was walking towards the tea house in the market, the
one with the mosaics. The late autumn was unseasonably
hot, giving no reprieve from the temperatures yet. Moving
through the narrow pathways of the overcrowded bazaar,
he found his way without looking by now, it wasn't the
first time he'd checked out the place.
through a cacophony of smells, colours and sounds, he
was cursing himself. That same goddamned teahouse. For
the umpteenth fucking time.
what, three weeks? Four? No. Exactly three weeks and
four days since the bastard had shown him more about
himself than he'd ever wanted to know.
He wanted to know more and that bloody cunt knew it.
Had jerked off every damned night thinking of the Russkie
and this 'more', whatever it was. That body, the heat,
that hated man.
think, Dan. Could hardly think at all, ruled by his
cock. What had he said to that arsewipe? One day
your cock will kill you. How ironic.
knew the bastard was in the tea house before he'd even
set foot in it, he could sense the wanker. Standing
in the entrance, Dan stepped through and into the cool
shade and quiet. A haven in the centre of insanity and
heat with its tables, cushions, rugs. The courtyard
was half-empty, and Dan thought he could smell the fucker
before he saw him. There. Sitting in the shade.
ignored the racing pulse. Touched the familiar blade
against his thigh through the hole in his trouser pocket,
and casually stepped out of the shadow into the sunlight.
by heat. Late autumn and it was still scorching hot.
Taking a few hours off training; Vadim had been forced
into exercises, whenever there was a gap in the schedule,
another exercise, then the staccato of missions out
in the mountains. Now, resting, recovering. He didn't
just get wasted like so many others.
tea house owner had to hate him by now. Ruined his business
for a few hours at least twice a week. His favourite
place in Kabul. The tea was good, he was left mostly
in peace, and yes, this was the place where he had met
the other soldier. He'd come back to the crime scene.
Vadim spent his free afternoons reading and drinking
tea, lying on his left side, head resting on his hand,
elbow supporting him.
today. From the corner of his eye, Vadim saw a man step
closer. His hand fell on the gun that the book conveniently
covered. Then glanced up. Four weeks. The sling was
gone. Both hands free. Armed, of course. He turned his
head to look at the waiter who was clearing away glasses,
seven or eight metres away. "More tea", he
said. As far as his Pushtu would go.
sweet." Dan turned his head, calling to the waiter,
his own command of the language remarkably smooth, "and
Done it. Congratulations, Dan. You haven't kicked the
fucker's face in yet, a whole two seconds. You haven't
jumped his bones either, or cut his throat, or splattered
his brains across the courtyard with that pistol you've
got hidden. Or sucked his cock.
a cushion with his boot, then lowered down to sit opposite
the other. Far enough away for a sudden attack, close
enough to smell the scent of fresh sweat.
nothing. Didn't have a fucking clue, what.
turned the page. The letters had changed from elegant
Russian to chickenscrawl. He'd be damned if he'd show
it. Acted as if finishing the paragraph, which ran to
the next page, lazily adjusted himself as if unaware
of anybody watching him. Then looked at the number on
the page and closed the book and put it down to cover
the pistol. Couldn't remember which number it was he
had stared at.
what to say. Welcome back, Dan. He had been gloating
in his mind, in secret, imagining how the other would
find him. But it was a little shock when it actually
happened. "You made quick exit", he stated,
deciding to start right where they had stopped. "Forgot
your jacket." He nodded towards a bundle between
them. The jacket that had smelled of the other until
it took on Vadim's smell. A trophy he would sometimes
sleep on. He'd gone so far as to wear it. A private
joke, like parading around in the skin of a lion.
shrugged. "You can keep it if you like it so much,
didn't know they couldn't at least provide you with
kit, Russkie." Insults came easy, but secretly
glad of the other's start.
room in the outskirts of Kabul, waiting.
smirked. "Guess I can always sell it." Sadly
enough, most of the stuff going on in the barracks and
outside was black market. Blackest market. The Afghans
bought everything, especially military kit. A huge problem,
and one that was impossible to control as long as the
conscripts were as hungry and as lonely as they were.
smirked, "Got some water at last, or is the smell
in this place not the shower rationing?" He settled
onto his hip, glancing up as the waiter returned with
room. Secluded. His own.
was displeased how much the other knew about affairs
in the barracks. Or maybe all the Brit had to do was
keep his ears open. He was reasonably clean, nowhere
near the standards that he liked to keep, but he looked
positively polished next to half his comrades. Strike
that. Most, unless it was a higher rank. Main way to
keep clean was to remain shaved. "Sorry if I offend
your sensibilities. Just came back from kicking goat-fucker
ass." Bared his teeth.
is better than eating it." Dan's eyes widened,
hoped to cover the motion immediately. Where the hell
had that one come from?
by the motion of Vadim's hand as the Russian rubbed
his chest, close to where the burn scar was. His gaze
got stuck. Just couldn't get his eyes off the burn scar.
His mark. His cigarette. His cunt.
fucking room still waiting.
wasn't quite sure what 'to eat ass' meant in English.
The other used a lot of slang, and while he was reasonably
confident with American slang - the basics, never enough
to understand all of it - it could mean anything. He
decided it was meant to be rude, as usual. He decided
it probably meant something like 'suck up to'.
part of mission. Unlike yours", he answered, evenly.
cursed himself, took the tea, swallowing a far too large
gulp of the scalding liquid. Took all his willpower
not to scream and spit it back out. Fuck. That hurt.
Hoped his eyes didn't water and feared the roof of his
mouth was hanging down in strips. He fished for his
fags, vowed he'd slit his own throat if his hands were
shaking. Managed to light one. His mouth hurt, and the
pain made him angry. That, and the need that was gnawing
at his insides. He snorted, inhaled the smoke deeply,
forced it back out.
know fuck-all about my mission." Dan wanted to
finish the tea, get out of the place, never return.
off, Dan extinguished the fag, half smoked. Had this
overwhelming urge to not give a fuck anymore. Should
just kill him, get it over with. Did the next best thing
instead, leant closer.
want to smash your damned face in, Russkie. Kick your
head, break your nose, reacquaint myself with the stickiness
of your blood." Voice lowering with every word.
Near-whispered intensity. "I have a room. Follow."
pulled his legs close, moved until he was crouching,
the movement uncannily elegant, an afterthought of a
mind always ready to kill. "Stickiness alright",
he said, snorting. Gathered the book, allowed the other
to see the gun as he holstered it, and took the discarded
jacket. Some sweat-drenched bills paid for the tea he
could he know what the Brit wanted? The other knew he
was Spetsnaz, his superior might have decided they wanted
him for interrogation. But then, he had made him come,
and he had seen the look on the other's face. Stricken.
Hooked. Vadim stood. "Lead way." He had long
weeks to work out what he had suspected for even longer.
Gavriil didn't cut it. Didn't penetrate his skin, never
got close enough.
was still staring. Hiding his surprise. Shit. That easy?
Getting off the cushions himself, he stood close, armed
with the knowledge of his own weapons, hidden on his
body, matching the others'.
He smirked, the word offered a stab of satisfaction.
out of the tea house, aware of the presence close by.
What was it going to be, Dan? Out to get yourself killed
this time? Curiosity killed the cat?
his way towards the North entrance of the bazaar, meandering
through the run-down streets of an already fucked-up
place. He'd wondered every time when entering the area
if he'd get his throat cut by a petty thief that time.
Could find the irony in it all, if he weren't so aware
of the other's presence.
him, Vadim thought as he followed, but he did remember
that this man was more than two hands could handle,
and that made it exciting and fun, just being around,
feeling how tense he was, how ready to fight, how he
expected no quarter and would give none if things escalated.
Truth was, he was hungry for it, slut, no slut, whatever.
He could punch him in the face later for that smirk.
stepped into a narrow alley that hardly allowed a man
through, leading towards a place so dark, seemed impossible
it could house a place to live. Senses alert, he slowed
his steps while moving forward.
got narrower, winding, half-blocked by rubble and trash.
Sometimes Vadim thought they should just rub this country
clean, destroy absolutely everything, and dump it into
a giant trashcan, then sit down and think about it,
and maybe start from scratch. He checked the roofs for
movement, reflections, but this place got so bad it
was even too bad for an ambush, and that meant something.
The word seared him. 'Slut' rubbed him exactly the wrong
way. He would show him slut. Just because he didn't
want to cause too much of a commotion in the tea house.
No, that was a lie. It could be as simple as wanting.
stepped into the thickest darkness, walking silently
and checking the path in front of them, ensuring that
no one waited in ambush.
covered the other while following him, secured the way
back, thought how amusing, they were united in the quest
for a place to get off - without getting a knife in
the back on the way there.
alley was clear, undisturbed, and the small building
appeared almost out of nothing. Just one ground floor
room, nothing else, yet windows to escape and a door
that was relatively sturdy. Dan stopped, took his time
to be certain they were alone, then produced a key to
open the padlock that secured the door. He said nothing,
just stepped inside into the gloomy light that came
from shuttered windows.
almost laughed. No ambush. He stepped through the door,
careful, made sure the door couldn't be slammed into
his face, gave the other space to lock and bolt the
kept out of reach of the Russian, but had to turn his
back to bolt the door. Couldn't be too careful, but
the windows could serve as escape routes if they had
to, and there were always the weapons in the room, hidden
in places only he did know. The lock took a moment longer,
oiled or not, the dust was settling into everything.
moment he could hear the faint click of metal, Vadim
crossed the distance and placed his boot in a devastating
kick between the other man's shoulder blades, hissing
sharply with the kick, using a fair measure of his anger.
Wanted to beat him to a fucking pulp for calling him
slut, for smirking like that.
Dan shouted, felled by the boot in his back. How could
he have been so fucking stupid? Wankstaining arsewipe
of a bloody stupid, brainless cunt that he was? He went
down like a felled tree, couldn't react fast enough,
no time to answer with punches, dragged across the floor,
then kicked again and crying out at the pain that flared
in his side.
you!" Vadim snarled with feeling. He reached
for the knife in the small of his back.
was never over, and Dan's hand fumbled despite the pain,
found the trusted knife, slipped it into his hand. "Fucking
cunt!" Scrambled to his knees. He'd cut
the bastard's throat, or at least his face.
saw the glint of the knife, his own was on its way,
came to rest against the dark skin of the man's throat,
to the side, knew all he could get now was a stand-off,
and that very moment he could feel the faintest of pressures
against the inside of his thigh, one violent motion,
and the other could sever the femoral artery, and that
was such a messy way to go. Vadim didn't move to kill
him, just to get some fucking respect. Breathed hard,
eyes wide, catching every motion, every thought of a
motion, the length of steel between his legs arousing
him just as much as seeing his own knife against that
panting throat. Classical stand-off. Fuck. He was hard,
hungry to get a touch, get anything, thought of those
lips, they were close enough, and didn't dare to move
a muscle. Too fucking hard to think.
froze, his own knife poised right at the groin. That
cock. Hand brushing the heat, could smell the adrenaline
and the sweat. Swallowed hard, didn't move a muscle,
didn't even dare to blink. On his knees, twisted position,
even more fucked up the way his eyes were drawn to the
bulge in front of him. Shit. Could smell anger and lust,
no mistaking about the other's greed. And his own. No
longer flight or fuck but die or fuck.
be a shame to cut there, cunt." Dan pressed out
the words against the knife blade at his jugular.
laughed, but felt his body on edge. Needed, wanted,
craved touch. "Would it? I'm glad you think so."
Wrong words. Should have said something about cocksucking
and that raping a dead body wasn't nearly as much fun.
inched closer, the other man's hand brushed his cock,
faint, he would normally not make a fuss about it, but
it was impossibly intense with that knife. Licked his
lips. Put less pressure on the knife. Still there, still
potentially lethal, but no imminent danger to cut him
just when he twitched. Inched even closer. Would kill
to have him suck his cock, start a fucking genocide.
licked his lips, echoing the other's gesture. "Yeah,"
his voice raspy, throat dry, that fucking cock was still
too close, "would be a shame, your blood would
splatter my kit."
knife blade ghosted up the groin, lay against the cock.
Millimetres of movement that brought his hand closer
to the hardness he wanted to touch. See. Taste
Still didn't move, just his eyes, glued to the bulge.
Inhaling sharply, deeply, scent of musk and something
so goddamned male, he'd just lost his own battle.
your trousers down."
Dan, demands with a blade against your throat.
eyes widened. What the fuck
? He straightened,
the blade down there made him want to stand on his toes,
and aroused him more. Like the shave in the mountains.
Yes, he'd come if the other cut his throat. Truth. Stared
at the Brit, disbelieving he could get what he wanted,
disbelieving the man who had run away after a handjob
would do this. He planned to bite or do something equally
gruesome. But his cock was just as happy with that prospect.
They break something in special forces training. And
that something is common sense, he thought.
hand was so sweaty he hardly trusted his grip on the
knife, but the other hand did move to open his fly.
If the bastard bit, he'd skewer his neck. Last thing
he'd ever do. Promise. Fumbled and pulled the trousers
down, cock nearly touching those lips. Vadim tensed,
tried to control his breath.
shit." Dan murmured, felt the blade move against
his throat with every syllable. Scent so strong, it
poisoned his senses. Didn't know what the fuck he was
doing nor wanted to do, just followed the freedom the
two blades gave him. Moved his own, until it touched
the hollow between thigh and balls, would cut them off
clue what to do except parting his lips, moving his
head no more than a fraction, mindful of knife and life.
Took in that cock, lips closing around this impossible
heat and hardness.
nearly lost the knife. The tingle of the blade there
went up to a place deep in his guts, his balls felt
as if they wanted to escape into his body, and he wasn't
sure who or what was in control. It definitely wasn't
his knife, or his cock, or he himself, and yet the other
took him between his lips. The sight was impossibly
erotic, the slow going, deliberate, clearly he'd never
done this before, which was a rush in itself, far more
erotic than Gavriil's whole bag of tricks, up and including
his excellent breathing technique.
relished that taste. Onslaught of senses, unknown, unlike
any of the girls and nothing like he'd imagined when
wanking alone. Better. A motherfucking revelation and
he forgot that blade, moved his head forward, made himself
take in more, because he wanted. Badly. Fucking cocksucking
cunt of a British soldier. That's what he was.
stared, saw a change in the other's face and felt his
cock twitch as he saw something he had never expected
from this man, in this situation, with plenty of sharp
steel between them. Couldn't place it, then understood
it was lust. He groaned, muscles tensed, fuck the knife,
he wanted to move, but that was impossible. Kept the
hand on the knife at the throat, just barely, felt himself
shudder, rocked by that touch. "Just
kill me now", he whispered in Russian.
