Crudelo - Jaskirat x Uzair
"i had no more agency than a moth to a flame"
DISCLAIMER: This book contains explicit MM content, hurt/comfort and heavy codependency.
CHAPTER - 1 CHAPTER - 2 CHAPTER - 3 CHAPTER - 4 CHAPTER - 5 CHAPTER - 6 CHAPTER -7 CHAPTER - 8 CHAPTER - 9
CHAPTER - 10
Uzair had always been good at compartmentalizing his emotions.
That skill now helped him adjust back to his life in Boston. Overall, it was pretty seamless. He went to work, and he was as efficient at his job as ever. He went to his gym on weekends, to work out and box. He ran every morning before work. Every few weeks, he met up with his friends and visited his parents. On the surface, his life was exactly like his life before the trip to Italy.
What happened below the surface was another matter entirely.
He knew he was still a mess, and to his frustration, he wasn’t getting better. He couldn’t use elevators at all, his claustrophobia worse than it had ever been. He had to keep the door to the bathroom open when he showered. He flinched at every sudden noise. He hated being alone in the dark. He slept only with the lights on.
Not that he was sleeping much. He tossed and turned in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and longing for a hard body on top of him. It got so bad that he tried to sleep with pillows on top of him, to trick his mind and give himself the pressure he craved. It didn’t work. He was lucky to get some decent sleep once in five nights, when he was too exhausted to crave anything.
Lack of sleep didn’t exactly help his overall mental state. He was cranky, jumpy, and more snappish at work. He’d never exactly been beloved by his subordinates, but now they grew quiet and wary every time he walked past their cubicles.
After one month of this hell, Uzair finally took Raizada up on his offer and let him pay for the services of a therapist.
He deeply regretted it after the very first session. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings. He didn’t want to talk about Jaskirat. He didn’t need a therapist to know how messed-up the whole thing was. He wasn’t an idiot.
But at least the therapist had given him a prescription for sleeping pills to turn his brain off and finally get some sleep. He hated how the pills made him feel: groggy, weak, and somehow even more anxious, but they were the only solution for his insomnia. Uzair tried not to use them too often, not wanting to become dependent on yet another thing, but sometimes it was necessary.
Thankfully, there was some good news too. His landlord offered him an apartment on the third floor once he heard of Uzair’s inability to use elevators. The apartment was twice as large as his old one, which hadn’t been small either, but to his surprise, his landlord didn’t charge him more. Maybe he felt sorry for him. Either way, Uzair decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. This building was really good, and he had been dreading the necessity of looking for another apartment on a lower floor. It was good to see some things going his way for once.
But his good mood after the move didn’t last. The new apartment was completely unfamiliar (unsafe) and only made his discomfort and anxiety worse. He couldn’t stay inside it for a long time, the walls closing in on him no matter how spacious the rooms were. That was how Uzair ended up spending a lot of time outside. He started going for long walks in the evening after work. It made breathing a little easier. And it helped him sleep, a little.
Uzair was walking home through the park that evening when some drunks decided that they had nothing better to do than bother him.
At first Uzair ignored them. He knew the type: a bunch of frat boys, high on alcohol, weed, and their own self-importance, just messing around on a Friday evening, trying to get some tail. If he ignored them and continued walking, they’d leave him alone.
Except they didn’t leave him alone.
“You think you’re too good for us or something?” one of them growled, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to stop.
Uzair sighed inwardly. He wasn’t worried. He could handle himself against three drunks. But he really didn’t feel like breaking his knuckles against those dickheads’ jaws.
But before he could do anything, two burly men in dark clothes materialized seemingly out of nowhere. “Get lost,” one of them said, staring the drunks down. He let his jacket fall open, revealing a gun in his holster.
“Okaaay, dude, whatever,” the frat boy said, letting go of Uzair and stepping back. His friends dragged him away.
Uzair frowned and turned back to the men who’d come to his aid, but they weren’t there anymore. Uzair stared at the empty space they had just been in, his stomach tightening and his heart beating faster.
No.
Surely not.
He wouldn’t do that.
But those men… they seemed like professionals. Normal people wouldn’t slip back into the shadows after helping out someone. They’d say something, wait for thanks. Not just disappear.
Uzair looked around, but the park was dark and quiet. If there were people watching him—following him—they were very, very good.
If.
He could be wrong.
His pulse beating fast in his throat, Uzair continued walking. He couldn’t see or hear people following him. Everything seemed normal.
After a while, he started feeling ridiculous. Maybe he’d imagined the weirdness. Maybe he’d been saved by passersby.
