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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."
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 06:59 am (UTC)He smiled faintly, resting his head against his hand.
"What would you suggest we do? Now that whores are out."
He leaned back slightly, reclining in the chair, easing his shoulders out from beneath the cashmere robe with a minimal gesture.
"Never mind, Oleksei. I'm sure we'll think of something suitably festive."
Lasha shrugged, idly.
"We always do."
He lifted his gaze to Oleksei's, indolent and half-lidded.
"Too bad about Anya," he murmured. "I'd love to fuck her with you again."
He snorted lightly.
"Alas, I can't even look at that horse-faced cunt."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 08:56 am (UTC)Taras nodded slowly.
Personally, he thought Lasha was being a little extreme, but that was Lasha. Taras thought he would probably change his mind one day and decide to forgive Anya. Maybe he would even do it if Taras asked him to. Taras wasn't sure, but for now, he thought maybe Ilarion needed to hold onto the grudge a little longer.
He refilled their glasses, letting his gaze linger on the lean lines of Lasha's smooth chest.
"Maybe a whore wouldn't be a bad idea, for your birthday," he said, after a moment, considering. "I don't think I'd mind it if we were fucking her at the same time."
Taras pondered the idea for a few moments. For some reason, Barshai suddenly came to mind.
He frowned, disturbed by his own thought. He took a hurried sip of cognac.
"And if we had a whore, we could do that thing that Anya didn't want to do."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 08:32 pm (UTC)"Don't patronize me, Oleksei."
The woman had crossed the physical line. That did not sit well with Isaev; never had. The crossing of the physical barrier, whether in tenderness or ire, had a profound impact on his nature. Lasha never was unaware that passionate possession carried the ultimate inversion of passionate dispossession.
As swiftly as he could draw one into his embrace, he could jettison them with prejudice, if they abused his goodwill.
He drew his robe back around him, slightly, and reached for his cognac.
"That woman struck me. A superior. Over mere words, which I was wholly within my right to say, I might add. She's fortunate I didn't press her for assault of an officer. She would have wound up in the North."
His lip curved into a frozen snarl.
"If by some miracle she ever finds herself whoring for us again, she'll take us both in any fashion we choose. In fact, perhaps she'll take us both in your favorite place. I was far too generous before, persuading you off her back, in light of her delicate sensibilities."
Ilarion's smile was bitter.
"Generosity, once abused, must never be extended again."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 09:57 pm (UTC)"Da, Krysha. I understand."
He said it to let Lasha know he took it seriously, and that as krysha, his word was law, a law that outranked all others.
Taras felt a brief regret. Anya had been good to him, and very good at giving advice. But he understood Lasha's reasoning. And as krysha, that was Lasha's call.
He thought it was too bad. But like when he had to kill someone who didn't particularly deserve it, that was sometimes how things went.
"You should get a new one, then," he said. "There's no use keeping her around anymore."
He sat back in his chair and thought about it.
"You should get someone like Barshai. He's polite. And it seems like he's grateful, for what you give him."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-11 08:28 am (UTC)"A man?" he said. "Perhaps so."
His father had a male secretary. Competent, unquestioning, lucid. Efficacious. Well-mannered.
Not prone to fits of hysteria and face-slapping.
"If I hired a man, do you think he would do what Anya wouldn't?" Lasha said, coolly, with a curve of his lip.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-11 05:26 pm (UTC)"Maybe," he said, after a moment. "I think you could find one that would."
Taras had not specifically been thinking of a man when he said it, but Barshai had jumped to mind as being someone who would make a very good secretary for Isaev.
The more that he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.
He sipped at his cognac.
"We could, you know, have interviews. And you could say things the way you do."
He paused, brow knitting briefly.
"Insinuating. And then he could either take the hint or not. Then you'd know."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-12 05:08 am (UTC)"Would you like that, Taras?" he asked, softly, insinuatingly.
He leaned in, tilting his head and gazing at Oleksei's face.
"If I hired a man who would do such things?"
Ilarion was intrigued by this about-face.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-12 09:17 am (UTC)"Da, that's the voice I mean," he muttered.
He glanced away. Every time he breathed, he drew in Lasha's scent, subtly spiced and masculine.
That made it hard to concentrate. Taras frowned.
"I guess that...would be...something...different. For a change."
Taras spoke very slowly, pausing to let the words sit there, as if trying them out for the first time.
He grunted in the vague affirmative.
There had been a time when Taras would not have said anything of the sort to Lasha. That was when Taras had believed that a man who insisted that getting fucked in the ass was not queer was somehow not queer himself.