Dan couldn't think of killing. He wasn't sure if he
could think of anything at all. Except what the fuck
was he going to do with that cock now? Should be disgusted
with himself for kneeling on that floor and having that
Russian's cock in his mouth, but couldn't be arsed to
blade pressing against flesh, sensed the Russkie's knife
against his throat, needed it there, could pretend he
was forced or whatever shit his mind might try to convince
himself of. Later. Not now; now just the scent and taste,
and the sensation of hardness and heat.
unskilled, moved his head, took the other further in,
tried to remember what the fuck the girls and whores
had done. Had never bothered to think about anything
while on the receiving end. Was what they did,
not what he thought about.
Undefined. Was he one of them now? Couldn't give a flying
fuck. Breathed sharply, pushed down, tried to suck while
moving, just to get more of that mind-blowing sensation
but was as goddamned unskilled as a virginal bint.
left hand formed a fist, wanted to grab a handful of
that dark hair and pull him closer, force him
to take more, but there were enough inches of steel
between his legs to convince him that patience had to
be a virtue. Heat, wet heat, no tongue moving, no hand
to speed him along, no fucking leverage, but an enemy
sucking him. Because he wanted. His head spun, worse
than with the sensation alone, the fact it was the same
man who had beaten him up, cut his back open, punched
him in the face, had tried everything to kill him. Could
kill him right now.
tried to remain still, hips hardly moving, didn't dare
with the edge of steel too fucking close to things he
valued. Not enough friction, not enough control. It
would be a struggle to come. As much as he wanted to,
seeing those lips around his cock, seeing that face
so close, so fucking vulnerable, intense, the man was
always so incredibly intense, fighting, hating, and
even more so when lusting.
drove him slowly insane, every motion, just a fraction
away from enough, but that fraction kept him on the
other side. Not a fucking chance. He was breathing harshly,
muscles tensing, knotting up, thighs, stomach, guts,
ass, back, and sweating, building up the pressure like
this was torture, and the other clearly didn't know
what to do with it, how to trigger.
felt a growing frustration. Knowing he wanted this,
but needed more, had to achieve something, not knowing
what nor how, neither bothering with the why. Not a
man to give up, not ever, no way back, no running away.
He couldn't just fuck off and try to forget he'd ever
done this thing
that thing on his knees with
that cock between his lips. That monstrous 'thing' that
would follow him forever because he'd want it again.
And again and forever more, because it was so goddamned
intense and insane, bone-deep addictive.
rested his left hand against the door, at least made
sure nobody would come in, supported his weight with
that arm, didn't quite trust the rest of his body. Still
the fucking knives. Immobilised, worse than being tied
up. Pressure going much worse. No release. No control.
Nothing to fucking lose.
make me come. Please stop and turn around. Please.
thoughts stopped. That Please. The begging. Dropped
knife. Ignored blade. Didn't know fuck-all but remembered
friction. Forced his head down and the hated-wanted
cock into his throat. Deep. Deeper. Pushed himself relentlessly.
knees almost buckled, he groaned, more friction, more
of it, getting closer, fuck, felt the tightness of the
throat, felt it tighten, realized what happened, knew
from too much experience the other had no control whatsoever,
and just couldn't stop things now, rammed the fucking
knife into the door near the other's head, and quicker
than even Dan realized or could act, took a handful
of the hair instead, and forced, forced his cock down
that constricting throat.
hands gripped the other's thighs in panic. Eyes wide
open. Air cut off. Violent intrusion.
felt muscles spasm, tight and hot and quick, felt the
hand on his thighs, no fucking knife, and even if there
was a knife, he just couldn't care. Head, mind, everything
empty as he thrust into the other's throat, no regard
for anything but the need to come.
in his hair and Dan was in terror, suddenly. Had lost
control, a nightmare come true, the control freak who
needed to be in control to survive at all times. That
cock wasn't what he wanted anymore, had turned into
an enemy, just like the fucking Russian, invading throat
and air. He convulsed, convulsive gagging, body fighting
against the intrusion, hands formed into fists, beating
upon thighs, couldn't move his head, nor twist his body
away and yet
Yet there was something dark and dangerous, raising
its voice from the depths of his mind.
it! Fight it. Want it!
what you fucking deserve you cocksucking cunt!
and panic, then convulsion. Retching the moment the
Russkie came down his throat, finally releasing the
grip on his hair. Violent spasms, once, twice, almost
throwing up, retching like a miserable whore on her
knees on the cum-sticky floor.
bastard! Anger flared within split seconds. Fucker.
Cunt. Wanker. Sudden flare of hatred, like a flame touching
match cord and powder pan. Remembered the dropped knife.
There. Could hardly see, neither breathe, still coughing,
but the blade was in Dan's hand and his body off the
floor before he could think. He attacked the still weakened
Russian, knife aimed at the heart, but aim and vision
distorted and his blade flew towards the arm while throwing
himself against the other.
in Dan's mouth the taste. God he fucking loved that
staggered back, breathless. For once not clear enough
to grab the knife. Still stuck in the wood. Fucking
trousers in the way, held them with one hand, shit,
the knife, his body shifting gear, go from sex to fighting,
no, defending, blocking, unprepared for the onslaught,
the knife a searing line across his arm. He could feel
the steel touch bone, and that sobered him, but he was
tensed to take the force off, head didn't hit the ground,
brought both hands up, one to the Brit's throat, but
the other dodged, free hand fended off the fucking knife.
Saw the lips, wet, raw, body still trying to pick up
the pieces of his training, this thing just didn't happen
and nobody could prepare him for it. This time, the
other would cut his throat. They were too evenly matched,
he'd known that from the start. And the other had the
turned the knife, till the tip pointed and pushed into
Vadim's throat, forcing the body beneath him to still.
Sat on the still bucking body, straddled the hips with
the Russkie's trousers still down.
he was so goddamned hard.
me why I shouldn't kill you." Voice raspy, reminder
of that cock down his throat only a moment ago.
was breathing hard, moved his chin up to evade the knife
point, knew he was baring his throat even more. Vanya
could have died like this. Afterburn and fear just didn't
mix, the two emotions nearly ripped him apart. Had no
idea what he should feel, could feel, just wanted to
stay alive now. Stared at the man, his crotch from under
heavy lids, assessed him, knew what he would do in his
stead. Force him to turn around, bind his hands and
fuck him. Better than getting his throat slit.
Think. He's speaking, that means he won't kill. And
he's hard. He liked it. "Wait", Vadim whispered,
speaking English. "I can
do that. Same thing.
Suck you." Easiest option. Take the edge off, even
at fucking knife point. They had left sanity and common
sense behind long ago.
Dan hissed, "no fucking hair to force my whore."
Eyes ablaze, with more than anger and lust. Feral glint,
betraying the basest desires. Like the taste that lingered,
the sore throat, the wanting again.
shifted, point turned to blade, pressed against the
soft tissue at the throat. One flick and there'd be
more blood than just from the arm. Dan moved up the
chest, until he sat on Vadim's biceps. Each knee forcing
down one arm, uncaring of the blood that started to
seep from the cut into his own trousers. Put his full
weight on his legs, knew too damn well how fucking much
that would hurt. Left hand undid his fly, had gone commando,
his cock was in his hand. Right there, in the bastard's
pulled his lips from his teeth, hissing with the pain,
felt his arm pulse, could smell his blood through the
mist of sweat and lust and cum. The man's crotch closer,
was sure he'd fuck his face in this position, stared
at the cock close up, good size, fully hard, could see
every vein, could smell it. Feet found the ground, knees
up, find some stability in this position. Bitch. Suka.
not just my cunt, fucker." Dan murmured hoarsely,
starting to stroke himself, staring down at the Russian
and his own cock. Fast, efficient. "You're my bitch."
...? Vadim thought. The Brit didn't trust him enough,
of course not, one rare moment of common sense, a vicious
thought, and at the same time Vadim fucking liked the
way the other touched himself, fiercely, veins on his
arm standing out, the look of anger and concentration,
the way the cock responded to that strong hand.
hands formed fists, muscles tensed, but there was the
knife. So, that was the idea. Shoot the load into his
face. Vadim couldn't help but watch the other, and if
the other had known in the least how fucking erotic
he looked doing that, he'd had opted to punch him and
break his nose - and really every bone in his body.
felt fury, lust, one fuelled the other. Angry strokes,
bordering on painful. Face contorted with aggression
and tension, climbing to that toppling point in pathetically
short time. Seemed that a blade on the fucker's throat,
the taste of the Russkie's cum, and staring into the
bastard's face and too-fucking bright eyes, was enough
to get him off within seconds, if he could get that
one notch higher. Shit, left hand awkward, Dan lost
rhythm, almost there, almost, so full of bloody rage
and lust, just needed to come or he'd cut the cunt's
throat out of frustration.
that orgasm with a knife to somebody's throat required
too much fucking control, more than Vadim gave the other
credit for. The Brit would come and cut his throat.
That was the punishment. Fear tensed every muscle in
dropped the knife again, safe with the weight on the
arms, took himself into the right and groaned. Faster.
Well-practiced, harder and brutal. Looked as if he were
punishing himself, hatred in his face. Leaned forward,
left hand beside the other's head, supporting himself
and coming closer.
arm muscles between concrete and the fucking hard shins
of the other, not enough movement to fight, but at least
the knife went, and he kept staring at the other, didn't
want this, fucking hated the idea of that stuff in his
face, demeaning, yes, that was the point of it, wasn't
it? Treat him like a cunt, like a bitch in one of those
porn films, money shot, whatever, at the same time felt
an absurd erotic appreciation of the other's cock and
his technique, could imagine his own cock in the man's
hand, like this, his body liking the idea.
Fuck, now. That supreme moment of absolute pain and
pleasure and perfect tension, before the crash-down
of climax. Felt everything draw into his body before
losing himself in release.
enough to bite, if Vadim chose to. The moment the other
didn't even look at him any more, but was getting there,
a few heartbeats, nothing else, Vadim strained and brought
up his head, opened his lips and took the angry, swollen
tip between his lips, and sucked, pushing the cock deeper,
not as far as the other, tasted the sweat and the dust
and could feel it twitch, and took it deeper again,
as far as his neck would allow.
God!" Dan shouted, bloody clichéd crying
out for gods, heavens, expletives alike. Taken by surprise,
taken in, and taken deeper. Lost it, more than just
the tension and his cum; lost himself in the orgasm
and couldn't help but push deeper into the willing throat.
took it, just swallowed because the other option was
have the stuff come out through his nose, and that was
less pleasant. He did this for the power, the power
to have a man lose it, lose himself completely, nothing
demeaning about it especially when the other didn't
hold a knife or a gun or any other way to control him.
Sucked the other dry, took the rest of the cum as well,
taking it deep, tongue, the whole deal, liked the heat
and size, much more than the taste. Then, suddenly,
it was pulled away, and he turned his head, felt it
slip out against the corner of his lips, against his
cheek, wet and hot.
stumbled backwards, moved in near-panic off the other,
fell and crawled away, drew the pistol by instinct,
before ending a few feet apart, on his arse, legs sprawled,
trousers open and cock still hard. Wet. Spent.
the pistol at the Russian, hand shaking wildly, breath
desperate still, heart off kilter.
brought his legs under him, moved into a crouch, and
rolled his head in an exaggerated motion. What now,
Danny-boy? Scared of your bitch? Saw the gun, which
sobered him, but that bullet could go anywhere. "Don't
worry. I didn't expect roses", he murmured in English.
stood, pulled up his trousers, fixed the belt. Nice
warm, relaxed feeling. Hated the taste. Rummaged through
the other's bundle. Water. No vodka. Of course not.
The other didn't seem the type to bring moonshine. Well.
Plenty more water to wash down the rather unexpected
dinner. Unscrewed the plastic bottle and drank, deeply,
for several long moments, then let some water run down
his scalp and chest.
the other a water bottle as well, skittering aimlessly
across the dirty floor, continued to check the pack.
Ah, something more substantial. Protein bars.
stared, would probably have pulled the trigger if he'd
realise he was transfixed yet again like the deer in
fucking headlights, but did nothing. Absolutely nothing,
while the Russian rummaged in the bag he kept in the
room, and murmured words he should by all means kill
or at least maim him for. The hand still shook, and
so did the forgotten gun.
this one had a peanut butter flavour. Vadim tore the
foil of one of the bars, pushed some of that bar between
his lips, just slightly making fun of what had happened,
regarding the Brit.
didn't even think. Completely numb and shell-shocked,
until he saw the mockery of the bar of food, pushed
ostentatiously between those lips. The lips where his
cock had been. The cock where his own lips ... throat
chewed a little, swallowed. "Guess I'm little rusty",
he murmured, then crouched again. "Put that gun
eyes narrowed at the Russian's words. Felt exceedingly
stupid. A right idiot, Dan, aren't you? Cocksucking
poof? How long to the shit-stabbing fag?
gun and hand over his now-flaccid cock.
regarded the Brit, saw that strange expression haunt
those eyes. He wanted and didn't want, always the fear
and the disgust on those features. It might be some
fucked-up game for him, but the other took things more
seriously. If the man hated this with the same intensity
that he lusted, fuck, that had to be a bitch.
got to go." Dan suddenly said.
bit back the response he wanted to give, one about "not
for my sake, I quite enjoyed this", and pondered
again, meanwhile washing the cut on his lower arm with
the water, and rummaging his pockets for a bandage.
Might need stitches, he was only grateful the bone was
really close to the skin there, hardly any meat severed.
Fumbled around a bit, then pulled the ends together
with teeth and hand.
he had to pay in blood each and every time they met,
and pay like this for coming and having the other come,
that had to be worth it. He was bleeding for the matters
of two flags and some general secretary's ideas about
the southern borders. This was more personal, and he
got more out of it.
of recce and time and effort if you leave now",
Vadim said, speaking to the bandage on his arm, and
took another bite from the sports bar. "I have
two hours." Glanced up to meet the other's eyes,
crouched, as he was, the white bandage a stark contrast
to the sweaty reddened skin.
merely closed his eyes, dropped his head into his neck
for a moment, before coming back up again, inhaling
a deeper breath. Oddly resigned. "Guess so."
his throat, still sore, and the taste was lingering
somewhere. Either imagined and in his mind or real,
didn't matter. He liked it too much, entirely far too
much. No mistaking. Realised he even stalled pouring
down some water, for no other reason that that goddamned
taste. Cocksucker. Yeah, shit.
glanced at the bandage, then back to his bag. Dismissed
the injury. Had to be a deep cut, didn't care. Spilling
the Russkie's blood seemed as 'normal' as his need to
taste that cock again.
me one of the strawberry bars." The sickeningly
sweet ones. Held out his hand, palm up, pistol dangling
from his thumb, the other hand fumbled with the button
on his trousers. Hadn't even taken off the belt. Too
bloody needy, too angry, far too consumed by that crazed
dug into the bag and brought out a handful, found the
one that said 'strawberry', tossed that between the
other's knees and dropped the rest on the pack. Didn't
they call homosexuals 'fruits'? His slang was too patchy
to be much good in this situation.
on that gun again, and the much steadier hand. The man
was back to fighting fit. Which meant, there would be
more fighting. His knife still stuck in the door. Vadim
moved his left hand to the holster, pulled the gun with
his fingers, thumb away, and let it slide over the floor.
