19. Mikhail
Mikhail
Standing at the stairs, I cross my arms and wait for Daniil to finish walking down.
I hope he got what he was looking for. Riling up my brothers is fun, but not in front of Father.
The old man has a mean right hook, and my jaw still aches from where he punched me earlier.
Point five percent under projections, and he acts like I burned the whole place down.
Nothing’s ever enough for him. Never has been, never will be. I could hand him a perfect month, and he’d still find something wrong with the way I wrote the report.
Daniil comes into view with his hood pulled up, black messy hair curling slightly at the edges.
I can’t believe this lunatic jerked me off under the table with everyone sitting right there.
The psycho didn’t even hesitate, just unzipped my pants and made me fall apart while I had to sit there perfectly still and pretend everything was fine.
I grin at him. “We got kicked out. Come on, let’s go to that road diner on the way to the city.”
“You mean you got kicked out.”
Shrugging, I turn for the door. We walk out to the car, and as soon as he closes his door and sits down, I reach for his hand. “Got what you were looking for?”
His jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Let’s look at it once we get out of here.”
He starts the car, and we take off. He leans back into the seat and spreads his legs wide, one hand on the wheel, and I can’t stop staring at him.
How the fuck did I never realize I could want him this way?
I’m probably just Danyasexual at this point—I’ve never felt this way about anyone.
Ever. Just him. Whatever. I’m not questioning it anymore.
We drive for thirty minutes in silence before pulling up to the diner.
I hop out while he’s still braking, and he curses me out, yelling something about getting myself killed. I’m already halfway to the entrance when I hear him sprinting behind me. I brace myself and catch him as he jumps onto my back, arms wrapping around my neck tight.
He’s been doing this since we were kids, and it’s still one of my favorite things he does. Some days he’d just hang on my back for hours while I walked around the house, refusing to let go until I physically pried him off. I jump up the steps to the diner and help him down carefully.
The place has that classic roadside vibe with red vinyl booths, black-and-white checkered floors, neon signs buzzing on the walls. Chrome fixtures catch the afternoon light streaming through the big windows. I love this place, have since we first found it years ago.
I’m starving, and neither of us ate anything at our parents’ house. Pretty hard to focus on food when someone’s hand is down your pants, and you’re trying not to let anyone notice what’s happening under the table.
We slide into a booth by the window and don’t bother looking at the menus. We’ve been coming here since we got our licenses, and we know the whole thing by heart.
“You going to get your usual?”
He hums. “Cheeseburger, no pickles, extra fries.”
“And you’re going to steal half my onion rings,” I say back with a grin.
“I don’t steal them. You offer them.”
“Because you give me those sad puppy eyes when I’m eating them.”
He rolls his eyes. “Just order extra onion rings.”
The waitress comes over, coffee pot in hand, and we order without looking at the menus. When she leaves, he pulls out his phone and sets it on the table between us.
His eyes go to my jaw, and guilt flashes across his face instantly.
I wave him off. “I’m fine.”
“Did he hurt you?” His voice drops, careful.
“Let it go.”
He sighs, worrying his lip between his teeth. “You ready to see what I found?”
He picks up his phone and hands it to me.
I zoom in on a newspaper article about a family massacre in Germany.
Four people killed, one child missing. I swallow hard and look up at him, then back at the screen, reading it again to make sure I’m understanding this right.
His family? But how does this connect to everything?
“That’s not all. Go to the other picture I took.”
I scroll to the next picture and gape at what I’m seeing. The child in the photo is around two years old. Those eyes, that face. It’s Daniil. No question about it.
He has bruises and cuts all over him, blood smeared across his dirty, small body. He’s only wearing a diaper and crying, holding a stuffed elephant tight against his chest. His ribs are sticking out, visible and pronounced under his skin. He looks starved, like he hasn’t eaten in months.
He loved that elephant and held onto it every night until he was ten, when he lost it somehow. He was inconsolable, wouldn’t sleep right for weeks. I spent an entire month tearing the house apart looking for it, and nobody else bothered to help.
I spotted another elephant at the store when I was with my my mother.
I shoved it in my jacket when she wasn’t looking and brought it home for him.
He smiled and said thank you, kept it on his bed, but it wasn’t the same.
He still looked for the original one every night before falling asleep. We never found it.
The next picture shows our mother’s handwriting in Russian.
I look up at him. “You look like you got put through a blender in that picture. What happened to you?”
The pieces are starting to come together, but none of it makes sense. How did he end up with us? What happened to his real family?
Standing up, I slide over to his booth and sit beside him. My hand goes to his jaw, tilting his face so he has to look me in the eyes. “That picture was messed up. I’m sorry.”
He nods, and I wipe the tear off his face with my thumb. I press a quick kiss to his lips, then my eyes flick around the diner real quick, but nobody’s paying attention to us.
“We can eat our food and then drive home. You can pick whatever movie you want. I promise I’ll sit through the entire thing, even if you pick Star Wars.”
“That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”
“I mean it. I’ll sit through that entire movie if it makes you happy, but I’ll probably be daydreaming about sucking your huge cock instead.”
He opens his mouth, and his eyes go wide in panic, a flush crawling up his neck. I can’t help grinning at him. He glances around nervously, checking if anyone heard.
He clears his throat. “No filter whatsoever.”
