Chapter 14 - Epilogue

Vladislav Vitalievich

I'm done, be there soon.

Sheps

They certainly kept you there a long time )))

Vladislav Vitalievich

I'll torture you even longer if you don't manage to order dinner.

Oleg breaks into a smile and settles more comfortably on the sofa, opening a food delivery app. He's surprised himself that in just a couple of summer months, he managed to make Vlad accept the fact that they'll be eating restaurant food now. The argument that time spent cooking could be spent in much more interesting ways seems to have convinced Cherevaty once and for all. Especially after Sheps had visually demonstrated several times that the kitchen table is good for more than just preparing food.

Oleg likes how easily they give up old habits for each other's sake, continuing to slowly break down the remains of their former lives. And he is certain that Vlad feels the same way. Cherevaty likes building something new, too, and in this "something" they are both in their proper places now, feeling alive and free from stupid restrictions.

The doorbell rings unexpectedly, and Sheps is surprised, but goes to open it anyway. It's too early for the courier, Vlad has his own keys, and there haven't been any guests in this house since they started living together, so Oleg truly has no idea who is behind the door. He looks through the peephole and smirks slightly, anticipating an entertaining evening.

"Hi," Sheps greets mockingly, leaning nonchalantly with his back against the doorframe. "Come in. Vlad will be back soon."

Larionov freezes on the threshold, taking in the familiar figure in lounge pants, and realizes he really should have called Cherevaty before dropping by unannounced as he usually did.

Ilya could only guess that major changes had occurred in his friend's life. All summer, Vlad hadn't called him once on his own, but he answered every call calmly, his voice cheerful and satisfied. A couple of times Larionov had even heard someone else's laughter in the background, but he tactfully refrained from asking questions, and Cherevaty himself was in no hurry to share the details of his personal life.

Because of this, Ilya feels extremely awkward now, realizing he has literally intruded upon someone else's secret before being given permission.

"Hi," he nods slightly. "I don't think this is a good idea... Vlad probably won't like that—"

"Want to play the 'who knows him better' game again?" Oleg chuckles amiably, cutting off the careful speech. Relishing his companion's bewilderment, he adds softly, "You'll lose."

He knows perfectly well that Cherevaty doesn't mind at all if Larionov finds out the truth. Vlad really wanted Ilya to be the one to ask, so he wouldn't have to awkwardly search for the right words, but it hadn't happened, and Oleg hadn't dared to interfere in the friends' relationship. The fact that Cherevaty was his, and that even those closest to him didn't know, had suited him just fine.

But Oleg had already had his fill of this sense of exclusivity, and since circumstances had turned out this way today, he was even glad that Vlad would finally be rid of this small inner burden. Still, Sheps wouldn't be himself if he didn't use these final minutes to stroke his ego.

He breaks into a satisfied laugh, noticing the slightly narrowed gaze, and invites the guest into the apartment with a proprietary gesture:

"Come in. We were just about to have dinner. Although, I only ordered for two... but I can make you a coffee."

"Didn't Vlad tell you what I do for a living?" Larionov smirks, finally accepting the invitation.

Oleg's manipulation seems almost childish, but Ilya sees neither anger nor hostility in it—only an attempt to assert his claim on Vlad, something he had no intention of arguing with.

"Of course, he did," Sheps replies with a smile, walking into the kitchen. "I know more about you than you know about me."

He shoots Larionov a sly look while taking a cup out of the cupboard.

"I don't need stories to learn something about a person," Ilya parries calmly. "I see more than you're showing."

Oleg turns to him with interest, arching an eyebrow, and feels a competitive thrill wake up inside him. It seems that, aside from Vlad, he hasn't met people like this in a long time.

"And what exactly do you see in me?"

Larionov tilts his head slightly, peering intently into those light eyes. He holds a long enough pause to make Sheps wait for the answer, and then says in a level voice:

"Two sugars in my coffee, and plenty of milk."

He immediately heads to the bathroom to wash his hands, and Oleg breaks into a delighted smile at this beautiful move. Apparently, Vlad definitely has a certain "type" when it comes to the people he keeps closest. Now Sheps is certain that he and Ilya will find a common language that interests them both.

"Alright, you actually did surprise me with one thing," Larionov says unexpectedly, returning to the kitchen a couple of minutes later.

"And what's that?" Oleg asks, not hiding his curiosity, as he places a cup of fragrant coffee on the table in front of his guest.

"A small apartment, a simple renovation, furniture not made of solid wood... I'm sure you had a jacuzzi at your place, yet you moved in here."

Ilya doesn't doubt for a second that Sheps is more than just an overnight guest. Two toothbrushes in the bathroom, two towels hanging side by side instead of the usual one, and most importantly—an enormous number of pairs of obviously expensive shoes in the hallway, which he had noticed before even stepping into the apartment. And what really surprises Larionov is that it was Oleg who moved in with Vlad, and not the other way around.

"Ugh, how cliché," Sheps says, feigning a grimace as he sits down at the table across from him. "Do psychologists really think in stereotypes?"

"And are you going to deny that you love luxury?" Ilya asks, taking a cautious sip of the hot coffee.

"No," Oleg shrugs. "It's just that money doesn't always bring joy. Sometimes life is much calmer without it."

Sheps looks away, realizing his last words sounded a bit too honest, but he doesn't feel scared or awkward because of it. Whether it's because Larionov has somehow miraculously managed to win him over, or because his thoughts have already drifted away from the small kitchen, taking Oleg back to the very moment he agreed, without hesitation, to leave his designer apartment—where, despite everything, he truly adored every little detail.

──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────

Sheps turns down the music as he pulls into his courtyard, and Vlad chuckles, turning toward him.

"I've always wondered: why do drivers prefer to park in silence?"

"Let me teach you how to drive—then you'll understand," Oleg smirks.

"No thanks, I'll pass."

"Scared of being in a situation where I'm the one giving you orders, and not the other way around?"

Sheps throws him a sly look and bursts out laughing at the disgruntled expression on Vlad's face, but falls silent immediately, noticing a familiar car near his entrance. A nasty fear hits his chest, forcing a ragged breath, and Oleg begins to get angry—either at himself for this reaction or at his damn brother.

He'd been driving home in a great mood, anticipating another hot night, having already missed Cherevaty over the two days they hadn't seen each other. But now he grips the steering wheel tightly with cold fingers and slams on the brakes, stopping the rented car in the middle of the courtyard.

Oleg hadn't seen Sasha since the very day he'd asked him to help Vlad. He has absolutely no desire to remember that humiliating conversation, let alone come face to face with his brother. He hates feeling weak, and appearing that way in front of Cherevaty is doubly awful.

"Can we go to your place?" Sheps asks in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the other car.

"Don't you want to go up with me?"

Vlad offers cautiously, and although he knows he'll hear a refusal, deep down he still hopes for a different answer. He wants to look this man in the eye so badly and ask him so many questions. He also has a lot to say. To be perfectly honest—he wants to hit him so hard it would beat out any desire to meddle in Oleg's life and reduce him to this state with just the mention of his name.

"Vlad, I want to go to your place," Sheps clips out through clenched teeth, swallowing hard to keep from screaming.

"Fine," Cherevaty agrees with a heavy sigh. "Let's go."

The car lunges forward abruptly, and Vlad sincerely regrets not trying to convince Oleg to meet Sasha together as a trio after all. They drive all the way to Cherevaty's house in silence, not even turning the music back on. As they approach the destination, Vlad realizes what he must do. If Oleg won't try to protect himself from living in constant fear of his brother, then Cherevaty will do it for him.

Sheps kicks off his sneakers at the threshold, looking completely lost, and realizes he can't even raise his eyes. He wants to either pass out or just lose himself, but for some reason, he doesn't even have the strength to turn around and kiss Vlad, wordlessly begging him to shake these stupid feelings out of him in whatever way Vlad likes.

"Give me ten minutes," Oleg asks quietly, heading to the balcony to smoke and pull himself together a bit, but a firm voice stops him, making him turn around.

"Oleg, there will be no sex tonight."

Those dark eyes look calm, but Sheps frowns, not knowing how to react.

Vlad realizes that being in bed right now would be a mockery of them both. There would be no usual fire, no mutual admiration, no pleasure. Cherevaty doesn't want Oleg to use external pain to drown out his internal one, and he's also afraid that he'll snap himself, because anger at the situation and at Sasha is still seething inside him.

Vlad knows: they both want sex, not an execution. But Sheps, unlike him, doesn't seem to see the difference right now.

"I want you, not your frightened shadow," Cherevaty explains.

"Well, sorry," Oleg spits venomously and walks quickly back toward the front door, brushing past Vlad's shoulder, but Vlad catches his forearm in a strong grip.

"Did I tell you to leave?" His voice sounds stricter, because Cherevaty understands: Sheps isn't hearing the point anymore.

