this town, its soul in the palm of their hand. The people idolised them, revered them, and headed their every word. And now, without Simon, they can neither influence nor intimidate. Not while Nina's gone, not until Maria has taken wing.

How quickly the people are forgetting Simon is beyond alarming, at this rate, all that's left of his memory might not be enough by the time this nightmare ends, if it does ever end. Georgiy has his head buried in the ground, too preoccupied with rushing their dead brother back into the land of living to concern himself with sublunary issues, leaving the total of responsibilities and diurnal tasks tol fall on Victor's shoulders. Day by day, it's getting harder to even maintain the status quo. The number of people loyal to them keep dwindling by the minute, all their vaults are quickly running dry, and any resemblance of power they might have had were abruptly surrendered to the governor by none other than their most vigilant knight in a moment of foolish naivety.

...The governor, oh a power tripping tyrannical maniac would be a more fitting title.

When the squeaking of the door was followed by light footsteps, Victor wasn't ready for the guest walking into his office. Seeing Vlad the younger in his wing of the crucible was akin to witnessing the first omen of many spelling out the end of times. Was the sound of trumpets going to follow next?

Both the Olgimskys treated him with dignity and respect—but not that of an equal. Sure, they'd exchange pleasantries with him on the street, ask how his day was, and not care too much about it. They saw Victor as beneath them, plain and simple. Georgiy was the sole Kain they paid any mind to, the one they negotiated with, bargained, and made deals. As for the young Olgimskaya, her interest started and ended with his children. To one ruling family, Victor might as well be background noise, another one of the portraits decorating the halls.

Especially in Vlad Jr's case, equating taking orders from Victor to taking orders from his adolescent son. Maria was the exception, for her Mistress position demanded authority from all ruling families, with the younger Vlad much too eager to bend to her will.

It's anyone's guess if that said more about Victor's insignificance in the family or Maria's great importance. Either way, he's not one to correct an opponent when they're making a mistake. If the Olgimskys wish to underestimate and dismiss him, so be it.

The fact Vlad the younger is willing to deal with him is already alarming on its own.

"The Town Hall's cellar is stuffed to the brim, Saburov's patrols were grabbing anyone who looked even remotely suspicious. Patrols made of the men you gave him." Vlad remained affable, spoke with a cordial tone, despite the urgency these grim news demanded.

Victor knew the other well enough to look past his calm facade; to step into his home and throw an accusation first thing in the morning, the younger man must be at the end of his wits. He could point out that it wasn't him who transferred the powers to Saburov. Georgiy's the head of the family with the final signature. But what good would that do now? What exactly would bringing it achieve when shifting the blame ends up on another Kain all the same?

So he shifts it onto another family instead.

"Let me remind you, it was a mutual agreement to step down and surrender emergency power." Victor remained seated, one hand resting atop his thigh, the other holding a fountain pen between its fingers, leaned at the edge of a half-filled paper, the ink had yet to dry. "We do not hold a candle to the manpower and resources the Olgimskys graciously relocated to the governor."

If nothing else, it should at least quiet Vlad down—not that anything visibly changed on the surface—Showcasing the muddy road he'd be treading if he chose to continue the blame game.

"We need to free the innocents." Switching tactics to a solution oriented approach, that Victor could praise him for. "Being locked up in jail equates being sent to the gallows in the current situation. Both spell imminent death. The cells are so crowded that there's no room to lie down!"

"What are they being accused of?" Legality is one approach they can take.

"They didn't get a trial, so nothing official." Vlad reached for the silver tray, tracing his index finger over the lid of the teapot. "Two dozen people were arrested just for having a knife or some other weapon in their possession. Many were taken for not giving out Yaklakh's accomplices. Others for looting the dead or their homes." Picking up an empty cup, turning the delicate ceramic around, appraising the floral print.

The metal tip of the pen clinks against its stand, carelessly set aside. Victor rubbed his temple, eyes closing with a heavy blink, a dull headache manifesting just above "I'll send for the Bachelor." This is a judicial temper tantrum! A result of total impotence on the part of the authorities.

"He might get somewhere with the guards, but an outsider won't make Saburov budge." Returning the teacup to its place, Vlad leaned over the desk, taking out a folded paper from the inner pocket of his jacket, looking down at Victor expectantly.

"What do you propose?" At that, Victor stood up from his chair, matching Vlad the younger in height.

"An ultimatum. Every man has his price." Vlad unfolded the paper, presenting it to Victor. "It's still a first draft, but the meat of the matter is there. My father would like to get his men back as well, so he wrote down the full offer. Read it carefully, and make changes as you see fit." Less of politely requesting help, more of implicitly ordering him around.

