Privideniya - Chapter 29

Major Ocelot was not a slave to his emotions.

It had not always been the case. When he was a boy, he’d had his share of passionate outbursts, but he was not a boy any longer. He was nineteen; nearly twenty.

And so there was no reason for Raikov to be able to unsettle him like he did.

But he had.

He had just smiled. The same sad, sweet smile as always, and told Ocelot to come by his room tonight. Come by, and let Raikov apologize to him.

The way he had said it, Ocelot could have believed it meant nothing.

Perhaps, to Raikov, it did. Ocelot had learned over the months that followed their first meeting, Raikov didn’t give himself freely, casually. Not the way Ocelot had first thought.

He was hard as ice, but he knew when to yield easily as a reed. It had been part of his training, but it came naturally to him, as well. Ocelot could not help but wonder, how young Raikov had been when he had learned that, in bending himself, he could make others bow as well.

It was easy for him, but not so for Ocelot.

He would never admit it, of course. He would never tell anyone that the way Raikov touched him, easy and casual, was sometimes enough to make him shiver.

It was not that Ocelot was an inexperienced lover. There were women who took an interest in him. Hard, worldly women. Beautiful older women, who only laughed at his rebuffs and teased him mercilessly.

When he couldn’t avoid them any longer, he took them to bed and gave them no reason to complain.

But he had never really understood it.

To Ocelot, kissing was just something silly two people could do with their mouths. Fucking was only a way to break a sweat.

But he knew that Raikov could bring a man like Volgin to his knees with a smile and a wink. He could drop him in his tracks with just a toss of yellow hair, as accurately as Ocelot could with a bullet.

Ocelot didn’t want to want him. He was tired of this game.

And he winced when he realized he could almost hear Raikov’s laugh. He could almost see the way his eyebrows would tilt up curiously, his mouth tighten into a little pout, if Ocelot ever said those words aloud.

“So stop,” would be all Raikov would say. “Just stop.”

Because, to a man like that, it was just that easy.

By the time he was outside Raikov’s door, Ocelot was already angry. Already frustrated, and he hadn’t even seen the Major yet.

But he was still here.

It was late, and the halls of Groznyj Grad were empty. Only the dim blue emergency lights were on. Even the faint, persistent hum of machinery had been quieted for the night.

Ocelot raised his hand to knock on Raikov’s door, then he hesitated, and reached for the knob instead.

It turned in his hand, and the door swung open.

“Adamska.” Raikov’s voice was turned as low as the lights. “You came.”

His back was to Ocelot, but he wasn’t so far away. Ocelot would have only had to reach out, and his hands would be around Raikov’s waist.

But he didn’t reach for him; he only shut the door, silently, like the door of a tomb. “How did you know it was me?” he asked quietly.

“Who else would it be?”

Raikov turned in a neat pirouette, and sat back on the bed. He looked up at Ocelot from beneath his lashes.

“You tell me,” Ocelot said.

Raikov just giggled. “Silly boy…”

“Volgin, maybe?”

“No.” Raikov shook his head. His hair bobbed around his face. “He won’t come for me tonight. He works hard these days. He hardly ever comes anymore…”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Not exactly,” Raikov said. “But it gets lonely sometimes.”

He opened the drawer next to the bed, and his hand dipped inside. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tossing them gently to Ocelot.

“We all like some things that aren’t so good for us.”

Ocelot said nothing until he had opened the pack and slipped a thin cigarette between his lips. “I didn’t come here to talk about Volgin.”

“I know,” Raikov said softly. “You came for me.”

Ocelot struck a match and raised it, slowly, to his cigarette. He took a deep drag – so deep it made his lungs ache, like the lump that rose in his throat when Raikov looked at him with that tiny knowing smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” Ocelot said at last.

Raikov didn’t take his eyes from Ocelot’s. He pushed steadily to his feet, and reached for the top button of his uniform coat.

He flicked open the buttons quickly, slipped out of the coat and tossed it over a chair. A moment later, his drab green tie crumpled beside it. He was reaching for the collar of his shirt when Ocelot shook his head.

