?

Log in

Volgin's Day Out

June 2009

S M T W T F S
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
282930    
Powered by LiveJournal.com
work makes you...

imre_nico in the_vicious_pet

TVP: Chapter 65

Oh, see, now I can't stop.

In this chapter, Volgin returns to collect his possessions.





Now it almost seems impossible

We’ve drunk too much, and woke up everyone
I may be wrong,
I thought we said

It couldn’t happen here…
(Pet Shop Boys)






Chapter 65.



The stacked rotors of the Kamov bore down on them all like wrath out of the sky, sweeping everything with unforgiving wind that fanned outward in concentric circles.

All of Graniny-Gorki stood in wait, flinching in the bright morning sunlight. They stood at attention in a ring around the helipad, gazing dutifully upward.

“Why won’t you tell us what you saw?” hissed Semeyonev, hand plastered to his brow, lips barely moving beneath the shadow of his red beret.

“Fuck you, Savva,” intoned Gabrelovic, woodenly stolid in his refusal.

“Fine, fuck Savva, but tell us what happened,” broke in Isaev, from behind him.

Gabrelovic snorted, softly.

“I don’t need to tell you any more than this. Whatever you imagined, it’s true.”

Across the square of tarmac stood Major Ivan Raikov, no longer an inebriated off-duty lover, but a sharply dressed officer in dove grey, cap seated immaculately above his clear brow, arms crossed over his chest and legs apace. Behind him snow glistened on the horizon line, melting just enough to show that it could.

It was enough to cheer a winterkilled Soviet spirit, and everyone basked unobtrusively, even as they faced the inevitable approach of Volgin.

Ocelot looked prepossessing as well, undaunted and crisp. His uniform was carefully assembled, his spurs softly abutting the helipad as he stood, shifting occasionally, active hands engaged in a life of their own as they toyed with his Makarovs. Double guns today, spinning absently like windmills.

There was nothing on his face except the standard calculation. He and Raikov were at opposite ends of the small landing pad, but it made sense for them to be in attendance before their respective troops.

Perhaps Gabrelovic had imagined the unsettling intimacy after all. Or perhaps they were merely drunk and incautious, resulting in a single episodic session of questionable rank fraternization.

Stranger things had happened.

The Kamov was touching down, hovering low and settling on its runners. The chopping noise of the rotors was deafening, and the breeze they created intensified.

The wind flared Raikov’s white-gold hair back beneath his visor cap like the wings of Hermes.

Volgin’s broad, punishing figure stood in the open door, looking like a minotaur in a Roman vomitory.

Ocelot saw him, took him in for a moment and looked away.

Raikov’s lips parted, slowly, and Ocelot let his tongue slip between them, tracing the contours of his comrade’s mouth, feeling him respond in kind.

The Colonel stepped down from the Kamov as the rotors began to flag, great-coated and massive, winter sun reflecting off the brass stars on his epaulets.

Raikov narrowed his eyes respectfully and allowed a slight smile as Volgin came toward him.

“Terra firma,” declared Volgin, with a tight, one-sided grin.

“Welcome home, sir,” said Raikov.

“Home? This dump?” Volgin looked amused. It was a ferocious expression. “Huh.”

Raikov’s lips parted, hesitant.

“Home is where you hang your hat, Colonel.”

Volgin chuckled.

“You’re not home yet, Ivan.” His lip curled further on the damaged side. “Believe me, you’ll know when we are. I’ll give you a homecoming you won’t soon forget.”

His broad, red-gloved hand grasped Raikov at the juncture of arm and shoulder and squeezed, then released him.

The strength in his grip was imperceptible to those who looked on, but the meaning was clear.

Raikov felt the dull pain of the Colonel’s affection without reaction. Like riding a bicycle, it returned all too quickly. Now he could truly admit he was a success beyond his tradecraft handlers’ wildest dreams.

Chernaia Akula would have been proud. He could almost taste his mentor's bitter smile.

