The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

"God," said Andrei, slapping Irinarhov on his shoulder companionably. "Look at that bastard! He's already at the end of the first canon."

He laughed, clapping his hands, then cupped them, shouting his approval.

"Da vai! Eto klassye, komrad Ocelot!"

He was in a favorable mood. A few more fibers unraveled from the Captain's taciturn tapestry. A little more extension of the olive branch. Never a bad thing.

Irinarhov hadn't asked about his background, when given the chance, and even though it surprised him, Andrei was not sorry for that fact.

Only Ilya knew everything, and Matvei knew far too much.

"Hey, Irinarhov, looks like our boy Vladya has a hat and some boots." He grinned. "That's a good look, don't you think?"

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Kassian snorted, but good-naturedly. He felt far too relaxed, eased by the liquor and the company - and by the unexpectedly personal conversation they'd shared.

Part of him wondered why he'd dropped his guard and spoken so openly to the lieutenant, but part of him didn't care.

It was what it was, and now was not the time to analyze it.

"The Gauls were said to have fought naked, save for their weapons," Kassian said with a shrug. "They painted their bodies then covered themselves in lard to keep warm."

He considered a moment. "Though I don't think they would have survived very long if they had been fighting in Russia."

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Andrei smiled, impressed.

"Really? That's fascinating."

He wouldn't have expected such cultural trivia from a no-nonsense taskman like Irinarhov.

But then, was it so surprising? He himself had told Ilya he got the feeling a lot went on in Kassian Irinarhov's head.

He laughed, slightly, raising his eyebrow.

"Sounds like something the Sacred Band of Thebes would have employed. Or at least enjoyed."

He shook his head.

"You've never heard Volgin talk about the Theban Band, have you," he groaned. "Believe me, one of these days you will."

Andrei gazed out at the grounds, watching as Vladislaus clambered up the side of a tank, gritting his teeth.

"The idea is sound, and meritorious- I'm the last person to deny it-" he added, with a hint of a self conscious smile, "but it's clear Volgin hardly knows what he's talking about. He gets it all from Raikov, who has a very good classical education, surprisingly enough. Smart guy."

A chuckle.

"I guess it's their pillow talk or something. Pan-Hellenistic cultures and war history."

Probably not, thought Andrei, who actually liked the idea of that. A little intellectual discourse post intercourse.

It was more likely, he thought, that Raikov merely talked, idly smoking and running conceptual circles around his lover and superior.

At the edge of canon number two Borishnakov faltered and almost bit snow, but clung on tight, shivering.

"This could be some kind of new record in the annals of Ocelotry," remarked Andrei. "That guy is a pissy little mamafucker."

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Vladislav was oblivious to the conversation going on between his two new comrades as he very carefully went along the barrel of the tank. He himself was silent and focused, keeping his blue eyes on the goal.

Once he grabbed the gloves that were precariously sitting on the end of the tank he dropped down and immediately put them on. Those would help with the next two tanks.

Vladya pursued the pieces of his uniform with the same patient determination he used to pursue everything else he went after, though he had to wonder what he was going to do to urn the rest of it, the parts that weren't out here on the Tanks.

Next up was the gun belt, looped at the end of the third tank. It was amazing there were as many men in the unit as there were if they all had to go through this. And he had to wonder who came up with the idea. Major Ocelot? If he'd thought it up, surely he'd be watching. Actually, he probably was watching from some hidden location.

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Kassian nodded. He had read Plutarch.

"I don't have much of an education," he said with a shrug. "I just read some. I left school to work in a factory. Metalworking, before I went to the war."

It made him wonder about Major Raikov, though. Ocelot had implied that it had been Raikov who'd arranged Kassian's transfer. A man that well-educated and intelligent must have had a plan, put some thought behind it, not just a whim.

And he was Colonel Volgin's lover? No wonder Ocelot had been so disturbed by the accusation of liaisons between himself and the other major. Kassian started to doubt if his advice to Ocelot had actually been that sound.

He shrugged to himself. Too late now.

His gaze turned back to Borishnakov. "He's determined, all right. He'll fit in just fine, won't he?"

Unlike himself, he thought, though he didn't really mind. Isaev's candid acceptance was enough, though he didn't know why.

And speaking of why...why did Isaev seem to care so much, anyway? Why had he singled out Kassian earlier in the morning? It was if he'd made it his mission to get Kassian to talk to him, and well, he'd succeeded, to Kassian's surprise.

He studied Isaev in profile. The lieutenant had a bold look to him, to match his bold manner. High cheekbones. Strong jaw. Arched brows. Full lips.

Kassian let his eyes drop away.

Who are you, Andrei Alexandrovich, he wondered, and thought of how to ask.

"I mean, as a senior lieutenant, you must have been with Ocelot's unit for a while."

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Andrei raised his eyebrows.

"Yes," he said. "Imanov and I both. We've risen through the ranks together."

He paused, not really sure what else to say about that. Irinarhov had so far been content to ignore the existence of Imanov completely, at least as far as Andrei was concerned. No inquiries as to his skintight comradeship with Ilya, and maybe that was a good thing.

Maybe it was a bad thing.

It was certainly less complicated.

And why shouldn't the Captain take them as separate individuals?

They were, of course.

It was hard to remember, sometimes, that he'd had a life before befriending Ilya Piotrvich, a very pretty life that made him feel both blessed and cursed.

But Irinarhov...

