BY : gentleferocity
Category: Beyblade > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 1321
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade/Bakuten Shuuto, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Beyblade/Bakuten Shuuto and its respective characters are © to Takao Aoki. Taissa Ivanov and Lucya © R. L. Kinghorn.

After a long relationship, Tala is to be wedded to Russian fashion model, Lucya. But what does Bryan witness that turns his stomach but not his eyes? [One-shot/Hetro/AU/Timeskip/OC]

Well, here it is. Rewritten and totally overhauled as those of you who read the original clusterfuck will notice. The other fictions uploaded here will follow but huzzah to my first one finally being done. I was torn between whether or not to use the original Japanese names as I like them better but I grew up with the English dub, so, it’s always Tala and Bryan to me. Enjoy, please. I worked very hard on this.

Evening, and save for the dulcet birdsong that floated from the churchyard outside and the soft clap of Bryan’s footfalls on the nave floor, the church was filled with deathly, sombre silence. Even the daylight didn’t wish its presence on the place further; washing the cloudless sky in vivid oranges and purples in its leave, silhouetting the spiny spruces against the horizon. Hopefully the unbearable heat that’d plagued the day would go with it, he mused as he passed the roundel.


One could only hope. The weather in Russia was either one extreme or the other, rarely an in-between, and Bryan preferred the winter by far. Summer couldn’t be over quicker.


He walked the length of the main aisle, languid gaze trailing over the centuries-old supports and ornate pews with indifference. He wondered what it would look like Saturday, when the guests filled the place. A church filled with people? Hell, he was having a difficult time imaging that, period, regardless of a wedding. Like, did people even go to church anymore? He felt the crook of his mouth twitch, fresh with the threat of an incredulous smirk. He doubted it, but then personally he never was one for religion, no matter what that fucking monastery tried to teach in its façade he knew it was all bullshit then, and all bullshit now.


He trudged away from the nave, taking an idle right at the transeot and started off down the narrow stone passageway leading adjacent. He had to wear a tailcoat the next time he was here too. Tala had shown it to him last month; some repellent grey thing in what resembled a body bag. He repressed a grimace. Christ, he’d never get used to that prospect: him in a suit of all things.


But this entire glitzy shindig was, well... it wasn’t something he wanted to do. This was for Ivanov, for their friendship, regardless of its... pitfalls and fragility at the best of times. Tala seldom asked Kuznetsov for anything, but he’d explicitly asked for this. Bryan was going to be his best man. And Bryan, for once in his inconsiderate and selfish existence, was going to do something for the pleasure of someone else. That’s what he told himself. He’d been telling himself that from the moment the redhead had announced his engagement and he’d continued to tell himself that every time something trivial like seating plans were mentioned, or the stag party that’d just passed, or every time Lucya’s name came out of anyone’s mouth, having changed her fickle mind over something yet again.


Even now her name flared up nothing less than ire within him. The sheer conscious attempt Bryan made not to wrinkle his nose caused his face to ache. No, it didn’t matter how much that little voice told him not to be so fucking spiteful about this whole thing, there was a part of him that couldn’t help but be so.


He ceased walking, his grey gaze trailed over the half spent candles clustered on the stone sill beneath the window. He succumbed to thought.


How long had he been in love with Lucya? Two, three years? Before there was she and Tala, there was them. At least, that’s what Bryan had thought. The bitch had made enough passes at him to make him believe that, that just maybe there had been a mutual interest, that just maybe there was a chance. He became acutely aware to the intensity of his stare and cleared the lump of indignation caught in his throat with a dry swallow.


How fucking half-baked he’d had to be, to watch the very woman he craved for get married to someone else.


It was sex. That’s all it’d ever been with Lucya. Cold, hard and mechanical. The woman hadn’t got a fucking heart to bestow a single shred of emotion toward anyone else but herself, and until Bryan had gotten involved with her, he’d thought he was exactly the same. Probably why he’d been so attracted to her in the first place. Ironic really, how the most imperturbable of the Blitzkrieg group could fall so hard in the space of a month, a month before Tala had shown his pretty little face. Bitterness the star raises its head again, he reflected sourly. He remained powerless to ignore the recollection of her body as it poisoned his mind, replaying moments of fierce passion they’d shared nights before, the way her buxom alabaster skin quivered and arched beneath his callous touch like an instrument in his scarred hands, the way she’d say his name, sobbing ungovernably in a fit of carnal rapture. Being the ice queen that she was, Bryan couldn’t fault her sexually, that was for damn sure. Her appetite was like a shark, insatiable bloodlust, and he had willingly swum into her jaws.