Within reach, but not right on his body. He then finished
off the bar, worst hunger dealt with, gave his stomach
something to work with.
was in the process of ripping the bar open, his sweet
tooth legendary, but how was the Russkie to know that.
Figured he'd be safe enough to drop the gun, put it
down on the floor when the Russkie dropped his, as close
to himself as the other's. Somehow, somewhere, he just
couldn't be bothered right now. Had to be the mellowing
after the orgasm, preferred this as the likeliest explanation.
Could always kill the wankstain later. As if.
regarded the other man. So many things he wondered.
Could wonder now. He wanted to see him naked, like up
in the mountains, washing himself, with that mixture
of defiance and anger. He had been hardly in any state
to appreciate it fully.
know how to start a conversation, or what else to do
to tell the other he wasn't after killing him. That
was long over. But where to from here? "Thanks
for that thing in mountains." He felt his face
go cold, and shook his head. "Your distraction."
Dan raised his head, digging his teeth into the sweet
stickiness. The same teeth that had mauled skin and
flesh a month ago. "What fucking distraction?"
could smell the strawberry aroma, nothing like real
strawberries, but the Disney version of it. "You
kept bandits off my back." Calm, as if helping
the other's memory. Just for the sake of conversation.
He wanted to say other things, but the Brit was too
aloof for that.
that," Dan shrugged, swallowed the large bite,
wished it was even sweeter. "Guess I owed you."
watched the other man, storing away those images for
a night on the bunk bed, alone. His lips, his hands,
the powerful neck. His cock. Vadim smiled. Yes, he had
really gotten a good view of that. He smirked against
the water bottle, hiding what threatened to become a
took another bite, chewed while his fingers toyed with
the gun on the floor. Absentmindedly transfixed by the
small round burn wound at the hollow of the Russkie's
eyes came to rest on the pistol. Only paranoia this
time. Good. Owing. Now, this was dangerous ground again.
They owed each other so much by now, it was hard to
keep track. Rest up, round two.
he'd be so nice as to give proper head. Show him how
to do it. Vadim smirked again. Maybe rub their bodies
together until they both came. He liked that thought
a lot. And it was easier lying down, but how could he
get the other to do that?
if I lose some khaki?"
Mind? Fuck, no. "Go right ahead. Feel at home."
Dan meant to sound snide, but the comment lacked proper
took off belt, shirt, bared the dog tags, kept these
on at all times. The other had brought blankets, fair
enough. This had to be one of his regular hideouts,
there should be several strewn all over the city.
was mechanically biting and chewing and biting again,
debating if he should stare at the other or not. Shit.
Why the fuck did he even have to make those decisions.
Watched the man lay down the blankets, start to undress.
Couldn't be any more obvious what he wanted.
foil wrapper in Dan's hand, slowly crumbling in his
fist, turning the foil into a small ball of tension,
the more pieces of kit the Russian was losing.
untied the boots, pulled them off, socks, took more
of the bottled water, and headed over into another corner
to get some essential washing done, a few handfuls,
but basic hygiene. He hated the dust and sun. And it
showed off his body. Could convince the other that skin
on skin was an option. Non threatening. A naked man
was never threatening. He half-turned away, not to protect
anything resembling modesty, but to not make it too
winced. What the fuck now. Should he drool and pant,
run over like Pavlov's dog, begging to have a taste
of the bone? Felt like the unskilled, unsophisticated
idiot. He should have stuck with knife and guns, and
stayed the hell away.
left the gun where it was, threw the wrapper into the
bag, scrambled up to stand. Took a couple of steps and
a half-hearted attempt to pull at least the tattered
parka off. Was lost, hadn't learned the language he
needed for blokes, not bints. Had the violent urge to
get back to his weapons, at least he knew those.
could feel the restless hesitation, the debate. The
thing that triggered violence, and right now he was
unsuitably kitted out for violence. Show more weakness,
like a bird dragging a wing behind to attract the predator?
Only that he was by no means, ever, a kind of bird.
was setting a trap to catch himself a rival, an opponent
that wouldn't break, a man who was just as likely to
punch him in the face than push a cock down his throat.
He had to move like the hunter, how ironic, a suburban
kid from Moscow. Russia was a lot of wilderness, but
he only knew wild animals from the zoo.
knew the objective, and, how did the instructors put
it? Do everything, anything, to reach the objective.
Even be the bitch. It was just a word. A word like homosexual,
like degenerate. Yeah, bite me.
went over to the blankets, and sat down, stretched his
legs, no weapon on him, no scrap of fabric. Lay down
and rolled onto his side. They had shared warmth like
that. It was familiar enough. The closest thing to dragging
a wing, he figured. And very real danger. Lots of weapons
stood, increasingly awkward. What now? What the fuck
now! Blankets. Body. Skin and want.
need to leave in hour", Vadim said, the words wanted
to be Russian, but he kept them fixed in the other language,
even if that meant getting part of the meaning wrong.
"Do us favour and come here." Wondered if
the words were right, did say the right things, turned
around to watch the other. "I'm off to Bagram for
moved. Pressed into action by a few words. Had underrated
his ingrained reflex to simply take an order. No, wrong,
an invitation. Shrugged the jacket off, walked over.
Was easy like this, didn't need to feel awkward.
here and one hour and that naked body on
the blanket. Heaven could be a motherfucker and a dingy
room in Kabul. "Don't tell me where you'll be.
Don't want to know. Can't be arsed to have to go and
kill you if I could do it right here."
won't tell you I'm off to kill a traitorous Afghani
scumbag who's selling our weapons wholesale to the mountain
people, thought Vadim and nodded. "No operational
got to his knees, half on the blanket. Hesitated for
a moment. "I fucking hate you, Russkie, don't get
me wrong." Lowered to sit on his heels, own knees
opening for comfort. He leaned closer, was getting used
to those strange eyes too quickly.
looked at the other's crotch, then up to his face again.
Hatred. He couldn't make any sense of his own emotions,
apart from lust and danger, those two were clear enough.
There was anger, too, but he'd given as good as he'd
gotten, and that seemed alright to his sense of justice.
lowered his voice, speaking with quiet intensity. "I'll
fucking kill you if you ever try to shove your cock
up my arse again. Don't make the mistake to think I
don't mean it. Don't ever." Silence, then pulled
the shirt over his head and threw it to the floor.
that threat. That was genuine, and real steel, the real
thing. Vadim had phantasised about that, more often
than he cared to remember. The way he had felt that
man break beneath him. It was still something that made
him shudder, in a good way. He couldn't say he wouldn't
try this again, eventually. The other had learnt that
sucking cock could be fun. He might learn that getting
fucked could be great.
raised his hands a bit. "Roger, copy, I hear you."
Watched the play of muscles, shifting. "But rules
are different now." The rape was nothing like an
unfortunate accident, he hadn't been that drunk. And
it had started everything, so he couldn't even regret
or apologise. Just roll with it. He couldn't even say
he meant no harm - that was wrong, he was just as capable
of wounding, maiming and raping than before. The curiosity
and desire blunted that, but didn't take it away.
nodded once. Could see and hear that his message had
gone through loud and clear. He meant it, no doubt.
He'd been saying and thinking 'I kill you, bastard',
too often without pulling through, but that? This time?
He'd do it. No doubt at all. No room for negotiation,
and he'd get the motherfucker at some stage.
shifted to sit on his hip, then pulled his knees up
from under him, started to unlace his boots, one after
the other. Boots, then socks, wiggled his toes once
they were free. A habit he wasn't aware of. As much
of a habit as hating the Russian. A blunted feeling,
mere obligation, nothing compared to the searing-seething
sensation, a few months ago in that cave. "And
what are the rules?"
smirked. He hadn't actually thought he'd have to reiterate.
"Rule one: what happens between us, remains between
us." Barracks rule, the one soldiers followed.
They could be like cats in a knife fight, the moment
an officer showed up, they were all hugs and kisses.
"You don't need that shit, and I sure as hell don't,
either. Second: no killing. I don't mind cut or punch,
if I have to die, I'd want you to do it. That thought
sobered him, considerably, and he frowned. Fuck. They'd
been there, and it was fucking scary, he'd been there
and begged for the bullet. He broke eye contact. Fuck.
I don't want to die. I can't die. "That's it. No
Dan shook his head, "that won't do. First rule,
OK. Second one? No. Out there, I'd kill you. It's my
job." He shrugged, made it sound like a walk in
the park. Yeah? Why, then, had he stalled a whole freezing
night to execute a captive. Shooting cold blooded a
bullet into a man's brain was different from killing
what I meant." The thought grew larger
and larger in Vadim's head, until no other thought had
any space to develop. They wouldn't always be so evenly
matched. What if his unit was close, and the SAS guy
alone? What if fate dealt them bad cards? Out there?
He lowered his head, shook it, thought of the moment
he'd realized it was that Brit whom he'd taken by garrotte.
But by now, they did
this. Met. Got each other
off. Fuck. He had started to forget the other was for
all intents and purposes an enemy. Maybe because this
whole place was an enemy. Everything being an enemy
was a way of life now.
huffed, "I have no illusion you won't do the same
to me, given half the chance. Your job, too."
thought he should report him being here. The SAS had
no business in Afghanistan. Fucking internal affairs
of the Soviet Union. Brother nation helping brother
nation. Fuck off.
up, Dan's gaze had darkened. "In here, who knows.
You won't get me without a knife." Get me? Holy
looked up. Not sure of the exact meaning. He'd gotten
him even in that moment when he had sucked his cock,
and no knife involved.
sat there with his camo trousers still on, but the belt
unbuckled. "And now?"
I'll pull down your trousers." Vadim opened the
buttons, moved closer, almost in the other's lap, knew
it was an invitation, and meant it. Took the trousers
left and right and began to pull them down.
lifted his arse, then moved his legs, passive-actively
helping. "Trousers? Alright, I can do that. No
need to kill you, just get."
himself at the brittle sense of humour that had crept
in, had almost forgotten that that's who he used to
be. Crazy Dan, always good for a laugh. A wry grin flew
across his face and he stretched his legs once naked.
Moved to lie on his back, head pillowed on his arms
crossed behind his neck. Stared up at the ceiling. No
hidden intention in the movement as he stretched his
whole body down to his toes, spent cock nestled in darkness.
Should be hairy as a goat by all that was right, but
his body was a lot smoother than that face of his suggested.
sat up, regarding the definition, smooth flesh, powerful
in all the right places, sixpack, shoulders stronger
than the pecs. No weightlifter. Not a man who balanced
his body carefully, adding some here, smoothing some
there. Not nearly as obsessed as he was with his. And
even stranger to see him grin, see a bit of what the
man might be when not on a mission. He realized he was
still holding the trousers, and put them to the side,
made sure the other saw them and could reach them quickly.
His own stuff strewn around the place. Just another
sign of his clear and raging death wish. Stretched out
a hand to touch the other's body, place it between his
pecs, feel the breath flow, touch the strength.
raised his brows, casual outward reaction, but inside
there was something strange. Alert, confused. That hand
was not supposed to sit there. It should be hitting
or gripping, not simply lay on his skin. It made him
noticed the glance and took the hand back, as casually
as he could. Time to shift position, yeah, right. He
leaned against the wall, legs up, arm on one knee, the
arm with the bandage carefully balanced between knee
and his right arm.
Dan suddenly blurted out, "I know I was shit at
that." That wry grin again, once more fleeting.
"At being a cocksucking fag."
something you're born with, believe me." Vadim
laughed softly. "Got me far enough to make me lose
something I ever meant to do." Dan shook his head
in an economic movement. "Cocksucker. Damn."
Murmured, discarded the thought, turned his head and
looked up. That laugh had smoothed the Russkie's face
into something different. Normal. Shockingly human.
hour, you said? I'm not ready yet, can't get it up,
not sixteen anymore." Talking without hitting was
surprisingly easy, but Dan wasn't sure if he didn't
prefer to punch. "Need a moment."
opened a hand in a generous gesture, checked the time
on his watch. Simple, economic design. "Half an
hour, then." Smirking, how amusing to bring an
element of time pressure into this. He could use some
rest as well. But few things he couldn't use. More food,
more water, a shower. He rummaged through the other's
bag and started eating another of the bars. Caramel
toffee, said the label. Power Crunch. Fill up on some
calories he'd lost and would find hard to replace when
he came back to the barracks that late.
pulled up one leg, foot planted on the blanket, knee
bent. Wondered fleetingly if he shouldn't feel vulnerable
that open and bared, but strangely didn't care. "I
feel like a fucking idiot. Worse than a virgin bride,
but guess I am." How easy it was to take the piss
out of himself. Eyes flickered to the other's chest,
burn wound, then back to the face.
smirked. Virgin bride. That man and white frilly lace
dresses didn't go together. The thought was absurd.
That man was still a man. He offered a nod. "Comes
with training. Like all good things. You should know
shrugged, as much as his position allowed. "Man
enough to make me catch up with cocks after sixteen
that question. Vadim stared at him, fucking irresistible,
the offer straightforward, erotic, teasing. As much
as a sledgehammer could tease. He snorted laughter.
"I guess that would be my internationalist duty."
Proletarians of the world unite. Something about
that was impossibly funny, and his shoulders shook with
laughter. Now, that would be a proper sexual revolution,
not some long-haired effeminate khippie bunch
of bourgeois children deciding they wanted the right
to fuck whatever moved. As much as he agreed on principle.
I'd pegged you to be someone to jump at the challenge."
Dan smirked. "Looks I was right. You're predictable,
Russkie." And so are you, Dan. So are you.
dropped a hand, rolled onto his side to face the other,
scratched his groin absentmindedly. "Been thinking.
How the hell did you manage to fuck a woman? That is,
unless you lied on that mountain and you haven't got
a family after all. Seemed to me you're an uber-fag,
not a reformed gay-basher like me."
