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Pagan spots him, a dark speck in the snow. Poor thing didn’t make it far past the gates; only a couple kilometres South, before collapsing to the cold. Nearly lost to an endless white expanse.
He removes his gloves and feels a weak pulse at the boy's throat. Calls Gary to help bring him into the helicopter.
Ajay seems to regain consciousness as they drag him. Groans quietly and trips over his feet in the dense powder. Pagan regrets not packing a stretcher; the snow makes it difficult for even the two of them to support his weight. They manage to dump him in the back seat of the cabin with some difficulty.
Rotor blades whip above, crescendo to a loud drone.
Pagan kneels in front of him. Ajay's head hangs, seemingly too heavy for his limp puppet body. The emergency blanket crinkles around his shoulders. His breathing is slow. He’s still frigid, barely responsive.
"Ajay, darling, look at me." Pagan gives a few gentle taps to his cheek.
He groans, blinks in futile attempt to shake his mindfog. Even seated, he needs to hold onto Pagan’s sleeve to stay upright.
Pagan carefully slides Ajay’s left glove off. His fingers are stiff. Frozen, but not frostbitten. He tucks the glove into his coat pocket.
He places his thumb below Ajay's chin and tilts his face towards his own. Ajay’s jaw lolls open stupidly. Nothing behind his eyes. Pupils blown dark and wide.
"Oh dear. Yuma's done a number on you, hasn't she.”
He is so cute like this. Like a dog.
“We won’t need that god-awful
bag
then. I’m sure you’re having enough difficulty breathing as it is.”
In the brief calm, Pagan takes the chance to get a proper look at him. His high cheekbones, sharp features. His brittle, wind-whipped skin, the permanent frown lines between his brows. His lips are pale, dry, flaky. A red-brown scab splits his lower lip. Freckles dot his face, dense on his cheeks. Must have come from his dad's side.
“Cute little thing you are. At least right now, while you aren't setting fire to my poppy fields… destroying my radio centres. Maybe I should just keep you like this.” Pagan laughs.
Ajay's tongue rolls idly on his palate, without thought. The inside of his lip glistens where spit pools, flooding a canal of perfectly aligned yellow-white teeth. He's so close. Shallow breaths wisp along Pagan's cheek. It feels a bit too intimate. Inviting. He doesn't resist the urge to put his fingers in Ajay's mouth.
He strokes the surface of his tongue. It's soft, offers little resistance. Ajay swallows, sucks uselessly around his digits. Saliva drips, stringy and thick, bridging Pagan's knuckles, down the side of his palm.
Frustrated, Ajay exhales, blowing spittle across the back of Pagan's hand.
He clicks his tongue. "
You
are making quite the mess, my boy.” He wipes his hand on the front of Ajay's jacket.
"It's a small wonder you were able to escape at all, in that wretched state. Are my men so incompetent?" He glances up in mock-thought. "No need to answer, god knows I'm the first to admit it." Shakes his head. "Perhaps I'll have you deal with some of them when you come to. Would you do that for me?"
He brings Ajay’s hands together and gives them a brisk rub. It's uncertain if Ajay hears his request. He makes a noise of discomfort. Good enough. Pagan beams at him.
"That's my boy. Well, sit tight just a moment, we'll be at the safehouse in twenty."
Pagan takes a seat at his side, holding his waist, their sides flush and warm. Ajay's head falls onto his shoulder.
Pagan all but carries Ajay to the damn bed. He sits there for a bit, winded.
They could stand to stop building these houses on fucking hillsides.
He glances back at Ajay. He lies at an awkward angle, neck bent uncomfortably. There's a layer of sweat on his brow. Eyes shut, slight sheen on his eyelids. Conscious, but barely. Pagan touches the back of his hand to Ajay's cheek, finding with relief that some warmth has returned to his face. Behind him, Gary drags the side table out and prepares his surgical equipment.
“Alright then. So sorry Ajay, I know you just got done thawing and all, but we’re going to have to-” he grunts as he repositions Ajay on the mattress, “strip you a bit.”
