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taras_olekseiTaras stepped out of Ilarion's room.
The hallway was quiet. Empty of naked cheloviks and anything else he didn't want to see.
Anya's room was right next door, but he paused to lean his broad back against the wall, closing his eyes.
It had been a long night, or maybe not long enough. Maybe he just hadn't had enough to drink. Maybe he had heard too many things he didn't want to hear.
He let out breath, a long sigh.
After a few moments, he pushed away from the wall, and knocked on Anya's door.
"Who is it?"
Taras smiled, gratified she was taking precautions like a sensible girl.
"It's me."
There was a pause, then the door opened. Anya stood there, wearing a pale pink muslin nightdress under her robe, her hair in big pink curlers. No strangely colored paste on her face, he noted with vague relief.
"Captain."
"Anya."
He hesitated. He usually told her she looked nice, but he didn't think you were supposed to do that when women weren't actually dressed up for company.
"Hope it's not too late," he said, instead.
Anya smiled, as warmly as always.
"No, not at all, Captain."
"I just came over to check on you, make sure everything's all right."
"Oh, that's very nice of you. I'm fine, thank you."
"It was Isaev's idea."
Anya smiled again, glancing down the hall. She reached up to touch her curlers.
"Oh, really? Well, that was very thoughtful. I was just getting ready for bed, but..."
She looked back at Taras, almost expectantly.
"Well...don't let me keep you," he said.
Anya gave a little sigh, then she smiled.
"Don't worry about it, Captain. How is everything?"
"All right. We're just having some drinks and Isaev's brother and his...comrade."
"That sounds nice, like a good way to relax. It seemed like things were a little stressful, earlier."
Taras frowned, then remembered the argument he and Isaev had back in their office, when Anya had left to get tea.
"Oh, right. Yeah, we worked that out."
She nodded.
"That's good. Is everything else all right?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
Taras sighed.
"Yeah...it's just..."
He hesitated.
"This place is a little...different."
Anya nodded, encouragingly.
"It is. You know, I was feeling a little homesick earlier, but I used the phone in my room to call my mother back in Leningrad to tell her I arrived here safely. Maybe you should call your sisters. I'm sure they'd want to know that you're all right."
Taras blinked.
"I don't think they really worry about me like that."
"Of course they do, you're their brother."
Taras didn't have the heart to tell her that one of his sisters hadn't even noticed when he'd been sent up north.
"Yeah, maybe."
"Leningrad is two hours behind. It's not too late to call."
"All right," he said. He paused. "Thanks."
"Thank you for checking on me, Captain. Good night."
"Night."
Anya closed her door again. Taras heard the soft click of the lock.
He paused in the hallway, looking between his room and Isaev's. He almost felt like he needed some air before heading back in to be social, but it was probably still raining outside.
Taras felt for the key in his pocket, hesitating, then finally turned toward his door.
His room was the same size as Isaev's but felt smaller for some reason, probably because no one was in it. More comfortable, like a sanctuary.
Taras stepped over his suitcase. It lay on the floor in disarray. He'd tossed it there the night before, and had rooted through it this morning to look for a clean shirt and underwear. One edge of a magazine poked out from beneath his workout clothes. The cover model was blond, at least from what he could tell. He fished it out.
She had a big rack and small waist and curvy hips, more buxom than he usually liked them. Taras preferred girls who were tall and more slender, though not too skinny. They had to be sturdy.
He sat down on the bed, flipping through the magazine. There were all kinds of girls in there, dark, light, curvy, skinny, everything in between. Some with platinum blond hair.
It reminded him of the Evropeiskaya, and all the girls that had been idling in the the lobby, waiting. He had never seen so many in one place at one time. It had been a little overwhelming.
Taras frowned. That seemed like a long time ago, now. He'd hadn't known Isaev as well then.
He fell back on the bed, tossing the magazine aside. He didn't think he even felt like jerking off.
Taras pressed his hand on his forehead. Maybe he was getting sick, or was still weak from the night before. Also, it had been a pretty rough day. First he'd found out that Liadov was here, which Isaev hadn't seen fit to tell him beforehand, and then there had been the bizarre interlude with Andrusha and his dangerously volatile Ukranian comrade. Of all the things to hear out of a khokol's mouth, but love.
He scowled.
Love. It made him think of what Merkurii Barshai had said about Ilarion.
