Chapter 2: Building Tension
Matthew and Oliver arrived to the Embassy and parted ways with a kiss before Matthew headed off to the tightly controlled CIA wing. He checked in with Carrie, who was already on edge from the stress of managing the Yakov operation.
"Morning, Matthew. Got a minute?" Carrie asked, her voice tight.
Matthew nodded and followed her into her office. She closed the door behind them and turned to face him, her expression serious.
"I've been thinking about your approach with Yakov. I want you to tread carefully," she said, her eyes meeting his. "We need him, but we can't risk blowing our cover. If he gets spooked, he's gone."
Matthew nodded, his expression neutral. "Understood.
I've been doing some research on him. He's got a pattern, certain places he frequents, things he likes. I'll use that to my advantage," Matthew replied, his voice calm and confident.
Carrie nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Good. But remember, this isn't just a game, Matthew. We're talking about national security here. One wrong move and... well, you know the risks."
Matthew felt a pang of guilt at the reminder of the stakes. He knew the risks all too well. "I won't let you down, Carrie. From his surveillance file it looks like he goes to a gay bar every Thursday - QBar. I'll see if I can find him there tonight," Matthew said.
This was exactly the kind of situation that made him feel alive, the thrill of the chase, the unpredictability of it all. He could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through his veins as he thought about the encounter to come.
Carrie nodded, her eyes narrowing as she studied Matthew. "Be careful, Matthew. Remember, we need information from him, not his body in a ditch."
Matthew gave her a reassuring smile. "Relax, Carrie. I know what I'm doing."
He left Carrie's office and made his way back to his own, his mind already racing with plans and strategies.
A bar was usually the place to approach a Russian asset - they loved to drink. And Yakov would be at his most vulnerable at a gay bar.
Matthew knew the game, and he knew how to play it. He just needed to be careful not to get played himself.
Matthew spent the day reviewing Yakov's file, committing every detail to memory. He knew the man's appearance, his habits, his likes, and dislikes. He was ready.
As the day wore on, Matthew found himself checking his watch more and more frequently. He was anxious to get to QBar, to see Yakov in person, to start the game.
Finally, the clock struck five, and Matthew called it a day.
He changed out of his suit and into something more casual - dark jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his slender frame just right. He splashed on a little cologne, ran a hand through his short dark hair, and checked his reflection in the mirror. He looked good - dangerous, even. Just the way he wanted to look tonight.
He looked down at his hand to his wedding ring. He would have to conceal certain parts of himself if he was going to make this work. He took his ring off and gave it a gentle kiss - a sign that he would be true to Oliver no matter what he had to do - and then place it in his desk drawer.
Carrie stopped him on his way out of the office and handed him a key and an address - a safe house where he could meet with Yakov privately to pass information. Matthew just had to find a way to get him there.
He made his way to QBar, walking the familiar streets of Prague's Old Town. The cobblestone paths were damp from the recent rain, the air cool and crisp. He could see his breath misting in front of him as he walked, his heart pounding with anticipation.
QBar was small and discreet, tucked away in a narrow alley. The sign was barely visible, the letters worn and faded. Matthew pushed open the door and stepped inside, the warmth and the soft hum of conversation wrapping around him like a blanket.
The bar was cozy and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of beer and sweat.
A few patrons sat hunched over their drinks, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the lamps on the tables. Matthew's eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail, every face. He needed to be hyper-vigilant, always aware of his surroundings. It was a habit ingrained in him from years of training and experience.
He made his way to the bar and ordered a beer, his eyes never leaving the room. He could feel the weight of the key in his pocket, a constant reminder of the task at hand. He took a sip of his beer, his eyes landing on a figure sitting alone in the corner.
Yakov.
Matthew's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the chiseled features and striking brown hair. He turned slightly, letting his peripheral vision take in the rest of the room while keeping Yakov in his sights. He didn't want to make it obvious that he was watching him.
Yakov was sitting alone, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes were scanning the room, taking in every detail, just like Matthew. He looked tense, his shoulders hunched, his body language closed off. Matthew could see the stress etched into his features, the way his fingers tapped nervously against the glass.