Andrei rubbed his chest absently, warming it with the friction of his hand.

As much as his life was charmed, the Captain's was poetically star-crossed. This Vitya, cut down. Only one of many things that had branded Irinarhov with their particular keloids.

Metalwork.

The thought of it intrigued him. Just to think of it made his loins tense slightly. He liked the idea of Irinarhov, as a slightly younger man, amidst pounding sparks and steel. A worker.

"I'm sorry you had to leave school, comrade. You would have done well there. It seems you've not done badly on your own, however."

Andrei paused, ventured an enigmatic smile.

"Still," he murmured, "I can't say the image of you at a forge is an unpleasant one. On the contrary."

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Kassian had to wonder just what Isaev meant by that.

It was another one of those things that Isaev said - and did - that made him try to guess at the lieutenant's motives, at what he was really trying to say.

But then again, Kassian thought that he might actually know what was behind Isaev's words, without having to guess.

Perhaps he was just balking, not quite ready to acknowledge what he saw in Isaev's eyes.

He nodded, and kept his eyes on Borishnakov's progress. "It wasn't bad," he said. "A good trade to learn. It helped me later, to learn how to modify my gun."

His voice dropped, turned more thoughtful. "I think I would have liked more schooling, though. You must have gone for a while. University?"

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"Yes," said Andrei.

Irinarhov didn't need to know that he'd gone to boarding school abroad, under diplomatic immunity.

He glanced up.

"Would you look at him. I think you're right. He'll be a great Ocelot."

Andrei shivered, demonstratively.

"I hope he hurries up. I'm so cold I'm stiff."

He cringed inwardly after he said it. It was the wrong turn of phrase to employ. But he was beginning to be concerned that Irinarhov might actually be curious about him, beyond what he saw in the uniform.

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Kassian caught the shortness of Isaev's tone and understood immediately.

Isaev didn't want to talk about it.

He knew what that felt like, feeling cornered by questions that had difficult answers, and wanting to avoid the topic completely, fearing too much would escape. He was just surprised to recognize it in the lieutenant, who seemed so forthright, and met things head-on.

It was interesting, but in the end, it didn't matter to Kassian. He wasn't offended, and had no driving need to know. Isaev's actions now were more important to him than whatever he had done in the past.

Subject dropped.

"Try not to think about the cold," he advised, though of course as he said it he became more aware of the chill in his fingers and on the tips of his ears. "Don't dwell on it if you can. Send your mind far away, and let it become part of you."

The advice came across much like his instruction technique, he thought, somewhat wryly. Vague descriptions of means so subjective, it was impossible for anyone else to truly practice what could not really be demonstrated. If Ocelot had meant what he said about the firearms lessons, Isaev would be finding that out, soon enough.

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Irinarhov was endearing, no question. It was strange, how little guile he possessed, despite his wary manner.

Andrei sighed, allowing a smile.

"I'm not actually cold, comrade."

So he would confess, after all, at least a little. It was never his forte, evading candor.

He paused, meeting Irinarhov's gaze.

"The truth is, Kassushka, I don't think you'd like the answers to anything you're wondering."

Andrei crossed his arms, tilting his head.

"What was your first impression of me?" he asked, amused. "It involved hostility, I'll wager. Tell me- I'm curious."

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Kassian frowned, not understanding. What was there to dislike? The past was the past. Isaev had not judged him for the things he'd mentioned that happened before; why would Kassian return the favor so unkindly?

He had to think a moment to remember their first meeting, though it had only been earlier that morning. A day, he thought.

A lot had happened in a short period of time.

"I thought you were trying to cause trouble with me. Hazing. That you didn't care for my presence, and deliberately wanted to make me uncomfortable. That it offended you that I just wanted to be left alone." He shrugged. "I had it wrong, though. Both your motives and your actions, I didn't understand at the time."

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"I'm glad you changed your outlook."

Andrei paused, thinking the Captain's words over.

He had assumed Irinarhov had seen him as an arrogant pup of a rarified breed, who didn't know his own impact on his environs. Just one of those sleek young officers, fed off the teat of the stadja, born with an entire silver dinette set in his mouth.

And he'd have been right, thought Andrei, vaguely.

But perhaps Irinarhov was not the type to have thoughts about men's natures at all.

Perhaps, he truly only understood cold steel and firing pins.

Predictable interaction.

No small talk. No class distinction.

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Kassian nodded, but waited. It seemed like there was more on Isaev's mind, almost as if something lingered, something he wanted to confess, but Kassian still could not even guess at what Isaev seemed to think might offend him so.

He kept Isaev's gaze, his own steady, and open. Yet he said nothing, unwilling to rush the lieutenant into saying more than he wanted.

Kassian was patient. It was a requirement of his job, but moreso than that, for Isaev, it seemed worth it.

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After the gun belt was retrieved, Vladya paused to stare at the scarf. The red cloth was hanging down quite a bit farther than anything else had been...

It would be a high jump but he was willing to try it if it meant he didn't have to crawl along another frozen gun barrel. Before he could try to reason himself out of it Vladislav took off at a run, wavering slightly in his drunken state.

When he reached what he judged to be an appropriate distance he jumped up, stretching his long, lean body upward as far as he could in hopes of snatching the elusive scarf.

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"Khuy, comrade," exclaimed Andrei, caught between laughing and cringing. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not jump in the nude?"