He was in love with that cat-faced detective.
Liadov.
Taras rubbed his hip. The tattoo was no longer new but it still itched vaguely at times, though he thought it must all be in his head.
He groaned, sitting up.
A telephone sat on the bedside table. He looked at it for a few moments, then hesitated, picking it up. There was a clicking sound and then he heard a male voice.
"Comm officer."
Taras hesitated.
"This is...Captain Oleksei of the Interior Ministry."
"Yes, Captain, how can I help you?"
"If I give you a phone number, you can connect me to civilization, right?"
There was a pause.
"Yes, Captain, that's right."
"Khorosho."
Another pause.
"What's that number, Captain Oleksei?"
Taras hesitated, then carefully recited the number he'd memorized a while back but had never called.
"Patching you through now, sir."
There was another click, then he heard the phone ringing.
The hallway was quiet. Empty of naked cheloviks and anything else he didn't want to see.
Anya's room was right next door, but he paused to lean his broad back against the wall, closing his eyes.
It had been a long night, or maybe not long enough. Maybe he just hadn't had enough to drink. Maybe he had heard too many things he didn't want to hear.
He let out breath, a long sigh.
After a few moments, he pushed away from the wall, and knocked on Anya's door.
"Who is it?"
Taras smiled, gratified she was taking precautions like a sensible girl.
"It's me."
There was a pause, then the door opened. Anya stood there, wearing a pale pink muslin nightdress under her robe, her hair in big pink curlers. No strangely colored paste on her face, he noted with vague relief.
"Captain."
"Anya."
He hesitated. He usually told her she looked nice, but he didn't think you were supposed to do that when women weren't actually dressed up for company.
"Hope it's not too late," he said, instead.
Anya smiled, as warmly as always.
"No, not at all, Captain."
"I just came over to check on you, make sure everything's all right."
"Oh, that's very nice of you. I'm fine, thank you."
"It was Isaev's idea."
Anya smiled again, glancing down the hall. She reached up to touch her curlers.
"Oh, really? Well, that was very thoughtful. I was just getting ready for bed, but..."
She looked back at Taras, almost expectantly.
"Well...don't let me keep you," he said.
Anya gave a little sigh, then she smiled.
"Don't worry about it, Captain. How is everything?"
"All right. We're just having some drinks and Isaev's brother and his...comrade."
"That sounds nice, like a good way to relax. It seemed like things were a little stressful, earlier."
Taras frowned, then remembered the argument he and Isaev had back in their office, when Anya had left to get tea.
"Oh, right. Yeah, we worked that out."
She nodded.
"That's good. Is everything else all right?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
Taras sighed.
"Yeah...it's just..."
He hesitated.
"This place is a little...different."
Anya nodded, encouragingly.
"It is. You know, I was feeling a little homesick earlier, but I used the phone in my room to call my mother back in Leningrad to tell her I arrived here safely. Maybe you should call your sisters. I'm sure they'd want to know that you're all right."
Taras blinked.
"I don't think they really worry about me like that."
"Of course they do, you're their brother."
Taras didn't have the heart to tell her that one of his sisters hadn't even noticed when he'd been sent up north.
"Yeah, maybe."
"Leningrad is two hours behind. It's not too late to call."
"All right," he said. He paused. "Thanks."
"Thank you for checking on me, Captain. Good night."
"Night."
Anya closed her door again. Taras heard the soft click of the lock.
He paused in the hallway, looking between his room and Isaev's. He almost felt like he needed some air before heading back in to be social, but it was probably still raining outside.
Taras felt for the key in his pocket, hesitating, then finally turned toward his door.
His room was the same size as Isaev's but felt smaller for some reason, probably because no one was in it. More comfortable, like a sanctuary.
Taras stepped over his suitcase. It lay on the floor in disarray. He'd tossed it there the night before, and had rooted through it this morning to look for a clean shirt and underwear. One edge of a magazine poked out from beneath his workout clothes. The cover model was blond, at least from what he could tell. He fished it out.
She had a big rack and small waist and curvy hips, more buxom than he usually liked them. Taras preferred girls who were tall and more slender, though not too skinny. They had to be sturdy.
He sat down on the bed, flipping through the magazine. There were all kinds of girls in there, dark, light, curvy, skinny, everything in between. Some with platinum blond hair.