"Vlad, what do you want from me?!" Oleg shouts, jerking his arm away.

"I want you to stay and for us to just go to bed," Vlad cuts him off calmly, immediately noticing Sheps recoil slightly with a shocked look. "I'll give you something to change into."

Cherevaty disappears into the room, while Oleg remains frozen, standing in the middle of the hallway. He doesn't understand what it means—just to go to bed.

The entire two weeks of their relationship had followed the same script: daytime texts that set their imaginations on fire; evening encounters at one of their places that quickly bled into long nights; and then, toward morning—either a taxi or, finally, sleep. But that was a different kind of sleep! They would fall asleep from sheer exhaustion, simply having no strength left to go anywhere. What Vlad was proposing now felt wild, and Sheps didn't know how to behave. He only felt that he didn't want to leave, and, in truth, he had nowhere to go.

Cherevaty returns with a rumpled T-shirt and hands it to Oleg. He hadn't dared to spend time looking for something more suitable; he was simply afraid that Sheps would flee, having finally lost himself in his own confusion.

"Sorry it's not Gucci," Vlad remarks with a smirk. He immediately exhales in relief because Oleg rolls his eyes in response but takes the clothes from his hands and silently walks further into the apartment.

Sheps curtly refuses a polite offer of dinner and, to cope with the awkwardness, simply goes to the bedroom, lying down on the far edge of the bed with his back to the door. Would Cherevaty pester him with questions or say anything at all? Unlikely. They had chatted about nonsense many times, but never about feelings. Oleg knows that they are both comfortable this way, but right now he's still afraid of a conversation that seems to be begging to happen in this oppressive silence.

The sliver of light from the living room fades away with the quiet click of the door, and Sheps swallows nervously as the bed sags in the darkness under the weight of the other man's body. Vlad lies down on the other half, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, and he sighs deeply, not knowing how to help. Oleg's tension is palpable even from a distance, and when his eyes finally adjust to the dark, Cherevaty turns his head and notices that Oleg is lying with his knees slightly bent, clutching the edge of the thin blanket tightly.

He stayed. He's afraid, but he trusts. Lying there in his T-shirt and, it seems, still not understanding what is happening. Vlad smirks to himself, because he hardly understands it either. He just feels that it's right. Because Sheps is his, and what is "his" must always be by his side.

Smirking slightly, he turns on his side, slides his arm under the blanket to wrap it around Oleg's waist, and pulls him close with a firm jerk, pressing Oleg's back against his own chest. Sheps flinches at the unexpected gesture, freezes for a few seconds, and then closes his eyes with a heavy exhale. His tense body relaxes in the other's arms, and Oleg suddenly realizes he is no longer afraid.

He's not afraid of conversations that aren't needed; he's not afraid of an unexpected knock on the door with his brother standing behind it. He fled here, to someone else's home from his own, because there was nowhere else to hide, and it seems he has found his place. The pleasant warmth heats his back, Vlad holds him tightly, and Sheps feels more at peace in these arms than ever before. Because even as that very same frightened shadow, he turned out to be needed by someone—just to fall asleep together.

Oleg wakes up close to noon and sits up in the empty bed, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"Did you sleep enough?" Cherevaty asks with a chuckle, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, but he doesn't wait for an answer. "Breakfast is on the table."

"Why not in bed?"

Sheps breaks into a smirk, but he doesn't seem to realize that in this sleepy state—in a rumpled T-shirt, with disheveled hair and eyes squinting from the bright light—he is a far cry from a bold seducer, triggering a fit of genuine laughter from Vlad.

"You'll get tired of paying me back for it," Cherevaty replies, once he's calmed down a bit. "Get up, we need to get ready and go."

"Where?" Oleg raises his eyebrows, finally forcing his eyes wide open.

"To your place for your things. You're moving in with me."

Vlad says this matter-of-factly, in the same tone he just used to mention that breakfast was ready, while Sheps lets his mouth hang open in surprise, staring at him intently, trying to grasp the meaning.

"What's the catch?" he asks, somewhat nervously.

"I don't want you to be afraid of entering your own home," Cherevaty explains with a serious look. "So from now on, your home will be here."

Something unfamiliar flickers in those light eyes, but Vlad reads the answer in them without fail.

"Not being afraid to enter his own home" sounded like something unattainable to Oleg right up until this moment. Or until last night, when Cherevaty clearly showed him what it felt like. It seems this is exactly the feeling Sheps wants to fall asleep and wake up with every day, because Vlad is definitely the type who, unlike him, is afraid of no one. Or, at the very least, isn't afraid of one specific person—and for Oleg, that is more than enough.

"Any objections?" Cherevaty asks for the sake of formality.

"No."

Sheps answers without a thought, without hesitating for a second, and he's struggling to hold back the smile breaking through.

Two phrases. Two short phrases that say more than the proverbial "I love you" that normal people dream about. But Oleg knows he isn't normal. And Vlad clearly isn't either, because knowing this, he is now confidently declaring that he's ready to put up with him twenty-four seven.

"A shame." Cherevaty purses his lips in disappointment and looks down, momentarily confusing Sheps. He drops his voice an octave as he raises a burning gaze to him: "I could have forced you..."

Oleg takes a deep breath, biting his lip slightly. He can't help but imagine what comes next as he replies with a sly smirk:

"In that case... I object."

──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────

The turn of the key in the lock yanks Sheps out of his memories, and he walks into the hallway to meet Vlad, who has just returned from work.

"I thought Basharov was going to make you spend the night there," Oleg teases, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall.

"Spend the night at work?" Cherevaty rolls his eyes, taking off his shoes. "Like I don't have better things to do at home."

Even though the vacation ended only a week ago, the professor has already realized that in the upcoming academic year, he no longer wants to spend a single extra minute at the faculty. Why hole up in the faculty lounge, working on lecture materials, when he could do it at home? At work, of course, it's easier to concentrate, and no one prevents him from fully immersing himself in the process, but Vlad likes being distracted.

He likes hearing the snide comments that make him want to roll his eyes. He likes smirking imperceptibly at how Sheps tries his hardest to get his attention and gets annoyed at being intentionally ignored. And he loves it to distraction when Oleg finally snaps and, slamming the laptop shut, knocks all the formulas out of his head with a single kiss, making Cherevaty more than happy to put off work for a couple of hours.

"And what exactly do you plan on doing?" Sheps asks with a smile, playfully arching an eyebrow.

Vlad steps closer, pulling him in by the waist, his gaze sliding down to Oleg's lips.

"Well... you, for instance."

"The plan is excellent," Oleg agrees with a sigh, "but..."

Cherevaty interrupts him with a kiss, not letting him finish, and Sheps is already starting to regret letting Larionov in as Vlad's fingers lightly tickle the skin near the small of his back.

"Ilya is here to see you," Oleg says, pulling away reluctantly.

Vlad raises his eyebrows, surprised by the unexpected visit, but immediately exhales in relief. He realizes that Oleg has likely already made it clear to Larionov that they are together, sparing him from that awkward, unspoken ambiguity.

Cherevaty lets go of him, taking a step back, and is about to head to the kitchen to greet his friend, but his gaze catches on Oleg's bare torso.

"Get dressed," he says quietly.

"Are you serious?" Sheps asks with a chuckle, instantly spotting the spark of possessiveness in the narrowed eyes. "He's your best friend."

"Get dressed, I said," Vlad cuts him off strictly in a low voice and leaves him in the hallway, heading into the kitchen at last.

Vlad greets his friend with a sincere hug, and Ilya can tell by the warm smile that he isn't angry about the intrusion. Still, he offers a slightly sheepish apology:

"Sorry I didn't call ahead. This wasn't very graceful of me..."

"Forget it," Vlad brushes it off. "Besides, we haven't seen each other almost all summer."

"It seems you weren't bored during your vacation."

Ilya says this with a smile, and Cherevaty hears not a hint of judgment in his words. Ilya is truly happy for him. He looks into his friend's burning eyes and remembers how he was at the very beginning of this story. Not a trace remains of the confused man complaining about an arrogant student ruining his life. There are no more fears or doubts in him, no exhaustion from the complex game that had worn him to the bone. Sitting before Larionov is a man who is alive, confident in himself and his choice—a man who, by all appearances, simply claimed what was his in the end and remained infinitely satisfied with it.

Moreover, Ilya is genuinely grateful to Oleg, because he always knew Vlad needed exactly this kind of person. Someone who wasn't foolish or boring, someone strong enough to let Cherevaty be himself without breaking under his harshness.

Sheps returns to the kitchen, and Vlad's expression shifts instantly as he notices that Oleg hasn't added any layers of clothing. He stands up, taking a deep breath, and gestures for Larionov to wait.

