Ivan Kosin

June

It was another week before Ivan was back at the Manor. He and Malcolm arrived on Friday, just in time to miss dinner, and shared some leftovers in the kitchen. Afterwards, Malcolm went off to play some game or the other with the men, and Ivan went to seek out George.

Ivan found him in one of the smaller upstairs multipurpose rooms, curled up on the sofa under a thin blanket, watching some kind of media chip. Recognizing Ivan's silhouette in the doorway, George looked up from the video and smiled.

"Well, hey, you. Welcome back."

Ivan gave a short wave. George moved his sweater and patted the empty space it left on the sofa.

"Sit. Movie's on."

Ivan sat down next to George and looked up at the screen.

"Why are you watching a film for children?"

George grinned.

"It's a classic. The Dark Crystal." he looked over at Ivan. "Never heard of it?"

Ivan shrugged. George nodded and looked back at the screen.

"I used to watch this with my boys all the time. It was their favorite." he looked nostalgic for just a minute, then it faded. "They're both in academy now."

Ivan tilted his head in surprise.

"I didn't know you had children."

George turned to Ivan with an expression of disbelief.

"Ivan...I'm a carrier."

Ivan blushed a little.

"Right. Yeah. So how old are they?"

George turned back to the movie.

"Seven and ten. Nick is seven and Tom, III - we call him Trip - is ten."

Ivan raised both eyebrows.

"Wow. How long have you and Tom been married?"

"Ten years." George grinned wryly. "He wasted no time. We had Trip the same year I got changed and we got married."

"Oh."

Ivan was quiet after that, and George left him alone, waiting for his thoughtfulness to pass into conversation. After a brief silence, George spoke again.

"So what about you and Malcolm?"

Ivan looked up in honest confusion.

"What about us?"

"Are you trying to get pregnant now, or are you waiting?"

Ivan shook his head, his face getting hot.

"No, um, not yet. Not exactly."

George frowned at Ivan, and Ivan tried very hard to keep his expression neutral, putting his full effort into watching the video screen. George squinted at him, then shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Oh hell, you're still a virgin."

Ivan snorted.

"I haven't been a virgin since I was nine."

George drew up short, and Ivan realized that he'd said more than he meant to.

"I didn't mean - " he glanced up at George, expecting to see pity or worry in his face. There was nothing - just acceptance. Ivan felt compelled to explain anyway. "I didn't mean that."

George nodded.

"OK." he said, but meaning: We can pretend. George turned back to the movie screen. "What I mean is that you haven't fucked Malcolm yet."

"No, not yet." Distracted with the relief of moving on from the previous, uncomfortable topic, Ivan answered automatically. George grinned an amused grin, and Ivan belatedly realized that he hadn't meant to say this, either. "We're going to, though." he amended.

George laughed.

"I bet you are. Geez, how long has it been? Poor Malcolm. Poor you!" he sighed theatrically. "Both of you, suffering! I mean, you're married now. It's meant to be one of the perks."

Ivan shrugged nonchalantly, but George saw him start to rub the side of his thumb anxiously. He peered at Ivan, then said, slowly and carefully:

"It won't be like the other times."

Ivan's stomach sank. How could George read him so easily? It was frightening.

"You don't know that." Ivan answered, in a very small voice.

George shook his head.

"Yes, I do." he said, forcefully. "Malcolm cares. The others didn't."

Pangs of agony rose up in Ivan's heart.

"Oh."

"Yeah." George shifted in his seat. "Besides, he'll make it nice. And you deserve it. A nice first time. Everyone deserves a nice first time."

Ivan thought of his father, of home, of being nine years old again. Then he refused to think about anything else.

"Yeah, I guess they do."

~:~

"Sooo? Are you gonna do it tonight?"

Ivan sighed and went back to re-ordering the books on his shelf.

"I mean, obviously we'll do it some time. Just maybe not tonight."

George mulled this thought over, placing two books in incorrect places on the shelf as he did so. Ivan pulled a face of annoyance and corrected them. George didn't seem to notice.

"Tom fucked me last night." he said, conversationally. "It was fantastic. Just the best."

Ivan rolled his eyes.

Ever since his confession to George a week before, the man had made it his personal mission to see Ivan deflowered.

"Great. I'll keep that in mind."

George grinned, and a few minutes of silent re-ordering and alphabetizing passed between them. As they came to the K's, George paused and glanced over his shoulder at Ivan.

"You know...you can mess around with me sometimes, if you want."

Ivan froze, and all the instantaneous questions that sprung up in his mind congealed into one single, articulate "Huh?"

George shrugged.

"Tom wouldn't mind."

There was an edge of something in George's voice that made Ivan feel strange suddenly, aware of the situation and what he was being asked.

"I don't - I - "

George glanced over at him again.

"No pressure, Ivie. It was just an invitation." George smiled, stuck another book out of place and grinned up at Ivan. "One of the perks of the Manor - carriers get to share."

Ivan's eyebrows both shot up into his hairline and George laughed.

"How do you think we keep Miller from being such a raging bitch most of the time?"

Blushing, Ivan shook his head.

"I didn't - I don't think I can."

George put a hand on his heart in mock pain.

"Are you telling me I'm not your type?"

Ivan grinned despite himself and shook his head.

"You're great. But it'd be...weird, I think. With Malcolm."