It reminded him of the Evropeiskaya, and all the girls that had been idling in the the lobby, waiting. He had never seen so many in one place at one time. It had been a little overwhelming.
Taras frowned. That seemed like a long time ago, now. He'd hadn't known Isaev as well then.
He fell back on the bed, tossing the magazine aside. He didn't think he even felt like jerking off.
Taras pressed his hand on his forehead. Maybe he was getting sick, or was still weak from the night before. Also, it had been a pretty rough day. First he'd found out that Liadov was here, which Isaev hadn't seen fit to tell him beforehand, and then there had been the bizarre interlude with Andrusha and his dangerously volatile Ukranian comrade. Of all the things to hear out of a khokol's mouth, but love.
He scowled.
Love. It made him think of what Merkurii Barshai had said about Ilarion.
He was in love with that cat-faced detective.
Liadov.
Taras rubbed his hip. The tattoo was no longer new but it still itched vaguely at times, though he thought it must all be in his head.
He groaned, sitting up.
A telephone sat on the bedside table. He looked at it for a few moments, then hesitated, picking it up. There was a clicking sound and then he heard a male voice.
"Comm officer."
Taras hesitated.
"This is...Captain Oleksei of the Interior Ministry."
"Yes, Captain, how can I help you?"
"If I give you a phone number, you can connect me to civilization, right?"
There was a pause.
"Yes, Captain, that's right."
"Khorosho."
Another pause.
"What's that number, Captain Oleksei?"
Taras hesitated, then carefully recited the number he'd memorized a while back but had never called.
"Patching you through now, sir."
There was another click, then he heard the phone ringing.
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-26 04:44 am (UTC)Merkurii paused, then reached for the receiver, tossing his hair back as he half-rose, covers falling down around his hips.
"Privet," he said, quietly.
There was no immediate response.
"...Major?"
no subject
Date: 2008-08-26 05:12 am (UTC)He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, telephone receiver pressed to his ear.
It was silent for a few moments. Taras thought he recognized the voice, but wasn't sure.
"It's...Oleksei."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-26 05:26 am (UTC)"Is there a...Ministry problem? Do you want Khartov?" he asked, reasonably, glancing at the door. "He's asleep on the Major's couch."
Barshai paused, voice becoming less formal.
"Or is it something else you need, Captain?"
no subject
Date: 2008-08-26 05:36 am (UTC)He hesitated.
"I just...I thought..."
Taras frowned suddenly, scowling at himself.
"I'm just checking in, to make sure that everything's all right there."
It came out in a small rush.
He remembered what Ilarion had said, earlier.
"Has Khartov been behaving?"
no subject
Date: 2008-08-26 05:55 am (UTC)Snorted out a soft laugh through closed lips.
"Da," he said. "He's no problem either."
He paused.
"Is the Major behaving?" he asked, after a moment.
His tone was dry, but humored.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-26 03:35 pm (UTC)He let out a breath.
"You know how he is."
Taras rubbed his neck, silent for a moment.
"Liadov's here," he said, suddenly.
His voice dropped.
"That cat-faced detective. That's really why we came."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 01:12 am (UTC)He leaned back, letting his knees draw up beneath the quilted silk coverlet.
"Da," he replied, slowly. "I know how he is."
Liadov. Merkurii frowned, but it stood to reason.
Although he was faintly surprised by the Captain's revelation. It tumbled out of him all at once, uncertain but abrupt, as if it had been leaning its weight against his lips and broken them open.
The emotion, or lack thereof, seemed deceptively easy to identify.
"Have you seen him?"
He clarified, smoothing the covers with his hand.
"This Liadov, I mean."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 03:57 am (UTC)Taras paused, struggling to find the right words.
"I don't know. He said some things, like he was trying to fuck with Isaev's head."
He closed his eyes, a frown weighting his thick brow, heavy and textured like granite.
"Isaev made me promise not to hurt him."
Taras drew in a harsh breath. His chest ached, like it was hard to breathe.
"...I don't understand what it is between them," he whispered.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 04:39 am (UTC)Merkurii paused, compassion licking at his throat.
"I know you don't," he said, in a low voice.
He heard Khartov laugh in his sleep, a short, truncated bark that penetrated the double doors and faded.
Barshai's eyes raised, slowly, as he listened.
Rain drummed outside in the dark and down the windows, blurring the faded lights of the city.
"...I'm glad you called."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 05:32 am (UTC)"I don't know why I called."
