Chapter 3: The Stallion Arrives
Leo’s hand trembled on the doorknob. He turned it, pulling the door inward.
Dmitri Volkov filled the doorway.
The frame seemed to shrink around him. He was still wearing the loose grey sweatpants and a dark hoodie from the gym, but the dampness of his hair gave him away—dark gold strands plastered to his forehead, the sharp, clean scent of chlorine cutting through the dorm’s stale air. He was breathing a little heavily, as if he’d taken the stairs two at a time.
For a suspended second, they just looked at each other. Leo’s brain short-circuited, registering only details: the startling pale blue of Dmitri’s eyes, the water droplet tracing a path from his temple down the hard line of his jaw, the sheer width of his shoulders blocking the fluorescent hall light.
Then Dmitri’s gaze flickered past Leo, to the back of the door.
He saw the flag. His eyes tracked the bright stripes, and a slow, unmistakable smile softened the stern set of his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk. It was something warmer, more appreciative.
“Is good,” Dmitri said, his voice that low, gravelly rumble Leo had only imagined. He nodded once, a small, decisive motion. “Is honest.”
He stepped forward, and Leo instinctively retreated, making room. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them in. The room, which had felt empty moments before, was now oppressively full. Dmitri’s presence was a physical pressure, a silent hum of energy that made the air taste metallic.
Dmitri took two more steps, his eyes never leaving Leo’s face. He reached up, and with a deliberate slowness, removed his wire-rimmed glasses. He folded them with a soft click and placed them carefully on the cluttered desk, next to a half-empty can of Red Bull.
When he turned back, the change was subtle but total. The scholarly softness was gone. His gaze was now direct, unblinking, a predator’s blue stillness. The shy, quiet giant from the library and the weight room had vanished. What remained was intensity, focused entirely on Leo.
Leo’s heart slammed against his sternum. He couldn’t move.
Dmitri closed the final space between them. He lifted one massive hand, his fingers surprisingly cool as they curved around the side of Leo’s jaw, his thumb brushing the high arch of his cheekbone. The touch was both a question and a statement.
“I have wanted to do this,” Dmitri murmured, the words a vibration Leo felt in his own skin, “since first time I saw you jump. That arc in the air. Like you were made for flight.”
He tilted Leo’s chin up just a fraction. Leo’s breath hitched, his lips parting.
Dmitri kissed him.
It was not a tentative exploration. It was a claiming. A slow, deep, devastatingly possessive press of his mouth that swallowed Leo’s weak gasp. Dmitri’s other hand came to rest on Leo’s hip, big enough to span the bone, holding him steady. The kiss was all heat and slow, swirling pressure, a deliberate tasting that bypassed Leo’s frantic thoughts and spoke directly to his spine.
Leo melted. His hands flew up, gripping the thick cotton of Dmitri’s hoodie for balance, his fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath. The world narrowed to the slick heat of Dmitri’s mouth, the scent of chlorine and clean male sweat, the overwhelming solidity of the body crowding him.
When Dmitri finally broke the kiss, it was only by a centimeter. They shared the same air, their breaths mingling in ragged sync.
“Okay?” Dmitri asked, the word a rough scrape.
“Yeah,” Leo whispered, his voice foreign to his own ears. “More than okay.”
A low sound, almost a purr, vibrated in Dmitri’s chest. He leaned in again, this time tracing the line of Leo’s jaw with his lips, down to the sensitive cord of his neck. Leo’s head fell back with a soft thud against the door, the pride flag rustling behind him.
“You taste like fear,” Dmitri muttered against his throat, his breath hot.
“I’m not—”
“Is okay. I taste it too. Different kind.” Dmitri pulled back to look at him, his eyes dark. “Fear is just energy. We can use it.”
He kissed him again, harder this time, one hand sliding into Leo’s hair, gently fisting the sun-streaked strands. Leo groaned, opening for him, his own courage sparking to life. He kissed back, matching the intensity, his tongue sliding against Dmitri’s. The anxious flutter in his stomach was rapidly transforming into a heavy, pooling heat.
Dmitri’s hands began to move, mapping the terrain of him. Over the lean muscle of his shoulders, down the tense planes of his back, settling with a firm, appreciative grip on the rounded curves of his ass. He squeezed, and a jolt of pure, undiluted lust shot through Leo.
“Jesus,” Leo gasped into his mouth.
“Mmm. As advertised,” Dmitri said, a hint of that dry humor returning. He rocked his hips forward, and the thick, undeniable ridge of his erection pressed against Leo’s thigh through the layers of fabric. The sheer scale of it, even muffled by sweatpants, made Leo’s knees weaken. The rumors were not rumors. They were a terrifying, thrilling fact.
Dmitri seemed to sense the spiral of his thoughts. He slowed, gentling his kisses, nuzzling the corner of Leo’s mouth. “Too fast?”
“No. God, no. It’s just… you’re…”
“I know what I am.” Dmitri said it plainly, no boast, just fact. “We go slow. Yes? We have time.”
Leo nodded, his forehead resting against Dmitri’s broad chest. He could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart. “Yeah. Slow is good.”
Dmitri guided him away from the door, toward the bed. He sat on the edge of the narrow mattress, the frame protesting with a creak, and pulled Leo to stand between his spread knees. Even seated, he was almost at eye level with Leo.