“Though I do wish I was doing this under slightly different circumstances.” He flashes Ajay a wry smile.
Pagan begins to undress him, peeling the outer layers off his body. A damp, feverish heat radiates from his skin. He smells of days-old sweat, tangy and inebriating.
“Augh! Ajay, I— were you not wearing these the day that I met you? Don't you have a change of clothes? Underwear? Ajay, please tell me you have at least one extra pair,” said with a frown. He tosses Ajay's jacket to the foot of the bed.
“If I had known, I would've brought you something to wear! You have to tell me these things, boy!” He huffs, “But I suppose we'll see eachother again soon. Plenty of opportunities to rehaul your wardrobe.”
Idle chatter distracts from the sordid sight. Blood has congealed in large splotches, shiny, tar-black on dark cotton, covering nearly a third of his torso.
He sucks in through his teeth. “You'll be just fine. We'll get you fixed up in no time,” an anxious lilt seeps into his voice.
Ajay's shirt is stiff and sticky, glued to his wounds. Pagan has to tug at it to separate it from his skin. It peels from his shoulders with a wet tearing noise. He’s entirely uncooperative, now sober enough to offer some resistance. Pagan manages to wrestle him down onto his back despite his squirming.
“There we go. That's right.” He shushes him.
He glances over a collection of wounds that look far too recent, all too new. Scabs have already formed where biting metal has pierced tender flesh. His skin is painted red where the shirt clung to him.
“I'm sure this will sting a bit, but try not to be too difficult, would you?” Pagan wrings a wet rag into the washbasin placed at his side.
He wipes Ajay’s skin. Dried blood quickly soils white cloth, dyes the water orange. Ajay grips Pagan’s wrist, insistent. Enough to cause pain. A gesture initially made in protest now seems to be a source of comfort. Pagan allows himself to be held.
There are only two entry holes without a twin. The first on his shoulder, the other at his flank. Gary works quickly. He takes a scalpel to his skin, splitting again where flesh had already started to mend. Pagan watches him squeeze, palpating for the small piece of metal. Ajay writhes, thrashes. A choked groan ripped from the back of his throat. Pagan holds him down with his free arm.
"Ugh. Strong fucker, aren't you."
"Mm... ngh. Paganh?"
"That's right darling, it's Uncle Pagan. So if you could—"
Ajay punches the air.
"Fuck. Cooperate a bit, that would be—"
"Wha're you... doing, ge'off me.”
Pagan scoffs, “What am I— shush, I’m making sure that you survive another day so you can continue dismantling my fucking country, but if you would prefer-
“Ffffuck you.” Ajay slurs with as much venom as he can muster. He's still holding Pagan's wrist. Seems to have lost the energy to thrash about.
“Yes, yes, I know. Your uncle is
so
kind. You can thank me later.”
“Gary, can we give him something to ease the—” he glances back. Gary shakes his head.
“Oh, of course you didn't bring any. Remind me, what the hell do I pay you for?”
He turns to Ajay. “Never mind. Looks like you're going to have to grin and bear it, my boy. Nothing you haven't been through, I’m sure.” said with a smile.
He smooths the hair out of Ajay's face. Despite the dramatics, Ajay leans into his touch, grabs his hand to keep him there. Pagan watches his features contort as torn flesh squelches behind him. Ajay groans. Pushes his head into Pagan's palm, rubbing thoughtlessly against it.
A second bullet dropped onto the table,
tink,
behind him.
“Look at that. Easy! You’re doing so well.”
Ajay sighs, warm breath tickling Pagan's skin. He wipes Ajay's face with the towel and leans over to leave a kiss on his forehead.
“Just need to get you stitched up and you'll be on your way.”
Ajay’s eyes crack open, clouded, bleary. His fist unclenches from around Pagan's wrist, tugs weakly at his sleeve.
Mumbles something.
No idea what you just said, love.
“Hmm, yes. Absolutely.” It seems to soothe him.
