Whatever It Takes

by Barbara Elsborg

  Roman slipped off the couch and knelt between Zain’s legs. “T-shirt off.”

  Zain pulled it off as Roman unfastened Zain’s jeans and tugged jeans and boxers down together, wrestling them over Zain’s feet.

  “What happened to your bathroom scenario?” Zain croaked.

  “We can do that another time. There are endless ways and places to fuck you. Right at this moment, I just want your cock in my mouth. I want to watch your face as you come. I want you to put your fingers on my cheek and feel yourself under my skin. I want to swallow your come.”

  Zain groaned. “Shut up or I’ll explode before my cock gets anywhere near your lips.”

  Roman laughed as he unfastened the buttons on his shirt. He slipped it over his shoulders, tossed it away and stripped out of his jeans. When he leaned forward and blew on Zain’s dick, Zain’s hips bucked.

  “Ahhh.” Zain shuddered.

  “Ten minutes and then you can come,” Roman said.

  “Then blowing on my cock isn’t allowed. Nor licking, kissing, sucking, mouthing, flicking, er… I’ve run out of verbs. No touching in anyway whatsoever. With anything. Also, no questions. No talking. No moving. No… Fill in this space.”

  Roman chuckled.

  “Definitely not that.” Zain shuddered. “Throaty chuckling is right up there with blowing. Hearing you laugh turns me on.”

  Roman grabbed Zain’s ankles, lifted his feet up onto the couch and spread him open.

  “Fuck! No looking… How could I forget that one?” Zain could barely speak. He wanted to squirm away in embarrassment.

  “You’re no fun at all.” Roman’s lips curved in a grin, then his smile slipped. “Are you okay?”

  “With you staring at my arsehole? No and yes. Yes and no. No and yes.”

  “I get the picture.”

  Zain smiled. “Yeah, you do.”

  “You think you could come without being touched?”

  “Yeah, it’s called premature ejaculation. Well, not really but…”

  “Have you ever stopped yourself right on the point of coming?”

  “Yes. Oh God. I said no touching. Didn’t I?”

  Roman was rubbing circles on Zain’s ankles.

  Zain groaned. “Do you ever do as you’re told?”

  “Sometimes. No touching your cock. I got that. But I can touch you everywhere else. You can’t change the rules now.”

  “Who says?”

  “Me,” Roman whispered. “You like making yourself come?”

  Zain whined. “I said no talking.”

  “And I told you I rarely do as I’m told. Tell me about a time when you stopped yourself on the point of coming,”

  Zain gulped as goose bumps raced down his legs. “My home…in Aleppo. Wasn’t big. I shared a sleeping space with Qash. Maybe I should call him that now. Qash. Doesn’t make him a different person. We didn’t share a bed. Just mattresses behind a curtain.”

  Roman kept his hands around Zain’s ankles while he rubbed his stubbly cheeks against the inside of Zain’s knees. Zain whimpered. He was in agony and ecstasy. Being played with was driving him crazy. Talking about Qash while Roman did this was messing with his head.

  “Talk to me,” Roman said.

  “The only time Qash left me alone for…any length of time…was when I was in the flat. We slept side by side. I couldn’t wank… Not while he was there. I didn’t want to. But I figured I could be quick when he was out. And silent.”

  Roman shook as he laughed. “Silent? You managed to be silent?” He licked Zain’s thigh. “None of those whimpers, moans, groans and little cries that I like so much?” Roman licked higher.

  Zain started to moan and snapped it off. Roman smiled.

  “You might joke but I had to be quick and not make a sound. Forget the fact that it’s frowned on in Islam, my mother and sisters weren’t far away. I shouldn’t have done it at all, I shouldn’t have wanted to do it, but sometimes… It was just too much to resist. Those few moments of bliss, coming out of my skin, not being in the world, letting myself go.”