That was when Taras had not wanted to admit the things he wanted, even in his own head.
He drew his gaze back to Lasha's.
"If you like that...I'll try it. And if we don't like it, we can just get another girl instead."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-12 09:59 am (UTC)"Indeed," he whispered.
He studied Taras for another moment, then drew a breath of pause.
"It occurs to me, Oleksei, that there's no reason you should forfeit the charms of a perfectly good and willing woman merely because I decide to cut her adrift. Tell me, Tarashik- would you like to have Anya for your own? If you want to keep her on, I won't fire her. She will be spared by your good grace."
It occurred to Ilarion several seconds later that considering the relative peace that seemed to have erupted between he and Liadov that morning at a rather civil tea, it would be doubly ill-advised to dismiss Anya and throw her out into the cold.
Liadov might well be returning, and they might have a shot a some kind of amicable resolution. Lasha didn't know exactly how much stock Nika actually put in Anya's well-being and happiness- personally, he thought such things were more like lip service- but there was always the chance, with Liadov, that he was in earnest.
Taras had looked disappointed when Lasha had slammed down his ultimatum on the issue of Anya, in addition, and though he had acquiesced readily enough, it had not escaped Ilarion's notice. Taras, of course, had not been on the receiving end of her estrogen fueled hysterical flailing.
"Perhaps you should marry her," Lasha said, distantly.
Then he smiled, sharklike.
"I jest, of course. Perhaps you should marry Masha."
In the next moment he was turning cool, suggestive eyes toward Taras once more.
"What manner of man would you like him to be?"
For a moment he was reminded of the Evropeiskaya, all those many months ago, and sequitur, the voice in his head filled in "sturdy".
no subject
Date: 2009-08-12 06:14 pm (UTC)He wasn't sure which thing to address first. It struck him that Lasha was probably trying to throw him off balance, in the way that Lasha did.
He lowered his gaze to take a sip of cognac.
"Don't want to get married," he said, finally. It was the thing he felt most definitively about. "Women are too much trouble. It's bad enough I have sisters."
His lip twisted.
Taras knew he would have said the same thing six months ago, and he would say it six months from now. He thought that some things had changed for him, but that, he knew, would not.
As far as Taras was concerned, it was more manly not to be married.
"And Anya...no. I don't want her. She disrespected you, Lasha. I can't act like that's okei with me. I'm on your side, not hers. And anyway, if I keep her, it sends the wrong message."
He shrugged dismissively, then resolved not to think of it anymore. It was what it was.
"If a man had hit you, I would have broken his fucking face," he added. "So she's lucky to get off with only being fired. Or if you want to keep her around because you think she knows too much, there's probably something else she can do. Maybe organize files in the basement."
He grabbed the cognac bottle and poured them both another hit. They were starting to make a good dent in it.
Taras fell silent for a while, considering the last. He could feel Lasha's gaze on him.
Ilarion was watching him with coolly appraising eyes, waiting for his response.
"We should have a good secretary," he said, slowly. "A polite one. Not one that's old or something. One that knows his place. And not some arrogant prick who thinks he's better than shit."
It would be something like having a bitch, he decided.
At least, borrowing a comrade's.
At first he had thought of Barshai that way, since Lasha obviously did. But Barshai had surprised Taras with the things he said, and now he was more like a friend.
He paused.
"One that doesn't complain," he added.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 08:07 am (UTC)All in all, it had been a not half-bad day.
"Perhaps I'll find her a different assignment," he declared, in a rare twinge of magnanimity. "Perhaps I won't terminate her with prejudice."
Ilarion rubbed his cheek vaguely as he considered it. He had never had a glass jaw, but he had thin skin. A punch was nothing, a slap was a rankling insult.
"Or perhaps I'll keep her on, right where she is, in awkward service to a hostile and silent superior."
He smiled faintly, raising his cognac to his lips.
It was beginning to numb his lips and teeth and tongue pleasantly, and blur all his hard edges.
"Options. So many options," he murmured.
He eyed Taras obliquely.
"I suppose that's part of the appeal, isn't it. Of a man."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 05:04 pm (UTC)"Da," he said, carefully, not exactly sure what he was agreeing to. "You like the idea too."
It seemed that Ilarion found the thought of a male secretary intriguing, at least. Taras decided he might like to watch Lasha pound some chelovik over his desk.
"Da," he said again, more slowly. "It could be interesting."
He shifted, leaning back in his chair, eyes low-lidded.
"What...manner of man...do you want him to be?"
Taras rubbed his thigh as he thought about it.
