by Katsura
That was true.
He really did always have Vinny.
Chapter Two
If you are trying to avoid something, like say for instance, you wish to lose weight and feel that to cut out chocolate would help you get into that size ten sooner, it is never wise to assume that you could sample some of the sweet confectionery and not want more.
Mikhail Majewski was the owner of a successful brothel and for most his life lived under the impression that there was really no such thing as love. Then straight out of the blue it seemed, he fell head over his fancy heels for Fergus Campbell, a local gangster who also happened to be married. Now, it did not bother Mikhail at all that Fergus was already taken, as although many men claim their marriage to be over whilst in the midst of starting an affair, for Fergus this age old excuse was actually true. Fergus was married to a neurotic young alcoholic named Hugo. A needy little psychopath with a penchant for meddling.
Perhaps bizarrely, Mikhail had a hand in the rescue of the relationship between Fergus and his husband. The brothel keeper found love to be such a stressful state of being and knew that Hugo needed Fergus more, so it had just seemed like the right thing to do.
But as he stood outside of Fergus’s club, The Flying Garter, he told himself over and over again, he was only there as a friendly gesture. He would see how Fergus was, ask politely after Hugo and then he would leave.
He lifted his chin resolutely, then hastily pulled an ornate little mirror from out of his pocket. He checked his features before he applied some powder to his already perfectly made up face. To describe Mikhail as effeminate would have been an understatement. He wore as much make up as a woman would, perhaps even a little more and arranged his platinum blond hair in angelic curls around his quite beautiful face. Today, much like all days, he dressed from top to toe in white. Even his high heeled boots were white, the gold buckles on the side of them an echo of the many gold chains that he wore and the multitude of pale jewelled rings on his fingers.
A few tentative steps brought him towards the door to the establishment, where Rasputin, Fergus’s bodyguard and doorman, opened it for him without his needing to knock on the red painted wood. Of course, a club owned by a Campbell would have security cameras trained on the entrance. So had Fergus observed Mikhail’s cautious arrival? He dearly hoped not. Rasputin was a fearsome looking individual with a long scar that ran up one cheek and straight though a rather milky looking useless eye.
Mikhail, however, had met him before and was not so taken aback by his appearance.
“Come on in, Mr Majewski.” The brutish sounding man held the door to let him pass and Mikhail walked into the club with as much confidence as he could muster. His heels clicked sharply on the dark wood of the floor, creating an assertive echo that in no way reflected how he actually felt.
Fergus sat at the bar with a newspaper in his hands, a coffee cup at his side. No steam rose from the cup so it appeared that he had let it go cold and Mikhail stared at him, battling with the urge to just to walk back outside again, climb into his limo never to return. Although he was without a doubt a violent man, Fergus was extremely handsome. He had dark collar length hair, grey eyes and naturally tan skin. A small amount of perfectly sculpted stubble accentuated his strong chin and framed his attractive mouth. He wore a crisp white shirt and Mikhail let out a helpless sigh as he noticed how the finely toned muscles of the broad back and arms underneath still showed through.
Clearly overhearing the sigh, Fergus turned his head a fraction. His eyes widened in recognition, then he turned fully, a warm smile on his lips. “Mikhail!” He got up from his seat and walked towards him and Mikhail had the sudden compulsion to embrace him but he knew that Fergus wouldn’t like that. Not such an open display of affection in a public place.
“Hello, Mr Campbell.” Mikhail extended his hand and as Fergus reached to clasp it in his own, the smile slipped from his lips.
His eyes betrayed a touch of sadness. “Mr Campbell is it now?” He nodded slowly and his fingers still held Mikhail’s in a gentle grip. “I suppose I really do deserve that.
So what can I do for you, Mr Majewski?”
Mikhail angled his head and looked at him sorrowfully. “No please, Fergus…I meant nothing by addressing you as Mr Campbell…I just…I was not so sure that you would want to see me and—“
“Mikhail, please.” Fergus took him firmly by the elbow and led him to the private office next to the bar. Even though Mikhail still felt rather awkward, he had an inward thrill at the touch of the other man’s strong hand.
