![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taras_olekseiTaras lay in his bed, and thought he could still smell Lasha.
He had woken up alone again that morning.
It had been full dark yet. He'd lain quietly in bed for a moment, groggy and disoriented, listening to the wind hiss between buildings outside, reaching for the cool sheets next to him.
Lasha was sick, he had recalled, almost immediately.
That had given him the impetus to get out of bed. He'd looked at the clock. It was well past three. Taras got dressed, and went looking for Lasha.
He wondered which he was getting more used to: expecting Lasha to be there when he woke, or finding that he was alone instead. He supposed one went with the other.
He'd swung by their office first, then on a strange hunch, Liadov's. Both were empty. The mess hall had been Taras' third or fourth possibility, and it was there that he had found Lasha.
But Lasha had not been alone. He'd been sitting at a table with Liadov.
Isaev and Liadov in their grey uniforms, sitting across from each other, like comrades.
Fancy pricks, both of them, tall and blond haired. Lasha was arctic smooth and sleek while Liadov was more languid and sensual.
The sight of them together had made Taras feel strange inside, and his chest ached with an emotion that was not quite anger, or anything else he had a name for.
Taras had stood in the doorway, watching them for a while, mismatched gaze fixed and ravenous.
Eventually, he had turned away, and left them.
He had seen Lasha, later that day, looking a little pale but carrying himself with unthinking grace, as always. More or less normal. It was the less that worried Taras, but he hadn't seen any sign of Ilarion faltering.
Taras had hit the gym hard that evening, then showered and eaten, like usual.
Now, he lay awake in the darkness, thinking.
Finally he got out of bed, and pulled on his pants, and a clean undershirt, and grabbed a newly-acquired bottle of cognac off the counter.
His door was one down from Lasha's.
Taras knocked on Isaev's door.
"It's me, Lashka."
He had woken up alone again that morning.
It had been full dark yet. He'd lain quietly in bed for a moment, groggy and disoriented, listening to the wind hiss between buildings outside, reaching for the cool sheets next to him.
Lasha was sick, he had recalled, almost immediately.
That had given him the impetus to get out of bed. He'd looked at the clock. It was well past three. Taras got dressed, and went looking for Lasha.
He wondered which he was getting more used to: expecting Lasha to be there when he woke, or finding that he was alone instead. He supposed one went with the other.
He'd swung by their office first, then on a strange hunch, Liadov's. Both were empty. The mess hall had been Taras' third or fourth possibility, and it was there that he had found Lasha.
But Lasha had not been alone. He'd been sitting at a table with Liadov.
Isaev and Liadov in their grey uniforms, sitting across from each other, like comrades.
Fancy pricks, both of them, tall and blond haired. Lasha was arctic smooth and sleek while Liadov was more languid and sensual.
The sight of them together had made Taras feel strange inside, and his chest ached with an emotion that was not quite anger, or anything else he had a name for.
Taras had stood in the doorway, watching them for a while, mismatched gaze fixed and ravenous.
Eventually, he had turned away, and left them.
He had seen Lasha, later that day, looking a little pale but carrying himself with unthinking grace, as always. More or less normal. It was the less that worried Taras, but he hadn't seen any sign of Ilarion faltering.
Taras had hit the gym hard that evening, then showered and eaten, like usual.
Now, he lay awake in the darkness, thinking.
Finally he got out of bed, and pulled on his pants, and a clean undershirt, and grabbed a newly-acquired bottle of cognac off the counter.
His door was one down from Lasha's.
Taras knocked on Isaev's door.
"It's me, Lashka."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 11:26 pm (UTC)He drew a shallow breath at the sensation of his satin prick brushing nakedly against Oleksei's fundament.
Now it was flush between Taras' buttocks, pulsing and alive, and Lasha knew he could feel it.
"I like it when you tremble," he breathed, after a moment. "It tells me that I move you."
He moved his hips deliberately, leaning in.
"Like the earth," he intoned, in a hush, his lips coming to rest against Oleksei's back.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-25 05:54 am (UTC)He arched his back without meaning to. It made his ass tense around Lasha's cock. His eyes opened wide, slightly dazed.
He had not known it would be like this.
Lasha moved decisively against him, the head of his cock searing a path along the rift of his ass. Taras was vulnerable there, and blindingly sensitive. Every pass of Lasha's cock sent sharp pulses of heat into him.
