The Professor's Green Card Marriage

by Heidi Cullinan

  Peter’s heart melted. Please, it’s okay, he whispered to his nervous self. It’s okay to try this with him. Maybe it won’t work, but maybe it will. Please, let him be an exception.

  He kissed Valentyn lightly on the lips, shut his eyes, and let the words float to the top of his throat. “I like you,” he whispered, so soft it might as well have been breath.

  “ vìd tebe boževolìû.” Valentyn traced Peter’s nose. “I’m crazy about you.”

  I love it when you speak Ukrainian to me. Peter wanted to say it, tried, but it didn’t work. That was okay. He could feel the door opening.

  Soon. He’d be able to tell him soon.

  They kissed and fumbled with each other all the way up the stairs, and before they entered the bedroom, Peter gasped as Valya pressed him against the wall, lifting him from the floor as he plundered Peter’s mouth and ground their erections together.

  “I’m going to mark your skin everywhere.” Valentyn licked at Peter’s throat, sucking gently. “You’ll look in the mirror and know you’re mine.”

  Yes. Peter wanted that more than anything. He couldn’t say that, but he did let himself gasp, sigh, and once, moan. It only frightened him a little to think Valentyn could hear his ugly sounds.

  He doesn’t think they’re ugly, he told himself gently. You can learn to like them too.

  For a moment he thought they might have sex against the wall, which wasn’t a terrible prospect, but when Peter started to tug on Valya’s shirt to slide it off his shoulders, Valentyn groaned and pulled him in close. Stumbling and breathing hard, he carried Peter to the bed. After tossing Peter down into the softness, Valentyn tugged off his clothes, never looking away from Peter’s face.

  “I want to do this every day.” Valya balled up his shirt and sent it toward a chair before starting on his trousers. “I want to teach you to drink with me, and then when we’re both drunk, I want us to do depraved things to one another, enough that when we’re sober in the morning, we blush.” Stepping out of his pants, he put his knees on either side of Peter and loomed over him, eyes wild. “Is that too much to tell you? Do I frighten you? Do I disgust you?”

  You thrill me. To let him know, Peter took gentle hold of his balls, kneading them.

  Valya’s eyes drifted half closed, and he ran his hand up Peter’s body to capture a nipple. “This feels like a dream. When you’re not with me, I’m afraid I’ve invented you. I fear this can’t be real, that I only want someone like you to be with me. I worry… I worry about so many things. But I also want you, Peter.”

  Peter bit his lip, but he didn’t look away from Valya.

  Valentyn pressed their bodies closer, sucked softly on the tip of Peter’s nose. “Come shower with me. Then lie on the bed and let me lick inside you before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk.”

  Heat pooled in Peter’s belly, spreading through him like honey until it reached his throat. “Yes.” He closed his hand over Valya’s cock. “Valechko.”

  Chapter Eleven

  THE first time Valentyn had sex with a man, he vomited afterward.

  Not until he’d left—which he’d done against the man’s urging that he stay. In hindsight, Andrjùša had been a kind, good man Valentyn would have been lucky to have in his life. But Valentyn had been young, barely seventeen, and he still had his uncle’s—his entire family’s—damnations of his kind in his head. During sex, Valentyn lost himself to pleasure, and afterward, his doubts and fears washed over him, and he felt wretched.

  This had been the pattern until he traveled abroad and lived in the United States. Until places like New York, San Francisco. The Florida Keys. Until a veritable fleet of men told him, with their mouths, hands, and whole bodies, that he was one of them, that he had a place to be. Until he was so changed that he went home and knew he had to leave, whatever the cost.

  Yet home stayed with him no matter what he did. Sex was easy. Relationships were impossible. He was moody, his partners told him. Reserved. Closed off. To his shame, he’d cheated on several of them. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself from being the monster his uncle had seen in him that hot summer day.

  Was it fair to Peter, to let him be with such a man? Peter deserved so much better; that was absolute. Peter shouldn’t be with someone as broken as Valentyn Savvich Shevchenko.

  But I want to keep him with me anyway. The thought, monstrous and wild, stilled Valentyn’s black heart, his whole body.