George cocked his head as if observing a particularly odd creature of very high interest.

"How interesting." he commented, and Ivan narrowed his eyes immediately.

"What's interesting?"

George's mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smile.

"You won't cheat on the man you're not fucking."

"George!"

The blonde carrier held both his hands up in the air in surrender.

"Fine, fine. I'm just saying. He's your husband, and he cares about you. I care, too." he shoved one book into a space just a fraction too small for it. "So trust us. You're safe here."

~:~

Ivan slowly climbed the stairs to he and Malcolm's bedroom in the Manor. He was sweaty, hot, and worn out from he and George's workout. His bed and shower beckoned him. Malcolm had given him a massage a few days before (the therapist and Tom Davies were encouraging them to increase their non-sexual physical contact), and it had been good enough that Ivan was considering asking for another, whenever his husband resurfaced. Keith and Tom Gaspar were off working on some project in the south wing of the Manor, and Ivan guessed that Malcolm was probably with them.

Ivan made it up the stairs and down the hallway to their door - without pause, he opened it, and was startled to find his husband already inside. He was even more startled to find him lying on their bed with his jeans open and his dick in his hand. Surprise crossed into embarrassment, then annoyance when he realized that Malcolm hadn't even bothered to stop; he continued jerking himself just as if Ivan weren't even there. Annoyance then bled into curiosity and a vague sense of voyeuristic temptation, Ivan's own body beginning to take interest in the scene before him. Ivan decided to stem this tide before it overflowed.

"Hey!"

Malcolm groaned, obviously not inclined to acknowledge a harping carrier when he was just moments from his release. Ivan's ears burned.

"Malcolm!"

Malcolm sighed a long-suffering sigh and looked over at his carrier wife.

"Ivan."

Having Malcolm's attention on him suddenly felt uncomfortable; Ivan crossed his arms over his chest and glanced away.

"Can you - fuck, I mean, I live here. Do you mind?"

Malcolm looked his carrier over, his gaze lingering on Ivan's thighs where sweat made his shorts stick to his body. Ivan took a step backwards.

"Oh, come on. Have some respect."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow and his voice dropped.

"Come here."

Ivan looked at his husband, then, thinking better of it, looked away. Malcolm propped himself up on one elbow and shook his head.

"No. You look at me."

Ivan peeked anxiously at Malcolm from the corner of one eye, his stance still guarded. Malcolm blinked at him. "Come here."

The command in his voice was compelling, and Ivan took two halting steps towards the bed before stopping. Malcolm accepted this, and looked up at his wife from the bed, his cock throbbing in his fist.

"Listen, we've talked about this."

"About you jerking off in our bed?" Ivan scoffed.

Malcolm shook his head, ignoring the attempt to distract through indignation.

"No. About us. About our sexuality. About our relationship."

Ivan ground his jaw, and Malcolm patted the space on the bed beside him.

"Come here. Lie down."

Ivan's eyes widened.

"I don't - "

"It wasn't a question, Ivan."

Slowly, Ivan took one step more towards the bed. Malcolm's expression didn't change - he kept his voice firm and steady, and his face unreadable. When Ivan finally touched the bed, tentatively, then more firmly as he rested his weight on it, Malcolm smiled a little at him.

"Very good, Ivan."

The carrier fidgeted with the sheets for a minute, then released them and leaned forward, then moved back.

"Sorry, I don't - um. I, um - " he stopped, frustrated with his own lack of articulation, and exhaled. Malcolm didn't attempt to guess what Ivan was asking; he simply waited to be told. Eventually, the carrier collected himself, took a deep breath, and looked up at his husband through lidded eyes. "Can I...?"

Malcolm nodded, and gestured widely to his heavy cock, which was by now half-flaccid and bobbing against his jeans, trailing sticky lines of precum along its edge.

Ivan swallowed, sucked in a breath to gather his courage, and reminded himself that carrier or no carrier, there were some things he'd done a thousand times before. With that thought in mind, he dove down and swallowed Malcolm's cock in a movement so quick it made the other man gasp and clench his fists to keep from cumming.

Ivan shifted his weight, resettling between Malcolm's spread thighs and dipping his head down to get more of Malcolm's length inside his mouth. It had been a long time since he'd done this, but some skills never faded. Ivan took another breath and opened his throat, gulping down as much of Malcolm's thick cock as he was able. Malcolm yelped an ecstatic yelp and entwined his hands into Ivan's dark hair, twisting it at the ends and forcing the carrier's head forward. Ivan almost choked, but didn't complain, using all his power to suck the hard, fat cock in his mouth as far into his throat as he could.

Before either of them really knew it was happening, Malcolm was climaxing, his cock pulsing thick, viscous streams of white cum down Ivan's throat and into his mouth. Surprised, but not unprepared, Ivan sucked it all down, even as his husband's hand tightened painfully in his hair.

Malcolm groaned again and fell back, his head cushioned in the pillows of their bed, his skin still buzzing with the afterglow of orgasm.

"Ivan," he said, lazily, his voice not quite itself again, "Ivan, come here."

Cautiously, Kosin let himself down beside his husband, self-consciously touching the back of his hand to his mouth.

"Ivan." Malcolm murmured contentedly, lacing his fingers gently through the carrier's hair, "My beautiful Ivan. I love you."

