18

Julien pulled Ilya into his arms and kissed him. He felt a strange thrill at tasting himself on Ilya's mouth. Ilya groaned into him. The kiss calmed Julien. Having Ilya in his arms calmed him. His heart might still be pounding, but above the exhilaration and excitement, he felt the rightness of this. Kissing Ilya was…something special. Like being propelled down white-water rapids so his heart pounded out of control, or at this moment, more as if he'd jumped into a warm swimming pool and was allowing the water to close over his head, his senses overwhelmed in the best possible way.

That carefully constructed life he'd been living, while not the one he wanted, had been rattled hard and turned upside down, made into something that let him feel everything was worthwhile, that there was hope. Even though his head was telling him there was no real possibility of a future unless he was free—and he might never be free—Julien could no more have retreated from this than he could have stopped the tide coming in.

But…

It was time to tell Ilya the truth before neither of them could get back to the surface. He knew Ilya wouldn't walk—or run away. He also knew he should be persuading him that was exactly what he needed to do. But Ilya wouldn't let him do that. The thought brought a knot to his throat.

He washed Ilya, dried him, then himself, and led him to bed. Ilya snuggled up against him, the curve of his body settling to the shape of Julien's, his wet hair on Julien's shoulder.

Julien opened his mouth to tell him about his past when he realised Ilya was asleep.

The story could wait.

But Julien didn't sleep and when Ilya woke he knew he had to tell him before he lost his nerve.

"You look serious,"

Ilya whispered.

"I need to tell you about why I'm no longer a doctor, and about the bad things I've done."

Ilya tensed and tipped his head back to look at him. "One of those conversations where you have to kill me afterwards?"

"Yes."

"Go on then. But make it quick. Not the telling me, the killing me."

"You do know—"

Ilya kissed the words off his lips. "Of course I know. Just tell me."

"Three years ago, I was a junior surgeon in a Paris hospital with my life on track and my future mapped out. Then it came off track and I headed towards disaster."

Three years ago

Julien leaned back against the door of his apartment to close it, toed off his shoes and groaned. Much as he loved being a doctor, it was exhausting, especially at the weekends when young Parisiens seemed to get themselves into all sorts of ridiculous trouble. Though Paris, he supposed, was no different to any other city. Too much alcohol led to all kinds of stupidity. The worst incident tonight had been a twenty-year-old who'd impaled himself on railings as he'd tried to jump over them. He was lucky he hadn't killed himself. Or lost his cock.

He yawned as he headed towards the bathroom. He was more tired than hungry, so he'd sleep first, eat when he woke. He'd showered at the hospital so he didn't feel the need to wash again. As he emerged from the bathroom having cleaned his teeth, his phone rang. He took it from his pocket and groaned. He didn't really want to talk to his brother at this time of night…morning, but…

"Sébastien. What's up?"

"You have…to help us."

Julien was instantly wide awake. "What's wrong?"

"Been…attacked. Need…help!"

What the fuck? "Dial 17."

"Can't. No police. Come. Please. Need you. Need you. Need…you."

"Where are you?"

"My place. Oh God. So much blood."

Shit. "Press on the wound."

As he spoke, Julien was grabbing his stuff, shoving his feet back into his shoes and pulling out his car keys. "Keep talking to me. Tell me where you're injured."

At two in the morning, the traffic was light and Julien was there in eleven minutes. But the phone had gone dead about five minutes into the journey. Sébastien hadn't answered any further calls. Julien didn't let himself panic in his job, no matter what he found himself facing, but he was panicking now. Please let him be okay.

He ran up the stairs with his medical bag. The door was ajar. He saw the devastation and smelt the blood the moment he stepped inside. The couch had been overturned, and Sébastien and another guy were lying motionless in front of it. When he saw the amount of blood, his heart sank.

He dropped down at his brother's side. "Séb, je suis là."

Séb's face was splattered in blood and his lip was torn. There was a knife on the floor closer to his brother's hand than the other man's. What the hell had happened? They'd stabbed each other? He was checking Sébastien over when his brother opened his eyes.

"S…sssorry,"

Sébastien slurred.

"You need a hospital."

Julien regretted not calling for help as he drove instead of continually trying to contact his brother. He should have. What had he been thinking?