As soon as they reached the privacy of the small room, Fergus first closed the door, then he took both of Mikhail’s hands and he held them in his own. “Do you know that I have been frantic with worry about you? Wondering why I didn’t hear from you? You just…you just decided yourself that you were going to leave me to Hugo and you never even wondered if that’s what I wanted?” He stared into Mikhail’s eyes, his expression one of obvious loss and Mikhail looked back at him imploringly.
“Fergus, it was for the best. Hugo needs you.” He wanted to continue but Fergus shocked him by allowing Mikhail’s hands to drop from his grip. Fergus began to pace around the room and Mikhail was unsure of what to do. At a zoo in Poland, Mikhail once saw a male cheetah that had been separated from its mate and newly born young.
The dangerous looking predator could see its family through the bars but could not touch them. Clearly this was a precaution in case the animal decided to kill the cubs.
Fergus reminded Mikhail of the poor creature as he prowled back and forth, his mind clearly in some kind of turmoil over their enforced separation.
“He needs me? You really think that he needs me?” Fergus raised his voice by a fraction but was obviously still wary about being overheard. “And what about what I need? Did you consider that when you were making your little plan?”
Mikhail felt deeply hurt, and maybe to save himself from falling to the floor, he walked over to the desk and sat down. His legs felt shaky with the sudden confrontation and he was sure that the trembling of his muscles was actually visible through his clothing. Mikhail had never liked arguments and usually tried to avoid them at all cost. Perhaps that was also one of the things that had led him not to fight for the love of Fergus. He would have had to stand up to Hugo. Despite having the appearance of an anorexic teenager, Hugo still managed to instil fear in Mikhail and no doubt in most people who had anything to do with him.
“I didn’t have a plan,” Mikhail said in a tremulous voice. “It is not that I thought, oh yes they are better off together, it is just…what would give me the right to put my feelings over Hugo’s?”
“Fuck Hugo’s feelings!” This outburst shocked Mikhail even more, as although Fergus really was a thug, he had always touchingly modified his language and behaviour for his genteel lover. Only once before did he let this pretence slip, whilst in a damp cottage in the middle of nowhere after he had been shot in the arm by a fugitive bank robber. “I’m going to be honest with you, Mikhail. Honest and selfish. I don’t give a shit about Hugo. He can rot in hell as far as I am concerned. It’s you I want. Don’t you see that? I don’t sleep around, Mikhail. I was faithful to him and intended to stay that way. That’s until you came along.”
He crouched in front of Mikhail and took both of his hands again. “Don’t you see that? Or did you think what we had was just sex?”
“No!” Mikhail shook his head emotionally. Of course he didn’t think that. The sex had been amazing and despite the situation that they were in right now, if he was being as honest as Fergus was, the thought of how beautifully their bodies fitted together was never far from Mikhail’s mind. But their relationship had been more than that. And again, with honesty, it still was. Mikhail loved the man that kneeled before him, his own soft fingers held in Fergus’s strong rough ones. He loved him so much he could cry that he’d had to give him up. To leave Fergus with Hugo seemed like the right thing to do at the time but n
ow, with Fergus only inches away, Mikhail felt astonished he ever thought that he could live without him. Never make love with him again. Never feel the touch of his powerful hands as they would brush over his trembling thighs.
“Then if you accept that it wasn’t just sex, you must know how I feel about you.
How these days without you have seemed like years. I answer my phone and I only want to hear that sweet accent of yours. I always walk home past your place, even though it adds ages to my journey and I have a perfectly good car. I walk so that I have the slim chance of seeing you again. Please, Mikhail.” Fergus’s eyes met Mikhail’s and their gaze locked. “I have never been good with words or expressing how I feel, but you must… you must know that I…”
He seemed to struggle to finish what he was trying to say.
I love you, Mikhail.
Was that what he wanted to say?
Mikhail reached up his hand and smoothed his fingers tenderly across Fergus’s lips and it was as though he could feel the words on his fingertips. The words that Fergus could not form as audible were tangible enough to be touched and felt by the gentle caress of his lover.
“I know you do…” Mikhail whispered. He slipped from the chair and into Fergus’s arms. They embraced, their mouths so close, the breath between them mingled and entwined in such a way that Mikhail wanted their bodies to be. Mikhail felt intoxicated and Fergus gazed at him before his lips brushed Mikhail’s mouth in a soft kiss.
