Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Khabib is a professional. You are sure he has his reasons.

It was two weeks ago when he introduced you to his gym, his program, and his rules. One of which you found perplexing.

“While you are under my program, you do not…’ He trailed off, in search of the correct phrasing.

“Do not touch yourself.” Was how he chose to word it.

“I’m sorry?” You inquired further explanation. He exhaled through his nose slowly, thinking of the least embarrassing way to spell it out for you.

“Masturbation. This is not allowed here, brother. Will this be a problem?”

You cracked a smile, the subject successfully derailing your train of thought. You stared at him, half expecting him to pat your shoulder, revealing his deceitful attempt at a joke. Your smile fell, noticing his stern expression stayed fixed to his face.

“Oh. I mean, sure it won’t be an issue..” You agreed dubiously.

–

Minimal issues have arisen since that day. The occasional hard-on you had to bite on the corners of your pillow to keep from rubbing into the mattress, increased sensitivity in the area, and distracting thoughts. Your explanation was simple, the self-denial forces your focus to important achievements and desires. Khabib’s relentless stare which felt more like an indulgence in your struggle begged the question, though. What were his true intentions?

Your struggle was more visible than others’. While your teammates held a rather exceptional poker face, your expressions and reactions to stimuli could rarely be concealed. And in most instances, you found Khabib right upon your shoulder, taunting you wordlessly with his threatening presence.

Today would be no different. You sat on the mat, working on your conditioning with your team. Holding the bulky dumbbell in your palm, you worked in sets of ten bicep curls.
As Khabib made his rounds, he knelt down beside you, observing. You shot him a sideways glance, shakily breathing out a greeting. He reached his arm out, taking hold of your shoulder. As his other hand ran against your arm, moving it in a resistance maximizing position, the strong hand on your shoulder began massaging you. You were on number four of your curls.

“Count for me.” He whispered, leaning over your shoulder with his ear inches from your face.

“Five… six…” You muttered. Each raise increased in difficulty.

“Seven… eight… nine…” You faltered. His hand rests gently under your forearm, coaxing the last one out of you.

“Come on… one more. Come on.” He spoke lightly in your ear.

You brought the weight to your chest with difficulty. You breathed an audible sigh of relief as the weight was dropped to the floor for the final time, at which point Khabib ended his sultry support.

He stood quickly, tousling your hair as he walked away. You were left, confused, craving his approval, and uncomfortably stiffening in your shorts. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for your belongings as you hurriedly made for the door. His words echoed in your head. They plagued your thoughts.

“Come on…” Your mind made you hear again and again.

Come on…

Come on…

Come on…

Come on…

Chapter Text

The vibrations from your phone stirred you awake. You reached for it on the nightstand, still under the warm safety of your quilt.

Missed call

Missed call

Missed call

Missed call

Missed call

Your heart leapt to your throat. As quickly as your sleep-stiffened fingers could type, you unlocked your phone. Quickly dialing back the number.

“I’m really sorry.” You blurted out the moment the ringing ceased.

“Five times I call you.” Khabib spoke sharply into the phone.

“I don’t know what happened. I set my alarm last night, I swear.”

“You’re still in bed?”

You fell silent, burying your face in your hand.

“Yes.”

“What is the matter with you?” He sighed, lowering his voice. You could nearly hear him lean closer into the speaker.

“Listen to me, y/n. Get out of that bed. You come here in ten minutes, or I don’t want to see you here again.”

Your breath quivered. You pressed your ear harder to the phone, trying to push his reverberating voice as far into your mind as you could. Your opposite hand tracing the side of your face as he chastised you. His berating had not ceased even as your hand outlined the curve of your waist. You hadn’t convinced yourself to stop pretending it was his this time.

“You understand, y/n?” Another stern inquiry came from Khabib.

“Yes.” You quietly breathed out. The last bit of air escaped your lungs in your reply. Your hand cupped the front of your pajama pants.

On the other line, Khabib remained silent.