Ivan quirked his mouth into something that could have almost been close to a smile and settled in, as comfortably as he could in such close proximity to his husband.

"Thanks."

"You want one?" Malcolm asked, and Ivan glanced down at his crotch, where he was awake in his own right, and shook his head.

"No, I - maybe later, OK?"

Malcolm nodded and pulled him close to kiss his forehead.

"OK. Later, then."

~:~

Malcolm had his usual weekly men's meeting, and they opened on the same topics as ever. Tom Davies went first.

"So! How's the sex?"

Malcolm grinned impishly.

"Made some progress."

Tom raised an eyebrow and laughed.

"Oh? Well, that's good, Malcolm! Really good. Now, you've been making sure to maintain the non-sexual touch, correct? Don't think that just because he's warmed up to you the other stuff gets to stop. He needs assurance now, more than ever. Understood?"

Malcolm gave him a mock salute.

"Aye aye, cap'n."

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"I'm serious, Mal."

Malcolm exhaled.

"OK. Got it. Be nice, keep touching. I'm on it."

"But don't allow the escalation to diminish either. Don't let him backslide."

"I won't."

"Alright. Tom?"

Tom Gaspar looked down at his notes.

"How's the structure?"

Malcolm looked a little caught out.

"Right…the structure."

Tom frowned.

"Maintaining the structure is critical, Malcolm. Don't go off schedule, don't change your consequences, and don't start letting him get away with things just because now he fondles your balls. It's still a fragile time for Ivan, and if you start caving to him, he's going to think you're weak. If you're weak, you can't do your job. And if you can't do it, then he has to. You want your carrier to feel like he's got to pick up the slack because you're not man enough to do it?"

"I haven't forgotten." Malcolm protested sullenly, "I haven't been letting him get away with things. He's just been good lately."

Keith Vance cocked his head.

"Oh? Because I could have sworn I heard you tell him it was time to go to bed at ten o'clock last night and he told you 'In a minute.' Didn't head up to meet you 'til half past 11. What'd you do about that, Malcolm?"

Mal's face reddened.

"He was watching some movie with George. I didn't think it was worth arguing over." he answered.

Keith shook his head.

"You're right, it's not worth arguing over. That's why you don't argue. You present the command, and you present the consequences - no arguments necessary. Arguments are tough! They're painful! They're an emotional drain on an already fragile human being, and should be avoided whenever possible."

Tom Gaspar took over again.

"Malcolm, work on the structure, and work on the firmness. Don't just do the fun part, the sex and the playing around. Marriage is not all about the fun part. Ivan's going to be getting a little more rebellious as he gets more comfortable here; he's going to be testing boundaries to make sure they're still there. If you let him push too much, you're both going to backslide. Understand?"

Malcolm sighed.

"Understand."

Everyone turned to Keith, who lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"You already know what I'm going to tell you. If it was Charlie who hadn't come upstairs when I told him to - didn't ask, told, mind you, he wouldn't be sitting for a week. Discipline your carrier now, so someone else won't have to later."

Keith shook his head, and his voice had some distress in it.

"It's becoming irresponsible, Malcolm. And if there's one thing that always turns out deadly for a carrier, it's being ruled by an irresponsible man."

~:~

Malcolm had taken to jacking him off in the mornings now, before they both got up to make coffee and oatmeal and assign tasks for the day. Malcolm had begun gently, just soft tugs of Ivan's cock and a slide of fingers, pre-lubricated, along the exterior of Ivan's entrance. Then he had become more insistent - slipping the tip of one finger in, then the entirety of it and Ivan had jumped, but not resisted. Ivan balked at two fingers, however.

"No...Malcolm, just one." he was mumbling, his voice muted by sleep and frustrated arousal. Malcolm raised an eyebrow and continued along his path. Ivan tried to wriggle away from him, but got a dark look and a warning hand that tightened on his hip. He tried closing his legs, but Malcolm held them fiercely apart.

"Stop fighting. Just relax."

Ivan whined a little, but acquiesced, and only made a slight noise of complaint when both fingers entered him, slid into his wet, slippery depths and stroked him gently from the inside out. After a few minutes, Malcolm paused, his own cock straining against his sweatpants. He kissed Ivan's bare belly gently.

"Are you close?"

Ivan, seeing his out, nodded fiercely.

"Yes...so close."

Malcolm grinned and plunged his fingers in deeper, making Ivan lift his hips in response. The carrier arched his back a little, breath quickening.

"Fuck...yes, Malcolm, that's good, right there, perfect, that's good, it's there, oh, fuck, ohhh yes, Mal..."

Malcolm stopped suddenly. Ivan stopped, too, then propped up on his elbows.

"What's wrong?" he asked, breathless. Malcolm looked squarely at him.

"I was waiting for your performance to end. Should I applaud?"

Heat rushed to Ivan's face.

"It's not my fault you don't know what you're doing." he snapped.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes.

"You speak to me out of turn like that again, and I will punish you, Ivan."

Ivan was taken aback by both the viciousness of Malcolm's tone and the intensity of his body's own response. Malcolm looked down, confused, at where his hand joined them.

"You're...spasming."

Ivan tensed and tried to pull away immediately, but Malcolm's other hand held him fast. Ivan shook his head, panic seeping into his voice.

"Stop. You're hurting me."

Malcolm looked skeptically at his spouse.

"Am I."

