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When Vuk comes into consciousness, he can smell blood.
His mouth tastes sour where clotted blood and saliva have coated the sides, the roof, and even the slivers of skin between his teeth. A wave of nausea churns in his stomach.
Where is he? He tries to look around, but he’s surrounded by thick darkness on all sides. He assumes he must be in a dark room somewhere, before he notices the ticklish sensation of soft fabric over his nose.
A blindfold.
Someone's taken him.
The realisation shakes him awake. He needs to concentrate. Voices can be heard in the distance, three or four different men, he thinks. He tries to check his body for wounds, but his hands have been cuffed behind his back, twisted around some kind of hard metal.
The memories return to him in flashes: the humid heat of the first weeks of autumn, his uniform stuck to his skin with sweat, the soft insides of mandarins crushed in his hand. He was stationed in East Slavonia. As far as he can remember, he should be in an army tent with his men, but…
Next to him, he hears a noise like the soft crunch of dirt under boots. He's not alone.
“Who’s there?!” He's not scared, handcuffs be damned. His face twists into a snarl. “Hey! Answer me!"
“Calm down. And for God's sake, lower your voice, I have a headache."
It's a familiar voice, snobbish and sardonic, with that ridiculous feminine accent that Vuk loves to make fun of. His blood runs cold once the realisation sets in. “Ah, Dražen! How nice it is to hear your voice after all these months. I wish I could shake your hand, but I’m a little out of sorts here.”
“That doesn't shock me. A close encounter with a Zastava M76 will do that to you,” Dražen says dryly. “It was a clean shot to the neck, so I'll assume you don't remember much. Does it still hurt?”
He forces a smile and clears his throat, where the bullet must have struck him. Now that he's focused on it, he notices that it does feel somewhat sore, but he can't remember his death. Which could be for the best. "Hah! I’ve never felt better.”
“What a shame." Dražen sounds nonchalant, but he's not fooled. Even decades later, he can still remember what Dražen is like when he's at war. It comes back to him in dreams more often than he'd like to admit. Then, a metallic noise shakes him into focus, not unlike a sword when it's drawn from its hilt. But that can't be. He hasn't had to use a sword in over a century, and no matter how backwards the Croats are, a sword wouldn't make sense. “What was that?”
No answer.
“Dražen, talk to me, asshole!”
“You know, I think it’s curious how you’ve apparently never felt better.” Dražen's tone is cold. “Do you feel some sick sense of amusement when you torment me? Clearly, you do, that's all you've done for the last ten years."
“I have no idea what you mean,” Vuk says. “I didn’t– you started this, asshole! You and that little bitch Janez! If you’d stayed with me, then–”
Pain comes out of nowhere, a crack of fire on his cheek as his head slams into the wall. “Watch your mouth. You don't understand the situation you're in, huh?” Dražen asks. Vuk's face hurts like hell where he backhanded him.
“Go to hell, Ustaša.”
A hard smack falls on the other cheek. He sees stars, blobs of colour in the darkness behind the blindfold. “I said, watch your mouth. Unless you want to tell me how sorry you are.”
He can taste fresh blood in his mouth, hot and metallic. “I’d rather die.”
“Fine then.”
Silence follows. Vuk breathes heavily, worried about what's to come, when he feels the cold, smooth blade of a knife on his throat.
Fuck, the metallic noise from earlier. Dražen had it on him this entire time. A fat bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. “Wait, come on, man, we can talk about this,” he says, but Dražen takes him by the hair and shoves him back on the wall.
“Talk about what? About how you started another useless war, because I wanted some more freedom?” He scoffs. Even under the blindfold, Vuk knows what he must look like now. He has memorised how Dražen looks when he's annoyed. How his eyebrows furrow and his mouth narrows into a thin line, before he blows at the strands of hair that fall over his eyes. The familiarity makes him mad. “How many more decades of abuse should I endure? We would have all been killed for Greater Serbia, or starved to death. Last time I checked, a loaf of bread cost, like, five million dinar.”
“Abuse! Hah! If it weren't for me, you’d still be Austria’s little cocksucker, you know that damn well.” Vuk raises his chin defensively, but it only makes the prickly teeth of the knife bite into his skin.