"It's like that," he whispered, breath and body shaking. "I can't help it."
Taras kept feeling the impulse to tell Lasha be careful, as if he didn't, Lasha might become lost in the moment and revert to instinct, pause and try to press the head of his cock into the soft furrowed eyelet of his intimate opening.
The thought had only been vaguely disturbing before. Now it seemed all too possible.
His fists twisted into the sheets.
"Khorosho?" he whispered. "Is this good? Is this what you want?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-25 06:51 am (UTC)He could feel the pitch rising within him, the resonance of arousal aligning itself with each stroke.
"You're my Ares, aren't you."
He reached for the nightstand, fingers closing around the metal tube of petroleum gel that Taras had produced from somewhere earlier
"My perfect statue."
Ilarion drew back, panting softly, letting his hands cruise down the sides of Taras' back. His fingers came to rest, cupping Oleksei's buttocks, kneading the muscle appreciatively, as he leaned in and kissed the soft flesh, right at the curl of the tiger's angry tail.
"Let me make you slick."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-25 08:00 am (UTC)A deep shiver ran through him, and the muscles in his back bunched.
"What?" he whispered, finally.
He felt his heart thud.
"Why? You're not - "
It was so unthinkable, Taras could not even give voice to it, as if speaking it out loud would guarantee it would come true.
Slowly, he turned his head to look out of the corner of his wide blue eye to where Lasha was poised behind him.
"Why do you need to do that?" he asked then, in a low rush of words.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-25 08:24 am (UTC)"Because I don't care to chafe my cock on your marble ass, you telamon."
He uncapped the tube and eased the gel into his palm, letting it absorb his body heat for a moment.
"A stroke needs both friction and glide, nyet?"
Most men knew that much from the special time they spent with themselves.
"Relax, Tarasha."
He applied his palms to Oleksei's ass, slicking him well and sensuously, massaging the cleft and outward, then back in. He was generous with the vehicle; he knew from experience on both sides of the equation that a liberal application made sensation more acute, and pleasure more decadent.
"There," Lasha whispered. "You see? Harmless as a kiss."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-25 05:07 pm (UTC)"Kisses aren't harmless," he whispered.
Not Lasha's. Not anyone's. Not in Taras' experience. He was getting better, but they still left him breathless.
He flexed his ass experimentally, registering the warm slickness of lube between his buttocks, slippery and depraved, like semen. The feeling of being thoroughly prepared for Lasha's pleasure felt wanton to the extreme.
The actual lubing had not been the part he was worried about, exactly. That part had almost been nice, Lasha's long, elegant fingers stroking his skin in a way that was mindful and erotic at once.
It was more at what would come after, now that his ass was ready for any sort of contact that it might occur to Ilarion to perpetrate.
He rolled his neck and shoulders and stretched his back, trying to loosen up, letting his spine pop under the tension.
Taras closed his eyes.
"I'm ready," he breathed. "This is going to be good, da? You'll make it good, Lasha."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-25 06:16 pm (UTC)He slid his body back into place, lithe and angular with strength, arched across Oleksei's broad back for a brief moment, kissing the side of the rough, conflicted throat that even now choked on its words.
Then he drew back.
"Spread your thighs," he uttered, soft and low in his throat.
His hands caged Oleksei's flanks, holding, caressing.
"Trust me, Taras. Trust your Lasha. Trust your krysha."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-25 07:33 pm (UTC)A dim memory returned, one he'd thought was gone, left behind like the past.
He had said very similar words to someone, somewhere far away and long ago. Relax. Trust me.
And, It's not a choice. I have to.
It hit him like a punch out of nowhere, rattled him to his core.
Taras held still for a few moments, shivering. Then very deliberately, he moved, edging his thighs apart with slow, hitching movements, parting the gap between his muscular haunches. Exposing the rift, and the slick path that led right to his entrance.
Taras eased his arms forward slowly, letting the arc of his shoulders drop, tilting his hips.
Above and behind, Lasha's breath was elevated, but steady. His voice warm with soft reassurance. His hands gentle.
In that moment, Taras did not care if it was coddling or not. He needed it.
"I trust you. You don't know how much. With all my - "
Taras paused, struggling to find words.