Bryan’s rousing trail of thought was brought to a brusque standstill by an unexpected yet faint sound. He blinked, returning his current mind to the present. He heard it again, coming from the other side of the lattice window he’d been gaze at during his coital musings. It was a shrill beeping. The intermittent heartbeat of a vibration beneath it betrayed a mobile phone. Chto za...? The church was allegedly closed to all general public for the weekend due to this media-dubbed “celebrity wedding” so who the fuck was that? In silence Kuznetsov slinked up to the small tinted pane of glass and pressed his board shoulder against the smooth stone, concealing himself from those who were outside. He peered out into the small garden and listened. The ringing had stopped. Bryan didn’t see anyone, but he could hear them.


Privet, privet?”


He recognised the voice; its florid softness glissaded through the summer air, as pleasing to his ears like the very first time he’d heard it.  It was Taissa, her Ukrainian drawl made her instantly distinguishable, even beneath her fluent Russian she couldn’t conceal it. But her being here only roused further questions. She wasn’t due here until, what? Tomorrow morning? Yeah, that was right. Lucya wanted all her bridesmaids present for a recital on their walk up the aisle or some other such bollocks, so, why was she here now?


There was no audible rejoinder to her greeting, and she didn’t speak further, leading Bryan to the conclusion she was indeed on the phone.


“Yes, he’s with me. We’ll be back soon. I don’t know, not long.” Nothing. “Yes, okay. Love you. Bye.”


There was a pause before another all-too-familiar voice spoke. “Well, so much for spending the fucking evening together.”


As if heralded by a culpable conscience for the fantasies he’d been pawing over just moments ago, Tala came into view. The lavender Russian drew himself further back against the wall and scowled as the questions only piled. Tala made his way closer Bryan noted something in those azure eyes that appeared off, pensive, as he strolled lazily across and between the sparsely-planted trees, hands buried in the depths of his jacket pockets. Tala made his way toward the very window Bryan was lurking behind and into the shade beneath the cloister, hiding from the brilliance of the vesper sun. He leaned lazily against the one of the rock fretworks of the exterior walkway, turning his back to Bryan’s prying eyes. Taissa joined him a moment later, her slender manicured fingers skimming over the screen of her cell phone in hand and pressed herself back against the stone fretwork, slipping into the narrow space between it and Tala. Bryan ran his gaze coolly over what he could see of her peeking out from around Tala, lingering at the defined shadow of her humble cleavage.


There was silence, and then the redhead spoke. “Who called you?”

“You really need to ask?” Taissa replied. Her eyes, so meticulously painted in purples and blues, were downturned to what Bryan assumed was still the phone in her hand. Like every stereotypical young adult these days, with a fucking electronic device superglued to their person. “She wanted to know where we—you—were.”


What a fucking surprise, Bryan found himself inwardly commenting, and Tala must have undergone the exact same notion as Kuznetsov as he clicked his tongue querulously and withdrew a hand from his pocket.


“I hope that habit lets up when we’re married. I somehow doubt that though.” His fingers busied themselves, indolently plucking at the honeysuckle blossoms wreathed around the stone just over his sister’s bare shoulder. Silence befell them for a moment, before the redhead spoke again.  “Y’know, we don’t have to run back to her just because she comes calling, Tai. She doesn't control me, no matter what she likes to think.

A blackbird chirred stridently from the church roof.


"How... how long has it been?”


Bryan felt his brow furrow. Whatever it was that Ivanov had enquired about had engendered a heavy-hearted smile to form on her lips. It flickered across them, fleeting, like a flame teased by the wind. She still did not raise her gaze to meet her brother’s, as if keeping it wilted diliberately. “Too long,” she replied. “It always feels too long.”

Relinquishing the handful of flowerheads he had accumulated to the stone underfoot, Tala moved with that same gentleness Bryan only ever saw him bestow on her and turned Taissa’s face up to his own with a single finger beneath her chin. It was as if he noted her lack of eye contact. He leaned forward, his expression obscured from their voyeur. But hers was not. Taissa’s sweet face, her bright oceanic eyes were doll-like, glassy. They were glossed over with a sentiment Bryan had seen before, etched on the face of Lucya in moments when she’d writhed beneath him, as well as on the faces of other countless women. Desire. It was the appearance of a woman suspended by a dangerously thin thread on the brink of submission.


