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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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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."