"Oleg, a minute," Cherevaty says coldly, throwing Sheps a look that says it all. He steps out into the hallway, hearing slow, deliberate footsteps behind him.

Oleg bites his lip with a smirk, following him. He rounds the corner, out of the guest's sight, with a sense of near-wild excitement. He is dying to see how Vlad will react to his stunt, and for some reason, he deeply loves the fact that Ilya witnessed even a fraction of Cherevaty's authority directed specifically at him.

"Did you not hear me?" Vlad seethes through clenched teeth, shoving Sheps back and pinning him firmly against the wall with his own body.

Oleg's pulse skyrockets instantly, and he licks his lips, feeling Vlad's hot breath against them.

"But you like it when I walk around like this," Sheps parries smoothly.

"Not when we have guests," Cherevaty clarifies firmly, a dangerous fire in his eyes. "Let's not make Ilya sit alone in the kitchen for the next hour."

"So far, you aren't giving me much motivation to get dressed."

Oleg's smirk widens even further as he tilts his head to the side, but in the next second, he flinches as Vlad abruptly seizes him by the throat, forcing his head up, and wipes the insolent smirk off his yielding lips with a rough kiss.

Inside, Sheps is triumphant. He freezes, not even attempting to move, only taking the chance to bite back, igniting a desire in Cherevaty to ask Larionov to leave right this second so he can punish Oleg for his provocations and leave as many marks on his body as possible in every way imaginable.

"If you return to the kitchen without a T-shirt..." Vlad begins in a whisper, pulling away for a moment only to kiss him again immediately.

Goosebumps spread across Sheps's body as his vivid imagination begins to paint pictures of the desired punishment, and he can hardly focus on what follows when Cherevaty breaks the kiss for a second time, his lips brushing against Oleg's ear.

"...then tonight, I will strip you bare..." Vlad still hasn't let go of his neck; with his other hand, he tugs slightly at the waistband of Oleg's pants, his fingers grazing the very bottom of his stomach, forcing Oleg to instinctively flex his abs. "...I'll tie you up..."

Sheps swallows and tries to press himself even harder against the wall, if only to hear the threat through to the end, but the arousing whisper and the light, teasing touches almost shut down his brain, making it impossible to even open his eyes.

"...and I'll make you watch as I enjoy myself. Without your participation." Oleg's eyes snap open, meeting that predatory gaze, and he takes a ragged breath. Noticing this, Cherevaty smirks with satisfaction. "And then I'll leave you bound until morning, and you won't be able to touch me—or yourself."

Vlad tightens his grip on Oleg's throat slightly, kisses him deeply once more, physically feeling Sheps's wild arousal through the thin fabric, and marvels once again at how he still manages to keep himself in check.

"The choice is yours," he says, a bit louder now, finally releasing his hand. He watches with a sense of euphoria as Oleg's knees buckle, and he slides slightly down the wall, struggling to stay on his trembling legs.

Vlad enjoys the effect he's produced for a few more seconds, then takes a couple of deep breaths and returns to Ilya.

"I should probably come back another time..." Larionov says with an understanding smile, starting to rise from his chair, but Cherevaty immediately pushes him back down, rolling his eyes.

"Ilya, relax. We haven't seen each other in so long; I'm still hoping to hear the story of how you spent your vacation."

Larionov sighs quietly, seeing that his friend is being sincere, but he still doesn't understand how Sheps feels about the situation. Though, of course, Oleg clearly isn't the type to just bow or tolerate something he doesn't like. If he had walked back in and straight-up asked Ilya to leave, it wouldn't have surprised Ilya one bit.

Vlad begins to fiddle with the coffee machine, simultaneously filling the awkward silence with questions about Larionov's trip, which Ilya finally starts to answer. Eventually, Vlad places two cups of the fresh brew on the table—one for himself and one for Oleg.

About ten minutes later, Sheps returns to the kitchen, looking completely calm. Cherevaty smirks triumphantly, shamelessly eyeing his own T-shirt on Oleg's body, and struggles to contain the emotions tearing him apart from the quiet submissiveness with which Oleg takes his seat at the table. And what Sheps says next finally explodes that sense of absolute power within him, a hot wave flooding every cell.

"I ordered a third portion of dinner," Oleg says in a level voice, casting an interested look at Vlad and immediately meeting his igniting eyes. "Ilya, I hope you eat shrimp?"

Larionov smirks at the fact that Sheps asks without even looking at him, but he doesn't see any intent to offend in the gesture. The air in the room thickens even more from the tension these two guys create with just a single look at each other, but Ilya finally realizes that there is no room for awkwardness here. Because his presence wasn't what created this electricity. It seems this is just their "normal." It wasn't a quarrel, a reproach, or a concession—it was simply their life in its most natural and, for both of them, happy manifestation.

"I do. Thanks, Oleg," Larionov nods gratefully and resumes the story of his trip to Altai, delving into the less-than-thrilling details until they pay him any mind again.

Sheps finally breaks eye contact, bringing the coffee cup to his lips. Cherevaty's threat had provided the necessary hit of adrenaline, enough to keep him in high spirits until the end of the night, and it surely gave Vlad himself—Oleg was certain—an immense surge of strength. Of course, Sheps would have ignored any other words just to bait Cherevaty into carrying out the promised punishment, but this was too much.

Because he remembers that once, Vlad actually did exactly that, and that night had been so intense that Oleg isn't quite ready to repeat such exquisite torture just yet.

──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────

Cherevaty quickly scans the lines, hoping to finish the chapter before Sheps returns from the shower. He found this business management book among Oleg's things, scattered across the apartment after the recent move, and was a little surprised. It seemed to Vlad that Sheps lived for the moment and didn't build grand life plans, but it turns out the man truly dreams of having his own business. Apparently, Oleg wants to prove—either to his brother or to himself—that they were wrong to write him off as a lost cause, good for nothing. And Cherevaty is ready to help him with that in any way he can.

The bedroom door opens, immediately letting a trail of cigarette smoke into the room, and Vlad grimaces in annoyance, sighing as he puts the book on the nightstand.

"Again?" he asks sternly, watching Sheps crawl across the wide bed toward him like a cat. "I told you not to smoke before getting into bed. I hate falling asleep like that."

"And who says you're going to sleep right now?" Oleg says sultrily, with a smirk. He looks at Vlad with a confident gaze, his hand sliding under the T-shirt, fingers tracing over the defined abs.

Cherevaty starts to get even angrier. Not only is Sheps brazenly ignoring his house rules, continuing to live by his own, but he is also trying to solve every problem with his favorite method. A method that works flawlessly, and that is exactly what pisses Vlad off the most.

But Oleg knows what he's doing. He smiles broadly when he finds himself pinned to his shoulder blades almost instantly, and he snaps a quick kiss himself, falling back onto the pillow and staring defiantly into eyes that are beginning to turn black.

"I like smoking before bed," Sheps declares confidently. "Offer me something I'll like more, and then maybe I'll change my mind."

Cherevaty smashes into his lips immediately, desperately trying to keep himself in check to come up with something worthwhile in response to the bold provocation. He kisses him deeply, feeling Oleg impatiently pulling his T-shirt up, and allows him to remove it, buying himself a bit of time.

The kisses move to the neck, mingling with painful bites, and Vlad suddenly latches onto a useful, almost instinctive clue. Sheps throws his head back, exposing more hot skin, and pulls him closer, greedily catching every touch.

It seems to have become some kind of sick addiction—or perhaps it was one from the very beginning—but Oleg truly, madly wants to feel more. Every time, he wants it more intense, because it's these touches that tear the final masks off him—masks he is impossibly tired of wearing.

And Cherevaty knows how it works. He knows that Sheps only truly relaxes like this: by surrendering control completely and letting Vlad do whatever he wants with him. This paradox will probably always surprise Vlad, but as strange as it sounds, only by turning into an object does Oleg feel like a human being. And that object must be the most necessary, desired, and precious one, because being unnoticed and ignored is what Sheps hates most in the world.

Cherevaty smirks to himself, forming the perfect plan for punishment in his head, and continues to tease him with arousing touches, slowly undressing the still-unsuspecting Oleg.

"Sit and wait for me." Sheps flinches at the steely tone cutting through the silence and struggles to open his eyelids, feeling Vlad pull away.

He lingers for a few seconds, reluctant to move, but he is immediately yanked up by the neck, forced to sit up. A small lamp on the nightstand is still lit, but even this light irritates Oleg. After the blissful darkness of consciousness he longs to return to, the bedroom feels mockingly bright. Sheps doesn't know what Cherevaty went for or how long he'll be gone, but he preemptively shifts his pose, determined not to leave Vlad a single chance to further delay what Oleg now physically craves.