Of course, Borishnakov would be jogging through the East Wing and bobbling all over the place, he thought, idly, so maybe it hardly mattered.

Isaev cocked his head, inclining it conversationally toward Irinarhov.

"He's a pretty tall kid. What do you think, six three? Four?"

That didn't really matter either, but it was an observation to be voiced.

Andrei tightened the towel at his hips. It was still a comfortable feeling to be outside, where tiny snowflakes occasionally touched him, like pinpricks of liquid nitrogen.

Usually you were good for at least a half hour of hanging out in the snow, if you'd cranked the banya well enough, and they had. No respite for Borishnakov.

The guy was going to have a hell of a migraine tomorrow.

If Raikov liked him, and he was feeling generous, he might dispense some pharmaceutical aid after the hazing, and press some of the good stuff into the guy's palm, so he wouldn't suffer too much nausea and misery upon waking.

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Kassian nodded. "Maybe. About that." Taller than him at any rate. Perhaps of a height with Isaev, though Isaev's build was more thewy.

He hadn't missed Isaev's avoidance of the topic once more, but he was willing to drop it. The lieutenant would tell him whatever he wanted to say on his own time, if at all, and not before.

Kassian could wait.

He watched Borishankov's efforts. "If he tries any harder, he'll take flight."

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Vladislav managed to grab the scarf off the tip of the tank, but his landing in the freshly fallen snow was less than graceful.

He did land on his feet, but that lasted only for a brief second before he fell backward, not entirely managing to catch himself with his hands.

Eager to be out of the cold and back in the warmth of the banya, he made his way back over to Andrei.

"I must've missed that warning, comrade, along with the one about frozen tank barrels and over-eager pups." He paused for a moment. "We go back into the banya now, yes?"

More alcohol, and more warmth. He felt like he needed both in large amounts at the moment.

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Andrei nodded, grinning.

"Well...yes and no. I mean, we'll be going inside. And you'll be warming up, I guarantee it."

He glanced at Irinarhov, then back at Borishnakov.

"Shall we?"

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Kassian nodded, having heard enough already to glean what was in store next for Borishnakov. He wasn't sure what was expected of him, exactly, but he would just follow Isaev's lead.

It occured to him that as far as Borishnakov knew, Kassian had been with the squad a long time, long enough to know what was going on, and to be an old hand at this. Though nothing was further from the truth, it wasn't a bad feeling. Perhaps one day it would be true, and he would be a veteran here.

He certainly wasn't intending on leaving.

Kassian gestured for Borishnakov and Isaev to proceed him up the stairs. For now, it would just be good to get out of the cold.

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So they were going back inside, but not back to the banya. He was coherent enough to draw the conclusion that they were going somewhere else. Vladya hoped that, where ever it was, the rest of his uniform was there.

Vladislav looked at Kassian, finally having an opportunity to study this man who stuck out. Perhaps he had been with the unit before they had decided on this preference for blond hair and blue eyes.

"So, comrades. Where too next?" He felt rather absurd with only the belt, boots, hat, scarf, and gloves. Like a model in one of those questionable magazines featuring models posing in outfits that were consistently leaving most of the body uncovered, with just enough there to hint at a profession.

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charushkin.livejournal.com

Matvei was grinning like a loon, leaning out of the window. Sergei was using his back to lean on so he could get a good look, whilst everyone else fought for window space.

"That's our cue to put clothes on," he yelled to those behind him, and there was a sudden scramble and a few drunken cheers, and then he and Sergei had the window alone, taking in the spectacle for a few moments more.

Matvei couldn't resist, in high spirits, and as soon as Sergei and Borishnakov weren't looking, he let out a wolf-whistle, before ducking out of sight and vanishing to get changed.

Poor Sergei. At least he would have a new friend with little effort, although with some embarrassment.

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Kassian was aware of Borishnakov's questioning look, but he only tilted his chin forward, a sharp nod in Isaev's direction, a mere follow him. Even if he knew where they were going, he probably wouldn't say, but rather let the new recruit find out when they got there.

He knew how these things worked, even if he didn't know the particulars of this specific ritual. Though he had to admit, he'd never seen one as devious as the Ocelots' initiation.

And he had the feeling that they hadn't even gotten to the so-called "good" part yet.

He was reluctant to go back inside, in spite of the warmth he could already feel radiating from the concrete walls. The relative quiet had been nice, and the company to his liking. Large groups made him uncomfortable, which made Kassian doubly glad that he was not the center of attention this night.

Borishnakov seemed to take it in stride, though. Good for him. The Ocelots' whistles and laughter echoed around them as they climbed up the steps, but Kassian's face was somber.

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gurlukovich.livejournal.com

The good thing about being on the smaller side (compared to the other Ocelots, anyway) was that it was easy to wriggle to the front of a crowd. He and Matvei were particularly good at that. Also, considering both of them were somewhat new to the unit, they were the ones that had the strongest memories of their hazings, which meant they wanted to enjoy another's misery that much more.

The new addition seemed promising, though. He'd gotten all of his accessories without having to run back for warmth even once. He'd placed all the items himself, after all, and knew how cold those gun barrels were.

Matvei's little trick, while very much in character for his friend, was still horrifically embarrassing for him. For a moment, Sergei was frozen in place as he made eye contact with the newcomer. His cheeks were red from more than the cold as he pulled away from the window and searched out his clothing.

