UNSPOKEN [NSFW]

He should clock this bastard on the dick. Nothing about this situation was normal, and part of himself was still insisting this was merely the withdrawals. However, deep inside that solid pit of his stomach, Matt wondered if this was some kind of sick coping mechanism. 

Losing Cifer the way he had, as abruptly as it was, profoundly fucked Matt up. Maybe in ways he never quite realized. Even now, with sizzling fingers sliding through his wet locks and the tip of the other alpha's cock against the edge of his lips, he couldn't pull away.

Head swimming with the other man's scent, his Adam's apple bobbed. "... Only to get you off my ass."

"Good girl."

"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not a—" a cock pressing itself against his open mouth shut him up with a startled, hazy choke. 

"Less bitching."

Matt had been about to bite down when the taste hit him; it consisted of everything Cifer smelled like, and more. Ephemeral sweetness overwhelmed him with a lewd ache. The pre-cum painting his lips with a wet sheen transformed into the otherworldly, addictive taste of home. It reminded him of summer on the beach at the orphanage, dancing by the fire they and their friends started. 

The flavor of freshly roasted treats over wood they'd gathered from the area was so hyper specific that, as Matt subconsciously opened his mouth to take more of it in, he thought he was hallucinating. The firmness of Cifer's presence made his heart ache for the simpler days of childhood nostalgia, long before his deployment to the war. 

"Shit—wider. Tilt your head up."

Cifer's words mattered very little, considering the man affirmed his grip in Matt's hair before tugging it back enough for the monster to start languidly fucking himself down Matt's throat. Unprepared for such an unnatural intrusion, one of his hands flew up to grab the cock and prevent it from choking him out. 

The dark-haired swallowed back an inexperienced gag and tried to narrow in on breathing through his nose. 

"... If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've never blown anyone before."

Sharp eyes glowered up at the abs and chest, blocking his view of Cifer's face. The blond strained against his own flexed muscles and eased up on Matt's hair. 

"What, seriously?"

He faintly wondered what part of I'm highly infectious with a fatal disease and therefore haven't even kissed anyone before didn't this prick get? 

Hypnotic stupor crumbling in the wake of that thought, Mattias started pulling away when Cifer tightened his fingers around his hair again. 

"No take-backsies in this house~." 

So immature. His spare hand came up to clap Cifer's stomach. Cifer clenched up under the unexpected touch, bursting into a jock laughter that reminded Matt of days gone past. It also seemed as though they were rapidly switching between English and Russian. It was giving him a resentful headache.

Matt's own neglected cock was starting to get painful, but that was a sensation he was far used to. Impatience bled from Cifer's every pore as he started shallowly rolling his hips, spreading the man's slick over Matt's tongue as it worked his jaw open. At first, it was a little difficult to breathe, but the intoxicating taste had his dark eyes locked with Cifer's knot as the man started thrusting in deeper. 

Each violation of his manhood pushed his alpha into a deeper rage—and yet, it sent pangs of electric pleasure building up inside his own knot. By the time Cifer could fuck himself down Matt's throat properly, the smaller alpha wasn't able to prevent himself from spreading his digits over the blunt head of his own length. 

"Fuck, I knew you'd get off on this," Cifer said. The man's chest was rising and falling rapidly, each muscle on his body taking its turn rolling under his pale skin with every sensual slide of his hips. 

All of this is wrong. It's so extraordinarily fucking perverse, on every conceivable level. Yet all it did was make Matt's cock drip with blackened shame that stained the tiles under it as he started massaging himself in tandem with every move Cifer made. Shit, he really should get his act together, kill the traitor, and get the fuck out of here. 

But that thought withered when Cifer started fucking himself down Matt's throat even deeper and he needed to focus on not suffocating or reacting harshly. The slippery feel of his silken, yet stiff cock somehow blocked his inner alpha from breaking the twisted trance they were in. 

The war veteran didn't want to know what he looked like. At least, not consciously. As Cifer began growing more aggressive with the way he fucked himself down Matt's gullet, the movement in his peripherals summoned a reflexive response. Uncontrolled fluttering created a stolen glance at the still somewhat foggy mirror. 

There he was, on his knees, pumping his own impressive erection between soaked and tainted fingers, all whilst this savage of a man took his pleasure by using Matt like a doll. Every time he choked Matt on his manhood, the man could see the outline of it taking shape from the inside of his throat. 

Fuck! Intensity neared its crescendo from the sheer violation of alpha principles he was seeing. Beyond accidental, he groaned around Cifer in between sucking greedy breaths through his nose and being strangled out. Unwittingly, he shot hot, wet velvet vibrations up the larger alpha's buried length and caused the other man to hiss with a repressed pleasure shout as his body flexed tighter. His own fingers worked clumsily across his rarely explored member when he finally remembered the hand around Cifer's cock. 