As Victor read through the paper, he wondered if it's the irony of fate to place a rift between him and every son in this town. Extending beyond Caspar to the children of others, as well. If Vlad's barely veiled disdain is anything to go by. What about Victor made them forget all manners and sense of decorum? The young Burakh's visit is still fresh in his mind, how the other completely discarded all that he had to say—and to think he used to play with his own daughter as children. Was his presence this triggering for men with a father complex? Although, the Haruspex's cold shoulder wasn't exclusive to him, judging by how his reunion went with the rest of the Kains.

Even his own son... Caspar styled Khan, refusing to acknowledge his existence. Only she knew how to get that malicious boy to listen, his mother held the key for his rebellious heart.

Victor isn't the most hands-on father, preferring the passive approach. It's what built the independence of his children.

Maria wouldn't have been as headstrong of a woman if Victor was as overprotective and confining as other fathers tend to be, inevitability pushing their daughters into a lifetime of subservience under the guise of feminine proprietary. He wasn't raising a mere daughter to give away in marriage but the next head of the family, the monarch of a utopia, of the Kain's legacy.

Caspar wouldn't have become the leader of the town's youth wasn't it for Victor never limiting his freedom in any shape or form. No rewards, no punishments, no interference. Holding him to the standards of adults ever since he learned how to speak, in exchange, he treats Caspar with the respect and authority demanded by adults.

After scanning through the paper, Victor set it on the edge of his desk.

"I'll see what I can do."

Not wanting to spend more time than necessary in his office, young Vlad took his leave. Victor watched him disappear, turning through the hallway's corner, waiting for the thud of a door closing shut before returning to his chair.

Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine...

Five to eight, and 20 seconds.

He leaves to wash the teacup Vlad the younger palpated, by the time he returns, the hallway clock chimes, Eight O'clock.

Vlad wasn't exaggerating when calling it a first draft, It took hours of revision, focus, and half an empty coffee pot to shape it into an acceptable state worthy of presenting to the governor without a major risk of it being crumbled and thrown at his face. He was placing the last touch as a familiar figure strutted into his office, heavy coat and combed hair.

The warm wax flattened as Victor pressed the Kain's stamp down, forming a ring around the metal. The paper is now safe and secure in the sealed envelope. "How can I be of help?" He left it in place, giving the wax time to harden.

"Have you heard what went down yesterday?" The Bachelor's exasperation evident in his voice, the smell of gunpowder lingered in his trail.

"The devil take a governor like that..." Victor affirmed, "Although, I'm not sure what I would have done in his place. His position is far from enviable." He adds, to make things fair. Georgiy warned him against showing any bias in front of Dankovsky; they need him to form his own perspective for this to work, not borrow the distorted visions of others.

"Will you help me free the innocents" It wasn't a question.

"I'll present Saburov with an ultimatum." Removing the stamp to reveal an eloquent red circle underneath, a bold cursive of the letter K within. "Soon he will see for himself how pointless and pernicious his idea has turned out to be. He thinks he can terrorize the people, but all he'll accomplish is to turn the people into a gang of armed thugs. By tomorrow I'll have pressed this matter."

The Bachelor gave pause, leather glove tightening around the handle of his medical bag. Expression like that of a bird preparing for flight, a calculated risk in mind. "There was an infected person in one of the cells. The fever had already spread in there. The Executors can't even separate the sick from the healthy—"one word following the other in quick succession "—so tightly is the jail crammed."

"What are you suggesting?" Victor isn't liking where this is going.

"The Executors guarding the prisoners happily take bribes when the governor isn't looking." It gravely wounded Dankovsky's pride to ask for money. "They want ten thousand per person."

"We have barely any money left. Fifty five thousand—that's all we have left right now..." First the grotesque one hundred thousand the older Olgimsky demanded they pay as their share of the hospital expenses, and now this? "Try intimidating the Executors; namedrop the Kains! Tell them we know all about their schemes. That they themselves will end up behind bars unless they let these people out of jail!"

"I don't think they're going to listen. These masked people are suicide volunteers. They are not of this world. They fear nothing."

He would tear his own hair out if he could, and a lesser person might have. But Victor takes a step back instead, retreating into his own mind, weighing the scales.

To refuse the Bachelor now, will not only make the Kains fall from his eye, but completely contradict the very principles they uphold. Rendering them hypocrites in Dankovsky's eyes. Not to mention the great effort it took the famous Bachelor to even ask for monetary aid, to decline him would be to subject him to unrivalled humiliation in a time of need.

