Nickolai's grip on Ilior's throat was a gentle warning, a reminder of his power and control over every inch of the man in front of him. But there was something more,something darker in his eyes. He wasn't just angry. He was hungry. Hungry for the truth, for the things Ilior had kept hidden, for the submission he knew he could reclaim.
Ilior's breath hitched in his throat as Nickolai's fingers tightened just enough to make him gasp. The familiar pressure, the heat of Nickolai's body against his own, was both terrifying and strangely comforting. Despite everything, despite the months of running, of hiding from him, Ilior still found his heart racing when Nickolai was close.
But he wouldn't allow Nickolai to control him again.
His hand instinctively moved to his stomach, the subtle swell of his pregnancy now more pronounced, but luckily his clothes were thick enough to hide it. Six months. He was six months pregnant, and he had kept it from Nickolai ,this was the secret that had driven him to run in the first place. The fear that Nickolai would never let him go, that he would control every part of his life, and now, even worse, that he would control the life inside him.
Nickolai's eyes flickered to Ilior's hand, the movement so subtle that Ilior almost thought he imagined it. Almost. But the way Nickolai's gaze lingered told him he hadn't. Or so he thought.
Nickolai's gaze didn't move away.
It stayed there on Ilior's hand, pressed too protectively, too instinctively, against his stomach. Not a coincidence. Not a nervous habit.
A tell.
Slowly, dangerously slow, Nickolai tilted his head, his grip on Ilior's throat loosening,not in mercy, but in calculation. Like a predator stepping back just enough to watch its prey breathe… before deciding how to break it.
"You've gotten careless," he murmured, voice low, almost thoughtful.
Ilior froze.
That tone, it was worse than anger. Worse than violence. It meant Nickolai was thinking. Connecting pieces. And once Nickolai understood something… there was no escaping it.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ilior forced out, though his voice betrayed him tight, uneven.
A mistake.
Nickolai's lips twitched. Not quite a smile.
"Lying," he whispered, almost fondly. "You were always terrible at it."
His hand dropped from Ilior's throat, only to trail downward.
Ilior's breath hitched sharply, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He caught Nickolai's wrist mid motion, gripping it hard.
"Don't."
The word came out too fast. Too desperate.
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Nickolai's eyes lifted to meet his, and this time there was no mistaking it.
He knew.
Not suspicion. Not curiosity.
Certainty.
"…Say it," Nickolai said quietly.
Ilior shook his head immediately. "There's nothing to say."
Wrong answer.
Nickolai moved in an instant.
He slammed Ilior back against the wall, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. One hand pinned both of Ilior's wrists above his head, the other gripping his jaw, forcing him to look up.
"Don't insult me," Nickolai hissed, the calm gone, something sharper cutting through. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice?"
Ilior struggled, but it was useless. It was always useless against him.
"You disappeared for months," Nickolai continued, voice tightening, each word more controlled than the last. "You avoid my touch. You guard your body like it doesn't belong to you anymore."
His grip on Ilior's jaw tightened.
"And then there's this."
His eyes flicked downward again.
Ilior's stomach twisted,not from fear for himself, but for the life he had been trying so desperately to protect.
"Say it," Nickolai repeated, softer this time.
That softness was a trap.
Ilior knew it. He had lived in it before, those moments where Nickolai sounded almost gentle, almost human, right before everything shattered.
"I'm not-" Ilior started, but the words died in his throat.
Nickolai leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching.
"You think I don't know what's mine?" he whispered.
The words landed like a blade.
Ilior's chest rose and fell rapidly, panic clawing its way up his throat. He turned his head away, refusing to meet Nickolai's eyes.
That was all the confirmation Nickolai needed.
A sharp exhale left him,something between a laugh and something far more dangerous.
"…Six months?" he asked.
Ilior's eyes snapped shut.
Silence answered him.
Nickolai's grip loosened, not out of kindness, but because he no longer needed force.
He already had the truth.
"…You ran," Nickolai said slowly, almost to himself. "Not to escape me."