“Wait,” he said, and then his hands were around Raikov’s wrists, stilling him.

Raikov raised a pale eyebrow, and said nothing. He was tense against Ocelot’s grip, but he didn’t fight him.

“How can you be so casual?” Ocelot asked at last. His cigarette smoldered between two fingers. He had angled it out and away so it wouldn’t burn Raikov while he held him.

Raikov’s lips moved slightly, and for a moment Ocelot was sure the Major was going to laugh at him.

But then he leaned forward, onto his toes, and pressed a kiss to Ocelot’s mouth.

“I forget sometimes,” he said quietly, “what kind of man you are, Adamska. Thanks for reminding me.”

He stepped back, extracting himself gracefully from Ocelot’s slackened grip.

“What kind of man am I?” Ocelot said.

“A good one.”

Ocelot stepped forward, and Raikov tilted his face up for a kiss. They clashed together, Ocelot wrapping his arms around Raikov’s waist, tugging him up on his toes.

Raikov’s hands fluttered over Ocelot’s chest and shoulders. He seemed surprised that he didn’t need to pull Ocelot closer.

He could give himself over to this man, Ocelot decided. Not for the night, but for an hour, perhaps; no longer than that. He still wasn’t sure whether this was business or pleasure for Raikov, but if he tried hard enough he could pretend it didn’t matter.

“You trust me,” Raikov breathed against Ocelot’s damp lips.

It wasn’t a question.

“I have to, don’t I?” Ocelot said.

“You don’t.” Raikov smiled, and his hands moved for the buttons of Ocelot’s coat. “But you should.”

Ocelot drew another drag from his cigarette, and tossed the rest away. His eyes followed Raikov’s hands as they wove the intricate pattern of undressing him.

It was cold, but he did not shiver as Raikov opened his coat and eased it back over his shoulders.

“Touch me,” he whispered, and turned his face up so their eyes met. His hands lingered on Ocelot’s cravat, fingers cutting grooves into the rich fabric. “You never touch me.”

If Raikov’s expression hadn’t been so serious, Ocelot would have been sure the Major was making fun of him. He sighed, and he was very aware of Raikov’s weight pressing against his chest.

He lifted his hands, and they hovered for a moment, fluttering like red dragonflies, before coming to rest on Raikov’s hips.

“There…” Ocelot breathed. He stroked his thumbs along the sharp ridges of Raikov’s hipbones, and dug his fingers in possessively.

Raikov laughed, leaning in to his touch. He flicked his wrist, unknotting Ocelot’s cravat with a flourish, and tossing it aside.

Ocelot tugged the tails of Raikov’s shirt out of his uniform pants, and began to unbutton it.

Raikov’s hands moved back to his throat, tugging at his top button. His hands moved down Ocelot’s chest, easing his shirt open as he went. They met in the middle, and their hands tangled for a moment.

When Ocelot raised his eyes to Raikov’s, his head spun, as though he stood on the edge of some great precipice. Slightly unbalanced, poised to fall.

Raikov extracted his hands easily, and finished with Ocelot’s buttons. It wasn’t until he reached to ease the shirt off his shoulders that Ocelot shuddered, and remembered to move again.

“It’s cold in here.”

Raikov smiled faintly. He trailed his gloved hands down Ocelot’s chest. “They say it’s going to snow,” he whispered, and looked up. “It’s really going to come down.”

Ocelot took Raikov’s hands, pulling off his gloves. They were made of fine, smooth leather, of much higher quality than Ocelot’s own gloves, but they were still cool to the touch, and when they brushed his bare skin, they made him think of the hands of a corpse.

“We should get in bed,” Raikov said. He folded his gloves over, setting them aside. “It’ll be warmer.”

“Yeah…” Ocelot said. His eyes lingered on Raikov for a moment, as he circled around him and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Raikov reached over, and flipped off the light. The darkness was sudden, but not absolute. The floodlights from the courtyard spilled in through the small window, cutting pale gashes across the floor and turning Raikov’s white skin a sickly shade of yellow. Above the door, the blue emergency light glared like an unblinking eye.