And maybe pigs flew.
Think, Baloch, he told himself, pushing his messy emotions into a box. What are the chances of two random men with guns materializing out of nowhere when you need help and then disappearing as soon as you turn around? Extremely slim.
All right.
He could test it. Every theory should be tested.
Uzair considered his options. The test shouldn’t be done with the same variables. If there were people following him around, he couldn’t let them know that he was aware of it.
So he strolled forward, without looking around. He pulled his phone out and started browsing his messages, pretending to be completely unaware of his surroundings.
He was a block away from his apartment when he decided to act.
Pretending to be engrossed in his phone, he stopped in the middle of the street just as a car came around the corner. The car was coming with too much speed, and the driver honked frantically, but Uzair pretended to be too distracted to hear.
Come on, come on, come on.
Just as he was about to give up—no test was worth his life—someone grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
He quickly turned, his heart in his throat, and found the same guy from before trying to disappear into the crowd.
Well, fuck.
-----
He couldn’t sleep that night. That was nothing unusual, but this time the reason was different. He was shaking with a horrible mix of toxic anger and irrational excitement. He told himself the anger was the prevailing emotion. Who did Jaskirat think he was, putting bodyguards on him without asking Uzair’s opinion when the asshole hadn’t even bothered to come out to say goodbye to him? Arrogant, overbearing dick.
(God, he missed him.)
Allah. It pissed him off that the mere possibility of being followed— stalked—by Jaskirat’s people pleased a part of him. It means that he cares, said a small, stupid voice at the back of his mind, like a little girl hugging her favourite toy to her chest and refusing to see that the toy was a demon, not a cute plushie.
The grown-ass adult that Uzair was wasn’t impressed. He would never move on with his life if Jaskirat had him shadowed and was still constantly on his mind. It had to stop. He might not be able to control his thoughts and fixation, but the unwanted bodyguarding was something he could control. Hopefully.
The problem was, he didn’t have Jaskirat’s number or any other way of contacting him.
Except…
Uzair smiled grimly.
------
He pretended to trip and fall during his morning run. Pretending to have hit his head and fainted, Uzair lay still and waited.
Soon enough, there were the sounds of footsteps and voices.
“Should we call 911?” a guy said, his voice full of doubt. “We aren’t supposed to be seen by him.”
“Fuck, why did it have to happen during our shift?” the other guy grumbled, sighing.
“This gig fucking sucks,” the first man said. “I still don’t get why we’re babysitting this guy. It’s so random. He’s not interesting at all.”
Uzair tried not to take offense. By gangsters’ standards, he probably was very boring.
“At least the money is good.”
One of them nudged him with his shoe. “Hey, you. Wake up.”
“Let’s just call 911. What if he dies? The boss said this gig is important, comes from somewhere very high up.”
“Do you know who?”
“Nah, no idea. But between you and me, the boss seemed scared shitless. He stressed several times that a failure isn’t acceptable. Just call 911 before he dies.”
Figuring he wouldn’t learn more than that, Uzair turned onto his back and sat up.
The two men—they weren’t the same men from yesterday—flinched and exchanged a look.
“You okay?” one of them said, clearly hoping to pass for a random passerby. “Saw you trip and fall.”
Uzair pulled out the envelope he’d prepared beforehand and smiled. “I’m fine. But you guys wouldn’t mind passing this to your boss’s boss?” He pretended not to notice the nervous look they exchanged. He paused, thinking. He doubted Jaskirat personally dealt with these guys’ boss. “Or maybe even to your boss’s boss’s boss. Basically, pass this to the man who hired you to ‘babysit’ me.” His smile turned sweeter when they paled. “Be fast, and no peeking. You wouldn’t want to upset the guy who has your boss scared shitless, right?”
After a moment that seemed to stretch forever, one of the men finally spoke.
“All right,” he said, taking the envelope carefully, as if it were poisonous. “We’ll pass it along.”
Uzair smiled. “Thanks. Carry on.”
They disappeared so fast Uzair felt a pang of admiration. For such big guys, they were really fast. At least Jaskirat hadn’t hired incompetents.
He wondered how long it would take before the message reached Jaskirat. Knowing Jaskirat’s general paranoia, it would probably pass through the hands of at least four middlemen before reaching him. Uzair had little doubt it would be read by someone along the way, but he wasn’t worried. He hadn’t written anything incriminating.
The message just said,
Stop.
-----
If Uzair were honest with himself, he didn’t really think his message would make Jaskirat stop.
If he were even more honest with himself, sending that little message made him feel more normal than he’d felt in months. That little message was a connection to something he’d hungered for against his better judgment. No matter how small, it made him feel better, his mind sharper and less of a mess.