“We’ll see who’s the cocksucker here," Dražen says, which sounds like a threat. But before he can think about that, the knife leaves his throat and finds its way to the front of his uniform. “God, I can’t stand to look at this anymore.”
Vuk is confused until he hears the fabric tear under the blade. It's a serrated knife, he can hear the catch of the teeth on the threads as it turns his camo into olive and brown confetti. Great. Now he’ll have to walk back to base naked when he frees himself. Of course, Dražen couldn’t care less, and cuts away until Vuk’s chest is entirely bare to the autumn breeze.
“This is your worst tattoo,” he snorts. “A double-headed chicken. I mean, it looks trashy, so I guess it does suit you.”
“It’s my emblem!” Vuk says, offended. His chest tattoo is one of his favourites, next to the Serbian cross on the back of his calf, but it’s no wonder Dražen has terrible taste. His smooth, feminine hand traces the outline of the tattoo.
“I know how to make it look better,” he says. Vuk thinks to ask him what that means, but he doesn’t have to.
The knife is back on his skin.
“Hey! Back off, you maniac! This is a war crime!”
“A war crime? Well, you'd know all about that,” Dražen says, which is hilarious, because one of them is a war criminal and it isn't Vuk. But all words of dissent are obliterated when Dražen slides the knife across his skin. It’s real this time, without any clothes in the way. He feels the burn of the sliced skin, and the fresh blood that beads on the cut before it runs down his body.
"Back off now, or I swear I will–”
“You’ll do what? You’re defenceless like this,” Dražen tells him in a husky voice. He moves the knife in short, calculated motions in between heavy breaths, almost as if…
“Fuck! You're into this,” Vuk says, a little hysterical. “This is another one of your sick little sexual fantasies. You couldn't even last a few months without me."
His heart beats like a hammer in his ears. He can joke around all he wants, but this is a side of Dražen he doesn’t mess with. The bastard is undeterred, and the knife twists, turns, and lifts off his skin only to come back down. Vuk suddenly realises that the movement isn't random. The swift cuts resemble letters. An H, then an R, a V…
Oh, motherfucker.
“There. You look better with my name on your skin,” Dražen says, obviously turned on. Vuk wants to tear him to shreds. He thinks of the fresh mandarins he ate in his tent yesterday, the tender and malleable white flesh.
Unbothered, Dražen smears the blood over his chest with his thumb. “This is a better shade of red on you than that hideous communist red," he says. His hands are cold on Vuk’s skin, caressing his chest and then his stomach, where they sit and wait. Vuk's face turns red. He was lying earlier when he said they haven't done this in months. It used to be every few months, back when the air between them wasn't so delicate it could be shattered with a few clumsy words. Realistically, they haven't touched each other like this in years.
Dražen makes a curt sound in the back of his mouth. “You’re hard.”
“Huh?! No, fuck off. I'm not."
“I have eyes, you know." Dražen feels his half-filled erection with the hilt of the knife, almost clinical about it. “You like being at my mercy. Admit it.”
“I will actually kill you.”
“Sure. I’d love to see you try.”
“Maybe not today, fucker, but soon." He chuckles dryly, his fists clenched behind him. "You really think your shoddy army can hurt me? A bunch of untrained civilians versus the JNA? Dubrovnik will be a Serbian holiday resort by December, you old fool. I can’t wait to fuck your whores on the beach and make you watch."
“You don’t scare me,” Dražen insists. "Really, do you think I haven’t heard about the state of the JNA? It's filled with useless little boys, too scared to use their own rifles. How many deserters have you had? A few thousand?”
“Even a deserter has more balls than a Croat soldier!” His face burns with shame. It’s true that his men haven’t been very motivated, but what the hell is he meant to do? Oh, Commander Miśić, sir, my mother’s Catholic, I don’t want to shoot the Croats! Pussies. Dražen’s correct, even if he hates to admit it.
“It was a Croat who killed you yesterday,” Dražen reminds him. “A senior officer, and a friend of mine. Good man. I always let him drink a little when he’s on watch, so he decided to repay me the favour. You know what he did for me?”