Their eyes locked. Matthew's heart skipped a beat again. Yakov let out a faint smile and took a sip of his whiskey.
Matthew took it as an invitation and made his way over, his heart pounding in his chest. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice smooth and low.
Yakov looked up at him, his eyes meeting Matthew's. There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of doubt in his gaze, but then he nodded. "Please, sit."
Matthew slid into the booth across from him, his eyes never leaving Yakov's. "What's someone as handsome as you doing alone in a bar at this early hour?" Matthew asked flirtatiously. He had long stopped feeling guilty about making this kind of approach, even though he was married.
After all, this was part of the job, and he was good at it. Besides, Oliver understood the game. He knew the risks and rewards, even if he didn't like them.
Yakov's eyes lingered on Matthew's for a moment before he replied, "I could ask you the same question."
Matthew smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "Who, me? I'm just visiting and thought I would check out the gay scene tonight. Are you a local?" he asked, managing to sound genuine.
Yakov raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of his whiskey.
"I'm from St. Petersburg, originally. But I've been stationed here for the past year."
Matthew nodded, as if this were a casual piece of information.
"Lovely city. I've been here a few times myself. The architecture is breathtaking, isn't it?" he said, making sure to keep his voice light and non-threatening.
Yakov seemed to relax a little, his shoulders un-hunching slightly.
"It is. Do you have a name?" he asked, seeming skeptical.
"I'm Rich," said Matthew without hesitation. He was playing a part and never hesitated to use a new identity.
“And your name?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his voice just above a whisper.
Yakov's eyes flickered with a hint of wariness, but then he smiled, and Matthew could see the attraction in his gaze. “I’m Yuri,” he said, his accent slightly thicker than before.
Matthew felt the spark of excitement as they began the delicate dance of attraction and deception. He knew how to play this game, and he was good at it. But he also knew the stakes were high, and one wrong move could blow his cover.
“Pleasure to meet you, Yuri,” Matthew said, extending his hand across the table.
Yakov hesitated for a moment before taking it, his grip firm and confident. Matthew’s eyes met his, a silent challenge. “So, Yuri, what brings a man like you to a place like this?” he asked, keeping his tone casual and relaxed.
Yakov smiled, his fingers still lingering on Matthew’s hand. “Curiosity, mostly. And maybe a little loneliness,” he admitted. “It’s not easy being away from home, you know?”
Matthew nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. “I hear that. It can be tough on the soul, can’t it?” he said, his voice soft and sympathetic.
"Well, maybe tonight you won't have to be lonely. How about I buy you a drink and we can keep each other company?"
Yakov smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I'd like that," he said, gesturing to the bartender for another round.
Matthew took the opportunity to study Yakov more closely. Up close, his features were even more striking - high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and eyes that seemed to hold a world of secrets. Matthew could see the tension in his shoulders, the lines of worry around his mouth.
Yakov was a man carrying a heavy burden, and Matthew knew just how to exploit that. "You seem like you could use a night to let loose," Matthew said, his voice low and intimate. "What do you say? Let's have some fun, just you and me."
Yakov's eyes met Matthew's, and for a moment, something passed between them. An understanding, a connection. Yakov nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. "Okay," he said, his voice husky with desire. "Let's have some fun."
Matthew signaled the bartender for another round, his eyes never leaving Yakov's.
He could feel the tension in the air, the charged atmosphere between them. He knew how to play this game, knew how to turn the screws just enough to make Yakov think he was in control.
"So, Yuri, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do for fun when you're not stuck in this godforsaken city?" Matthew asked, his voice casual and light. He wanted to keep the conversation flowing, wanted to draw Yakov out.
Yakov took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes thoughtful. "I like to read, mostly. Classical literature, mostly Russian authors. I also like to go to the opera, the ballet.
Anything cultural, really. It's a way to escape, you know?" Yakov said, his voice softening as he spoke about his passions.