Days passed.
Then a week.
And yet nothing happened. If he was still being followed around, his new bodyguards were very good at staying hidden.
Could it be possible that Jaskirat had actually listened to his request?
It pissed Uzair off that he was sulking over it, instead of being pleased. He was behaving like a teenager with his first crush, instead of the grown, successful man he was. And over whom? A man, when he wasn’t even bi! The whole thing was so ridiculous Uzair wanted to laugh at himself—if he hadn’t felt like punching something.
He returned home that evening in a shitty mood. It was the sort of day when everything that could go wrong went wrong: after yet another sleepless night, he’d fallen asleep at dawn and overslept, there hadn’t been time to have breakfast, so he was hungry and cranky without his morning coffee; Raizada had been more of a bastard than usual and given his department an impossible deadline; Uzair’s secretary told him that she was quitting; someone had accidentally locked up Uzair in a restroom and he’d had a massive panic attack, and then had to pretend that he was fine because he was at work and people expected nothing short of perfection from him.
By the time Uzair arrived home, he felt like crawling into his bed and never leaving it.
Except when he unlocked his door, there was light in his living room.
And there was a tall, dark-haired man standing by the open window, smoking out of it.
Uzair’s heart jumped somewhere to his throat. He dropped his briefcase with a thud and shut the door with shaking hands. His whole body was taut as a bowstring, his nails digging deep crescents into his palms. “Didn’t I tell you not to smoke indoors?”
The man turned, the cigarette between his long fingers.
“I opened the window,” Jaskirat said, his green eyes giving nothing away.
Smoking is bad for you, Uzair nearly said. He had to bite his tongue. Jaskirat wasn’t his to fret over. He was no one to him.
“Aren’t you afraid someone might shoot you while you stand there? You probably make a very easy target.”
Jaskirat took a long drag from his cigarette. He looked mouth-wateringly attractive, his sharp, angular face so striking it made Uzair’s fingers itch to draw him or take a picture. Distantly, Uzair was exasperated with himself. Why this man? If he had to find a man attractive, why did it have to be this one? The worst possible choice?
“I bought the building opposite this one,” Jaskirat said. “It’s secure now.”
Uzair looked at the skyscraper visible in the window and nearly laughed. “Right. Of course you did.” Shaking his head, he loosened his tie and pulled it off. “Look, I’ve had a spectacularly shitty day. Just tell me why you’re here and go. I have a hot date with my pillow I really don’t want to miss.”
Jaskirat eyed him for a moment before stubbing his cigarette out on the windowsill. “You look terrible, caro(beloved).”
Something lodged in his throat. “Thanks.”
“You haven’t slept in days,” Jaskirat stated, walking toward him and stopping just a few inches away.
Uzair’s heart was attempting to escape from his chest, or at least it felt like it. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket, so that he couldn’t reach out for this man greedily. He wanted to reach out and touch, trace his stubbled jawline, his neck, his everything. He wanted to taste his skin, hot and salty, smell him.
“Don’t tell me you have people stalking me in my sleep and reporting to you how much sleep I get,” Uzair said with as much bite as he could manage. It wasn’t a lot. His body was instinctively leaning forward, needing, and it was maddeningly difficult not to just fall into this man and cling to him with all his strength.
“I don’t need to have you stalked for that,” Jaskirat said, his nostrils flaring as his eyes roamed all over Uzair’s face. “You do look terrible. Too pale. Sickly. Almost plain.”
“Oh, wow,” Uzair said with a laugh. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
Jaskirat’s face did something strange: a tight, pinched look, his eyes all pissy and angry, before he stepped forward and shoved his face into Uzair’s neck.
The punched-out noise that left Uzair’s mouth didn’t even sound like him, his eyes closing and his hands gripping, roaming all over Jaskirat’s back greedily before burying in his thick, gorgeous hair. It was like the rest of the world simply faded into nothing, put on mute or something.
Teeth bit him on his neck so hard Uzair cried out from the familiar, exquisite pain-pleasure. “Easy there, asshole,” he gasped out, clutching him close, clinging to his firm, sturdy body, trying to tug him tighter, closer. The fabric separating their skin pissed him off, so he yanked at Jaskirat’s shirt, buttons flying everywhere. Finally, the stupid thing was off and there was so much skin he could touch: warm, glorious skin covering the familiar, smooth muscles.