“And Ocelot. Where’s Ocelot?” muttered Volgin, glancing around, jaw thrust up like a nationalist statue’s.

The Major’s tongue grazed his own, toyed with it, stroked it sensuously. He lay back slowly, hyperaware of his nudity, of Ocelot’s. Of the cooling fluid that trickled down his stomach and glazed the insides of his thighs, that belonged to both of them.

“Right over there, sir,” Ivan declared dutifully. “Awaiting your orders.”

Ocelot was walking toward them, at an unhurried saunter, guns swiveling and revolving in his hands.

Volgin grinned, widely now.

“Major,” he growled. “You’ll be pleased to know we haven’t been idle.”

Ocelot was not pleased to know that.

“I’m pleased to hear that, Colonel,” he said.

The Colonel drew closer, looming over him. He looked inordinately satisfied with himself.

“The world will be ours for the taking, Major. Don’t ask me to explain.”

Adam averted his gaze, scowling at his spinning guns. After a moment he checked them in midmotion, and sent them home to their holsters with a decisive flourish.

“All right,” he said, pressing his lips together briefly. His vivid gaze swept over OKB-812 one last time, without lingering. “Let’s go. I’m done with this place.”

Volgin laughed, a deep subterranean rumble.

“I’ve missed your bratty routine, Ocelot. Almost as much as Ivan.”

His gaze shifted, seeking Raikov and settling there with predatory possession.

“…but not quite,” he finished, leering blackly.

“What I said last night,” began Raikov, “I should qualify.”

Ocelot turned, hesitating. Not smirking or scowling.

“A lot of things were said. It’s the nature of the beast. Don’t worry about it.”

He waved off the attempt with a sweep of his gun hand, a gesture both offhand and grandiose.


“Sir,” interrupted Raikov, firmly, ignoring his lascivious superior, “permission to reassign one Valentin Vasiliev, and one Konstantin Raudive. They’re of no practical use to us here. I want them to work under my supervision.”

“More scientists?” said Volgin, with a quizzical frown.

“Paranormalists.”

“Huh,” the Colonel said. “Interesting. You want to bring them back to Groznyj Grad? What for?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow.

“Pet project,” he replied, almost coyly. “You have yours, and I have mine.”

Volgin paused, face frozen, and then it broke. Slowly, the tectonic plates shifted, aligned, and there was a terrifying smile. He chuckled, nodding indulgently.

“Very well, Ivan. Have it your way.”

He glanced at Ocelot, whose hands twitched, resting on the handles of his Makarovs, as if desperate to draw them again.

A snort, and a sneer as he turned toward the Kamov once more.

“…Every man needs a passion.”

Ivan’s lips parted, wordless, robbed of their conviction. He watched Ocelot pace slowly around the edges of the room, arms crossed. The clank of his spurs was augmented, the sound muffled and truncated by the unfinished wood of the floor.

Ocelot leveled a brief gaze at Raikov, unreadable, dismissive.

“Coming, Major?” he taunted, and then, after a beat, his hands formed the customary finger-guns.

Raikov eyed him coolly, without replying, and boarded the helicopter. Adam followed.

“My men,” he exclaimed, as he took the jump seat. “What about my men?”

Volgin grunted, exasperated.

“Relax, Ocelot. I sent a troop carrier to pick them up. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

He stood unsafely in the doorway as the Kamov lifted off, surveying his remote kingdom with grim satisfaction, a carved smile visible on his monolithic features.

Raikov was seated on the main bench looking disaffected, long legs extended, tall, fitted boots crossed at the narrowed ankle. He flicked a nonexistent piece of lint away from his thigh and frowned.

Adam scowled.

He knew a fundamental truth about himself, one that informed his every precarious interaction with the world, and kept him sharp and ready as a chukcha’s ice knife. The knowledge that at any given moment, in any situation, he was never far from losing cohesion.

He was ever watchful, ever cognizant of that balancing act, every moment taut and aware, keeping a death-grip on his wayward emotions.

