He shut it, hurriedly, but he stared, quietly stunned and lightly dazed, like he'd just been punched in the head.
While he'd had no doubt that Ilarion could seduce Anya, somehow he hadn't thought it would be like this.
Taras remembered the Evropeiskaya.
Isaev had been darkly beguiling, a devil whispering in the whores' ears, at once distant and compelling, denying satisfaction at the same time he promised it on frosted honey lips.
Taras thought it would be much the same with Anya, teasing the girl with indecent words, touching her in places that bordered on trespass, making her blush and tremble.
But he hadn't thought Ilarion would kiss her.
There was almost something genuine about the way Isaev touched Anya, the way he stroked her hair with a gentleness Taras couldn't fathom. But before Taras had brought it up, Isaev had never considered a liaison with Anya. Fuck her to what purpose, Ilarion had said, as if the act itself wasn't enough.
Taras sat back in his chair, and exhaled softly.
He let his arms fall against the armrests, clutching, as if holding on had somehow become difficult.
He didn't think he'd been wrong, that Ilarion was secretly harboring a deep affection for Anya. Taras didn't think a man could fall that hard in an instant.
That left only one possibility - that Isaev was just that good, and he could drop the icy veneer any time he wanted, letting warmth and tenderness and show though as if they were his second nature.
But they weren't, Taras knew, though what he saw looked close enough to make him feel like doubting.
Who was Ilarion Isaev, if not a cold and distant man, who nevertheless was driven by dark passions?
Taras meant to leer and make low, suggestive comments, to instigate and goad, doing his part to seduce Anya by inciting Ilarion.
Instead he found that his words fell still on lips that were paused and parted, though after a moment he managed to reclaim his voice.
"Kiss her again, comrade," he murmured on breath so soft, he wasn't sure if he was audible.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2008-03-02 01:15 pm (UTC)He shut it, hurriedly, but he stared, quietly stunned and lightly dazed, like he'd just been punched in the head.
While he'd had no doubt that Ilarion could seduce Anya, somehow he hadn't thought it would be like this.
Taras remembered the Evropeiskaya.
Isaev had been darkly beguiling, a devil whispering in the whores' ears, at once distant and compelling, denying satisfaction at the same time he promised it on frosted honey lips.
Taras thought it would be much the same with Anya, teasing the girl with indecent words, touching her in places that bordered on trespass, making her blush and tremble.
But he hadn't thought Ilarion would kiss her.
There was almost something genuine about the way Isaev touched Anya, the way he stroked her hair with a gentleness Taras couldn't fathom. But before Taras had brought it up, Isaev had never considered a liaison with Anya. Fuck her to what purpose, Ilarion had said, as if the act itself wasn't enough.
Taras sat back in his chair, and exhaled softly.
He let his arms fall against the armrests, clutching, as if holding on had somehow become difficult.
He didn't think he'd been wrong, that Ilarion was secretly harboring a deep affection for Anya. Taras didn't think a man could fall that hard in an instant.
That left only one possibility - that Isaev was just that good, and he could drop the icy veneer any time he wanted, letting warmth and tenderness and show though as if they were his second nature.
But they weren't, Taras knew, though what he saw looked close enough to make him feel like doubting.
Who was Ilarion Isaev, if not a cold and distant man, who nevertheless was driven by dark passions?
Taras meant to leer and make low, suggestive comments, to instigate and goad, doing his part to seduce Anya by inciting Ilarion.
Instead he found that his words fell still on lips that were paused and parted, though after a moment he managed to reclaim his voice.
"Kiss her again, comrade," he murmured on breath so soft, he wasn't sure if he was audible.