Pagan laces their fingers together and watches. Hangs onto every small twitch, grimace, laboured gasp. He brings himself just a bit closer, taking care not to press down on his wounds. He can feel Ajay’s pulse against his bare wrist. In no time at all, he hears Gary packing his equipment behind him. Ajay’s features relax slightly.
Pagan sits on the edge of the bed and stays to watch him just a bit longer. Waits as Gary tidies the room and returns to the helicopter. Waits until Ajay's breathing evens, until the grip on his hand loosens. Until he has no excuses to wait any longer, then waits a bit more.
Ajay falls asleep sometime in the quiet aftermath. His eyelids flutter in his slumber. Pagan wonders what he’s dreaming of. After a short while, Ajay turns his head and lets out a distressed groan. Pagan takes it as his sign to wake him.
“Ajay,” Pagan strokes his cheek with the flat side of his fingernail. Softly, feather light. Then again, with a bit more pressure. Ajay startles with a quiet grunt.
“Time to go. Up with you.”
He lays limp. Makes a noise of discontent.
“I know, love. Up, up, come on.” Pagan pulls him into sitting position.
“Mm.” Ajay wobbles. Snakes his arms around Pagan's waist. Buries his head into Pagan's shirt and settles there. A giddy laugh vibrates against his chest.
“Hmm? Happy now, are we?” He combs through Ajay's hair. Sweat and grease coat his fingertips. He rubs them on Ajay's thigh. His hand rests there on the soft denim.
“Unfortunately for the both of us, I can't take care of you
all
day.”
Heavy eyelids blink, uneven, up at him. Cheek pressed flat against his collar.
“Though you are being very convincing.”
Pagan tilts Ajay's head down and kisses his brow. Ajay noses towards Pagan's lips, flush blooming on his cheeks.
Oh?
Pagan pulls away to look at him. Ajay’s mouth hangs slightly open, eyes half lidded. A low whine escapes him.
“Oh… Yuma gave you
that
one, I see. Lucky boy.”
So she still gives this shit to the prisoners.
He’s had it before. Just once. Woke up with absolutely no memory of the night prior, shirt sticky, flaccid cock stuck between two couch cushions. Pounding headache. It wasn’t the best morning he’s ever had.
Pagan gently squeezes the boy’s thigh. Ajay shifts beneath him. Warm hands grab the back of his shirt. He keeps glancing at Pagan's lips. His breaths come quick. Suddenly there isn't enough air in the room.
He leans down slow, allows Ajay to pull him into an open mouthed kiss. He tastes bitter. Of stale breath and blood. Pagan licks further into him. Ajay moans, low purr rumbling through their lips.
Fuck.
His tongue moves too slowly. Each movement deliberate, sloppy, uncoordinated. Incognizant of scraping teeth. Ragged breaths run across Pagan’s face. Pagan feels himself getting lost.
He pulls back. A string of saliva spills down Ajay’s chin. He wipes it with the back of his wrist. Clumsily, with a bit too much force. Makes a wet noise as he sucks his lip. Red sliver, split down spit-slick skin.
He already looks thoroughly fucked. It suits him.
Ajay presses his hips into Pagan and grinds against him, hardness pressing into his leg. Pagan shivers. Why did he need to go? He can’t remember. He could stay here forever. He wishes so.
“Ajay, Ajay. What shall I do with you…”
Ajay mumbles.
“Bit louder, darling.”
“Mmm… please.” Takes him a while to get the words out. Ajay clings to him, mouths the side of Pagan's jaw. He exhales sharply. Someone up there loves him. Sent him a perfect little angel with the perfect husky voice, perfect brown eyes, perfect curved lips.
“Well… I suppose it'd be wrong to leave you in this state,” said between kisses. He sighs. It didn't take much convincing. “Shall we make it quick, then?”
Ajay hums against Pagan's chin. It travels through his bones, electrifies his nerves. He shuts his eyes. He can’t even think. So desperate for him it's embarrassing.
He brushes the front of Ajay's jeans with his thumb, measured, slow. Wills the world to stop just to hear Ajay’s breath catch. Pagan cups his hand around him, exerts enough pressure to feel him twitch through the fabric. Ajay rocks up into the heel of his palm. Pagan wants to see it. Wants to feel it.