Matthew nodded, his eyes never leaving Yakov's. "I can understand that. Sometimes you need a way to get away from reality, don't you?" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know a place, not far from here. A little more... private. Would you like to go?"
Yakov's eyes widened slightly, surprise and interest flashing in his gaze. He hesitated for a moment before nodding.
"Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Matthew signaled the bartender for the check, his heart pounding with anticipation. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the thrill of the chase only heightening his arousal.
They left the bar together, the cool night air wrapping around them as they stepped outside. Matthew led the way, his hand resting lightly on Yakov's back as they navigated the narrow cobblestone streets.
"Where are we going?" Yakov asked, his voice uncertain.
"Somewhere quiet, where we can talk," Matthew replied, his voice smooth and reassuring. "I promise, you'll like it."
They walked in silence for a few moments, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the old buildings. Finally, Matthew stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away in a narrow alley. He pulled out the key Carrie had given him earlier and inserted it into the lock.
"After you," he said, holding the door open for Yakov.
Yakov hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, the sound muffled by the thick walls. Matthew followed him in, turning on the lights to reveal a cozy, well-appointed room. A fireplace dominated one wall, a thick rug covering the hardwood floor, and a large, comfortable-looking sofa sat in the center of the room.
Yakov turned to face Matthew, his eyes scanning the room before settling on him. "This is... nice," he said, his voice soft and slightly uncertain.
Matthew smiled, stepping closer to him. "I thought you might like it. Why don't you have a seat?
Can I get you something to drink?" Matthew offered, gesturing towards the sofa.
Yakov nodded and sat down, his eyes still on Matthew. "Whiskey, if you have it."
Matthew poured them each a glass from the decanter on the side table and handed one to Yakov before sitting down next to him.
"What is this place?" Yakov asked, taking a sip of his drink.
"A friend's place. He lets me use it when I need some... privacy," Matthew said, leaving the implications open.
Yakov nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I see.
And what kind of privacy do you need, Rich?" Yakov asked, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement. His eyes were locked onto Matthew's, that delicate dance of attraction and tension still very much alive between them.
Matthew took a sip of his whiskey, his gaze never leaving Yakov's. "The kind where I can have important conversations with people in a place where no one else can hear."
Yakov paused and smiled again. "I know you're not a tourist," he said knowingly. "I knew it was a matter of time before one of you came to me in that bar."
"One of whom?" Matthew said flirtatiously. He wasn't surprised Yakov could see through the ruse, but he was still certain he could use this situation to his advantage.
"The three letters.....you people don't like it when we say them out loud," Yakov said.
He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving Matthew's.
Matthew smiled, his voice low and intimate. "Is that so? Maybe I'm not as easy to intimidate as those other 'three letter people' you're used to dealing with."
Yakov raised an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in his gaze. "I'll give you people credit. You know my type. Tall, thin, handsome. A little older than me. On another night maybe I would have played along longer and gotten into bed with you," he said with a smirk.
"Your people do that - we don't," I said with my own knowing smirk. Yakov smiled and put his hands behind his head. "I'm guessing you know my real name, but I still don't know yours. How about you tell me?" he said with a grin.
Matthew chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Maybe we'll get there someday. But for now, Yakov, I want to talk about you."
Yakov smiled and shook his head. "Then this can be brief. I understand why you want to talk to me. I'm gay, Putin doesn't like that, it's true. And I think the war in Ukraine is an abomination, I am guessing you know that. But I know what happens to Russians who work with your people, and I would like to avoid death by nerve gas if at all possible," he said.
Matthew couldn't help but admire Yakov's directness. He took another sip of his whiskey and leaned back against the couch, his eyes locked onto Yakov's.
"I understand your caution, Yakov. And I promise you, I have no intention of hurting you. In fact, I can help you," he said in a soft, reassuring voice.
Yakov's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of suspicion flashing in their depths. "Help me how? By making me disappear?"
Matthew shook his head. "No. By giving you a chance to do the right thing. We can work together to stop the war in Ukraine and save innocent lives. Your mother is from Lviv, right?" he asked.