"Can't. Dangerous. Want me dead."

Julien called the emergency services as he assessed his brother's injuries. Shit. Then the other guy's. Oh fuck. As well as being beaten up, Sébastien had been stabbed in the chest and stomach. The other guy had a sucking chest wound, and cuts on his arms and hands. He moved between the two, doing his best to reassure them and stop the bleeding.

"Hang on,"

Julien said to his brother. "Don't you dare fucking die. Maman will kill me."

Sébastien just stared at him. "It hurts. Sorry. Help Abrek. Love him."

You love him? "I love you."

Julien choked up.

"His hand."

Sébastien tried to reach out and Julien realised what he wanted to do.

He lifted his brother closer to the other guy and Sébastien groaned.

"A…brek,"

Sébastien whispered.

Sébastien put their hands together and Abrek opened his eyes. Julien brushed the hair from his brother's eyes and held his other hand as his breathing slowed. Oh God. Don't die! But there was nothing Julien could do.

When Sébastien stopped breathing, he felt as if his own heart had ceased beating. How could this be happening? He tried CPR even though he knew it wasn't going to work, but finally, he sat back and groaned.

Abrek gasped and Julien moved closer to him. "Help's coming."

He was bleeding from the mouth which was never a good sign. Maybe from the back too but he wasn't going to move him to see.

"Brother."

Abrek's voice was so faint, Julien could barely hear him.

"Yes, I'm Sébastien's brother."

"No… Brother."

The guy's phone rang and he looked at Julien.

Julien pulled it from Abrek's pocket and swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Abrek?"

"He's been attacked."

Abrek didn't speak. He was struggling to breathe.

"Where is he?"

Julien gave the address as he put a tube in his chest to help him breathe.

"How badly hurt?"

"Very."

The sound of sirens filled the air. The guy groaned, then muttered something in a language Julien didn't recognise and the phone went dead.

Ilya clutched Julien's hand. "I'm sorry. That's just awful."

"I don't believe I could have saved either of them. If they'd been brought straight into hospital, just after they'd been stabbed, maybe Abrek could have survived, but… that wasn't what happened. I was still trying to save Abrek when the paramedics and police got there. He died moments later. My brother said he loved him. I'd never heard of him. I didn't even know Sébastien was gay."

He sighed. "If I'd thought watching my brother die had been heartbreaking enough, what followed wrecked my life in an entirely different way. Starting with my arrest."

Ilya's eyes widened. "Why did they arrest you?"

"First of all, for murder. Not just of Abrek, but my brother too. Seb had called me after they'd been attacked but I couldn't prove that was the case. I had no motive to kill either of them so the police tried to concoct one to do with me supplying them with drugs from the hospital. It was ridiculous. Then I was accused of just killing Abrek. Again, what motive did I have?"

"That wouldn't bother them."

"No. If I'd wanted to kill someone, I'd have picked a better method. One thrust with a knife in the right place would have been enough. Why would I have risked getting caught with their blood all over me."

Ilya squeezed his fingers.

"Finally, the police gave up on the murder charge, and I had about thirty minutes of relative relief until I was told it had been downgraded to manslaughter. It still made no sense. My brain was racing. I didn't know if the actual murderer was somehow trying to put the blame on me. Were the police complicit? Were Abrek's family pushing for me to be held responsible? I couldn't believe my parents would ever accept that I'd stab my own brother but…knowing they'd been told that…"

He swallowed hard.

"Then I was charged with medical negligence. Murder or manslaughter by a different name. By that point, I was in a state of shock. I couldn't take in any of it. Thinking straight was impossible. My parents were reeling, completely devastated. When I was told they blamed me for Sébastien's death, I broke. It was a lie to break me and it did. For a while I was just numb."

"How could you be blamed for that?"

"Abrek's family persistently claimed I'd lied about what help I'd given him. They said I'd chosen to help my brother over Abrek. They were determined to destroy me by one means or another."

He stared straight at Ilya. "I did look to help my brother first. At that moment in time, in that situation, I did the right thing. I assessed who needed help more urgently, and that was my brother. But I didn't neglect Abrek."