Vuk doesn’t think he wants to know. Dražen’s breath is hot on his face, scented like coffee and nicotine.
“After he killed you, he carried you back to our base like a sack of flour. And he didn’t tell anyone. The UN cunts have no clue that you're here. Oh, I’m sure they will realise their mistake in a day or two, but until then...”
Pointed nails slice into his flesh, over the tender skin of his wounded chest.
Oh God, he's fucked. He’s never been more fucked.
Dražen snorts out in amusement. "Oh, come on. Don't look so scared." He shoves the knife under his belt like he's done this a million times before, and cuts at the fabric until the buttons are dealt with, and it's easy to shimmy his trousers down to the floor. “I have no clue how you stay this tubby even on war rations,” he remarks, his hands splayed reverently over his calves.
Vuk swallows harshly. "Fuck off. Get it over with and touch me already.”
"You're not the boss of me. Not anymore." Dražen leans in and kisses down the side of his neck, where he can taste the fear and arousal in his sweat. The kisses turn into teeth, and Vuk arches his back into it, trying not to seem like he wants it as badly as he does, but he does. "You'll have to wait for your turn," Dražen breathes into his ear. His hands sit still under Vuk's stomach, so close to his half-hard cock. "Here are the rules. You make me cum, and I'll make you cum after.” His belt buckle clinks as he shuffles his trousers down. “You bite me, and you’re dead. Or worse.”
“You've lost your mind. I won't suck your cock, Dražen, what the fuck." Vuk feels his face redden. As if he’d allow this bastard to use him like that. No, he'll show him! He clears his throat, where the blood and saliva have combined into a sticky mess in the back of his mouth, and aims for Dražen’s shoes.
Blindfolded like this, he can’t see where it lands, but the loud exclamation of shock and horror tells him all he needs to know.
“You're an animal,” Dražen hisses at him. He sounds mortified.
But Vuk has no time to celebrate, as a hard kick lands on his ribs, worse than any of the earlier blows, and he falls to the side as far as the handcuffs will allow him. His arm burns from the strain. Quickly, he moves to raise his head, but Dražen’s leather-clad hand forces him back down. His voice comes out cold as ice. “You will clean your mess and then suck me off.”
“No!”
“I still have the knife on me.”
Well, shit… Vuk tries to be rational. If he does this, he'll still be the man in this situation, since it's not like he wants to suck cock. Dražen is the homo here, if he wants it so bad. God forbid he doesn't want to be tortured, it doesn't make him a cocksucker. He shakes his head and breathes out hard from his nose.
“Whatever. I'll do it, so calm down.” He moves to clean the mess with his torn sleeve, where he assumes the shoe must be, but Dražen tsks loudly.
“No. Use your mouth.”
Vuk takes a reflexive move away, into the wall and hard cold metal behind, and fuck, he's turned on. The words send an undeniable shock of arousal down to his core. His face flashes red, from his cheeks to his ears. Maybe the blindfold will hide that. “Fine.”
The blunt toe box of Dražen’s boot tastes like leather under his mouth, still warm from the sun. It takes him a moment to locate the evidence of his frustration in the dark, but he knows he's found it when he can taste blood. God, there's so much blood everywhere. In his mouth, drying on his skin, in the cuts all over his body and the teeth of the knife. Dražen is a freak if he finds this hot.
He licks and swallows around the leather, aware that Dražen will bitch and moan if he doesn’t do this properly, while his cock hardens in his trousers. Pathetic, he knows.
“Wow,” Dražen snorts. “All this talk of Greater Serbia and nationalism, and how you Serbs are meant to lead the rest of us subhuman idiots, and look at you now.”
Vuk rolls his eyes under the blindfold. Once he’s out of these restraints, he’ll make him pay for this humiliation. For now, he focuses on the way Dražen’s voice is laden with need. Blood and saliva stain the corners of his mouth as he lifts himself off the floor. “I'm done."
“Fine. We can move on.” Dražen’s trousers hit the floor with a thunk. “Go on, you’ve done this before.”
“Have not."
“You’ve literally done it with me, moron. And Enis, Janez, Stefan, Ivan for sure, and Iraklis...”