Perhaps it was stupid, but Matt willingly eased up on the limit. His entire body stiffened with shock at the suddenness of how violently Cifer rammed himself down Matt's throat. Sex-addled thoughts created a hazy need to cum inside Matt's tense, muscular core. Cifer easily took the lead, chasing his own high as he threw his head back and brutally skull fucked the man on his knees like some kind of depraved ogre. 

He gagged a few times through the experience. The pace was so unforgiving that he didn't have the chance to do anything aside from jerking them both off and let out a strangled, muffled shout as his knot blew with an incredible vengeance. Black seed spilled upon slightly charred tiles as Matt arched up and released Cifer. He brought both his hands down to his length; one to drain the remaining ropes of cum that spilled in measured bursts from his body, and the other to tighten around his knot. 

Cifer let out a guttural moan moments after Matt came, gripping the smaller alpha's hair painfully as he exploded deeper into him, with the occasional burst filling his mouth. The sheer amount of Cifer that entered him made Mattias forget everything; except the pleasure and the intoxication of it all for the remainder of their orgasms.

The brute continued to savage himself down Matt's now swollen throat, squeezing his own knot and painting his pretty, red lips with the white of his alphahood. It was both impossible to swallow and unavoidable at the same time.

For once, Matt didn't care about the man's audacity when he deliberately pulled out to let the last of his high splatter across the smaller alpha's face. No, he was too busy being something he most definitely would never admit for fear of making his nose issues even more real—

Mattias felt cum drunk. Far more than he had on the train. Pleasurable delirium spread warmth and satisfaction through his veins, even as his surroundings blurred together uselessly in his mind. 

… § … 

You're such a pathetic faggot. 

Cifer's last words to Matt as he regarded the other alpha where he lay, nude, freshly scrubbed of their sins and so relaxed he thought he may melt into the mattress below him. Some point after that, Cifer had fallen asleep, just as naked as he was and pressed to his back in that childish position he always did. 

The other had peeled away eventually, only briefly stirring Matt's calmed mind. Cumming twice in a single day after not having done so since he was a boy? Talk about relief.

He dreamed of the rolling hill leading up to the beach, chasing after Cifer's teenage form through the darkening sunset. The closer Matt got, the further he slipped away. Barbarian steel materialized without an announce of pretext and cut itself between his chest, robbing him of his oxygen as he turned to see Cifer impaling him. 

The scene shifted to back when they were children, and Cifer had reappeared after vanishing for two and a half months on the battlefield. The first thing tiny, dying, blood-gurgling Matt noticed was that dead look in the blond man's eyes as he watched the smaller boy suffer. 

… § … 

Some part of him lamented the idea of leaving the Cradle the next day, after Cifer returns from his date with Iosif. Transitory as it was, it felt like some kind of wet, fever dream. One that had him wake alone with morning wood. Not daring to touch himself—not even whilst alone—Mattias spent the morning unpacking and repacking his thoughts back up. 

Thinking about this deeply arousing, sexual thing that thickened the air between him and Cifer was out of the question. But that odd look on the blond's face, and his curious actions, really sent Matt into a death spin. Cifer was the alligator, chomping down on his limbs and twisting them both about under the water.

Last night, Cifer could have disregarded Matt's thoughts entirely and just forced himself on him. Mind you, it wasn't as though he hadn't used force, it's just—Cifer waited. It wasn't until Matt himself said something in the affirmative that the man really stopped caring about being nice and resumed his brutish behaviour of getting them both off. 

Mind you, it had been a selfish form of sex, but it was sex nonetheless. That crossed a far worse line than—nope. Not unpacking this hot garbage fire, remember?

Back to his original thought. Matt's eyes wandered across the interior of the room, hands wringing through a towel he'd just used to dry himself off with. Cifer could have made things so much worse than he did. He's had the advantage here since day one. And yet, Cifer still waited. Impatient, traitorous, explosive and violent, Zakhar hadn't shoved himself down Matt's throat until he gave the all clear. 

That didn't just not feel like the behaviour of an evil captor; it outright wasn't.

Matt's hand clawed down his face as he opened the still full trunk and rummaged through it for a change of clothes. Was this how people got Stockholm Syndrome? Was it shit like this, over a prolonged period, meant to trick Matt into thinking everything was okay? Or did this have to do with that look he'd sent him earlier? 

Fuck him. This was too messy. Opting for ignoring his feeling, Mattias focused on getting himself presentable and fully dressed before the uncouth, primordial force that was Calaway came back to fuck Matt's entire day. 