A pause.
"To hide this."
His hand finally moved ,resting, deliberately, over Ilior's stomach.
Ilior flinched violently.
"Don't touch me!" he snapped, the fear breaking through at last.
Nickolai stilled.
Then, very slowly, his expression shifted.
Not rage.
Not yet.
Something colder.
"You would keep my child from me?" he asked, voice dangerously quiet.
Ilior's breath trembled. "It's not about you."
The moment the words left his mouth, he knew—
Wrong.
Nickolai's hand tightened against him,not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him exactly who held the power.
"Everything about you," Nickolai said, each word deliberate, "is about me."
Ilior shook his head, tears burning now, though he refused to let them fall. "No. Not this. Not him."
Him.
Another mistake.
Nickolai's eyes darkened further.
"…A boy," he murmured.
And then he smiled.
Not with warmth. Not with joy.
But with something possessive. Something terrifyingly absolute.
Ilior felt it then, that crushing realization settling deep in his bones.
He hadn't just been caught.
He had just handed Nickolai something far worse than control over him.
He had given him a reason to never let him go.
Nickolai leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper against Ilior's ear.
"You should have told me."
A pause.
"Now," he added softly, "you don't get to choose anymore."
Ilior's heart pounded violently in his chest as the weight of those words sank in.
Because this-
This was exactly what he had been running from.
Ilior didn't realize when his legs gave out.
One moment he was standing, barely holding himself together under the weight of Nickolai's words, and the next, the strength drained from him completely. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud, hands catching himself too late to make it graceful.
The world tilted.
Six months.
Six months of running, hiding, starving, shaking through sleepless nights, constantly looking over his shoulder-
For nothing.
A hollow sound escaped him, something between a laugh and a sob. His fingers curled weakly against the cold floor as the truth sank deeper, heavier, more suffocating with every second.
It's over.
There was nowhere left to run.
He pressed a trembling hand against his stomach, as if he could shield it even now,but from what? From him? From the man who was already standing right there, who already knew?
"…Ilior."
He flinched at the sound of his name.
Nickolai didn't need to chase him anymore.
Ilior squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing breaking apart as the weight of it all finally crushed through whatever fragile wall he had left. His shoulders shook, and this time, he couldn't stop it.
The tears came, silent at first, then spilling, messy and unstoppable.
"It's over…" he whispered hoarsely. "There's nothing I can do…"
It was over.
Everything he had fought for, every desperate step away from Nickolai meant nothing now.
A shadow fell over him.
Then-
Nickolai knelt.
Ilior tensed instantly, his body reacting out of instinct, bracing for something harsh, something punishing-
But it didn't come.
Instead, arms wrapped around him.
Firm.
Unyielding.
Possessive.
Ilior froze.
And then-
Nickolai's scent started to spread.
His pheromones.
Musky, deep, and laced with a sharp citrus note, like crushed fruit skin. It filled the space between them, subtle at first, then slowly growing stronger.
Ilior felt it immediately.
His breath hitched.
It was familiar… and dangerous.
The scent wrapped around him, sinking into his lungs with every inhale, making his racing heart slow down against his will.
"N-Nickolai…" he whispered weakly.
He knew what this was.
That was the worst part.
Ilior's body began to relax despite himself, the tension draining from his limbs as the scent settled deeper into him. His grip on Nickolai tightened unconsciously, leaning into him instead of pulling away.
It felt… safe.
Too safe.
Like being wrapped in something warm, yet suffocating at the same time.
"Don't…" Ilior whispered, but it came out weak, almost pleading.
Nickolai only held him closer, one hand slowly stroking his back.
"Shh… you're okay," he murmured, voice low and soothing.
The scent thickened around them.
Comforting.
Overwhelming.
Possessive.
And Ilior hated how it worked,how it softened him, quieted his fear, made him feel like he didn't have to run anymore.
Like he couldn't.
His eyes slowly closed, body giving in as his thoughts blurred at the edges.
Because in that moment-
It didn't feel like control.
It felt like surrender.