  “Do you remember the first time you did it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It was before the war started. I was on my own in the flat reading one of my father’s medical journals. There was a photo of a naked guy. The first penis I’d ever seen other than my own and I started to rub myself. Kept rubbing myself and… I was shocked but it felt good. Until guilt rushed in. I lay there telling myself not to do again. Maybe only once a week, or twice. I was already destined for hell because I’d done it anyway. I lasted ten minutes before I did it again.”

  Roman laughed.

  “What about you?” Zain asked.

  “One of Dima’s porn magazines sort of…fell into my possession. I wasn’t interested in the women, but there were plenty of men to look at. I can’t tell you how long I kept that magazine and wanked off to it. But that first time, like you, I was shocked. But I felt no guilt about doing it again.”

  “I rarely got to the chance to make myself come, especially when we were in the midst of war. No one could relax. We were always on edge, even when we slept, half listening to the sounds of the planes. The moment you let your guard down, you were at risk. So jacking off, it was…a release, a brief moment of pure pleasure. I learned exactly what to do to come fast. Where to touch. How to hold myself. Perfect control with the reward of those seconds with no control. Only sometimes Qash returned before I’d…finished.”

  The sensation of Roman’s hair brushing the inside of his thighs sent rivers of fire racing along his veins, including the ones lacing his cock.

  “Keep talking,” Roman said.

  “I crushed my balls the first time.”

  Roman glanced up at him. “Christ!”

  “Amazingly enough that works to stop yourself coming. But the pain…” Zain winced as he remembered. “First and last time I did that. I was curled up with tears rolling down my cheeks when Qash pulled the curtain aside. There was a lot to cry about, so he wasn’t suspicious. Though he never cried. Not even when his parents died.”

  Roman kissed the inside of Zain’s thighs and every hair on Zain’s body prickled.

  “And?” Roman asked.

  “Squeezing the tip of my cock worked and I found if I pressed hard enough on my perineum, I could prevent myself coming.” He swallowed hard as Roman leaned up over him and only stopped moving when his mouth was a breath away from Zain’s lips.

  “Edging.”

  “It’s called edging?”

  Roman nodded.

  “When Qash lay at my side, coming was no longer an issue. He was the most effective blocker of orgasms. I just had to cope with an ache in my balls that stopped me falling asleep.”

  “What about when Qash was no longer around?”

  “When you’re struggling to survive, getting off is low on the list of priorities. For a long while, I didn’t think about sex. I didn’t even dream about it. Even when I reached the UK, it was all I could do to survive. Don’t imagine I lay in my room watching porn on my laptop. I didn’t. I worked, I studied. I clung with my fingertips to the life I’d made.”

  Roman’s Adam’s apple moved up and down.

  Zain hesitated but he’d said so much, why not tell the rest. At least some of it. “When you kissed me, it was the first time I’d ever been kissed.”

  “Oh God.”

  Zain could see realisation creeping over Roman.

  “When you told me to get on my knees and suck your cock, it was the first time I’d ever done that.”

  “Zain.” Roman exhaled his name.

  “First time I ever jacked off in front of a man was in front of you.”

  Roman sucked in his cheeks.

  “My first blowjob was for you. Almost everything is a first time for me. Talking like this. My first time. Being able to accept that… I’m gay. I climbed a mountain to reach that point.”

  “I… I’m sorry.”

 
Zain put his hand on Roman’s cheek. “A sorry I really don’t want to hear. What I want are more firsts with you.”

  Roman rearranged them on the couch so they were lying face to face, their cocks pressed alongside each other. He grabbed Zain’s wrist and pulled his hand between them. “Both of us together,” he whispered.

  “What do I win for coming first?”

  “We have to keep practising until we come at exactly the same time. Ready, steady, go!”

  Zain woke to a kiss and his eyes flew open. Roman leaned over him where he lay in the bed, at some point in the night they’d made it to somewhere comfortable. He was already dressed in his suit.

  “I have to go. I’ll be back by two. Same rules as yesterday. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Can you buy some more peanut butter?”

  “I did notice you’d emptied one jar and started on another. At this rate there’ll be a national shortage. Panic buying at the supermarket. We’ll be rationed.”