Vlad returns a few minutes later and freezes at the threshold. In the center of the bed, in the dim light of the bedroom, Sheps sits motionless on his knees. Vlad instinctively licks his lips, his predatory gaze running over the naked body, unable to understand what exactly is instantly sending his pulse into overdrive, its frantic beat echoing somewhere in his throat. Perhaps it's the hands clasped behind the back, perhaps the submissively bowed head, or perhaps the mere fact that Oleg is intentionally striking at the heart of his inner beast, nearly shattering his self-control to pieces.

Vlad swallows, approaching the bed like in a trance, and Sheps finally raises his eyes, noticing the rope in his hands immediately.

"What, is one belt not enough for me anymore?" The biting comment escapes Oleg on its own, and Cherevaty smirks at how, even in this maddening pose, the man remains true to himself.

"You're too unbearable."

"I try my best," Sheps smirks almost imperceptibly. "Well, bind me."

The rope winds neatly around his wrists, and Oleg bites his lip, feeling a slight tremor break across his body. Vlad yanks his hands sharply, checking the knot, and for a second, he loses touch with reality as he sees the strong back arch and hears the quiet moan hitting his ears. This is far from the first time it's happened, but Cherevaty is overwhelmed with emotion every single time by the realization that he is the only one who sees this arrogant, self-assured guy like this. And Sheps only lets him break him down to his very core.

Cherevaty settles Oleg on his stomach, continuing to wrap the rope around his thighs, and suddenly frowns as he notices Oleg fidgeting slightly in an attempt to somehow handle his arousal.

"Don't move," Vlad commands huskily, and with a resounding slap across the buttock, he wrests an even louder moan from Sheps.

Oleg is already melting from the fact that he cannot move. Cherevaty turns him like a doll, enveloping almost his entire body in soft bonds, yet he doesn't pull a single knot too tight—this contrasting care is even more effective at emptying Sheps's head of all thoughts.

"Now, close your eyes," Vlad says quietly, settling Oleg at the head of the bed against a high-propped pillow. He waits for the command to be obeyed and drops his voice to a whisper, his fingers grazing along Oleg's parted thighs: "When I tell you to, you will open them and just watch."

Sheps frowns, not understanding what Cherevaty has planned, but when he finally opens his eyelids a minute later upon permission, he chokes on the air at the sight before him. Vlad is sitting on a large beanbag chair directly across from the bed, now completely naked. For a few more moments, Oleg hopes it's just a joke, but Cherevaty slowly closes his fingers around his member, and Sheps moans desperately as the tension in his lower abdomen becomes nearly unbearable, beginning to cause a dull ache.

"Remember, you once sent me a video like this," Vlad begins breathlessly, moving his clenched hand steadily. "You wanted to know how I watched it, didn't you?"

"I already knew that," Oleg snaps weakly, but seeing the satisfied reaction to his anger, he immediately shifts tactics, clinging to the remnants of his composure: "But back then, you were alone. Now, it could be me instead of your hand."

He licks his lips invitingly, slowly running his tongue over them, looking Cherevaty in the eye. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Vlad pick up the pace in response to his words.

"Not right now," Vlad cuts him off with authority. "You can only watch. And you will watch."

"And what will you do if I just close my eyes?" Sheps asks with a nervous laugh.

It's already incredibly hard for him to hear that heavy breathing, to see how Cherevaty bites his lips, trying to stifle his moans, and intentionally drags out the process, tormenting them both. And that clouded gaze, which doesn't leave him for a single second, is simply killing him. Vlad is pleasuring himself while focusing entirely on him, and Oleg is already so hot it almost hurts to speak through his parched throat.

"Nothing," Cherevaty exhales softly. "But are you really so weak that you'd just give up?"

Sheps explodes with anger, pressing his trembling lips together tightly as he makes several lunges, trying in vain to pull himself up, while Vlad simply drowns in euphoria at the sight. A noticeably trembling body lies before him; the pose he left Oleg in allows him to see absolutely everything, yet Cherevaty forbids himself from fantasizing, genuinely relishing the raw moment. Because this resistance, laced with desperation and the pleading look in those light eyes, arouses him more than any vulgar provocation ever could.

Sheps hates losing, but right now he's been left with no choice. No matter what he does, it will be exactly what Vlad wants. Oleg hates him for such lethal blows to his ego just as much as he adores the ingenuity Cherevaty uses to set these traps for him time and time again.

Sheps's gaze darts over the heated body, trying to avoid eye contact at least, but even that fails to save him when Vlad finally lets go, breaking into moans where Oleg hears nothing but his own name. The vision before him begins to blur, his entire body nearly cramping with the ache of it, and Sheps just waits for this torture to end, sincerely hoping that immediately afterward, Cherevaty will finally deal with him.

And Vlad himself can no longer hold out, physically or mentally. He pushes his pace to the limit, his hungry gaze boring into the ropes on the immobilized body—but Oleg still manages to make his move, suddenly shattering the silence of the room.

"What a bitch you are, Vladislav Vitalievich..." Sheps managed, gathering the remnants of his strength. He watches with masochistic pleasure as Cherevaty throws his head back and growls fiercely, frustrated that Oleg flipped the script at the last second, forcing him to finish this performance on his own terms.

"Think you've won?" Vlad asks in a predatory tone as he approaches the bed, finally catching his breath.

He was certain that immediately after his punishment, he would still give Sheps that much-needed release, but now he realizes the man has deprived himself of it. This bold strike hit him right in the gut, and Cherevaty, teeth gritted, refuses to give in so easily, handing his pride over to Oleg right into his bound hands.

He yanks Sheps by the hips, dragging him down the bed, and looms over him immediately, his teeth tugging at Oleg's lip as he stares into eyes half-closed from exhaustion.

"The lesson isn't over," Vlad says smoothly, before finishing him off with a whisper: "Good night."

The meaning doesn't register with Oleg immediately, but when Cherevaty actually lies down on his side of the bed, Sheps realizes with horror that he has provoked the most exquisite torment himself.

"Vlad... what should I do?" he asks pleadingly, realizing he is ready to agree to any conditions just to be rid of this hellish fire raging through his entire body.

"Be quiet and don't wake me," Cherevaty cuts him off coldly. "The sooner I wake up on my own, the sooner you'll get what you want. But, of course, you can always ask..."

There's a mockery in that last phrase, and Sheps realizes he's fallen into yet another trap.

Even on that very first evening, after the exam, Vlad was honest about not wanting to hold back. He explained that he had no idea what might cross his mind or how acceptable it would be for Oleg. Maybe he'd want blood, or maybe something light would be enough. Cherevaty didn't know his own limits, but he certainly didn't want to be confined by those damn boundaries anymore.

And Sheps wanted to test those limits just as much as his own, which is why he was the one to suggest a safe-word—one that, upon hearing, Vlad would be obligated to stop, no matter what, and do exactly what Oleg needed. The safe-word was perfect for them both: Cherevaty would react to it in any state of mind, while Sheps would never utter it until he reached his absolute breaking point, refusing to crush his own pride.

Now, Oleg has no idea how much longer he can hold out, but the remnants of his character—nearly buried under the weight of this agonizing arousal—force him to endure and refuse to surrender. He is determined that Vlad will never hear a pathetic "please" from him in response to this test—one not of physical endurance, but of sheer willpower.

Cherevaty falls asleep quickly, his rhythmic breathing gradually pulling Sheps into a trance. His body goes numb from the bondage, and Oleg almost stops feeling it entirely, yet he still cannot sleep, struggling to kill time before it kills him. He tries desperately to focus on something else, but in his muddled consciousness, there is nothing but the image of a naked Vlad and the echo of his moans ringing in his ears.

Sheps loses all track of time, slipping in and out of either sleep or fantasies where he vividly feels phantom touches, before returning to the darkness of reality, certain that he is losing his mind. By the time dawn breaks outside, Oleg's nerves begin to fray. A bitter lump forms in his throat, and his mind finally grinds to a halt; so when Cherevaty finally wakes up, Sheps doesn't even notice at first, his vacant eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Vlad frowns with concern, noticing Oleg's state, and hovers over him gently, trying to gauge how far he has retreated into himself.

"Oleg, can you hear me?"

The voice is soft, yet it breaks through to his consciousness, forcing Sheps to focus his gaze on the dark eyes. He doesn't answer, and Cherevaty grazes a finger weightlessly against his cheekbone, instantly pulling Oleg back into reality. The touch feels like a powerful electric shock, a wave of tremors running through his entire body; his light eyes come back to life, allowing Vlad to exhale in relief.

"Do you want me to untie you?" Cherevaty asks quietly.

"Yes," Sheps manages to squeeze out with effort.

"Or do you want..." Vlad pulls him into a gentle kiss and, feeling Oleg respond—however weakly—he pulls away, breaking into a smile: "...for me to do something else to you?"

"Yes..." Sheps exhales in the same tone.

"Oleg, do you remember the safe-word?"