"Fine... Take twenty five thousand." Victor reaches into a drawer at the far end of his desk, taking half the money inside. "At least bail out someone, several people. And, I think I will still draft that ultimatum to Saburov. If we survive the epidemic, he and us, I swear we'll remind him of all this!" Maybe he should serve poisoned tea next time the governor drops in for a so-called apology. Not to kill him, but concentrated just enough to chain him to the lavatory for a full day and night.

Dankovsky places one hand just below his cravat, atop his heart, resembling an oath. "I myself intend to frighten him with the prospect of the Inquisitor's wrath. He will have to account for his actions to superior authorities one way or the other." He bids Victor goodbye, walking out with more confidence in his posture than when he first came in.

A vampire inquisitor, just what they were missing.

Twenty-two past eleven.

Tucking the sealed envelope into his pocket, Victor exits the crucible. On the street, he looks at the Polyhedron towering above. There's no guarantee for success, no backup plan if it all comes falling apart.

But that's the imperative thing about self-sacrifice. They wouldn't even begin to understand what he's giving up, just to have her back, to allow her more time by her children's side. To see his son smiling again is worth the price, surrendering the reminder of his life.

Avoiding the infected districts and remaining within the guards' line of sight in the burnt ones, Victor makes his way through the town.

He used to cradle him while she slept, softly rocking his son in his arms. Papa is here, papa will keep you safe, he'd whisper into the dark, when Caspar was still the size of his arm. Then, the years went by, and he had to let go of that helpless infant, step over his heart and push the fledgling over the nest to teach him to fly.

Just a little more time, all he needs is a little more time—and I'll make it right. I'll fix it all for you, I'll change the world for you. Watch over them until the end of my days.

Looking at the backyard entrance to the Saburov's manor, he wondered if Katerina was even aware of the monster that had stolen her husband's place... Even if she wasn't, chances are she'd still jump to his defense and deafen her ears to any valid concerns regarding his erratic behaviour. The pair took their wedding vows seriously to a fault, seeing each other through thick and thin. Saburov's justice, a dogma in disguise, plucked his own eyes out to remain faithfully blind. Devoted and devout. Collared neck connecting to a leash that Katerina held the end of between her dainty fingers.

For Saburov, all criminals were irredeemable until it's her sullen wispy voice demanding someone's life, she whispered. And to Katerina, all sin was unforgivable until it was his coarse burn-healed hands dripping red, Victor replied.

No mortal or else could come between them, death is truly the one thing capable of separating them apart.

It's a pity to see a love as true as theirs fall victim to inevitability. At the very least, his own marriage has escaped the clutches of demise, death would never come between us, isn't that right, my little dove?

The door is never locked to the governor's office, he needs not knock, yet he does, all the same.

A cold voice grants him permission to enter, Victor's steps are muffled by the carpet on the floor. The formidable throne-like chair of the governor in the middle of the room is empty, Saburov's standing in front of it, back stiff, arms tightly crossed. Thinning hair, deepened wrinkles, and heavy bags under his eyes.

He looks as if he had aged 5 years in those 5 days

Victor isn't sure how presentable his own appearance is. Remaining indoors under the Bachelor's instructions for nearly a week, the lack of sunlight must've paled him to a sickly dull hue, surviving on 3 hours of sleep per night.

The way Saburov is leering at him as if he was the scum of the Earth, as if a demon just walked into his house. It should've stung, sprung a string in his heart at the very least, when you take into consideration the short moment of intimacy they both shared just less than a week ago. But Victor can't find energy within him to feel anything other than indifference towards the other's immaturity.

Saburov has shattered whatever remains of respect you once held for him in less than a week, an inept power hungry tyrant. Only deserving of your resentment and wrath, what a sad excuse of a ruling patriarch that aimed to trample down everything Simon set in place, set ablaze everything that is Maria's birthright.

But of course, what did Victor expect? His wife held no shame in scurrying to fill the gap I left behind, it only makes sense for her husband to be of the same mind.

Ha ha ha! And fail miserably at it. It's spectacular how incompetent the two of them are, can't even play the roles they were vying for. What a pitiful sick display, two morons dancing atop a burning barn! Their cattle of sheep blindly following behind to meet their demise.

Our daughter should be ruling the town, upon that seat of darkness adorned by my crown. Not that false mother puppeted by rats and piano wires. A barren womb, a rotten heart, and a morphine marred brain. HA! Katerina's existence is a crime against the world. Her only use is to grovel on the ground and apologise to the womb that granted her life for failing to fulfil her only purpose. If that Saburov had any backbone he would've brought her to heel and put a stop to her impotence!