“Whatever, Ustaša! Let me focus."
How is he meant to do this without his hands? He must look like an idiot as he searches for Dražen’s cock in the darkness, until the blunt head of it finally butts into the side of his mouth. There. With a hand on the back of his neck, Dražen holds him still and waits.
Trying to be mindful of his teeth, Vuk slides down Dražen's cock. Even if the bastard does deserve to be bitten. He lets the bottom of his canines nick the sensitive skin, more to tease than to hurt. Dražen swears under his breath and bucks into the back of his throat. His movements are slow, and his cock heavy in the wet heath of his mouth. He tastes mannish. Like hot sweat on otherwise clean skin, with a hint of a chemical floral scent, because of course Dražen would care about self-maintenance in the middle of a war. And under all that: the wet saltiness of his arousal.
Vuk has already drooled all over his own face and chin. They both know he can’t take Dražen all the way, but he will be damned if he doesn’t try anyway. He forces himself down until it hits the back of his throat and he chokes, a loud, unattractive noise that makes Dražen moan.
“You're stubborn,” he chuckles breathlessly, at the same time as the knife makes its return. The soft side of it caresses Vuk's tummy, cold on his feverish skin. “What should I write this time? Maybe my human name.”
"Fuck off!" His dissent is muffled and choked, but Dražen doesn't seem to care either way as he takes the knife and carves erratic, curt lines into the skin left unmarred. At least it's not actually his name, Vuk thinks, dizzy with arousal. He can smell it on himself, how bad he wants it, even with a face full of Dražen. Dražen, who doesn't seem to want to cut him for aesthetic reasons this time. He's not methodical like he normally would be. Vuk distantly notes how weird that is, before he's distracted by the soft thrust of Dražen's cock in and out of his mouth. The knife clatters on the floor, stupidly loud, and then Dražen's hand starts to bear painfully down on the fresh wounds.
"Mmfff!"
"Oh, don't be a bitch," Dražen huffs. "I know it doesn't hurt that much. You're so dramatic, I swear..." He rubs his thumb over the fresh blood on Vuk's skin until his hand is covered in it, and then startles Vuk with the sensation of hot, sticky skin on the side of his mouth. "Go aaah."
"Mmhhh..."
Dražen hooks his thumb into the corner of Vuk's mouth and slides it in next to his cock, making him taste coppery, salty blood. Fuck. Vuk shudders, his body lurching forward, trying to find stimulation that isn't there. God, he wants to be touched. Needs it so bad.
The hands in his hair turn needy as Dražen holds Vuk still, and doesn’t bother to warn him before he starts to thrust into his mouth properly. He is thin and slender down there like the rest of him. With his head thrown back, he moans and increases the rhythm, making the thrusts uneven and erratic. He's close. Vuk swirls his tongue around him and lets the drool slide down, everything between them hot and wet, tanned skin turned shiny and flushed.
"God, yes, choke on my fucking cock," Dražen fucks him faster, sounding like he's losing control of himself. His thumb leaves Vuk's mouth, and then there's a wet noise from above, like he's taken it into his own mouth. To taste Vuk's blood. Fuck.
Vuk doubles his efforts as he licks and sucks and lets himself choke on it, until he hears that familiar hitch to Dražen's breath. "Fuck!"
A moment later, the bitter flavour of him hits the back of his throat. Dražen swears and arches his back, words thoughtlessly falling from his mouth, soft whines and moans that sounds suspiciously like Vuk's name. His body trembles under him like a leaf in the wind.
Vuk doesn’t normally swallow, but there's not much he can do about it now. Dražen has nearly torn all his hair off the way he's holding onto him. Eventually, once his body ceases its tremors and his breathing slows down, he releases him.
"Damn.... Not bad."
"Not bad?! I want a medal of honour for that!" Vuk's voice comes out croaky. He wishes he could use his hands to clean his face a little, but what can you do. He feels so sticky everywhere. Whether it's from the cum or the blood, he doesn't know.
"Don't be mouthy, or I won't let you cum," Dražen threatens, but his heart isn't in it now. He's usually a lot more amicable after sex.
"Just touch me, come on. We had a deal!"