He let himself fall back on the bed with a soft thump.
Taras stared at the ceiling.
He didn't say anything for a while. He could hear Barshai on the other end, breathing quietly.
That was a good sound, relaxing.
"It's raining here," he said, finally.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 05:55 am (UTC)He shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair. It was soft, scarcely damp from the Major's ensuite shower.
"It's nice to speak to someone right now."
He paused.
"No matter why they called."
Barshai relaxed back against the mound of pillows, toying with the corner of one, fingertips extended idly.
"Are you alone?" he asked, after a moment, inflectionlessly.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 06:16 am (UTC)Taras closed his eyes.
"We had a few drinks earlier, me and Isaev and Isaev's brother. And his brother's comrade."
He tugged at his tie, loosening it.
"But I'm taking a break, now. I'll go back in a while."
Taras paused.
"Maybe."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 06:55 am (UTC)His nude skin felt raw and smooth against the clean, pressed sheets.
"I'm in bed. An early night. But there are some evenings, bratan, you know..."
He paused, smiling faintly in the dark.
"Nothing sounds quite as good."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 07:20 am (UTC)Taras shifted slightly, swinging his legs up on the bed.
"A banya sounds good. Then I'd have a snack."
Taras yawned. He scratched his chest, fingertips rasping lightly against wool.
"Major Isaev has a nice place there, da? You're comfortable?"
After a moment, he frowned.
"Your face is almost healed up by now, isn't it, comrade?"
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 07:42 am (UTC)"I'm very comfortable," he said, truthfully.
And he was.
Isaev's bed was broad and sprawling, ultra modern with a sleek, padded disembodied headboard.
He ran the back of his hand up over it.
"It's a spectacular bed, comrade. The Major likes his space."
Barshai paused.
"Spectacular...if a little solitary tonight."
Soft laugh, wistful.
"But it can't be helped."
Merkurii stretched out, sighing.
"My face...yes. You did a perfect job. No lasting damage. Just a little yellowing, and that will fade in a day or two. I tip my hat to you, Captain. You hurt me good."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 05:06 pm (UTC)Taras let his hand rest against his chest.
"You know, I was in there briefly, but I don't remember the bed. I was distracted, though. I bet it's nice."
He thought about it for a few moments.
"I've seen the one he keeps at the family estate. That one's huge. More than enough room for - "
Taras caught himself.
"...sleeping."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 08:17 pm (UTC)Barshai hesitated, then lowered his voice slightly.
"There's more than enough room in this one for you."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 09:04 pm (UTC)He went utterly still and silent for a moment, aware that his pulse had surged, thumping irregularly then racing along, quickened. His mismatched eyes were wide, and he stared up at the ceiling, unseeing.
Taras drew in a ragged breath, feeling his loins twinge, hard enough to hurt.
He grimaced, shifting on the bed.
"Why do you say things like that," he breathed, voice low and rough.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 10:09 pm (UTC)"Because you need to hear them."
He could hear Oleksei's breathing, soft and harsh.
"You're far away, Captain. What's the harm?"
He rolled onto his side, bracing his head on a strong, tapered arm.
"Do you remember when I kissed you?" he asked, slowly. "I would do it again."
He didn't let Oleksei reply.
"If you were in Leningrad with me right now, would you join me in Isaev's bed?"
no subject
Date: 2008-08-27 11:22 pm (UTC)Taras flashed back to that moment, gritting his teeth, remembering Barshai's mouth on his, seeking and hungry.
He let out a low, strained noise. His hand convulsed on the receiver.
"You want me to fuck you," he whispered.
He gripped the front of his uniform, so he wouldn't touch himself anywhere else.
"In Isaev's bed."
He closed his eyes.
"Does he..."
Taras swallowed, hard.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 12:05 am (UTC)He paused, laughing. It was gentle sound.
"What do you think?"
He turned over onto his back, stretching out, nuzzling the receiver idly with his lips..
"Of course he does," he whispered. "Among other places."
Merkurii smiled.
"You could, too, you know. I like you, Captain. I like your...innocence."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 03:33 am (UTC)The images that the dancer's words evoked made something shiver inside him. He remembered Barshai's taut, muscular stomach, perfectly sculpted, like ancient art.
That was the strange thing about Barshai. He was a tall man, body honed and strong, obviously intelligent and observant of people around him.