He closed his eyes. "A group of medical experts looked at all the evidence. Once it was decided that both Abrek and my brother might have lived if I'd summoned help as soon as I'd had the call, that was it. I ended up struck off the medical register. When I was told the decision, I remember thinking it serves me right. It fucking serves me right."

He opened his eyes. "The verdict wasn't unanimous, but once seeds of doubt are sown… I was deep into conspiracy theories by then. Had Abrek's family made sure I lost my license? Paid someone enough to swing the vote? But doubt is insidious and I began to think maybe the experts were right, maybe I'd not been thinking as clearly as I thought I had. Had I made a mistake? Missed something critical? I wasn't…myself. I wasn't sure I'd ever find myself again. My parents had relied on money from me to keep living in their house. I had no money. Worse than that, I had debts. Everything had gone on my defence, on a lawyer who didn't do a good job."

"So you turned to crime?"

"It wouldn't have been my first choice. But I was made an offer I couldn't refuse."

"By Abrek's family."

Julien kissed Ilya's head. "You see what's coming when I had no idea. Abrek was the youngest son of a Chechen gangster called Viskhan Lors. Lors told me that if I worked for him for three years, mostly as a doctor for those in his organisation who couldn't go to hospital or they'd be arrested, and occasionally as a thief, then he'd pay me enough for me to be able to continue to support my parents."

"If Lors really thought you'd let Abrek die, why didn't he just have you killed?"

"Borsha, Abrek's older brother, wanted me dead. If it had been up to him, that's what would have happened. I don't think I fully understood why Lors decided against it. Clearly, he would have been the most obvious culprit if I'd been killed but he could have made it look like a suicide or accident. Maybe he saw more value in keeping me alive for a few years. His people were always getting shot or stabbed and now he had someone in his pocket who could help. I even saved Borsha on one occasion. Maybe that was enough to make Lors keep me alive. When I took to theft so easily, he wanted me more and more for that."

"Why three years?"

Julien shrugged. "Long enough to feel like a punishment but so I had some hope of it ending? I don't know. I think Lors is the sort of sick bastard who enjoys playing with people. And when I showed I could do the job, in his own warped way, he was happy with me, even seemed to like me at times. Much to Borsha's disgust."

"All to help your parents."

"I had a duty to support them. I knew I wasn't going to like what Lors would want me to do and I was right. I told him I drew the line at violence. I said I wouldn't help with drugs, apart from helping those who'd overdosed, or get involved with people trafficking. God, there were a whole load of things I didn't want to help with but let myself get talked into. For more than two years, I lived in the south of France and patched up a lot of people who worked for him, including prostitutes he'd had beaten up."

"Well, that was doing good, wasn't it?"

"Practising medicine when I wasn't licensed? Not a good thing, but I figured they couldn't strike me off twice. Stealing worried me more. Lors thought I had the right look, and I turned out to be good at it. I've stolen jewellery, paintings, an orchid, a car, a cat, medals, a musical instrument. I have a feeling they were just personal things for Lors."

"Not business stuff."

"Mostly not, but sometimes… Once, he asked me to take a child. I refused. He painted a picture of a father deprived of access to his child by a vindictive wife. I still said no. There was a fire at my parents'. A garage damaged. A car destroyed. I still refused. But he made it clear that the next thing he asked me to do was non-negotiable or one of my parents would die. I could choose which one. I would have to choose or he would."

"Oh my God."

Ilya was horrified.

He swallowed hard. "I did all I could to protect my parents. I manufactured a dislike of them to try and keep them safe. I didn't go and see them very often. I couldn't risk telling them what I was doing. They think I don't forgive them for that brief moment when they blamed me for my brother's death, but I understood. There was nothing to forgive."

"What a mess. I don't know how you coped."

"What choice did I have? The non-negotiable job was to transport a large amount of currency. I had to agree. I thought my heart was going to explode. But I'd made a deal with the devil. If I betray him or walk away before the three years are up, he'll have one of my parents killed. Or both."

"Three years."

"Which are up in one month."

"And you think—"

"No, I don't think he'll let me walk away. Borsha definitely won't. He loathes me. He can't stand the sight of me."

Ilya wrapped his arms around him. "So what's your plan?"

Julien gave a short laugh. "What makes you think I have one?"