Cherevaty asks to make absolutely sure that everything is okay before moving on to the final part of his long punishment—the well-earned reward.

"I remember."

And then Vlad lets go of the brakes. He kisses him deeper, sliding his palms over his body, watching with delight as Sheps leans into his touch, every inch of his skin reacting even to the simplest of strokes. It seems to Cherevaty that he has never seen Oleg like this before. Right now, he is nothing but raw instinct; his bare essence, whose shell has simply shattered into pieces overnight, reaches for him with every single cell.

And Sheps truly still barely feels either his body or any mental boundaries. He closes his eyes and senses only pure, concentrated power enveloping him from all sides. If before Oleg wanted to finish everything as quickly as possible and just black out, now he wants to remain suspended in this state for the maximum amount of time possible.

Vlad, too, immerses himself in the moment, savoring his own sensations. He is swelling with pride—pride in himself for being the one to bring Sheps to this point, but even more so, pride in Oleg. Cherevaty knew he would never take interest in someone weak of spirit, and the sheer strength shown by this boy, once broken by those closest to him, fills him with an incredible sense of awe.

The boy has grown up and chosen him. From their very first meeting, even if he realized it much later. He chose him with both body and soul. And now, the trust and the desire of such a man to surrender his entire self drives Vlad insane. He breaks another kiss and slowly enters him, greedily soaking up the impossibly vivid reaction.

Sheps arches with a loud moan and snaps his eyes open, because he feels neither his numb limbs nor his back, which stopped aching long ago. Oleg feels only Vlad. He is neither hot nor cold; he doesn't want to sleep or do anything at all. He shudders with every thrust and senses nothing but endless pleasure, concentrated in one specific spot yet simultaneously filling him to the brim.

Cherevaty pulls away, gently rolls Sheps onto his stomach, and moves on to the most interesting part. Does Oleg want this? Vlad is certain he does. Does he expect it? Hardly. Because from the very beginning, Cherevaty has acted slowly and almost tenderly, lulling Oleg's guard and immersing him in bliss for this very reason.

Vlad thrusts inside sharply now, hitting a nerve ending immediately and forcing out a loud moan; then he yanks the knot on the wrists, pinning Oleg in an uncomfortable position. Muscles tense, and in a matter of seconds, the straining sensation—which the aroused brain had previously tuned out—returns. Sheps simply chokes on this cocktail of pain and pleasure, falling into near hysterics.

Cherevaty hammers into the bound body, pulling the rope tighter and tighter, and bites the burning skin, leaving visible marks on the shoulder. When Oleg's loud moans turn into screams, Vlad holds back with the last of his strength, letting him be the first to break free from the wild tension that has tormented him since evening.

Sheps collapses onto the pillow, even stopping breathing for a few seconds, while Cherevaty still cannot shake the image he witnessed just moments ago. The way a trembling Oleg arched beneath him, the back of his head slamming into Vlad's chest, feels burned onto his retinas; and the piercing, liberating scream seems to have left his ears ringing.

Vlad gives his head a slight shake, returning to reality, and immediately begins to untie the knots with trembling fingers, gently massaging the limbs that fall limply onto the bed.

Sheps has no strength left for anything at all. He doesn't even want to analyze what he's gone through this night and morning, but he knows he will certainly think about it later, because Cherevaty has definitely done something incredible to him. Something that was desperately necessary for him, even if he hadn't suspected it himself.

And Vlad knows what he's done. He feels that today, at last, for a few hours, he has completely freed Oleg from himself—from all the fears, worries, the past, and even his own feelings. He simply found the button and switched him off completely, in a way even deep sleep cannot, and then gave him the wildest high imaginable—the kind impossible to achieve under normal circumstances, only after such a "reset." A reset that has left Vlad himself in a state of intense euphoria, simply because Sheps allowed him to do all this.

With a light massage, Cherevaty continues to restore the exhausted body, finally freeing Oleg from the bondage, all while leaving nearly weightless kisses on the skin to soothe the dull ache of his own bites.

"You endured..." Vlad whispers barely audibly between kisses. "You are so strong... And so m-i-n-e."

Sheps shudders at that last word, which spreads through his veins like something cloyingly sweet, but he can't gather his thoughts enough to give any coherent response. He lies there without opening his eyes, melting from every tender touch and from this boundless care that feels so vital in this moment.

"Don't go..." Oleg exhales mindlessly as Cherevaty pulls away for a few seconds to lie down beside him. "Please."

Vlad gets goosebumps from this request—from that damn "please" that sounds absolutely sincere now. Sheps endured hours of physical torment and immense stress without even attempting to beg for release, yet now he is truly, simply asking. And he is asking for the thing that seems to matter to him most.

Cherevaty sighs heavily, realizing with a pang of sadness just how alien and foreign basic care is to Oleg. Vlad truly wants to gradually learn how to show it in a way that won't force either himself or Sheps to go against their core natures, yet will still give Oleg what was stripped away from him many years ago.

"I wasn't planning to," Cherevaty says softly, settling down beside him, facing him. "Go to sleep. I'm with you."

He pulls Sheps into a tight embrace with both arms, even throwing a leg over him, and Oleg relaxes instantly in this protective cocoon, drifting into a long-awaited sleep within minutes.

──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────

"Hey there, traveler!" Oleg breaks into a wide smile as he heads up to the smoking area and gives Krasnov a tight hug. "How come you didn't get a tan?"

"It was a hundred and twenty degrees out there!" Artem complains. "I only went to the beach at night."

"And what exactly did you expect, going to Dubai in July?" Sheps bursts out laughing. "Now Greece — Greece was fucking awesome!"

"I gathered that much already," Krasnov comments with a venomous smirk, rolling his eyes.

They had flown abroad at the same time but to different destinations, as Artem never managed to sort out his visa issues. On the whole, he had a decent vacation, and the vibrant nightlife of the expensive city more than made up for the drawbacks, but Oleg had spent every day teasing him with sunny video messages from the beach.

"But I'm sure you were bored just mindlessly lying on the beach without me," Krasnov teases smugly. "I still don't get why you didn't just come with me."

"Didn't want the heat."

Oleg shrugs calmly, repeating the excuse he had originally given his friend. Meanwhile, he shifts his gaze behind Artem's back, spotting the real reason. Vlad is approaching the faculty at a brisk pace; he shoots a quick look at Sheps with a faint smile and immediately disappears into the building. And just like that, Oleg's thoughts drift back to two months ago once more.

Of course, Cherevaty resisted, unwilling to go on vacation on someone else's dime, and it took Oleg nearly a week of active brainstorming to break down that barrier in Vlad's mind. Oleg tried every argument, pressing on his most vulnerable spots and fulfilling Cherevaty's most exquisite desires, only to be surprised in the end by how simple the solution actually was.

"Couples are supposed to vacation together." That one phrase, thrown out by Sheps in a fit of anger, proved more effective than the most complex maneuvers. A few weeks later, they were boarding a plane, heading toward the warm sea.

Oleg was certain that Vlad didn't regret it for a single second, because it seemed it was in Greece that he truly felt free. And Sheps got to see a completely different side of him.

Over the twenty days of their holiday, Cherevaty made it to breakfast only once. It was like he were catching up on sleep for his entire previous life—a life where an alarm clock pulled him up early every morning to play his role as the diligent professional. But there, in a foreign country where not a soul knew him, Vlad allowed himself to wake up only by lunchtime, alongside Oleg, perfectly syncing his rhythm with the one that suited Sheps.

Once outside the hotel walls, not a trace of the reserved professor remained. With a bright smile, he would dive into the sea or join in on beach volleyball without a second thought, leaving Sheps to lounge lazily on a sunbed under the scorching sun. At night, he wouldn't even refuse the beach parties Oleg managed to drag him to under various pretexts.

But most of all, Cherevaty felt free in another area. Sex. An incredible amount of sex. And most of the time, it was nowhere near their spacious hotel room. Vlad didn't give a damn about rules or norms; he caught Sheps off guard in places Oleg never would have even imagined. Oleg went crazy from the adrenaline and that overwhelming confidence with which Cherevaty would barge into his fitting room, drag him by the forearm away from a restaurant table in the middle of lunch, or slam the door of a massage room right in the face of a bewildered masseur.

The night sea, a billiard table in a VIP room, a taxi from which Vlad — in broken English — practically kicked the driver out for half an hour, and countless other locations and insane moments. Sheps remembered how they ran away from store security, laughing as they pulled their T-shirts on mid-stride. He remembered how they continued to flirt even at the police station when they were finally picked up for disturbing the peace.

Oleg remembered every crazy day of that vacation, and he knew Cherevaty remembered them, too. They both also remembered the drunken conversations on the floor of their room. Vlad told stories about how he used to act out in school and constantly fought with Ilya, whom he had considered a boring nerd back then. Yet, for some reason, everyone kept holding that "nerd" up as an example for Vlad to follow.