Ivan nodded, and Malcolm pressed a thumb deeply into the junction of one hip.

"Maybe I want to hurt you."

Ivan went rigid, but inside of him, he felt a rush of wetness and knew he'd been found out.

"Mal - "

Malcolm's forehead creased in sudden, certain understanding.

"Is this what you want, Ivan? Is this what you wanted all along?"

Ivan shook his head.

"Mal, please - "

Malcolm plunged his fingers in deeply, withdrawing a short cry from Ivan. His voice was throaty, and what he spoke was almost a whisper against Ivan's skin.

"Did you want me to hurt you?"

Unexpectedly, tears began to seep across Ivan's cheeks, frightening them both. Malcolm yanked his hands away in horror and pulled back.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to - "

"No!" Ivan flailed out desperately for his husband, found his arm, and clung to it. "No, please." After a hiccuping moment, he gathered himself back together. Eventually, his voice was normal enough to speak again. "I don't...want you to hurt me. But I need you to."

~:~

"He said he wants me to...hurt him." Malcolm let the words out slowly, as if they were dangerous to even be spoken. He looked, desperately, up at the four men before him. "And I don't understand. And I don't know what to do."

Keith Vance's expression was unusually tense. But his voice was as firm as ever.

"Malcolm." he said, calmly. "He finally broke for you. Don't agonize over it. Don't overthink it. Just give the boy what he wants."

~:~

After dinner, some of the carriers put a movie on in the video room and invited Ivan to watch. George would not be attending, however, and so Ivan was more grateful than annoyed when Malcolm gently refused the invitation for him.

"Ivan won't be able to watch a movie tonight." Malcolm had said smoothly. "He and his husband have prior engagements in our room this evening." he winked, and the carriers all laughed and teased Ivan until he snapped at them and left the table.

Malcolm had caught his wrist as he turned to go.

"I've considered your request." he said, low, as he looked Ivan in the eyes. "And I've decided to honor it."

The pulse under the skin of the wrist that Malcolm held began to race. Malcolm glanced down to it, that point where the two of them connected. He released Ivan's wrist.

"Go upstairs and bathe. Be ready for me when I get up there."

~

Ivan opened his eyes. He must have dozed off. What time was it? What had woken him? Two thunks, and the tips of his husband's boots came into view at the side of the bed, two black lumps in the darkness. Ivan looked up. Malcolm was barely illuminated by the steamy light filtering in from the bathroom. Ivan was quiet, still wrapped in just a towel in the bed. Malcolm stood still, watching him, and Ivan knew. He ran a hand over his hair, squeezed out some more of the water.

Didn't look at Malcolm.

His husband spoke quietly into the room.

"If we're going to do this..." he hesitated. "I want you to be safe."

Ivan nodded.

"OK."

"You need me to stop, you just call your old name, OK? Kosin."

Ivan shook his head.

"I won't." Malcolm stared down at him, the gaze imperceptible in the darkness. Ivan twisted the end of a wet chunk of hair and tried to keep the trembling out of his voice. "I won't need you to stop. I need - " Ivan cut himself off. Even knowing it, he couldn't bring himself to say it. Saying it made it real. Made him weak.

Malcolm waited. It was a predatory wait. At the Manor, Ivan realized, they had taught him to wait. Make the carrier uncomfortable. He will speak. Malcolm waited.

"I need you to make it - " Ivan looked away and swallowed, tasting the humiliation in his mouth, but also the anticipation, the delight, the secret thrill and fear and relief to just be saying it, at last.

"I need you to hurt me."

In the shadows, Malcolm nodded.

"I know." he said, and his voice was so thick with sympathy that it made Ivan ache, "I will."

Ivan hesitated, flicking the edge of his towel, staring at the space between Malcolm's booted feet on the wood floor, wondering when it would start, and then there it was - the jolt of movement and the snap of pain and Malcolm was above him, had his hand tight in Ivan's hair and his neck twisted back, dragging the carrier down towards the bed. His towel was getting pushed around, too, shoved in wrinkles up against his stomach; Ivan felt the cold rush of exposure immediately and tried to move a hand to pull a sheet, the towel, something over to cover himself. Malcolm caught it and pulled it up, above his head.

"Don't you fucking dare."

Malcolm met his eyes, and they were lucid eyes - clear thinking, not dark with rage or sex or wanting possession. Ivan stared at them. They didn't change, and he relaxed then, let the fear seep out of him. It was still Malcolm. It was only Malcolm. Just a show he was putting on.

Malcolm's gaze shifted; his focus was on trying to wrest his cock free of his pants. Ivan saw his opportunity in the distraction and twisted free, then bolted. He got as far as the opposite edge of the bed and then Malcolm was on him again, possessing of a swiftness and weight that Ivan had not seen evidence of before.

Malcolm flipped him over; his breath was coming in heaves and his zipper was half-undone. He growled at Ivan.

"Do. Not. Fight me."

Ivan shook his head and tried to push Malcolm back, tried to twist away again. Malcolm snatched hold of his wrist and then gave him a vicious yank that pulled him back to the center of the mattress.

Ivan felt his heart pounding. Go, run, get away. Flee. Run. No fight, flight.

He tried to make it to all fours. Malcolm covered Ivan's body with his own, got his hand in the carrier's hair again and twisted his head back. Against the side of Ivan's neck, Malcolm's breath was hot; his words were obscured. Ivan had to listen close to make out what he was saying.