Strange, Vadim had never considered himself anything
like that. It just wasn't an issue. The only time his
wrists had been anywhere near limp was when he had broken
them, and that was more the horse's fault than his.
Vadim scraped the foil clean of the chocolate coating
with his teeth, wasting nothing, especially not stuff
he couldn't normally get.
How. The victory had been part of it, of course. Katya
had won her silver that day, all the fencers partied
long into the night, the Hungarian dragged Vadim along
who didn't feel too comfortable among the fencers, pentathlon
fencing was only epee, and only to the first hit, while
real fencers played for up to fifteen hits. They called
it 'assembly line fencing', every pentathlete had to
fight any other, so it was all about one hit, next one,
somehow cram all the disciplines in, when real fencers
considered the match an art form, a test of everything,
and not just the first clash. He always got the feeling
they didn't take him seriously, those strange, very
upright, very toned, very elegant people. Walked like
kings, with those deadly lunges always a possibility,
split seconds that decided everything, sudden bursts
of energy, the sounds of the blades.
had been glowing, attractive in a strange way, he had
thought, a lioness coming home with the kill. He'd seen
her precision, the uncanny way she fought unlike other
women fought, aggressive, powerful, with a delivering
speed that outmatched his own easily.
Hungarian had waved away snide remarks about Vadim from
her team members, and Vadim took that lesson. Next time
a fencer told him he wasn't a real fencer, he'd challenge
them to swim or ride, or shoot. He should have thought
of that himself, but he had been intimidated by their
had been part of it, cocaine, which they rubbed into
their gums, and things went from there. Both sets of
hands on his body, he thought he remembered the Hungarian's
head in his lap, her lips on his, she smelt good, healthy,
strong, he lost his clothes somewhere, remembered he
wasn't too sure what to do with her breasts, half a
hand full, hardly worth mentioning, the powerful upper
body, the shoulders fascinated him more, toned and sleek,
hair barely reaching her neck, honey blonde and darker
strong, she had just mounted him, she liked sex that
way, liked to be in charge, and he kept thinking how
different it was, different from getting sucked or fucked,
she was strong, fierce, had a way to pause in mid-motion,
and wait, grinning down at him, like he was only there
for her, like she controlled him, and she did, then
grind against him that made it good even though it shouldn't,
even though he couldn't imagine how he'd gotten there
and how they had lost the Hungarian, maybe she had told
him to fuck off, no idea, and Vadim let her have control,
saw her writhe and take her pleasure from him and he
was relieved, thought he finally knew, finally understood,
could maybe be normal and fit in, women weren't too
bad, especially when they could do this kind of thing.
had been trying hard to have an affair. She would kiss
and pet him, and the journalists would wait for the
silver medallist to come to where he was warming up,
or getting ready, one famous shot where she was just
handing him his fencing mask, her face serene, commanding,
something like "go, get him, tiger" in the
caption, and he, towering, taking the command, wearing
the tight white dress. He had saluted her before the
fight against the English captain, had known the man
would beat his ass, but the audience loved the old fashioned
thing about an attractive man doomed to fail and saluting
his sweetheart just before riding out to battle. So
had warmed up together, she built on his technique,
forced him to fight the whole match, fifteen points,
tickled as much fencer out of him as anybody could.
Another shot: both of them on the piste, blades crossed,
no masks, white dress, and a deep glance. Easily the
most beautiful love match, and something romantic about
the fact she taught him.
had tried hard to love her, convinced himself it would
be something he could acquire, if he could understand
her body he would desire it. He did try, her on top,
like that first night, he guessed she knew, knew because
of the Hungarian, and the sex happened when she started
it, but he found it increasingly difficult. Her body
was just like her fencing style - something he understood,
from a technical perspective, knew how it worked, but
it didn't trigger anything.
had liked the rest, the journalists, liked kissing her,
liked to spend time with her and they laughed a lot,
very often somebody pointed a camera their way to get
another good shot for some magazine or newspaper, and
they both liked the attention. But they should have
been brother and sister. That would have made the sex
had stopped pushing for it, understood maybe that he
didn't really want it. Maybe the fact that he sometimes
ended up in the Hungarian's bed had something to do
enough to sire a child. He was pretty sure she had wanted
a child anyway and had just been looking for a suitable
father, selecting the best stallion she could find.
ironic it was him, of all people.
expect us to marry", she had said, when he was
just staring at her flat belly that held something small,
something he had, somehow, caused, and had felt nothing
but stunned amazement at what that meant. Father. When
he hardly felt grown up at all. The body that only meant
something to him when he was trying to touch it with
an electric steel blade, tried to guess where she was
going, assessed the posture.
had looked up into her face, unsure whether it was an
accusation. But it wasn't. He couldn't understand her,
he had expected fear and revulsion, but she cherished
what was there. It would be her and the child. He was
only the father. And he did like to spend time with
her, only just didn't want to have sex.
had stood and walked over, placing her cool hands on
his hot face. "I will protect you", she had
said, as if he had offered marriage. No, she had. And
she had made the decision for both of them. "I'll
be the mask and the steel." Kissed his lips in
that chaste kiss, he liked the kissing, liked holding
her, and he placed an arm around her waist, pulled her
close to rest his head against the place that held something
he couldn't understand, but loved. If that meant giving
up the sweat and the lust, that sounded like a fair
blinked, and looked at the man next to him. A lot of
success, that giving up. The army had brought it all
out again. Just too many men, too much opportunity to
bash somebody's face in and take what he needed.
opened his lips to say 'she fucked me', but while that
was technically true, it wasn't. Much more complicated
than that. "Have you ever loved without wanting?"
question, unexpected, too deep and profound for Dan
not to be shocking. His answer came out before he could
think. "No. I have only ever wanted, never loved."
fell silent, face closing up towards the other. Too
close. Too real. The tension returned, and he fought
the urge to tell him to fuck off and stop talking about
bullshit that was of no consequence in the middle of
a war. Love. Lust. Bollocks.
berated himself in silence. Oh he always did an excellent
job calming this guy down to get into his pants. Too
much fucking philosophy, now apply trigger finger to
trigger and shoot, Vadim's instructor had said, making
snide remarks about him, calling him names for it, told
him to fucking rely on the brain stem, the frontal lobes
only slowed everything down. Killing is not rocket science.
And not existentialist thought. Even though there was
something highly existentialist about killing. Or should
that be Nietzsche? He had no clue. Real philosophy,
the stuff that got printed, was too abstract for his
half an hour yet?" Dan wanted to change the subject.
checked the time. "Fifteen." Regarded the
other man's body. Wanted to turn him around, push the
legs under him and fuck his ass. Naked, just skin on
skin, wanted to have the other push back against him,
demanding more like a bitch, demanding it harder, deeper,
he wanted to bite into his shoulders. Well, there we
go, he thought. He was fine for round two.
shifted position and stretched out near the other, within
touching distance. Regarded his abdomen, the lines only
men possessed, the lines from his hips straight to his
cock. Nothing straight about it. Old joke. Reached to
touch the other man's cock, eyes on his own hand, squeezing
between palm and fingers.
that is it? Is that what being queer is about?"
Dan's eyes remained level with the other's face, even
though the Russkie had turned away from his gaze. "Just
grab a cock and squeeze it? Not sure if I'll ever make
a proper fag in that case. Seems a bit pathetic."
wish, Dan? While longing for the experience of two men
in the sickly yellow of a street light, in a seedy part
shot him a dark glance. "Just checking whether
gun is loaded." Oh, he liked his answer. Proper
fag. Proper, improper. Uber-fag. Riled him, to
get what exactly? Make him feel like somebody who delivered
a service. So much for head, asshole, that means it's
wanted the man's ass, definitely, but being on top that
body had to do. For the moment. Shit. Had the feeling
the other was less sneering when needy, and he came
closer, brought cock to cock, took both into his hand.
He was hardening fast, bodies this close, hooked a leg
around the other's legs and pulled him closer to make
forgot the sneer, the mockery, and most of all the sense
of inadequacy. The feeling of that cock against his
own made him forget everything else. He barely caught
the sound that came out of his throat. Sounded suspiciously
like a needy whimper. God, how he fucking wanted that
," Dan realised he had gasped, "is more
like it." It might have been fifteen minutes, but
holy shit, it seemed that cock was all it took. The
mind-blowing sensation of absolute equality. Couldn't
believe that was all it took to make him want to taste
that bastard again.
touching yourself", Vadim murmured. "Only
looked down at his hand, seeing both cocks close together,
pressed and squeezed, his hand went through the motions
like he was jerking off, with some added circumference.
The other's cock was a good size, heavy, straight, uncut,
thick enough, not a monster, but who wanted that. Roughly
his size, maybe a little thicker. He'd rather die than
compliment him on his 'gun'.
get him off, Vadim thought, so he comes back, train
him to be that, a fag, as he called it. Breathing going
a little deeper, a little faster, strokes slower and
stronger, giving the other something for his money.
was the whore now? Good question, but Dan never asked
himself nor bothered with an answer. The sensation of
cock on cock made him grind and push into the hand and
towards the body. Same strength, bodies, muscles, weight,
sharp angular planes and smooth skin over hard flesh.
His hand dug into the Russian's flank, forcing himself
against the other. Felt like a bitch in heat.
half-closed his eyes, found it impossible to close them
with the other this near, knew too much about unarmed
combat to ever forget the Brit was more than a handful
of violence. He grinned, felt the keen interest, the
way the other breathed and pushed, tried to find a rhythm
with him, force his own pleasure. Anything but a passive
it, boy, fuck yourself against me.
allowed his breath to grow harsher, normally careful
not to make a sound, focused on breathing when he did
this, make sure nobody heard a thing. The feeling unlike
any other, not enough friction to come, hardly ever,
he did this if he was being nice, and usually as a prelude
to something more substantial, more satisfying. Not
that it wasn't nice, but not enough. Not what he wanted.
Gradually shifting his hips, steered the other while
matching the thrusts with his hand, above all, strong
strokes, but he needed more friction, more resistance,
and shifted his weight on top, their cocks trapped between
hit his head on the floor when, the other's substantial
weight suddenly shifted on top his body. He'd never
been beneath another man except for combat - violence
of a better known kind. He groaned, lost his capacity
for words, eyes wide open, was blind to anything but
the sweaty skin so close.
Vadim it was the strength, the taste of strength, the
resistance of a body that remained dangerous even now.
Nothing that broke underneath, just echoed his thrusts,
the grinding of his body against the smooth hard stomach,
feeling muscles tense and tighten, the skin slick with
sweat. Almost the only way to use his strength without
hurting, wounding, breaking.
pushed upwards, against the body, more friction, more
feeling, more heat, and more weight. Wouldn't dream
of pushing that muscled bulk off himself, forgot about
death and killing while trapped underneath. Forgot about
anything at all, but this bastard's body. Didn't give
a shit about fag and soldier, enemy and poof. Lifted
his head, dug his teeth once more into the muscles between
neck and shoulder, grunting, gasping, desperate to come
while hands dug into the other's flesh.
thrust hard against the other, breath going hard and
fast, the bite made him groan, but he kept his head
down, within reach of the teeth. Fuck, the man biting
him was good, the way he didn't care whether it left
marks or whether it hurt. It was sex, stripped of any
concern, any fear for the other, just the friction of
grinding and groaning beneath the Russian, Dan let go
of the flesh between his teeth and bit back a cry when
the end of it all came too soon, yet never soon enough.
Convulsing against the body that was manipulating his
own, and he lost himself in the orgasm.
felt the wetness between their bodies, saw the other's
face, the way he wanted to call out, but remained silent,
face alight with an animal's feelings. Nothing ashamed,
nothing guilty. He pondered just for a moment, no more
than a heartbeat, to turn the Brit around, helpless
as he was now, and fuck him anyway, and grinned at that
thought, and then felt he was too close himself, and
pushed harder, the thought of that ass, that man wanting
him went through him and he came, hands on the other's
shoulders, upper arms, fingers digging into his skin.
Wanted to stay, like this, waiting till he could breathe
again. Masked this with licking some sweat off the other's
chest, smelled the fresh sweat that would dry too soon.
heart was hammering, faster this second time, took longer
to calm. "So," Dan struggled for breath, eyes
half open, staring into the dusk, "that's more
like being a fag." He lay still for half a second,
before pushing the Russian off, rolling over. Couldn't
allow himself to lose himself in this madness. "I
got to go."
felt heavy and tired, but couldn't just lie down when
the other got up. Found the rag he wore as a scarf,
wiped himself down with it, felt thirsty and dazed.
rummaged in his bergan, found a suitable rag to wipe
himself down as well. Felt sticky and sweaty, but strangely
not soiled. Decided to worry about the distinct lack
of guilt or shock about the way he had been humped by
another man's body and gotten off on it. Was going to
dwell on that miserable attempt at cock sucking later.
Cock. Damn. He'd be a fool if he thought he'd stop thinking
about that cock anytime soon.
was watching the other put himself back in order, chewed
on the words. "I need to see you again." Expected
mockery, something about the fag stuff that the other
threw at him all the time.
he wanted that body again, wanted to feel that rage,
that desire, but most of all that body. Nothing he could
get from a comrade.
hands stopped in mid-motion. Again. Need. The
offer to fall back into this insanity again. Cock. Man.
Flesh and blood and muscles and heat.
can be at that tea house", Vadim murmured.
nodded. "In seven days." He'd be wanking himself
into blindness before then. "Leave a message there
if you can't make it and vice versa."
exhaled, hardly realized he'd held his breath like that.
This was going well. He nodded. "Seven days."
He watched the other, didn't feel smug, just relaxed
and pleased, most of all with the fact the Brit wasn't
attacking him and there was no need to attack him. Not
at the moment, the tension gone. It would grow back
out on the streets, but this place wasn't part of that
any more. He stepped up to the door, pulled his knife
free and slid it into the holster at the back of his
sat down on the floor to pull the socks back onto his
feet, looking for his boots. "I'll have another
place by then."
course. It was easier for the Brit to organize a safe
house. Made perfect sense. Plenty of work up to then,
he could keep himself busy. Vadim wondered what that
guy would write into his report. 'Bribe', probably.
Random bribes to get round in Kabul. They might not
even mind if that guy paid the occasional hooker. They
went for around 100 Afghani, not a massive amount of
money. Vadim took another of those protein bars and
began to chew, eyes on the other man. He could get used
was watching the Russian from the corner of his eyes,
would never leave the man out of his vision, wouldn't
ever trust the bastard. Tying his boots, he stood back
up, throwing the shirt over his hand and grabbing the
jacket, the rag loosely wound around his neck. He watched
the other for a moment before reaching into his bergan
and pulling out a handful of those bars. "Here."