And one evening, Cherevaty clumsily recounted how he had once miscalculated a blow. Ilya had escaped with minor injuries by a miracle, but Vlad had been terrified of himself. It was that conversation where Sheps remembered almost every word, because that night he looked at Cherevaty through different eyes once again. Without fear or reproach, but with a profound understanding that he wasn't the only broken one in their couple.

"She-e-eps!" Artem snaps his fingers, pulling his friend out of his memories. "So, what about tonight? Are we celebrating the first day of the semester?"

"Tyomych, let's make it tomorrow. I'll tell you some cool news then, too," Oleg answers with a conciliatory smile. "But today, I've got plans."

Krasnov narrows his eyes slightly, searching Oleg's face, and gives a good-natured chuckle.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to these 'plans' of yours? Or do I have to wait until graduation?"

He notices how Sheps's expression shifts for a split second at the direct hint. Oleg immediately brushes it off with some stupid joke and, citing the time, suggests they head up to the auditorium so they aren't late for the first lecture.

Artem knows well that Oleg only disappears off the radar in one case: when a new relationship starts. Usually, it lasted a couple of weeks, after which Sheps would return to his normal life instantly, but this time he's been gone for a long while. He's changed, even if he doesn't show it outwardly, and it's simply easier for Krasnov to pretend he doesn't realize anything, because it's more comfortable for Oleg that way.

But Artem remembers perfectly how it all started—or rather, with whom. And despite the lack of evidence, he's nearly a hundred percent sure that behind his constant "business" and "plans," Sheps is hiding their mutual professor.

Krasnov laughs and nudges him with his shoulder, accepting the rules of the game, and immediately changes the subject as they head into the building.

──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────

By the third period, Oleg finds it unbearably boring. Artem is scrolling through his phone feed with a look of pure misery, nearly nodding off to the monotonous introductory lecture given by the new professor who replaced Raidos. Following his friend's lead, Sheps pulls out his phone as well.

Sheps

I wonder if teaching a class is as dull as sitting in one?

Vladislav Vitalievich

It's a bit tedious when no one interrupts me with insolent questions ;)

Sheps

Wow, are you getting distracted by messages in the middle of a lecture??

Vladislav Vitalievich

I stepped out to the department office; I'm on my way back now. So, at the moment, you're the only one getting distracted in the middle of a lecture.

Oleg smirks slyly, slips his phone into his pocket, and with a whispered "Be right back" to Krasnov, quietly slips out of the auditorium. There are still about twenty minutes left in the period, so the corridors are empty—which plays right into Oleg's hands. He heads down to the schedule board, finds the name he's looking for in the massive table with some effort, and heads back up to the third floor, stopping outside the right classroom.

A knock on the door cuts Cherevaty off mid-sentence. He starts to flare up with annoyance immediately—until Oleg pokes his head into the room with an unfazed expression:

"Vladislav Vitalievich, can I have a minute?"

Sheps doesn't wait for an answer, disappearing back into the hallway instantly. Vlad takes a deep breath, offers a strained apology to his students, and follows him out, closing the door behind him.

Oleg sits on the windowsill, swinging his legs with a satisfied smirk.

"Now you're the one getting distracted in the middle of a lecture," he says playfully, but Cherevaty shoots him a cold look and takes a wide step toward him.

"This was the first and last time you do that."

"Are you sure?"

Sheps asks in a low, smooth voice, showing no outward reaction to the authoritative tone. Internally, he doesn't regret his stunt for a single second, because the mere sight of Vlad like this instantly sends a flush of heat through him. With a swift movement, he wraps his legs around Cherevaty and yanks him close, forcing Vlad to brace his hands against the windowsill on either side of him.

"We're in the hallway," Vlad seethes through gritted teeth, but he makes no move to pull away, his gaze sliding down to Oleg's bitten lips for a split second.

"Everyone's in class," Oleg parries in a sultry voice.

Cherevaty is already reeling from the adrenaline and the way a pleasant haze is clouding his mind, leaving only a single thought pounding in his temples with his racing pulse.

"Oleg, don't lose your mind," Vlad says, maintaining that same steely tone, trying to save himself somehow. "Let me go."

"I'm not losing my mind," Sheps shrugs and breaks into a predatory smile immediately, dropping to a whisper: "I'm the one making you lose yours."

Cherevaty explodes at that phrase and at Oleg's brazen confidence, but he cannot help but admit it is the truth. Oleg knows exactly what he is doing, and as always, he does it with expert precision. And Vlad has yet to learn how not to react to such insane audacity.

He turns sharply, his gaze scanning the empty corridor where not even distant footsteps can be heard, and a second later, he devours Oleg's lips, pinning him against the cold glass of the window.

He kisses him hard, his hands gripping the windowsill even tighter just to avoid touching Oleg, clinging to the pathetic remnants of his self-control. In any other situation, Vlad would have kept his composure easily, but the knowledge of where they are—and the fact that Sheps has absolutely no filter, since he consciously chooses to behave this way—arouses him beyond measure.

"I'm gonna kill you when we get home..." Cherevaty exhales breathlessly between kisses.

"Then it was worth it," Oleg smirks victoriously, but then he suddenly frowns, sharply pushing Vlad away.

Voices are heard on the stairs, and Sheps manages to jump down to the floor just before a couple of students round the corner. They politely greet the professor, sincerely congratulating him on the start of the new academic year, and stop at a nearby window, setting their bags down on the sill.

Vlad purses his lips in annoyance, his eyes returning to Oleg as he tries to steady himself before continuing the lecture.

"Thanks for the answer, Vladislav Vitalievich," Oleg says, struggling with all his might to stifle a chuckle. "Sorry for the interruption. The question really was very urgent."

"Don't forget what I told you, Sheps," Cherevaty replies sternly. He watches him go with a hungry gaze, then returns to the auditorium with a heavy sigh.

──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────

Levin is sprawled on the sofa in the staff room, chuckling softly at a yawning Vlad, who stands by the coffee machine. The PE teacher has already finished his classes for the day, but it's still nearly three hours until the Knowledge Day banquet Basharov promised everyone.

"So, prepping for lectures all night again?" he asks sarcastically.

"Yeah," Cherevaty nods, but he doesn't turn around, hiding a satisfied smile.

Of course, he has far more interesting activities at night now, but Maxim doesn't need to know that. And he certainly doesn't need to know that the reason for his nearly sleepless night is wandering around the faculty somewhere at this very moment.

"What do you think of our new guy?" Vlad changes the subject, pouring himself his long-awaited coffee. "Seems like an intellectual to me."

"An intellectual bore," Levin rolls his eyes. "He should be teaching literature... When we met, he dropped enough classic quotes on me to last a year! Just wait, tonight he'll be sipping wine pompously with the ladies and lecturing everyone about high art."

"Let him lecture," Cherevaty smirks. "You'll be drinking with Marat anyway."

"Fair point."

Maxim bursts into laughter, already looking forward to a fun evening that clearly won't end with just a formal gathering in the dean's office. Levin isn't sure if Vlad will join them for the after-party, but he's glad he finally managed to talk him into joining the banquet for at least a couple of hours.

Cherevaty wasn't particularly keen on agreeing, as the faculty staff isn't exactly the liveliest company. However, for one, Maxim had begged him "not to leave him alone with those pedants," and for another, Sheps was planning to be out on errands until the evening anyway, leaving Vlad with absolutely nothing to do at home today.

A short knock sounds at the door, and Oleg appears on the threshold unexpectedly.

"Sheps, I was hoping for at least one more day of peace from you!" Levin remarks with feigned disappointment instead of a greeting, eliciting a chuckle from the student. Then he notices the book in his hands. "And who on earth trusted you with the class register?"

"Class representatives are usually trusted with registers," Oleg replies proudly, catching Cherevaty's surprised look out of the corner of his eye.

"Good lord, who exactly made it to the fifth year if they chose you as their rep?.." the PE teacher continues to lament. "You barely show up at the faculty once a month, and even then, it's only to have a smoke with Krasnov!"

"Don't worry, professor Levin," Sheps smiles condescendingly, walking slowly toward the register shelf. "I find university much more interesting this year."

He shoots Vlad a sly look, while Cherevaty hides a smirk behind his mug, taking another sip. Of course—Oleg had snatched the position to legitimize his interactions with the professor and his frequent appearances in this office. Cherevaty realizes this immediately, and he also realizes that it is going to be an incredibly tough academic year. Tough on his self-control, yet absolutely amazing, because Sheps certainly won't let him have a single quiet day, spicing up the mundane workdays with his crazy games.

"Sheps, I'm going to get drunker than ever at your graduation, I promise!" Levin chuckles and reluctantly gets up from the sofa, turning to Vlad. "I'll go and try to hurry Marat along. Otherwise, we'll rot here sitting around for another three hours."