"...because I am gonna fuck you, little carrier. Fuck you so hard you're going to beg for me, going to need me. I'll make you feel me. Make you fucking remember me."

Ivan felt his voice catch in his throat and leave him unable to respond. Malcolm laughed.

"Are you scared, Ivie? You scared of me? Little Ivan?"

Ivan was surprised to recognize that a part of him was scared; scared of the power, of the anticipation, of the arousal, the pure, unceasing want that had almost drowned him. Doubt rose: what if this wasn't just a game? What if it couldn't be stopped?

The thought startled him and Ivan struggled anew, twisting and pulling, swinging at his husband to try and get free. Malcolm just gritted his teeth and rode it all out, let Ivan tire himself to gasping and tightened his grip then, twisting Ivan's left arm and shaking the carrier by his hair like a cat killing prey.

"Do. Not. Fight Me."

Ivan stilled for just half a second, but it was long enough for Malcolm to flatten his carrier's body underneath his own, force one knee between Ivan's thighs and hold him still with an arm across the back of his neck.

He swore when Ivan got a decent flail in and almost hit him in the chest.

"Hold still! Hold still, you stupid bitch!"

"Stop!"

Ivan started to feel panic, choked by his husband's weight. Behind him, Malcolm had gotten his cock out and was stroking it. He shifted, spread his weight more evenly, took hold of his carrier's hair again. Ivan's eyes watered.

"Stop, you son of a bitch, stop it! Malcolm!" he sucked in another breath, but it was weak, making him tire and stars dance in front of his eyes. "Please. Stop?"

Malcolm shook his head, half-dragged Ivan to turn him over, onto his back. In the darkness, Ivan thought he caught a glimpse of something in Malcolm's eyes - something inhuman. It disappeared.

"Oh, no. I've been waiting for this too long, Ivie." Malcolm tilted his head to an almost unnatural angle and blinked his black eyes down at Ivan. "Waiting for you." he paused. "You fucking tease." Malcolm's fist grew tighter, more furious around his cock. "Cocktease little bitch. Slut. You fucking scared of me?"

Ivan kept silent, his breath too ragged to speak. He shook his head instead.

Malcolm laughed again, the roughness of it surprising Ivan.

"Well. You should be." Malcolm leaned down, his cock lining up to Ivan's entrance, where he was already wet and hungry, anticipating the penetration. "I should've done this a long time ago." he looked directly into Ivan's eyes. "You're mine."

Malcolm drove into him then, not pausing at all, not delivering his cock gently, doing nothing to assuage Ivan's sudden fearfulness or soothe the build of tension in the straining muscles.

Ivan cried out, a sincere expression of the surprise, of the fear and the pain and the boiling well of need that seemed only to be growing deeper with every inch of Malcolm's cock he got inside of him. He felt impossibly full, but Malcolm pressed in deeper, going to the hilt and Ivan felt a stab of pain far inside of himself. The feeling spurred him, pushed him closer to the abyss.

Everything hurt. It burned where Malcolm's penetration had been quick, and where he had thrust in so deeply, mercilessly. It hurt so perfectly and so poignantly that Ivan wanted to cry and cum and scream for joy all at the same time. It hurt intensely, and it soothed intensely. It was too much - he needed to stop. Losing control. Ivan pushed at his husband's chest.

"Ah! Fuck, oh, Mal - Malcolm, wait - "

"I'm not. Done. Yet." Malcolm growled, although the viciousness had drained out of his voice and been replaced with something more like impatience. Mal withdrew then, dove back in, began thrusting wildly. Malcolm was so solid, so hard thrusting into him that Ivan feared briefly he might shatter into pieces at his husband's hands. But it was all so perfect - so magnificently satisfying and frightening and ugly and fireburnt and hateful that it was just perfect.

Ivan was coasting higher now, towards a break in the clouds, towards the brink of salvation. Malcolm's thrusts became frenzied, the pants around his thighs chafing Ivan's skin.

Ivan tried to respond, to flinch or move away, but he was floating too high. Every thrust was heaven for him; in every injury, love.

Abruptly, Malcolm tightened all his muscles, arched his back so that he was sheathed fully into Ivan, and came.

The rush of wet heat inside of him pushed Ivan just over the edge, too, and he felt himself tumbling down, falling from the sky with the rushing wind in his ears and the clouds all around him. He stopped in mid-air, floating, at peace.

Relieved.

~

When he came back to himself, Malcolm was naked and they had both been moved under the blankets. Ivan turned to look at his husband, feeling unsure of himself suddenly. He felt exposed. Malcolm knew. Malcolm knew everything.

Malcolm lifted his head and looked down at Kosin. His expression was pensive.

"Get a cloth." he said, suddenly. "With warm water." he lifted the sheet and indicated himself. "Clean us up."

Ivan got up, grateful for the simple order; a distraction. He went into the bathroom and retrieved the cloth, ran the water to warm and dipped it in. He came back to the bed, and Malcolm lifted the blankets, welcoming him back home.

