Nightcap

[taras_oleksei]

Taras stepped into the hall, closing his door behind him.

He had showered and changed, and now had on the casual clothes he wore to work out, complete with a light jacket over his tank, to cover his shoulders and arms. That was better. Easier than having his tattoos on display, even if it was only Isaev's brother and his comrade.

Taras carried the bottle of cognac that he'd brought with him from Leningrad, Isaev's brand.

He felt the strange need to see Ilarion.

Taras crossed to Isaev's door and knocked briskly, then opened it and stepped inside, pausing to assess the situation.

The room was mostly as he'd left it. The Ukrainian sat in the corner, still clutching Lasha's vodka bottle, though it looked considerably less full than before. Taras frowned at that.

Ilarion and Andrusha sat next to each other, leaning close with chairs pushed together, like they had been talking.

Taras wasn't certain how long he'd been gone. A while.

He held up the bottle, as if it had only been a few minutes.

"Brought more cognac," he said.

Comments

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Ilarion frowned, regarding Taras for a moment, then looking down at his own chest.

Oleksei's callused fingers raised strange sensations on his skin, skimming over it the way he was.

"Yes," he said, belatedly. "It does feel..."

He checked himself.

"It does look good."

Lasha closed his eyes briefly, trying to gather his sobriety.

Taras's hand stilled on his breast, but did not depart.

What was that charge, like a riffle of current? Was it...illicit?

He exhaled, slowly, his chest rising and pressing slightly into Oleksei's palm when it fell.

"Well done," he murmured. "Well done. You please me, Taras."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Taras' brows drew together, furrowing intensely.

He stared at his broad hand pressed against Isaev's chest, aware of the contrast. His skin was darker, coarser, his knuckles crossed with numerous thin white scars, trophies from dozens of fights. His fingers were thick and blunt. They looked crude next to Ilarion's smooth skin.

Taras let out a breath, soft and roughened.

"That's what I want."

His chest cramped suddenly, aching with a pain he could not name.

Taras kept his gaze lowered, mismatched eyes burning, and now unseeing. He felt the impulse to glance up, but he didn't know what would happen if he met Lasha's eyes again.

His thumb moved, brushing over Ilarion's chest, the rasp of his touch faint, but audible.

He could feel Lasha's pulse flutter, or maybe it was just his own.

Taras swallowed.

"Lasha," he whispered.

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Ilarion shuddered, involuntarily, and leaned back against the chair.

"You want to please me," he murmured, rhetorical.

He reached for Oleksei's broad hand, caging it with the press of his own.

"Be careful, Taras," he said, softly. "Your devotion is a potent weapon."

His fingers tightened and held.

"You don't know how to fully wield it yet."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Taras' hand clenched, fingers digging into Ilarion's skin.

His breath came violent and quick, hard enough to make him dizzy. Taras closed his eyes, grimacing, every muscle tensing.

He was still for a long moment, body taut with restraint.

Taras looked up slowly to meet Lasha's eyes, locking gazes. He felt a shock run though him, like suddenly being touched with ice.

In that moment, he was acutely aware of where they touched - his knee against Lasha's leg, his hand on Lasha's chest.

Ilarion's hand on his own.

Taras' regard wavered, flicking down to Ilarion's parted lips.

"Then show me."

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Ilarion's eyes narrowed.

"There was a man once," he said, softly. "Who sat where you sit now."

His hand pressed into Oleksei's, massaging it slowly, unthinking.

"His devotion to me could not be measured."

Lasha's gaze remained locked.

"In turn, I was his slave, Isaev or no."

He paused, sliding Oleksei's hand slightly lower with his own, letting it rest just above the line of his jodhpurs. He knew he was drunk, that his veins buzzed with the low hum of cognac and wine, that his lips were loose and his body lascivious.

"Devotion," he whispered, "is my weakness."

He paused, closing his eyes, amused.

"One that you have not yet realized, Taraschik."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Taras shivered.

He felt a relentless pounding inside of him, running from brow to chest, then straight down to his groin.

"I'm not him," he whispered.

Taras leaned forward as he spoke, shifting his weight, his hand pressing against Isaev's stomach.

He dug his fingers in, to keep his hand from shaking. Isaev's stomach tightened reflexively, the solid, burning heat of muscle hard and taut underneath firm skin.

Taras swallowed.

"I'm not him, Lashka. I won't turn away from you."

