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[lilyfor]

[APH Fanfiction]White night 01

This is a fanfiction originally written in Chinese, the translation is based on Google Translator and myself, there may be Chinese expressions or grammatical errors. About the title: White night in Chinese refers to a night that does not turn dark because the sunset is too late.

Watch the Chinese version on AO3：https://archiveofourown.org/works/34966789/chapters/87082549

Ivan x Alfred in AU

Cp.0

If you have time come and see me and how the snow ages, as my eyes melt

Cp.1

Stories are nothing but mirage in the sky. Unbelievably the Chinese slowly said, "Braginsky? Really, you're looking for Braginsky?" The Chinese spread hands and spoke with a strong West Coast accent: "He's not here, in fact, he is my elder brother." "But your surname is Wong..." Wong Yao scoffed at his ignorance: "Please, we don't share a dad." Alfred was speechless, but the Chinese came up to pat him shoulder: "Freddy." Wong Yao said, "tell me about your meeting with Vanya. Tell me all." They were truly brothers. Except for Ivan, no one would call him Freddie since he was born. It was a long-lost intimacy. Wong took out an old cardboard box full of photos, and he held up one of them and said, "Perhaps, this is the person you're looking for, isn't it?" It was the youthful Ivan Braginsky. He's about seventeen, still relatively thin, but already so tall, with overly long forehead hair, plastic black-rimmed glasses, Ivan looks like the most annoying geek around campus. No one would ever want to sleep with him . Ivan smiles shyly at the camera, Alfred can't believe how he has become what he is today. Strong, tall and sexy, but unfortunately a real pauper, otherwise someone would really call him sugar daddy. The Chinese shook the photo in his hand: "In Ontario, Ivan will ask me to row on Saturdays, together. How far away, I'm still at River Valley High School, and he hasn't finished college yet." He leaned forward as he spoke, approaching Alfred: "Hey, have you seen enough?" Alfred didn't have time to hide, the Chinese mean to not retreat, he kissed him. The kiss happened too fast, the Chinese shook the photo in their hands, as if to block something, but they kissed under Ivan's gaze. Alfred didn't know how to explain it when they parted. Wong squatted down and smiled, and touched the tip of Alfred's nose with a finger. "You miss him, don't you." "It's not funny." Wong lowered his head to put away more photos, those belonged to the past Ivan Braginsky, and he started to ignite the photo paper with a lighter. "It's hard for you to forget him, I think." Wong said slowly. In the East, another definition of unforgettable is love, but he did not go on.

Alfred thought that he must not come here with all his strength to see Braginsky. But that didn't stop Alfred from staring at Braginsky as he walked past the bars. The only prison at the end of the land is the leniency that Alfred won for himself. The number of prisoners is very small, so life in the North prison is relatively easy. There are barren land and sky... Also, there is this strange prison guard. Braginsky is not like other prison officers. His English is not very good, so he is very reticent, and when driving prisoners, it is difficult to change his Russian accent. Behind his back, many people spread Braginsky as a joke. The guards said Braginsky was an outcast from the Aleutians, where his mother gave birth prematurely and left him. Anchorage's welfare agency rescued him, and Ivan belongs to a generation of children whose childhood has been stolen. He was about thirty-five or six years old, a typical descendant of Russian immigrants, with the face as a handsome east Slavic man, and the eyes of melancholy and ice. Thankfully, in the far north where even birds don't poop, Braginsky is the only sight to behold. Braginsky, who is out of tune with others, has his own unique set of habits even in the night watch. If he needed to rest, he would sit against the wall at will, and then pull out his harmonica from his arms. Alfred had never heard such a sad music sound, so he couldn't help but stretched out his hand from the iron fence. "Hey, Russian," he called. "What's this?" Braginsky stopped, his blond hair lit by the window, and whispered, "It's a harmonica." "I know, I mean this music..." Braginsky finally stood up, "Do you like it?" he asked, "It's a folk song from my mother's hometown."

He spoke with a lazy snap of his tongue, as if didn't care about it all. Alfred watched him approaching, the Russian tall physique reminiscent of a wolf, almost a head taller than Alfred. "I've never heard of it, it's very good."

The prison guard sat down in front of him: "Thank you," he tilted his head and saw the number on the wall, "but don't be louder to wake up your roommate, number 73." "My name is Alfred." The guard whispered his name: "Freddy. Hello, Freddy." Alfred got closer to the iron fence, and soon his left hand stretched out, "Can I have a look? Mr. Ivan. "He read out the name on the guard's badge slowly, the room was heated enough, the guard's shirt was stuck to his chest, and Alfred could see the outline of his chest muscles and looked at it for a while. Ivan, whose harmonica was small, hung by a necklace around his chest, leaned forward to get it out of his uniform shirt. Ivan handed over the metal harmonica and whispered, "Don't wake up your roommate." He said and stroked the body of the piano, how small it was, like a poor girl, lying quietly on Ivan's fingers. It’s could be afraid that anyone will look petite in front of such a tall Slav. With there still the warmth of the man's lips, Alfred's fingers went up along Ivan's metal necklace until they touched the warm chest, which made the touch turning into a sweet kiss. His hand stopped there, but was not pushed away. Alfred looked up into Ivan's eyes and saw that the Russian was looking back at him too. There were no women in the prison, and he knew very well how these prison guards vented and entertained, not to mention a beautiful man who delivered at the door. Ivan looked closely at Alfred's face. It was so close that it was almost enough to do a close-up dance, and he could even smell the scent of his shaving water. Ivan lowered his head, let his eyes look through the fence to Alfred, finally shook his head and said, "No..." "No, Freddie... give me back the harmonica." Alfred's fingers dropped, leave the man's warm chest. Ivan turned and walked forward, disappearing into the dark corridor, but Alfred heard him whisper. "Good night, Freddie."