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The boys were always on the spot, he had to give that to them. They were already pulling on their boots when he and Irinarhov and the fresh-cut Ocelot mounted the steps and swung open the doors to the officers' locker.

Andrei stepped inside the room, moving aside for Irinarhov, giving him an absent and instinctive guiding touch on the arm as he passed.

He grinned at the assembly of Ocelots, his comrades, drunk as lords, disheveled but dressed.

"Hey chuvaki," he announced. "Give a little respect to your half-brother Vladislaus. His testes must be made of boot leather."

Cheers and applause greeted Borishnakov's entrance.

Andrei tried to stifle his laughter, but failed miserably, collapsing against Irinarhov, dropping his brow on the Captain's shoulder.

Irinarhov stiffened, but he ignored it, shaking his head and righting himself with a snort.

"Sasha, Makno...are we ready for the Victory Lap?" he asked, tightly restraining his smile, avoiding looking at their new recruit, naked except for his red beret and sleek knee-high boots, with the fetching scarf and chest strapped holster.

They would have made sure to have his uniform ready and hanging in his new locker, for after he ran the East Wing Gauntlet.

"So, now you'll get to take a little jogging tour of the East Wing, through the main lobby and outside, then back through. Twice." Andrei held up two fingers, and a smile. "Once for the jacket, once for the jodhpurs- the undershorts and shirt we'll throw in for nothing, because we're that generous, bratan."

...In front of Raikov and his unit, and whoever else might feel the need to spectate.

He was sad Ilya was missing this; Borishnakov was really a game candidate and a good show.

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Isaev touched so casually, Kassian thought. It was something Kassian had noticed earlier, and while most people seemed to touch more absently than Kassian ever had, they didn't touch him, which was the difference. His aloof manner was an invisible barrier, usually keeping them at arm's length, both socially and physically.

Isaev crossed that barrier as if it wasn't there, and every time, it surprised him.

...though it was not unwelcome.

Vitya had touched him like that, he recalled.

It begged parallels, ones he wasn't sure he wanted to make, but they were there anyway, just the same.

He should probably stop thinking about it. Especially while drunk. He looked around the room instead.

The Ocelots were dressed, for the most part, though most were swaying slightly on their feet, leaning against each other, companionable arms thrown over shoulders, backs rested against chests.

Most people touched like that, in friendship, all the time. Kassian so rarely had.

Maybe it meant nothing, then, and he made too much of such a simple thing.

Kassian saw that Isaev had made no move to get dressed yet, so he waited to see if he would. It seemed likely, since they weren't to be the ones on display, but he still didn't know how this worked. He kept half his attention on Isaev, waiting for some cue.

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charushkin.livejournal.com

Even when they were all drunkenly entwined by arms and shoulders, Matvei viewed all his comrades individually and equally, picking out the details as he pulled his uniform back on as hastily as he'd shrugged it off.

Even with the world being a little blurred at the edges, he caught Sergei's blush - he'd apologise later if he'd taken any real offense, but he doubted it - Pavel tripping over his boot as someone had sneakily tied it to the bench leg, their new Vladislav swaying slightly, Andrei taking over for Ilya in good-natured bossiness, and...

His eye caught Irinarhov, whom he had not been watching so closely, being caught up in the revelry. He seemed still distant, but not outright ice-cold avoidant, like earlier.

Matvei was feeling good-natured, and was curious as to whether his hypothesis was correct, even if Andrei was blissfully unaware.

"Hey," he called across the room, but it was drowned out in the rest of the babble, no doubt. He walked over, and managed to meet his gaze. "Ir- Kassian, right?" He decided that considering everyone had been naked not too long ago, formalities could be dropped.

He marched closer to speak without shouting, grinning. "Don't look so awkward. Better get moving if you want to find a good viewpoint; just don't stand too close to Major Raikov."

Although you're probably older than his type, he thought silently, suddenly aware that the other man was a lot, lot older than him.

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gurlukovich.livejournal.com

Luckily, Sergei managed to get completely dressed before the three made it inside. He wasn't swaying or leaning nearly as much as the others, mainly because he hadn't drunk as much. If he had, he'd be worse off than anyone else--which is why he generally stayed away from alcohol in the first place. He wasn't sure if his comrades hadn't picked up on it or if they simply had the decency not to tease him... yet.

Nodding enthusiastically at Andrei's question, Sergei couldn't help grin. "It's all set up. Everyone should be waiting for us." He was amused to think about all the occupants of the East Wing - probably even some of the scientists - fighting for the best viewpoint. Noticing Vladislav's height, Sergei could only hope that the uniform would actually fit him properly. They must have looked at his file before picking one out, right?

Following after Matvei in the direction of Kassian, Sergei listened quietly to his comment before nodding in agreement. "So! Shall I lead the way, or would you rather do so, Andrei?" He smiled, and was left wishing Ocelot had the time to be present. But their major had important duties to be tending to. He figured he'd see him in the morning - and might even get praised for being the least hungover.

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Kassian hesitated, uncertain as Charushkin approached him, remembering how angry the younger man had been earlier that day at the range. But Charushkin was smiling, and called him by name.

All of his earlier ire had apparently been forgotten? Kassian didn't understand.

Perhaps he'd just had too much to drink, Kassian thought, and wondered if Charushkin would be angry again tomorrow.

But Charushkin continued to smile. Kassian glanced at Isaev and found he was occupied, joking good-naturedly with his brothers.

