Date: 2009-02-16 11:45 pm (UTC)
Taras snorted, dismissively.

"He might as well do what he wants. I'm sure he earned that."

He knew Barshai had. Anyone who started with nothing and got what he wanted out of life was worthy of Taras' respect.

"You know how people are. When it's something they really like, they work harder. That fucker must work out half the day."

Taras remembered the glimpse he'd caught of Barshai's abdomen. He hadn't been looking specifically, but the view under the unbuttoned silk pajama top had been hard to miss. The muscles of Barshai's stomach were perfectly delineated, even at rest, like a statue. Taras clenched his own stomach reflexively.

He leaned back against the tufted leather headboard. It felt warm against his skin.

"So everything's okay? Isaev's place, the office..."

He trailed off, frowning.

"Has it still been raining there?"
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