“The allowances I give you, boy… If only you knew the half of it,” voice thick with arousal.
He unbuttons Ajay’s pants, feels for the little metal zipper. It comes undone so quickly. Pagan slips his fingers inside, following coarse hairs downwards. Ajay is wearing nothing underneath.
Pagan scoffs. “And here, I was worried about
extra
pairs. All the while, you're running around Kyrat, tackle just flopping about in your terrible baggy jeans.”
“Nn-yeah,” Ajay laughs. A breathy, sheepish chuckle against Pagan’s lips. It makes him dizzy.
God, Yuma did something right for once.
He holds his breath. Squeezes Ajay’s cock between two fingers and drags his foreskin down. Rubs his thumb on the pink tip, weeping for him already.
Ajay jerks from Pagan's rough touch.
“Sorry, love.” He’s not.
Pagan spits. It dribbles, bubbly and white, down the shaft, catching on Ajay’s pubes. He smears it, smooth and sticky. It's an obscene sight. Feels illegal.
Ajay gasps. Moans pretty for him.
“You sound just like,” whispered into Ajay's mouth, “your mother.” It's a lie.
Ajay's brows furrow. “Shut up… you- you talk so much.” The first full sentence he's managed all day. It makes Pagan smile.
Ajay wraps himself around Pagan’s shoulders, squeezing them together, trapping Pagan’s hand against his stomach. Pagan can feel Ajay’s heartbeat quick against his chest. He licks Ajay’s lips. They part so easily for him. He hopes Ajay will remember his taste as well.
He breaks their kiss. “If you hold me so tightly, I can't get you off, love” Pagan doesn’t know why he feels apologetic.
Ajay nods against his mouth. His beard tickles Pagan’s chin. He gently pushes Ajay back down onto the bed and knees in-between his legs. It's a beautiful sight. His chest is flushed, skin sweat-shiny. His cock red and thick and heavy.
He strokes Ajay's stomach. Lithe muscles twitch under his touch. Blood has started to seep through his dressings already.
Oops.
Ajay pants against the back of his hand, gnaws idly on his knuckles. He pinches his own nipple. Untouched length throbs, dribbling pre-come into his belly button. Pagan commits the scene to memory.
His hands travel down again, stroking smooth skin, ghosting over wrapped wounds. He wraps his fingers around Ajay’s cock, squeezing. Reaches to tug gently on Ajay’s balls with his other hand.
“Mm… fuck—” Ajay wheezes. Like music. His back arches off the mattress, bucking into Pagan’s grip. Restless, urgent. Pagan doesn’t take his eyes off Ajay’s face as he jerks him off. Strong legs pull him snug, sandwiching Pagan’s cock into the cleft of his ass. Separated only by a layer of silk and denim. Ajay grabs his collar and he falls forward. Easily, dutifully, into Ajay’s lips.
Pagan can feel Ajay trembling against his thighs. Already close. His strokes quicken. Brings his other hand to the slick head and rubs it with his palm. Ajay’s kisses grow insistent. He gasps into Pagan's mouth, sucks on Pagan’s bottom lip. Pagan breathes him in. Ajay, only Ajay. And Pagan wants. Can do nothing but want.
“Good. Such a good boy, aren’t you.”
He doesn’t miss the way Ajay’s breath stutters. He whines low and needy.
“Pagan…” Ajay pants, eyes swimming. “I’m— oh, shit, m’gonna—” His voice is strained thin with desire. It makes Pagan so hot that he's nauseous.
“Fuck… Are you gonna come for daddy?”
He nods as if on reflex, “Uhuh, yeah. Yeah.” Forces the words out between gasps.
Pagan gropes for the stack of gauze on the side table, only to find that it's no longer there.
Agh, fucking Gary. Shit.
Desperately glances towards the washbasin, just out of arm's reach.