There was nothing for it. Kassian turned back to Charushkin and gave a cautious nod. "All right," he said, "I'll get dressed." He moved back to his locker.

It wasn't the nudity that bothered him, it was the fact he stood out. If everyone was in the buff, he had no problem being unclothed, but if the others had dressed and he was not, again, he would stand out.

Though he already did - he was hardly as jovial as the others, even if he swayed on his feet just as much. He tugged on his pants and buttoned his jacket, watching as the other Ocelots began to bunch up near the door, eager to leave.

He looked up to catch Charushkin's eye once more. "Go ahead," he called, "I'll have to catch up."

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Andrei glanced up, grinning at the sound of Sergei's voice.

"God love your fucking mother, Sasha. Have I told you lately how much fucking unbounded joy you bring me, bratanya?"

It was true. He did adore Sasha. Never a bad fucking thought, never a dark moment. The kid was a rare breed indeed.

Isaev identified with Sasha on several subtle levels- mostly on the front of outlook. Perhaps they weren't exactly the same- Sergei was a doe-eyed idealist, Andrei at best a skeptical opimist- but they shared an instinctive propensity for shunning the more self-sabotistic elements in Russian life, including fatalism and drink.

Yes, he was a cynic. He was prone to playfully sardonic observations.

But cynicism was not fatalism, in Andrei's view, especially if even your cynicism was something to be cynical about, and ultimately at the mercy of good humor.

Much like Gurlukovich, Andrei was not particularly fond of being inebriated. No one ever noticed how little he actually imbibed; he'd learned well at political parties in the shadow of his father, how you always kept your liquor in check, while maintaining the illusion that you were matching your companions drink for drink.

Then you could drink them under the table...and into disadvantage. It was a parlor trick, but one that required charisma and extroversion to pull off. Sleight of hand and mouth.

There was no need to put anyone at disadvantage here, Ilya had pointed out, when he'd wryly confessed his perfidy one night.

You hate not being in control of yourself, Ilya had said. It's not about anyone else.

It was true, he didn't. He had to hand it to Imanov, that degree he'd nearly earned was not useless.

Sergei, on the other hand, was probably light handed with his liquor for more ingenuous and altruistic reasons.

While on some level Andrei would have liked to have had the luxury of innocence, with his whole mind he adored the satisfaction of Knowing. So he vicariously enjoyed Sergei, and made every effort to ensure that nothing blighted his innocence too badly or abruptly.

"You take them, Sasha," he said, nodding. "You set everything up. I don't want this poor bastard to get held up waiting for me to change." He grinned obscurely. "Besides, we wouldn't want to keep the Major waiting."

And I don't mean Ocelot, he thought, wryly.

"You know how impatient he gets," he laughed, turning back as he reached for his uniform where it hung over the locker door. "I'll be along, right behind you."

As he pulled on and belted his breeches, he noticed Matvei, approaching Irinarhov obliquely, a certain look on his face.

Andrei frowned.

It wasn't exactly unusual for his friend to be pleasant with comrades, but...Matvei had made it clear in no uncertain terms that Irinarhov was not a comrade of his, not until he earned it.

Much as he disliked mistrusting a brother, he couldn't help but think Charushkin had ulterior motives.

However, they were unknown to him, so there was nothing for it.

His eyes narrowed briefly as they cast over Matvei, but then he shrugged and turned back to his locker, flipping the long ends of his hair out from under the neck of his shirt before he began buttoning it.

Irinarhov could take care of himself. Andrei shook his head, ruefully.

He had no idea why he felt so compelled to protect someone so much older and wiser.

It seemed ridiculous, now, as he thought of it.

The Captain had been through a lot of shit. He could handle the likes of Matvei Antonovich.

Irinarhov told Matvei to go on ahead, and Andrei grinned to himself.

That's right, he thought, you'll catch up to him. Make him wait for you. He's not your commanding officer.

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The east wing? Well, at least it was night and would be mostly deserted. Hopefully... then again... the whole base probably knew about the Ocelot hazing, and would be there to watch.

Maybe it wasn't too late to run for safety and hide until morning or something... but then he'd be naked all night. He could grab what little clothes he'd been wearing when he got in here though.

"Who came up with this insane idea?" He was fairly certain the Ocelot unit would be forceful in their insistence that he run through the east wing in his current state of partial dress. If it could be called that.

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"What are you talking about, comrade?" called Andrei, pleasantly. "It just is. Like Mount Everest is."

From:

gurlukovich.livejournal.com

"So with that in mind, let's go!" Sergei let out a small whoop, nothing too loud or obnoxious, as he placed a hand gently at the new blood's back and started leading him out. Everyone else would know to follow; he knew that Andrei would catch up, as promised, and he was certain he'd urge Kassian along as well.

No, there was nothing to worry about. They were a capable, thorough unit, even with something like this. To them, this was important--not simply for laughs, but for acceptance. Welcoming someone new was initiating them not into a unit, but a family.

"I'll see you there," he called back to Andrei, grinning foolishly as he led the way out. He, at least, knew what major the man spoke of, and he also knew that making him wait was definitely a bad idea. So without further ado, he helped Vladislav the rest of the way out. With both of them at the head of this procession, they would make quite the scene as they neared the East Wing.

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As the others left, their laughter echoing down the hall, Kassian took his time dressing.

He was in no rush, though he found himself distracted. So much so, that he misaligned the buttons of his uniform and left one unmatched, at the bottom.