"With everything, Lashka. You know that."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-26 01:24 am (UTC)Ilarion didn't prolong Oleksei's suffering.
He leaned in, guiding his cock flush with the rift of the Captain's ass. For a moment he teased the soft, unyielding crepe of the opening with the smooth, arrowed head of the glans, moving his prick in toying circles.
Then he pulled back and re-situated his cock along the crease, like a gentleman.
"You see?" he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm not going to fuck you."
He held his cock, guiding it against the slickness with a firm hand, first up through the crease several times, glancing across Taras' entrance, then downward, underneath, so that his prick rubbed against the sensitive flat plane between Oleksei's asshole and balls.
Lasha gave an appreciative moan, pushing upward with his hand, grinding his cock against it. Above, the root of his cock and the flat of his loins still pressed intractably against Oleksei's entrance.
"Close your thighs," he entreated, quietly. "This is called Greek love, did you know that? Ironic, considering all we know of their warrior history, that it should be so named without penetration, but then, it was a custom among masters and novices, femoral intercourse."
He murmured a litany of senseless esoterica, half merely to put Taras at ease, half because he knew Taras liked to learn such classical things.
Ilarion dropped his voice to a subtone, as he began to thrust his hips in the narrow slot afforded by Oleksei's bulging thighs.
"I'll get off between your legs, but you should still be able to feel my hard prick, against you, inches from where you live."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-26 09:42 am (UTC)"I feel it," he whispered.
It was not hard to miss. Ilarion's cock slid along his crack and between his sensitive inner thighs, his groin rubbing intimately against him.
Taras felt glad for all the lube that Lasha had used, in retrospect. It made each stroke slick and easy, far less raw and more luxuriant than the rub of bare skin. It felt indulgent.
Lasha's regular, even strokes made it easier as well. Each pass built on the one before, the rocking motion against him familiar even if Lasha's particular position was not. He felt himself relaxing, starting to respond instead of just laying rigidly under Lasha.
He exhaled, slowly.
"It's not bad," he muttered. "Those Greeks weren't stupid."
Taras braced his arms in front of him, his powerful body stretched out along the bed, and above him, against him, Ilaron rode his back and pleasured himself and talked to him about history.
"So what did the warriors do? You mean they - "
He shivered, swallowing.
"They fucked each other?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-26 10:07 am (UTC)Ilarion's palms coursed over Taras' back in long, absent ellipses as he thrust into the tight embrace of Oleksei's thighs.
"The Romans, as well," he said after a moment, "although they preferred not to admit it to their wives and the senate."
He closed his eyes.
"In Rome, you would be a gladiator, and noble men would pay for this privilege, Taras."
He smiled faintly.
"Perhaps even Caesar himself."
His loins felt heavy with impending release, and he savored the slide of his prick, warm and hard and rhythmic, his hips abutting Oleksei's powerful ass in a pastiche of sodomy.
"You would be victorious," he murmured, "and the noble wives would line up to pay for the milk of your exertion, that most precious cosmetic- sweat flensed from your body with honey and sand, and sold in a jar."
He dropped his voice.
"They would pay for your services, as well, like a stabled stallion."
Lasha exhaled in a shuddery breath.
"As would the men. Many were catamites, who longed to be fucked. And some...to do what I do now. Or more."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-26 08:07 pm (UTC)Taras shivered under Lasha, gasping softly.
His thighs flexed, responsive now, hips rising and body moving with Lasha's.
"I like that."
He could always picture the things that Ilarion talked about, because Ilarion had a talent for describing them. Taras found he liked that image of himself, dressed in the ancient armor he'd seen in paintings, a warrior, a champion gladiator. Taking women and these catamites up against the wall. Maybe some noblemen as well.
It sounded to Taras like gladiators were prized like animals but treated like men. Feared in the arena and respected by all.
He could feel the pitch of Isaev's thrusts coming harder and stronger, building toward his release. Taras began to find he could enjoy the press of Lasha's body against his, feeling the strength in his frame. Full body contact was something he had always liked.
The path that Lasha's cock took between Taras' thighs throbbed, prickling with heat.
Something occurred to him, a thought that had seeped slowly through his awareness and now bloomed to conscious thought.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Those men, Lasha...those men who wanted the gladiators," he whispered. "It wasn't that they wanted to fuck them because they didn't respect them, was it?"