… § … 

They knocked him out again, on the way back up from the Cradle.

He woke several hours later, tightly stuffed into another night train bunk. However, instead of waking to a fretting, sickly obsessive Cifer, Mattias woke alone and in the dark. Silence hung in the air, latching onto his arms and raising goose flesh wherever it touched. Something heavy cloud in the air—cloying and altogether unpleasant, as though something had encroached upon his territory whilst he'd been asleep and scented the place.

Every fiber of his being screamed something wasn't right. Digits flexed and felt the mattress under him for any signs of infectious rot that may signal he was still asleep, or even legitimately hallucinating from a high fever, but it was clean and dry. Baffled by the lack of evidence to suggest his gut was correct, Mattias rolled away from the train wall and peered at the low light of the room. 

There was a night light on, as well as the faint lights bleeding under the sliding door that diffused a soft glow about the space. After a quick inspection, nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at him. Physically hoisting himself up with pure upper body strength just to get his muscles burning and to wake up a little more, Mattias searched around the space with a growing anxiety. 

Why the hell did he feel like a fish in a barrel? His wartime instincts woke up for the first time in ages. Lights flipped on as he stepped about, checking the small table under the window as he went about. Atop, under it, the floor, the spaces under the bunks. Hell, even the enclosed bathroom and the shower. When it all came back as clear of hostiles, Mattias threw himself down onto the edge of his bunk, facing the table. Elbows rested on its cold, hard surface as Matt's eyes shifted to stare out into the dark. 

That's when he saw it. All the external lights were off, including the emergency and service lights. The only things he could see were the tracks and the edge of the rocky terrain they were blasting through. What—were they in the mountains already? How long had he been asleep? 

Mind you, this mountain range near Nizhny Novgorod hadn't existed before the war. It was a truly harrowing, utterly horrifying display of supe's sheer power to shake and twist the earth under their terrible might. There's a reason Nizhny Novgorod was nothing more than an open air graveyard, and these mountains existing were the cause. Fresh and geographically unstable, it was extremely unwise to travel through them blind and in the dark. Matt watched the black, snow-covered blobs pass them by.

Realization struck.

The train was moving, but it was so uncanny valley silent that Mattias couldn't hear the creak of the train, let alone the soft, rhythmic vibration of wheels on their tracks. It was a necrotic sort of nothing that had Mattias searching the room for any weapons he might use. Unfortunate as it was, he came up empty-handed. Considering he wasn't wearing anything aside from a black long-sleeved shirt and some sweatpants, he couldn't use his belt to strangle someone with either. 

He spotted something odd out of the corner of his eye. Must have missed it in his anxious search earlier. On the top bunk just about where he'd been asleep, Mattias' fingertips broached a what may have been a mask. Fetching it by using his stature to his advantage, Matt flipped the weird thing over and saw that it was, in fact, a mask with a strap he could use to wear it. There was an intricate skull design painted on the front, but that didn't matter to him. 

It felt solid. Smelled like metal, too. Might stop a bullet heading between his eyes, so long as it was coming from the front. So he strapped it on and cautiously stepped outside into the hall. 

An uncomfortable, painful feeling of something foreign squirming around in his insides occurred just as he did. The lights in the hall were low, but not flickering. He'd seen enough horror movies to know flickering was a bad sign. But normal lighting with unnatural silence? Had to be a supe ability. Boots clunked as he walked, which was also a good sign. 

Or maybe it wasn't. Whatever. His top priority right now was to find Calaway and figure out what the fuck was shrouding their train in inky stillness. Car after car, Mattias searched—zilch. No one. Not even in the dining car. Madness would have been kinder than this backroom, sullen insanity creeping into his head, but he continued all the same. 

Matt arrived at the luxury cars and spotted someone. Shoulders fell as he worked his way over—the men by the door clearing to the next compartment weren't wearing the clothes Mattias recognized as being associated with the Bogdanov guards. 

They looked like civs to him. 

"Hello. You wouldn't happen to have seen a—"

Before Matt could finish his sentence, the man on the left punched him in the gut. Mattias doubled over and dry heaved, stumbling back. 

The other man reached out to hit the offender's chest. "Hey! Boss said to wait!"

"Your boss, maybe. Mine wants him to suffer."

"Which boss?"

"Bah, there's too many. Don't ask questions. They'll just get you ki—"

CRACK! 

Matt's turn. One hand braced itself against the wall of the train whilst Matt corrected his stumbling into a knee to the man's groin. Who cares who this guy's boss is? He challenged Matt without a word, and now he was going to face the consequences. 

These guys smelled like shit, too. There's a tang about them that was just off-putting. Like a dead rat being turned over for the first time and releasing festering air. 