  Zain smiled. “Smooth not crunchy, please. And that same brand. It was delicious. I’ve only ever bought cheap stuff.”

  When Roman drew back, Zain caught hold of his tie and pulled him down.

  “I have to go.” Roman kissed him and tugged free.

  A lump developed in Zain’s throat as Roman left. Maybe telling him all that was too much despite what Roman had said. Zain wasn’t a victim, he refused to accept that he was, but he’d painted himself that way.

  He showered, dressed and made breakfast. As he sat watching the news on the TV, the intercom buzzed and made him jump. He switched off the TV. There was no requirement for him to even go and look who it was. No way would he open the door. No matter who was standing there.

  When Zain saw the figure on the screen, his heart skipped several beats. Qash stood staring into the camera as if he could see Zain. He couldn’t. There was no way Qash knew he was here but he carried on staring, then gave a little smile and some fucking idiot let him into the building. Zain rushed around putting everything back in its place. He hastily washed his breakfast plate and cup and slid them back into the cupboard. The bed was made. But he took his towel, his toothbrush and his shaver to the space under the stairs and closed himself away. Please don’t let me have missed anything.

  He was tempted to call Roman but when he thought through the consequences of that, he didn’t. Instead, he switched off his phone. He just had to hope—shit. There was a loud knock on the door of the flat. No way did Qash have a key but—oh fuck. The next sound was that of footsteps inside the flat and coming closer. Zain quickly slid across the bars that kept the section of stairs in place.

  When he registered there were two voices, he realised Dima was with Qash. He heard them walking around and there was a lot of muttering before Dima said, “His sax isn’t here. You’re sure you heard him playing last night?”

  “On roof.”

  “So where’s the way to the roof?”

  Zain was torn between not moving a muscle, and texting Roman. Not moving won. After several minutes, he heard tapping, then the unmistakable sound of the back of the closet swinging open.

  “Fuck me,” Dima gasped. “What the hell is this?”

  They walked over his head. Zain heard more exclamations and he guessed they’d gone onto the roof because he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Several minutes later, they came back down. Zain was muttering silent pleas. Don’t let them see anything different about the stairs, feel anything different, hear anything different.

  “He’s not here,” Dima said. “Satisfied now?”

  Qash didn’t answer.

  “I know you think it’s him and maybe it is but he’s not here. There’s nothing to show he was ever here.”

  Zain heard the pair of them leave the flat but he still didn’t move. He waited and waited until he was sure he was alone, then he pulled out his phone and sent a text.

  I’m hiding. Dima and Qash came into the flat. They found the stairs but not me. Gone now. I’m still hiding.

  Then he switched off his phone again. It was on silent but he found it hard to convince himself it wouldn’t make any sound.

  Chapter Twelve

  Roman had been horrified when he’d received Zain’s text telling him Dima and Qash had been in his flat. He wanted to race straight back but he couldn’t. He sent a text telling Zain to stay where he was and he’d there as soon as he could.

  But it wouldn’t be until after lunch because he was sitting with Arkady in a restaurant waiting for the arrival of a dealer in pricey musical instruments. When Roman’s phone vibrated again, he only just managed to stop himself starting. Please don’t be Zain this time. Arkady frowned when Roman took out his phone. Tough. But it wasn’t Zain.

  “I need to answer this,” Roman said. “It’s the police about my car.”

  They told him his car had been found burned out in Wandsworth. He made the right sounds of dismay and annoyance and thanked them. Roman was well aware car owners were prime suspects in the theft or destruction of their vehicles but that was usually when they needed the money. Roman didn’t. Or when there was something wrong with the car that they couldn’t afford to fix. The car was perfect. Or when they were trying to hide forensic evidence. Yeah, well they had him there. He was advised to get in touch with his insurance company. He already had. Committing fraud. But he had no choice. The littlest thing could trip him up.