  Peter, drying himself with a towel, regarded Valentyn quietly.

  Outside of those few words he’d spoken downstairs, he still hadn’t said much of anything, though sometime during the day he’d begun making regular eye contact, and after the vodka, Peter had more expressions on his face. Valentyn hadn’t realized how enticing it was to watch someone bloom slowly before you. It was another sign of how terrible he was that he wanted it to keep going slowly. He wanted to earn the spark in Peter’s gaze, to watch it smolder. Each time Peter spoke, even in a whisper, it rang in Valentyn’s head, made him feel more worthy than any accolade he’d ever received.

  How awful, that he made Peter’s struggle to find speech about him. But was this a surprise? He’d always known he was terrible, deep down.

  Except when Peter touched him, when Peter held his hand, when he kissed him—during those times, Valentyn didn’t feel anything but good.

  I want to marry him and feel this way all the time. The hot, selfish desire swelled in him, flashing bright before shame pulled it back.

  Peter touched his face. He looked concerned.

  Now it was Valentyn who couldn’t meet his gaze. “Sorry. I think I had just enough vodka to make me brood.” When Peter only continued to regard him with confusion, so sweet and soft, Valentyn decided he should tell the whole truth. Suffer. Let him know who you are. “You deserve someone better than me.”

  Peter’s gaze turned quietly flinty. Cupping Valentyn’s chin in his hand, he said, quietly but firmly, “No.”

  Even the thrill of hearing Peter speak couldn’t gentle him. “You’re so young and perfect. You deserve someone happy, unburdened. I’ll taint you.”

  Peter’s gaze cut away, his face stony. Except Valentyn knew this look now. Peter desperately wanted to say something but couldn’t. Before Valentyn could speak again, though, Peter took his hand and led him out of the bathroom. Both of them naked, Peter took them down the stairs and back to the kitchen, where he poured two healthy glasses of vodka, then knocked his back. He pressed Valentyn’s into his hands as he sputtered a protest.

  “I… I didn’t mean….”

  Peter shut his eyes, focusing hard. Then he opened them and looked Valentyn directly in the eye. “Drink.”

  God help him, Valentyn did. First one glass, then another. Once he set it down, the burn filling him, he touched Peter’s face. “What if I’m mean to you? What if I hate myself too much and try to drive you away? Because that’s all I’ve ever done.”

  Peter shook his head. He was desperate to speak. He couldn’t. It made Valentyn ache and swell. It felt like someone was in the darkness with him. It felt hedonistic. It felt dangerous.

  Let him see your darkness, then, and drive him away.

  Except Valentyn was too drunk to organize himself properly, and he wanted Peter too much. He couldn’t push Peter away. He could only peel back his dirty wants and let them be seen. “Every time I look at you, part of me wants to fuck you. Your mouth is a ripe peach, and I want to eat it. Suck on your lips until they’re lush and swollen.” He ran his thumb crudely across the lips in question, imagining the pad of flesh between his teeth. “Every part of you is delicious. I want to mark your neck again. I want to nip your nape as I fuck into you, pushing your shoulders down so you can’t move.”

  His hand had cupped Peter’s cheek sometime during this lewd confession. Peter shut his eyes and sank into the touch.

  Valentyn sucked on the lobe of his ear. “I want you on your knees in front of me. I want to look at you, open and quiveri
ng for me, and then I want to mark you there too. With my tongue. With my teeth. I want you to cry out from pleasure, your knees to turn to pudding as I ravish you.”

  Peter’s fingers dug into Valentyn’s hair.

  Closing his eyes, Valentyn let himself fall into his desire, let it spill from his mouth. “I want to fuck your mouth, you gazing up at me as I tug on your hair. I want you flushed and naked in my bed, begging me with your mouth, your eyes, your entire being. I want you insensate for me.”

  Peter made a squeak, then turned his head to nip the top of Valentyn’s ear. “Yes,” he whispered.

  “I want you to wake up beside me in the morning and be soft for me.”

  “Yes.”

  Valentyn buried his face in Peter’s neck. “I want to be soft for you too.”

  Peter nuzzled him and tugged him closer.

  Valentyn broke. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Peter was kissing his neck now, making his way down Valentyn’s collarbone.