The bastard grunted out a deflating sound before his body unceremoniously thumped against the compartment door behind him. All hell broke loose. With the first one too busy leaning over and grabbing his busted knot, Matt flew into a violent struggle with the other. 

One that ended faster than he thought it might. Turns out these two were trash at fighting. Or… hell, were they not supes? No abilities had been thrown Matt's way before he knocked them both out. It felt too easy. Not war vets? Ugh, too many possibilities, too little patience. 

He patted their bodies down for anything useful. First, he found a couple of wallets. Taking their rubles for himself, he hid the cash in his boot before seeing if anyone had a black card on them. No one did, much to his immeasurable disappointment. 

But the guy that hadn't started the fight sported a combat knife he'd never had the chance to pull. About fucking time, Mattias held a sharp in his hands again. Armed and alert to the fact that there very much is a situation happening right now, he headed into the next compartment. 

It was the luxury car proper, and five more men in the same casual attire were milling about. They took one look at Matt with his knife and his mask on, as well as the lack of their buddies following him in, and pounced. 

Again, these guys were just as slow as the ones outside—but this time, Mattias had a knife and he was more awake than he'd felt in days. It's far easier to incapacitate men who are stunned and actively bleeding than it is to do so unarmed and injured. And the more he fought, sweeping through the car like the trained professional he was, the more it felt like riding a bike. 

Legitimately being trapped on a high-speed train, travelling at meteoric speeds through an unstable mountainous zone in pitch black silence really freaked him out. Fear woke the sleeping parts of his body that had refused to budge since the end of the war, and it manifested with the ease with which he was taking these guys out.

He used the expensive navy blue and gold seating to his advantage. He incorporated vaulting over it, throwing loosely bolted furniture at his enemies, and breaking vodka bottles over their heads. By the time he was through and entering the next car, Matty was feeling rejuvenated for the first time in decades. 

That thing in his belly writhed even more powerfully as he opened the door and made a few strides to the next compartment. What he saw threw him from casual fight mode into something of a murderous rage. 

Cifer was on his knees, staring with that vacant look that narrowed in on nothing in particular, sitting at Lev's feet. There was a legitimate, actual fucking monster crawling on the ceiling above the pair of them. That thing looked like someone had grabbed two decaying human corpses, cut them apart and then reattached them both together with no rhyme nor reason. 

Its lower jaw was missing, leaving nothing but a long, slithering, loose and clearly inhuman tongue wriggling in the air like some kind of sentient appendage. It was grey and bloated, bruised black and blue. What hands it did have that weren't random limbs spanned half the length of Mattias' forearms. The pure black claws on that thing were as long as his face. 

With the eldritch horror in the room, the stunned alpha didn't initially notice there were other guards in the room. Men he didn't recognize. Men who all smelled fucking rancid. They were facing away from him—in fact, Cifer was the only one looking his way. That thing on the roof had no eyes, just empty, sunken sockets, but Matt wasn't about to assume whether it could see.

"... should have done this before we reached the ruins," Lev said. "I thought Kvasov would get it done. Tsk, just goes to show how useless sexual deviants truly are."

"How long until we're in range?" asked an unfamiliar man. His body language was stiff and on high alert, "that thing he sent is overkill."

"Overkill? No. Underkill. Did you see the way those things reacted after we left the Cradle? They had to shut down the entrances."

"You think he's gonna…?"

"I don't think. I know. If we go back to a pocket so soon, we will have to contend with something uglier than that thing on the ceiling."

"Can't you send word back and reason with her?"

"Reason? Ha! With that insane bitch? No. There is no reasoning with her. If she says we take Kohler to the palace, we take him to the palace. Besides, Ubiytsa has been away too long. If he's not seen at the Palace, people will talk."

Why the fuck was Cifer just kneeling there while these freaks talked about him like that?? 

"We should be in range soon. Mishka, go give Kohler another shot. If he wakes up before we arrive at the palace, this will get very messy."

Too late. Rage filled him to his core—he'd seen similar monsters on the battlefield. It's not like horrors didn't exist. Perhaps some fucked up supe ability brought these things to life, but Matt knew damn well they all turned to ashes under Cifer's heat. If he could get to the blond and snap him the fuck out of this, maybe he'd be able to help them both get out of this alive. 

Because if there was one thing the smaller alpha knew deep within his heart, it's that Cifer Calaway gets on his knees for no man. Whatever Lev was up to, it was going against Cifer's plan, and the blond was just as screwed here as Matt. 

He launched himself at the men, grabbing the nearest guard from behind to steady him before he slit his throat and sprayed his blood across Lev's back.