Raikov shook his hair back, and reached for the top button of his shirt.

He was holding back, restraining himself. Ocelot had been certain that, after so many weeks, Raikov would be more eager.

But he was solemn, like a prisoner on the eve of execution.

He shouldn’t have looked like that, Ocelot thought. And as he watched Raikov undress in the dim light, he tried to think of something to say. A way to tell him that he had not come here on business, and Raikov didn’t have to treat it like a suicide mission.

Raikov shed his dress shirt. He wore nothing underneath, which didn’t surprise Ocelot. His eyes roamed over the Major’s body, admiring his trim build.

He was stronger than Ocelot had expected, more heavily muscled. But his muscles followed a different pattern than Ocelot was familiar with. Most of the soldiers he knew were strong and compact, built for brute strength and endurance; the kind of bodies that came from too much hard work and not quite enough food to go around.

But Raikov’s body was lithe and supple, like a dancer or a gymnast. It was as though he had agonized over every curve and bend, like a sculptor agonizes over a block of perfect granite.

Raikov glanced up at him as he reached for his low-slung belt, and his face softened into a smile.

“Stop staring,” he murmured. “You make me nervous.”

Ocelot stiffened, embarrassed that he had been caught.

“Sorry,” he said, and looked away. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it aside. His red gloves followed a moment later. He turned onto his back, and loosened his belt, but couldn’t bring himself to part with the pants just yet.

He could hear the soft rustle of fabric as Raikov undressed, but he kept his eyes focused on the ceiling, not about to be scolded again.

But when the sounds of movement stopped, and still Raikov didn’t join him, Ocelot chanced a quick glance at him.

The Major was standing at the single window, looking out over the courtyard. The glass was a dingy yellow, and a frame of white condensation had already begin to creep from the edges of the frame inward.

“What are you looking at?” Ocelot asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

Raikov turned towards him. Outside, one of the searchlights shifted, swinging toward the building, and for a moment Raikov was haloed in bright white light. Silhouetted in an otherworldly glow. His skin was bleached of all color, and his hair was a silver corona around his face.

His feet, lost in the shadows, seemed to not even touch the ground.

Then, the searchlight swung away again, and the illusion was lost. It took Ocelot’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, Raikov was already coming towards him.

His bare feet made no sound. The bed didn’t even creak when he swung one leg over Ocelot’s hips, straddling him.

He eased himself down, settling his weight on Ocelot’s thighs. He dragged his hands down Ocelot’s chest, curving them so he could feel the bite of well-manicured nails.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Ocelot said, reaching up to cup Raikov’s face in one hand. The Major turned his head slightly. For a moment, Ocelot thought that he meant to pull away, but he only nuzzled against Ocelot’s palm, pressing his lips to the fleshy part where thumb and wrist joined.

“Nothing to say,” Raikov whispered, and bent down for a kiss. Though his movements were languid and unhurried, his lips were demanding and harsh.

“I’m glad you came tonight, Adamska,” he said, turning so he could nibble Ocelot’s ear. His tongue flicked out, tracing the gentle curve. “I thought I might go mad. Not… for want of you. But for lack of you.”

His breathed a sigh, a cool gust of air over the skin he had just dampened.

Ocelot felt his cock twitch in response, pressing up toward the warmth of Raikov’s body.

Raikov’s lips were on his throat, sucking at the sensitive spot where neck and shoulder joined. They were following the downward slant of his collarbone, they were easing down his chest. Slow, painfully slow, as though they had all the time in the world together.

They were pausing long enough to close around a small, tight nipple. And Ocelot shivered, arching his back and letting his breath out in a shaky sigh.

“Yeah…” Raikov whispered, and Ocelot couldn’t be sure if it was a question or not.

“Yeah,” he replied, and Raikov moved again, surging up into a deep kiss. His hands combed down Ocelot’s body, finding his belt and flicking it open.

“You didn’t even take your boots off,” Raikov said, and of course he was right.

