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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: 2008-09-17 04:34 pm (UTC)His skin tingled in the wake of Isaev's touch, the brush of light fingertips across his tattoos.
"I'd like that," he said, after a moment.
He dropped his gaze to Ilarion's chest, where the weight of the grey wool uniform hid all but the suggestion of lean, graceful muscle, never mind the tattoo. Taras tried to imagine it healed, without the flush of inflamed skin, onyx on pure ivory, the watchful eyes accentuating the subtle sculpt of Isaev's build.
"I remember, but it's not the same as seeing it in person."
Taras took in a slow breath.
He glanced up, and met Isaev's eyes.
"Besides...Anya hasn't seen it yet, da?"
no subject
Date: 2008-09-18 02:02 am (UTC)"What does it matter to Anya," he said. "She only wants one thing."
He reached up with one hand and began to unknot his tie, slowly, leisurely.
"No time like the present."