“Then what can I do?”

“Follow my lead.” He unbuttons the front of his pants and takes out his cock. "You're a bright student, I'm told."

"By no teacher of mine," says Rubin through his teeth.

"You want me to put you over my knee?"

Rubin shouldn't shudder at that, but he does.

Saburov spits in his hand and wraps it loosely around both of them. Rubin’s hips shift, seeking his touch, wanting him closer, harder, inside. When Saburov begins to move, deliberate as he is in all things, he finally looks up at Rubin, and his face is full of naked want. Unexpectedly, it pushes Rubin over the edge. He has to look away, biting his lip hard enough to bleed.

Saburov strokes them both once more, slow. He puts his forehead on Rubin’s shoulder.

“Next time,” he says, “next time--”

Saburov comes with a choked noise and spills over both of their hands. He pulls a kerchief from his pocket and begins to wipe his fingers with it, but Rubin draws them to his mouth and sucks them clean. The bitter taste feels appropriate. Saburov eyes him and wets his lips.

"Thank you," says Rubin.

"...Of course, my dear boy."