“Y/n?” He repeated.

“Yeah?” Your attempts at steadying your breathing faltered from the growing tension and judgement.

“Y/n…” His repetition felt so intentional yet so innocent.

“I expect you in ten minutes.” He finally said, ending the call promptly after.

You whined, the absence of his voice feeling much worse than anything he had planned for you in his gym.

-

You spent the small window of time he had given you to prepare yourself, trying to calm down. Breathing in and out, focusing on the exhausting day that had been crafted for you. Yet, his voice still bounced inside your cranium. Many times you had considered relieving yourself of this. Stroking yourself to completion. How would he know?

He would. Maybe not instantly, but he would know. In a single movement or change in your behavior. He would notice your lack of depravity and desperation he so keenly sought to witness. You would have to settle for breathing exercises.

The frigid air eased you out of your sexual state. Making the brisk walk down the street, you zipped your coat as far up as it would go, still missing the haven you were in minutes before. Khabib stood just outside the doors, his arms crossed. As you neared the steps leading up to him, that familiar stern expression would not budge from his face. With every step you took you anticipated his correction. His scolding, his direction, anything. He let his seething gaze burn into you; you remained pitifully silent. He simply turned to open the door and stepped back inside, not bothering to hold it for you. You could have ran. You could have quit, gone back to your homeland, and forgotten this ever happened. Yet, Khabib knew you would follow.

You jogged behind him to catch up. He wasn’t excessively taller than you, but his size and confidence made up for that. You always found your place to be more suitable standing behind him and looking at the ground, meekly.

Khabib stopped abruptly, making you bump into his back. Your face heated up, horrified at yourself for your lack of observation. He shot a quick fiery glance back at you before directing his attention back to the room in front of him. It mimicked an office of some sort. Not nearly as corporate or expensive, but contained the essentials. A small desk with a few drawers, chairs, and a tall shelf resting on the left side of the room. He nodded his head, wordlessly telling you to go in first. Stepping in front of him cautiously, you shuffled inside.

“Sit.” Khabib bluntly spoke. You did as he asked, pulling out a chair seated in front of the desk. You could hear the door close behind you. Khabib took a seat in his chair behind the desk, folding his hands together. You stared at his forearms, covered in dark hair that reached the back of his rough hands. Letting out a quick breath, you forced yourself to look back at his face.

You let him stare into your eyes as you tried to keep that dumb clueless expression plastered to your face. You bit at the skin of your lip, impatiently waiting for Khabib to explain what was about to go down.

Chapter Text

“Anything you have to say?” Khabib spoke.

You stared ahead. You hesitated with your words, but your eyes said so much. The man in front of you did not yield. Words were expected of you, and you would deliver. Taking in a deep inhale, you collected the scattered pieces of your mind.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Your words came gently, hoping he would pity you enough to soften the inevitable blow.

He sighed, impatiently darting his eyes to the side of the room in frustration. Readjusting his position in his chair to lean closer, he laid his hands down flat on the table.

“I think you do.” He pushed. He glared down at you. You knew what he wanted to say. You knew he just wished you had given into yourself. That way he could have the satisfaction of a truthful accusation. Yet, he knew you hadn’t. He could still see that familiar twinge of desire your eyes held. He rubbed his temples with a defeated sigh.

“Just.” He gestured with his hand in a shooing motion. You began to rise from your seat.

“Go join the rest. I expect the gym spotless before you leave.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” You apologized once more. He glared back at you, saying nothing.

-

You pulled a cart of cleaning supplies onto the mats with you. A few other gym members had stayed to help with the cleaning. You set a bucket filled with soapy water onto the floor, dipping a mop in it a couple times. Pushing the mop across the floor felt just as exhausting as the rest of the training. The other men put away the equipment, shutting down the facility while you chipped at the massive floor. It had been completely covered in sweat; you crinkled your nose looking at it. You found yourself running back to change the water out three times before you were even halfway done. Your hands ached from gripping the wooden handle, your neck hurt, and your feet hurt by the time you had finished mopping. You exhaled a sigh of relief dumping out the last of the water. You wanted to collapse on the pavement when you opened the doors to see the sun still beamed high in the sky. There was still so much daylight left and all you wanted to do was go back to sleep.