Yakov looked taken aback, his eyes searching Matthew's face for any sign of insincerity. "Yes, how did you...?"
Matthew smiled warmly, his eyes soft and genuine. "I do my homework, Yakov. I know everything about you. I know how much you love your family, how much you care about what's happening in your country. You're not just a pawn in this game. You're a human being with a heart and a soul, and I respect that."
Yakov seemed to relax a little, his shoulders dropping slightly. "What do you want from me, Rich?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Matthew reached out and gently touched Yakov's hand, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of it. "I want you to help us. Help us end the war, help us save lives. You have the power to make a difference, Yakov. I see it in you."
Yakov withdrew his hand, his eyes clouding with doubt and uncertainty. "You make it sound so easy. You don't understand what it's like, the risks... the danger."
Matthew nodded, his expression solemn. "I do understand, Yakov. More than you know. But sometimes, the greater good is worth the risk.
And I believe that with every fiber of my being," Matthew said, his voice steadfast and resolute.
Yakov's eyes searched Matthew's face, and for a moment, Matthew could see the internal struggle playing out in his gaze. He knew that this was the moment that could make or break his chances with Yakov.
"Why should I trust you?" Yakov asked, his voice barely a whisper, but the vulnerability in his eyes was clear.
Matthew took a deep breath, his mind racing with all the stories he had heard about Yakov, all the intel he had gathered.
He knew that this was the moment he had been training for, the moment where he had to put everything on the line for the chance at a valuable asset. He looked into Yakov's eyes, and he saw a kindred spirit, someone who was also stuck in a world they didn't belong in.
"Because I see you, Yakov. I see you struggling, I see you trapped. And I want to help you. I want to give you a way out, a chance to make a difference. But I can't do that unless you trust me," Matthew said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with intensity and sincerity.
"I promise you, I would never do anything to put you in harm's way, Yakov. I want to help you, to give you the chance to do the right thing, to make a difference."
Yakov's eyes held Matthew's gaze for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of deceit. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening. "Okay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't make any promises, but I will think about it."
It was a start. Matthew handed Yakov a notepad and a pen. "This pen has invisible ink that can only be read in UV light. Whenever you want to meet me, write the time on that notepad with that pen and drop it in this box in the Wallenstein Gardens," Matthew said while also passing Yakov a photo of the drop box. "I know you go walking there often, so it won't raise red flags. I also have a key to this safe house - we will meet here. I trust you, Yakov, and I know you won't betray me," Matthew said, handing him the key.
"Here. A spare key to the safe house. Keep it somewhere safe."
Yakov nodded, taking the key and slipping it into his pocket. "Again, no promises," he said.
"Well, take your time, but know that every minute we waste is more lives lost in Ukraine," Matthew said sternly.
He was careful not to push too hard but wanted to plant the urgency in Yakov's mind.
Yakov nodded, his expression serious. "I understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Matthew stood up and walked to the window, looking out onto the dark streets of Prague. "The war won't end overnight, Yakov, but every piece of intel you give us brings us closer to that goal."
Yakov set his glass down and moved toward the door. "Well, thank you for the drink but I think I am heading back to QBar to see if any nice guys actually want to sleep with me," he said.
Matthew turned around and offered his hand. "Always a pleasure, Yakov. Promise me you will think about it."
Yakov took the handshake and gave a weak smile. "I will, promise."
Matthew watched as Yakov opened the door and walked away. The adrenaline from the meet-up was still coursing through his veins. He walked back to the sofa and sat down. He replayed their conversation in his head, picking apart every word, every gesture.
He couldn't help but feel that he had made an impact on Yakov.
The way he had been so direct and vulnerable in his words, the way he had shared his fears and doubts, it had all resonated with Matthew. He knew he had taken a risk, opening up to Yakov like that, but he also knew it was the only way to gain his trust.
As he sat there, Matthew couldn't help but think about Oliver. He knew that his husband would be worried sick if he knew what he was up to. But he also knew that Oliver trusted him, believed in him. And that was enough to keep him going, to give him the strength to do what needed to be done.
