The last of his reserves crumbled, and he knew he was done.
There was no turning back, or forgetting. No pretending it had never happened, or merely wishing it hadn't.
Through sheer force of will, Isaev had carved out a small corner of his heart and marked it as his own. Claimed it.
Damn you, Kassian thought.
The desire that had cooled re-lit, but he held it in check, though his body was trembling, and he could not control it.
His lips felt bruised, hot.
He met Isaev's insolent gaze with his own, his eyes hard, narrowed. Like a raptor sighting its prey, as Isaev had described it.
"I told you," he said in a voice that was low and rough, but thankfully steady. "I remember everything, Andrusha."
He reached up to catch a hand at the back of Isaev's neck, leaning up to kiss him, though his lips only brushed.
The touch of his mouth was feather-light, tender, as gentle and easy as his hand on the trigger. His tongue teased at Isaev's mouth, coaxing it to open, so he could kiss him more deeply, more thoroughly, to learn his responses.
It was the kiss of a lover, not comrades who fucked. His own form of vengeance, on this man who had relentlessly pursued him until he had split open.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2006-09-19 07:46 pm (UTC)The last of his reserves crumbled, and he knew he was done.
There was no turning back, or forgetting. No pretending it had never happened, or merely wishing it hadn't.
Through sheer force of will, Isaev had carved out a small corner of his heart and marked it as his own. Claimed it.
Damn you, Kassian thought.
The desire that had cooled re-lit, but he held it in check, though his body was trembling, and he could not control it.
His lips felt bruised, hot.
He met Isaev's insolent gaze with his own, his eyes hard, narrowed. Like a raptor sighting its prey, as Isaev had described it.
"I told you," he said in a voice that was low and rough, but thankfully steady. "I remember everything, Andrusha."
He reached up to catch a hand at the back of Isaev's neck, leaning up to kiss him, though his lips only brushed.
The touch of his mouth was feather-light, tender, as gentle and easy as his hand on the trigger. His tongue teased at Isaev's mouth, coaxing it to open, so he could kiss him more deeply, more thoroughly, to learn his responses.
It was the kiss of a lover, not comrades who fucked. His own form of vengeance, on this man who had relentlessly pursued him until he had split open.