The present
Connor was woken up by the sound of vomiting coming from the bathroom next door. He grimaced, it didn’t sound like Mishka was at all well, and he tried to get up only to find he had been restrained again. A sinking feeling came over him as he craned his neck to look at his wrists and ankles and he chastised himself for not having the forethought to remove the cuffs last night and throw the damn things away.
The chains holding him to the corners of the bed were slack enough that he could change position, sit up or kneel even, but there was no way he could bring either his arms or legs together, or move from the middle of the bed.
He sighed and then flinched as he heard the other being sick again. The toilet flushed and the taps in the sink ran for a while, then Connor held his breath as Mishka re-entered the bedroom.
The vampire looked positively green, his skin was waxy and pallid and his hair was plastered to his face with sweat. He shook slightly and moved as though every motion was painful. Connor swallowed. Mishka also looked incoherent with rage as he approached the bed.
“I can understand my head hurting, Hunter,” he hissed, “I can understand being sick. But my ass… you dared… you fucking dared touch me!” He picked up his knife from the table next to the bed and pressed the edge against Connor’s throat.
Connor recoiled back as far as the restraints would let him, eyes widened in horror. “I… no… I…” he spluttered, then stopped himself and frowned. Against his better judgment he leaned into the attack, ignoring the threat that the weapon posed.
“When I fuck you, Mishka Alkaresh, and one day I will, you will remember it,” he whispered. “You will remember it every day of your life, the memory so vivid it will be the last thing you think of when you die.”
Mishka blinked in surprise.
“It was Nikolai who reamed your ass last night, not me,” Connor continued, relieved beyond measure when the pressure at his throat let up.
“Nikolai?”
Connor nodded.
“Shit,” Mishka muttered. “Does he know you’re here?”
“Possibly,” Connor replied. “But I don’t know. I stayed upstairs. You were a bit busy, I didn’t think it appropriate to come down and introduce myself.”
Mishka exhaled and dropped the knife on the bed. Then he scowled and picked it up again, but as he moved a fresh wave of nausea hit him. He turned even greener and ran out of the room.
It was a while this time before Mishka returned, and when he did Connor could see that he had showered. Connor liked the way he smelled clean, and he looked a lot better wrapped in a large, soft bath robe. Mishka opened the wardrobe and took out a shirt and a pair of pants, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dressed. When he was done, he unlocked the chains at Connor’s wrists and ankles.
“You have 20 minutes to wash and eat,” he announced.
Connor shifted on the bed. “What happens in 20 minutes?” he asked, but Mishka ignored him.
After he left, Connor hesitated for a few seconds before running to the bathroom. He took a while inspecting the shower gels, opening and sniffing each one, before finding the one Mishka used. When he was done washing, he located the bag with his clothes in it, and dressed in a clean t-shirt and shorts. He suspected that he wasn’t going to be leaving the apartment, so he figured he might as well be comfortable. With time to spare he joined the other downstairs.
Mishka was on the phone, talking quietly at intervals, but mostly listening. On the kitchen table was a selection of fruit and warm croissants, and a fresh pot of coffee. Connor sat down and helped himself. He kept an eye on Mishka as he ate, but he was deep in conversation, his voice too low to make out what he was saying.