Matthew sighed, stretching his arms above his head before standing up and gathering his things. He needed to get back home, to Oliver. He missed him, even after just a few hours apart. Their relationship was built on trust, on understanding, and he knew that Oliver would be waiting up for him, wanting to talk, wanting to connect.
As he left the safe house, he pulled out his phone and sent Oliver a quick text.
*Just leaving the office, heading home now.*
He knew it was a half-truth, but it was the best he could do for now.
He couldn't bear to lie to Oliver, not after everything they had been through together.
As he walked back home, the cool night air nipping at his skin, Matthew couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his chest. He knew he was playing with fire, dancing with a man who could easily destroy him - and not just professionally.
The stakes were high, and he was acutely aware of the risks. But he also knew that he was close, so close to turning Yakov. He could feel it in his gut, like a low, persistent hum.
Despite the danger, the potential betrayal, there was something about Yakov that drew him in. Maybe it was their shared sense of isolation, their mutual understanding of the weight they carried. Or maybe it was just the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the unknown.
Whatever it was, Matthew couldn't deny the pull. He quickened his pace, his mind racing with plans and strategies. He needed to move carefully, to play this just right. One wrong move and everything could unravel.
He walked through the familiar streets of Prague, the city lights casting long shadows on the cobblestones. He walked up the steps to his apartment and opened the door. The lights were out. Oliver must already be in bed.
He made his way to the bedroom and found Oliver propped up in bed reading by lamplight. He was shirtless and was wearing his reading glasses - a combination Matthew found unbearably sexy.
He looked up as Matthew entered, a tentative smile gracing his naturally warm face. "Hey, you're back earlier than I thought," Oliver said, lowering his book.
Matthew walked over to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. "I missed you," he said, leaning down to kiss Oliver softly on the lips. "How was your day?"
Oliver smiled, setting his book aside and running a hand through Matthew's hair. "It was good. I met with the ambassador, we discussed some ideas for a humanitarian aid program in Ukraine. What about you? Anything interesting happen at work?" he asked, his voice casual yet curious.
He knew Matthew usually kept his work close to the chest, but he suspected there was more to this evening than just a late night at the office.
Matthew gently took off his shirt and dropped it onto the chair nearby, before climbing into bed next to Oliver. "It was... eventful. I met someone new tonight."
Oliver's eyes lit up with interest, and he propped himself up on one elbow. "Oh yeah? Anyone interesting?"
Matthew nodded, his expression softening as he thought about Yakov. "A potential asset. This is a big one. I'm afraid I have some late nights ahead of me if this works out."
Oliver frowned, furrowing his brow. "Not good news," he said glumly.
"Well, we haven't had much good news since February 2022, have we?" Matthew responded. The war in Ukraine had overshadowed almost everything else this tour, and it kept them both busy.
Matthew knew Oliver understood the importance of his job, but it didn’t make the nights they spent apart any easier. They both tried to find comfort in the moments they had together.
Oliver's eyes softened, and he ran a hand through Matthew's hair. "I know how important this is, Matt. Just be careful, please. I can't lose you."
Matthew felt a pang of guilt. He knew Oliver worried about him, and he hated adding to his stress. He pulled Oliver into a warm embrace, resting his head on his shoulder. "I'll be careful, love.
I promise," Matthew whispered into Oliver's ear, his arms tightening around his husband. He could feel Oliver's heartbeat, steady and reassuring against his chest. They held each other for a long moment, neither wanting to let go.
Matthew leaned in for a kiss, soft and sweet at first.
He felt Oliver's breath hitch as their lips met, and he took that as an invitation to deepen the kiss. He pushed his tongue into Oliver's mouth, tasting the remnants of whiskey and the sweetness of his husband.
Oliver moaned softly and wrapped his arms around Matthew's neck, pulling him closer. Matthew let his hands roam over Oliver's body, feeling the warmth of his skin.
He began to kiss his way down Oliver's chest, paying special attention to each of his husband's nipples, which he knew were sensitive.
"Fuck, Matt," Oliver gasped, arching his back and pushing his chest towards Matthew's mouth.
