Work Text:
He hadn’t thought She would follow him. Not for the fact that he is unimportant but for the fact that She is so busy. He thought wrong. He thought he could be safe.
Again.
He smells the smoke- tobacco and cloves, feels the fumes fogging up his senses. His memory becoming sensory. Sharp. Hot. Unrelenting. His knees waver. Something is pulsing, his neck. His skin, the scars, he remembers the red light and the darkness, remembers drowning and refusing to beg for breath.
An ordered silence and the oblivion of darkness. Blacked out for mere seconds and harshly awakened to fluorescent light and pain, he is chastised for letting his attention waver. His consciousness.
Frenchie bites down to keep himself from whimpering out a ghost of an apology. Shakes his head to get away from the memory. Feels himself shaking for- from it. He is frozen. No fight or flight. He knows he will fawn. Can hear Her heels against the stone.
He wishes he had taken his phone with him from the train, had told Kimiko about the tunnel. They should not have gotten off the train, but he wanted to touch the stone, the soil, to smell the air. After all Avignon was always where he would end up.
A lapse in judgement. A hesitation. Where he’d be stuck.
“Sergei, I know you are in here.” He flinches at the spark of Her lighter, shallows his breaths as the scent becomes stronger, closer. He could have run, but he is stuck and it feels as if his boots are filled with grains of rice. He is rigid, spine straight, but his brown eyes they are wet and clouded, looking down at the ancient stone. It’s all taken back from him, his fight and his power as Nina orders him. “Kneel.”
It is relief and it is pain as his knees hit the ground, a solid noise that hits him in his core, between his eyes and under his skin. Instinctually his thighs spread wide and his clenched hands find their way behind his back. He feels his breath leave through his lips as he desperately tries not to inhale Her, but instead he tastes and has to close his eyes yet the tears still roll down his cheeks.
“My Sergei,” there is almost a smile in Nina’s voice. “Pauvre chien,” and a laugh without humor. She spits on the ground next to him, “it is so nice again to see you like this my Sergei.” She sounds soft.
Something breaks in him as Her nails and fingertips trace the scars on his scalp, he curses the buzz cut, yearns and resents the feel of Her flesh against his. The sharp grip of Her nails at the base of his neck make his breathing uneven, he inhales through his nose, hears Her breathe out and he swears he can feel the smoke against his skin.
“I am not one of your phantoms, mon chien, you can open your eyes and look upon Me.” The can is a will, and so he does and he does not miss the upward tilt of Her lips at the tears in his eyes. The nails against his scalp scratch gently, he cannot meet Her eyes but he is lost in the glow of Her cigarette and the shape of Her lips as She blows the smoke down at him.
He knows what is next yet he does not brace against it. “The old ways do not go so easily, isn’t that right mon chien?” She is looking down at him, expectant and Her fingers grip at the sides of his throat.
“Ou-oui Madame.” He still does not look for Her eyes. Wants to believe that the lightness in his chest and head is from the oxygen deprivation and the panic.
His knees do not even hurt anymore, even with the time between resuming the position- he holds it. For Her.
“When I had seen you were a fugitive last year, when your government contacted me-oh I was so delighted, Sergei.” The cheery tone She’s emitting is nothing to the rage He knows is coming. “And then they showed me the photos. Of you, you and that female.” She has anger towards him, for making her known to the government, for being close to Kimiko. Nina takes another drag from Her cigarette, Frenchie doesn’t allow his eyes to follow it resting on Her lips, Her cheeks and throat as She inhales and exhales. The slight tendrils of smoke from Her nose.
He wants to refuse to breathe. But he must continue as She knows about Kimiko. His heart.
She is probably wondering where he is, he hopes she does not get lost in Avignon. He hopes she gets back on the train and waits for him in Marseilles. A goal to search for.
Again.
Frenchie’s eyes cross and a hint of a sound leaves his lips as Nina puts Her cigarette out on top of a bullet scar. She rubs his cheek with the pad of Her thumb, Her nail grazing over Frenchie’s parted lips. “You went somewhere mon chien. Be here.” The air smells of his burnt flesh and Her cloves, She moves a hand to his hair, nails creating close contact and sharpened friction.