  He put the phone away. He was relieved the plan had worked so far. Zain had stayed asleep last night while Roman slipped down to his car. It had been just before eleven. He’d checked to see if there was anything he wanted from it since he intended to be caught on camera at the front of the building, and picked up a spare shirt and shoes he kept in the boot. The only flaw in the plan was if the police asked why he’d not used the back way to the garage.

  “Everything okay?” Arkady asked.

  “The car is a burnt-out wreck.”

  “Good. I’ll buy you another.”

  “The insurance will pay. Eventually. Hopefully.”

  “Why would there be a problem?”

  “There shouldn’t be. There’s a known issue with keyless cars. Thieves can buy devices relatively cheaply that bypass the security system. I told the police I’d been down to the car to get something and it was probably taken within minutes of me doing that. But why torch a good car? The top end models are usually driven straight to areas near ferry ports and left to soak for a couple of days.”

  “Soak?” Arkady asked.

  “Abandoned to see if they attract attention before they’re loaded onto containers and shipped to countries like Ghana, Gambia and Nigeria. That mine was torched will raise questions.”

  “It’s destroyed. That’s all that matters. Ah, here he is.” Arkady pushed to his feet and Roman rose to his.

  Arkady shook hands with the grey-haired, middle-aged man whose face looked the same colour as his hair. Desperate, greedy? Or both.

  “Tomas, this is Roman, my right-hand man. Roman, this is Tomas Sienczak.”

  Roman shook the man’s clammy hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  They sat, ordered lunch and Roman listened to Arkady weave his magic. The premise was that a high-value violin would be ordered from the UK, but the instrument would only be worth a few hundred pounds. So money would be moved from Russia to the UK. It would also work the other way around. Once the deal was struck, Roman would handle all the details of the transaction.

  “Is it safe?” Sienczak asked.

  Roman wanted to laugh at the guy’s naïveté.

  “Nothing is completely safe.” Arkady shrugged. “There’s always an element of risk. High risk, high reward.”

  “Invoices and orders need to tally,” Roman said. “It’s wise not to be too greedy. A violin-mad customs official might take one look at the instrument and know there’s something wrong.”

  “But if the violin looks sufficiently aged…” Arkady kicked Roman under the table.

  “There’s always the possi
bility of an accident with something so fragile,” Roman said. “Then the insurance will pay out.”

  “A one off, if you like,” Arkady said. “Think about it.”

  Roman doubted it would be one off. Undervaluing and overvaluing imports and exports was too lucrative. Once Arkady had his claws in, he didn’t let go. But then neither did Roman.

  By the time they’d finished eating, Roman could see Sienczak had mentally spent the money. Arkady needed the reputable name of the guy’s business to hide his own activity and he’d got it.

  Faddei was waiting for Arkady outside the restaurant.

  “Need a lift?” Arkady switched to Russian.

  “Thanks, but I’ll get a cab. I’ve arranged for the insurance company to deliver a courtesy car. I need to get back.”

  “You’ve sorted out the painter for the Mayfair house?”

  “Starting tomorrow. I’ll be there much of the day going through everything.” Doing a lot more than that. “Sure you want the clothes and shoes taken to a charity shop?”

  “Yes. Let them benefit from extravagance.”

  “Can I too?”

  Arkady chuckled. “Why not? You might find something to Helen’s taste. Dima was very taken by your young lady. The assassin.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Helen has a strange sense of humour.”

  “Then you’re a good match. Thanks for dealing with your car.”

  Roman nodded. “Let’s hope it’s enough.”

  “Still no sign of the Syrian?”

  “It’s a waste of my time to look for him.”

  By the time he got back to the flat, Roman’s anxiety had rocketed off the scale. Zain hadn’t responded to his text and Roman was reluctant to text again. He had no idea what he was going to find when he walked in. He had the cab pull into the parking area under the building to drop him off hoping that the cameras hadn’t been fixed.

  The insurance company had left the BMW they’d promised in his parking spot and keys were in his mailbox. He’d called them from the cab to tell them the car had been destroyed and given them the number of the policeman dealing with the case. He knew it would take a long while to sort out and if there were any issues, Helen would deal with them.