The tension left Victor's jaw at the faint sound of familiar cackling, schooling his expression back into a neutral one, resisting the upwards curl of his lips. His heart ached in fondness at the remains of what he once had. His dove, his sweet little dove. She is good, despite it all, she is always good at heart.

The silence has stretched on for long enough—Five minutes, his mind adds—Saburov's growing uneasiness made him be the first to speak. "Have you met Clara?"

That girl is more of Katerina's prodigy than her own progeny daughter could've ever been. "I have." Victor replied.

"What are your thoughts about her?"

"Confident, ambitious, with a good head on her shoulders. She truly believes in what she's doing." After her good deed two days ago, Victor knew to think twice before believing any more rumours concerning her wrongdoings.

"Have you spoken to her?" The implicit overprotectiveness lacing every one of Saburov's words was immediately picked up by Victor. He could sympathise, but not relate; nurturing that paternal instinct did more harm than good.

A straightforward answer is difficult, for they have spoken, but it wasn't him she conversed with. Their first meeting was the second in her eyes. Or was it the third? Nina's been... very reactive to her presence. "She fulfilled a task, I offered a reward."

Alexander's crossed arms tightened around each other, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat in a show of restraint. "Before that you terrified her with your witch of a daughter, she came home with red eyes" The mental image of his only daughter sulking the streets with dried tear lines down her small face must've played on loop in the governor's mind.

Ah. Yes. That. The culprit wasn't him... but it might as well be, in Saburov's eyes. How quickly has the town forgotten that the only children capable of speaking with the dark Mistress without being reduced to weeping infants, are her very own two kids. For all the terror she instilled into everyone's heart, Maria and Caspar would only cling tighter to her skirt. "I'm afraid it was a Mistress matter"—never specifying which—"There was nothing I could do. I assure you, no harm would befall Clara under my roof, as for the danger of being around a clairvoyant.... It is out of my control." He admits.

That explanation was unsatisfactory for the governor, evident by the knitted eyebrows and deep grimace weighing down his lips. But he didn't push further, much to Victor's relief. Maybe he knew there was more to it, things neither of them are ready to face yet, for certain things dwarfed them in size.

"You didn't come here for pleasantries, what is it you want?" Despite his assertiveness, his tone lacked any real bark. Victor was still wanted here, and that was clear.

"The inquisitor is arriving soon... Either Karminsky or Orff, both known for their remarkable ruthlessness." Echoing Georgiy's words. "I wanted to see how you're faring, dear governor." While not the complete truth, it wasn't a lie.

No reply, Saburov merely closed his eyes. Facial features softening, his agitated shoulders relaxing down. They both knew how this would end, yet the other insisted on rethinking their arrangement every single time. Partially in denial of what he really wants, and partially—

"Victor..." Never Kain. He might overlook the sodomy, but he could never stomach having a Kain as a lover. "You should've sent a carrier instead, these streets are overrun with bandits." Infantilising by treating him like that of the weaker sex, it's the only way Alexander could come to terms with loving another man. What he saw as romance, Victor viewed as a demeaning act.

But, I would've come had you called, is all that the younger Kain heard.

The air is charged, the veil of pretence has been lifted. They both look at each other with anticipation. Birds of prey having a staredown, awaiting the first move to be made.

Victor takes a step closer, and Saburov takes a step back. But not that of retreat, more of a slow calculated dance. His hand rests against the governor's chest, just above his crossed arms. In return, Saburov uncrosses them, attempting to encircle the other's waist, to pull him into his embrace. But Victor is quicker, just as strongly built, with a harsh shove of his palm, Alexander stumbles back into his chair.

Coaxing the governor to take a proper seat upon his throne. Victor's hands grasp the other's knees, spreading Saburov's legs a little wider, only to lower himself in between them, kneeling on the ground. Running the same hands up Saburov's spread thighs, feel the seams on the fabric of his pants, reaching under his coat, unbuckling the belt, and pulling the zipper down.

Victor's mouth wrapped around the clothed spot where the other's cock was buried, kissing the fabric, feeling it turn damp with his saliva, the head poking through the wet patch.

Saburov's hands trembled as Victor guided them to his undone belt, a silent order for him to be the one to pull down the band of his own undergarments and free his cock, to be the one to jump into the fire. He is in need of punishment for all of his misdemeanors, to make him take accountability through being an active participant in this act of debauchery.

It was taking so long, each time Saburov hooked a finger under the band of his undergarments, he'd quickly draw it back as if burned by flames. Head turned to the side, refusing to look Victor in the eyes.