“I didn’t think about it,” Ocelot said. He began to sit up, reaching for them.

“No.” Raikov pushed him back, leaning down for another searing kiss. Ocelot was left lightheaded, as though from oxygen deprivation.

And Raikov said softly, “Leave them on. It’ll be easier to kick me when I’m down.”

Ocelot didn’t ask what he meant by that, because by then Raikov was already flicking open the front of his pants and easing his cock free.

Ocelot closed his eyes, so Raikov couldn’t see the naked surprise in them. He was hard in only a few strokes, and Raikov cradled him in his hands, stroking the tip of one finger slowly along the vein that traced the underside of his cock.

Admiring him, Ocelot thought. He knew he had a nice cock. Long and straight, not as thick as some, but well-proportioned.

He wondered idly, morbidly, how he compared to Raikov’s last lover.

But when he opened his eyes again, and his gaze met Raikov’s, Ocelot knew that Volgin was the last thing on the Major’s mind.

Raikov shifted down, crawling back in bed and lowering himself onto all fours. One hand closed around Ocelot’s cock at the base, and he lowered his mouth to wet the tip.

“Shit…” Ocelot groaned. “Don’t do that.”

Raikov’s lips quirked into a tiny smile, and then they parted and took him in. Ocelot felt the roof of Raikov’s mouth glide past him, and then the softer tissue of his throat close around him.

The Major’s gag reflex was nonexistent, and Ocelot let out his breath in a sharp sigh. His head fell back, and his fingers tangled in the bed sheets, drawing them up into strange contortions, impossible new landforms.

Raikov pulled back, until only his lips were pressed in a gentle kiss to the tip of Ocelot’s cock, then he surged forward, taking him in again. Sheathing him completely in the slick humidity of his mouth.

Ocelot whimpered softly. It was unmanly to cry out, and whorish to moan. Both were beneath him, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to. His throat was sore with praise and pleading, but he bit his lip and held it in.

When Raikov pulled back, it was both too soon and not soon enough.

He licked his lips, dampening them, and he swallowed hard to get his saliva moving again.

“Do you want me, Adamska?” he whispered, shifting up so his knees were once again on either side of Ocelot’s hips; his body was poised over him.

His cock curved out elegantly in front of him. Though he was fully hard, he looked not half as desperate as Ocelot felt.

He nodded.

“Then say the word,” Raikov said.

Ocelot hesitated, and he looked the Major over in one more sweeping glance. It was the last time he would ever see him like this.

With his knees spread apart and his long thighs tapering upward, his hips looked narrower than usual. His waist seemed small to the point of consumptive. His head was thrown back, and his blond hair was in a state of disarray so artful that Ocelot could almost imagine he had planned it.

Ocelot reached out, setting his hands on Raikov’s hips to steady him. The Major’s eyes flashed with what might have been lust, or something easy to mistake for it.

“Please?” Ocelot said, and Raikov smiled.

He reached down to grip his cock at the base, and eased himself down onto it.

Ocelot was still slick from Raikov’s mouth, but he hadn’t thought that would be enough to slide into him comfortably. But after an initial murmur of discomfort, a twitch of Raikov’s fingers against his shoulder, Ocelot was inside him.

Raikov leaned over him, bracing his forearms against the wall. He began to move, slowly at first, but more quickly when Ocelot rose to meet him.

He was different than the women Ocelot had been with. Quieter, almost silent, so that the only sounds were the sharp hiss of breath and the wet grind of skin on skin. He shuddered slightly with each thrust, as though Ocelot was hurting him.

Maybe he was.

The though occurred to Ocelot all at once, and the pit of his stomach tightened minutely. He knew that it took more work to prepare a man than a woman. But Raikov was experienced, and, except for slight tightening around his eyes, he was unhesitant.

Perhaps he liked a little pain with his pleasure. Perhaps it made it more real for him, the way that bruises were sometimes the only way to remember a fight the next morning.

Ocelot raised himself on one elbow, keeping the other one around Raikov’s waist to steady him.