He frowned, and began to unbutton them once more. It was the drink, he told himself. He usually didn't imbibe so much - it usually led to bad decisions. Or at least headaches. He'd have a hangover in the morning, he was sure.

Kassian undid the rest of the buttons, then began to fasten his uniform correctly, with deliberate care, though after a moment, he felt his attention wander again, and glanced up to look at Isaev.

The lieutenant seemed to be nearly done, having gotten dressed faster than Kassian. Once the balaclava and beret went on, he would look just like the others. Several of them were of a height, and with a similar, muscular build, but Kassian thought if he saw Isaev among them, he'd be able to mark him just the same.

The lieutenant was becoming familiar, and in an agreeable way.

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"Not so traumatic, now was it?" Andrei said, casually, tipping a smile over his shoulder, like pouring a cup of tea.

He knew he sounded coy, and maybe he was, come to think of it.

But he hadn't meant to add that lilt...not exactly.

He turned, pausing, catching sight of Irinarhov's mica-dark gaze, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"If I didn't know better, I would say you like looking at me, Captain," he remarked, candidly, glancing upward.

Andrei instinctively returned the gesture, looking the Captain over with slow and solemn leisure.

"You have a nice build, comrade. Strong and spare and ruthless. Not much wasted in the making of you."

After a moment he nodded.

"I like the looks of you too."

He leaned back against the locker bay briefly, regarding Irinarhov with a thoughtful expression.

"So what do you make of that, Captain?"

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Well, then.

Kassian drew in a breath.

If he'd had any doubts as to Isaev's intent, that made things clear. And he wasn't sure if he'd really doubted, but just tried to deny it to himself, instead. Kassian had probably thought would be easier that way, but Isaev had refused to give up.

He found himself suddenly wanting a cigarette, but the alcohol in his blood would have to do.

"I think you're bold, Lieutenant," he answered, holding Isaev's gaze. "And yes, I was looking at you."

Kassian paused, glancing down a moment to finish his last button.

He looked up again, and felt his pulse quicken, feeling exceptionally reckless. "You seem so genial, comrade. You're always talking, joking. Everyone's friend. But underneath, you're not so civilized, are you? You're a hunter, a predator. Until you get what you want, you're relentless."

Kassian stood up then, and regarded Isaev from across the room, his own gaze wolfish. "Am I wrong, Andrei Alexandrovich?"

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Andrei blinked, surprised.

Civilized. An interesting choice of words.

No one could be more so, at least to glance at his past, and read his transcript. Aside from a few manful indiscretions, of a sort wholly expected among hotblooded young men.

But Irinarhov saw into all that with the unerring and infallible eye of the longtime observer.

Like Ilya, a student of human nature. But whereas Imanov had been tutored in forms and theory, Irinarhov came from a practical standpoint.

Both, he thought, instinctively knew his psychological inheritance. He found that compelling on several levels beyond mere curiosity.

"You're not wrong."

"Like most men, I can be predatory. Espeecially when presented with a golubaya mecha. Maybe even more so than most," he added, mildly, looking down at his jackboots, noting their mirrored shine.

Avoiding the Captain's unexpectedly heated gaze.

Golubaya mechta. "The Blue Dream". It was blunt, but also ambiguous, holding multiple connotations in reserve. Aside from referring to a life's ambition, it also meant 'the most desired one'. And of course, the vague reference to blue, which he chose not to dwell upon at that moment, but that he felt certain Irrinarhov would not gloss over so lightly.

He broke an absent smile, gaze still focused downward, arms crossed indolently.

"I'm a different kind of predator," he said. "A kinder, gentler predator, if you prefer. Or...if you don't prefer.." Andrei trailed off, shrugging one shoulder demonstratively. "I can be that, too."

He paused, pushed his hair out of his eyes.

"But you're a predator of sorts yourself, Irinarhov, are you not? Mercilessly seeking and seizing the parts of life that interest you from high above it all, and leaving the rest untouched by your influence." Andrei paused, nodding solemnly. "A raptor, that's what you are. Watching for signs of life in a static field."

Andrei felt his blood tick anf pulse withtoward his heart, readying him for attack, or action, but he stayed where he was, lifting his eyes.

"Although...you really didn't answer my implied question. I didn't ask you if you were looking at me, Kassian Dmitrivich. I wasn't skullfucked blind in the womb, you know."

Any answer the Captain give him was probably the booze talking, but it couldn't hurt to plant a seed.

"I asked if what you saw today was pleasing." He smiled obscurely. "To your raptor eyes."

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Kassian's mouth twitched slightly, almost a smile, though his gaze was still lit.

"It was pleasing," he said, "and is."

His eyes dropped to look at Isaev's body, even though he was now clothed. The lieutenant was young and strong and handsome, to be sure. Taller than Kassian, more muscular. His body had been smooth and sculpted, like a classic Greek statue.

And from what Kassian had seen in the sauna, virile.

The memory stirred his loins, and this time, he let it.

They had no audience here. No one to see, or mock. No teasing to endure later.

It was just him and Isaev.

Mutual predators, he thought. Circling each other.

He found he liked the thought of that. The clash of wills. The challenge. The struggle.

And yet, it was somehow not a struggle. Isaev made this easy.

Or maybe it was himself. Maybe he'd changed. He thought back to Vitya, and wondered if it had been in any way the same.

He didn't think so, but couldn't say why.