Matthew smiled against his skin, his cock already rock hard in his pants. He continued his journey downward, kissing and nipping at Oliver's stomach, his hips, his inner thighs. He could smell the musky scent of Oliver's arousal, and he knew that he was not the only one who was turned on.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Oliver's boxers and tugged them down, freeing his husband's cock. It was already hard and leaking pre-come, and Matthew could feel his own cock throbbing in response.
"Fuck, you're so hard," Matthew murmured against Oliver's skin, his voice thick with lust. "I can feel it against my stomach."
Oliver let out a low groan and bucked his hips, grinding his cock against Matthew's stomach. "I need to fuck you, Matthew . I need to be inside you," he said, his voice ragged with desire.
Matthew looked up at him, his eyes dark with lust. "I want that too. I want you to fuck me hard, Oliver. I want you to use me."
Oliver growled and reached over to the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube.
He poured a generous amount onto his fingers and began to prepare Matthew, his fingers sliding in and out, stretching him open.
Matthew gasped, his hips bucking against Oliver's hand. "Fuck, that feels good," he moaned, his voice low and husky with desire.
Oliver smirked, his eyes locked onto Matthew's. "You want more, don't you?" he taunted, his fingers curling inside Matthew, pressing against his prostate.
"Yes, fuck yes," Matthew gasped, his back arching off the bed as Oliver hit that sweet spot inside him.
"I want more. I want your cock inside me."
Oliver's eyes darkened with lust, and he pulled his fingers out, replacing them with the head of his cock. Matthew felt the stretch, the burn, and he pushed back, wanting more.
"You want it, don't you?" Oliver growled, holding Matthew's hips steady as he slowly pushed inside. "You want my big, fat cock inside your tight little hole, don't you?"
"Yes," Matthew groaned, his hands fisting the sheets as Oliver slowly filled him. He could feel every inch, every ridge of Oliver's cock as it slid deeper inside him.
It was a familiar sensation, yet it felt different this time, more intense, more urgent. Maybe it was the danger that hung in the air, the risk that clung to every moment.
Oliver bottomed out, his hips flush against Matthew's ass. He let out a low groan, his fingers digging into Matthew's hips. "Fuck, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.
Matthew looked back over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Oliver's. "You feel so big," he said, his voice a low, desperate moan.
"I love having you inside me, Oliver. Love how you fill me up."
Oliver let out a low growl, his fingers tightening on Matthew's hips. "You're so fucking tight, Matt. Every time I fuck you, it's like the first time all over again."
He began to move, a slow, deliberate thrust that had Matthew gasping and pushing back against him. The sound of their bodies coming together, wet and slick, filled the room.
Matthew's cock was rock hard, aching and leaking pre-come as Oliver's hips moved against his ass.
Every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through him, making his toes curl and his fingers clutch at the sheets. He could feel Oliver's muscles tensing and flexing beneath his skin, the strength and power of him evident in every movement.
"Fuck, Oliver, you feel so good," Matthew moaned, his voice ragged and desperate. "Harder. I want you to fuck me harder."
Oliver let out a low growl, his fingers tightening on Matthew's hips as he increased the pace. The sound of their bodies coming together filled the room, a wet, slick sound that made Matthew's cock throb with need.
He could feel every inch of Oliver inside him, could feel the way his cock rubbed against his prostate with each thrust.
"Fuck, Matt, you feel incredible," Oliver groaned, his voice thick with desire. "I love how tight you are, how you squeeze my cock like a fucking vice."
Matthew let out a low moan, his head falling back against Oliver's shoulder. "Yes, fuck me, Oliver. Use my body. Make me feel you."
Oliver growled and increased his pace, his hips slapping against Matthew's ass with each powerful thrust.
"You like that, don't you? You like feeling my cock deep inside you, stretching you out?"
Matthew moaned in agreement, pushing back against Oliver's thrusts. "God, yes, I do. I love feeling you inside me, filling me up."
Oliver groaned, his grip on Matthew's hips tightening even more. "You're so goddamn tight, Matt. I could fuck you all night and never get enough."
