henrik berkelley

Henrik's Soviet Seduction Technique
  • 1: I want you baby, I want you so bad I will wait in a long line for basic goods while wearing a matching top and bottom tracksuit and then drive away in my government issued Yugo
  • 2: I want you so bad that it rivals the radiation levels under the Chernobyl coffin
  • 3: I want you so bad I will turn this bedroom into a means of production owned by the people, and our passion shall be the product
  • 4: I want you more than the amount of old run down government owned soviet apartments in the Ukrainian countryside
  • 5: I want you more than the amount of warheads that went mysteriously missing when the iron curtain fell
  • 6: I will fall your pants like the iron curtain
  • 7: Let me tell you my five year plan to make you orgasm a lot
  • 8: Dear Aleksei, Quit Stalin and come fuck me. - Henrik.
  • 9: Do you want to enact the siege of Stalingrad in my bedroom, check yes or no.
  • 10: Do you want to reenact Trotsky's death tonight, your penis can be the ice pick, my ass can be the back of Trotsky's head

(in The Secret World universe, Alurien = Aleksei)

Three years of silence, but there’s still an ugly scar on his knuckle from when he caught one of the boss’s guards cornering the kid. Henrik was only sixteen – there was no way he knew what he was doing or what was even happening (and all the boy’s sly smiles and lingering looks mattered little in the end).

Aleksei’s restraint had snapped and the pervert’s face had been reduced to nothing, just a caved in husk of bone and teeth. Bone and blood for Aleksei’s hand.

It’s impossible to know how it was smoothed over with the boss, but he has his guesses.

Now older, Henrik doesn’t speak to him, doesn’t look at him and doesn’t seem to recall what a hell he’d made Aleksei’s life only years prior. But today, the casual disregard and the old insult hits the wrong nerve and his restraint shatters again. In a second he has his hands on him before he even realizes it.

The action’s met with not the twist of his wrist or fingers digging harshly into pressure points – just a now calloused hand sliding over his own. Intimately. All wrong. The act makes Aleksei recoil, makes his breath catch embarrassingly loud in his throat.

Something about that response seems to appease the younger man because his face schools once more into a look of self satisfaction. 

(Later, Aleksei consoles himself with this is what you always wanted, but no. It really isn’t.)