"And you're not wrong about me either," he said, and looked up from his observation. "I take what I want. Sometimes, whether it's good for me or not. Even if I should know better."

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Andrei stared.

A moment passed.

"Captain," he said solemnly, "this new side of you is rather appealing."

Of all the things he'd expected from the sniper- cagey evasion, outright rebuffing, reluctant compliance- this response was nowhere among them.

Yes, he'd called it that morning- it was always the quiet ones.

"To think I spent all that time drawing you out with smiles and taunts."

He raised an eyebrow.

"If I'd only known it would be this easy," he murmured, "I'd have led with the predatory side."

Andrei could feel the devilish urge to escalate the situation, and was tempted to abandon everything and relent to his baser Id. He toyed with the chain around his neck, as he breathed, softly and deeply.

He could feel the unrelenting weight of Irinarhov's eyes on his body, shameless and carnal. A marked contrast from his reticent retiring self of the earlier day.

And he could feel himself, rising like a valkyrie below. Like he had before, at the mere mental suggestion of naked proximity to the sullen lipped, dark-haired man.

"See what you're doing to me," he remarked, darkly. "I knew I liked something about you, comrade."

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"Hm," Kassian said, softly.

His gaze was dark as he thought about that for a moment, then finally shook his head. "I don't think it would have worked."

He chose to move then, crossing the room to stand close enough feel Isaev's warmth, to note the exact color of his eyes.

Grey. A storm-tossed sea.

Kassian's hands twitched, but stayed carefully at his sides.

"I don't engage comrades lightly, Lieutenant," he said quietly, and his gaze was now hard as iron. His skin prickled with such close proximity, but he forced himself to breathe. "I never have."

His voice was slow, deliberate, though he spoke with a casual air he really didn't feel.

"I've told you things that make it personal, things I've never told anyone."

He drew in another slow breath, catching Isaev's scent. It too was starting to become familiar, though the lieutenant smelled less like alcohol than Kassian expected.

"It's not just about fucking, for me. I hope you know that."

His eyes searched Isaev's once more.

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Andrei's breath was audible, slightly ragged around the edges, and he knew his eyes were hazed and hedonic, pale wild irises locked on Irinarhov's strong face, his solid Russian jaw and brooding brow.

Isaev was smiling.

Despite his arousal, and the intensity of their suddenly shifted dynamic. He couldn't help it.

He was impressed and charmed.

The Captain was obviously more on his game in close quarters, and more in his element with interpersonal relations than passing acquaintances.

Or perhaps, he was merely more on his game with Andrei. Either way, the Captain he now saw was neither shy nor avoidant.

No indeed, he was physically bracing him with proximity, standing right up close in a sort of lustful, masculine stance, and not the least bit hesitant when it came to Andrei's overture.

Isaev raised his eyebrows, leaning forward slightly, so that his beret just glanced against Irinarhov's.

"Who said anything about fucking?" he said, smiling obscurely. "We don't have to screw, Captain."

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It was his idea of a joke under the gun. His eyes contradicted him, even as he said it.

But something in the Captain's deliberate words diffused his humor, as they sank into his consideration more deeply.

He frowned.

"I don't engage comrades lightly either, Kassian Dmitrivich," Andrei said, evenly, quietly. "So perhaps we should shelve these urges for now, until a more sober occasion arises."

As far as he'd observed, it was against Irinarhov's nature to be so proactive, and it gradually dawned on him that it might have been the slivovic slipping the Captain's tongue.

Andrei was not inebriated. What little alcohol he'd had had been sweated out in the banya.

"After all, you don't know the first thing about me, chuvak," he said slowly, meeting Irinarhov's eyes. "...Perhaps you won't want it to be personal."

He laughed lightly, disarmingly, marking the soft scent of cordite that clung to his comrade's person. Cordite and sweet cigarettes, and far more alcohol than he had partaken of in the course of the evening.

"What if you wind up disenchanted?"

He reached up slowly, casually, adjusting the Captain's scarf.

"Maybe there's nothing beyond these eyes. And I'm young and insolent..." he dropped his voice, as if telling Irinarhov a treasured secret. "Don't tell me you didn't disdain me on sight, Kassian. I could see it in your eyes."

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Kassian drew in a breath and let it out, but didn't close his eyes.

Isaev was right, and he knew it. He was already regretting his words. He'd been too bold, too aggressive. Reckless, even.

It wasn't like him, he told himself, even though his heart still thrummed, though he'd managed to keep his breath steady.

Desire turned ashen in the back his throat, cooling his passion.

He dropped his gaze. Maybe Isaev was young and insolent. Maybe he was only mocking Kassian behind those reasonable words.

It was true: he didn't know anything about Isaev, after all.

Except, perhaps, he knew how to show mercy.

"I...apologize, comrade," he said, slowly, still staring at the floor. "I was too hasty. Lost in the moment. Blame the alcohol."

He wished he could.

But he knew better. Blame his own weakness, it was more like.

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"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.

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Kassian shuddered.

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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He was transfixed, as the Captain drew near, feeling the descent of his mouth, and the first caresses of his lips as a series of riffles that shook his ocean with merciless precision.

Thunderstruck, in the moment he could only yield, and defer to biology's demand, as physiology overrode cerebral resolve.

Andrei fell back against the locker with a short, sharp clank, dazed, and now that he was reclining they were the same height, weren't they, he vaguely realized. Irinarhov, never one to miss a fine point, took advantage of the situation to move closer, to cage him and press in close.

