Storm

Storm

Yuri Marklov was not a patient man, nor would he stand for someone stepping into his territory. In quick strides he approached the snot-nosed brat from Interpol who 'just thought' and tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out to prove a literary point. They were face to face; something that Yuri could appreciate considering Whittier's propensity to look him straight in the eyes, even while standing on his turf and demanding favors and jurisdiction in a matter he had no finger on.

"Inspector Whittier, I'll warn you one last time; go home. This man was mine the minute he stepped foot in Russia. You've lost." A surge of power went through Yuri when he saw the younger man's all-too-obvious displeasure at being shoved off and his discomfort at being in such close proxy with the man doing the shoving. Yuri held the gaze as long as possible, knowing the second he broke it off he'd be debauching his dominance in the standing, but there were some pressing matters requiring his attention.

They were breathing heavily and standing their ground, both of them refusing to back down and tightening their muscles to hang it in for the long haul, too prideful or stupid to be the first to turn away. Finally, Yuri couldn't help himself any longer. His hands shot out and found purchase in Whittier's coat, startling the Englishman into moving with him. The thud of Whittier hitting the wall almost echoed across the room, but nothing prepared either of them for the electric storm that hit when their lips collided.

It was the perfect combination of teeth and tongue, and for the first time in a very long time, Michael Whittier found himself breathless. It was the kind of intense kiss that came with pure carnal need. It was something he'd felt only in his younger years with pretty girls who'd meant him nothing but trouble; something he shared with his beautiful wife when they first met through the bars of a holding cell in Whittier's early years on the force. Yuri's fingers were twisted taunt in his dark coat, forcing them closer to the wall as his mouth was fucking ravished.

Finally it ended with the two of them panting, still tasting one another and riding on different highs. Yuri's smirk drove pure anger and fire through Whittier's blood but his limbs were too heavy with arousal to move, the air seemed thick with their hormones.

"Do we understand one another, Inspector?" Yuri made sure to speak slowly, condescendingly getting his point across. As much as it pained him, Whittier nodded, knowing it was the only way to get him from the chunks of burnt plaster currently cutting into his back from the vicious pressing of their bodies together. It was only when the older man rolled his hips in something that could only be called a playful gesture that Whittier realized how close their bodies were. "Good."

Yuri pulled away and lit another cigarette, allowing himself one last look at the flushed man nearly clinging to the wall now, his lips swollen and his hips making a nearly imperceptible thrust forward in pure arousal. Yes, he'd made his point, but he had the feeling if Whittier was half the man he looked to be, he would have to make his point a little harder.