Taras shuddered, his ass and thighs clenching.
"They wanted to fuck them because they did."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-26 09:02 pm (UTC)"Da," he panted, softly labored. "That's right."
He felt the peak begin it's inexorable ascent.
"They wanted to fuck them because they were paragons of men, because they were a study in savagery and primal beauty. Because sex and violence will always be entwined. They're not the same, Taras, but they are both passions. One might inflame the other. And powerful need can feel like violence, when it is in fact lustful passion."
His breath checked as the storm roiled inside him, his balls tightening, the shivers coming over him.
Lasha pressed his lips against Taras' ear, voice soft and rough with urgency.
"Do you fuck me because you don't respect me?"
With that he seized, giving a final hard thrust of his body, sinking his hips deep and feeling the crest of the wave wash over him, wracking him with pleasure and bittersweetness, heavy and battering.
Lasha pulled back as he felt his prick contract, shooting his essence onto Oleksei's back in a spatter of pearled white heat, unloading more as he eased himself through the rift once more, leaving Taras obscenely marked with his seed.
It was beautiful to him.
"My tribute to Ares," he murmured, softly, chasing his breath.
His hand rubbed Oleksei's rounded flank with absent tenderness.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-26 10:17 pm (UTC)His back tingled where Lasha had marked him. His issue felt thick and hot on Taras' skin, like tattooed droplets, more potent than the fine glaze of sweat that sheened his broad back.
He swallowed, feeling himself shiver.
"Moved like the earth," he muttered, breath hushed against the sheets, barely audible.
He raised his head slightly and glanced back at Lasha. He could see Lasha out of the corner of his eye, resting against him, behind him, breathing hard. Taras liked seeing him like that, not quite perfectly composed, like Taras could move him as well.
"I do respect you. More than anyone. That's not how I meant it. It's not that. I don't know. It's different in my head when it's about me."
Taras felt like he was just on the verge of understanding something elusive and important, a concept he could not fully put into words. Lasha's explanation burned quietly in the back of his mind.
"But that wasn't bad. I would do that, if I were a gladiator."
His thighs felt lightly chafed and sensitive. He closed his eyes and rested his head, liking the awareness he felt there.
"Maybe I'd do more."
After a second, Taras realized what he had said. His breath hitched slightly, eyes going wide.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-27 04:46 am (UTC)"Well I'm not asking for more," he declared, carelessly.
He eased back, giving a leisurely stretch, rolling his shoulders and cocking his head from side to side.
"Spasiba, Captain, for the use of your vessel."
Lasha yawned and slid down onto the bed to one side of where Oleksei lay, gazing at him with benign and sated eyes.
"It was a pleasure," he murmured.
Taras remained where he lay, staring straight ahead.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-27 06:44 am (UTC)Laying there, Taras felt strange, like he had been marked, like property.
He licked his lips, wondering what the protocol was when a guy had semen on his back, if he could roll over or if that was too messy. He was sure there was already a damp spot on the bed underneath his loins.
"Glad you liked it."
The impression of Lasha's weight on his back lingered, even though Lasha had rolled off of him and settled down. Taras wondered if he would dream of that now, a man on his back, a stiff cock pressed against his hole. It was enough to make him shiver again.
He grabbed the pillow on his side of the bed, and laid his head down.
Instinctively, he turned his head toward Ilarion, and not away, and found that Lasha was looking at him drowsily.
Taras' gaze flickered.
"Thanks for...telling me about the gladiators," he whispered.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-27 07:41 am (UTC)He broke off abruptly, eyes averting with brush-fire swiftness.
"That I have at home in my library," he remonstrated, neutrally. "If ancient Roman and Greek culture interests you, that is."
For a moment his heart beat staggeringly out of rhythm, like the wings of a dying bird.
Lasha glanced up, eyes seeking Oleksei again.
He paused, letting his head sink back onto the pillow.
"We'll be home soon."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-27 08:30 am (UTC)He turned toward Lasha and ran his hand gently over Lasha's forehead and back through his hair.
"Da, I'd like that. Maybe I can come over. I didn't get to see your library last time."
He was aware that Lasha had been about to say something else. Taras let his hand linger for a few moments, caressing Ilarion's scalp.
"Things will be good when we're home."
Taras settled his head down.
"For all of us. You'll see."