Taras could feel the heat of Lasha's breath on his lips. The proximity made him think of Barshai, what the dancer had done back at Lasha's apartment, the things he had whispered into the phone.

He closed his eyes, briefly.

"I won't leave you."

Taras ran his tongue over his lips, then pressed them together.

"Ya vas snayu," he breathed, then surged the rest of the way forward, mouth catching Isaev's lips with sudden violence, his kiss clumsy and hungry.

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Lasha's eyes blazed open, astonished.

It was surreal, to have Oleksei take an action like that one.

But composure settled quickly.

He allowed it, letting Taras the criminal bruise his mouth, gazing at him.

He wondered what it meant.

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Something was wrong.

Taras became aware of it slowly. There was something different about the way this was, different than what Barshai had done to him.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he didn't think it was this.

Isaev's lips were crushed against his, but he wasn't moving his mouth.

Taras pulled back, abruptly.

He pressed the back of his hand to his lips, swallowing hard.

"I..." he started. "I...just wanted you to know that."

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Lasha tilted his head, slowly, regarding Oleksei with ice-toned eyes.

"Taras," he said.

He was silent for a moment, then took a sip of cognac, leaning forward.

"Taras, if you ever do that again..."

He reached forward, seizing Oleksei's lapel in slightly insensate fingers, pulling them face to face.

"Do it like this."

Ilarion's lips parted, and he leaned in, slowly easing them against Oleksei's stricken mouth.

"You see?" he murmured, and kissed him more deeply. "It's nothing."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

A shiver ran through Taras at the press of Isaev's mouth on his, which was different yet again from what had happened with Barshai, in ways he couldn't name.

He nodded, breathless.

"Nothing. Da. Got it."

Taras eased back slowly.He looked around for where he'd abandoned his cognac.

"I need a drink," he muttered.

Taras scooped it up, taking a long pull, and then another, then he drained his glass.

He paused, looking at Ilarion a moment, carefully.

"That was nothing, da?"

Taras licked his lips. They still tingled.

"Not...a problem."

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Lasha leaned back, shirtless as a savage, amused and more than a little inebriated.

"Not a problem," he affirmed.

He paused, raising an eyebrow, considering Oleksei.

"By nothing, I mean to say...it isn't a problem. You and I."

Lasha sipped his cognac.

"I say we're copacetic, Oleksei. Do you agree?"

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Taras nodded, slowly.

"Da. There's no problem."

It was true, he realized, though he didn't understand why. Not that he was arguing.

Taras stretched, spine popping, the tense set of his shoulders easing. He paused to pour himself another glass, taking a sip, topping it off.

"We're comrades, Lasha. That's what matters."

Taras moved, shifting to sit next to Isaev. He rested his back against the chair, so that they sat bare shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip.

He drank, thinking about what Lasha had said. About the man at his side. About devotion.

He turned his head to look at Ilarion, meeting his eyes, sidelong.

"There's no use having everything if there's no one to share it with."

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Lasha laughed softly.

"I'll drink to that," he replied, a hint of bitterness staining his tone.

He paused, thinking about the long nights after Nika had gone to Moscow.

The empty office he couldn't pass without weakening.

The sudden hollow inside him like a cancer.

"You've staunched a good deal of blood for me, Taras," he remarked, slowly, after a moment. "That's more than I could ever ask for. From Khartov, from anyone."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Taras looked at him, blue-brown gaze steady.

"You don't have to ask me."

He shifted slightly so he could raise his arm, reaching to run his hand over Ilarion's tightly-cropped hair, letting it tickle his palm. Taras was surprised at how soft it was.

Taras rubbed the back of Isaev's neck with his thumb.

"I do it because I want to, Lasha. I do it for you."

He leaned back, letting his hand settle, stroking the side of Ilarion's neck, gently.

"That's how it is, with me."

He paused, quiet for a moment, frowning.

"Tell me about...him."

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Ilarion smiled. It was a diffuse expression.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, leaning back into Oleksei's hand without thinking.

It had been a long time since anyone had...

Lasha closed his eyes briefly.

"I wouldn't know where to begin." His lips parted for a moment. "It's a lifetime, after all."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

"I know it is."

Taras exhaled softly. He stared at the fire, considering, taking a pull from his drink. Lasha's skin felt soft under his hand.

He frowned. He didn't know where to begin, either.

"I know what happened. I just don't...understand it."