"How are you going to find him?"
no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 07:18 pm (UTC)"It all depends on if..."
He paused, letting his head fall back.
"If Liadov comes back to Leningrad, I can't possibly risk such degeneracy."
His stomach tightened slightly as he envisioned Nika's reaction in discovery.
An image of his mother flashed into his mind. Barshai. Then his father with his red-haired whores.
He was not his father.
Lasha was not Aleksandr.
Upset, he reached for the draining cognac bottle and splashed another measure into his glass.
"Anya...that's one thing," he muttered, carelessly. "We both know women mean nothing."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 09:17 pm (UTC)He held his glass to his lips but did not drink, frowning.
"Da, right. You wouldn't want to..."
Was betray the right word, he wondered.
No, he reasoned a moment, later. The act was not the issue at all. It was that Lasha didn't want to get caught.
He wondered what it meant, for him.
Even if Isaev and Liadov did not reconcile immediately, his very presence in Leningrad would change things, because Lasha would act differently.
No more fucking secretaries over desks, no more whores, not that Taras wanted them, maybe even no more opera and no more theatre, and no more spending evenings in each other's company, all because Lasha wouldn't want Liadov to get the wrong idea. Or the right one.
Taras wasn't sure which it was.
He felt vaguely ill for a moment, thinking about it, like the nausea that came after a gut punch.
He took a long swallow of cognac.
"If," Taras said slowly, staring at the stove, "if he comes back, things are going to change, da?"
no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 07:08 am (UTC)"Oh Taras, don't be ridiculous."
He nursed the glass to his lips, shaking his head in careless amusement.
The cognac slipped over the threshold of his lips like silk. Down his throat, coating it in a burning gold lustre.
"Things won't change. Things would return to normal."
He licked his lips, slightly, stroking his lower lip with a finger reflectively.
"All in all, that's not bad stuff, Oleksei."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 07:52 am (UTC)"Da," he said, slowly. "It has a good aftertaste."
Kind of delicate and almost smoky, now that he paused to notice.
Taras closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He decided to put it out of his mind, for now. Worrying about it would not change anything, and it wouldn't help, either.
"All right, Lasha. We'll figure it out."
He reached for the bottle so he could top off their glasses.
"Guess that's another reason why you might not want to get rid of Anya so fast."
Taras thought about what Lasha had said. That, he thought, was ironic. Lasha said women meant nothing, but the whole mess had started over a woman, and because Ilarion had thought she was much more than nothing.
Taras glanced at Isaev.
"Liadov is kind of...protective, da?"
no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 09:49 pm (UTC)Oleksei seemed inordinately concerned about Liadov's return, as if he expected him to have forgotten everything about Leningrad HQ, and he would stumble over chairs and misfile all their cases or something.
Taras didn't know Nika, of course, apart from a few tense and glancing interactions, so Ilarion could conceivably understand his skepticism.
"Really, Oleksei, it will be fine."
Lasha paused slightly, considering his glass.
"In the grand scheme of all these years, this has been a momentary lark."
Lasha was offhand, nonchalant, almost breezy when discussing it, but Oleksei's mention of the secretary brought him back to a brooding place.
"And then there is the matter of Anya. He was always protective of her in the past," Lasha ruminated, cocking an eyebrow. "But as I told him that day at mess, loyalty is nothing if not transient. Hers is no longer to him. Why should he continue to cosset and hover around her?"
no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 11:04 pm (UTC)He pushed the meaning of the words away from him.
"I know, Lasha. I just..."
Taras shook himself, shrugging it off.
"It doesn't matter. You're right. I just need to get used to working with him. That's all."
That, at least, was true, Taras thought. He already knew Liadov on a more personal level. The fact that he had actually ended up liking the guy made it more complicated.
He sat silently for a few moments, not drinking.
"Last night you said something. That you would call Aleksandr. Ask him to cancel the order, since Liadov was so angry about it."
Taras turned his head slowly.
"You don't think you need to do that anymore," he finished, not a question.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-18 09:01 am (UTC)"I tried," he said, at last.
He cleared his throat, slightly, running his hand slowly back over his silvery blond crown.
"Just today, as a matter of fact. I put in a call, and I made my case."
Lasha's lip stilled, almost sullen, as his brow shifted, low over his eyes.
"But Aleksandr wasn't having it. He was adamant. Nikanor Grigorivich is coming home, he said. He's needed in Leningrad."
He snorted very softly.
"You can bet that doesn't happen very often."
It irked Lasha now, on a deeper level, that the choice would not be Liadov's alone.