Matthew could feel his orgasm building, the pleasure coiling in his belly and spreading outward. "Fuck me, Oliver. Make me come.
Please, fuck me harder. Make me feel it.”
Matthew could feel the pressure building in his own body, the pleasure coiling low in his belly. He knew he wouldn't last much longer. Oliver always knew how to push him to the edge, to make him feel everything.
“You want to come, don't you?” Oliver growled in his ear, his voice ragged and hoarse. “You want to come all over my cock while I fuck your tight little ass?”
“Yes,” Matthew gasped, his body tensing as the pleasure became almost unbearable. “Fuck, yes, I want to come.
I want to feel you explode inside me, Oliver,” Matthew said, his voice a low, desperate moan.
The room was filled with the sound of their bodies slapping together, the wet smack of skin on skin echoing through the air. The scent of sex permeated the room, musky and sweet, making Matthew’s head spin with desire.
Oliver’s grip on Matthew’s hips was like a vice, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pounded into him with wild abandon. “That’s it, baby. Take my cock. Take it all,” he growled, his voice thick with lust.
“Take every fucking inch of my cock. You know you want it, don’t you? You want to feel me deep inside you, filling you up, making you mine.”
Matthew could only moan in response, his body tensing and trembling as Oliver’s words sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He felt like he was on fire, every nerve ending sensitive and alive with need.
“Yes,” he finally managed to gasp out, his voice hoarse with desire. “I want it. I want all of you, Oliver.
I want to feel you lose control, feel you fucking explode inside me," Matthew panted, his body writhing and bucking against Oliver's thrusts.
Oliver's hands were everywhere, caressing Matthew's chest, pinching his nipples, gripping his shoulders, as if trying to hold on to him as tightly as he was holding on to his sanity. "You're so close, aren't you, Matt? I can feel it. Your body's so fucking tight around me. You're gonna come for me, aren't you?
You're gonna come all over that pretty little cock of yours?" Oliver growled, his voice low and guttural.
"Yes," Matthew managed to gasp out, his body shaking and trembling with the force of his impending orgasm. "I'm gonna come for you, Oliver. I'm gonna come all over my fucking hand while you fuck my ass. I'm gonna make a fucking mess for you."
Oliver's grip on Matthew's hips tightened even more, his fingers digging into Matthew's flesh. "That's it, baby. Come for me. I wanna see you lose control.
I wanna see you fucking come undone." Oliver's words were a growl, a command, a plea all rolled into one. His thrusts were relentless, each one driving Matthew closer and closer to the edge.
Matthew's hand flew to his cock, his fingers wrapping around the shaft. He stroked himself in time with Oliver's thrusts, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the pleasure building, a slow burn that was quickly becoming an inferno.
"Fuck, Oliver, you feel so good," Matthew moaned, his hips moving in sync with Oliver's. "Your cock is so deep inside me.
I can feel every inch of you," Matthew gasped, his fingers flying over his cock, matching the pace of Oliver's thrusts. "I wanna feel you come. I want to feel you fucking explode inside me, Oliver!"
Oliver's grip on Matthew's hips tightened even more, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pounded into him with wild abandon. "Fuck, Matt, you feel so tight. So goddamn tight." His voice was a growl, a plea, a command all rolled into one. "I want to feel you come too.
Matthew couldn't control himself anymore and exploded with cum all over his stomach. He could immediately feel Oliver's release as well.
With a few last thrusts, Oliver let out a low groan, his cock pulsing deep inside of Matthew, filling him with warmth as he came. "Fuck, Matt...you feel so good," he said, his voice ragged and breathless.
Matthew felt Oliver's body shuddering against his own, the sensation of his husband's cock pulsing inside him sending a wave of pleasure through him.
Oliver collapsed in a heap on top of Matthew, their sweaty chests heaving against each other.
"Two nights in a row," Oliver panted. "We haven't done that in years."
Matthew laughed. "I don't know what's gotten into me. I'm insatiable," he said.