"Yes. Fine."
Vuk waits impatiently for Dražen to cut his underwear off and touch him, take him in his hand, whatever, but instead, he's met with the blunt heel of his military boot. Still a little wet with saliva. "Go on. You want to act like an animal, you'll be treated like an animal. Get yourself off."
"Fuck you," Vuk breathes out shakily, but the friction on his cock is hard to resist. And fuck, if Dražen doesn't know exactly what words to use, to turn him on and make him want to kill him at the same time. He can't believe that he's seriously about to do this. But he's too turned on not to, and Dražen knows that.
He situates himself over Dražen's boot and rolls forward, followed by a hot wave of satisfaction. "God." He can't determine whether it's uncomfortable or incredible, but it's the first touch he's had. He whines under his breath, moving his body back and forth even as it hurts, and shuts his eyes so tightly that he doesn't even notice it when Dražen hastily unties the blindfold.
"Look at me."
He blinks, and for the first time he can see Dražen's green eyes, cold and calculated but softened with arousal somehow. Pink is dusted on his cheeks and there's a cold sneer on his pretty face as he watches Vuk rut his hard cock on the side of his calf. "Fuck. Fuck, 'm close. Touch me, come on!"
"No. You can cum like this."
Vuk thinks it'd be easier to headbutt Dražen and hopefully knock him unconscious, then try to free himself from his bonds. He could grab the knife with his feet and cut himself out. But he wants to cum so badly that he doesn't consider that. Not with Dražen's wet and used erection in front of his face, and his own arousal making his cockhead wet and slippery in his underwear as he needily grinds for more. He's so close. So close.
All he can do is listen to his own humiliating, breathy noises as he chases his climax, with Dražen murmuring degradation into his ear. Stuff like "cum for me, come on," and "good dog," and "all the men in the barracks can hear you, they know what a cumslut the leader of the Serbs is".
When the waves of his orgasm finally wash over him, he's too far gone to hear what Dražen has to say. He cums with a scream and a groan and releases into his blood-soaked underwear, desperately chasing more friction. It's been so long since the last time he touched himself, and even longer since the last time he had sex, and he sees stars until his body finally slows down and the shocks of electricity frizzle out.
He takes a shaky breath, trying to come back to Earth after that. "Fuck, Dražen..." He rests his head back on the metal tube that he's tied onto, breathing heavily. "That was..."
"Pathetic, I'd say," Dražen says, amused. "I need to find you some new clothes to wear. You'll have to deal with one of my soldiers' uniforms, I'm afraid."
"Go to hell, no!"
"They look the same as yours, anyway. We stole them from your soldiers! Unless you want to be stuck in your cum-stained underwear when the UN come to get you. Then they'll know what a slut you are for me."
A half-choked, embarrassed noise of dissent comes out of his throat. "Ew! I'm not a homo like you, Draža."
"Funny you say that, I've never seen anyone look more blissed out while sucking cock before."
"Go to hell, Ustaša!"
"After you, Chetnik. God, can't wait until they haul your ass out of my land."
"Your land?! Hah! This will be my goddamn land soon!" Never mind that officially, the mission of the military is to remove the Croatian leaders and make sure the Serbs in Croatia are safe, no more, no less.
Dražen narrows his eyes. "Fuck you, I'm not letting you touch my cock for another thousand years."
"Hah! Like I care!"
They stare at each other with twin scowls, the room silent but for their heavy breaths, until the corner of Dražen's mouth twitches into a sort of smile. "You're ridiculous. Fine, I'll find you some civilian clothes. Do you want some shitty German MREs as well? I think I have a goulash one left over, the fake meat tastes decent."
Vuk considers this for a moment. He has no idea when the last time he ate anything was, but he's always hungry after sex. "Yeah."
Dražen nods. Vuk watches him button his trousers and carefully run his fingers through his short, brown hair like a sissy, before he finally walks out of the tent. Vuk finally allows himself to relax, trying not to pay much attention to the mess of fluids all over his body. Hopefully, a sexy nurse will visit him soon, too, and not only Dražen .
Once he's out of here, he'll make sure the Croat learns his lesson.