Ilarion regarded Oleksei in turn, tilting his head. He liked the visual of the Captain's powerful, untamed body resting back on his knees like an idle tiger, considering him.
His voice dropped to a lower register, cool and demanding.
"I want you to inhabit me."
His eyes narrowed as he thought about the ways he liked to be taken; possibilities bloomed lush and hedonistic before the eye of his mind.
Taras, of course, had triggers. Willful denials that sprung from the North. He had indicated a desire to avoid certain configurations.
"Fill me with your flesh."
Ilarion made a move to grasp Oleksei and guide him forward, when the phone rang again.
He frowned.
That made twice in one night he'd been called after hours.
"Izvinitchye," he murmured, distracted.
He stared at the phone for a moment. He let it ring again, in case it had been a clerical error.
It was unlike Aleksandr to call twice, because it was unlike Aleksandr to require a second call, at least as far as business was concerned. He generally delivered information in the most concise possible manner.
When it rang a third time he reached for the receiver and picked it up.
"Isaev," he said, with suspicious recalcitrance.
"Hello, Lasha." A pause, as Ilarion realized who he was speaking to. "...Did I wake you?"
"No," Ilarion said, at once, sitting bolt upright, checking himself at the halfway mark and settling slowly back into a more leisurely posture. "No, not at all."
Nika exhaled, softly.
"Khorosho."
There was a gravid silence on the line between them. Ilarion was aware of his hand trembling, even as the rest of his body was perfectly still. He crushed it against the bed.
"Is everything all right?" he said, forcing control, breaking the stillness of deep water once more.
"No," Liadov said, with unvarnished honesty and a slight, raw hint of laughter. "No, Lasha, everything is not all right, but we do what we can, davai?"
"You spoke to Aleksandr."
"Yes, I spoke to him." Pause. "At length, as usual."
He could hear the wry humor in Liadov's voice and he smiled too, faint and crisp, invisible through the telephone line.
"Of course," he murmured.
He lay back, slowly, eyes seeking Oleksei once more, finding him silent, staring hard, his mismatched eyes unfathomable.
no subject
Ilarion regarded Oleksei in turn, tilting his head. He liked the visual of the Captain's powerful, untamed body resting back on his knees like an idle tiger, considering him.
His voice dropped to a lower register, cool and demanding.
"I want you to inhabit me."
His eyes narrowed as he thought about the ways he liked to be taken; possibilities bloomed lush and hedonistic before the eye of his mind.
Taras, of course, had triggers. Willful denials that sprung from the North. He had indicated a desire to avoid certain configurations.
"Fill me with your flesh."
Ilarion made a move to grasp Oleksei and guide him forward, when the phone rang again.
He frowned.
That made twice in one night he'd been called after hours.
"Izvinitchye," he murmured, distracted.
He stared at the phone for a moment. He let it ring again, in case it had been a clerical error.
It was unlike Aleksandr to call twice, because it was unlike Aleksandr to require a second call, at least as far as business was concerned. He generally delivered information in the most concise possible manner.
When it rang a third time he reached for the receiver and picked it up.
"Isaev," he said, with suspicious recalcitrance.
"Hello, Lasha." A pause, as Ilarion realized who he was speaking to. "...Did I wake you?"
"No," Ilarion said, at once, sitting bolt upright, checking himself at the halfway mark and settling slowly back into a more leisurely posture. "No, not at all."
Nika exhaled, softly.
"Khorosho."
There was a gravid silence on the line between them. Ilarion was aware of his hand trembling, even as the rest of his body was perfectly still. He crushed it against the bed.
"Is everything all right?" he said, forcing control, breaking the stillness of deep water once more.
"No," Liadov said, with unvarnished honesty and a slight, raw hint of laughter. "No, Lasha, everything is not all right, but we do what we can, davai?"
"You spoke to Aleksandr."
"Yes, I spoke to him." Pause. "At length, as usual."
He could hear the wry humor in Liadov's voice and he smiled too, faint and crisp, invisible through the telephone line.
"Of course," he murmured.
He lay back, slowly, eyes seeking Oleksei once more, finding him silent, staring hard, his mismatched eyes unfathomable.