What lovely eyes he had, what a cruel thing it is to deprive Victor from gazing upon them. Nested down below between the governor's spread legs, knees folded under him as Saburov sat on his chair, the very least courtesy the other could extend is look him in the eye.

"Pretend I'm a woman." Victor spoke up, "Katerina, Yulia, Eva, whichever you prefer." His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on the clothed inside of the other's thighs.

"Any self respecting woman would never debase herself as to stoop down to an act like this" Saburov's knees drew shut, regressing what little progress Victor managed to achieve in the last minutes.

"... Your wife has not?"

"I'd sooner cut off an arm and a leg before that day ever comes!" Alexander looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Ah. That explains a lot. "Are you implying that your wife had?"

A high pitched snicker sounded in the far corner of his mind.

"I rather not speak ill of the dead." Especially with how cramped the space under Victor's desk was.

Stealing a glance in Victor's direction, Saburov couldn't endure more than a second before immediately turning his head away, still refusing to meet the other's eyes. "There is a perfectly fine bed in the other room." The sentence was rushed out.

Tapping his index finger against the other's knee, Victor mused "What difference does it make for my mouth to take you on the bed or the floor?"

"You're not doing anything of the sort—" The last word fell flat, Alexander's breath hitched, eyes closing shut in a glare as Victor sucked against the head of his cock through the fabric. "Spare yourself the indignity" sternly said through gritted teeth, "and stop being difficult."

Unbuttoning the lower end of the coat, Victor moved up with his mouth, trailing kisses on the other's clothed stomach. "If it wasn't Katerina" teeth lightly pulling on the buttons of Saburov's dress shirt, "then perhaps you were the one down on your knees?"

Clammy hands digging into the wooden handle of his chair, Alexander replied "Is there a purpose behind your prodding other than satisfying your perverse curiosity?"

He doesn't deny it, Victor notes. "You're tense, governor, I'm only here to offer you... comradery." Pulling back, he gives the other a moment of rest to collect himself. "Pretend you're Katerina." Until Victor uttered these words and watched Saburov's remaining composure instantly vanish into thin air.

"What?" The disbelief was the final push he needed to finally face Victor, searching for an explanation in the other's gaze as if this was some joke in poor taste.

"Humour me, please." Victor persuaded. "Close your eyes and focus on her memories, conjure a manifestation in your mind, then let her take the lead."

Despite his better judgement, Saburov follows through. Leaning back into his chair, letting the memories of his dear wife conjure behind his closed eyelids, paving his way deeper into memory lane.

"React as she would in your position." Victor continues, hands trailing up the governor's shoes, going under the hem of his pants, tracing the fragile bones of his ankles. "Embody her every reaction with authenticity.

Saburov's knees parted again, muscles gradually relaxing as Victor continued to massage up his leg, squeezing the muscles of his stiff calves. "This is absurd." The governor said, legs unconsciously spreading even further apart.

"It's tricky, but not impossible." We are our memories. "Concentrate on what you can remember, fill in the gaps." Victor replied. "Would she have argued about indignity instead of eagerly welcoming you between her legs like any good wife?"

"No... she would've not." Saburov's fingers move again under the band of his pants. "Not my Katerina, never my dear." with a deep breath, he slides them downwards, alongside his undergarments. Goosebumps travel through his body at the air brushing against his semi-hard cock.

"That's it, relax for me, my pretty little wife." Saying those words sends a wave of nostalgia to ripple through Victor's entire being, settling down in his heart, leaving a dull ache to linger behind.

Where Nina would've ran her narrow fingers through his hair, tugging the strands to pull him around, Saburov is the exact opposite. Strong hands grasping onto the handle of the chair instead.

"My love" Victor prays, "my angel."

Cock a pretty shade of pink, the one droplet leaking down, like a pearl rolling over Victor's thumb in its descent.

"My dove," he calls out. My Victor.

A small swipe from his tongue was more than enough to clean it off. But too much for the governor, who jumped in his seat at the feeling of a soft wet tongue against his cock.

The younger Kain still found the revelation amusing, how it's Katerina who preferred being on the receiving end whilst the esteemed governor kneeled down, face flushed between her plush thighs, lips glistening with her juices, eating her cunt out like a man starved.

Victor doesn't consider himself a kind person. People might disagree, but it's only because Nina was the closest point of reference to compare him to. And against her beautifully terrifying abyss, even the most dull of greys seemed as bright and pure as the first snow. Victor isn't benevolent, it's cruel to torture a man, to drag a stripe with his tongue from the base of Saburov's cock to the head, in a slow agonising pace. To kiss the tip with tantalising pecks, trace one of the visible veins with his fingertip, run his nails through the patch of dark hair peeking above.