  Valentyn groaned. “We need to go upstairs or we’re going to fuck in the kitchen.”

  Peter dragged himself back to Valentyn’s mouth, fucked inside with his tongue. Then he broke away, and with a grin, grabbed both the bottle of vodka and Valentyn’s hand and tugged him toward the stairs.

  He pushed Valentyn onto the bed, straddling him with the vodka bottle in his hand. Blushing, breathless, beautiful, he drizzled a thin trail of alcohol down Valentyn’s chest to pool at his groin. Keeping his bright eyes on Valentyn, Peter licked his way after it, until he was at Valentyn’s cock. Then, after setting the bottle on the night stand, he gripped Valentyn with both hands and closed his mouth over him.

  Valentyn hissed, resisting the urge to fuck into the warmth. With a shaking hand, he took hold of Peter’s hair. “You look good with my dick in your face,” he told him in Ukrainian. A hot thrill rushed through him as Peter reacted to the words. Valentyn gave him some more. “Suck me harder, koshenya. Take me inside until I choke you.”

  He couldn’t hear the moan, but he felt it reverberate around his dick. Valentyn took tighter hold of Peter’s hair and pushed him in closer.

  “Are you my dirty boy?” Valentyn wrapped a leg around Peter, massaged the soft meat of his butt with his heel. “Do you like sucking me, sweet kitten?” He said all this in Ukrainian, letting every bit of lewdness he felt seep into his tone. Peter sucked harder, spittle dripping around Valentyn’s dick. Valentyn pushed harder with his foot. “I like this, but I want to play with your hole. Have a little more, and then it’s your turn to be eaten.”

  When he was in danger of coming, Valentyn pulled Peter off and lifted him up for a kiss. Peter was dazed, his lips swollen and stiff. Smiling, Valentyn spoke in English this time. “Do you like my big cock, Petrush?”

  Peter nodded and bit Valentyn’s lip.

  “Are you filthy like me, koshenya?”

  “Yes,” Peter whispered.

  “Then get on your knees for me and spread your legs.”

  Peter went obediently, eagerly, tipping his ass up and glancing over his shoulder at Valentyn.

  Valentyn brushed his thumb over the wrinkled bud. “Do you want me to talk dirty to you in English, or Ukrainian?”

  Peter’s eyes glazed over. He didn’t need to speak for Valentyn to know he was conflicted.

  Valentyn grinned and rubbed intently at Peter’s perineum. “Perhaps both?”

  Nodding, Peter hung his head again.

  After taking a swig of vodka, Valentyn grabbed Peter’s cheeks and began to knead. “Your skin is so soft,” he said in English. “But you have a little mole here. I want to suck it off.” He nipped at the inside of Peter’s cheek, then ran his tongue down the length of his crack. “You taste good, my little peach. I want to eat you up. Nibble inside you. Suck out your juices. Fill you up with more.”

  Peter’s legs quavered.

  Valentyn pulled Peter’s cheeks wide, blew softly on his opening. “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue now,” he said in Ukrainian, and Peter trembled again, though that was nothing compared to when Valentyn pushed his tongue at his hole, demanding entrance. He sucked and licked at the muscle, occasionally pausing to tease it with the tip of his nose as he spoke, still in his native tongue. “So sweet. I’m going to stretch you open slowly, until you have no choice but to come for me.”

  Peter whimpered, and when Valentyn sucked hard at his flesh, gasped. He pushed back into Valentyn’s face, desperate for more.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Valentyn said in English when Peter’s legs started to buckle. “Roll onto your back and lift your ass for me.”

  Trembling, Peter did as he was told. He looked so wrecked, so ruined as he tipped his ass toward Valentyn.

  Valentyn cupped his flesh again, working his thumb inside the wetness. “So beautiful. Would you like to ride, mylyy? Or do you want me to hold you down and fuck into you?”

  Shutting his eyes, Peter bit the back of his hand. His whole body was flushed and weak.

  Valentyn sucked at him a little, then laved his balls and the length of his cock. “I could fuck you until your eyes watered. Until you were boneless. Until you could only think about how deep I was inside you.”

