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His fingers hesitate over the keyboard. The terminal senses his inactivity and beeps, prompting an option to switch to voice control. But that would be disastrous. It might pick up the tremor in his voice and record mistakes he can’t afford to make. Worse, Victor would hear every word, and that would set his nerves on fire. Not that he expects Victor to stick around long. He can sense Victor just over his shoulder, lounging on his bed, Igor’s bed, boring holes into Igor’s back.

“Maslo,” he drawls, suave and calm and so cool. How he ever got paired up in a nerd’s dorm, Igor has no idea. Victor should have his own suite. He probably manufactured this situation. They weren’t together in their first year. Then Igor showed up to find his living situation completely rearranged, and of course he shut up and took it—walked into Victor’s dorm with his head held high, because he knows the coolest guy in school chose him. Victor says they’ll graduate together too, and start something together: not a company, but a corporation, poised to dominate Moscow, then all of Russia. Europe. The world. Igor’s supposed to think bigger, like Victor.

Igor’s also supposed to do all the work behind the scenes, because that’s how he pulls his weight. He can’t be a front man. But he can write up two papers instead of one.

It’s easier when Victor’s not in the room.

Maybe Victor mistakes his hesitance for skepticism, because suddenly Victor’s padding across the sleek tile floor, down to socks but the rest in a full suit, because Victor always looks good. He grabs a chair and slots it right next to Igor’s. Then he’s in Igor’s space, breathing over Igor’s neck.

His hand falls to Igor’s thigh. Igor’s eyes flicker down to it—he knows it’s wrong. But Victor always makes it feel so good that he doesn’t care.

Victor trails just close enough to Igor’s crotch to make Igor’s breath hitch. Victor lightly strokes him through his pants, teasing him, making him hard even though that’ll just make the paper harder—

A kiss firm presses against Igor’s cheek, and a shiver snakes down his whole body. Victor hovers right by his ear and hisses into it, “Do it, Maslo.”

Igor didn’t need convincing. He knows what he’s doing is wrong, and he would’ve done it anyway. But he snaps to obey like a prize horse in a show—Victor’s best horse in the stable. His fingers fly across the keys, practically possessed. He can feel the slight scratch of Victor’s stubble and Victor’s smug smirk against his cheek.

Victor gives him a full on squeeze and hums, “Good boy.” Dizzy from it, Igor does everything he’s told.