Victor might have been on his knees, but it was clear who's in control. The governor was crumbling down from his teasing alone—embarrassingly quickly.

It's a pity, he thinks, how Saburov's never fucked himself into a hot mouth before, has never felt someone gag on his dick, has never admired the stains of red lipstick littered across his shaft before she stood up and stole his breath away with a kiss. Warm cum still in her mouth, pouring it into his own, forcing him to taste himself, to swallow his own cum like a good husband should. How is it that Nina always managed to charm him into submission despite his cock down her throat?

It's too soon to take Saburov into his mouth, the other is barely hanging on to his sanity with just Victor's lips littering kisses up and down his cock. Instead, Victor settles for positioning himself atop one of Saburov's feet, both of his legs on opposite sides of it, straddling the shoe.

"You're not—" Alexander bites his tongue before finishing the sentence, lips pressed tightly shut, hand moving to cover his mouth, muzzle the muffled moans.

Victor cranes his neck to look up at the governor's eyes, lips wrapped around the leaking tip, tongue lapping up at the droplets of pre-cum. He makes sure they're holding eye contact before thrusting his hips forward, grinding his clothed throbbing cock against Saburov's leather shoe.

A dog. He has always adored her with the reverence of a sick dog. Of a love-sickened knight charging into a battle against despair itself with nothing but her name on his tongue. Mouthed like a silent prayer against Saburov's cock. She isn't just his dearly beloved wife, she is a spirit, an angel, a God. She is his god, and he'd knelt down at her altar in worship countless nights.

And she loves him.

Victor parts his lips even further, taking the whole of the cock's head into his mouth. Sucking against it like Nina had done to him many times, imitating the way she'd hollow her cheeks and look up at him, looking up at Saburov with a lustful gaze and spit covered lips. How much more perfect this scene could've been if only he had borrowed her lipstick beforehand.

And she loves him.

Saburov's other hand finds his hair, a loose grab against the short strands, akin to a first time owner with their pet. Never pulling or tugging, merely resting against his head, occasionally soothing through his roots. The kind of caution you'd bestow upon a wild tiger holding your neck hostage between his fangs.

And she loves him.

The shoe grinds back into him, moving with Victor's thrusts. Clumsy at first but picking up on the rhythm soon enough. Alexander is clearly attempting to be useful, to serve some semblance of pleasure, unaccustomed with being serviced himself. Uncomfortable with the notion of simply sitting down and letting his partner do all the work.

And she loves him.

Saburov looked at him with a mix of desperation and resentment. Needing him beyond words can describe and loathing these manifesting desires for having existed at all. Victor has no doubts that if he stood up right now, unzipped his own pants, and pushed Saburov to his knees, then the other would pine for the opportunity to envelope Victor's cock despite all his previous talk of indignity.

And she loves him.

Because what you don't understand is that the governor needs to play the martyr, self-flagellation disguised as selfless sacrifice. He needs to be the one committing the sin, holding the smoking gun, signing the arrest orders, and shouldering all the blame. The first to swing when starting to prune from the very top of the ladder... You were supposed to be another stain on his record, instead here you are, on your knees offering comfort and an eager warm hole to fuck into. Embarrassing him with your selflessness. He was begging you to get up just so he could take you on his bed, just so he could wallow in self-pity and shame all night. Hanging by a rope of masochism, the both of you are, disgustingly fitting for each other. And I do love you, my darling husband.

And she loves him.

She does! It seems to be a trend amongst Mistresses to stumble upon true love. Katerina would peel her own skin off for him if only he'd ask. She sleeps below a carcass for him. She gave herself up, who she was, who she could've been, just to play a role, to be the perfect Mistress. She does everything she's doing in the name of love, in the name of Him. Ha! They really are a miserable pair. What use is there for love other than to justify their self-inflicted wounds? What we share is so much more. We share a fate, sweetheart, we share a body, immortality is well within our grasp. Who are they anyway? Ha ha ha! Nobodies, no future, present, or past.

The younger Kain groaned around Saburov's cock, the vibrations making the other man gasp for air, thighs trembling in debilitating agony. A standstill between Saburov's self control and the urgent desire to bury his cock to the hilt into Victor's eager mouth.

Victor's own cock strained painfully against the confines of his pants, grinding into the other's shoe seeking relief. Hips moving back and forth, in a completely shameless display of neediness, one that would've crumbled the remains of any person's pride, any but a Kain's sense of self.

