"I was here too, comrade," Andrei said, tilting his head to better see Irinarhov's eyes, which had lowered. "I began it. You should blame me, as well as the drink."

He was displeased by the abrupt disintegration of Kassian's interest. The Captain's eyes were stony and unfathomable. Unmoved.

Hot and cold, Andrei thought, with a moment of uncharateristic bitterness. How wonderful.

Andrei could feel that the evening's souvenir was going to linger unseasonably; his own unresolved lust, pulsing omninously in reserve.

Impulsively, he reached out, gloved hands adjusting the disparity in their height by raising the Captain's face roughly, the hard-set jaw solid in his palms, narrowing his eyes.

"That was all it took to cool your ardor, was it?" he said quietly, stroking a finger idly along the stoic cheek, feeling the stubble catch on the red kid leather of his glove. "You turn off like a tap, comrade."

Andrei forced a smile, pushing aside his chilly reaction.

"You have a weathered heart, Irinarhov. I should expect nothing more from you. It's not mine to claim, like a city, just because I've managed to disarm you."

He paused, letting his eyes drift downward, lingering and slowly heated.

"Neither is your body. Or your mouth. And just because I could..." he shuddered. "You know that I could, Kasya." He closed his eyes, drawing a breath. "But I won't."

Not like this. Not with liquor tainting the deed, so that Irinarhov had any reason to question it later.

"Chalk these ten seconds of ill-advised tenderness up to another funny, laughable occurence of a drunken Ocelot night, along with Borishnakov's naked jumping."

Andrei almost released him, then, but thought better of it.

On impulse, he leaned in swiftly, pressing a vengeful and bruising kiss to Irinarhov's indifferent mouth.

"Forget that," he challenged, breathless, eyes defiant.