Alfred was not as lucky as he thought, but unluckier than he could have imagined. A few weeks later, he got his first lesson. It was a snowy morning, the sun particularly dazzling. He was dragged up from his sleep. Several guards handcuffed Alfred on the iron table in the interrogation room, forcing him to look up at the small transom. Without even having to take off Alfred's clothes, the humiliation ensues. Beyond the transom was McKinley's canyon mountains. Alfred felt dizzy and the snow line being a surf to his eyes. One by one, two of them flinched because of the star tattoo on Alfred's shoulder, they understood what it meant but the others didn't care. "Hey," he said with a dry throat, "you're not as good as the Japanese." Someone was provoked, slapped him, and berated Alfred for shutting up. This aggressive approach failed to clear the siege. Until all guards were satisfied, as a few hours later Alfred lay dying on the table, the last newcomer untied his belt to face his swollen lips. Alfred's jaw was dislocated, the floor was littered with knotted condoms full of cum, his blond hair wet and messy against his cheek, as if Cleopatra had been stripped of a blanket and laid out among the gold, naked, hesitant, and frustrated. But no matter what, it will all end.

Alfred thought that his greatest benefit must be being optimistic enough until the door to the interrogation room was kicked open and the Russian walked in. "Get out," he said slowly, first looking at the new prison guard who showed his lower body, and then at the embarrassed Alfred, the newcomer quickly left with a pale face, and Ivan ordered: "Close the door." The iron door was slammed shut. Alfred looked down at the man and sneered: "You want to join too? It's a pity you're late." Ivan walked up to him and squatted down. Now their eyes are at the same level, the Russian unlocked Alfred's handcuffs are removed. Alfred was stunned, he didn't expect this person to come to release him. Ivan called his name: "Freddy," he said half-hesitantly. "Don't move, Freddy." Alfred jumped off the table and limped to the door, but was caught by the Russian. Grab his wrist. God, he was stronger than tongs, Alfred didn't even think about it, turned back, and spat at him. "Huh," he couldn't help gasping, "So you really know how to fuck a man." Ivan whispered, "Don't move, there are monitors in the interrogation room." "So what?" Ivan pushed him back to the iron table: "So, someone will know, I can't leave directly." Alfred sat down on the table again, laughing very much at Ivan's reason. He lifted his leg, the shackles still hanging loosely around his ankles, which had been locked for violence, and Alfred slowly took off his socks, a new red mark was seen on his skin. He just wanted to leave quickly and live until tomorrow, so Alfred whispered to the Russians: "Come on." Ivan had already started to take off his shirt. Compared with the previous insults, Ivan's actions could be called gentle. The shirt was not completely taken off, and Alfred's hands were back, caught by the rolled shirt. Now he was unsteady and slipped down, all the way to the Russian's lap. The black uniform pressed against his hot body, and Alfred easily felt the guard's erection. The hard guy had his trousers tucked between his legs, and Ivan stroked his perineum like a woman. Although his fingers can be called gentle, the force is a little too exciting. "As a rape, your movements are a bit slow." Ivan stopped, a few strands of platinum-blond hair fell in front of his eyelashes, he took a breath, and the hair flew up, so he said with a half-smile: "Freddy, it turns out that you like rough things." Alfred refused to show weakness: "You can actually say one-liners." Ivan asked: "Do you want to hear this?" Alfred said angrily: "I'm not your damn bitch—damn!" Ivan's fingers were digging into the slippery slits as he cursed. The man ordered at the same time: "Lick him up." Alfred felt that he was crazy: "It's 'it', not 'him' - there are still condoms left over there!" Reid pushed slowly to the floor, the restraints of the shackles kept him moving slowly and awkwardly, Ivan untied the belt, the red guy jumped out. The Russian was pale, and he spoke again with that Russian accent English command: "lick." Alfred realized he had no choice. He closed eyes when opened his mouth, but his lips were swollen with effort and numbness. Ivan's body odor was very light, and the thick and vigorous thing was in his mouth. There was only a male fishy smell, compared to his tragic past, it wasn't even that bad.