Although he is still he is actively fighting what he is feeling, Sergei’s head is guided by Nina’s hand and his tear stained cheek comes to rest on Her ripped jeans. He wants to cling to Her leg and sob, but he tightens his fists behind his back. “Je suis allé à Marseilles, pardonnez moi, Nin-Madame.” He is grateful She does not have a lit cigarette, is grateful for the one already put out on him. Feels the lightness that comes with his honesty and submission. He had apologized so quickly to Her. He can feel he meant it. Maybe not so much to Her but to the young boy, filled with longing, in his memories. That same apology to his father. He doesn’t mean to flinch but the crack of glass against his bones, the flashback of pain makes him startle.
Nina’s hand stills and moves to the back of Frenchie’s neck. “Why did you just flinch away from me? Where have you been going?” Again Her nails are a light sensation against his scalp, steady and present.
“To mémoires of punishment.” Her hand stills. “Of running.” Frenchie closes his eyes, his eyelashes wet and lip trapped between his teeth. “Not from you though.”
Nina’s fingers resume. “From Papa.”
They both know he does not flinch from Her after punishment. She leaves Sergei yearning for more through isolation or overstimulation. “Mon chien, you see where abandoning me hurts you?” Sergei knows what She is doing but he still feels a guilty twinge in his throat. Feels his face get hot, wants to blink away the tears. “Leaving brings up so much confusion mon chien. So many things come up in your head here.” Mistresses’ fingers settle on his temples, applying pressure and moving in slow even circles. It makes him relax his jaw and tears roll down his cheeks.
“You don’t know how to operate out there, my Sergei. All of the connections, you are misusing your devotion. Splitting it up on people who do not covet you. When you should have-“
“A singular focus. You.” The whispered words leave his mouth on instinct, he looks up at Her, nervous brown eyes wide at speaking out of turn. Sergei is not settled at the smile on Her lips, but says nothing and let’s his head drop as She pushes on his neck. Mistress goes back to running Her nails around his scalp and behind his ears while putting pressure on his neck and temples.
“You are right Sergei and I am so glad to hear you say it. I am going to give you your focus back, mon chien.” She rubs behind his ears again softly, but then snaps loudly. Something swoops low in his stomach and his eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back. “You’re going to come with me Sergei,” She cups his chin with the points of Her nails and holds out Her hand in front of him.
His watery eyes focus on Her red nails, the crease in Her palms and Her wrists. His own hand shakes as he reaches to Her, feels his resentment for giving in ebbing away. She holds his hand tightly, does not pull him up or give an order to stand. He waits and stares at Her fingertips, has lost count of the ways they can tear him apart. Doesn’t understand how those soft pads have ended numerous lives. On their own, by proxy. Sergei’s eyes fall on his own, within Hers. The tattoos and the scars, his calloused palms and tight grip, loose and weak in Hers. She has killed by him, he has killed for Her.
He is so tired of death. He is so tired of leaving and being left. He is exhausted from running and hiding. Nina has always seen him, seen through all of his bullshit. So have Cherie and Kimiko, they’ve looked at him and known how lost he feels. But they’ve given him purpose, taken the choice from him because he knows he needs to serve. For Cherie it was pleasure, for Kimiko safety, and for Nina She takes everything and settles him into order.
This is why it feels so easy again, Her hands on him and keeping him focused. He wants to beg for forgiveness for leaving but knows She does not want to hear him groveling.
Mistress wants to see his devotion. For Sergei to prove it to Her. She tugs on his wrist so he stands, knees popping, keeps his gaze down and shoulders forward. Nina hums in approval and slaps him on the cheek. It isn’t hard enough for her rings to leave a mark but enough to make the skin warm.
“Have the nightmares resumed, mon chien?”
Sergei nods, a wordless reply and She sighs handing him the lighter and bringing the cigarette She stubbed out on him back to Her lips. His fingers do not tremble and he lights the cigarette for Her, eyes held on the flame and to Her lips as they pull the smoke in and release it. On his opposite arm he presses the hot metal to his skin under Her gaze and gives the lighter back to Her. She squeezes his arm before putting it into Her coat pocket.
“What are your nightmares Sergei?” Nina takes a long drag and blows the smoke at him.
