Like most easy, obvious answers, it made no sense at all.
No one sane would be willing to blatantly invite such a risk for the sake of mere dislike. No one with that kind of habit could survive. Even a fool like Ippolit, who had always found it difficult to care much about matters of his own life and death, knew that.
“No,” Rakitin realized, anger dropping away beneath puzzlement as he studied Utrov's face, “it's not.”
For a moment, the supply captain's aggressive affability dropped. He was disquieted.
“I get it,” he said, in tones of facetious discovery, the smirk returning to his face like moss to a wall unexpectedly scraped clean. “You're screwing that cat-faced MVD.”
Polya sighed.
“Is there a prize for being the tenth person to assume that?” Utrov cocked his head. “Is that a yes?”
“No,” Polya said, before it occurred to him that this was precisely the kind of moment It's none of your business was made for.
“Then what are you so pissed off about?”
“You,” Polya answered succinctly, “being an asshole.”
Utrov shrugged. “That's fair.”
Silence fell awkwardly and sprained its ankle. It was getting increasingly difficult to meet Utrov's frank gaze without thinking of the warm texture of his hands, rough sheets and caresses. Polya would not allow his eyes to wander, in case they never came back.
“There's something I need to say to you,” Polya confessed.
Utrov raised his eyebrows, politely attentive. “Yeah?”
“I thought by the time I said that I'd figure out what.”
“Yeah, well, don't think too much about things.” He grinned wanly. “I never do.”
“I noticed,” Polya muttered.
To his surprise, Utrov was the first to look away. He looked over across the tarmac, as if tracking obscure movement through the distant shadows. Polya almost thought it was to someone else that he said, quietly,
“You could have stayed, you know.”
Polya's eyes dropped. He leaned against the crate, fingers sliding absently along the cold metal. “I know.”
He felt like he owed him some sort of explanation. Something to reach across the gulf between what they had acted as to each other on that night and who they were.
“I was...I don't know.” He admitted it. “Afraid.”
Incredulity curved across Utrov's brows. “Of what? A naked guy with a mermaid tattooed on his back can't be that intimidating.”
Polya blinked. “You have a...” He shook his head. He hadn't seen anything but his own fears, that night. “I wasn't even looking at you.”
Utrov gave a shabby grin. “Your loss.”
“Yeah,” Polya agreed softly. “It was.”
The captain's dark eyes lifted. He took a step forward. “I believe in second chances.”
Polya looked at him carefully from the corner of his eye. “Yeah...?”
Utrov smiled. “Yeah.”
He was close enough to catch his scent. Earthy, with a hint of horse. Close enough to kiss. The logic was completed before Polya realized he was kissing him. He could feel amusement bend Utrov's lips, warm and startlingly soft amid rough stubble.
The stranglehold Rakitin kept over his passions broke like a fever at the touch. He grabbed Utrov around the waist and pulled him closer, control shattered by the force of how he wanted him. He wanted...he wanted...
no subject
Like most easy, obvious answers, it made no sense at all.
No one sane would be willing to blatantly invite such a risk for the sake of mere dislike. No one with that kind of habit could survive. Even a fool like Ippolit, who had always found it difficult to care much about matters of his own life and death, knew that.
“No,” Rakitin realized, anger dropping away beneath puzzlement as he studied Utrov's face, “it's not.”
For a moment, the supply captain's aggressive affability dropped. He was disquieted.
“I get it,” he said, in tones of facetious discovery, the smirk returning to his face like moss to a wall unexpectedly scraped clean. “You're screwing that cat-faced MVD.”
Polya sighed.
“Is there a prize for being the tenth person to assume that?”
Utrov cocked his head. “Is that a yes?”
“No,” Polya said, before it occurred to him that this was precisely the kind of moment It's none of your business was made for.
“Then what are you so pissed off about?”
“You,” Polya answered succinctly, “being an asshole.”
Utrov shrugged. “That's fair.”
Silence fell awkwardly and sprained its ankle. It was getting increasingly difficult to meet Utrov's frank gaze without thinking of the warm texture of his hands, rough sheets and caresses. Polya would not allow his eyes to wander, in case they never came back.
“There's something I need to say to you,” Polya confessed.
Utrov raised his eyebrows, politely attentive. “Yeah?”
“I thought by the time I said that I'd figure out what.”
“Yeah, well, don't think too much about things.” He grinned wanly. “I never do.”
“I noticed,” Polya muttered.
To his surprise, Utrov was the first to look away. He looked over across the tarmac, as if tracking obscure movement through the distant shadows. Polya almost thought it was to someone else that he said, quietly,
“You could have stayed, you know.”
Polya's eyes dropped. He leaned against the crate, fingers sliding absently along the cold metal. “I know.”
He felt like he owed him some sort of explanation. Something to reach across the gulf between what they had acted as to each other on that night and who they were.
“I was...I don't know.” He admitted it. “Afraid.”
Incredulity curved across Utrov's brows. “Of what? A naked guy with a mermaid tattooed on his back can't be that intimidating.”
Polya blinked. “You have a...” He shook his head. He hadn't seen anything but his own fears, that night. “I wasn't even looking at you.”
Utrov gave a shabby grin. “Your loss.”
“Yeah,” Polya agreed softly. “It was.”
The captain's dark eyes lifted. He took a step forward. “I believe in second chances.”
Polya looked at him carefully from the corner of his eye. “Yeah...?”
Utrov smiled. “Yeah.”
He was close enough to catch his scent. Earthy, with a hint of horse. Close enough to kiss. The logic was completed before Polya realized he was kissing him. He could feel amusement bend Utrov's lips, warm and startlingly soft amid rough stubble.
The stranglehold Rakitin kept over his passions broke like a fever at the touch. He grabbed Utrov around the waist and pulled him closer, control shattered by the force of how he wanted him. He wanted...he wanted...
...someone.