He dropped them onto the blankets. "Looks like
you need them more than I do. Good mother, your Russia,
she takes care of her children, eh?"
comment sharp enough in Vadim's ears to be mocking,
but not serious nastiness. Nothing about getting paid
for his services. A gesture that was kind without embarrassing
either of them, and felt almost natural after the man
had fed and washed him, up in the mountains. Few things
that could embarrass them at this stage, after the things
shrugged, looking around the room to get hold of everything
that was his, and closed the pack. He walked to the
door, unlocked it and took the padlock out. He'd never
return to this place, not now that the enemy soldier
knew about it. "In seven days." He left the
place without another glance.
heard the door shut, then looked at the scattered bars.
"You have no idea", he murmured in Russian,
into the empty room. No way he'd ever admit how the
conscripts were blowing all their pay on merely buying
food and how even that kept them just this side of starvation.
Food shortage, and the same food over and over if there
was actually enough. He had privileges as an officer,
but athletics grade protein was nothing he could get
his hands on even with the rank. Let alone the other
things he craved.
days later, in the waning heat of a late afternoon,
Dan was sitting in the tea house, sipping a tea so strong
and sweet, if it had any more sugar it would have crystallised.
Sitting cross-legged on one of the carpets, a plate
of baklava in front of him, working his way systematically
through honey sweetened pistachio, rosewater and marzipan
pastries. He had been sitting in the shade for over
an hour, seemingly relaxing while secretly tense. Had
chosen a space opposite to the entrance with the wall
in his back. Old habits died hard and in this place,
and while waiting for an enemy, those habits would keep
tea house owner came to refill his glass, and Dan observed
the dark brown liquid being poured into the small, gaudily
painted glass. Accepted another handful of heavenly
baklava, his fingers sticky from the honey when he paid
from a wad of notes. Never leaving the entrance unwatched,
not even for a second.
for a pastry, the heat in the pit of his stomach was
growing more intense as time passed. Would the bastard
be insane enough to come? He should kill the Russian.
Get it done and over with. Licking his fingers, his
gaze was drawn to the plants once more that grew around
the shadowed entrance.
Vadim it had just gone from bad to worse, life alternating
between frantic activity and complete boredom, he never
really knew what awaited him, an exercise, a friendly
encounter with Afghan officers, none of which were worth
the space they occupied, or time to kill, lots and lots
of time to kill. He amused himself a little with Gavriil,
but that amusement was more like a body function, eat,
drink, shit, come. Wrote the occasional letter home,
received things in return, a book, a report on the children.
found it hard to read about them in this place, felt
vulnerable when Anoushka's horrid handwriting wormed
its way into his eyes. Officer, Spetsnaz, and father.
Hard to tell which of these words made the whole thing
a joke. Every time he had settled on one, it began to
shift in his mind. Some officers had photos of their
families on their desks, and the rabble showed off girlfriends,
but most often sisters, so fucking young many had never
had a girlfriend, as he could tell from their stories
of unlikely anatomical details.
traded shifts for vodka, shrugged when the other officer
said something about an 'Afghan sweetheart', yeah, very
likely, that, and went to the tea house. Forcing himself
to check for other soldiers, anybody following him,
had a good walk around that part of Kabul before he
went anywhere close to the tea house, then stepped into
the gloom, and through it, into the garden area.
the man spotting him, looked at him for a long moment,
then went towards him, in a semi-circle, almost. Most
of all he was bored, and irritated, useless in this
place. Might have to do with the fact his right wrist
hurt after an exercise where he damn near tore his arm
off, but while the shoulder and arm muscles supported
his weight, his wrist disliked it more, as if they had
both been weakened from that fall, years ago. Or it
was a mental thing, as the doctor had said, who couldn't
see any damage on the x-ray. He was supposed to be careful.
He had taken the firm bandage off - it only supported
the wrist a little, but he'd be damned if he showed
the other any signs of discomfort. He'd heard the occasional
question whether he had hurt himself jerking off, and
he was not inclined to invite any more of those.
afternoon." Vadim paused, wondering why he allowed
the other to make the decision whether to drink tea
and eat and then leave, or leave right now, then thought,
whatever, he doubted the other was interested in conversation.
checked his watch, good sturdy built and a squaddie's
favourite, got up, wiped his hand on his camo trousers,
nodded. "I got an hour." Turned, left the
plate of sticky sweets discarded, moved towards the
side exit that led into an alley, away from the market.
followed. No conversation. Okay. He walked as casually
as possible, like it was perfectly natural for him to
be there, lead here by what could be anything. Reporter,
spy. Either of the two, and both would be bad if the
KGB caught wind of it.
walked through several streets and turned a couple of
corners without ever looking behind. Reaching another
of those small houses that were barely more than a hut
and a room. He was careful this time, had been attacked
before, but now the knife was lying comfortably in his
palm as he undid the lock. Pushing the door wide open
he did not step inside. Waited for the Russkie, even
though he didn't expect the bastard to be so careless
to bare his back. "I remember the promise,"
reassured the other they weren't here for killing, but
fuck, he would, if he had to, "no attack."
Afghan sweetheart. Vadim smirked, looked at the man,
his hand near the knife as he passed him, turning his
head to look at the other in passing, close enough to
smell him. Good smell. Then stepped inside, exposing
his back only for a heartbeat before he brought it against
the wall inside, like securing the entrance.
smirked at the Russian's wariness, good to know it was
matching his own. Secured the lock and bolted the door,
he turned to face the other. No nonsense, not this time.
He shrugged out of the jacket, unwrapped the rag, dropped
both onto a pile on the dusty floor. Unceremonious and
uncaring, but a movement of his hand gave proof to just
how cautious he was. The knife, blade flashing in the
gloomy light of the deserted room, stashed securely
into yet another pocket.
stepped closer, pulled the shirt over his head, blinded
only for a minuscule moment, threw it onto the existing
pile. "As I said, cunt, I've only got an hour."
Suddenly lashed out and pinned the Russian's shoulder
to the wall, the other hand pulling the neck of the
uniform tunic open. Connecting teeth and lips with the
burn mark on the Russian's neck.
was surprised, then the guy's lips, and shit, this was
good, good already. "Hour is plenty." He moved
his head out of the way, the scar was sickening, the
reason he was careful about undressing, just didn't
want to expose himself like that. Thought about the
knife, lazily, but those
sucking biting kisses
went right into his body. He took the other's hand and
brought it to his groin, press it against his cock.
"I brought you something."
Dan's voice husky, ragged breath against sweat-damp
skin. His hand didn't just grope and squeeze, familiarising
itself with that cock, it wanted more since he'd found
what he wanted. He fumbled with the buttons of the Russkie's
trousers, didn't bother with the belt this time, freed
the cock while his own was being handled, all the while
biting-sucking the muscled flesh. He was getting addicted
to that neck.
bit back a groan, hot, sweaty hands, strong, rough,
his own hands starting to stroke the other, the enemy,
torturer, foreigner, equal, the stuff in his neck making
him dizzy, worse than the heat. Leaned his head against
the wall, smelled the other's hair, sweat, heat, hands
moving on their own, tensing lightly when the Brit squeezed,
an echo almost of the other's motions, mind blank, tuning
in to the moment, the desire, raw and pure.
strokes matching the other's. Like his lust, fierceness,
the anger that fuelled more lust in return. Believed
in the intensity of hatred, transmitted through his
teeth and lips, assaulting skin and flesh, tasting sweat
and musk. Would be easy prey for a hunter right now,
nothing in his mind but the need and greed to feel a
man's flesh and taste a man's lust. This man's. Dan
couldn't get enough of the body he was crushed against,
the strength that matched his own, and most of all that
cock. Would always want more, and always took it.
way the other handled Vadim bordered on pain, too much
force with just sweat between the rough skin and his
cock. When the border to pain was crossed, he could
feel something break, something give, and a moment of
fear, of being without defences, and fuck, pain should
not do this, but Vadim came, clenching his teeth even
though he wanted to breathe, gulp air, couldn't get
enough air into his lungs, reached out with his other
hand, squeezed the other's balls, rolling them and jerking
him off, fucking wrist hurt, but he had to distract
the fucker, and made him come.
was leaning against the wall, breathing hard, feeling
sweat run down his neck, which was raw from the bites,
pain now became heat and glowing, and there was the
lingering fear. He wanted to drink, but couldn't move.
Just waited for the other, waited for him to recharge.
The Brit was getting more and more
Bossy, even. He wasn't quite sure whether this was really
what he had wanted. Bullshit.
second time was just like the others. Hands, again,
borderline pain, as if the other tried to punish him
for the whole thing, and the fear was back, the fear
from the mountains, the things he remembered from the
mountains. Something blocked clear thought, somehow
he couldn't hate him for it, instead desired him more.
sick motherfucker. The next times they met, always at
the tea house, always a different place to get off,
biting and grinding, hands, rubbing, pushing, sweat,
this began to feel as natural as cleaning his rifle,
and in a way it was, but Vadim noticed the other did
handle him with more confidence, with fierceness that
was nothing like the man who'd asked him to be taught
about cocks. About being a fag.
could feel control slipping, every time a little more.
The other biting harder, demanding, sometimes mocking.
He could see the other would just seize and take control,
and he couldn't let that happen. Needed to get the upper
hand again, needed to push him, unbalance him.
up after one of their encounters.
off to exercise for rest of month. Can make second week
of next month. Same day." That would give him a
week to heal up after the 'exercise', which was mostly
more of the usual stuff. Vadim didn't want to meet this
guy in anything but a good shape, not how things were
going. Plenty of reason not to. "Ah, by the way,
next time should be more interesting. I think I know
your fingers now by name." He glanced up, grinning,
ready to block an attack. "Keep me interested,
you're getting bored, find yourself someone else, cunt."
Dan sneered, buttoning his trousers, "I'm sure
one of your conscripts will gladly take it up the shitter."
what 'suka' meant. 'Bitch', he reckoned, bloody Russian,
once a cunt, always a cunt. Dan was more pissed off
than he showed. Bravado in the face of an enemy.
laughed. "You don't think I have couple of those?"
Bored of Gavriil. Usually only allowed him to suck him
off when he was too lazy to jerk off, to relieve the
tension and boredom, if only for a few minutes.
me a favour and get yourself killed during the exercise."
Dan snarled, grabbed his dusty shirt, threw it over
the t-shirt. Weapons hidden in their usual places, ready
to leave. "Saves me the trouble." He was out
of the latest run-down room before he would cave the
bastard's face in.
interesting', fucking arsewipe.
or not, one month later, Dan was back, blending into
the background of the teahouse. Dark hair and eyes,
deeply tanned skin. Sitting and sipping, eyes half-closed.
The owner was becoming an acquaintance. Useful, bribed,
never knowing enough to cause trouble. Mutual agreement
of 'hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil' and a
handful of Afghan notes. They understood each other,
transactions without words.
day, Dan was smoking something sweeter than his usual
fags; the hashish pure, his mind the opposite. Nerves
on edge. Suka. Fuck you, Russkie.
did come on time, mind and strength drained. He was
exhausted, night marches, alarms, pure sadistic pleasure
to drill them till they dropped, and restrict water
and provisions, and when the body was weakened, weaken
the mind, too. Sleep deprivation. He wanted to rest
up, but he'd miss the appointment, and he was too fucking
curious whether the other would show up or had managed
to wean himself off the dangerous little game. He grinned
as he saw him, and the grin widened as he smelled what
the other was smoking. Another easy game. He'd be in
control. He sat down, and ordered tea, snatching two
bites off the platter that stood before the Brit. Pistachios,
honey, sugar. He chewed, stuffed another between his
lips, quite good-natured at the moment, masking the
tiredness. "Good stuff, eh?"
eyes opened a fraction more, the pot was good, but he'd
deliberately chosen a small amount. He smirked, took
another drag, kept the smoke deep in his lungs before
allowing it to escape. "You look like shit, Russkie."
Offering the joint to the other. "Shame they didn't
finish the job."
glanced at the joint. Thousands of warnings from coaches
and trainers and nutritionists, keep tight control over
what to put in his body. He had experimented, of course,
but never smoked. Cocaine, pills, yes. He shook his
head, instead grabbed another handful of the sweets.
The other was exactly as he remembered, every line,
every hair. Had wanted him more than sleep, craved to
get that ass again, that strength. "Tree planting
can be hard work. Reforestation."
Sure, arsehole. Dan smirked, peered into the sun, missed
his shades, would draw too much attention in this place.
He threw the joint onto the ground, extinguished it
with the heel of his boot. "Come."
stood up, left a handful of coins and notes, and walked
out of the teahouse. They both knew why they met, no
point to waste time. He was making his way to another
part of Kabul. With the same set-up and a similar house.
checked for eyes and ears that took too much interest,
but no such thing, it had been a quiet month in Kabul,
as far as he was aware. Adjusted himself as he walked,
shit, a month, and he wanted the other, remembered too
much, remembered that neck, and the way the other bit
and sucked his own neck. Always good for a quick relief
of pressure, but it was much worse when the other was
actually there, there to touch and grind into.
entered the house, thought he'd be happy with a handjob,
it was newer now that the other had been away for a
did the usual, the month hadn't changed the ritual of
waiting for the Russian to step inside, then lock and
bolt the door, getting acquainted to the dim light.
The shutters always closed.
are energy bars over there." Dan pointed behind
him into a corner with his bergan and a rolled-out sleeping
bag. "Figured you'd need it." He smirked,
the nasty grin unseen by the other. Waiting for the
Russian to turn his back, he counted on the other's
greed to get some of the sickly sweet protein stuff
down his neck.
with the lock a bit longer than usual, Dan glanced behind
him, bent down the moment the Russkie turned, came back
up with unexpected speed, sneered as the hefty club
that he had stored in the corner came crashing down
on the other's temple. "That interesting
enough for you, bastard?"
watched the body crash to the dried-mud floor, smirking.
"Time for another fag lesson, I think." He
had to be quick, rushed to his bergan, pulled out ropes
and dragged the unconscious body towards the centre
of the room. He'd chosen the building specifically for
its low beam and the pillars that stood closely together.
Sturdy wood, just right for a Russian cunt.
the Russkie's uniform tunic, beret already on the floor,
pulled the shirt underneath over the other's head. Bared
the chest, then bound the hands together at the wrists,
in the front.
the rope over the beam and pulled, grunting, the weight
was considerable. Managed to get the unconscious body
upright, hanging off his bound wrists. Secured the rope,
hurried to open the polished belt buckle, smirked as
his fingers ran over the Soviet star. Dan pulled the
trousers and briefs down, as far as they would go. He
needed access for what he wanted.