With the outside world forgotten, and everything in this room turning into a blur, Saburov's face remained the centre of his undivided attention. Crunched brows and half-lidded eyes, a flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck, disappearing just under his neck scarf. A picturesque scene worthy of a painting, in Victor's opinion. The best portraits weren't those that captured a rare fleeting moment or impressive print-like realism, but those which extracted the very essence of a person, the basic building blocks of another's being immortalised on a canvas through paint. An uncomfortably vulnerable and flustered Alexander is the most concentrated version of himself, imprinted into Victor's memory forever.

If the governor is this reactive to unexplored sexual stimulation, then just how sensitively would he respond to other rather niche practises? Would he be opposed to being at the receiving end of penetration? Would Saburov manage to hold his moans down just as well with Victor's fingers stuffing his hole? What face would he make while being fingered?

And just what length would he have to go to in order to best Alexander's adversaries at the idea of having Victor's cock inside him. At being thoroughly fucked and stuffed by another man, held in his arms, rocking him up and down. What role would suffice to play and pluck the strings of the other's heart? Should Victor bring back the coy innocuous facade? Appeal to Alexander's sense of manhood and domineering nature just to have him warm his cock? Or should he embrace the role of the solicitor philanderer who's corrupting the mind of a lawful devout younger man.

No doubt the other is thinking the same about him. He must've been imagining it for a while with how easily he invited Victor to his bed. A crystal clear plan of laying the younger Kain on his sheets, stripping him down with the utmost gentleness, before deflowering him like a man would to his bride on their wedding day. Or like that of a confined beast set loose on a plumped up mare, devouring his flesh with no restraint while weeping for forgiveness from the desecrated remains. Just who lurked behind the steel bars of the governor's ironclad self-control?

With Saburov's cock already being a bother to wrap his lips around without a burning stretch, Victor can't begin to imagine how much of an annoyance it would be to take inside him. How cordial and overwhelming sweet Saburov would be in accommodating him, thoroughly fingering Victor loose, kissing up his chest, rolling a nipple between his lips, maybe even slipping Katerina's wedding ring on his finger.

... Only because the wedding dress wouldn't fit, she is too small and delicate of a woman.

But Nina's dress just might. How beautiful she looked in her white gown, a good head taller than her husband and walking down the flowery aisle. The night sky itself could be found in her dark strands, long curls reaching below her waist, peeking from underneath her shimmering veil. Oh, her lovely waist, Victor could cover it with his two palms alone. No, there is no way her dress would fit him. Neither is Saburov half worthy to tarnish the priceless relic for.

Victor is so close, tethering on the edge. Thrusts growing more and more erratic, moved by pure instincts. Savouring the salty taste of Saburov in his mouth, swallowing it down, relaxing his throat to take more of the other's cock inside. Lowering his face until his nose is practically buried in the patch of dark hair at the base, saliva seeping past his lips and dripping down his chin. Pausing in his place, letting the governor catch his breath, who seems to have lost the ability to speak, teeth digging into his bottom lip, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes, sweat droplets rolling down his forehead, and the most fucked out expression a man could ever produce.

If this was their wedding day, then Saburov would've made the perfect fit for the blushing virginal bride.

Oh how Victor longed to have him atop his lap, to fill him up with his seed, reducing the pillar of society into a cockwarmer. Victor wouldn't bat an eye at any of his insults or threats, all the bites, scratches, and slaps he'll welcome indefinitely if it means he could simply press down the Saburov's stomach and feel a silhouette of his cock buried deep inside.

A final thrust, and stripes of white pour out of Victor's neglected cock, a loud whine muffled by the cock restricting his airway. It slips out of his mouth with a wet pop. His own cock still twitching against the soiled fabric, sensitive against the cold leather of Saburov's shoe.

The younger Kain laid his forehead against the governor's knee, a moment of respite to collect himself.

Before unceremoniously standing up—knees almost caving in from the sudden movement, legs numb and cramped—completely ignoring Saburov's still leaking cock.

For this was supposed to be a punishment, after all.

At least... it should've been. Why does Saburov seem unaffected by this abrupt denial? The governor doesn't argue or protest, merely tucking himself back and zipping up his pants. Not acknowledging Victor's action in the slightest, as if he knew all along beforehand! But it couldn't be possible... So what? Did he just completely accept it the second Victor pulled back?

Victor looks at the ground. Somehow, he feels the opposite of used, and somehow, it feels worse.

Alexander stands up in turn, fevered face still, and all. Taking off his coat, and draping it over Victor's shoulders. "Was your grand plan to walk down the streets looking disheveled? Button it up. It should cover your indecency."

There's a twinge in his chest, a burn in his throat, a... conscience, perhaps?

