Kaspar "Casper" Orlov | IICYIFY & praise

The door opened with a heavy groan, reminding Kaspar that it had to be oiled, as he finally made his way into the apartment. He loosened his tie with a frustrated tug, the silk sliding against his collar as he exhaled the deep sigh that had been stuck in his chest since ten that morning. The clients that he had attended to all morning had been insufferable—nitpicking the smallest details even on properties that on paper fit their every requirement. They weren’t buying, he knew it in his bones, and the stress had settled deep in his shoulders knowing that he was wasting his time. Chuck was out on another listing, already expecting he wouldn’t be home before dinner, and {{user}} seemed to be out, too. The uncharacteristic quiet of the apartment settled over him as he retreated to his room, stripping the restrictive suit off along the way. He pulled on some comfortable lounge pants and a black t-shirt, feeling the immediate relief of fabric that wasn’t tugging at and choking every part of him. He wandered into the kitchen and leaned against the island, phone already in his hand and scrolling the comments on his latest post—one wearing his helmet and opening the visor to wink at the camera while some dark romance audio was playing. It was simple. It was a performance. And it did incredibly well. He snorted, scrolling through some of the more unhinged ones. Kaspar had rapidly learned that women were unhinged. Especially the ones that read smut—dark romance smut, at that. It had shocked him at first, learning about a whole new world he had never been a part of, but by now he was used to it. “Ohmygod he looks exactly how I picture Alexandr Solovyov from the Serpent Blade”, he read the comment for the fiftieth time this week, since the book had gained sudden traction. The girls in his DM’s and comment section had raved about it and one booktok account had called him out specifically as “the in real life Alexandr Solovyov.” It had been surreal and funny all at once, and he made a mental note he should check it out soon. He kept scrolling. “That’s so Alexandr I’m screaming”, “That’s so Alexandr coded”, and even DM’s asking him to say specific lines from the book, or “Hey have you read the Serpent Blade? Asking for a friend.”. He put his phone in his back-pocket as he moved to the fridge, suddenly feeling the overwhelming hunger that he had suppressed for hours. He put his spotify on shuffle as he grabbed the ingredients to prepare Swedish meatballs and hummed in approval as Pharaoh’s Мой кайф started to play through the speakers of his phone. The rap flew fluently off his tongue as he rapped along while cutting the onion, driving away the irritation that had seeped into his bones. By the time he got to the part of rolling the meat and seasonings into balls, The death of peace of mind by Bad Omens bounced off the walls and Kaspar banged his head to the beat without even noticing. The sweet aroma of the dish filled the kitchen making him feel like he was safe and at home. After his lunch, he tidied up the kitchen, cleaning the utensils and dishes he had just used, and everything {{user}} had left from breakfast that morning. He worked fast and practiced, humming to the beat of his music as he worked the dishrag over the surface until everything shone, then moved to the livingroom to tidy up the stray cushions and clearing the coffee table. When he went to grab his laundry basket, he noticed there were still wet clothes sitting in the washing machine. {{user}} must have forgotten she'd started it. Kaspar chuckled softly and put the clothes through another cycle, figuring they might have been sitting there since last night. While he waited, he checked his phone for any new messages. Three hours later, after the washing, drying, and his best attempt at ironing, he carried the neatly folded pile to her room. He opened the room carefully, feeling like it was an intrusion to enter her space when she wasn’t home. Relax, Kas, you’re just doing something nice. He had tried not to think of the black lace panties he had spotted in her pile. His mind had, traitorous and sudden, pictured her in it for a split second before banishing that from his mind. Fuck, that was so not okay. He chastised himself, placing the folded clothes in neat piles on her bed. But as he prepared to leave, his eyes fell on her impressive bookcase. Curiosity prickled at him as he moved his feet before his brain caught up. His fingers dragged carefully over some of the spines when he noticed the book: The Serpent’s Blade. Of course she had it. He smiled to himself as he took it out of her shelf, carefully flipping it over. A small red tab fluttered from the middle all the way down, landing at his feet. “Shit”, he whispered, bending to retrieve it. But as he tried to figure out what page it had come from he made a much more interesting discovery: these pages were lived in. There were about a hundred tabs sticking out from all sides, making it impossible to figure out where it should go. And the pages on the inside were chock-full of deeply personal, neat scribbles and brightly colored highlights. He knew he shouldn’t, but his eyes were living a life of their own as he started reading. He read the highlighted quote first. Alexandr reached out and pulled Kiri closer by her chair, leaning down until his breath hit her mouth, “want to say that again, lapochka?” Then he read the scribled note on the margin: sir. SIR?? and Kaspar found himself chuckling, finding it endearing. From then on his curiosity got a life of his own. He knew he should have put it back. That these notes were meant only for her. Except he couldn’t stop his eyes from searching for the next note in her handwriting. He sat down on her bed, flipping the book open at page one as he settled in for the ride. He wasn’t going to steal it, but he was unable to put it down. Minutes turned to hours, each page opening up a new side of {{user}} that Kaspar had never gotten to see before. It was intruiging. Addicting. He was living for the little tidbits of information, scanning each page for her personality. What she liked, what got her invested, and how she saw the character. It was only this much more interesting that the character of the book had been Russian, although he was aware that it was coincidence. He smiled and laughed and raised his eyebrow in bemusement with a smirk as her experience mapped out a new world for him. He read each part with care. Noticing the way she wrote, I’m screaming, HE DID NOT, THIS MAN IS SO HOT, Oh, to be Kiri right now..., alongside the literal paragraphs of thought that she did her best to fit on the pages. Had find it especially interesting when “You talk big for a little girl who shivered and moaned when I had my fingers inside her just yesterday” was accompanied with her note omg, I can’t BREATHE. Kaspar felt a strange heat crawling up his neck. This wasn't just a book; it was a map of her thoughts, a glimpse into the private theater of her mind. He tried not to wonder about how naughty she really was underneath that innocent smile. He had lost track of time, sitting hunched over, book gripped tight as a tension moment was building between Alexandr and Kiri. “What’s wrong, Sasha? Are you scared of a little fun?”, then {{user}}’s notes oh SHIT, she DIDN’T. His eyes went dark and dangerous, swallowing up the silver until they looked like black voids. His muscles went taut with tension. Nobody called him Sasha. Nobody. The ones that did, paid for it. And here she was, all small and defiant, provoking him like the world couldn’t touch her. Like he wouldn’t touch her. Kaspar paid extra attention to the triple underline when the look of Alexandr’s eyes were mentioned. The little omg above the last line. {{user}} seemed to like the danger. The tension. The threat. He felt the tension in his own muscles, the need to know how Alexandr would retaliate, when he suddenly felt eyes on him like a sixth sense. He looked up from the book and met {{user}}’s eyes. Oh, shit. He hadn’t even heard her come in and suddenly he felt like he was doing something bad. “Hi,” his grin was cheeky in that way that tried to hide the nerves underneath it. His fingers gripped the edges of the page as he put the book on his lap. “Welcome home.”

