Sam doesn't remember how it happens.
One second, he's glaring at Ivanov, his mind racing with irritation, with confusion, with everything this man makes him feel. And the next—
His back slams against the wall.
A sharp gasp escapes his lips as Ivanov presses in close, his body caging Sam in. The scent of whiskey and something undeniably him lingers between them, intoxicating, overwhelming. Sam's breath hitches.
"Wha—?"
The words barely form before Ivanov's mouth crashes against his.
Sam stiffens, his mind blanking. It's not just a kiss—it's claiming, possessive, hot. Ivanov's lips move against his like he's done this a thousand times before, like he knows exactly how to steal Sam's breath, how to leave him trembling.
Sam should push him away.
He should.
But his fingers dig into Ivanov's shirt instead, gripping the fabric as if it's the only thing keeping him steady.
A low chuckle rumbles from Ivanov's throat, vibrating against Sam's lips. "Look at you," he murmurs between kisses, his voice dripping with amusement. "Acting like you don't want this, when your body tells me otherwise."
Sam hates how his body reacts, how warmth spreads through him like wildfire. He feels Ivanov's hands—strong, wandering, knowing. One presses against his hip, firm and unyielding. The other trails upward, fingers ghosting over the curve of his waist before gripping. Tight.
A shiver racks through Sam's spine.
"S-Stop…" he forces out, but the way his voice wavers, the way his grip on Ivanov tightens instead of pushing away—he knows he's contradicting himself.
Ivanov hums against his lips, as if considering it. But instead of pulling back, he moves lower, trailing kisses along Sam's jaw, his breath searing against sensitive skin. "Stop?" he echoes, mockingly. "Then why aren't you pushing me away, sweets?"
Sam tries to think, tries to remember why he came here, why he always tells himself that he hates Ivanov. But God—his mind is a mess, drowning in sensations he doesn't understand, in a heat that coils deep in his stomach, dangerous and unfamiliar.
He wants to deny it.
He needs to.
But when Ivanov's hand tightens on his waist, pulling him closer, pressing against him like they fit—
Sam lets out a shaky breath, his body betraying him completely.
He's trapped.
Not just against the wall, but between his own feelings. Between want and hate. Between the undeniable truth that he should push Ivanov away—
And the terrifying realization that a part of him doesn't want to.
Sam's heart races as Ivanov's lips claim his again, the Russian's tongue invading his mouth, exploring every inch. Sam whimpers into the kiss, his fingers tangling in Ivanov's dark hair.
Ivanov's hand finds Sam's ankle, gripping it tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He starts to twist, putting pressure on Sam's joint in a way that sends jolts of fear and unwanted pleasure up his spine. Sam gasps, trying to pull away, but Ivanov holds him firm.
"Shh, relax," Ivanov murmurs, his voice a low, sinister whisper against Sam's ear. "Let it happen. You can't fight it." His breath is hot, the scent of his cologne - an intoxicating mix of leather, tobacco, and something darkly masculine - fills Sam's nostrils, overwhelming his senses.
Sam's head spins, his body trembling as Ivanov's hand inches up his calf, his fingers leaving reddening trails on Sam's skin. He feels the fear, the dread, but also the shameful, undeniable arousal. Ivanov's touch is cruel, punishing, but it sets Sam's nerve endings ablaze.
"Hey-," Sam whimpers, squirming against Ivanov. "Not so hard. It hurts." His voice is barely audible, a breathless, desperate plea.
Ivanov chuckles darkly, a sound that sends shivers down Sam's back. "That's the point, malysh. Pain and pleasure, they're two sides of the same coin." He tightens his grip, twisting Sam's ankle harder, making the smaller man cry out.
Sam's vision blurs. But even through it, he can feel his cock throbbing, straining against his jeans. Ivanov's cruelty, his sadistic bent, is terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Sam is overwhelmed, drowning in sensation, unsure where agony ends and ecstasy begins.
Ivanov smirks, seeing the conflicting emotions playing out on Sam's face. He knows he's pushing too far, pushing too hard, but he can't stop. He wants to see Sam break, wants to watch him shatter. He leans in, his lips brushing Sam's ear, and whispers, "That's it."