A man like that could be dominant in just about anything he chose. Yet Barshai chose to give to the will of others, instead.
At the same time, the dancer was not passive. He had his own agenda, even if Taras didn't understand it, and in his own way, was just as passionate about pursuing it.
Taras let his hand inch down his stomach, coming to a rest at his hip, rubbing it like an aching muscle.
He kept his eyes closed.
"I wouldn't hurt you, Barshai."
Taras exhaled, a soft grunt.
"I wouldn't try to break you."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 07:28 am (UTC)He thought about Oleksei, and the panic on his broad-browed face and in his mismatched eyes when he'd pressed their mouths together.
That aroused him.
"I trust you, Captain."
He paused, lowering his voice to the brush of silk.
"You can't break me, unless I want to be broken."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 08:09 am (UTC)A soft grunt escaped his lips.
"I'd fuck you. If I were there, I would."
He let his hand go to his crotch, rubbing his constricted flesh urgently through the wool. His breath came in short, rhythmic hisses.
"I'd give it to you good, right there in Isaev's bed."
Taras twisted on the bed, back arching.
The phone felt hot against his ear, like breath.
"Fuck," he whispered. "I'm hard, Barshai. What am I supposed to do about that?"
no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 08:36 am (UTC)"Touch yourself," he murmured. "And think of me."
There was something so ingenuous about Oleksei, it fascinated him.
"Think of me like I am now. Naked. Willing."
Barshai's own hand slipped over his groin, brushing downy hair and solid flesh.
"What do you want from me, Captain?" he intoned, sonorous. "Because I will give it to you. Take it from you."
A whisper against the black earpiece.
"I choose you."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 04:47 pm (UTC)Taras clenched his hand around his crotch, baring gritted teeth.
"Okei. Hang on."
He set the receiver down so he could undo his pants and pull out his cock without having to fumble around one-handed. Taras let his thighs spread open.
He pulled the phone to him again.
"Khorosho."
He thought of Barshai, muscular and naked in Isaev's bed.
Taras stroked his hard, blunt cock in the rhythm he knew well. He was aching so deeply it hurt.
"I just - " His breath hitched. "I need this. It's been a long time since I've..."
He couldn't bring himself to say it.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 07:06 pm (UTC)He was stroking himself now, slowly, harder and harder, playing over his hard flesh with long, skilled fingers.
"I want you to slide your cock up my ass, Captain. Make it slick, and force it in."
He exhaled, roughly, belying his usual calm mien. He let Oleksei hear his shudder.
"...I want you to kiss me while you're inside me."
If Oleksei was protesting, he ignored it.
"You've never felt a body like mine before."
Barshai snarled, softly, almost fondly.
"I'll spoil you for women."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 08:10 pm (UTC)Taras' throat closed, felt too raw for more words, his breath too harsh even for whispers. The low hungry noises that buzzed in his ear felt like pain and pleasure.
He stroked himself harder, breath hitching, irregular.
Taras could picture it, even though he didn't want to, he could see the things that Barshai was saying. The images seared into him, his body reacting viscerally even as his mind balked.
His fist tightened on his cock, punishing.
"Da, I will."
Taras shuddered.
"I'll do it. I'll hold you down, Barshai," he grated, breathing hard into the phone. "I'll take you hard. I'll make you feel me, all the way."
He let out noise, like a low sob.
"...I want you."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 02:06 am (UTC)The words eased from him sweetly.
Merkurii exhaled, closing his eyes and tipping his head back.
Sensation coursed through him, as the ends of his hair blunted his shoulders, and he let his lips part, lax with passion.
His hand worked his cock over, fluidly pumping, undulating his hips against the soft, deep pile of the mattress.
Barshai's voice thrust into a deeper register.
"Now use me."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 04:40 am (UTC)He could hear the dancer's breathing in his ear, rough and rhythmic, punctuated by the occasional soft thump of background noise, and he realized, abruptly, that Barshai was beating off.
Somehow it made the whole thing more depraved, brought him right back to the Zone, bracing himself against crude stone walls, thrusting against bare flesh, his motions driving and feverish.
The tang of his sex filled his senses, thick and pungent, slick on his fingers.
"I could take you as hard as I needed to," he whispered, realizing it.
Taras let out a low groan, not caring who heard.