"You do. You're clever. You think ahead. What are you going to do when the time is up?"

"If I could persuade my parents to move house, they might be safer."

"Which I'm guessing is something they won't want to do. But if they knew—"

"I can't tell them. As I told you, they think I'm working in insurance. We speak occasionally, but they're not going to move from the house they've lived in since they were married, the house where they brought up me and my brother."

"I'm guessing they're not going to be happy if they discover you like guys."

"One guy."

Ilya mock-glared. "Who's that?"

"Some brat."

"Ah, so you're not going to take me to meet them anytime soon and say—This is Ilya, my incredibly handsome boyfriend who gives out-of-this-world blowjobs?"

"Not in quite those words."

But Julien managed a smile.

"I don't mind being a dirty little secret."

"I mind."

"But coming out is a big thing and you're old."

"Watch it!"

Ilya kissed Julien's shoulder. "Do things at your speed, not anyone else's. The way you want. You're new to this. It's a lot to deal with."

Who did he have to come out to, apart from his parents? His friends had either deserted him or he'd pushed them away. He'd wanted to hide his new life from his old. Having a relationship with a guy wasn't as much to deal with as Ilya thought. He had no one to tell. Just his own heart.

"Did the police ever discover who killed your brother and Abrek?"

"No. They had a witness to a motorbike being driven away at speed from close to the apartment just before I arrived, but it was never traced. I'm not sure how hard they tried because once cocaine was found in the apartment, they decided it was a drug deal gone wrong. There was no trace of drugs in the bodies of Sébastien or Abrek.

"I just don't believe Sébastien would either take drugs or sell them. He was training to be a vet. It was all he'd ever wanted to do. Abrek was part of a Chechen gang. There's a lot of tension between Chechen refugee gangs and Algerian drug lords in France. Lors has forced his way to the top. I don't even know how Sébastien could have met Abrek, what they could have had in common."

"They were gay."

Ilya shrugged. "A kiss in a club could have led to love. It has to start somewhere. You can't assume your brother was part of whatever Abrek's family had going on. Maybe Abrek wanted no part of his father's world. Just like me. Some fathers don't listen to no."

"Some fathers just don't listen."

"But would Abrek's father have had him killed because he was gay? Why do all this to you if that was the case?"

"I don't think Lors would have ordered that his son had to die but maybe Sébastien and Abrek got in the way of something gang related? I've run through so many possibilities over the years. It's difficult to accept that I'll never know the truth."

"And I've added to the complications in your life."

"I'm not sorry I met you."

"Is that like saying I'm so glad I met you?"

Julien ran his finger over Ilya's lips. "You'd have been better off not knowing me."

"I'll be the judge of that. Thank you for telling me about your brother and the rest."

Julien nodded. "I need to get in touch with Lors. He'll be suspicious that I've left Battersea and that I'm not using the car. I'll need to drive back to London. I don't want to risk him tracing the call to this area. I'll go tomorrow. You need to stay here."

"I want to go with you. I can look after you. I can be good. I'll keep quiet. I promise. Don't leave me."

Julien shut him up the only way he knew how, by twisting round and kissing him, slow and hard and deep, and any noise Ilya made was incomprehensible. And when he licked his way over Ilya's chin and down his chest, the sounds turned to pleading and swearing, and Julien loved that he could do that to him.

He shoved off the covers as he moved down the bed, then put his hands on Ilya's legs to push them apart before landing a flurry of kisses on the inside of his thighs. He'd never been this close to another guy's cock before. Not even his own. He wasn't that flexible. He knocked away Ilya's hand when he reached for himself and just…looked at him. All of him. At his unblinking eyes, his part-open mouth, his tight little nipples, the rise and fall of his chest, his belly button, his dick, how hard it was, the way the veins snaked down his length, the dampness at the head…

Ilya shuddered. "Stop teasing me."

"I'm only looking at you."

"Precisely. Stop looking and do something."

Julien slowly licked from Ilya's balls to his tip, the tang of precome making his mouth water. Ilya had resorted to saying oh God, oh God, oh God over and over. He touched Julien's head, then dropped his hands to his sides and clenched his fists, before his hands crept back again, pressing into Julien's skull, and all the time, Julien kissed and licked his dick. I can do this. I want to do this.