The Captain's vengeance was soft, but insistent as he sought to part Andrei's lips with a gentle tongue, and in his feverish state, he could only acquiesce, his mouth easing open, only to be entered and explored.

The sensation stunned him blind and his hands flattened against the lockers behind him, pushing and clutching.

Andrei could feel the hardness of Irinarhov's holster against his thigh, and the pulse of his own heart in his throat.

It wasn't what he'd expected, when he blitzed Irinarhov with his brazen kiss, that thoughtless, careless gesture, tossed off in a blink to gratify his need to break that stone facade.

No, he thought, his wits returning slowly, blooming open once more, as a slight moan broke from his lips.

He shook against the warm, wall of Isaev's chest, cold metal at his back, struggling to gather his will.

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Kassian wanted to let the kiss linger, to taste, to explore, to assay Isaev's responses. The need hummed within him to learn Isaev and how he reacted.

After long moments of exploring Isaev's pliant mouth, Kassian had to admit it: his need was selfish, this desire to make some indelible mark on Isaev in reciprocity, unkind.

It was no so much of a response as it was a surrender.

Isaev shook like a man overwhelmed, swallowed by sensation, every nerve aflame. The lieutenant's muscles strained against him, and pushed hard and taut.

Kassian broke it off then, pulling back, drawing in breath in long, shuddering gasps.

Maybe it was just too cruel.

Or maybe, he thought, chasing his fear, maybe Isaev just deserved better.

Kassian trembled, eyes still closed, but he pressed his forehead against Isaev's and held on to him, wanting, needing to be close.

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Trying to regather his thoughts was like putting the ephemeral fluff back on a dandelion.

Andrei felt the Captain's hands clutch into his sleeves and the flesh beneath, felt the sniper's brow, warm and solid against his own, the heavily bossed ridge of bone above his eyes bespeaking his maturity, like a second year dog.

And Irinarhov's body was actually shaking; shaking- after all that impassivity, when all day he'd been making Andrei wonder how a stone statue could actually walk.

Excuse me, Captain, but how does a man of granite fire a Mosin-Nagant, anyway?

Andrei was aware of how inauspicious it would look, should anyone enter the room- himself, collapsed back against the lockers with his smartly uniformed legs braced apart, and the sullen, suspicious new Captain, holding him as tenderly as a woman, for the sake of fucking-your-mother.

All right, he allowed, not like a woman.

No, there was nothing remotely feminine about Irinarhov's gentle grasp, which hinted constantly at the strength behind it, nor his heavy, low breath against Andrei's throat, nor the scent of him, fresh sweat and cordite, with a slight musky cigar-sweetness.

"I don't understand," Andrei said, lifting his head away from Irinarhov's, looking him artlessly in the eyes.

He touched two fingers to his mouth, which was well-kissed and flushed, but not bruised or swollen. The hallmarks of passion, to him, were obvious. They were brands of need and urgency, written on skin by the instruments of ardor.

When you were soft with a comrade, it was because you were lazy, or feeling particularly affectionate, like half-grown cubs in a wolfpack, nibbling at ears, forgoing the mischievous teeth of rougher play.

"I don't get kissed like that very often," he remarked, vaguely.

It was the last thing he would have anticipated from a man like Irinarhov.

Someone so damaged, where did he come by this approach, which smacked of...romance and devotion?

Andrei smiled, confusedly, a crooked twist of his full mouth that was meant to be disarming and open.

"You're a contradiction in every way, Captain Irinarhov. I trace your lines again and again, and I can't make sense of them. And I'm no shoddy student of man."

He hesitated, letting his hand find the Captain's hair, his arm wrapping around him loosely.

"Where do you squirrel away that naivety, comrade?" he asked, frowning. "How is it it's still intact?"

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Isaev's voice soothed him, and quieted his tremors. It was just good, he thought, that one of them could still think clearly.

Kassian opened his eyes to meet Isaev's, and saw only good-natured bemusement there, and no accusation.

He didn't know what he'd expected exactly. He hadn't been sure. But again, Isaev seemed to make things easy, and Kassian just gave a nod.

"Vitya said something to me once," he said. It hurt less to speak of him now, and he felt less regret. "He was always reading, about the news, about politics. Things he shouldn't have been, I'm sure, though I never paid attention."

He shifted, to ease back some of his weight, so that he wasn't crushing the lieutenant back into the lockers as much.

"He'd been reading about the war, and found something that said that of all the men that were born in my year, the ones that went away to the war, out of a hundred, three men came back, and the other ninety-seven were killed."

The companionable arm around him soothed him further, and his gaze turned more thoughtful, more sage. "He said, 'Kasya, you're damn lucky,' and I was...startled. I'd always thought it had been bad luck, to live through such times, to see such suffering. To lose my friends, my family."

He shrugged. "I had never thought of it that way before. That instead of dying with the others, I lived, and that was what you called luck."

Kassian reached up to run his fingers through a lock of Isaev's thick, soft hair. "I don't know if it's true. If Tennyson was right. But I don't like having good things, because I just end up losing them. But if they're inflicted on me, and there's nothing I can do..." He trailed off, and shook his head slowly. "I might as well enjoy what I have while I have it."

"And be grateful," he added, after moment.

He cocked his head slightly and took in a deep breath. "I don't know if that answers your question, comrade, but that's the way I see it."

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