~:~

A cool draft from the left and the smell of impending rain woke Ivan the next morning. Wriggling deeper beneath the blankets, he squeezed his eyes shut against the cold and dim morning light. The whims of summer escaped him; it had been hot last night - almost too hot, and the bed had felt overly warm with two bodies nestled inside. Now the breeze that reached him was cool, blown in off of the distant bay, and Ivan reached out to Malcolm, hoping to regain some of their shared warmth. His advances met bare sheets and nothingness - Malcolm was gone.

Ivan sat straight up in bed. The room was as it had appeared the night before - everything was in place, there was no note, no evidence of disappearance, nothing to indicate that anything was different than it had been the day before, but Ivan found himself unable to shake the sudden fear that overtook him. If he had been abandoned again...his heart pounded with the enormity of it. If he had no husband, then he belonged to no one. They would send him back to his father.

Ivan's throat burned with bile, but he swallowed it away and turned his mind from that train of thought. But long minutes passed, and yet Malcolm did not return. Eventually, Ivan got out of bed to close the window and listen at the door for footsteps. None came, and, feeling foolish, he got angrily back into bed. So what if Malcolm had left him? He didn't care - he didn't need Malcolm to be there when he woke up. He wasn't a child. So what if Malcolm had left? Fuck him, then. Fuck him and fuck Henrik and fuck Tómas and fuck everyone else who had ever left him. He didn't need any of them.

Abruptly, the door opened and Ivan, who had been lost in a muddle of his own thoughts, started and nearly fell off the bed. Malcolm looked warily down at him as he picked himself up from the floor.

"Are you OK?" he asked immediately, then, seeing Ivan's face: "What happened?"

Ivan scrambled to his feet, emotions a torrent of relief and embarrassment and fear and anger.

"Nothing happened!" he snapped, then before he could stop himself, "You left."

Malcolm's entire countenance shifted, and he set down what he had been holding (a tray, recognizable from the kitchen collection), and held both hands out to Ivan.

"I'm sorry."

Whatever Ivan had inside of him that had made him so afraid was settled now, stupid thing that it was - Malcolm was back and that was all that mattered, so the terror curled itself into a corner of his mind and licked its teeth. Anger stepped up to fill its void.

"You should be!" he retaliated.

Malcolm observed him cautiously.

"OK. Why?"

This struck Ivan as being both ridiculous and offensive.

"Why? If I have to explain it to you, I shouldn't even bother." Ivan, snapped, suddenly feeling uncharitable. "It's a fucked up thing to do, that's all." he shrugged, uncomfortable even referencing the previous night. "Especially sometimes."

Malcolm regarded him evenly, still holding his hands out.

"OK. Can you come here?"

Ivan shook his head.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like you."

Malcolm suppressed a smile for Ivan's sake.

"That's fine. Can you come here anyway?"

Ivan glared daggers at him, but obeyed - albeit slowly. When he was close enough to reach, Malcolm pulled him into an embrace and spoke against his ear.

"Did you really think I'd left you?"

Ivan refused to hug him back, and stood with his arms folded across his chest and Malcolm's arms squishing him.

"Well, you were gone, so I wasn't wrong, was I?" he snarled against a gray shoulder, but the venom was muted by the fact that he was being squeezed so tightly.

"But why would I do that?"

Ivan refused to answer that.

"Well, I didn't leave you." Malcolm leaned back and tried to get Ivan to meet his eyes, but the carrier was hip to the game and refused. Malcolm furrowed his brow and peered at his carrier's face as if he were trying to look into his past.

"What are you afraid of, Ivan?" he asked, as gently as he could.

Predictably, this aroused Ivan's ire.

"Fuck. Off."

Malcolm sighed and reflected quietly on the fact that in all his years as an MP, he hadn't been told to fuck off half as often as since he'd married Ivan.

"Ivan, that's not an acceptable way to speak to me."

This really lit a fire, and now Ivan was fighting him to get free of his arms, his voice close to a hiss.

"...let me go, dammit....don't fucking need this....not a goddamned invalid!"

Malcolm calmly turned him loose. Ivan retreated to the opposite side of the room and glared at him from the safety of a patch of sunlight.

Malcolm turned and sat down on the edge of their bed, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Come on, Ivan. Come over here."

Ivan shook his head.

"No."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you've gotta come talk to me about it. You can't just run off. You need to tell me what's wrong."

"I don't need to do anything for you." the carrier responded acidly.

Malcolm's easygoing smile faded and his voice sobered.

"Ivan, come sit down. I won't tell you again."

Malcolm looked serious, and Ivan felt an urge to obey, followed speedily by a burning urge to spite his husband.

"Fuck you, Malcolm."

Malcolm blinked at him for a few long seconds.

"OK." he said, simply, and then got up and began to head towards the door.

Ivan, without thinking, demanded,

"And where do you think you're going now?"

Malcolm didn't answer right away - he just went to the door, clicked the lock quietly, and turned back to face Ivan.

"On your belly. On the bed."

Suddenly, the room seemed significantly smaller. Ivan took a half step back, then caught himself and stood firm.

"No." he answered, but the answer had more caution in it than his previous declarations had, and he knew Malcolm could hear that - could sense the weakness, see the flagging tail.

Malcolm didn't even blink, just repeated himself in the same voice and same tone.

"On your belly. On the bed."

Ivan hesitated, felt angry, felt worried, felt anxiety nipping at all his exposed ankles and wrists and vulnerable places and took an abortive step forward. Malcolm waited.

"If I have to put you on the bed," he said, eventually, "It's going to be much worse."