This was the taste of chocolate that would knock Mikhail from his diet forever.
In a matter of moments the kiss had gone from gentle to passionate and with no trepidation about how the filthy floor would stain the beautiful white satin of his coat, Mikhail allowed himself to be laid back against the dust and balled up bookies slips.
They could have been leaves in the Garden of Eden, or rose petals on a bed, rather than the debris of many a fruitless bet. Mikhail was with Fergus again. The man of his dreams had slipped those hot lips from his mouth to his neck and Mikhail closed his eyes and wallowed in the shivers that movement sent through his entire body. He ran his hands ran down the tight muscles of Fergus’s back to his waist until he found the belt looped through the fabric of his trousers and he hastily unbuckled it. He slipped his fingers freely inside to touch the swollen and slightly wet head of Fergus’s now rigid cock.
“Mmm…please, Mika…touch me there. Let me feel your hand on me.” Fergus groaned deeply. “I’ve thought of nothing else since I last saw you…please…”
The plea was totally unnecessary as Mikhail’s mind had been similarly occupied and once he had wriggled his fingers fully inside Fergus’s shorts, he grasped the hard shaft he found there with a triumphant moan. What had that promise been about? What pact had he made? Mikhail really could not remember and nor did he care. As he worked his hand over the other man’s hot taut flesh, his mind flooded only with thoughts of how Fergus’s cock would feel thrust fully inside him.
Fergus raised himself and his lips parted from Mikhail’s skin. Mikhail allowed his fingers to slip from Fergus’s penis and rest on his thigh instead, but his eyes remained fixed on the glistening head of that beautiful member. A pearl of precum sat tantalisingly on the little slit there, just begging to be licked, but it appeared there was no time for this. Fergus spat on his palm, obviously eager to be inside Mikhail. With an expression of lust, his gaze shifted down to Mikhail’s face as he smoothed his hand up and down his cock to make himself more ready.
Mikhail’s cheeks burned. He gazed back at Fergus, unable to hide the need in his expression. No, their relationship hadn’t been all about sex but right now, it was clear that sex was what they each craved. Mikhail got up too and he kneeled in front of Fergus, then he began to fumble with his own trouser buttons. According to the very latest fashion magazines, a button down fly was a pretty fashion statement, but not so practical in the heat of passion. Mikhail got there eventually. Fergus gave a small laugh as he helped him with the fastenings, then he lowered the white fabric to reveal the lace underneath.
He kissed Mikhail’s lips and turned him, his face displaying more amusement as he pulled Mikhail’s frilly shorts down. “Wherever does a guy get lace boxers?” Fergus slipped one hand to grasp around Mikhail’s waist as he pressed the now slippery head of his cock against the tiny opening of Mikhail’s entrance. “No. Let it be a mystery.
Everyone needs a little bit of mystery…”
Unable to help himself, Mikhail fell forwards and remained propped on his hands and knees. His mouth opened wide as Fergus first entered him, then immediately thrust to work deeper into his eager body. That sweet pain of the penetration, a feeling that Mikhail had missed so much, when his muscles surrendered to allow the invasion of the hot hard shaft. The initial ache was carried away blissfully to be replaced by a glorious wave of pleasure.
“Oh, Fergus! God yes!” Mikhail cried out loudly.
Fergus slipped his hand from around Mikhail’s waist and pressed it against his lips instead, then he whispered hotly against Mikhail’s ear. “Shhh…” Fergus moved his hips rhythmically and Mikhail’s body gave a reciprocal twitch each time the cock inside him hit forcefully against just the right spot. “Someone will hear us…”
The breathed words coupled with the deep and intense movements within him caused surge upon surge of desire in Mikhail and he rocked his hips back, making a muffled moan.
Fergus kept one hand over Mikhail’s mouth and his palm stifled the powerless cries as he slipped his other hand lower and worked it over Mikhail’s stiffened cock. For a delicious moment they felt so moulded together it seemed they were one body. That Mikhail’s solid and wanting member, being brought so skilfully to the point of bursting, belonged to them both. Fergus was so deeply buried inside Mikhail that he now felt part of him.