Alfred curled his tongue carefully. With cheeks sore, he could barely feel it, too big and even pleasing it was too embarrassing to deal with. Ivan caresses the back of his head like a domestic dog. Alfred heard him whisper, his voice muffled, his throat poked open and closed, and the man stroked Alfred's messy hair approvingly. "Tighter, little girl." He is about to become the Russian wife in the far north, satisfying her husband for free. Alfred swallowed in self-denial, no longer making senseless resistance. Alfred remembered his former client. Maybe the damned Russians are all the same, there's no lawyer in New Jersey who's smarter and more shameless than Alfred, he'll make fake charts pretty good, but the law thief 's partner only uses dicks and handsome faces credit to Alfred, son of a bitch. That's the male bear who would drive over to fuck him any middle of the night, Alfred groaned on his desk, and the bills fell on the floor. Alfred finally asked for a star that fell on his shoulders, and now he has become the OEM partner of the Ivankov Gang, which to a certain extent has also deterred some of the cowards in the Northern prison. But apparently Ivan Braginsky isn't afraid of that. He squeezed Alfred's buttocks hard, then pushed Alfred to the window, his ribs against the iron chair, he was extremely uncomfortable, and complained: "Hey, these hurts." Without speaking, Ivan pulled Alfred's hands back. This is a man who is reluctant to wear a condom. Alfred's semi-moist saliva is all over his penis. It's terribly hot. The soreness that was split by this thing was inserted from the beginning to the end. Alfred gasped repeatedly, unable to stop himself, neither in pain or euphoria. Ivan's hands were huge, grabbing both of his wrists together, as if pulling on the reins. When he fucked him, Alfred lost his fulcrum, was tugged by the Russian, and his chest was red. Too bloated. If there is a lecherous soul inside him who can't be separated, it was almost stabbed to death at this moment, and died quite happily. Alfred couldn't help but bow his back, his butt was numb, he had to mumble a lot of swear words and complain: "Is this really necessary? You just want the monitor to be watched - Fuck!" Ivan grabbed his wrist, pressed him into his chest, because he was stabbed deeper. Alfred's eyes turned white, and he felt his nipples being roughly pinched. He couldn't help but look down at how Ivan's fingers stroked and pinched his nipples. That's not really a shameful picture, it seems to be accused of rape - anyway, it has already been accused. The man's gun-carrying fingers became calloused, caressed his red nipples impatiently for a moment, and then scribbled away. Ivan pushed Alfred, put his hands on the wall, and pushed him forward against the wall. Alfred felt the shadow cast by the Russian pressing down on him, a posture that could be better described as copulation, he could smell the fishy smell, and his sight just enough to reach the transom.

Two gray wolves came up on the snowfield, playing with a black iron bucket left by the shepherd. Ivan bit Alfred's neck, which made him realize that he was no different from the she-wolf on the snowfield. Alfred wanted to vomit, but was shot wet between his legs, and Ivan gasped, his moans sounding like a wolf, and whispered to Alfred, "Freddy, you're orgasm. ." Alfred's eyes darkened during the orgasm, and he lowered his head and retched. He woke up with the sound of ticking water all around him, here was the bathroom, and someone asked, "Are you awake?" Ivan, still in the same uniform they had had sex with, sat across from Alfred with his trousers half rolled up: " You just passed out. take a rest." Alfred cried out in disbelief: "What!" Ivan shrugged, slowly took out a water gun, he bit the cigarette in his mouth, and turned the small valve. The water is cool, but not cold enough. Ivan said, "That's it, I told them you passed out—no one wants to cause trouble." He turned the water cannon over Alfred's bare feet and said, "No one else, take a break, Freddie. " Alfred stood up, noticing the shackles had been taken off, he approached Ivan in the water, looked down at the Russian and said, "Don't be like this." "Don't be like this, I'm not your girl." He kicked the puddle, the prison guard's shirt was splashed, some water droplets falling on Ivan's face and hair.

Ivan looked a little stunned. “What’s wrong?" Alfred asked. The man quickly came back to his senses, as if it were just a small hallucination, and the water gun came again drenching Alfred. Alfred fell because of this attack, but quickly got up again. He was very difficult to defeat so mocked Ivan and said, "Huh, I mentioned the pain point. Son of a bitch, you—" The water gun sprayed mercilessly again, and Ivan calmly ordered: "Sit down. “Alfred could only obey, and Ivan threw a towel. Strange guy, Alfred peeked at him thought. Ivan watched Alfred take off his clothes and dry himself attentively, which was fucking funny as his didn't feel something. Alfred thought viciously. He imagined endlessly, but too tired to do anything. Ivan suddenly leaned over to touch Alfred's lips and said to him, "You won't see me again. “He took his hand away and explained, "I'm going to the Echo Corridor."

The Echo Corridor is for prisoners with mental disorders. Guards who enter the workforce will stay there for a month. Alfred threw the wet towel at Ivan: "Did you think you saved me?" "Did you save me?" he asked. "Maybe other people are more violent, but you fucked me too."

Ivan shrugged, obviously not understanding Alfred. Until the other he said angrily: "Okay, I see. This is a tense you don't understand, big tongue you Russians."

TBC