Jaskirat ignored his words, sucking dark hickeys all over his neck, his confident hands making quick work of the buttons of Uzair’s shirt. Uzair was shaking, whines leaving his mouth—such an embarrassing sound, but he couldn’t seem to stop, needing him so fucking badly. He wanted to be naked with him. He wanted to be fused to him.
They stumbled into Uzair’s bed half-naked already, and Uzair moaned in delight as Jaskirat pressed him into it with his body, his weight so familiar, comforting, and achingly good. It felt so right: the weight, the pressure, the smell, the man. He missed this so badly.
His cock was hard, Uzair realized distantly. In any other circumstances, with a different man, it would have surprised him. But of course his cock was hard now. He craved this man with every cell of his body. Of course it would manifest as a physical want, too. It didn’t even feel all that strange to him. If there was a man who could make him want, it was this one. The mere thought of being naked with Jaskirat and feeling all of his skin against his own made him shiver, his nipples tingling. He wanted it. He wanted him so badly. He wanted to eat Jaskirat alive, swallow him whole, consume him in ways that weren’t even possible.
As if sensing his needs, Jaskirat moved his head lower, his hot mouth sucking hard hickeys down his neck, his pec, before biting the hard nipple. Uzair moaned, and then moaned louder when Jaskirat pressed his tongue against it, licking the nipple lewdly, and then sucking. Uzair nearly came, right there.
He wrapped his legs around Jaskirat, seeking friction, some relief for his stiff, aching cock. He could feel Jaskirat’s erection against his thigh, and it gave him such a rush. He made it happen. Jaskirat was hard for him. He needed to see his cock. He needed to touch it. He needed it in his mouth.
Uzair fumbled between them, trying to get Jaskirat’s belt open and failing—his fingers were shaking too badly.
The other man huffed and, knocking his hands away, made quick work of his belt and zipper. “Get naked,” Jaskirat commanded.
After much fumbling, Uzair got naked, somehow. The whole thing was complicated by his inability to be parted from Jaskirat even for a few seconds, their bodies grinding even as they undressed.
Finally, they both were naked, and it felt beyond glorious, to feel so much skin. Uzair’s head was spinning and he was making low, shameless noises as he clung to the man on top of him. They rutted together like animals, Jaskirat’s teeth in his neck, his body heavy and perfect on top of him. There was no rhythm or finesse to it, it was every man for himself, seeking release from the maddening tension. There, almost there—
Jaskirat suddenly shoved Uzair’s thighs upward, pressing them together to create friction for his cock between them. God, Jaskirat was fucking his thighs, using him as a cock-sleeve to get off. It should have felt humiliating or mortifying, but all it did was turn Uzair on. He clung to Jaskirat’s back with hitching mewls, feeling powerful muscle ripple underneath smooth skin with the rolling rhythm of Jaskirat’s hips fucking his thighs, the bed creaking ominously, but not loud enough to mask Uzair’s moans. So good—so fucking good…
Uzair grabbed his own weeping cock and jacked off, fast and needy, and much too soon, he was coming all over his hand with a sob.
Jaskirat fucked him through his orgasm, though his own, each buck messier and shakier than the last until he finally went boneless on top of him, breathing hard, his weight crushing. Uzair couldn’t breathe under him, but he didn’t care. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. Even the mess on his thighs felt perfect. He was covered in Jaskirat’s come. As it should be.
As it should be.
And yet.
It still wasn’t enough. It was so weird. Although he felt physically spent after his orgasm, Uzair still didn’t feel satisfied, somehow still wanting more. He ran greedy hands over the expanse of Jaskirat’s back, revelling in smooth skin and muscle.
“You don’t have scars,” he murmured. “I thought there would be scars for sure.”
“There were,” Jaskirat said into his neck. “I’ve had them removed.”
Uzair considered joking about his vanity, but he knew it wasn’t really about vanity at all. It was about the illusion of infallible strength. Scars would show that Jaskirat had been vulnerable. Weak.
This man couldn’t afford to have weaknesses. Any weaknesses.
“You should go,” Uzair said, looking at the ceiling.
“Yes,” Jaskirat said, sucking on the tender bruise on his neck.
Uzair bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making any embarrassing noises. “Stop that. I can’t go to work looking like I’ve been mauled by a vampire. I’m a department head. People are supposed to respect me.”
“A few bruises won’t make them respect you less,” Jaskirat said, but he did stop nibbling on his neck and lifted himself on an elbow to look down at him.
Uzair felt his chest tighten as their gazes met. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“You shouldn’t have sent for me, then.”
Uzair glared at him. “I didn’t—”
“Let’s cut the bullshit, caro (darling)” Jaskirat said, his tone mild but his gaze almost resentful. “We both know your little message was a cry for attention. You knew I wouldn’t ignore it. You knew I’d come to see you.”