The coat is a little longer on him, otherwise fitting comfortably. Victor had many questions and inquiries buzzing around in his mind, this vexing turn of events just served to confuse him. This man in front of him cannot be real, an existence like his shouldn't be possible. He feels cheated, surmounted, and outplayed.

"Thank you, governor, for your generosity." Back to cordial responses and monotones. The curtains fall, a translucent barrier between them is set again. "Before I take my leave, there is an important document you must see."

Taking the envelope from the pocket of his pants, Victor smoothed the wrinkles it gained during their tenuous activity, before placing it atop Saburov's open palm.

Alexander gave it a glance before breaking the wax seal, the cursive K fractured into many pieces, crumbling down, falling not far off from where Victor was kneeling on the floor. He unfolded the paper inside. "... Younger Olgimsky's signature."

"Yes, he originally drafted it. An ultimatum presented by the mutual agreement of our families. We do hope you will take a good look at it. At least, while Karminsky is still on the road." Before the inquisitor strips you of all of your precious emergency power! maybe hang you at the gallows while he's at it. I know inquisitors, and the failure governor is neither clever or interesting enough to slip the knot of impending judgement, Victor.

"Let him arrive." Alexander replied "Everything I had done, I did with a clear conscience and sound judgement. Every decision I take is for the betterment of this town." Not out of arrogance or pride, but genuine convictions.

Victor raised a brow. "The innocents rotting behind bars say otherwise."

"Half of them were caught red handed sabotaging the clean water sources." To that, Alexander crossed his arms. "And the half obstructed the course of justice by refusing to turn in their accomplices. Petty thieves and criminals yes, but not a single one of them was an upstanding citizen."

"They won't survive the night" He bargained, "at the very least, let the healthy ones go and quarantine the infected."

"Supposed I do follow your advice and free them, what do you think will happen next? If they didn't have a reason to respect my authority before, they certainly won't start now." Saburov picked his proposal apart. "They'll establish gangs and flood the streets," poking holes in Victor's logic, "spreading chaos and unease." Criticism. "It's not something I could subject my people to, even if it means sacrificing the few." He must always spot flaws in all those around him.

"It's a mass execution without trial, Saburov."

The brightness in the last little spark.

"It's the lesser evil, Kain."

Unceremoniously snuffed out to the dark.

Alongside any hope of another intimate goodbye, completely shattered down, into a thousand pieces, laying right there on the ground, right besides the crumbs of red wax.

Victor buttoned the coat closed. "Very well... do send my regards to Katerina."

"Don't stay outside past dusk, head to the crucible right away, and keep out of the burnt districts." Saburov watched him go "I'd personally escort you back... But I'm expecting someone. It's important."

"Thank you"—for not throwing the paper he poured hours of his life into—"it was a pleasant chat." Victor stepped out, and closed the door.

The afternoon sun felt warm against his face. Three O'clock. He should check on Maria, make sure the food deliveries to the Polyhedron remain undisturbed. Consult with Georgiy next, help him in preparation for what's to come.

Victor walked the streets, and thought:

A minute is a really long time.

One.

Two.

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Nineteen.

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Twenty-eight.

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Thirty.

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Forty.

Forty-one.

Forty-Two.

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Fifty.

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Fifty-eight.

Fifty-nine.

Sixty.

One minute past three.

#other's writing #I am currently nursing a coffee and a migraine at the moment; but this is giving me some much-needed levity #Feminization and unhealthy coping mechanisms for the win 🏆#Now it's time for some of my favorite lines #“A dog. He has always adored her with the reverence of a sick dog. Of a love-sickened knight charging into a battle—”#“—against despair itself with nothing but her name on his tongue.”#First and foremost‚ I see you there with your knights ;)#Secondly‚ the allusion to a sick dog‚ especially in a plague setting‚ is something I love. because I can clearly envision it. the mutt that #Still follows even when the fleas drain him‚ as his chunks of fur fall with hot patches in their wake and the sickness takes his vision of #Her. yet he still follows the reverential sound of her #* chef's kiss*#And the follow-up with the repetition of “And she loves him” just hammers it more #Another tidbit‚ I also wished he grabbed her lipstick dammit #“Needing him beyond words can describe and loathing these manifesting desires for having existed at all.”#and #“Victor looks at the ground. Somehow‚ he feels the opposite of used‚ and somehow‚ it feels worse.”#Have me biting plywood‚ these two are idiots #I currently can not find the correct words‚ but Alexander gifting Victor his coat feels deeply intimate #I'm learning of pathologic via gay sex and Aglaya Lilich #Beautiful work‚ my friend💙

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