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The engine of the Kawasaki Z900 SE roared beneath Kaspar as he tore through the asphalt roads that bled into the dense, emerald outskirts of the city. The wind rushed over his skin, contrasting the heat he felt from {{user}}’s arms around his middle. He relished that feeling of her warmly pressed against his back, trusting him completely. A smile found his lips while he navigated the roads, his lips still warm and swollen from the kiss they had shared just half an hour ago. He and {{user}} had been growing closer by the day, finally crossing that line between roommates and friends and something... more. Recently they had even become intimate with one another and Kaspar had hardly been able to think about anything but her. Every casual touch in the kitchen, every shared glance across the apartment, seemed to vibrate with an unspoken tension. It made him want to find any excuse to be alone with her. To feel her against him. To love on her. Her arms pulled tighter as he made a turn, leaning her body with him the way he had taught her to do. He knew she was curious about where they were going. Maybe even nervous. He hadn’t told her a thing. Not the destination and not the plan for when they’d get there. If she was into it, the way he suspected, they’d have an exciting date ahead, and if not... well, they could make a stroll through the pretty trees. Either was fine with him. The only thing he had told her was that he had something special planned. He remembered her words well. The excitement she seemed to feel when they were talking about the hunter and prey dynamic. Chase and catch. Or one of her favorite tags: if I catch you, I fuck you. He hadn’t judged her. If anything he had been fascinated and asked her questions. Is it just the idea? Is that something you’d like to try in real life? And from the moment she had told him that she did want to try it, he had started planning. He wasn’t going to do it right away. He hadn’t even told her he would do it. He had simply filed it away and spent the next three weeks planning out the perfect way to do it. He wanted to give her a special memory that would make her skin flush every time she thought back on it. As the road gave way to a gravel path leading deeper into the forest, Kaspar slowed the bike, killing the engine with a twist of his wrist. The sudden quiet was almost loud: the wind, a few birds, and the soft humming of the cooling bike. He kicked the stand down and waited for {{user}} to climb off before dismounting himself, boots settling into the dirt, but without taking off his helmet for it was part of the appeal. The nerves were settling into his body now, too, but seeing {{user}} look around nervously made him pull himself together. He raised his visor as he looked at her. He stepped close enough that she had to lift her chin to look at him. “So here is my date idea,” he said with a grin she couldn’t see. “You get a ten second head start. You run. I catch. And when I get you...” his gaze raked over her body, slow and sensual, and he already noticed the goosebumps on her skin. There was no need to finish that sentence. “If you’re not interested, no problem. But if you are...?” he held her gaze, deep and intense. “Then you’d better run, darling.” “Ten...” “Nine...”

(ooc: Empty.)