Russkie was starting to come round, Dan raced against
time, knew he'd have a boot smashing his face if he
wasn't fast enough and didn't secure each ankle on one
of the beams, managed to finish his task before the
other regained consciousness.
stood up and stepped back, pulling his favourite hunting
knife out of its sheath and fingered his shirt for the
packet of Russian coffin nails. Lighting a cigarette
he stood and grinned, watching, a mere arm's length
away, blowing smoke into the other's face while playing
with the blade. "Interesting enough, cunt?"
temple was one throbbing mess. Eyes opened, couldn't
focus, rolled this way and that, but he smelled something.
Fire. Pain. He came the rest of the way with a start,
heart suddenly beating so hard it made him nauseous,
dizzy. Breathing fast, his body kick started from out
to overdrive, understood his situation with the clarity
of a scalpel cut.
Brit would kill him. This way, he could fuck him, easy,
and then cut him open. Cut off his cock, stuff it into
his throat, then cut his jugular. Breath going even
faster. The pain in his head forgotten. Now felt the
burn on his wrists, his weight, body shifted to stand
upright, not leaning forward. Smoke. The scar right
under his throat.
felt the sweat, the way it cooled him, the way it made
his skin shine. Nameless dread, fear, the whole thing
came back, the mountains, the torture. The other would
start again where he'd stopped. Had broken the rules.
Of course the Brit would not follow the rules. He'd
been insane to believe for a moment he had the other
in a place where he'd be safe, safe to handle. Couldn't
bring his legs together, not protect, not stand secure,
no leverage, no freedom. He didn't want to show the
fear. Didn't. Couldn't. Tried to summon rage, tried
to keep one in control with the other, siccing the other
animal on the thing that was his fear. Saw the knife,
stomach tensed, he had no defence, nothing, against
that blade. That very same blade that had almost
think about that.
tried to breathe, tried to control his face, keep the
mask up, that stoic façade, but the other wouldn't
believe him. They knew each other too well now, he could
fool a stranger, but not that man. He coiled his strength
in his body, relaxed to gather strength, then threw
himself against the restraints with everything he had,
fighting, hoping that the pain and stress would get
the fear under control.
for his life, fought against the fear, mindless, bruising
his skin, maybe tearing it at the wrists, boots protected
the ankles. He didn't believe any of this would give,
least of all the other man. Struggled, because he had
to, it was the only way to deal with the fear, sweating,
breathing hard, and managed to do what he needed. Anger.
eyes widened, surprised, hadn't expected quite that
reaction, just rolled with it. That fucker was a force
of nature - or natural disaster, rather. Took a step
back, watched, fag in the corner of his mouth, cleaned
his nails with the knife. Smirked.
kill you. I swear I will kill you." Vadim was staring
into the dark eyes. Pain brushed over everything, the
lust they'd shared, their dirty little secret habit,
the fact he had never managed to take revenge, the fact
he had offered, and offered again. Gone now. Enemies
again. It was a fucking relief.
the horses, Russkie," Dan took a drag, smoke curling
out of his nostrils and from between his lips, "you
don't do anything by halves." His smirk grew, head
slightly tilted, studying the sweat gleaming body that
fought for its life. Fuck, that was good. His head was
spinning with an overwhelming sense of power, and not
from the dope.
stepped closer, close enough until their chests almost
touched, but his head out of head butting harm's way.
"You wanted it more interesting." Spoke through
the fag, still between his lips, smoke curling between
their faces, "is that interesting enough for you?"
What the fuck
? Vadim didn't have anything to
attack him with, teeth, maybe, if the bastard would
get that close. Tear his face off with his teeth, his
ears, the human face was nothing but a collection of
targets, ridiculously placed on the outside of protective
bone. His face sneered with disgust at the smoke, he
hated that smell, hated the bite in his lungs, worse
than dust, because dust did not create round obvious
scars right under his throat.
free hand grabbed the other's unprotected balls, squeezing
Brit would cut them off. He would. Would get him up
and cut it off. Vadim would have jumped out of his skin
if that had been possible. His skin crawled.
I cut your throat, would you come?
was fighting for breath, the squeeze, his fucking body
thought this was a game, or it was the fear, fear could
do this, could mimic arousal. The knife. His eyes fixed
on the knife. Nothing in the world but the knife.
that it is interesting enough." Dan's smirk grew
to nasty proportions, moving his hand from the balls
to the cock that was starting to show signs of arousal.
He spit the fag to the ground, continued to stare, bared
his teeth in a feral grin before lowering his head,
licked across the jaw, down the throat, towards the
round scar at the hollow. Tasting sweat, fear, anger
and heat. Dan sucked the flesh, a groan escaping. Too
fucking good. Knife blade warming against the other's
damp chest, lying still, for now.
shuddered, hard, felt the tongue like fire, like ice,
like ant poison, the knife too close, he could feel
the flat of the blade, a flicker of the wrist, and it
would sever skin. Another flicker, muscle. Bastard.
Fucking bastard, break him first, make him enjoy getting
killed. You fucker. He remembered in the mountain, remembered
he'd been able to fluster the other, crawl into his
mind, touch him in ways that unsettled. Nothing like
that now. The other knew about himself, and was completely
rational, and that brought the fear back. That was the
original torture, the part with the rag, not allowing
him to breathe, making him retch and vomit.
I asked for lessons on how to be a fag?" Dan murmured
against the skin, before teeth and lips once more attacked
the scar - his mark. "Time to continue, I think."
on to shitstabbing. Then killing. Vadim shook his head.
cynicism didn't carry, his voice lacked inflection.
make no mistake, and make sure I bleed
out. Like you did Vanya."
laughed with an ugly sound. Came up, face to face, less
than an inch apart. "And fucking you, like you
raped me?" Lips curling into a grin, it never touched
his eyes. Heady with power, awakening lust. He knew
what he wanted, but had to bind the other to allow himself
to get it. Fucked-up logic.
stared at him, not gracing that with an answer. The
truth. Nothing but the naked, cruel truth. It was only
fair. They'd be even.
bleed," Dan whispered, "don't worry, you'll
bleed to the last drop."
closed his eyes, impossible to stare at him now, impossible
to have it confirmed. He'd die tonight. He'd die with
sore feet, brain sore with lack of sleep, with the taste
of the mountains on his lips. Fought hard to control
his breath, fear clenching his lungs. Staring again
as the other shifted.
Cum. Life's essence. Dan tilted his head, looked up,
while going down to his knees. The knife went with him,
but didn't touch. He said nothing, just burrowed his
face into the other's crotch, inhaled deeply. Shit,
he shouldn't get so fucking high on this scent of musk,
man, fresh sweat and dusty heat. "Now, how does
couldn't breathe, nearly forgot how to do it. Shit.
Shit. Worse than the torture before death. More humiliating.
What was the fucking plan? He couldn't think clearly.
tongue trailing along flesh, hand aiding, both moving
together. Tasting, licking, rough and demanding. He'd
been shit at it the last time, he'd get this time what
legs straightened, he got on his toes, shoulders taking
some of his weight, as if to get away from Dan, but
his cock was hard, damn him, troublemaker, body just
flesh that reacted, despite the fear. Because of the
fear. Stared down at the other, who focused on his cock.
Shit. No way to force him, no way to slap him away,
but the sensations still good, even now, even bound
and scheduled to fucking die. Clenching his teeth, trying
to stay unmoved, or at least silent, gather himself,
stay himself, stay in control as much as possible.
pulled back, looked at the cock before him, savoured
every moment. "So that's what it's like to be a
" Knife in his right hand, cock in his
left. Blade or balls - the sharp edge won. Knife slowly
moving up the leg, towards the groin. Had been there
before, but in a less powerful position. Dan's head
moved back down, this time sucking, imitating what the
other had done and countless big-breasted bimbos before
him. Lips firmly around even firmer flesh, but no friction
as intense as the sensation of the steel against sensitive
skin. Death and lust.
gave a surprised, agonized sound, bit it down, the fear
of the blade made his cock jump, and the sensation of
the heat and wetness freaked him, shouldn't happen,
couldn't happen, fuck, this was sick, wrong, wanted
his hands free, needed his hands free, tensed every
muscle to keep control, to make sure the knife wouldn't
slip, and then, the lips around his cock, what a sight,
what a fucking sight, the bastard relished it, got a
feeling for the control, the power that brought, there
was no way how he himself could be more powerless, knife,
tied up, cock between another guy's lips, teeth close,
pressed his eyes shut, but that was even worse, left
only feeling, while his cock strained, growing harder,
or that was what it felt like. Would the other make
him come and at the same time open the femoral? A shudder
gripped his body and didn't let it go again.
had time, even confidence. Didn't matter that he wasn't
sure how to suck that cock. The Russian was in his power,
experimenting with sucking and friction, all the while
the blade pressing against the balls, forever present.
Running his tongue along the underside; lavishing time
and attention on the uncut head, getting hard himself
from the sensation of taste and smooth-ridged hardness.
This time sucking down as much as he wanted, completely
in control, no danger of choking. The bastard was his,
and he took his time. Admired veins, licked pre-cum,
experimented as if he owned that cock. His cunt. His
managed to breathe, to remain silent, just like with
Gavriil, or Vanya. Couldn't show more weakness than
tension, and fast breathing. Couldn't moan, or groan,
couldn't, above all, move, the sensations tantalising,
arousing despite the intention and what they meant,
firmness, heat, tongue, lips.
let his head fall back, concentrated on staying completely
silent, could feel the other fumble around, try things,
take him deep or focus on the tip, less concentrated
on any kind of rhythm, any kind of getting him off.
He felt a sickening lurch when the other tried teeth,
tensed so hard he almost lifted himself off the ground,
just the scraping of teeth. He would come if the other
cut him. His body wouldn't be able to tell the difference,
it had blurred long enough. Release, climax. He shook
his head. Don't think about it. Don't remember Vanya's
cut throat, the way his windpipe had looked, the cartilage
of the voice box visible in the gaping cut.
turned his head to the side to bite into his shoulder
muscle, desire turning to anguish, and raging through
his body. The fear was part of it, added edge, and that
made him bleed just as any knife. He couldn't beg, they'd
been through this already, appealing to any kind of
soldier's integrity wouldn't do it this time. He had
nothing to offer. The other had him under control, every
response of his body, and he couldn't end this, couldn't
speed it up, and he didn't want it to end, because then
he'd die. If anything, that made it better.
that caused a darker kind of fear, a fear of himself.
didn't notice any of his victim's fear; sex-partner,
tool and toy. Continued to take his time, exploring
that one, central part of the other's body. Fixated
and focussed, on smell and taste and sensations, until
he started to realise which reaction were caused by
what and how he could get the Russian to groan or inhale
sharply or hiss in a certain way. Felt the cock twitch
when he squeezed the balls in just that certain way
and pressed his fingers against the dam close to the
anus. Began to get addicted to the sounds the other
tried to repress and the tensing and sweating when he
sucked down as far as he could and added just that extra
amount of pressure.
did it again, pushing down, almost gagging, but this
time in control. Harder, faster, the blade almost forgotten,
steel resting against delicate flesh. Fierce; violating
himself while using the other. Learning and teaching
himself to suck cock and abso-fucking-lutely loving
every second of the increasingly brutal pace.
felt the tension built, could feel the other was driving
to make him cum now, and the pressure was getting bad,
between his legs, his body burning and melting and beginning
to get there, friction, heat, and he bit harder into
the muscle of his arm, tried to take some control back
with the pain. He was getting closer, closer to death.
Hips moved forward, but could only go that far, no real
strength, no force, more begging than thrusting, every
muscle starting to tense, to knot up, thighs, stomach,
ass, he could feel his guts tighten, and fought climax
like he had never fought anything in his life. Don't.
Don't. He was dripping sweat now, could hardly breathe,
knew he needed to breathe, relax but couldn't. Wouldn't
Think. Breathe. Couldn't beg. The fear was just as bad
as the need now, a sharp-clawed monster digging for
his heart, relentless, eating him. Stop, he thought.
Please fucking stop.
didn't want to die for this. Then the other just pushed
him over the edge, pressure mounted and crashed, intense
like lightning, he came so hard he thought he'd collapse,
legs going weak, his shoulders taking the weight as
he came, shuddering, a toneless sound choked in his
throat was suddenly assaulted again, but different this
time, voluntary, not held, not forced, and it was he
whose fingers were curled around the long-forgotten
knife. Dan's throat was filled with cum, the taste he
had found and wanted, and wanted again. Blade scraping
along the thigh while Dan's hand started slipping, holding
onto hips and cock, swallowing, keeping the friction
up, sucking the other dry.
He was a goddamned fucking fag and he loved it.
still between his lips, tongue lapping-licking, knife
somewhere half-mast along the Russian's thigh.
shuddered, tensing again, his body so grateful, enjoying
it so much despite his brain that was just panic now,
anticipation of death, just couldn't think anything
but that, death, blood, weakness, darkness, cold. Rotting
bodies. The sensations were good, fucked up good, the
eagerness that was nothing but to take revenge, to show
him just how weak he was, just a prelude to death. It
didn't make sense the other kept going, but he was beyond
arguing, beyond logic and reason.
teeth released the muscle - no, it wouldn't hurt tomorrow,
because there was no tomorrow, and he rested his forehead
against the arm, feeling his own body shiver and shudder.
No strength in his legs, no strength left in his body.
wanted to beg for his life, felt the fear, the cowardice.
Wanted to do anything if that meant he would live. But
the other wasn't finished with him. Would he fuck him
with that knife this time? Like he had almost done
"Nyet", he breathed, and suppressed the sound
from above filtered into Dan's thoughts. Heard the word,
made no sense, didn't matter. Let go of the cock, reluctantly,
wanted to keep it where it was, if cock-sucking-tasting-swallowing
was what being a fag was all about, he wanted nothing
but to be a fucking fag, and with ten-star rating.
looked up, licked his lips, remembered the knife, moved
backwards. Still on his knees, Dan dropped the blade,
reached for the pistol in its holster in the small of
his back. Had prepared for everything - or so he thought.
Didn't have a clue what the fuck was going on in the
other, couldn't risk being torn apart by an irate Russian
cunt once he'd untied him.
could feel the other leaving, felt sweat beads trickling
down his sides, down over his flanks, run down into
the camo trousers, which were down to his knees. Waited
for a shot, a sharp impact, then nothing. Expected the
other to go behind him and put that knife into his body.