This is the part he dreads. Knows She is not asking to soothe him or have him release what he is feeling. She is asking so She can know where he is weak, how to have him twist further into Her. He knows to be honest, She would know otherwise, nails, fingers pressed against his pulse.
“I am fighting. Against my head and Ni-Mistress, I am en a cage. Blood under my nails, and,” Sergei is unable to keep himself from sharing, She asked him, he must give to Her. “It, it is so cold.” He lowers his eyes feels a frisson and tries to keep tears back. “Everyone they are gone. Dead, and it is, it is again toute ma faute. I am alone.” Another breath of smoke out but he keeps speaking. “And then it changes to Papa.” He swallows.
“Every time it ends with him. All of the ways he has ever done bad to me. I cannot escape him.” He loses his composure and finds himself squeezing Her hand for comfort. Yet he tenses ready for Her strike or the sear of the cigarette but She stays. Exhales again, leaving the cigarette between Her lips and reaching with Her other hand to run Her finger along the bridge of his nose.
Up and down.
He cannot breathe for a moment, knows how his hands are shaking, haunted by the cold and the terror from his nightmares. He allows his focus to pinpoint on the Up and down of Her nail, the pad of Her finger pressing into the bridge of his nose and between his eyebrows.
Nina is the only one. She knows. Has witnessed his father and endured the training. Has known him since he was Sergei, since his very first name.
Nina had called him Her puppy dog, and a bitch but not with the malice that became after his father saw their weakness.
They were both punished. Brutally and unforgivably.
This is why Sergei owes what he owes to Her. To his little Nina, though he cannot call Her that. Must respect Her for how She saved them both. Her first blood and their first separation.
It is a shuddering sob and he can feel Her falter.
“Mon chien regarde-moi.” She snaps in front of his eyes, he gives Her his attention. His tears have spilled over, lashes wet and he feels the dead knuckles against his cheek for his weakness. The glass in his knees and shins, welts and cuts from drunken agression, the deep bruising, the violation. “Ta,” Her tongue clicks against Her teeth, genuine concern lost on Sergei who is back into his head.
Nina can ground him.
“Où t’es mon chien?” It is harsh, intentionally grating and he does waver, responds to her and speaks.
Recounts his passing thoughts with vivid detail. Shared memories, some between the two of them and from his father; punishment and atonement for sin he cannot release from before Her touch. Other memories spill from his lips, born from Her fingertips and the marks engrained in his flesh. Russian blended with French, back to wavering English. And She listens, runs Her finger up and down.
She is not as angry. She is not pleased with the way Sergei has broken. Has become soft and quite emotional. The female. Nina knows this is a part of Her Sergei but has not quite seen it consume him like this.
“Pardonnez-moi ma petite-“ he gasps, and breaks contact with her to cover his mouth and bite into his fingers. “Maîtresse,” he is pleading, it almost makes Her ill to hear the fear and need in his voice.
“Sergei.” She throws the cigarette and it sizzles in the rainwater, brings Herself closer to him, holds onto his wrists, and pulls to keep his hands from pressing into his cheeks. “I am right here and not leaving. Je ne pars pas. Tu m’entends?” Nina shakes his wrists, pulls him until he is pressed against Her. “Do you hear me? Mon chien?”
“Yes.” His voice is small and he is trying not to let his panic bubble in a way that will let it all out. “I, I have not felt in a long time Nina.” His voice is thick with tears and he just feels tired and sad. He is upset that he’s not able to keep his focus as he truly should for Her. “It was so hard to leave and rebuild after the second fois with Monsieur Charcutier. I thought I was not allowed to breathe without Your words Nina. I could not eat and I was scared all the time. My feelings, I garde them elsewhere because the connection is so forte.” He is being honest with Her and She listens, gives him the pressure he needs on his wrists.
“You are done punishing yourself for leaving mon chien. Sergei you are done with leaving.” Nina presses a kiss to the spot where Her finger was rubbing. He wants to sag forward into her and be held.
He has not earned it yet.
Instead he focuses on the pressure of her hands on his arms, Nina’s words circle through his head. That he is done with leaving.
The words, Her words, becoming his thoughts. They strike him just as powerfully as each time she’s said them. He accepts it and follows behind Nina, holding her hand with the both of his.