Taras' gaze shifted downward, lingering for a moment on Isaev's prick.
It was thick and on the large side for his build. Oleksei had seen a lot of pricks in the Zone, and Isaev's was nothing to be ashamed of.
"Something like that," he muttered, and ached with the need to touch himself.
It was starting to get painful, sitting balanced forward as he was, cock trapped in the confines of his uniform pants, pulsing and rigid.
Taras pushed himself out of the chair and to the desk in one fluid motion, sudden and almost-violent.
Anya drew in a breath as she sensed his approach, and her eyes flew open.
She regarded him over the top of her head with a wide and startled gaze, face flushed and mouth parted.
He looked down at her, eyes raking over the wanton spread of her body draped across Ilarion's broad desk, her open blouse and shuddering breasts, the skirt bunched around her hips and her exposed sex.
She trembled as he looked at her, and Taras murmured "shhh," guttural and rough, the closest thing he knew to reassurance.
Anya closed her eyes.
He raised his gaze to regard Ilarion over the spread of woman between them, caught his eyes and held them. Taras reached out and brought his hands to Anya's shoulders, cupping them in his gloved hands, holding her down as carefully as he knew how, firmly, but far more gently than he would touch a whore.
He leaned forward to press his groin against the edge of the desk, the pressure making the throb in his loins at once worse and better.
Taras shifted his weight, pivoting his hips slightly, grinding.
The motion was slow and obscene, and his eyes did not leave Ilarion's face.
"Do it," he whispered, voice a rasp, nearly hoarse and goading. "Take her, Isaev."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2008-03-03 07:16 pm (UTC)It was thick and on the large side for his build. Oleksei had seen a lot of pricks in the Zone, and Isaev's was nothing to be ashamed of.
"Something like that," he muttered, and ached with the need to touch himself.
It was starting to get painful, sitting balanced forward as he was, cock trapped in the confines of his uniform pants, pulsing and rigid.
Taras pushed himself out of the chair and to the desk in one fluid motion, sudden and almost-violent.
Anya drew in a breath as she sensed his approach, and her eyes flew open.
She regarded him over the top of her head with a wide and startled gaze, face flushed and mouth parted.
He looked down at her, eyes raking over the wanton spread of her body draped across Ilarion's broad desk, her open blouse and shuddering breasts, the skirt bunched around her hips and her exposed sex.
She trembled as he looked at her, and Taras murmured "shhh," guttural and rough, the closest thing he knew to reassurance.
Anya closed her eyes.
He raised his gaze to regard Ilarion over the spread of woman between them, caught his eyes and held them. Taras reached out and brought his hands to Anya's shoulders, cupping them in his gloved hands, holding her down as carefully as he knew how, firmly, but far more gently than he would touch a whore.
He leaned forward to press his groin against the edge of the desk, the pressure making the throb in his loins at once worse and better.
Taras shifted his weight, pivoting his hips slightly, grinding.
The motion was slow and obscene, and his eyes did not leave Ilarion's face.
"Do it," he whispered, voice a rasp, nearly hoarse and goading. "Take her, Isaev."