"And you'd take me. You'd like it. And you'd want more."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 05:49 am (UTC)Oleksei seemed to have become cozy with the idea of fucking him. Not that Merkurii had anticipated anything else.
The thug's eyes had glimmered and brimmed with arousal and confusion from the beginning, even when winding up to punch him across the face. Oleksei was a queer. Not that there was anything wrong with that.
In fact, Barshai couldn't wait to physically inform him of that fact.
"God, I want you, Oleksei. I want you now. I want to come."
His words came out in dry, rushed whispers.
"I wish you were here."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 06:53 am (UTC)His fist tightened around his cock, and he pumped himself more furiously, building at a violent pace.
It was one thing for a man to fuck another man, but it was another thing, entirely, to talk about it.
Sex was instinct, muscle and sweat and hunger. A man needed sex like he needed to breathe, and that could excuse a lot of things. But talking implied thought and reason. A thinking man could consider his actions.
For some reason, he thought of Liadov.
"I'll jerk you off and rub you raw," he growled.
Red Square.
"You'll come as hard as I do."
His breath flattened to a breathless whisper, and he brimmed on the edge.
"The next time I see you, Barshai."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 07:14 am (UTC)"A promise and a threat," he murmured, labored by the distant thundering of climax. "I like that about you."
It wouldn't take much now. His thighs trembled powerfully with tension and need.
He unbridled his tongue along with his lust, speaking freely and fiercely, the way Isaev seemed to like him.
"I could suck you off, on your back, like a prince. In the Major's bed."
Barshai licked his lips, redoubling as his back arched up from the bed.
"It smells like him, Captain. Like his cologne and his body."
He clenched his teeth.
"I'm going to shoot off, thinking about you pounding my ass."
Barshai made a noise of urgency.
"I want you to come for me. Help me get off, Oleksei."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 05:48 pm (UTC)It was too late to worry about anything other than getting off.
Barshai's words lit his blood with living heat, nearly as tangible as the hot press of flesh.
He worked his cock with renewed hunger, jerking his hand along his length.
His breath came hard and savage against the receiver, nothing to spare for words.
Taras thought of fucking Barshai.
He could see it, behind closed eyes.
Wrestling down a man of Barshai's strength, rutting him like a beast.
His cock buried deep in Barshai's ass, pounding him relentlessly. The press of their naked bodies together, muscle versus muscle, Taras' tattoos dark on his sweat-slick skin, branding him like a tiger.
Taras felt his cock surge.
It hit with a blinding rush, splattering heat across his palm and thighs, soaking into wool.
He shuddered, bucking on the bed, his strength and bulk enough to rock it on its stand.
The noise he made was animalistic, unrestrained and primal.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 08:15 pm (UTC)He pictured the convict's body, when he'd stripped down to his undershirt and uniform pants to pummel him in the interrogation room.
The tattos that patterned him in elaborate relief, each anatomical panel like sketches from a jailhouse Hieronymous Bosch.
And again, when he came to the Major's that night, he was stripped down past his shirtsleeves.
At the time Barshai had wondered why, but now he knew, had seen the object of the visit, once Isaev had removed the bandages.
Eyes.
It was easy to envision that brawny physique, marked with ink, writhing in a primal rhythm atop his own resisting temple. That face, fierce in concentration, and those punishing fists gripping his hair, the sheets, his chest...
Shooting off hard inside him, pinning him under the arch-backed rictus of his beast-like pleasure.
Barshai gasped, violently, and spilled in a jerking frenzy, pulsations of orgasm contracting his muscles, fluid dotting his naked thigh.
His head forward, as he swore, softly, working his hand in a halting rhythm, milking the last of his climax greedily, insatiable.
"Da, fuck, that's it. That's it."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 09:42 pm (UTC)He fell back, panting. Taras had worked up a light sweat, warming his brow, dampening the coverlet bunched at the back of his neck.
Heat prickled through him, fading slowly, and Taras became aware that he was still holding the receiver in one hand, and his cock in the other.
Barshai's voice rumbled soft curse words in his ear.
Taras felt strangely mellowed, as if orgasm had turned him docile and permissive for the moment, like a drugged watchdog.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, wondering how it was things like this happened to him, how he always muscled ahead without thinking about consequences.
Like Red Square.
Taras was silent for long moments, just listening to Barshai's breathing.
"You have a dirty mouth, comrade," he whispered, finally, voice thick. "You should use it more often."