“Yeah, and you’ve dealt with it for how many years now?”
He leans his head against me. I wrap my arm around him and rest my chin on top of his head while we wait for our food.
Sprinting from the kitchen to the living room, I vault over the couch, landing hard on my ass. Daniil almost bounces off the cushions and shoots me a death glare, but I catch the small smile he’s trying to hide before he turns back to the TV.
Star Wars. Again. For the millionth time. I know every scene by heart now, could quote half the damn movie in my sleep.
Sitting still has never been possible for me.
My body gets restless fast, needs constant movement, or I’ll crawl out of my skin.
They slapped an ADHD diagnosis on me when I was a kid after I got expelled from three schools in one year.
Fighting mostly, couldn’t keep my hands to myself when someone pissed me off.
Threw a desk at a teacher once, but he deserved it for saying something he shouldn’t have.
Leaning back into the couch, I take a deep hit of the joint, then cup his chin. “Open for me.”
He opens his mouth for me, and I lean in to blow smoke between his lips, watching him take it in, watching his throat work as he holds it.
He exhales slowly, and the breath hits my chin warm.
I give up pretending I’m not staring and lean in to kiss him, soft and careful.
Just a press of lips, but it lights me up inside.
He moves fast. His hand shoots to the back of my neck and drags me in hard, his tongue pushing into my mouth and taking complete control. I grab his face with my free hand and haul him closer, needing more of him, needing everything he’ll give me.
“I need you,” he whispers.
Those three words make me act like a dog with a bone.
Throwing the joint to the ashtray, I close the distance between us and push him down onto the couch, my mouth crashing into his. I thrust my tongue past his lips frantically, swallowing down the desperate sound he makes.
I bite his bottom lip hard enough to make him gasp before licking and sucking my way down his jaw to his neck. My hands slide up under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, and I pull it off him in one motion, throwing it onto the floor without looking.
My hands go to his waistband, and I shove his pants and boxers down in one movement, rough enough that he skids forward. His cock is already hard and leaking, and I don’t give him time to react before I grip his hips and flip him over on the couch.
He lands on his hands and knees, ass in the air, and I run my hands over him before spreading him open with my thumbs. My cock throbs at the sight, and I reach for the lube packet in his discarded pants, pouring it over my fingers.
I push two fingers into him at once without warning, and he gasps, his back arching. I add a third almost immediately, scissoring them fast and rough, stretching him open.
Pulling out my fingers, I shove my pants down and free my cock, slicking it up quickly before lining myself up and slamming into him in one brutal thrust. He cries out, and his arms shake, but I grip his hips hard enough to bruise and pull him back onto me, burying myself to the hilt.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” I groan, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in hard enough to make the couch scrape against the floor. His moans break into desperate sounds every time I bottom out, and I set a relentless pace, not giving him a second to adjust.
I angle my hips to hit his prostate dead-on with every thrust and his arms give out, his chest hitting the couch.
The new angle lets me drive even deeper, and I lean over him, gripping a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back.
“Your body was made for mine,” I rasp, slamming into him harder.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, and he’s making broken, desperate noises that drive me insane.
“Hurt me,” he begs.
My hands tighten around his hair, and I give him exactly what he wants. I keep pounding into him so hard the couch shakes beneath us. My other hand digs into his hip, holding him in place while I use him, and he pushes back to meet every brutal thrust even though I know it has to burn.
“You want it harder?” I pant, driving into him with everything I have. “Want me to fucking ruin you?”
“Yes, don’t stop,” he chants, his whole body trembling.
I let go of his hair and wrap my hand around his cock, jerking him rough and fast while I keep up the punishing pace. He’s leaking all over my hand, his body shaking, and I know he’s close from the way his hole keeps clenching around me.
“Come for me,” I demand, slamming into him so hard his knees slide on the couch. “Let me see what a desperate little slut you are for my cock.”
His whole body goes rigid, and then he’s coming, spilling over my hand in hot spurts while his ass clenches rhythmically around me.
The sensation drags me over the edge, and I bury myself as deep as I can go, grinding against him while I come inside him.
I fill him up in waves, both of us trembling through it.
The last aftershock rolls through me, and I stay buried inside him, my cock still twitching as we catch our breath.
I collapse onto his back, and we’re gasping for air, sweat slicking our skin. I press a kiss between his shoulder blades and let my forehead rest there, feeling the warmth of his skin.
“That was perfect,” he mumbles.
Huffing out a laugh, I try to catch my breath for a second.
“I have a plan,” I say.
He glances back at me. “Yeah?”
“Yulian will be at Calder’s tomorrow. We’re going to corner him there and ask him for help. Make him look into this with us.”
“He’s not going to want to after what you did today. Mop handle? That was a low blow.”
“He deserved it. He’s an ass.”
He snorts. “He’s going to punch you.”
“I know. But we need him.”
Pulling out, I lift him up onto me, positioning him so he’s straddling my hips. His legs wrap around my waist weakly, and I reach down to guide my cock back inside him, needing to stay connected.
He sinks down onto me with a quiet gasp and immediately buries his face in my neck, his breath warm against my skin.
Cum leaks out around where we’re joined, and I grip his hip, pushing up slightly to keep myself buried deep inside him.
My other hand threads through his hair as I kiss the top of his head.
I’m going to get him answers about his real family, whatever it takes.