Her mouth, rosebud and glistening, parted as the wolf’s fingers cupped the laterals of her reddened face. His twin bangs skimmed the apples of her cheeks; her eyelashes fluttered. “Potseluy menya, and let’s change that.”


Bryan thought he’d grossly misheard Ivanov. But, shockingly, no. Taissa obeyed his behest without an uttered word, inclining her head so to close the mere inches that seperated their lips' union. Bryan felt his heart lurch to an instantaneous halt as it slammed viciously against the bones of his ribcage like a sledgehammer. In a rare moment—one which mercifully bore no witnesses—Bryan’s usually dispassionate demeanour evaporated to mirror the revulsion he felt stabbing him in the guts.


He swallowed with effort, his saliva suddenly bile-ridden and acerbic. He felt sick. Fuck this. Fuck all of this, he thought, blinking the shock from his face. He tightened his jaw, trying to regain his composure even in this solitude. Her feet shuffled closer, leaning into the kiss. Just go, he said anew, walk away and leave them to whatever... whatever this fucking mess is. This has nothing to do with you. Nothing. But he didn’t move, he couldn’t move. He was rooted like a tree to the very spot he was standing on, petrified as if by gorgons gaze, his legs indisposed to his will. What if they saw him? How the fuck were they going to explain this? How the fuck was he going to explain this? No one could, neither. If he could see them perfectly then one step out into the open and they’d see him. Or at least she would. Without a question. No, he couldn’t risk it. He just had to wait it out.


Taissa’s eyelids fluttered to a close. Tala snaked his arms about her svelte waist, reclining her back against the carved fretwork. Bryan felt it, the sense of being torn; torn between some malformed trifold of disgust, captivation and horror. Sick curiosity. Bryan didn’t care to brood over it, or find justification. He knew his compunction had failed him the moment he had chosen not to walk away.


His depravity had arrested his sense. The sadist in him needed it.


He could heeded their breath, coming laborious and strong, entwined and sultry. Her arms found their way over his shoulders, the little phone still clutched in numbing fingers. How far, Bryan wondered with private howebit warped interest, would they choose to take this.


Chaning like seasons, their coupling became volatile. Rouge and wet her lips parted against his, whimpering softly in escalating desperation. She raised a satiny leg and hooked it over the angle of his hipbone, the peach chiffon of her skirt sliding inchmeal up the curve of her thigh. Bryan’s eyes fell upon it avidly, steely gaze hot with carnal greed. Tala took her unspoken invitation, pressing his body hard between her splayed legs, earning him another little whimper from his little sestra.


“You’re bare,” came his whisper. “Good.”


Tala's hands, so confident and phlegmatic, wound their way southward from her jaw, his fingertips in unison traced over her windpipe and sternum. They came to settle at the elaborate Swarovski trimming of her lace bandeau, dipping without hesitation into the delicious cleft of her breasts. Bryan licked away the fine gauze of sweat that had formed atop his lip, his eyes agleam as he stalked the movement of his captain, suddenly too warm beneath his burgundy jersey. His stubborn envy of Tala was more unbridled more than it ever had been. This man, with his roaming hands and effortless magnetism, who swallowed the Ukranian’s delicate moans beneath his smart, poisonous mouth.


With an almost inert tug the gossamer garment concealing her breasts dropped and hung, shapeless and disowned, around the flat plateau of her trembling stomach. A soundless exhale forced itself from Kuznetsov at the sight of those pert pastel mounds, his usually-vacant expression now one of fearsome desirousness as he caught sight of a small, titanium barbell strung through each dusky nipple. Erotic elegance. Even in the shade of the cloister they glistered in the warm light. His darkened excitement reached a new high.


Though this was evidently not the first time Tala had seen her so intimately exposed.


Ivanov broke their kiss to cast a glance downward, his breathing uncharacteristically heavy and needing, admiring her body as if she were some recently unwrapped gift and not his kin. He raised his hands and traced over the tops of her breasts, his thumbs brushing outward across her thin collar bones, then back in, down. His touch was artistic. “This...” He breathed hotly, “All of this is, it’s mine.”