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Date: 2008-08-29 10:07 pm (UTC)He paused, sighing inaudibly, easing back against the covers. He swiped his hand across the silk sheets, marking them with satisfaction.
The he turned his attention back to the phone, the loaded but steady breath in his ear that counterpointed his own.
"Feel better?" he asked.
There was a sharp rap on the door.
"Hey. Everything all right in there?"
He recognized Khartov's voice immediately, even in his satiated stupor. There was a slightly questioning leer in his voice.
"Da," he returned automatically. "Khorosho."
"Khorosho."
He paused, as Khartov yawned, and his footsteps receded.
Merkurii snorted, lightly.
Then he lowered his voice to a lazy murmur.
"You give pretty good lip service, Captain. Maybe Isaev chose his second well."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-30 03:41 am (UTC)"Isaev."
He had heard another voice on Barshai's end, and realized it had to belong to Khartov. Taras' pulse fluttered like a little bird, uncertain on its perch, wondering if somehow Khartov knew what Barshai had been doing, and knew who was on the other end of the line.
But no. That was impossible, unless he'd somehow overheard Barshai's whispered words.
Taras eased his hand open, wiping it on his pants, unthinking, grimacing as he realized what he'd done. Not that the evidence wasn't already fairly obvious.
He let out a long, slow breath.
"Isaev," he said, again. "Does he..."
Taras paused, frowning.
"Does he do that," he whispered.
He threw his arm over his eyes, shielding his face.
"...kiss you?"
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Date: 2008-08-31 03:59 am (UTC)"Da," he said, slowly. "He enjoys that."
He paused.
"He's romantic, at heart, the Major. In his...way."
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Date: 2008-08-31 04:51 am (UTC)"All right."
He rubbed his brow. He caught the scent of sex on his hand, rich and pungent.
"I should take a shower," he said, abruptly.
He pushed himself up with a lurch. Taras sat forward on the bed, feeling a little dizzy.
"I still don't know why I called, but..."
Taras hesitated, uncertain. He had no idea what you were supposed to say to someone after beating off with him. It was different than what happened in the Zone.
He pressed his head against the phone.
"...you're not bad, Barshai."
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Date: 2008-08-31 06:21 am (UTC)"Don't worry about why you called," he advised. "It's not worth it."
He sighed, leaning back, pulling the covers over his chest.
A low and pleasant thrum sounded throughout his loins. Barshai felt somnolent, wasted, pleasantly spent.
"You're not bad either, Oleksei. But I knew that."
He yawned and laughed lazily.
"Too bad we can't go to sleep together. I miss it having a warm body against me at night."
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Date: 2008-08-31 07:24 am (UTC)He glanced down, then started to undo his jacket buttons.
"We slept back to back, for safety. It's harder to sneak up on two men, rather than just one."
Taras pulled off his jacket, awkwardly, one-handed. He tossed it aside. He would have to inspect it later. Good thing he had brought a spare.
He paused.
"I didn't mind. It was just good to know someone was there."
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Date: 2008-08-31 07:45 am (UTC)"That sounds like a smart idea."
He paused, laughing.
"Of course, I was thinking more along the lines of...front to back."
Merkurii's eyes closed slowly.
"Or...however it all...settles out."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-31 05:20 pm (UTC)Isaev and Barshai naked in Isaev's bed. Ilarion's chest to Barshai's back. Lasha's arm around the dancer. Holding him close.
He grimaced, shaking his head. His chest panged abruptly, a nameless ache inside him.
"Yeah," he said, quiet and rough.
Taras rubbed his hip.
"Go to sleep, Barshai. You'll be all right."
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Date: 2008-08-31 06:32 pm (UTC)He paused, his head feeling heavy on the pillow.
"Goodnight, Captain. Tell the Kommissar I said hello."
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Date: 2008-09-01 08:36 am (UTC)There was a pause as he considered.
He realized that it wasn't that easy, that he couldn't say such a thing to Isaev without having to justify why he'd called in the first place. Maybe checking up on Barshai would sound reasonable, though he wasn't certain.
"I'll try," he added. "Good night."
He carefully replaced the receiver on its cradle, then sat there scowling at the phone, as if it had done something to him. Taras picked it up, feeling the fleeting urge to throw it against the wall as hard as he could.
After a few seconds, he relented, and sat it down on the bedside table instead.
"Shower," he muttered.