"There it is," muttered Barshai, breath hitching ever more quickly.
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.
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timeasmymeasure
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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."