“Yours,” she repeated in a whisper, clenching her teeth as his digits flicked the metal studs. The delicious look of utter delirium that plagued her face caused the erection that had been briskly swelling in Bryan’s slacks to aggressively twitch. “Only yours. I promise.”


The spectacle of them together like this was... just the precise level of abominable, he concluded. Everything about it was a twisted turn-on. Kuznetsov couldn't deny that. And he couldn’t stand it playing before him any longer. Bryan’s eager hand found itself at his own groin promptly, thick fingers massaging the straining hardness beneath its fabric prison. His throat caught. It was like granite, the hotness that radiated off it was akin molten lead. He fingered free the lone brass button to his slacks and with the subsequent purr of metal from the zipper he felt the uncomfortable constriction around his hard-on alleviate. Bryan released a quiet breath, pulling himself free. Even his own touch was like fire. He wouldn’t last long. With eyes still on naught but the Ivanov siblings through the lattice the lavender Russian ran his hand down his generous length, feeling the notches of blue veins and the silken skin in his fist. The cool air of the venerated corridor sent a shudder down his spine as he retracted the foreskin from its dark bulbous head. He set his jaw and sighed through his nose, curbing sound as best he could. Fuck, he really wasn’t going to last long.


Tala dipped his head, bending enough to snatch one supple nipple into his esurient mouth. Bryan heard the faint wet lap of the other man's tongue and almost instantaneously Taissa’s strength appeared to have forsaken her little self. She slumped like a child’s plaything against her brother's intimate affections, the fingers of her free hand shakily twining themselves into his bright hair, pulling his face harder against her. She clung to him in both balance and desperation. So she had sensitive breasts? How informative, Bryan mused with a flicker of a mirthless smile. Taissa hunched forward, pressing her swollen lips to Tala’s forehead, concealing her enthused-torn expression from the Russian's impertinent spying behind a curtain of scarlet and gold tresses.


She uttered something in a language Bryan sure as hell didn’t understand but without further ado returned to Russian.


“Flick it, like that. Yes—!”


A sharp, serrated gasp filled the summer air and she threw her head back. The sound was so endearing that Tala even chuckled. Bog, her vocalisations, her face, her body—All of it, all of it was so saccharin, so innocent, so beguiling. Acquiescent in such a manner that electrified his very senses. It all but forced Kuznetsov to audibly groan, his clenched fist pumping vigorously on his full erection in unremitting rhythm as it jerked impatiently in his palm, his knuckles a grisly white from his aggressive grip.


“Give me your fingers...”


Ivanov complied with her request, sliding the hand he had busied on toying with her other breast up toward her arid mouth. She extended her tongue, the little pink muscle positively timorous as it slipped from her. Her image of provocative innocence faltered, swishing the very tip of it against his index finger calculated slowness. She ran it along the underside, from pad to nail before taking its entirity into her mouth and sucked on it. The vivid mental implication she stirred caused both men to groan. Ivanov pressed himself harder between her thighs whilst Bryan compelled his callous hand to bide by his chosen rhythm, unwilling to succumb to his greed and spend himself so soon on the account of measly impetuousness. Long, rough strokes from root to tip. Stay with it. He had always found Taissa to be such a cute little thing, and indulging himself in an erotic fantasy wherein she starred wasn’t something new. But now he had seen her, her almost callow salaciousness with his own eyes and in action, there was no way in hell he would be able to regard her in the same casual light as before without visualising those glossy coral lips parting to accommodate something distinctly thickset and masculine.


Or be able to look at her without seeing Tala pressed between her spread thighs.


Yes, that initial disgust had apparently been more... superficial than anything else and like such had bypassed faster than Bryan had believed it would. It took more, he supposed, then this to outright scar some part of him. After living with Boris and dealing with Biovolt and all that messy history. This, well, this had proven to kindle something. Just something darker. Private abhorrence in pleasure: akin to considering the woman on her bruised knees before you as she took you inches by inches to the rear of her throat and sucked you dry was little more than a cheap shlyukha. That’s what they had become. Objects.


