Log in

No account? Create an account
Volgin's Day Out

June 2009

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Mischka ...

imre_nico in the_vicious_pet

TVP: Chapter 64

Here is the second chapter. (Make sure you don't skip 63, posted right before it).

Not that it will fuck up your life or anything. But yeah. Like that. Whatnot.

Looking through your window
Into the delicate place
Reflections stating obvious mating holds
I'll own up to you if you own up to me
I'll picture for you if you picture for me
Have you got the answer
Have I yet won the part
Is this just your way of breaking my heart
Everyone denies it but they just want to be told
I'll hold it for you if you hold it for me
I'll picture for you if you picture for me

You sleep with thoughts of a coming day;
I drag behind on a frozen chain.
(Screaming Trees)

Chapter 64.

He must have dozed off, Raikov realized, despite his intent to stay awake and be companionate.

Stirring, he heard the clink of glass, opening his eyes and training his senses on a hazy image of Adam just across the room, engrossed in pouring himself a stiff vodka.

“Have a nice nap, Raikov?” Ocelot’s voice carried a subdued sneer, and Ivan shifted out of his maladroit repose. “I swear to Christ, you sleep like no one else.”

Raikov cleared his throat, softly, then spoke.

“Adam,” he said. “You’re feeling better, I see.”

Ocelot snorted and sipped his shot, gun in hand. It twirled lazily around his finger as he nursed the glass to his sullen, petal-smooth mouth.

Ivan closed his eyes briefly, groaning, feeling out of sorts. He glanced at the hasty soldier’s field clock set up on the table beside him.

“It’s midnight,” he said.

Adam did not acknowledge this. Instead he turned and squared himself to Ivan, eyes narrowed.

“I’m finding myself with a problem.”

Raikov smiled.

“Why don’t you shoot it?”

Ocelot smirked humorlessly.

“I don’t think you’d like that.”

Ivan paused, raising his eyebrows, expectant.

“…I’m listening.”

“The way I normally solve my problems…” continued Ocelot, drawing his gun and idly aiming it over his arm, tilting his head as if sighting down the line, “is not a possibility at this juncture. So what do you do with something you can’t shoot, Raikov? What do you do?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, then shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Let’s examine your problem, Major. Is it something I can fix in five minutes or less?”

“You mean you’ll suck my cock, is that it?” Adam scoffed, tossing back the liquor and shoving the glass across the table. It tipped and went into a slow roll, stagnating on its side.

Raikov paused, and pressed down a sudden surge of anger, reminding himself that his co-operative had taken it on the chin today in ways no average man could even begin to conceive.

“Maybe you should stop biting the hand that jacks you off,” he suggested, quietly.

“I take it back. You’re good at that, too.”

Ocelot was taking off his uniform, now, almost violently dispatching it from him in pieces, like soft shrapnel. He paused, stripped down to his undershirt and belted jodhpurs. His dog tags clinked disaffectedly as he paced.

Watching him, Ivan let his eyes appreciate nature, but kept his regard oblique.

He hesitated, slowly turning his gaze toward the window and the halo glow beyond the glass, which framed the image of ethereal night snow.

“This is our last night at Graniny-Gorki.”

“I know that,” snapped Ocelot, turning on him.

Raikov studied him, held Adam’s persona in his grey gaze, as if seeing him from every angle.

“I can leave you alone.”

Adam glared.

“You should.”

Raikov felt an odd sensation in his ribcage, like someone had silenced a ringing phone.

Ocelot fixed him with eyes of glacier blue. He paused by the table, hand hovering around the neck of the bottle before drawing it to his lips.

“But if you do, Ivan, I swear on my life I will make you suffer.”

He clicked back the hammer of the gun, the sound pure and mechanical, audible in the quiet night.

“Are you going to play with yourself all night?” Ivan said, wrung out but tolerant.

Adam’s frown deepened, and he turned his head away slowly.

“No,” was all he said.

A moment later he set the Makarov down on the table.

As Ivan watched, the young Major raised Russian blue eyes. Too expressive by half, they betrayed him wholly.

And Ivan ached.

Adam was young, so fucking young. Too young to be standing where he was, thinking what he was, living seven lives and inhabiting no tangible world.

Who the hell had put him there, anyway? Like a lamb raised by wolves.

…Or maybe a wolf raised by lambs.

“Ocelot,” Raikov said, with quiet urgency, “come here and let me hold you. Morning is going to come, no matter what.”

Adam wordlessly moved to the bed, looking down at him. Silent as white night.

He felt the shadow that crossed over him, even before he saw it reflected in his co-agent’s gaze.

Raikov looked up at him, eyes silently questioning, but not demanding.

Adam’s lip shifted slightly, jaw going taut.

“It isn’t part of the Philosophers’ curriculum vitae,” he said coolly, at last. “Touch.”

A silence, and Raikov seemed to be processing that, his brows knitting.

“Stupid of me,” he said, finally. “To think you had it as easy as I did.”

Ocelot snorted lightly.

“I don’t think you’ve had it particularly easy, Raikov.”

“Comparatively, then.”

“No,” said Ocelot, narrowing his eyes. “Not even that. Its just degrees of the same thing, Major.”

Ivan nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

The polarity of conflict began to steep inside him at the raw, confessional words.

He snatched at Ocelot’s arm and grasped it, pulling him onto the bed. It was more of a collapse than a reclination. He clearly had no resources left. No defenses.

“Problem solved,” Raikov murmured, his voice low and rough with weariness.

They lay side by side, without touching, breathing in soft and staggered tandem.

Despite that, Ivan thought he could feel some part of Adam brushing his own.

What was it Vasiliev had said, about auras, about…enmeshment?



“It isn’t that easy.”

“…Ya snayu.”

He knew that. Of course he did. Nothing ever was.

“I want things from you that I’ve never wanted from a man,” muttered Ocelot.

Raikov kept his expression neutral.

“What about women?”

Ocelot scowled.

“Women?” he asked, as if Raikov had mentioned an unrelated thing. “No,” he said, after a moment’s realization. “No, not men, not women. Not from anyone.”

He was brooding, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the ceiling, fingers toying idly with nothing.

The snow fell lightly outside in the dark. The branches of the aspen tree just outside the window were limned artfully in white, the landscape bathed in sensuous blue from the nighttime yard floods.

If he could score the vision, to evoke this atmosphere in his memory, Ivan thought, idly, he would choose Chopin. Opus 59. The Berceuse.

Ivan paused, eyes lowering, evading.

“You resent that.”

“Yes,” said Ocelot, fiercely. “Of course I do.”

There was a silence that spanned the distance between them, burning out the oxygen in the empty spaces, and drawing their disparate worlds in like melting glass.

Heads inclining to conspire.

“You can have it all,” said Ivan, slowly, “if you want it.”

Adam paused, his lips tightening.

“That’s just what fucking worries me.”


You updated! *bears your e-babies*
OH, ALAS....there's more where that came from. XDDDDDD I've been busty

I can't believe I actually made that typo.

I love this story~<3 Ocelot's actions and Raikov's reactions are just wonderful, and I'm so looking forward to how the story progresses from here!
yeah, well, I posted another chapter. Again. lol
Update! *gives you virtual cookie basket in celebration*
I saw Dark Knight and found this today.

Happy overload.
Woot update! ^_^ More lovely Majorly action. Huzzah!
Woohoo! Excellent!