Suddenly, Ajay’s limbs tense around him. Pagan reluctantly cups his hand to allow ejaculate to pool in his palm. Ajay shudders, gasping deep. Sings for him. A hoarse moan, forced out of him, into a choked whimper. His legs shake around Pagan's waist.
Stray ribbons paint Ajay's stomach, catch on the edges of his bandages. Pagan is still pressed flush against Ajay's ass. Strong, wiry muscle clenches around him. He closes his eyes. Tries not to think. Tries not to feel.
When he opens them again, the view is equally devastating as before. Ajay’s head pushes backwards into the mattress. Cheeks pink and glowing. Moist lips hang open, breath comes quick and hot in the small space between them.
He swipes the last dribbles of wetness with his thumb and tucks Ajay back into his jeans. Leaves kisses on his temple as he comes down. Lingering. Ignores the heat in his own groin.
Ajay jerks, softening cock sensitive against his fly. His eyes are closed, breathing still uneven, grasp stretching the back of Pagan's shirt taut.
“Alright, well… there you go.” Pagan wills himself to pull away. Just about the hardest thing he's done in his life.
Ajay finally opens his eyes. His eyelashes cling together. Moistness glistens, reflecting candlelight as he blinks.
“Wait, don't you wanna, um,” he glances to where they're still pressed together, where he can feel Pagan's hardness against him, “uh… I can—”
Pagan’s fragile resolve is quickly faltering. He needs to avert his eyes.
“C'mon I... I can feel how hard you are through your…” his voice is rough, boyish. Tinged ever so subtly with shame.
“Ajay darling, as much as I want to keep you here and fuck the remainder of your wits out of you, I’ve very much got shit to do.” He sighs. Plants a conclusive kiss on Ajay's forehead.
“Daddy's on
janitor duty
, cleaning up after
your
mess, so I don't want to hear any complaints from you, my boy.”
“What? What’d I do?” Indignant. He really doesn’t know. It takes Pagan by surprise.
“Oh good, you’re sobering up. Guess you just needed to get it out of your system,” he chuckles. Tries to keep his voice light and casual. Like he doesn't desperately want to pin the boy down and-
well, nevermind
. “Ready to go?”
“Mm… dunno.” Ajay pushes himself up and buries his head in Pagan's shoulder, nearly toppling them both.
“Ha! Careful love, I still have a fistful of your jizz in my hand.”
“Oh shit— sorry.” Ajay's shoulders shake with silent laughter. Pagan feels him grin against his collarbone. It’s dangerous. He feels like he would do anything for him. For now, he extracts himself from Ajay's arms.
“I promise to show you a proper time soon. But first we need to sort out this… bullshit. Whatever this is.”
The bloodied water has been replaced. Towel washed and wrung, hanging on the lip of the basin. It has a slight orange tinge, afterimage of the hour past. Pagan rinses his hands. White sinewy strands drift in the water undissolving, settling at the bottom, clouding the reflective metal.
“Comes with running a country, I suppose. You'll know soon enough.” He looks over at Ajay. He's lost his smile. Pagan doesn't know what to make of his expression. The air has cooled between them.
He hands Ajay the wet towel. His movements are still clumsy, but he manages to wipe himself clean. He doesn't seem to mind that his bandages have bled through.
Pagan picks up the little plastic tray of antibiotics on the side table. He offers them to Ajay with a cup of water. “Gary left these for you.”
Ajay doesn't bother to ask what the two small capsules are. Swallows them dry and pushes himself off the bed.
Pagan busies himself, gathering Ajay's clothing. It appears that Gary had collected and draped them around the room to dry. “I will say, your shirt is a bit…” Pagan holds his bloodied tee out to him.
“S’alright. Thanks. I’ll wash it later.” Ajay grabs it and pulls it over his head, avoiding Pagan’s gaze. He’s finally able to stand somewhat autonomously. He stumbles around as he searches for his other glove.
“Oh, almost forgot. I have it here, give me one second.” Pagan reaches into the coat draped on the back of his chair. He turns it over in his hands, studies the thin leather. Palm worn soft with use. He hands it to Ajay.
Their fingers brush only slightly.