Oliver propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Matthew. "Well, I'm not complaining. I like it when you can't get enough of me."
Matthew smirked and ran a hand through Oliver's hair, pushing it back from his face. "You know I never get enough of you."
Oliver smiled and leaned in to kiss Matthew softly on the lips. "I know," he said, his voice soft. "I feel the same way."
He rolled off Matthew and stretched, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower.
I feel like I need to scrub my skin raw after all that sweat and sex," Oliver said with a chuckle, climbing out of bed and making his way to the bathroom.
Matthew watched him go, a sense of contentment washing over him. He loved these moments with Oliver, the quiet intimacy, the easy comfort. It was what he lived for, what made all the danger and the lies worth it.
He got out of bed and made his way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As he stood there, drinking, he looked out the window at the dark cityscape below. He thought about Yakov, about the game they were playing.
Something about causing Yakov had sparked a fire in Matthew, manifesting itself with intense sex with his husband. A therapist may have something to say about that, but for now Matthew didn't want to dwell on the reasons why.
He just wanted to bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking, to soak up the comfort and warmth of Oliver's presence.
As he stood there in the kitchen, the cool water soothing his parched throat, he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. He imagined Oliver under the hot water, his body glistening and slick as he lathered up. Matthew felt a familiar stirring in his groin, but he pushed it away. He was tired, and he knew Oliver needed his rest too. They had an early morning ahead of them.
He finished his water and set the glass down on the counter, his gaze flicking to the closed bathroom door.
He could hear the sound of Oliver's voice, low and muffled, as he sang softly to himself in the shower. Matthew smiled, knowing that Oliver was trying to hit the high notes, just like he always did.
He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, his mind wandering back to the safe house and the conversation he had shared with Yakov. He couldn't shake the feeling of connection he had felt with the Russian diplomat, the sense of shared isolation and understanding.
He knew that he was playing with fire, that he was dancing with a man who could easily destroy him - and not just professionally.
Matthew sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked out at the city lights twinkling in the darkness. He knew he should head to bed, should try to get some sleep before the next day's meetings. But his mind was racing, his thoughts a whirlwind of Yakov and Ukraine and the game he was playing.
Oliver emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He sauntered over to Matthew and wrapped his arms around his waist from behind.
"You know, whenever you fuck like that it usually means you're up to no good," he whispered in Matthew's ear.
Matthew leaned back into Oliver's embrace, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "And you're just figuring that out now?"
Oliver kissed his neck, his grip on Matthew tightening. "I just hope it's not going to get you into any more trouble than you're already in," he said.
Matthew turned around to face Oliver, his hands resting on Oliver's hips. "You know I can handle myself, right? I'm not some rookie out here playing games."
Oliver's eyes searched Matthew's face, his expression serious. "I know that.
I just worry about you being out there, alone, making these kinds of connections. You know how dangerous it can be. You've seen what happens when things go wrong," Oliver said, his voice laced with concern.
Matthew sighed and pulled Oliver closer, resting his forehead against his. "I know, and I'm careful. I promise. But you also know that sometimes, the risks are worth it. If we can help end the war in Ukraine, if we can save lives... it's worth it."
Oliver nodded, but Matthew could see the worry still lingering in his eyes. "I know. Just promise me you'll be careful," he said, planting a kiss on Matthew's forehead.
"Let's go to bed," Matthew said, not directly responding to Oliver.
He knew that no matter what he said, Oliver would still worry. It was part of being married to someone in his line of work.
They moved to the bedroom, and Matthew pulled back the covers. They climbed in, and Oliver pulled Matthew close, wrapping his arms around his husband. Matthew nuzzled into Oliver's bare chest as Oliver stroked his dark hair lovingly.
"You worry too much," he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep. "Everything is going to be just fine. I promise."
Oliver didn't respond, but Matthew could feel the tension in his husband's body. He knew that Oliver was probably lying awake, his mind racing with all the things that could go wrong.
Matthew sighed and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep despite the worry that still lingered in the air. He knew that the next few days would be crucial. The game was on, and he needed to stay sharp and focused.