He heads for the door with a lazy stride, casting a sharp, observant look over both of them before leaving the staff room and closing the door behind him.

"Are you going to get drunk at my graduation too?" Oleg asks with a smile, approaching Cherevaty and perching on the very edge of his desk.

"With the stunts you pull, you won't live to see it."

Vlad watches him with a slight squint, trying to maintain a stern front, but after a few seconds, he realizes it's having the exact opposite effect. Sparks of excitement flare in those light eyes, and Cherevaty takes a sharp breath as he feels a leg begin to slide slowly up his trousers from the bottom up.

"I'm locking you at home tomorrow..." he warns quietly.

"Fine, Vladislav Vitalievich..."

Sheps answers in a breathy exhale, never breaking eye contact. Vlad instinctively licks his lips, feeling his skin instantly set on fire in response to that phrase. He still doesn't understand how Oleg manages to make his full formal name sound so incredibly sexy, but his body reacts every time, faster than he can do anything to soften the blow.

Approaching footsteps echo in the corridor. Cherevaty shoves the student off the desk, but Oleg suddenly gives a sly smirk and, under the stunned gaze of those dark eyes, dives under the wide tabletop literally a second before the door opens.

"Oh, Mr. Cherevaty, I was just looking for you!" Basharov enters the faculty lounge, phone in hand, and Vlad feels his fingers go cold with sudden fear.

"Mr. Basharov, I..."

His mind is a total blank; Cherevaty doesn't have a single idea on how to usher the dean out discreetly, and that damn Sheps seems to have completely gone off the rails, because he's only adding more fuel to the fire. A palm slides along Vlad's thigh, creeping toward his fly, and Vlad swallows hard, trying with all his might not to betray the wild chaos brewing inside.

"I'll only be a minute," Marat says, stopping a few feet from the desk. "It's about the retakes for our failing students..."

His speech, which Cherevaty is struggling immensely to follow, is interrupted by a phone call. The dean offers a quick apology and answers the phone; after a few sentences, he motions for the professor to wait and steps quickly into the corridor.

With a sharp movement, Vlad shoves Oleg's hand away and glares at his smug face with undisguised fury.

"Do you have any idea what I'm gonna do to you later?" he utters in an icy whisper.

But Sheps is past the point of no return, fueled by arousal and adrenaline. He is shaking, something manic burning in his eyes, and as his gaze slides down to the fabric of Vlad's trousers, stretched tight with tension, Oleg breaks into a devilish smirk.

"And do you have any idea what I'm gonna do to you right now?"

Basharov returns to the staff room, and Cherevaty pulls himself a bit closer to the desk, bracing against it with his fingers interlocked tightly. Marat apologizes again and continues talking about the retakes, while Vlad squeezes his fingers hard to somehow hide the trembling.

Touches creep up his leg again, finally reaching their goal, and Cherevaty begins to lose his mind from the sensations—but most of all from the fact that he is still staring the Dean right in the eye with an unfazed gaze, though he can hardly see him anymore.

Sheps alternates between teasingly grazing the fabric with his fingers and a firm, palpable grip, and every touch hits Vlad like a powerful jolt of electricity. He is so overwhelmed by the intensity and the fear that Marat's voice gradually begins to drift away, drowned out by a frantic heartbeat thundering louder and louder in his ears.

Oleg has only one thought: Vlad is sitting as still as a rock, likely panicked by what is happening, yet he refuses to do the obvious. Sheps sees that he has completely disabled Vlad's instinct for self-preservation—the very thing that should have forced Cherevaty to simply snap his legs shut long ago. But Vlad clearly likes it, because his already trembling thighs part even wider of their own accord as Oleg leans forward, pressing his lips against the fabric.

Cherevaty flinches noticeably, gritting his teeth, but he realizes he no longer cares what Basharov might do to him. Fire him? Fine, go ahead. Ruin his reputation for life? To hell with it! Vlad doesn't give a damn about anything except Sheps's lethal touches, which have never felt so explosive, sending a wave of impossible euphoria through his entire body.

"Anyway, decide on the dates that work for you and give them to Sonya the day after tomorrow," the Dean finally wraps up the conversation, having spent most of it distracted by his phone screen, and looks up at Cherevaty. "By the way, I amexpecting to see you at the banquet tonight, right?"

"Yes," Vlad answers, his voice trembling.

"I'll see you then," Marat smiles brightly and heads for the exit, eyes glued to his phone again, where a photo of another bottle of whiskey sent by Levin from the store has just popped up.

The door closes behind the Dean, and Cherevaty instantly jolts up from his chair, surprised he can even stand on his own two feet. He practically lunges for the lock, secures the office, and rushes back to the desk, his uncooperative hands fumbling with his fly as he goes.

Unbearable fury radiates from his every step, but Oleg isn't frightened in the least. He licks his lips in anticipation as he crawls out from under the desk, but he doesn't even consider standing up, fully aware of what he has brought upon himself. A strong hand suddenly knots into his hair, and Sheps takes a deep breath, instantly relaxing his throat.

That is all Vlad needs. He braces his free palm against the tabletop to keep his balance, with no intention of prolonging this hellish torture. Oleg has driven him to utter madness in just a few minutes, and now Cherevaty wants only two things: to take what is his and to leave Sheps gasping for air just as he was while sitting at that damn desk.

Vlad hammers in with sharp thrusts, his grip on the hair tightening to the point of pain, cutting off any attempt to shift the pace. He is keeping his furious gaze locked onto Oleg, further aroused by the way those light eyes stare back in submission, never looking away.

And Sheps is being blown to atoms by this sheer ferocity. He breathes heavily, ignoring the sharp pain at his temples from the harsh grip, simply absorbing the unfiltered anger that sets his chest ablaze. The risk was absolutely insane, but it was exactly what helped Oleg draw out his favorite beast from beneath the permanent shell of the cunning strategist. And now this truly primal passion burns them both to the ground.

Cherevaty picks up the pace, a low growl escaping him as he closes his eyes against the unbearable internal tension, finally losing his head to the lewd sounds echoing off the walls of his completely empty mind. Every touch of the soft throat feels incredible, and Vlad no longer knows what he enjoys more—the act of his own harsh revenge, or once again, Sheps himself, who draws him into boundless pleasure without even trying.

Vlad dissolves into his sensations and freezes with a heavy exhale, slipping out of reality for a few seconds. A muffled cough filters into his brain like through cotton wool, and Cherevaty instantly snaps his eyes open.

"Want some water?" Vlad asks, his voice husky. He watches Oleg tries to catch his breath.

Oleg gives a weak nod, barely feeling his numb lips, and Vlad heads over to the water cooler, fastening his trousers. He takes a few sips first before returning to Oleg, crouching down beside him and handing him the cup.

"Are you alright?" Vlad asks softly. Only when he receives a satisfied smile in return does he finally relax.

He helps Oleg to his feet, and they collapse onto a small sofa together to recover.

"What time is it?" Oleg breaks the silence about five minutes later. Without waiting for an answer, he lifts Vlad's wrist to check his watch and sighs heavily. "I need to go. When will you be free?"

"I promised Max a couple of hours, so probably around seven."

"I'll pick you up," Oleg nods understandingly, then stands up, looking expectantly at Cherevaty. "What's the best way for me to get out?"

Vlad rolls his eyes with a chuckle, muttering under his breath as he heads toward the door. They should have thought about this beforehand, but Vlad is certain that even Sheps hadn't planned for things to escalate like this when he entered the staff room. They both acted on pure instinct, which had simply short-circuited their rational thinking.

"I'm going to get fired because of you eventually," the professor smirks. After making sure the corridor is quiet, he unlocks the door.

Oleg breaks into a smile and gives him a quick, parting kiss on the lips.

"Don't worry," he replies calmly. "I'll handle any problem you have."

And Vlad knows it's the truth—he knows that next time, if necessary, Sheps will indeed be able to do that himself.

Vlad found out almost by chance that it was the elder Sheps who had bailed him out of that whole accusation mess, back when they were already living together with Oleg. Oleg had lost yet another bet over a game of chess, and for some reason, Vlad felt a sudden urge to find out what that original wager had been about—the one that resulted in Krasnov ending up with Sheps's car. Oleg had been completely unwilling to reveal the terms of that bet, but he had agreed to the rules himself, and in the end, he fulfilled Cherevaty's request, spilling the truth.

Vlad reacted calmly. Or rather, that was how it seemed to Sheps. In reality, Cherevaty was awestruck by the gesture and by how much Oleg had changed since the day they met. But the biggest shock was still to come. Catching a rare wave of openness, Vlad tried to find out the details of his exoneration before the dean's office, but Sheps suddenly shut down, refusing to answer any questions.

They nearly had a falling out over Cherevaty's persistent pressure, but eventually, in a fit of desperation, Oleg blurted out the truth.