Mikhail’s eyelids fluttered closed. He felt the wetness of his own saliva on the fingers that covered his mouth and he groaned deeply through them. There was no way he was going to be able to hold back the waves of his orgasm any longer and he whimpered helplessly as he struggled to open his eyes again. The fugitive seed of his cum hit a spot on the floor beneath the drinks cabinet and Mikhail stared at it in fascination. In rapid succession, his muscles clenched and relaxed around the cock now buried to the hilt inside him. Fergus shuddered against him. His head fell back while his release gushed forth into the depths of the blissfully clasped ring.
Mikhail bowed his head and he snapped a kiss after Fergus’s fingers when he slipped then from Mikhail’s lips to rest them on his waist. Mikhail straightened his body. They were still joined and lubricated more by his own cum, Fergus rocked his hips smoothly back and forth. He smiled when Mikhail leaned his head back against his shoulder. “Good?” Fergus whispered. He placed his lips on the hot flesh of Mikhail’s cheek.
“Very…” Mikhail replied, his voice so weak from pleasure that is was barely audible.
Fergus kissed his lips gently, then he held Mikhail’s chin, tilting his face so that he could look into his eyes. “I will never hear talk of you leaving me again, do you understand me?”
Mikhail nodded. There was no need for words. Wild horses could never drag him away from Fergus again. He would stay with him for always.
*
“Boss.” Rasputin opened the door to the office without so much as a knock, something which if he had done an hour or so previously, would have earned him a punch in his good eye. Fergus looked at him with irritation. “Someone here to see you.”
Mikhail was back so soon?
Fergus smiled and sat up straighter in his chair but before he could say show him in, Judas MacGregor walked into the office accompanied by Ewan, a failed ex-boxer who had lately become an almost permanent feature as Judas’s bodyguard.
A few minutes alone with Judas and you would realise why he needed one. He rubbed so many people up the wrong way that a good few of the local hoods would have been glad to see the back of him one way or another.
Judas
stood close to the door and looked around as though he owned the place, lighting a cigarette at his usual leisurely pace. Nothing rushed him. He seemed happy to stand there like a twat, ignoring any need for even a cursory “hello”.
Fergus took in Judas’s appearance derisively. He was, as always, dressed like a pimp, his eyes shielded by dark glasses. A long fur coat rested over his shoulders, something he wore even when it was hot enough to melt a witch’s tit. Ewan just looked the same ugly goon he always did, his salt and pepper hair worn in an old fashioned style that made Fergus think of an unattractive Brian Jones. Except that the long dead Rolling Stone had never walked about with his mouth permanently hanging open the way Ewan did. Maybe Ewan’s teeth were too large for his mouth but the whole gormless expression dragged his face down and made him look like a zombie, or a drug addict. Same difference really but as far as Fergus knew, Ewan was clean.
In contrast, there was no way that Judas MacGregor could be described as ugly but in all of the years Fergus had known him, he could never quite figure out why the man was such a hit with the ladies. Or with the men for that matter. He was arrogance personified. The type of guy you could never take home to mother as he’d likely hit on her. Still, this attitude had never seemed to hold Judas back. If there was a chick in the room, no matter how classy she appeared to be, and granted Fergus didn’t know much about women, guaranteed MacGregor would go home with her. Maybe not even as far as home either. Perhaps it was common for every guy to be walked in on once in their lives. Maybe twice if you were unlucky. Fergus had interrupted Judas, in flagrante delicto as it were, so many times that he had lost count. And when he said interrupted, Judas had never usually been thrown off his stride at all by the unexpected arrival of an audience. Just once when Fergus held a gun to his head. So that was what it took to stop MacGregor fucking. Threaten to shoot him.
Since the two former friends and now firm rivals had faced each other in a bitter and ultimately bloody showdown, they’d had little contact. It seemed when they left the rural setting for this long overdue confrontation, the uneasy truce that they had managed to carve was over. Fergus assumed as he had saved Judas from committing suicide in a draughty old barn, Judas would owe him a debt of gratitude. Judas obviously took a completely differently slant but Fergus couldn’t really care less.