  With a desperate groan, Peter nodded, still biting his hand.

  Valentyn sucked Peter as he swiped the lube from the nightstand and worked two fingers inside, loosening Peter everywhere. “I’m going to break you into pieces,” he whispered in Ukrainian. “I’m going to make you mine and only mine.”

  Gurgling, Peter let his legs fall apart wider and clutched at Valentyn’s head.

  When Valentyn finally began to push inside him, he had Peter’s legs over his shoulders, their bodies so close Peter was folded practically in half. Peter had his mouth open, his hands on Valentyn’s ears.

  Valentyn sucked on Peter’s bottom lip. “You are very sexy.” He said it in Ukrainian.

  He fucked Peter slowly, knowing it was making his lover crazy, knowing that meant the moment would last even longer. He didn’t speed up until Peter turned into a desperate animal in his arms, bucking and making pleading sounds. As he built up the pace, he spoke again, this time in English so Peter felt every word.

  “You were made for my cock. Feel me so deep inside you. Your heat is delicious. I never want to leave your body. Take more of me, Petrush. Take me until all you can think of is being fucked by me.”

  Growling, Peter lifted his head and sank his teeth into Valentyn’s shoulder.

  They became wild creatures, Valentyn snapping his hips hard and fast, Peter feasting on Valentyn’s neck as if he could suck him inside out. There would be marks, some of them too high to hide.

  That’s right, my kitten, mark me as yours. But he couldn’t say this out loud, because now even he was beyond words.

  He filled Peter when he came, grinding hard into him to push as much of himself inside the man beneath him as he could. He kept himself inside until well after Peter climaxed, softening inside the heat of him, leaving his own trail of lips and teeth along Peter’s throat.

  “Stay with me,” he whispered in Ukrainian, as the old habit of shame tried to close around him. He clutched Peter tighter, not wanting to be torn away. “Please, don’t go.”

  Wrapping his arms and legs around him, Peter held him tight.

  Chapter Twelve

  FROM: pgrunbergfortheplanet@gmail.com

  To: valyashevchenko@gmail.com

  Subject: you’re really good in bed

  Dobyĭ vechir!

  I hope that’s an appropriate greeting. You’ll have to let me know.

  The subject line isn’t a lie, though it is an understatement. I’m still thinking about last night. And this morning. The only problem is my cousins noticed the hickeys and asked me what happened. I think we need to have a conversation about appropriate marking. Though at the same time, I like them.

  Anyway. I do have a small complex about this and want to be up front. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t say I was
good in bed as a line, but if I’m disappointing you in a way—I feel like I must be—let me know and I’ll do my best to correct. I say this because everyone I’ve been to bed with has agreed I suck at fucking. In the spirit of pragmatism, though, I’d like to course-correct, so just let me know.

  I really want to have another date with you. I want to see you every day.

  God, there’s so much I want to tell you every time I’m with you, but now that I’m writing, all I can think about is you fucking me.

  Umm… so about the Sliding In thing. I don’t want to pressure you, but basically I’m ready to try whenever. You probably want to meet my aunt first. I mean, you can meet my uncle too, but my aunt will do the actual Sliding In. So maybe sometime this week we can get together? For coffee or tea or something? Maybe not vodka, though she’d like it, I think. I just… have this super-strong association with vodka now.

  Anyway. I’m going to lie on my bed and hold my dick while thinking about you whispering naughty Ukrainian things in my ear.

  They were naughty, right? They had to be. They sounded fucking filthy.

  Love,

  P

  FROM: valyashevchenko@gmail.com

  To: pgrunbergfortheplanet@gmail.com

  Subject: You are also good in bed, koshenya.

  I’d like to congratulate you on making me spit out my tea onto Dennis. This happened when I read the part in your email where you said you were bad in bed. We’re at the coffee shop, and I’m having tea because you’re not here to make me a breve.

  Nothing about your performance in bed, or the shower, or the hallway, or the kitchen, or the living room, or the coffee shop, was lacking in any way. You’re staggeringly sexy, and I agree that it’s difficult to form sentences because I keep thinking about the way your ass feels in my hands and the way you clench your muscles around my cock. Or the way you sometimes make little moans.