Seconds passed, and he was still alive, and he thought
suddenly, maybe the other wanted to look into his eyes
when he killed him. Maybe that. He didn't raise his
head, it was too heavy, neck muscles not supporting
drew the pistol, scuttled backwards, crouched on the
mud-pounded floor. The knife beside him, forgotten and
discarded. "If I cut the ropes now, do you attack
would he do that - cut the ropes? "Do what you
want", Vadim murmured in English. "Nothing
I can do about it." Don't fight. It will hurt worse
when you fight. Nothing you can do right now. Just don't
allow him to gloat. A shudder running through his body.
Proof in point, his cock was going to get him killed.
The other kept the upper hand, kept the last word. Didn't
look at him. Didn't want to stare into a muzzle.
nodded, didn't believe a word nor the fucked-up stance.
The Russkie malleable and meek? Bullshit! "OK."
He was sure the other was trying to trick him into believing
he was no threat, but picked up the knife, shifting
the pistol into his left hand.
at sweat, glistening on pale skin, in parts sun-burnt
and almost raw. Muscles, perfectly defined in ways that
Dan would never achieve. Dan, the soldier, runner, para
and fighter, never the perfectly balanced sports god.
Couldn't keep his eyes from that body, he suddenly grinned.
Fuck, that had been a ride to remember, and he wanted
it again. Would wank every night - and every day if
given the chance - to the taste and sound of the Russkie.
He stood up, went over and started to cut the ropes
at the ankles, carefully keeping out of harm's way.
thing, Vadim brought his legs together, nothing but
a reflex. Stand properly, securely, protect himself
against a knife that didn't come. Had no idea what to
expect now, maybe a beating, maybe a shot, maybe he
was taken prisoner and would be marched to the embassy.
The panic still eating at his mind.
didn't want to get killed once he had cut the ropes
that secured the arms. He cut them swiftly, took a quick
arms came free, and bared his face. He didn't want to
look at the other, didn't want to risk it, just reached
for the camo trousers and pulled them up, hoped that
wouldn't trigger anything, scorn, violence, or a bullet.
When had he been so scared last time? Oh, Vadim knew.
do remember the rules, aye?"
What rules? Vadim glanced at the other, tried to read
that expression. Failed. He had no idea what was going
on. Reached up to touch the place at his temple that
hurt. Swollen, but no blood. Well executed blow. "Want
me to kneel for bullet?"
Dan didn't get it. "Fucking Russian weirdo."
Kept the pistol trained on the other, certain now the
odd behaviour was just a clever ruse, grabbed his bergan
and rolled up the sleeping bag one-handed, stuffed it
inside the backpack.
Brit had lied, Vadim thought. He wouldn't get killed.
Not like this, not today. He shuddered, could feel a
moment of nausea, the stress coming crashing down, and
staggered back against the other wall, reached for it,
supported himself as he crouched. He felt weak, weak,
tired, humiliated and exhausted, the fear embedded so
deeply in his mind it didn't just leave. He wanted to
scream, and run, and go home, wanted to leave this place,
any place like this, the country, the army, any place
killing." Dan repeated. The rules, could remember
only the one, everything else paled in comparison. Didn't
want to kill, just suck and fuck and rub and touch.
Heaved the bergan onto his back, moved towards the door,
all the time carefully watching the other for an attack.
Wired, wary. Didn't trust the bastard one second.
days. Remember." Dan opened the lock of the door.
shuddered uncontrollably, fists clenched, face stony,
but his eyes felt like they might burn. As if he hadn't
blinked, hadn't closed them for an eternity. He wiped
the sweat from his face with his arm. "That
His voice was not to be trusted, "all you wanted?"
Touched his swollen, raw wrists, could feel the touch
from those lips linger, just like the blade right to
his balls. "Serious? You mean it?"
eyes narrowed, didn't get it, no fucking clue what the
hell was going on. "Your own words. Keep it
interesting. I did, cunt. What else."
sneered, bared his teeth in triumphant arrogance, opened
the door. "Teahouse. Next week." He'd be there.
slipped out of the door and vanished into the labyrinthine
streets of Kabul.
drew a breath that nearly choked him. Couldn't even
think of counterattack, took the arrogance, arrogance
couldn't kill him. Scorn, whatever. He'd live. Interesting.
Fuck Chinese sayings. Too interesting. Too close to
it right there, Vadim. This one was too close. You can't
go on like this. Not like this, not with this man, not
in this city. You have a duty, a family, a job to do.
You can't throw all that away.
nodded, to himself. "Too close." Swallowed.
Needed water, should have smoked the weed, would have
helped now, but then, this had almost driven him insane
in a sober mind. What a drugged mind would have made
out of it ...
grenade being lobbed through the door. No boobytrap.
He'd live. But had died too often just now. He stared
at the ropes, could feel his wrists burn. Another thing
he'd have to hide. He didn't care. He'd live. He wouldn't
throw this away, wouldn't put himself at risk again.
Being special forces was bad enough without some sick
fuck as a fuck buddy who was the enemy and capable of
taking him out. Madness from the start. But he had woken
up now. Had sobered. Was back in his mind.
would focus on winning this war. No more tea houses.
No more tying up, no more knives and torture. No more
sick release. Too risky.
* * * * * *
days later and Dan sat in exactly the same spot as before.
Confident the Russian would turn up, as he had always
done. A sick puppy, just like himself. He sat and drank
his over-sweetened tea, smoked some weed that the owner
was supplying to him at no extra cost, could allow himself
the luxury of a semi-stoned mind. His duties were negligible,
hadn't received any order yet, just to lie low. Was
eating plate-fulls of baklava, and waited.
Dan sat and frowned, wondering if the cunt had been
killed. Too bad.
duties that kept the other away. He sat for hours, waiting,
wanting, left finally with a sense of emptiness and
next week, or perhaps the Russkie was simply rotting
somewhere in a tin case, draped with the Soviet flag.
finally decided to make major, huh?" asked the
almost dropped the weight onto his chest, but lifted
it again and let it rest on the frame of the bench.
He sat up, regarded the other Vympel. Tough as leather.
The leather of a crocodile, most likely, and not the
soft belly. Didn't think the other expected him to salute
or snap to attention, they were both off duty, both
working out. The Major had a towel around his neck,
wore the striped undershirt, and Vadim could see that
the body was only a few years away from sagging, but
at the moment, he was like the knotted leather of a
seem more focused, Krasnorada."
realised life is short."
will be sent away soon. Out there, I want you to be
am awake, Sir."
Major waved that away and stepped closer. "Empty
mind. You are thinking too much, Krasnorada."
about the other man. Seven days now. That's why he worked
out, couldn't find rest, couldn't find peace, allowed
him only to think of the other when he was in bed, and
more often than not, the spike was taken off with vodka.
Sometimes he'd jerk off, but most of the time, he was
too tired or drunk or both. "I am aware of that,
soon get transferred to the front."
much front as it can be in this country. Thank you,
Sir. I was getting cabin fever."
other would stay in Kabul, most likely. Duty would keep
them apart. He'd get used to not meeting the enemy.
In uniform, at several hundred yards, it would be impossible
to tell the difference. Killing was less agonising than
being at each other's mercy. More natural. More acceptable.
Major knotted the skipping rope in his hand, and hit
Vadim square in the chest with it. It fucking hurt.
Vadim stepped back, felt the backs of his legs connect
with the bench. "Sir?"
must never forget where the front is", said the
Major. "A man of your intelligence shouldn't doubt
even for one heartbeat."
felt his hackles rise. "I did not doubt, Sir."
question, Sir." He kept his lips pressed together,
felt found out, bared, and kept his gaze neutral, forced
himself to relax.
Major looked at him for a long time, then nodded. Vadim
didn't dare feel relief.
seven days and Dan had made his way back to the teahouse.
Warring between hoping and dreading. What if the fucker
didn't show up, he should be glad, the insanity would
end at last. What if he did and what if he didn't; what
if he'd never taste that bastard again, never touched,
never punched, never bit and never sucked. Shit.
owner greeted him like an old friend, one hand had been
washing the other and the teahouse had remained an eye
of calm in the storm of Soviet occupation. Baklava was
soon brought, and strong sweetened tea, but Dan refused
the hashish that time, had to keep a clear head.
received orders, not much longer and he would have to
vanish, across the border into Pakistan and from there
back into the mountains. Going into the landscape of
majestic solitude, of skies and rocks, caves and sheep
and houses hewn into the rocks. Ten more days and he'd
be gone, perhaps forever. Didn't know much of his mission,
only what he needed to know. The less he could be forced
to tell, the better. Knowledge could be lethal, and
he wasn't ready to die.
sat and waited. Again. Cursed himself, drank the tea;
angry, worried, pissed off and fuming, ate the sweets.
Had he gone too far? Scolded himself for that ridiculous
thought. Missed the cunt and that body. Only that body.
Not the man. Just the fucking insanity and the lunatic
was restless. Today. The tea house. Lifted weights,
could feel his body change as he ever increased the
amount of weight, did it slower, more intense, groaned
and nearly screamed in the weightlifting room, would
have much preferred to groan that other way, but fuck
that, his duty was to stay alive.
up. The enemy sucking him off. Fourteen days. Two missed
opportunities to blow steam. Images tantalising, the
other's body, the smell of sweat, harsh breathing. Tied
up like a pig for the slaughter. Fuck you, Vadim. Don't.
be gone in the next few days. Not another week. No more
opportunities. He didn't have to follow him. He dropped
the weight and got up from the bench, burning with exertion.
A quick wash, still hardly enough water, hardly enough
for drinking. Left the barracks. Thought what the fuck
was he doing, headed into Kabul, market, tea house.
had been sitting and waiting for hours, debating with
himself that he was a stupid fucker and sad fag, waiting
for a 'date' that never arrived. Telling himself he
was about to leave, like he had been half an hour ago,
an hour ago, two hours ago, three ... Wallflower. Leftovers.
Unwanted. Waiting, and what a date he had been waiting
for. Fucking enemy, soldier, bastard and Russian cunt.
Needed him. So much his insides churned and his body
was tensing in near-pain.
almost jerked, finally spying the tell-tale silhouette
of the other. Pushed the shades back down over his eyes,
didn't give a shit about drawing attention, sipped his
tea. Cursed the hand that dared to shake.
ordered tea, went to the usual place where they met,
sat down. Fear. He'd tell them it had to end. They were
enemies again. No way they could keep doing this. Too
raised his head, stared at the other, eyes hidden behind
darkened glass. Wanted to rip the uniform off the wanker
and assault skin and flesh with teeth and hands.
if you were dead."
glanced up, hated the shades but of course that was
why the other was wearing them, deny him eye contact.
"No. Moving to front in few days." He couldn't
lean back, the tendons in his body felt too short for
that, he saw the weapons on the other, remembered that
man's control and felt the fear surge back. What the
fuck had happened to him? The other had let him go.
Or rather, crawl away, torn open by fear. But the knowledge
he had enjoyed this. Would have enjoyed everything,
including getting fucked. As long as it wasn't death,
he could enjoy anything.
tea arrived. He waited till the Afghan was gone. Looked
briefly at the plate with the sweets, but couldn't eat,
not the way his stomach was one white-hot knot. Worse
than eating in the scope of a sniper. "Might be
few months." Tell me to fuck off, now, Brit. No,
tell him to fuck off, Vadim. He has broken the fucking
what a blowjob. His face twitched. Indeed.
Dan's brows rose, visible above the shades as he reached
for another piece of the sticky pastry. Hand hovered
over it, realised he couldn't get it down, stomach churning
close to being sick. Shit again. "Don't you Russkies
ever get R&R?" Masked the movement to the baklava
with taking the tea instead. Too bad the glass was empty
- how lucky because his hand was shaking even worse.
Wanted that bastard; needed the fucker. Months. Fuck.
Could be a year if unlucky with both their missions,
not much of a fucking chance to get out alive.
be off, too." Dan couldn't say anything else, wouldn't.
"No fucking clue when or if I get back."
I need your body so goddamned badly, I am close to begging,
you fucking cunt!
nodded. They'd both be gone. Much better for their sanity,
their lives. A few quick encounters, nothing they couldn't
forget, wouldn't forget in the hail of bullets. Back
to being proper enemies. Those lips around his cock.
The way the man had pushed himself to get him off. The
way that man had fucked his mind, letting him believe
he'd die. You fucking scared me. I can't deal with the
fear. Not like that. Not like you fucking tortured me
in the mountains. Can't forget it, will never forget
it. You damn near broke me with that. Without actually
beating me up, no blood, just
inhaled. "Likely heading south. We have trouble
there." Nothing the other wouldn't know. "Behind
lines." He took his tea and sipped it. "Earn
shrugged, "Tinsel's cheap, just like tin coffins."
He pushed the shades off his eyes, let them perch on
top of his forehead. Scrutinising the other, but couldn't
read him, hadn't learned the codes yet. "Seems
our last chance, then."
shivered. No. Yes. He wasn't in control. How could he
be in control. How could he do this? How could he even
want this? One last time? Why the fuck had he come?
To talk? They didn't talk. They never talked. Looked
into the other's eyes, didn't see aggression, didn't
see scorn, spite, anger, or worse, ridicule. Nothing.
" The English syllable hung in the air. One
last chance to get off. I'm fucking scared of you. "
don't plan to go home with black tulips."
thinking, because tin boxes sound like a fucking stupid
plan to me." Dan smirked, but didn't feel anything
inside like the cool exterior he presented. Would suck
the Russkie off this time without the safety of ropes
got time?" I'm so fucking desperate I want to jump
you right here and now. "I got another safe house."
blinked. That sounded. Not like hatred. Not like the
other would bash in his skull and fuck what was left
of his pride. Shouldn't be here, shouldn't think of
those lips. The heat of that mouth. Last time before
the mountains. And plan or not, he could still die.
He just needed to be careful. Alert. Not trust him,
not even for a heartbeat. "No ropes. Almost broke
my fucking wrists."
tilted his head. "Deal. No ropes. No weapons. For
both." Didn't trust the Russian, not after the
last time, the fight, the panic, and that niggling feeling
that he had gone too far. But how? How could he ever
step over a line again, after the torture.
trust that promise? Do you? Fuck you, Vadim, you'll
get yourself killed, in a messy way. Nothing clean about
what that man will do to you. Vadim hesitated, felt
the fear overpower the need, the need that was in the
background, the fear all over it, swarming insects crawling
into every thought.
Dan got up, threw Afghani notes onto the blanket. Had
paid before but paid again, always twice. It helped
his dealings with the natives. "Not far."
