Thirty-Four
Arseny
I don’t touch Caiden for days. I don’t brush past him in corridors, lean in close enough for anyone to mistake it for instruction, and I don’t look at him longer than regulation allows. Sergeant Zakirov is impeccable, neutral, cold, and exactly what I am supposed to be.
On the inside, I am barely holding the line.
It’s worse because I know why I’m doing it. I know exactly how this ends. He leaves. The base absorbs the absence like it always does. Life continues. And I am left with something I don’t want to be alone with. So, I pull back.
I tell myself it’s discipline, foresight, and I even tell myself I’m doing him a favour. I tell myself a lot of lies.
Caiden notices. He notices everything, eventually. He still does his job, jokes with the others, and looks when he thinks I’m not looking, just long enough to check if something’s changed. I don’t give him anything — no tells, warmth, or invitation.
It starts eating him alive.
I see it in the way his humour is practically non-existent today, and in the way he gets quieter when we’re in the same room.
I catch myself staring when he isn’t aware of it. Across the mess hall, through glass, and through mirror reflections. I watch the way he stands, listens, and the way he pretends this doesn’t matter because pretending is something he’s very good at.
And I hate myself for it.
Eventually, he tries. It’s subtle, of course; he’s not stupid. He catches me alone near the admin offices and tries to talk, and I shut him down with no emotion whatsoever. Then I walk away before I do or say something stupid. That night, I don’t sleep.
It’s the end of the week, and I’m done pretending this is restraint and not fear. I find him in the corridor outside the offices, late enough that the base has gone quiet. He’s walking, coming down the corridor opposite me, and I stop in front of him, blocking him. “Come with me,” I say.
He doesn’t move or look at me. “No,” he says, and tries to step around me.
“This is not a request,” I say, sharp enough to feel like myself, blocking him again.
“Funny. Sounds exactly like one to me.”
I step closer but I don’t touch him. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” he asks, finally looking at me. There’s something guarded there now. Hurt, badly disguised. “Because you’ve been very clear this week.”
“You’re misreading the situation.”
He scoffs. “Of course I am.”
I close my eyes, long enough to decide I’m already in too deep to salvage this cleanly. “I’m not avoiding you,” I say carefully. “I’m managing something.”
“That’s generous,” he replies. “From where I’m standing, you’ve decided I’m a problem.”
“You’re not a problem,” I say immediately.
“Then what am I?” I don’t have a good answer. At least, not one that doesn’t tear the rest of this open. I reach for his arm, and he jerks away.
“Fuck no. Don’t do that. Don’t go cold for what, two weeks? And then grab me like you’ve changed your mind.”
“I didn’t change my mind,” I say. “I never did.”
“Then why—”
“Because you’re leaving,” I cut in.
“And that’s it?” he asks quietly. “That’s your plan? Pretend I don’t exist so it hurts less later?”
“Yes,” I say honestly.
He stares at me, then he laughs. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”
“It is the truth.”
“It’s fucking cowardly. You don’t get to decide what—” he cuts himself off and pauses. “You don’t get to rewrite this so you feel more in control.”
“I’m trying not to destroy myself,” I confess.
“By destroying me first?”
I don’t have an answer to that; all I have is the truth, so that’s what I give him. “It’s killing me staying away from you. And I can’t pretend this doesn’t end.”
“So make your choice,” he says, “because I’m done with your emotional whiplash.”
I hold his gaze and I let him see it. The fear, the certainty, and what I’ve been choking back for days. “I choose now,” I say.
“Then stop pushing me away,” he says softly.
I nod and lean in before I lose my nerve.
The kiss isn’t desperate or rushed. It’s firm and full of everything I didn’t let myself do at all since we got back.
He makes a sound against my mouth, and his hands come up slowly, like he’s checking I won’t disappear again. “I’m angry with you,” he mutters.
“Good, stay with me.” I don’t know how we get to the door, or who pulls who. Only that the moment the lock clicks behind us, the rest of the world stops mattering. I press my forehead to his. “I’m not good at this,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says softly. “You’re fucking terrible.
” I laugh against his lips as I press him against the door, my body pinning him, and my mouth crashing into his.
His lips part under mine, hungry and desperate.
I groan into his mouth, my tongue sliding against his.
My hands are everywhere, one tangled in his hair, gripping tight enough to make him gasp, the other sliding down his back, feeling the hard lines of his muscles through his shirt.
“I missed you, detka,” I growl against his lips, my voice rough and raw.
My cock is already hard, pressing against the zipper of my uniform, and aching for him.
“I missed your fucking mouth. Your hands. Your ass.” I mumble, biting down on his bottom lip, just enough to sting.
He whimpers, and his body automatically arches into mine, his hands fisting in my T-shirt, pulling me closer.
My lips trail down his jaw, my teeth nipping and grazing the skin. He tilts his head back, giving me better access. “Ari—” he breathes out, the tone coming out in sharp, uneven gasps.
“Mm,” I hum, loving the way my name sounds on his lips. My mouth moves lower down his neck, my tongue tracing the pulse point there. His skin is warm, glossy with sweat, and I can feel his heartbeat hammering under my lips; it’s fast and frantic.