Raikov lowered his face for a kiss, and his hands fell to Ocelot’s shoulders. His slender arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him.

“Adamska…” he murmured, and Ocelot jerked him into another bruising kiss, before he had a chance to speak.

Raikov shifted his weight back to accommodate them better, and his body trembled with an unvoiced moan. Ocelot plunged the fingers of one hand into his wild, silvery hair, jerking Raikov’s head back and baring his throat.

His lips found the side of Raikov’s neck, and he sucked savagely, raising dark bruises on his pale skin.

Raikov shuddered, and he breathed a soft, hoarse cry. He drove his hips down, drawing Ocelot in as deeply as he could.

Ocelot felt Raikov’s internal muscles flex and tighten around him, and a moment later a hot splash of liquid tattooed his chest.

Raikov began to relax, and Ocelot had to hold his hips steady while he thrust up into him a few more times. There was a throbbing ache in the pit of his stomach. Ocelot curled forward against Raikov’s body, sinking his teeth into the Major’s shoulder to stifle a cry as he came.

They stayed twined together for a moment, Raikov’s sharp little nails digging into Ocelot’s skin, one hand on his shoulder, the other at the small of his back. Ocelot’s grip on the Major’s waist was tight enough to cut bruises.

He was still inside him when Raikov at least loosened his hold and leaned back a little.

“Adamska,” he said. And that was all. Just a name, with no intrinsic meaning other than what Raikov chose to attach to it.

“Ivan,” Ocelot replied. Even now, his voice was clipped and formal, as though he were asking the Major a question of strategy. As though they had never shed their uniforms.

Raikov smiled, but he looked tired. He tried to swing one leg over Ocelot’s body and pull away, but Ocelot didn’t let him.

He seized the Major around the waist, pulling him down to the bed. It was a small mattress, a tight fit, but Ocelot twined his body around Raikov’s until they found room for them both.

Ocelot touched Raikov’s face, stroking his hair back.

He leaned in and kissed him. Gently, without his earlier violence and urgency.

“You liked that?” Raikov asked with weary, brittle humor.

“It was good,” Ocelot said, and he moved close again, giving himself over to Raikov’s mouth and his soft, exploring hands.

Neither of them looked up for some time, but when they did, Raikov’s gaze strayed.

It had begun to snow. There was no wind, and the fat flakes fluttered unhurriedly past the single small window. They couldn’t see outside from where they lay, but the lights in the courtyard cast a tableau of snow shadows against the opposite wall.

Raikov watched in silence for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Ocelot said.

“Look. Even the snow here is gray.”

He looked back, and responded to Ocelot’s quizzical look with a sharp kiss. “Stay here. I’ll get you something so you can clean up.”

“It’s cold.”

“I won’t be gone long.”

Raikov hopped out of bed, darting to the small chest of drawers. He pulled one open, and tossed a clean towel to Ocelot.

On the way back, he stopped again at the window, and looked out.

The glass had steamed over completely by now, and it was impossible to see out.

“What are you looking for?” Ocelot asked, raising himself on one elbow. “There’s nothing out there.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Come back to bed,” Ocelot said, and after a moment he added. “Vanya.”

Raikov’s expression leapt with surprise, but he seemed pleased by the casual use of the diminutive.

He lifted one hand, and it drew two lazy ‘S’ curves on the window.

“What are you doing?”

Raikov shook his head, and as he came back to bed, the searchlight shifted again, shining fully on Raikov’s window. The light filtered differently through the parts of the glass that had condensed over, and the parts where Raikov had wiped the fog away.

It wasn’t until Ocelot looked again at the far wall that he understood.

There was a heart projected on the plaster, slightly brighter than the light around it. It was crude and quickly made, like a child might draw.

The searchlight swung away again, and the illusion was lost. Ocelot knew that by the time it came back, the window would have fogged over completely once more.

He looked up as Raikov approached, and reached up to draw him back to bed.

“Don’t be cute,” he said, but he was smiling as he eased Raikov down into a kiss.