Ivan stiffened. Not since he was a child had Ivan ever been threatened with an actual physical punishment. People did it, sure, to their carriers, to children in school...but those were other people, unreal people, distant facts and not real, up close, go-get-on-the-bed things that actually happened. And certainly not to him. He had been an officer, for fuck's sake.

Malcolm had begun to move forward now, towards him, and Ivan panicked and stepped backwards.

"I'm going!" he snapped hurriedly, trying to buy himself time. Malcolm shook his head, and those black eyes were inscrutable.

"Too late."

Malcolm crossed the room in strides, those long legs looking suddenly more powerful as he approached Ivan. Ivan remembered this moment - the instant in which the carrier realizes he is trapped, that they are too close and the door is too far and he couldn't move fast enough and he might as well just give up anyway. In the past, this moment had delighted him, had thrilled him as a victory; things looked different from the other side.

Malcolm gripped him by the arm - not angrily, but firmly enough to make clear his control. He led a halting Ivan over to the edge of the bed.

"Hands in front of you on the bed. Bend and hold it."

"You said on my belly." Ivan corrected, fidgeting in Malcolm's grip.

Once again, those dark eyes turned on him and they were stormy and unreadable and Ivan wasn't sure what to think.

"I'll go on my belly." he offered, trying to make concession sound as dignified as possible.

"Too. Late." Malcolm repeated, only now his voice had this tone in it that Ivan found particularly alarming. "You're stalling and you're disobedient. Laying down is for carriers who cooperate. You stand." Malcolm let go of his arm, and Ivan flinched at the loss. "Go."

Getting himself into position took every ounce of self-discipline that Ivan had. His mind revolted, but Ivan controlled it. This was not the first time, after all, that he had faced the unpleasant inevitable, and he knew he could rely on his own automation, if nothing else, to sustain him.

Just shut it out, he told himself. Whatever he does to you can't be that bad. Just do what he says and shut it all out. Everything has a beginning and an end. Just let it happen, and it'll all be over soon.

This filling his head, Ivan bent emotionlessly over the bed, settling himself in a position he expected Malcolm would like, and waited for the first blow to come.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually, he looked back over his shoulder.

Malcolm was sitting in a chair directly behind him, watching and apparently waiting himself.

"What - what are you waiting for?" he asked, his voice tight. Malcolm glanced at his watch.

"For your time-out to be over."

All the blood in his body rushed to Ivan's face, his shoulders tensed, and his hands knotted in the sheets.

"My what?"

Malcolm blinked at him.

"I'm waiting," he repeated, more clearly, "For your time-out to be over."

Ivan saw red and had sudden visions of incredible violence.

"Time out? I'm in a time out? I thought you were going to beat me, you sick son of a bitch, and instead, you put me in a fucking time out?!"

Realizing belatedly that he was still in position, Ivan whipped around to face his husband, his hands in fists.

Malcolm saw this, and his expression darkened.

"Get back into position. I've told you before that you don't speak to me like that. Ten more minutes."

Ivan's eyes narrowed and Malcolm stood, walked over to him, and in one smooth movement, jerked Ivan's shorts down to his ankles, folded one of his arms behind his back, and forced the carrier down onto the bed.

"Back. Into. Position."

It wasn't clear to Ivan what made him stay in place that time, but he adjusted himself on the bed and resumed his former stance. His mind was racing. How could Malcolm do this to him? Treat him this way? Was he trying to humiliate him? Was this some sort of a thing for him - some kind of a pleasure? Was that what Malcolm was thinking of, standing behind him like this, while Ivan had his legs spread and back bared?

Ivan wanted to glance back over his shoulder, wanted to seek out the emotion in those murky eyes, to understand what went on in that head, but he was too afraid of extending his sentence to dare.

As if reading his mind, Malcolm spoke up, his tone casual.

"You move and we get to do this downstairs in the living room."

Ivan tensed up, then got very, very still.

The actual punishment time was surprisingly brief, and when it was done, Malcolm called time and let him stand again.

Ivan stretched and wiggled his fingers to get the sand out of them, then pulled up his shorts and turned to face his husband. Malcolm looked over at him with an open, calm, and slightly hopeful face.

"Feel better now?"

Ivan just shrugged, but even that response was orders of magnitude above 'fuck you', so Malcolm accepted it as an answer.

"Well, I'd like to talk to you, whenever you're ready. About last night. About this morning."

Ivan glanced away, suddenly embarrassed.

"OK."

"Would you like to talk to me?"

Ivan thought of shrugging, but made the extra effort to nod instead. Malcolm smiled broadly, his first since he'd entered the room. He stepped back and gestured to the tray he'd brought in almost an hour ago.

"Well. It'll be cold, but maybe we can talk over breakfast."

Ivan nodded again and then glanced around. Malcolm pointed vaguely as he lifted the tray.

"I know you don't like eggs, but Keith insisted. I hope the French toast makes up for it."

Ivan wrinkled his nose in distaste, but complied, and Malcolm joined him on the bed.

~:~

"So? How the hell was it?" George demanded, bouncing Max, Miller's youngest son, on his knee. "I haven't seen you in days; I feel like I'm behind on news!"

Max cooed and tried to grasp a hold of the spoon George was feeding him with. When he was unsuccessful, he reached out and tipped the bowl of oatmeal sideways instead. George caught it skillfully and returned it to the table.