He was not cold. He was not disaffected.

Like a strung bow, he was tensile strength under pressure put to greater use.

He was channeled disavowance. Willful denial.

It was a candle burned at neither end, but right through the middle.

[ i’m still here ]

[ soamI ]


I know.

[ I was here now I’m HERE! ]

I’ll learn how to make this work. For all of us.

Thanks to Ivan.

Volgin had turned, graven face aglow with conqueror’s lust, wordlessly unbuckling his coat and standing before Raikov, who looked up slowly.

“Did you miss me, Vanya?”

The words rumbled out of his throat with a pulse of need that was audible.

Ocelot flinched with sudden realization as Volgin’s massive hand sought the back of Raikov’s blond head and drew it down, out of sight.

Ivan’s cap toppled onto the floor and lay there, damning and grey.

Volgin’s head tipped back and he let out a groan. His broad form blocked Adam’s view, but there was little doubt what was transpiring.

“That’s right, Major,” he ground out. “Suck it like you missed it.”

Adam felt his hands clench around his guns once more.

[ oh no ]

He kept his eyes trained out the window of the Kamov.

Looking off into the snowdrifts, as if searching for a hint of anything not gleaming and white.

Comments

Oooooo. Volgin back in the picture. Interesting. ^_^

And please don't stop. ^_^ This is totally awesome. Nothing beats massive quantities of chapters of The Vicious Pet to wake up to on a Saturday. ^_~
You know if someone heard you say that out of context they would think you were a freeeeeeaaak.

<3 lol
I don't think I've ever been so hooked by a fic before, I'm so glad you decided to keep posting <3<3<3<3
Hey, thanks so much. I don't think we've met, so hi!
Well hello there! I'm relatively new here considering the length of the fic, but I'm never ever leaving now I plan on staying around if you don't mind. My mission here is to leave bright, insightful comments such as "I LOEV U" and "MOARPLZ<3" and maybe to bribe you with crappy fanart if you're feeling a little demotivated one day.
That said, It's really nice to meet you! I can't wait to see what you have in store for the next chapters, the Snake eater arc is so full of potential, I'm sure it will be brilliant.

...

...

I LOEV U.
LOL

....

.........

................

I love teh fanarts. BRING IT ON.
By they way, that's quite the fancy mustache in your upper icon. XD
That's my LOL I'M SOPHISTICATED icon. Ocelot's mustache makes everything look classier don't you agree?

Maybe he should wear a top hat and a monocle
Yes, that's right. Become hooked on writing it again. :D

Also, awkwardcopter is awkward.
ROFLCOPTER @ AWKWARDCOPTER


XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD


I think that's my new band name

omg D: VOLGIN YOU'RE MAKING THINGS SO AWKWARD FOR EVERYONE AND IT'S AWESOME <333

I love this, and I can only hope that you have more~
Yeah, that's like Volgin's secondary mission. Making everyone uncomfortable with PDA.

Volgin: Let me just grab this dumb girl's boob in front of y'all and burn holes in her tights.

Everyone: ...
This = best awkward scene ever. :D
Thank you. I strive to make appropriated CGI characters squirm! xD
Hell, you made me squirm as well. Mostly because I kept thinking, "Gah, that's got to be making Ocelot's eyes bleed." SPLORT!
OMG, it's gone from painful to excruciating with a side of OH FUCK. I've been waiting for Volgin to show up, dying for it actually, because I just knew he was going to complicate things even MOAR! Bring on the rain, woot!

Oh and hello, I'm new but have a crush on your people. ;)
XDXD

O HAI! Nice to meet you.

No, seriously, I know...he's gonna make this suck for everyone. XD

Uh. Pun not intended.
Uh, not deep kissing so much as...public blow job. XD

Poor Ocelot.
DAMN! I know that Volgin kinda crazy, but THIS...Oh my God :)

my English is sucks I guess...
Nah, your English is great- I understand perfectly!

...and just wait...the crazy gets a lot worse. :D