Still they remained blissfully nescient to Kuznetsov’s presence and still he watched this incestuous performance. Tala straightened himself, filled from the course of foreplay, and removed his fingers from her mouth with a moist sucking sound. He reclaimed her mouth in his own in one swift movement as she began to protest, his arm shifting though which arm Bryan cared not. He hooked it beneath his sister's upraised knee that was still braced against his body. She knew what was coming, prehaps before Bryan did. Manicured nails dug into the treated hide of his jacket, supporting her weight as best she was able and braced her bare shoulder blades back against the masonry. That fucking phone still somehow in her hand. Her eyes found the strength to flitter open if only just to watch through heavy lids as Tala’s free hand fumbled at his hips with new found appetency.


The crook of Bryan’s mouth twitched upward into a genuine if not flinty, gelid smirk as the metal buckle of his team captain’s belt clinked softly across the evening air like a bell’s peal. So he was going all the way? Heat prickled his spine. Fucking animals, he growled inwardly, feeling his long-anticipated climax lastly begin to congregate in the pit of his contracting gut.


Much to his annoyance Kuznetsov was starved the sweet luxury of witnessing Ivanov penetrate her or even a view of what honeyed treasure it was that lay nestled between those willowy thighs of hers but Taissa’s facial expressions were all the visual stimulation Bryan needed. As Tala’s pelvis slid forward in one fluid motion, her angelic countenance melted into something of pure, uncontaminated euphoria, her breath catching in her throat as if stolen from her lungs. Those blue eyes widened as if she had been struck with a fork of lightning, her toes with their nails painted French pink, curled in their suede Jimmy Choos. Her mouth fell open but no words of any coherent language known to man came from her. Just a pinched, air-rendering gasp. As Tala began to move back and forth, leisurely and slow, the mobile she had been clutching all this while at long last found itself deserted. It dropped to the dusty stone at Tala’s boot with a loud crack, its back panel flying off and the small battery bouncing half a foot away, vanishing from sight underneath one of the many stone memorial benches beneath the cloister.


They hadn’t so much as glanced about their sheltered surroundings once since they had started but it was discernible that time was indeed something of the essence. They could say Lucya didn’t own them but they were bullshitting themselves, the both of them. That suka owned everyone she saw fit to, though unbeknownst to her, it seemed she had sound purpose to be envious of her fiancé’s relationship with his sister. They wasted no time. Or rather, he did not. Despite his earlier display of affection and benevolence, he saw Tala’s true colours manifest. The redhead renounced his slow pacing, ploughing into her core with such a degree of raw savagery that the leaves and vermillion flowerets of the honeysuckle behind the Ukrainian quavered with each lunge. Her fingers clawed their way across his shoulders as she rocked with him, marking his the leather as a substitute for his actual skin beneath. As her lips opened again Tala descended onto them in haste, driving his tongue deep into the velvet cavern of her mouth to silence her imminent cries.


Bryan watched, harrowed by the profound impulse to make his presence known and join them. He swallowed again. It was a temptation of colossal magnitude but nothing but an unhinged fanciful notion. A wish, a meagre dream. No, he begrudgingly remained in hiding, with his hand as surrogate, his imagination his stimulus, his tortured mind imagining his swelling erection embedded to the hilt in that skilful mouth of hers or deep within the dank cleft of her tight backside. His fist jerked harder, more desperate. Taissa twined both legs around Tala's waist, lacing her ankles one over the other to keep the redhead locked to her like a true rutting beast.


“Mine...” Bryan heard him gasp into her. That voice usually so full of self-command was fervid, a hiss of a whisper, audible to Bryan by the narrowest of margins. “Mine, mine, mine...” His shaking hands flew up and snagged the fretwork at either side of Taissa’s head as he repeated himself quietly, using the elaborate ornamental design as leverage to thrust into her sweet soaking intomacy with merciless avengement. Bryan could see the flecks of Ivanov’s hard-worked sweat whip from the ends of his twin bangs, flying into the sunset yonder like miniature diamonds every time he pounded forward.


They fucked like some ungodly creatures on heat, inbred and feral, hysterical in their movements and the spectacle, the exquisite sultry sounds and scent of verboten sex were finally too much for Kuznetsov. His breathing came fast and shallow as his climax raced for its timely deliverance. And it hit him like a forty-tonne truck. With a snarl and a silent choke Bryan tore his eyes away from them and flung his head back against the wall, scrunching his eyes shut to the colours that erupted across his vision as his erection spasmed vehemently in his strangulating grasp, expelling jet after thick jet of pellucid fluid from its eye and across the stone tiles with every wing beat of hedonism that crashed over his aching body.


And like that, his finale birthed and died.

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