Saint of My Sins (MM)

🕊️ Chapter 1: When Rain Tastes Like Him

"I saw him in the storm - too soft to belong to this world, too holy for mine."

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"I do not know his name yet. But I know I will kill for it."

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There are days when the world slows down.
Even for monsters.

Even for men like Aleksandr Volkhow, who built his empire from splintered bones and silence. Who carved empires into ash with bullets and a smile.

India had not been meant for poetry. It was meant for death.

But then it rained.

And he saw him.

A boy in white cotton, soaked to the bone, dancing in the courtyard of a forgotten temple - where the monsoon kissed the earth like it remembered her name.
No shoes. No hesitation. No idea that cruel eyes like his were watching him.

He moved like surrender. Too gentle. Too soft. The kind of man who wrote poetry on glass windows. Who carried flowers in his hand instead of knives. The kind of beauty that made men like Aleksandr fall to their knees.

And worship.

He didn't know yet that someone was watching him - someone whose life was built on corpses and empire. Someone who had just rewritten his own fate.

Because in that moment, Aleksandr didn't see an innocent boy dancing in the rain.

He saw a religion.

And he would sin, suffer, destroy, and burn this country to ash just to have him in chains of devotion.

Aleksandr didn't speak. Couldn't. He had watched men die for less than a look, but this boy -
He made rain sacred.

There was a song playing faintly on the temple radio - warped by age, but the voice still clear:

> "Tere liye duniya chhodi hai,

Tujhpe hi saans aake ruke..."

The lyrics hit Aleksandr like a knife to the chest.

(I've left the world behind for you... My breath stops only at your name.)

His throat tightened.

He should've left.

But the boy - no, Aarav - tilted his head back and laughed at the clouds like he was teasing them. And then, with aching grace, he danced barefoot in the mud, his arms outstretched like he was offering himself to the storm.

And Aleksandr - a man who had never believed in gods - felt something shatter inside him.

> "Meri aashiqui ab tum hi ho..."
("You alone are my love now...")
"Tere liye hi jiya main..."
("I have lived only for you...")

Aarav twirled, his drenched kurta fluttering like some forgotten scripture. His lips moved with the lyrics, soft and unknowingly seductive. Rainwater clung to his lashes, gently teasing, sliding down his throat, soaking the earth beneath him.

Aleksandr was behind the temple wall, half-shadowed, unmoving and mesmerised.

He didn't know love. But this felt worse. Deeper.

It felt like sin.

> "Pal bhar thahar jaao... dil yeh sambhal jaaye..."
("Just pause for a moment, maybe my heart will learn to steady.")

"Kaise tumhe roka karun..."
"Meri taraf aata har gham phisal jaaye..."
("How do I stop myself from reaching for you?
Every sorrow that comes to me slips away when it sees you...")

"Chyort voz'mi," Aleksandr whispered, voice low and sharp. Goddamn it.

His man beside him stirred, but Aleksandr's knife was already at the man's thigh.
"Move, and I cut you."

He needed silence.
He needed to watch.

Because he wasn't looking at a boy anymore.
He was looking at devotion incarnate.
And he was unworthy.

He wasn't supposed to be touched by beauty.
He didn't deserve the way this boy's hips moved in the rain, innocent and oblivious to the darkness curling around him.

But he wanted him anyway.

Wanted him enough to tear every city to ruins.

He whispered his name like a prayer:
"Aarav."

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In his hotel that night, Aleksandr poured himself vodka - but it tasted like water.

He sat before his desk and picked up a piece of parchment.

It smelled like sandalwood and fire - and on it, he wrote in perfect, sin-soaked Russian:

> "Ты танцуешь, как будто твои кости сделаны из молитв."
You dance like your bones are made of prayer.

He sealed the letter with wax. No name. No address. Just perfume. Heavy, soft. Desire.

It would be the first offering.

He would follow. Quietly.
He would haunt Aarav before touching even a finger.

But Aleksandr already knew:

He wasn't stalking a boy.
He was chasing salvation.
And he would damn himself to hell for it.

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Hi babes, it's me the author... I hope you like it, plz do comment and like...