He turned, started to walk out of the tea house, but
this time slowly, turning back to see if the other followed.
Less cocky and sure, or maybe just too damn frustrated.
didn't want to, but the lips. The hands. The strength
of the other. All that strength that could destroy him
if he chose to. He felt vulnerable. Didn't want to follow.
One last thing. One last time.
kept his gaze down, felt defeated, knew he was being
stupid. Hand near a knife. Just waited for a movement
from the corner of his eyes. Would fight and kill at
the slightest hint of danger.
to Dan's word it wasn't very far this time. Two streets,
three corners, and they had reached the same type of
building in a similar kind of shitty place. Dan unlocked
the bolt and stepped aside, waiting for the Russian
to catch up. Slipped inside, immediately turned back
round, wary of an attack. Stayed in full view of the
other. Hands up, showing he had no weapon.
attack this time. I promised." Again that head
tilt, Dan's voice growing huskier, memories of two weeks
ago. "At least you can't complain it didn't get
more interesting." Smirked this time.
moved with his back against the wall, shut the door
with his heel, locked it. Breathing. Mockery. "Yeah,
bit in mountains
that was interesting, too."
Shit. Crybaby. Mewling crybaby. He shook his head, put
a grin on, masking how much he had let on. "Good
cocksucking, though." Eyes narrowed, a challenge.
"Not bad for second time."
smirk grew, a dangerous edge to it, but far too desperate
to allow the aggression to take over. He wanted, needed,
had to have that man. One last time. Couldn't let his
own arrogance nor pride blow it.
saying I'm making a good fag?" Dan didn't wait
this time, shrugged out of his jacket. Was getting colder
in Kabul. "I say I need more practice." Wasn't
ashamed of his greed. Cocksucker. Cunt. Whateverthefuck.
wanted to jump back. Remembered the teeth, remembered
too much how much he had wanted and how much he had
feared the other would kill him the moment he came.
No knife. Please no knife. His face twitched. Did he
want to give him that much power again? No. Yes. Didn't
want to suck him, but then, that would give him control,
things would go at his own speed. Yes.
All of it. Down." So he couldn't hide a weapon.
Important. Vadim took off the tunic, shirt, stripped
down to the dog tags, camo BDUs, boots remained for
the moment, while he watched the other. His body was
still pumped up from the workout, muscles swollen with
blood and strength.
shrugged, pulled the shirt off, bent down to unlace
the boots before kicking them off. Didn't feel right
to undress himself, an awkward moment, scolding himself
for his bloody idiocy. Continued to undo belt and trousers,
pushed them down and stepped out of the faded and worn
army issue. Stood in socks and nothing else, having
gone commando as usual whenever possible.
be off to eagle's nest", Vadim murmured. Twelve
months in solitude. Patrols. Watching the road. "More
likely, run security for the convoys to south."
fucking Russkies with your fucking insanity. Eagle's
nest. Twelve fucking months and no R&R. No wonder
you're so fucked-up." Dan sneered, finally got
around to his socks, non-standard issue and a thousand
times better than army crap. He stood naked, arms crossed
in front of his chest, gaze challenging. "Just
don't run into me. A bullet would ruin our next tête
stepped closer, eyes on the round bullet scar on the
other's shoulder. That had ruined nothing. Not that
one. That body. No weapons, no guns. He opened his belt,
detached the pistol holster, put it on the ground to
the side. The knife went there, too. Now he could want
this body, could allow feeling needy and wanting to
go where ordered." Vadim shrugged. "Working
on next rank." Making major. That would be nice,
actually. Afghanistan was the way up. Nothing like a
war zone to keep those ranks and medals coming.
not that different, then." Dan shrugged as well,
"I do my duty. No more, no less." As long
as it gave him the adrenaline thrill he had been seeking
all his life.
stepped closer, running his hands across the other man's
chest, down his abs, one hand went straight for the
cock and balls, closing finger and thumb around them,
behind the balls, pulling and squeezing.
out of practise", Vadim murmured. "Tell me,
why did you not kill me? What do you want?" He
went down on his knees, ran his tongue over the other's
balls. Sweat. Salty musky taste. Pulled the cock and
balls up to lick the underside, brush them with his
inhaled sharply, "Shit!" hissed between his
teeth, hard to form a thought. Hard, yeah fuck, the
irony of the word. "Why the fuck should I have
wanted to kill you?" He shuddered, looked down,
watched his cock, the head, those lips, the face and
heaven and hell, the feeling he got was more intense
than any battlefield he'd ever been on. "You wanted
a thrill, you got it."
yes. But too much. Had given up. Resigned to death.
Broken. Snapped. Begged for his life without being able
to. Come apart. Nothing that Vadim could just do. Not
in his fucking profession.
thought it was for the power", Vadim pulled the
foreskin back to completely bare the head, studied it,
rolled his neck to relax for what he had in mind. He'd
be damned if he couldn't get the other to lose control.
Flicked the tip of his tongue across the head, the slightest
of touches, checked on the other's reaction. But then,
he certainly didn't mind if it got too close to discomfort.
Dan searched for anything to steady himself, while staring
down, "Bloody hell, you know what you're doing."
Like no one before. No bimbo, ever. No whore.
kept the grip strong around the balls, increasing pressure
with his fingers, closed his lips right after the flaring
tip, tongue circling around the small opening, the taste
there different, not particularly pleasant, but he knew
what it did to a man. Laid off the intensity, took the
cock deeper, running his tongue over the underside,
taking him slowly, intense, neck and jaw tensing, offering
resistance and friction, slowly taking him to the throat.
Now, that was a proper skill, that was mostly willpower,
control of breathing, nothing more. His drill instructors
would kill him for what he used his various skills for.
He almost laughed.
couldn't find support nor leverage, felt his body wanting
to slump, then tense, first stagger, then turn rigid,
shudder and tremble, then lose balance. "Shit
" desperately trying
to get closer to a beam or wall without losing those
sensations. Fuck, that bastard was better than a whore,
addictive unlike anything before and he knew he'd want
it again, couldn't exist without it anymore.
muscles tensing, cursed his need and the far-too-fast
arousal, reacted to the suction, friction, scraping
and licking like Pavlov's dog. Would reduce himself
to begging if the fucktard stopped right now. "Gotta
soon but ... balance
Stammering idiot, nothing but a quivering piece of meat,
willingly in the power of an enemy.
pulled back, chuckled, kept his hand around the other's
cock and balls, other hand turned Dan so his back faced
the walls and pushed him against it, flat hand against
his stomach. He wanted to mock him, wanted to make sure
the other knew how helpless he was now. Don't even need
ropes and knife for this.
Dan knew it, didn't give a shit. Slave, servant, fag,
cunt, bitch and suka. Whatever, wherever, whoever.
Pressed with his back against the wall, Dust mixing
with sweat in his back, stare fixed onto cock and head
of the other. Wanted to scream, hit, hurt and made to
feel in return. "Shit
mindless, stupid, garbled words and sounds from his
throat he should be ashamed of.
looked up, licked his lips, eyes narrow. I'll fuck you
now. And nothing you can do about it. He sucked the
cock through near-closed lips, focused on the tip again,
allowing it to slip free and took it in, in and out,
sucking, pressure, tongue then invading the slit, snaking
against it, while his hand kept the cock under control.
No ramming inside, and very likely no cumming until
he allowed it.
hit his fists against the wall behind him, prisoner,
owned by his own lust and that goddamned clever tongue.
Teeth. Lips. Fucker!
was laughing inside, the way the other grew desperate
was a sight to behold. Of course he knew what he was
doing, but he acted as if he did this for himself, when
he really just put on the show for the other. Changed
gear every now and then, two deep motions, taking the
cock into his throat, a third time, less deep, two more
deep ones, then back to the tip that was leaking precum,
cleaned that away, pulled the cock free, just cleaned
the tip, went into the opening again as if to take the
rest, ignoring the taste, this was mostly a lesson,
some odd kind of payback, nothing but control for as
long as he could keep it up. And that could take a while,
because the other was defenceless.
free hand began to fuck that cock, wet with saliva and
sweat, pumped him a few times, while he kept licking
the tip, loved how the other sounded, nearly whimpering,
those fists clenched and helpless. No rope necessary.
The other had dropped his defences. He'd be dead if
he wanted. His choice, his decision. The man was his.
His free hand slipped between the other's legs, to touch
the dam, press there, slip further, while he took his
cock deeper again, as deep as he could - and his wet
finger found the hole, and pressed in, slipped the finger
in deep, and released Dan's cock and balls. Now cum,
fuck!" Dan lost it, yelled out, too many feelings
assaulting his body, sensory overload. Sensation of
the wrong fucking type and the most right one ever in
his life and fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Crashed down, under,
knees buckled, useless fists hit his own thighs, the
wall, scrabbling-clawing at flesh, his own. Convulsing,
shuddering, stammering words with no meaning, completely
lost. Came into the enemy's throat, with the enemy's
finger up his arse and to the enemy's knowledge that
he was completely in the other's hand. His. My cunt?
Fuck that, his bitch.
bastard!" Dan couldn't get his body under control,
only half-managed words, wanted to kick the other, punish
the Russian, but that finger, the added sensation, was
too bloody good, and he just collapsed.
pulled back, needed to get out of reach, the rage was
there, only the fact the other was not nearly coherent
enough to fight now, too weak. He wanted vodka to wash
the taste away, headed towards the other man's bergan,
dug inside without taking his eyes off the enemy, found
a bottle, glass, opened it and drank. Whiskey. Excellent
way to purge that taste. He kept the bottle open, swirled
the golden liquid around, then, maybe as a manner of
offering peace, stretched out the hand with the bottle,
some tension in his body remaining. Ready to jump back.
had sunk to the ground, slowly sliding along the wall
until he hit the floor of dried mud and dust. Covered
in that shit, sweat and red crap creating an itching
paste on his body, cooling rapidly even though his heartbeat
was still hammering.
arsehole." Not half as much venom behind the words
as expected. What damned point was it now to beat the
crap out of the other. Dan had liked it. Too much. Bastard.
Had known exactly what to do, unlike himself. He grabbed
the bottle without looking, gulped down a fair amount,
wiped his lips. Narrowed his eyes, only then studied
the other, gaze pointedly falling on the still soft
cock. "Bloody disinterested for someone with your
smirked, following the gaze and getting the meaning.
"True." It gave him next to nothing. He was
too aware, too himself, and the main aim was to control
the other. It was interesting, in some way, the first
time with a man, because they were always challenges,
but once he'd mastered those, it was a routine thing.
He'd done this for few men, and he didn't really need
it, didn't really want to. "I guess too much interest
gets you into trouble", he mused. "No control.
It's something you do."
shook his head, swallowed another mouthful of burning
liquor before handing the bottle back. "Bullshit.
I like it." Giving too much away, but what did
it matter. Either of them would probably be dead in
a year, he'd put money on the Russian going first. "Cocksucking."
Bared his teeth. "I've become a right little fag,
eyes narrowed. Fag. The word continued to rile him.
"I know. Have guy who nearly gets off on it. Does
it himself, saves me trouble." He indicated wanking
with his right hand. Gavriil. "That guy's fag.
Girly guy. Can't wait to get fucked, he'd even put on
dress. That type's fag. And you are not. Neither am
I. You like it, cool, fine, that means nothing. Doesn't
make you fucking girl." Took more of the whiskey,
waited for an attack, but there was no tension in that
body. The other was simply sated, and that made fighting
shrugged, almost laughed, sound stuck in his throat,
couldn't be bothered. Pulled his legs up, one arm around
his knees, still studying the other. "I should
smash your fucking face in for that finger up my arse."
No real conviction behind these words, either. Damned
satisfaction, the come-down after a climax could be
a killer. He'd become careless.
be bothered to beat the crap out of you. The mountains
will do that for me. If not them, then the Mujahideen
and if they don't make it either, then some shit that
happens in a bloody place like this." Dan shrugged
again, didn't seem to care either way.
gritted his teeth. And that was exactly why he shouldn't
have returned after last time. "You could have
left me to the goat-fuckers that time." Challenged
the other, challenged that assumption. "You think
I'd get caught in place like this? No way. Mountains?
I'm trained to deal with mountains. Bandits? Fuck bandits,
I'm spetsnaz." He bared his teeth. "I'll outlive
you, bastard. I'll outlive your mission."
smirked, "Spetsnaz? Fuck spetsnaz. I'm SAS and
we all know the British Special Air Services are the
best." Cap-badge pride, the right of every soldier.
He wiped his lips, pointed at the bergan. "Protein
bars. Hand me one." Wordless understanding between
them by now, the handful of peanut butter ones were
always for the Russian.
crouched to reach inside, tossing him one of the bars,
stuffed his own pockets with them, always watchful.
"Just in case we're both alive
be wherever they send me, but seems it will be more
likely here than anywhere else." Tearing the wrapper
off the strawberry flavoured one, Dan bit into the bar
as if he hadn't eaten for years. "Six months at
the earliest. I'll leave a message in the teahouse if
it's still there."
wasn't hungry. At least the other's mission was long
term. He doubted it would be as long term as his own
deployment, but he wouldn't just vanish. No address,
no place to reach him, just the tea house, which he
might not be able to reach himself, trapped in the mountains
with comrades, hunting insurgents, or escorting one
of the convoys. One convoy could take weeks, and the
Red Army needed to ship in each and every piece of equipment
from Soviet territory right into Kabul, over roads that
hardly deserved the name, through passes that swarmed
with bandits, constant danger of mines and snipers.
But the other option sounded worse. Eagle's nest. He
really hoped it was protecting the convoy - or getting
flown in when a convoy was under attack. "I'll
check for messages. I might be gone for longer. Seems
it's some kind of testing ground."
to make major. He had the feeling his superior had something
special in mind.
that case," Dan swallowed the last piece of sticky
sweetness, "I better get one more practice in."
Didn't know what he felt about this, not the cock nor
its sucking, but the time of separation. Six months,
twelve. He didn't believe he'd ever see the bastard
again. Couldn't understand why he felt numb.
simply crawled over, pointed at the other. "Your
gave a surprised laugh, stood to lean against the wall.
Don't get your hopes up, I'll be back, he thought, but
he had no idea what state he'd be in. Very likely the
major would wear them down, work them to the bone, knew
what they could endure and would push that limit. Very
unlikely he'd have any time to miss something, or energy
left to think of sex. He'd be lucky if he got enough
sleep and water, no way there was vodka or sex in it.
"Just don't cry for me, darling," he murmured
looked up, on his knees, still managed to smirk and
answered in Russian. "You should be so lucky."
Then concentrated on his task.