Before he lost his nerve, he took him as deep as he could into his mouth, wondering at the heat of him, wondering if he'd gag but he didn't. He slid his tongue around the head, then dropped his mouth down again, wanting to engulf all of him. He pulled back to breathe, then did it again and again until he found there was no further to go. His fingers were in the seam of Ilya's arse and he pulled him onto his face.

Ilya was still muttering oh God over and over, then gasped "I'm close,"

before he started again with the oh Gods. Julien wanted to make Ilya come with just his mouth. He moved faster, sucked just at the head, licked around the ridge, and Ilya went quiet before he let out a strangled gasp as he started to come. Can I let him spill in my mouth? Julien didn't pull away. The taste was sort of bitter but not unpleasant and he kept his mouth around him and swallowed until Ilya had stopped coming.

He crawled up to lie next to Ilya and a hand slid into his.

"Wow,"

Ilya said.

Julien smiled. "Have I rendered you speechless?"

"Almost. Who'd have known I was such a good teacher!"

"You really are."

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Julien's heart jumped into his throat. He knew it couldn't physically do that, but it was exactly what it felt like.

"You can if you want,"

Ilya whispered. "I can get myself ready. You don't need to do that part. All you need to do is put on a condom and cover it with lube. You don't have to bother with a condom if you don't want to. I trust you. I'm fine. My father had me tested after he dragged me back to the UK. I did wonder what he'd have done if I hadn't been okay. But I'm always careful. I've never had sex without protection. What about you?"

Julien's heart was still stopping him from talking.

"Sorry. You don't have to. Any of it. Am I pushing too fast? I could just use my mouth on you again, if you want. But fucking a guy's not difficult. Though you need to take it steady with me at first because I haven't had anything up my arse for quite a while. Definitely not a bottle of ketchup. Or a cucumber. I swear. Honestly."

Julien's laugh unblocked his throat. Coming three times in one night? How long since that had happened. But… "Go and do what you need to do,"

he managed to say.

When Ilya had disappeared into the bathroom, Julien did what he needed to do too. He grabbed a condom and put it on because it was too soon to do this without protection. Ilya came back with lube and Julien smeared it over his cock.

"How much is too much?"

Julien asked.

"Lube's like chocolate. No such thing as too much unless it's all over us and we're squirming around like mud wrestlers unable to get a hold on each other."

Ilya got onto all fours in front of him and leaned over so his arse was in the air. Now it was Julien who was muttering oh God, though only in his head. He wrapped his arms around Ilya's skinny body and dragged his fingers down and over his hips.

"You're gorgeous,"

he whispered.

"You say all the right things. Sometimes."

Julien took a deep breath and pressed his cock against the puckered entrance to Ilya's body.

"Okay?"

Julien asked.

"Yes. Peachy. Or is that my backside?"

"It's very peachy."

Julien didn't have to push hard to slide just inside, and he groaned at the pinch around his cockhead. So tight. Even thinking about that pressure around his cock brought him to the edge of release.

"Ah…ah,"

Ilya gasped. "Now you need to wait seventeen seconds."

Julien laughed. "Why seventeen?"

"My favourite number. Okay. I'm fine."

Julien began to inch into him as slowly as he could. The pressure and heat around his cock was almost overwhelming. Then Ilya squeezed his muscles around him and Julien was the one gasping.

"Won't break,"

Ilya blurted. "You're not as big as a cucumber. Thank fuck. Well, most cucumbers. Probably some huge ones out there."

Julien laughed and managed a few gentle slides that quickly shifted to longer, deeper strokes. Ilya changed the angle of his hips and then groaned with the next penetration, his breathing reduced to harsh, short pants.

"There,"

Ilya exhaled the word. "That's where it feels the best. Keep doing that."

"For seventeen seconds?"

"Aim for an hour. And I'm timing you."

Julien pushed hard and shoved him part-way up the bed.

"Oh God,"

Ilya gasped. "You feel so good."

Julien leaned over, nuzzled his neck, and when Ilya turned his head, they kissed. The bed was creaking, Ilya was making all these noises, and Julien kept driving into him, the rhythm perfect, his body overwhelmed with sensation, until it overflowed and his world exploded in a shower of sparks.