Lasha was completely relaxed, he realized, suddenly. Taras could feel no tension in the set of his shoulders, or the line of his neck. Just Ilarion pressed against him, warm and solid.

Taras turned to look at him.

"Lasha..."

A brusque knock sounded at the door, then it opened immediately afterward.

Taras froze.

The Ukrainian barged in, still clutching Lasha's bottle of vodka.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

"I forgot - "

Kassian broke off, staggering to a stop, staring.

It looked like he had interrupted an intimate moment.

Andrei's brother and his thuggish comrade were sitting close to each other in front of the fire. Very close. Oleksei's muscular arm was draped over Lasha's shoulders, and for some reason, Lasha was now shirtless, and Oleksei had stripped down to a tank.

Both of them were tattooed like criminals, he realized, disconcerted.

Kassian blinked.

"...my scarf," he finished, very belatedly.

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Ilarion made a face, but didn't open his eyes.

"Is that Irinarhov again?" he murmured, in absent annoyance.

He raised his voice slightly.

"Shouldn't you be watching my brother?"

Lasha snorted, leaning his head back.

"He might murder someone while you're not looking, khokol."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

"He's waiting for me in the hall," Kassian muttered.

They hadn't gotten far when he'd realized he no longer had his scarf. Andrei had told him that he would ask Lasha to look for it in the morning, but Kassian had insisted on returning to find it right then.

Only a few minutes had passed, though apparently that was long enough for Lasha and his comrade to get comfortable.

He eyed the two of them.

Lasha hadn't even bothered to look at him, at worst only mildly inconvenienced by his intrusion, but Oleksei was glaring, gaze unsettling in its half-blind intensity. Kassian supposed he didn't like being disturbed mid...whatever they were about to do.

Kassian averted his gaze.

"I'll just get it. My scarf."

He glanced around the room, catching a spot of red under the chaise where he'd been sitting. He walked past Lasha and Oleksei and fished out the scarf, throwing it haphazardly over his shoulder.

His gaze turned to Lasha again.

"Sorry for...interrupting," he said.

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Ilarion opened one eye, mildly perturbed.

"You didn't interrupt me," he countered, vaguely.

His drawl was smooth, unruffled.

"Although it seems you might have interrupted Captain Oleksei a touch."

To his right, Taras had gone stiff and bristling.

"He's not good at relaxing. All those months in Magadan, you know."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian's gaze shifted to Oleksei, wordlessly.

Magadan.

It made sense.

Oleksei looked the way Kassian imagined a criminal should look, thick-jawed and foreboding, arms bulging with muscle, skin marked by a small riot of tattoos. Oleksei's tattoos looked rough and crudely done, in contrast to Lasha's, which was much more elegant and artistic.

The Zone was probably filled with men just like Oleksei, Kassian thought. It was not lost on him that save for Liadov's intervention, he would have gone to Magadan too, and carried out his sentence among such men.

"Hey," Oleksei said.

Kassian frowned, looking at him.

Oleksei's odd gaze shifted downward.

"That's Isaev's bottle."

Kassian held it up. A small amount of the clear liquid sloshed at the bottom, less than a fifth.

"You're right," Kassian said, evenly.

He uncapped it and raised it to his lips, swallowing down the rest.

Kassian tossed the now-empty bottle onto the chair.

"There you go."

Oleksei scowled, leaning forward as if he meant to get to his feet.

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Ilarion smirked.

"Don't bother," he said, lightly, and put a stilling hand on Oleksei's back.

He sighed, opening both eyes and regarding the Ukrainian nuisance tolerantly.

"That wasn't particularly smart, Irinarhov."

He paused.

"Believe me when I say that if Taras hits you, you won't be getting up again."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian held Ilarion's gaze a moment, then he glanced at Oleksei.

"Really."

The thuggish captain was still scowling at Kassian, though he eased back somewhat, as if mollified by Lasha's words.

Kassian looked back to Ilarion.

He shrugged, lightly.

"...I've heard the same about Andrei."

[ilarion-isaev.livejournal.com]

Lasha smiled, a mixture of pride and amusement.

"Andrei's not here," he said, deliberately, sounding each word.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian pressed his lips together.

"No, he's not," he allowed.

He stood there silently for a few more moments. Oleksei stared at him, but made no move to get up.

"I suppose I'll take my chances."

He looked between them again.

"Good night, Major. Captain. I'll let you get back to what you were...doing."