You took a walk to pass the time. You started through the town, through all the familiar roads, and only looked up when you noticed the path was more disheveled than the one in town. You stood at the edge of the forest. The trees towered well over forty feet high, a good bit of the light had been filtered out through the leaves. It was enticing. You stepped onto the mossy path, taking in the dense flora scattered throughout the hidden sanctuary. Ferns covered the ground for as long as you could see. The soft chirping of birds was all around you. You could hear the faint babbling of water off the path. You turned, walking through the trees, brushing the pine needles away that clung to your hair. There was a rocky stream in the clearing. A smooth boulder sat under a beautiful pine tree. You knelt down beside the flowing water, dipping your fingers in it. The freezing water stung your fingers. You quickly tucked your hand in your coat for warmth. Leaning back against the tree, you closed your eyes, taking in the sounds of the nature around you. You shifted to your side, propping your head up under your arm like a pillow as you sunk down further onto your back.

-

Your eyes flew open. It was as if time had leapt right in front of your face. Your teeth clattered as you sat up. Everything was dark. The sound of the water was the only reminder you had been served to remember where you were. You held your knees tightly to your chest. Panic had immediately set in and you could feel instinctive tears welling in your eyes. There was nowhere to hide. You had no idea how late it was or how much time had passed. You barely remembered the path you came from. Your breathing grew more erratic and loud. You cursed yourself for not bringing anything to defend yourself with. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, dialing Khabib’s number. The call was immediately kicked. No service. Tears streamed down your face now. You were petrified, too scared to move an inch from the tree.

Your hand flew over your mouth when you heard footsteps on the foliage. Your eyes dilated, desperately trying to see through the pitch blackness of the night. It was only when you heard the footsteps echo on solid rock that you tore yourself from the tree, running who knows where. You pushed yourself past the trees, your feet dragging in the ferns. You could hear something chasing you, making you cry out in fear with each breath. You shrieked hearing it gaining on you. You darted through the forest, changing directions madly. You could hear it call out to you now, muffled yelling. Your own screams rattled louder in your mind. You tripped over yourself, scraping your face against the rooted dirt beneath you. It was on you without an inch to spare as you flipped yourself around. You screamed an ear piercing cry feeling its presence right on top of you. Your arms covered your face, still screaming in terror. Only when your lungs ran out of the breath propelling your scream did you notice nothing happening. You could hear the calls of the figure more clearly as they knelt down by your side. He was calling your name.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n.” He said with true worry.

“Khabib?” Your worn voice crackled out after catching your breath. He scooped you up by the back of your neck, pulling you close to sit upright. Your arms shook as you wrapped them around his waist. You broke down into his chest, sobbing and heaving into his coat. He stood you up, trying to pry you from his chest to make your way back to town. You wouldn’t budge. He sighed, picking you up. You curled your hands close to your face. Your ear pressed tight against his chest, calming yourself with the sound of his breathing.

Your eyes adjusted to the approaching light of the town. He set you on your feet under the first streetlight. Your face was still damp with tears and red from the cold air that bit you. You looked up at him silently, noting an unfamiliar softness in his expression. He reached to brush pine needles and dirt from your face. Smoothing out your hair, he began to lead you back to your apartment. Your hand clung tightly to the back of his shirt, startling him. He looked back at you, your eyes still dazed and lost. He looked around, crouching down, allowing you to climb onto his back. Your face brushed against the side of his beard as you rested your head close on his shoulder.

Khabib unlocked your door for you, sitting you down on your bed. He helped you remove your coat, shoes, and pants; avoiding all eye contact. You laid down in your bed, wrapping your soft quilt around your shoulders. Your eyelids grew heavier watching Khabib leave without another word, locking the door behind him.