"I don't know what Aleksandr's fixation is. What the hell does it matter? He has me. He has countless drones."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-18 06:44 pm (UTC)"I think it matters," he said, slowly, "because he's an Isaev. And he wants what's his."
It seemed fairly evident to Taras. Maybe Lasha couldn't see it because he was just like that too.
He looked at Lasha, who resembled his father, especially in the line of the jaw and brow. Less so in the eyes, Taras thought. Taras did not know Aleksandr personally, but he knew who he was.
"It's like what you were saying about loyalty. He needs to keep Nika close."
Taras faltered, frowning, as he realized he had not called him Liadov.
"I'm your man," he went on, after a second, "and your father thinks you and Liadov are his."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-18 10:44 pm (UTC)"Be that as it may, I would never put you anywhere you didn't want to be, Taras."
It cost him something to say the words, both to Oleksei as a sentiment and to make the admission that Liadov was returning to Leningrad against his will.
"Even when you were between my thighs, you wanted it."
Ilarion's lips pushed outward in a sulky moue.
"Even when I ordered you to polish my boots."
Without looking at Taras he seized the bottle of cognac. They were down to a third.
"If I thought you were under duress, and not complicit-"
Lasha snorted.
"Well, to be brutally honest, dubious consent has never concerned me, but outright refusal would be respected."
He poured himself another measure and unhanded the bottle carelessly.
"You're not a slave."
Though if Ilarion was completely honest, the words evoked a picture, and image that flashed into his mind did not entirely displease him. Another time, an opulent Rome; Caesar receiving his victorious gladiator.
A tiny smile knifed onto his lips.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-18 11:45 pm (UTC)His mismatched eyes were wide. He knocked back the rest of his drink, to give his mouth something to do, feeling a little off balance.
The thought of Ilarion's thighs was now in his mind, lingering, even when he tried to push it out.
Taras cleared his throat.
"Da, I know you're not like that. Like Aleksandr. I trust you for a reason, Lasha. I know you wouldn't pull that shit."
He grabbed the bottle, a brief scowl tugging his brow low.
"I know you would have waited for Liadov for as long as you had to."
He paused, and thought about what he had seen that morning, the way they sat across from each other, drinking tea.
"I think Liadov knows that, too."
Taras exhaled deliberately.
"That's why you have...that's what you were saying, about devotion."
He raised his head and looked at Lasha intently.
"Everything I've done, I wanted to do. There's isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, Lasha."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 08:43 am (UTC)He had not been idle where Liadov was concerned. Perhaps he would have cringed and drawn a line before forcing Aleksandr's hand to jerk Nika's strings, but running him to the ground, exhausting his resolve with sheer predatory tenacity- well, that was another matter.
As it turned out, Lasha hadn't had a chance to exercise his rare restraint. Aleksandr had forced his hand instead.
"But yes," he said, softly, "it is about devotion. Whether you or him."
His lashes swept down, pressed against his cheeks for a moment as he breathed in, slowly.
"And as I've told you, devotion is ever my weakness."
The room was warm and still. Outside the mountain wind whistled and brushed the dark window.
"Taras."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 09:07 pm (UTC)He couldn't decide if the way Lasha said his name was an invitation, or the lead-in to a question, or something else.
It hung there, as if something was supposed to come after it.
Slowly, he looked over at Lasha.
Ilarion looked regal in his fine robe and silk pants, the drink in his hand, the negligent, relaxed pose. In the dim light, his eyes were hooded, and the cut of his cheekbones and angular line of his jaw were outlined in shadow.
"Da, Krysha?" Taras whispered.
He shifted in his chair, leaning forward. After a second, he reached out, and laid his hand on Lasha's thigh. The black silk was slick under his fingertips, warmed by Lasha's body heat. He could feel solid muscle underneath.
"What...do you want?" he asked, softly.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 09:43 pm (UTC)Taras' hand was enjoyably heavy on his leg; Lasha could feel the heat of his broad palm through the fine veneer of silk.
He reached out, slowly, cupping the back of the Captain's head in a leisurely fashion.
"Serve me," he whispered.
Lasha drew him forward, keeping his gaze obscure, but his intent heavy beneath.
"Adore me."
His back was supple, relaxed and conforming to the wingbacked chair, his posture receptive and sensual. He felt the cashmere robe loosen as he moved, falling away from his body slightly.
Ilarion found himself anticipating Oleksei's formidable weight with some degree of erotic expectation.
"Because you want to."
The last words were dark, and sounded only on the very edges of his breath.