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taras_olekseiTaras 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.
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.
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 03:25 am (UTC)"I don't know what I would have done," he said, after a moment.
His voice was low.
"But I know what Nika feared I was capable of."
What he was capable of.
The bitterness in Ilarion's voice was undirected, profound.
"He thought it was better left unsaid."
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 04:26 am (UTC)"There's a difference between what you're capable of, and what you do, Lashka."
He reached out and brought his hand to the back of Ilarion's head.
"Those aren't the same things."
Taras rubbed his fingers into Lasha's scalp.
"...men like us have to remember shit like that," he finished, quietly.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 05:11 am (UTC)"Easy to say."
He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, resting on his forearm.
"Hindsight makes a saint, doesn't it."
He felt Oleksei's hand on the back of his head, worrying his short, pale hair. It struck him as unusual, out of Taras's range, that kind of physical display.
Lasha studied him intensely, even through the hard haze of drink.
"But let's not gild the lily. If he'd told me..."
I'd have been bound and determined to set him free from his own bleeding heart.
"I probably would have done the same thing."
The taste of admission was bitter.
Lasha knew he was no saint.
He knew how to get rid of wives, after all. He'd learned from the best.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 05:04 pm (UTC)Taras held Lasha's gaze steadily.
"You don't want to be a saint."
He stilled the motion of his fingers against Lasha's scalp for a moment, and he just cradled Lasha's head in his broad hand, leaning closer.
"That's never going to be you. And anyone who knows you, knows that."
He paused.
"Liadov knows that," he added, more quietly.
It made his chest twinge to say the man's name. Something ached inside him, pulsing uncertainly.
Taras shook his head.
"You don't really want to be different than what you are. You just want your comrade back."
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 05:47 pm (UTC)"He always said I would destroy him," he said, in an undertone. "Like my father destroyed my mother."
His lips seized taut, pressing into a line.
"But he forgot one thing that I always remember. It destroyed him to destroy her."
He shook his head, fiercely.
"I'm not Aleksandr, Taras. I might obliterate everything around him, but I would always leave him standing immaculate. I would never harm one golden hair of that bastard's head. Never."
It had always been Nika who told him he was not like his father. Mild eyed, with that languid smile. He had never cared how cruel Lasha's nature could be, had never faltered once in his devotion. The compass point that pulled him to mercy, the counterweight of his darkness.
His eyes hardened.
"But I pushed him too far. And if I had it to do again...I would pay her off instead off seducing her."
Or have her killed. Accidentally.
He paused.
"Taras, don't listen to me. I'm drunk. I'm sentimental. Like that fucking Ukrainian."
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 07:53 pm (UTC)Taras stroked Isaev's silvery blond head again, the motion rough and vehement, raw with affection. Ilarion's eyes were light and electric, his gaze sharp with a tangible current of pain.
Taras' grip tightened suddenly, and he leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together.
"You're a good comrade," he whispered, low. "You've always been a good comrade to me."
He held Lasha like that for a long moment, then let him go abruptly, swallowing, chest aching for a reason he couldn't name.
Taras turned his head away.
"You might be a bad man, but you're a good comrade. That's what I know about you."
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 08:34 pm (UTC)"You're a bad man, too, Oleksei," he said, indulgent with fatigue and liquor. "But you know that."
He laughed softly.
"You know I don't care."
Lasha opened his eyes to half mast.
"Maybe I am just like my father," he said, softly. "I don't care anymore."
He reached out, curving a hand over the disturbing solidity of Oleksei's hulking bicep. It was inked as intricately as a map.
"I shouldn't drink so much," he murmured. "I never used to..."
He trailed off, then pulled closer, pressing against Taras's reassuring brawn. He was ridiculously burly, somehow different than the broad grace of Andrei. He was beast-like, bullish, proletariat in every way.
His dangerous presence was reassuring to Ilarion, Oleksei's body like warm-blooded stone against him.
Uncertain stone, now, to his vague amusement, as he felt Taras's chest and arms go rigid and taut.
"Captain," he drawled. "I order you to stay."
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 09:26 pm (UTC)Isaev pressed against him chest-to-chest, warm and solid, the lay of his body against Taras' somehow strangely comfortable, like the weight of a blanket.
Taras' pulse surged, thrumming in his chest. He wondered if Isaev could feel it.
"You..."
His voice died and he had to clear his throat.
"You don't have to order me," he muttered, staring at the ceiling.
Taras wondered how that worked, how he could ache with nameless want one moment, then get something and not be sure if he wanted it the next.
He licked his lips.
"Comrades...are there for each other," he added.
He closed his eyes.
Yes, it was a comrade thing, he decided.
There were times when things were bad, times when even the strongest man needed the reassurance of a comrade. That was human nature, and there was nothing unusual about it.
Or queer, for that matter.
Carefully, he shifted, adjusting his arm, resting it against Isaev's back.
It was more comfortable that way.
"Close your eyes, Lasha. I'm here."
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 09:58 pm (UTC)He leaned in, pressing his mouth against Oleksei's ear.
"Hard and thick, aren't you. Just imagine the things I could order you to do," he slurred, elegantly. "Magadan things."
His laugh was so low as to be almost soundless.
"You feel like Andrei, but you don't have his scent. You're you."
He inhaled, then exhaled, eyes fluttering.
"I could be Barshai..."
He trailed off, lost his thought and his head tipped back, then forward and came to rest heavily on Oleksei's shoulder, unconscious.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-09 10:55 pm (UTC)Taras glanced to the side without moving his head, eyeing Ilarion sidelong. Lasha's eyes were closed, his expression relaxed. Taras could feel the warm, regular brush of Lasha's breath against his skin.
He thought again of the night of the Winter Ball, and what he had done after Ilarion passed out.
He grimaced.
Taras found himself wondering if Ilarion would remember any of this in the morning.
He knew he would, himself, though. He wasn't nearly as drunk as he should have been.
After a few moments, he frowned suddenly, and glanced at Lasha again.
"What about Barshai?" he whispered.
Lasha did not stir.
Taras let out a quiet breath, closing his eyes.
It would be a while before he fell asleep, he knew.