The kiss lingered in the air, its effects still coursing through Oliver's veins long after they had pulled apart. His heart pounded against his ribs, the heat of Alexei's touch burned into his skin. But as the thrill ebbed away, reality rushed back in with a vengeance—the sounds of sirens in the distance, the weight of what had just happened.
Alexei took a step back, his face tight with conflict, like he was wrestling with something far bigger than the chaos surrounding them. His hand dropped from Oliver's neck, and he ran it through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his body.
"We need to move," Alexei said abruptly, his voice hard, all traces of the vulnerability he had shown moments ago now buried beneath his usual stoicism.
Oliver blinked, still reeling from the intensity of what had just happened, but he nodded. They had no time to process this here. The docks were still a warzone, and Petrov's men wouldn't stop until they were both dead.
They moved quickly, slipping into the shadows of a nearby alley, their footsteps barely making a sound as they put distance between themselves and the docks. The cool night air wrapped around Oliver, doing little to calm the fire still raging inside him. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—desire, fear, confusion.
"I don't understand you," Oliver muttered as they walked, glancing over at Alexei, who was keeping his eyes firmly ahead. "One minute you're pushing me away, the next you're…kissing me like that."
Alexei didn't look at him, his jaw clenched. "It shouldn't have happened."
Those four words felt like a punch to Oliver's gut. The truth of the statement stung more than he cared to admit. He stopped in his tracks, forcing Alexei to halt and turn toward him. "What do you mean it shouldn't have happened?"
Alexei's expression was guarded, the mask of indifference firmly in place, but his eyes gave him away. They flickered with something raw, something unspoken. "You don't know what you're getting into, Oliver."
Oliver stepped closer, his voice rising with frustration. "Stop saying that. I know exactly what this is. I know who you are. I'm here because I want to be." His chest tightened as the words spilled out, each one more forceful than the last. "You don't get to decide for me."
Alexei's eyes hardened, but the cracks in his armor were showing. "It's not about what you want. You think you can handle this? The guns, the violence, the people who will come for you just because you're standing next to me?"
"I'm not scared of that," Oliver snapped. His heart raced, not from fear, but from the overwhelming urge to break through the walls Alexei kept erecting between them. "I'm scared of you shutting me out. Of you pretending like you don't feel this."
Alexei's breath hitched, and for a second, Oliver thought he'd gotten through to him. But then Alexei turned away, his shoulders tense. "I've spent my whole life building walls, Oliver. You don't get to tear them down just because you think you understand me."
Oliver's fists clenched. "I'm not trying to tear them down, Alexei. I'm trying to get you to let me in."
The silence between them stretched, heavy and thick. The streets of Moscow were eerily quiet now, the echoes of their confrontation at the docks long behind them. But the battle between them was far from over.
"You think I don't want this?" Alexei's voice was barely above a whisper, and when he finally turned back to Oliver, his expression was tortured, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will. "I've wanted this from the moment I laid eyes on you. But wanting it doesn't change what I am."
"And what are you?" Oliver asked softly, his gaze steady.
Alexei took a deep breath, his eyes shadowed with darkness. "A man who's dangerous to everyone he cares about."
Oliver's heart clenched. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them once more. "I'm not afraid of you, Alexei," he whispered. "And you don't scare me away."
For the first time, Alexei looked vulnerable, his defenses crumbling ever so slightly. He opened his mouth to say something, but before the words could leave his lips, the sound of a car screeching to a halt nearby shattered the moment.
Both men tensed, their instincts taking over as they turned toward the source of the noise. A sleek black sedan idled at the end of the alley, its windows tinted, obscuring whoever was inside.
"Shit," Alexei muttered under his breath. "Petrov's men."
Oliver's stomach dropped. There was no time to think, no time to process what was happening between them. Survival kicked in, and they bolted down the alley, ducking into the maze of backstreets that wound through the city.
"Where are we going?" Oliver called out, his legs burning as he struggled to keep up with Alexei's long strides.
Alexei glanced back, his face set with grim determination. "Somewhere we can disappear. Follow me."
They wove through the alleys, slipping through narrow passageways and dodging through shadows until they reached a secluded part of the city—a neighborhood far from the opulent clubs and high-stakes dealings of the mafia. Here, the streets were quiet, the buildings old and weathered.
Alexei led them to a small, nondescript apartment building, pushing open the door to a unit on the ground floor. Inside, it was sparse and utilitarian—clearly a place Alexei kept for emergencies.
Oliver slumped against the wall, his heart still racing from the run. "What now?" he asked, his voice breathless, though he wasn't sure if it was from the chase or the lingering tension between them.
Alexei locked the door behind them, his back turned as he pressed his hands against the cool metal, his head bowed. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, the silence thick with the weight of everything unsaid between them.
Finally, Alexei turned, his eyes darker than Oliver had ever seen them, filled with a mixture of frustration, desire, and something that looked dangerously close to regret. "You should've stayed away from me."
Oliver pushed off the wall, stepping closer, refusing to let Alexei retreat into his emotional fortress. "I didn't. And I won't."
Alexei's jaw clenched, and for a moment, it looked like he might push Oliver away again. But then, in one swift, furious motion, he closed the distance between them, grabbing Oliver by the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for another kiss—this one even more intense, more desperate than the first.
It was a battle of wills, the heat between them palpable as they collided. Oliver's hands found their way to Alexei's shoulders, gripping tight as the kiss deepened, both of them pouring every ounce of frustration, every unspoken feeling, into the fierce connection.
This time, when they pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, both of them breathing hard.
"You don't get it," Alexei muttered, his voice rough, but his grip on Oliver's shirt didn't loosen. "You're already in too deep."
Oliver met his gaze, his breath coming in short bursts. "Maybe I am," he said softly, his voice firm. "But so are you."
Alexei's eyes flickered with something dangerous—something that told Oliver that despite all the walls Alexei had built, there was no going back now. They were both in too deep, and the line between enemy and lover was blurring more with every second.
And neither of them wanted to stop it.