"I asked my brother to help you."

Vlad felt like he would remember that phrase for the rest of his life, uttered in a low voice through gritted teeth. Because at that moment, he realized once and for all that their "game" had truly ended much earlier. It hadn't ended at the exam, but on that very evening when Sheps had trampled over his own pride to save Cherevaty, while Vlad, in a drunken stupor, had been losing his mind from the pain Oleg had caused him.

On the night following that confession, Vlad barely slept, replaying every moment of their relationship in his head and seeing it all through completely different eyes. By morning, as if in a continuation of the evening's revelations, Oleg's gestalt was finally closed.

──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────

Cherevaty is sipping his coffee, scrolling through the morning news feed, when he startles at an unexpected ring at the door. It's only just past nine, and Vlad frowns, unable to fathom who could have come to his place so early, but he quickly goes to answer, hoping the loud chime didn't wake a peacefully sleeping Oleg.

He looks through the peephole and immediately feels a wave of anger surging within him: Sasha is standing on the landing, holding a neat folder in his hands.

After what Cherevaty learned yesterday, he has been dying to face this man, so he opens the door without hesitation and steps out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.

"Is Oleg here?" Sasha asks instead of a greeting, casting an unreadable glance at him.

"No," Vlad cuts him off coldly.

"Why bother lying?" Sasha raises an eyebrow indifferently. "I know he's with you."

"You aren't coming in here."

Sheps smirks, and Cherevaty is repulsed by his mocking gaze. This isn't the first time Vlad has seen this man, but now he looks at him through a completely different lens. Before him stands no longer the gallant husband of his colleague, but a cynical tyrant who once shattered his Oleg into pieces.

"I respect courage, but not when it's stupidity," Sasha remarks with a condescending smile. "If I want to talk to him, I'll do it regardless."

"How? Are you going to sign my apartment over to yourself, too?"

Those blue eyes shift, taking on a look of intrigue, and Sheps tilts his head slightly to the side. He is genuinely surprised that Oleg has apparently shared so many deeply personal details with this professor. He is also struck by the fact that Vika was right in her suspicions—suspicions that led her to send him exactly here today.

"Fine," Sasha says, ignoring the sarcastic jab as he gets straight to business. "In any case, I came here to see you, and it seems I wasn't mistaken."

Cherevaty silently arches his eyebrows, his cold gaze never leaving the uninvited guest even as a thin folder is thrust toward him.

"What is this?" he asks in a steady voice.

Inside, Vlad is trembling with rage, but he continues to expend a colossal amount of energy to keep himself in check, realizing that hitting men like this is useless. Sasha, much like Oleg, fights his battles on a level far removed from the physical, and Cherevaty simply cannot afford to lose the moral high ground by snapping into mindless aggression.

"Documents for all the assets," Sheps explains. "Give them to Oleg; tell him to sign them at our notary. My signatures are already there."

Without a word, Vlad takes the folder, skims the papers, and looks Sasha in the eye once again.

"Why the sudden generosity?" he taunts in a venomous tone, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Has he really just decided, after four years, to return what rightfully belongs to his brother? Cherevaty doesn't believe in such nobility for a single second; he is itching to hear the price.

"I have a daughter on the way," Sheps answers with a sudden, jarring honesty that catches Vlad off guard for a moment. "And I want to focus on my own family's affairs, not just some random nobody's."

Cherevaty grits his teeth, taking a deep breath, but his free hand curls into a fist anyway—because it sounds horrific. And Oleg certainly didn't deserve that. Yet, it seems this is the best possible outcome, because now Vlad is certain: Oleg definitely doesn't need a family like this. And Cherevaty will make sure to create a completely different kind—one where Oleg will never be called a "nobody" and won't be tossed aside with nothing.

"Now he's your problem," Sasha says emotionlessly and, without a word of parting, heads for the stairs.

"He is not a problem," Vlad cuts him off in a steely tone, making Sheps turn back with interest. "He's a human being. It's a pity you never understood that."

Sasha lingers on the stairs for a few more seconds, his gaze fixed on the door that Vlad has slammed shut behind him. Then, he gives a slight shake of his head and leaves, leaving behind some heavy burden of his own that had weighed on his thin shoulders for years.

──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────

Sheps

I've pulled up.

Cherevaty reads the message, tearing his attention away from another one of Marat's toasts; he clinks glasses with his colleagues on autopilot and nudges Levin, who is standing nearby, in the shoulder.

"Max, I'm heading out."

The PE teacher sighs, pursing his lips in disappointment, but gives Vlad a hug anyway.

"Don't overwork yourself with those lecture notes of yours," he says with a drunken chuckle, then claps Cherevaty on the shoulder, noticing the faint frown his words provoke. "See you tomorrow, young blood!"

"See you..."

Vlad lingers for a few seconds, his gaze thoughtful, then he offers a brief goodbye to the other professors. He slips out of the dean's office with a sense of relief, leaving the empty faculty building behind.

Outside, it is still light, though the setting sun has already dipped behind the neighboring buildings. Nonetheless, Cherevaty feels momentarily lost as he scans the parking spots near the entrance. A brand-new G-Wagon flashes its headlights invitingly. Vlad arches his eyebrows in surprise and breaks into a laugh.

"I thought it would be something a bit more modest," he teases Oleg as he slides into the car.

"Why on earth would it be?" Sheps smirks. "I'm not a pauper anymore. Besides, it wouldn't look right for the owner of a fitness club to drive a basic car..."

He speaks with pride, his eyes burning as he looks at Cherevaty, eagerly waiting for his reaction.

"You signed the papers? Congratulations!" Vlad exhales in admiration, but immediately adds with irony: "Congratulations to you, of course. I just feel sorry for the fitness club..."

He gives a mock sigh, looking down, but instantly bursts into laughter as he feels a hard shove to his shoulder.

"So what if I run someone's business into the ground..." Oleg snaps back good-naturedly, rolling his eyes.

Six months ago, such words would have stung Sheps incredibly, but now he feels more confident than ever, as if leaning on the admiring gaze of those dark eyes. Cherevaty can defend himself with stupid jabs as much as he likes, but Oleg still sees the most important thing—the unconditional support that makes all problems seem small and unfrightening.

"You won't," Vlad says unexpectedly seriously, as if in confirmation of Oleg's thoughts, but a second later he breaks into a smile, changing his tone again: "A student of mine—not figuring out economics? I certainly won't let that happen!"

Cherevaty maintains the perfect balance, not letting Sheps slide into self-admiration while still making his reaction clear. He is bursting with pride that Oleg actually managed to start. And although the vast network Sheps dreams of is still far off, Vlad still believes that Oleg will definitely succeed.

And Oleg believes it, too. Because after everything that has happened, he feels absolutely happy right now. He also knows that all these changes in his bland life began at one exact moment—when this professor, trapped in the grip of his own equally boring life and now sitting beside him, first walked into the lecture hall.

Sheps reaches for Cherevaty, wrapping an arm around his neck, but Vlad suddenly flinches, his tense gaze fixed on the windshield.

"Max is right there. He might see us," Vlad explains, but Oleg doesn't let him pull away, his face breaking into a sly smile.

"If anything happens, I'll just give him a raise..."

"You actually hired him?" Cherevaty asks with joyful surprise.

"Yeap," Sheps answers smugly. "Now we have our own personal trainer in our fitness club."

Vlad shakes his head slightly, unable to suppress a happy smile, and finally gives in, being the first to pull Oleg into a kiss. The word "our" sounds almost wild, but Cherevaty loves the realization that he actually managed to tame a total egoist without crushing that magnificently strong character in the process.

"Are we heading home to celebrate?" Vlad asks as Sheps starts the engine.

"Yeah, but we could drive around for a bit first," Oleg suggests, noticing how Cherevaty is curiously examining the new interior.

"A car like this should belong to a truly top-tier driver... Wanna prove it?" Vlad looks at him with a challenge in his eyes, and Sheps is already hooked by this intriguing start. "Can you hit twenty red lights on the way home—no GPS?"

Oleg pauses for a few seconds, mentally mapping out a route, though he can hardly imagine how to maintain the necessary speed in the flow of traffic to hit the stop lines at just the right moment. Besides, he's usually much luckier with a "green wave." The task seems challenging enough, but it stirs nothing inside him but that familiar thrill.

"And what's in it for me?" Sheps asks, clarifying before finally committing to the game.

"You'll find out tonight," Cherevaty replies in a low voice, a smirk spreading across his face.

They stare into each other's eyes with anticipation for a few seconds, and then Oleg switches off the GPS and buckles his seatbelt.

"Challenge accepted?" Vlad asks again, looking satisfied, arching an eyebrow playfully.

Sheps shifts his gaze to the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly, and he nods as he releases the brake.

"Let's play."