Across the table, Ivan looked on in mild consternation, then focused on his coffee cup. He had made the coffee this morning - part of the chores he'd been assigned now that he and Malcolm were beginning to stay at the Manor for longer stretches of time.

"It was OK." Ivan glanced at the red-cheeked toddler. "Should we be talking about this in front of him?"

George waved a dismissive hand.

"He's not even two yet! He doesn't know what sex is. It's fine." Ivan raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't challenge. George eyed him carefully. "So spill - how was it? Terrible? OK? Short and sweet?" George paused, grinning. "Long and nasty?"

Ivan shrugged, uncertainly.

"It was fine."

George stared at him.

"Fine? Fine? Ivan, I honestly don't know why I bother sometimes."

Ivan grinned and went to refill his mug at the coffeepot.

"OK, sorry. It was...great? Perfect. Exactly what I needed. But it was weird. It's complicated. I don't know how to put it." he turned back to face George. "Is that better?"

Max got a hold of the spoon and started banging it against the table. Ivan glanced at George, who seemed oblivious to the racket until Max tried to put the wrong end of the spoon into his mouth, at which point he seamlessly removed it and replaced it with a brightly colored teething ring.

"It was weird?" he asked Ivan, prompting him to speak again.

Ivan shrugged again and stirred some milk into the hot coffee as he walked back over to take his place at the table again.

"I mean, I told him - " he hesitated, still wary of being too open, "I told him what I wanted, and he - he did it, but I don't know if..."

George tilted his head.

"If he thinks differently of you now?"

Ivan stilled, feeling caught out by George's uncanny ability to read him.

"Yes." he said, eventually. Then: "I'm weird."

George scoffed, but when he looked at Ivan, it was with those big, senselessly kind, understanding eyes. George always understood.

"We're all weird, Ivan." he said, gently. "It's just a matter of how."

Ivan exhaled, splitting the steam that rose up from his coffee mug.

"But I don't…I don't want him to think that…that I'm - "

There was something in Ivan's voice that made it clear things were different for him. There was some tone; some curious, childish unease and it made George understand. Looking at Ivan, his face melted with sympathy and empathy and love and he shifted Max farther back on his lap so that he could reach across the table to Ivan.

"You don't want him to think you're fucked up."

Even George's bluntness was gentle, and Ivan nodded with relief at having someone else voice what he had been fearing.

"I don't want him to know how fucked up I am."

"Listen to me, Ivan." George said, firmly. "No matter what happened to you or what you did in your past, you are not fucked up. You may have done some fucked-up things, or had some fucked-up things done to you, but that doesn't change the heart of you. You are not fucked up. You are fine."

Ivan shook his head, and he seemed to be staring at something buried deeply in the table or the ceramic of his mug.

"I'm not fine, George, I'm not, and - it's not just him, it's everything, it's - I don't belong here, and he knows it, and I - it would." Ivan took two deep breaths and closed his eyes for a second. "I'm not...a good person, George. I'm not good at all. I'm not normal. I hurt people. I hurt a lot of people, and I can't ever fix it, I can't fix anything..." he said, voice weakening and fading out towards the end.

George shook his head slowly.

"Ivan," he began, in that calm, positive voice that always seemed to soothe wounds, "Yes, you can. I know that you hurt people." George told him, "But that doesn't mean you ever have to do it again." he waited a moment, just letting that sink in for Ivan.

"Besides," he said, smiling a little, "You haven't hurt me."

But I will. Ivan wanted to say. I will because I have to. I don't know any other way.

"And even if you did," George continued, "It wouldn't make you some kind of freak. The only thing it would make you is a mean son of a bitch."

Ivan shook his head in miserable disbelief.

"No, it's not - I mean, I hurt people, George. I really, really hurt people. If you knew what I did...what I am..."

Max dropped his teething ring on the floor with a noise of surprise and George smoothly reached out to capture a soft toy and replace it. Then he rolled his eyes at Ivan.

"'What you are?' Anyone can hurt somebody, Ivan. You think that makes you special? It doesn't. You're not darker or more tortured or worse than any of the rest of us. You're just human, and human means that we have the power to hurt other people." George's eyebrows were knitted together in passionate concern, "But it never, ever means that you have to."

There was some silence where the only break was the soft, wet mashing sound of cloth from Max's toy.

Ivan toyed with the cold remains of his coffee, unsure why he felt so injured, so attacked, so unsettled - over what? George pushed fruit salad around on his plate and didn't eat it and wondered why it was that he always seemed to be the therapist for someone else. Max munched on his toy and didn't wonder about much else.

Eventually, George spoke again.

"And just so you know...there's nothing wrong with you, Ivan. And I don't know who told you there was, or who convinced you you were destined to be fucked up, or made you think you were some kind of monster, but...they lied." he looked up at Ivan for confirmation, wanting to meet his eyes. "OK? They lied. And they're gone now. And you are going to be fine."

Ivan looked up at George with eyes so goddamn grateful it just about broke the older carrier's heart. He jiggled Max in his lap for distraction and exhaled slowly.

"Well. If we're done with the heavy shit now," he said, giving a teasing grin to Ivan and a little wiggle of his eyebrows, "Maybe you could tell me how big Malcolm's dick is?"

~:~