My hands slide down to his waist, gripping the hem of his T-shirt. I yank it up, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head. He helps me, his arms lifting, his muscles flexing under my touch.
The T-shirt hits the floor with a soft thud, then my hands are on his bare skin, tracing the hard planes of his chest, stomach, and his abs.
I push him towards the desk, and he goes willingly, bending over; his palms flat against the surface, his back arching just enough to present himself to me.
I step in behind him, my cock throbbing, and my hands already moving to unbutton his trousers. I push everything down in one rough movement, exposing his ass — the tight globes of muscle flexing as he shifts his weight.
“Fuck,” I breathe, as my hands grip his hips, and my thumbs trace the curve of his cheeks. I lean over him, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’ve been driving me crazy, Caiden,” I whisper, biting down on his earlobe, just enough to make him hiss and his body tense under mine.
His ass pushes back against me, and I groan, my cock twitching, leaking pre-cum into my boxers. I reach down to adjust myself, the pressure almost painful. “Tell me you want it,” I demand, my voice a low growl.
“Fuck you,” he gasps, his voice rough, and his body trembling under my hands.
I chuckle darkly as my fingers dig into his flesh harder.
I straighten as my hands slide down to grip his cheeks, spreading him open, circling his hole with my thumb, teasing him.
His hole is tight, perfect, and I can’t resist dropping down to my knees and dragging my tongue over him, tasting him.
He jerks forward with a choked, almost silent cry, as his fingers dig into the desk hard.
“Ari—fuck—” he whimpers. His body trembles as I lick, suck and tongue fuck his hole until his low moans turn into more whimpers.
I stand back up, my lips brushing his ear again.
“You taste so good, detka. Always so fucking good.” I reach for my waistband, unbuttoning and pulling the zip down, pushing my uniform down enough to free my cock.
It springs out, hard and thick, the tip already wet.
I stroke myself with my eyes locked on his ass.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you right here, in this office.”
“Please—” he begs, his ass pushing back against me again, his muscles clench, and I can’t wait anymore.
I pull the Vaseline from my pocket, slicking up my cock, and then I’m pressed against him, the head of my cock nudging at his entrance.
He is tight, so fucking tight. My hands grip his hips hard, and I have to grit my teeth as I push inside, inch by slow inch.
“Fuck—” Caiden gasps, his body tensing, and his fingers digging into the desk. “Jesus, fuck—”
“Shh,” I whisper, my lips brushing his ear. “Just take it. Take me.” I bottom out, my balls pressed against him, and I hold there for a second, letting him adjust, feeling my cock throbbing inside him. “So good,” I groan. “So fucking good, detka.”
I start to move, slow at first, savouring the way his body clenches around me, and the way his breath hitches with every thrust.
I lean over him, my chest pressing against his back, my lips brushing his ear. “You feel that?” I ask, still driving into him hard. “You feel how good we are together?”
He moans low, his body trembles as his muscles clench around my cock. “Yes—fuck, yes—” I snap my hips forward, driving into him harder, faster; the desk creaking under his weight; the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small office.
His moans are muffled, swallowed, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip to keep quiet, but I can hear the hitch in his breath, the way his body trembles with each thrust.
My hand slides up his back, fingers tangling in his hair, gripping tight as I pull his head back, exposing his throat.
I kiss and nibble him there, while I reach around with my other hand, wrapping it around his cock.
And I squeeze and stroke him in time with my thrusts.
His cock throbs in my grip. “Come for me,” I command.
My voice is raw and desperate. “Let me feel it. Let me feel you squeeze me.”
His body tightens, his muscles clench around me, and then he’s coming. His release is hot and thick over my fingers; his body shudders with the force of it. I follow him over the edge, my own release tearing through me, as my cock pulses inside him while I come, filling him.
His name is a broken whisper on my lips as I collapse over him, my body pressing him into the desk, and my breathing coming in ragged gasps.
We stay like that for a long moment, our bodies slick with sweat, our hearts pounding in time with each other. And all I can think is that I don’t want to move. I don’t want to let him go.
Finally, I pull out, my cock softening, and I reach down, pulling his uniform up and covering him.
He turns around, and his green eyes meet mine; his expression unreadable.
I cup his face, my thumb brushes over his lip, it’s still swollen from my kisses.
And I kiss him again. Slowly, deeply, making up for the weeks of kisses I should have been giving him all this time.
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t pull away either. And for now, that’s enough.
Later, when Caiden has left, I sit alone in my office. I look exactly like a man who hasn’t ruined his own life. But I know better. I stare at the door long after he’s gone, aware of exactly what I’ve chosen.
I won’t survive this painlessly. I already know that. But I also know I won’t survive pretending he doesn’t matter.
When he leaves, it’s going to hurt in ways I don’t have the words for. I light a cigarette I don’t smoke and I don’t inhale from it. I just hold it between my fingers.
I’ve crossed the line.
Again.
But this time, I’m not pretending I didn’t see it coming.