Uzair’s face was burning with humiliation. “You didn’t have to come. I hardly forced you.”
The laugh that left Jaskirat’s throat lacked true mirth. “I had no more agency than a moth that flies to a flame.”
Right. How was he supposed to take that?
“I didn’t make you put your guard dogs on me,” Uzair ground out.
Jaskirat averted his gaze. “That was just a precaution. I wanted to make sure you didn’t become someone of interest.”
Uzair laughed. “Yeah, and putting bodyguards on me 24/7 didn’t make me someone of interest. Great logic.” He buried his fingers in Jaskirat’s hair and yanked slightly, forcing him to look at him. “As you say, let’s cut the bullshit. You did it because you’re an emotionally stunted control freak who got a little bit attached and doesn’t know how to express his affections in a healthy way.”
“I’ve killed people for less,” Jaskirat said, his tone very mild but his expression tight.
Chuckling, Uzair pulled his head down and pecked him on his cheek. “Is that supposed to intimidate me? You never scared me.”
Jaskirat inhaled unsteadily. “Why didn’t you tell Reyaansh that I killed Garve?”
Uzair licked his lips. There were so many ways to answer that question.
But he couldn’t lie. Not to this man.
“You know why,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Say it,” Jaskirat said hoarsely, his teeth grazing Uzair’s jawline.
Uzair shivered. More. “He paid me $180,000 to pretend to be his boyfriend and help him figure out who was behind the assassination attempts. I did what he paid me for. I owed him nothing more. Loyalty can’t be bought. And mine belonged to you, not him.”
Jaskirat kissed his neck, his hand gripping Uzair’s side almost painfully. “You’re smarter than that. No one trusts me, caro.”
“I do.” The terrifying part was how little he cared about Jaskirat’s faults. He’d always considered himself a pretty good person, but lately he had to reevaluate that opinion. A good person wouldn’t adore a man who was capable of killing in cold blood—who had killed someone in front of him.
Jaskirat pressed their foreheads together, his breath warm against Uzair’s cheek.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, breathing unsteadily.
“I can’t stand this,” he said at last, his voice barely audible. “I hate the way you got me all twisted up and irrational. This is not me.” He sucked hard on Uzair’s jawline. “You’re right: giving you bodyguards was irrational. But it was something I could control. Knowing how you’re doing. It helped, a little.”
Uzair’s eyes burned. God, they both were so fucked-up.
He hugged Jaskirat tightly, pulling his weight fully on top of him again. He loved it, he hated it, he hated this feeling so much. How could something feel so good, so perfect, and yet leave him feeling so empty? Missing someone who had never been his, who was still right there, was its own special kind of hell.
“Stay,” he said in a disgustingly small voice. “Just for tonight?”
It seemed to take ages before Jaskirat replied.
“All right.” He put his head on Uzair’s pillow, his body still on top of him and their faces inches apart.
His throat uncomfortably tight, Uzair traced Jaskirat’s features with a finger, trying to imprint them into memory.
Jaskirat allowed him, just watching him with an intense, fixated expression, the intimacy of the moment gut-wrenching. He’d never felt closer to another person in his life. He’d never wanted to be even closer. Was there a way to be closer? If there was, Uzair wanted it. He couldn’t get enough. He would bottle up this man’s scent if he could. He would spend the rest of his life in this bed with him if he could.
But he couldn’t.
He knew Jaskirat wouldn’t return. He wasn’t the sort of man to indulge his weaknesses. He would quash any unwanted emotions until there was nothing left.
This was the last time he’d ever see him.
“Don’t cry,” Jaskirat said tersely, a muscle jumping by his temple. “It’s not worth crying over.”
I’m not worth crying over.
“I’m not crying,” Uzair said, blinking the moisture away.
Jaskirat cradled his cheek carefully, wiping the tear by the corner of Uzair’s right eye with the pad of his thumb, his touch ever so gentle. The gentleness of it made Uzair’s throat close up.
Jaskirat stared at the tear in strange fascination as if he’d never seen tears in his life. “Our paths should have never crossed,” he said tonelessly. “Whatever this is, it’ll pass. You’ll be better off without me.”
“I know,” Uzair whispered. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against Jaskirat’s. Stay, he wanted to beg. It was his last thought as he drifted off. Stay.
It was the best sleep he’d gotten in months.
When he woke up, the bed was empty.
Jaskirat had slipped out of his bed and his life like he had never been in it.
THANKYOU FOR READING!!!!!!
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