leshovik: (face)
[personal profile] leshovik
I don't know what it is about him, and that scares me.

He's the kind of person I shouldn't even like, what with that attitude of his. That small, knowing smile that curves his lips and the look of perpetual amusement that lights those bright blue eyes. The way he just tells me what he's going to do, instead of asking.

I feel like I should be more cautious around him, but I always end up dropping my guard.

Christ. I don't just drop my guard. I throw the fucking gates open, and welcome him in.

But at the same time...god fucking dammit, it's good. Touching him is good. Kissing him is good. Fucking him is good.

And it's more than just the sex. Somehow I get the feeling that this might be easier if that's all it was, but there's something that makes me want to talk to him, to tell him about...everything. To ask him about his life in turn.

We're not supposed to. Instinctively, I want to dance around that, just the same way I change the subject every time Aryol brings up the orphanage. Like acknowledging that we used to have lives would make that fact we don't have them anymore hurt more.

I want to know him, though. I want to understand what's going on behind his eyes when he looks at me, and what it means when I can feel him tremble. He seems so unmovable sometimes, like a monolith, not a man, unreadable, and unknowable too, in spite of the genial veneer.

But then at other times, he's just warm, living flesh housing a soul as bruised as mine. I can feel that, dammit. I know those wounds are there. He lets me see them. I get the feeling not a lot of people get that close.

I don't know...I just need to wait and see what happens, I guess. Snipers are patient, like Aryol is fond of reminding me.

We'll see.

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: They had combined the tents that afternoon, enlarging the bivouac living space to accommodate the three of them.

Aryol had been blissful, clearly thrilled by the arrangement, and Lynx had chuckled and shook his head, looking wryly amused.

Even though it had been Leshovik's suggestion, to him, it felt almost surreal.

In the center of the space, they'd built their nest, a wide layered pile of bedrolls and blankets large enough for three.

They'd kept one hammock, though he doubted they'd use it for sleeping.

Lynx had a sturdy camp chair, and they brought their rifle cases. The rest of their belongings, they'd integrated neatly, and but also made sure that each of them had an individual space for his gear.

It seemed...cozy. Communal, but still intimate. Leshovik wasn't sure how this whole thing would work, exactly, but he guessed this was a good next step. It still felt a little strange that Lynx, of all people, had grown so significant, but Leshovik couldn't really dispute the facts, and he didn't even want to try.

Still, a lot had changed in a day.

He grabbed his Dragunov and cleaning kit and ducked out of the tent.

Lemsky's bivouac stood further apart now, closer to the back of the cave, isolated by the gap that removing the second tent had created. Not that it mattered. Lynx's space was closer to the camp area they'd created around the cookstove.

They'd dragged a few flat rocks in from outside to use as chairs and tables, and set several lamps around the area to illuminate it with a pleasant amber glow that seemed homey. They'd also set up a few blankets nearby in case it got chilly, but this evening was still tolerably cool.

Lynx and Aryol sat directly across from each other, the chess board between them sitting on a wide rock. Lynx rested back on his haunches, looking tolerant and amused as Aryol leaned forward, studying the board intently.

Leshovik sat down nearby, and opened his cleaning kit. It was time to give the Dragunov a thorough cleaning, in preparation, just in case it would see more action before this mission was through.

He eyed Lynx and Aryol.

At least he was taking it seriously. He couldn't believe that he might have to engage in a sniper battle any day now, and they were playing chess.


"How can you have the patience to play that?" he groused, rolling his eyes.

Aryol didn't take his eyes off the board. "Oh, I don't know...maybe because I'm a sniper?"

Leshovik scowled. "Well, at least - "

He broke off, and looked slowly back and forth between them. Suddenly, he'd remembered what both Aryol and Lynx had told him about their little chess games.

"Wait a minute," Leshovik said, slowly, and started to watch them more closely. "Are you two really playing chess, or is this going to turn into something kinky?"

He wasn't fully sure if he was actually ready to stand by and watch Lynx fuck Aryol, in spite of the fact he knew they'd already done it.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei looked up, his lips quirking whimsically.

"You mean kinkier than what's already transpired? That might be a tall order."

He rubbed his wrist briefly and resituated his hands.

"Technically, we didn't even settle all the outstanding bets."

He gave Aryol a grin, then composed his face demonstratively for Leshovik's benefit.

"Ahem. No wager, comrade. Your modesty is-" he paused, moving his knight, "-quite safe."

[livejournal.com profile] eyes_adrift: A mild expression fell over Aryol's face.

"Maybe we should settle them now," he said, offhandedly, pausing to study the board.

His face was the picture of innocence, dark eyes pleasant and nearly serene, mouth curved thoughtfully.

A second later, he his gaze moved back to Lynx, and he flashed a quick grin.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei rubbed his jaw.

After a moment his eyes shifted to look over the blond sniper, furiously cleaning his barrel, and flicked back to Aryol.

"Yeah?" he said, skeptically.

He ran a hand over his head, then smiled casually, watching Aryol's hand hover over the pieces.

"If you had to choose...?"

[livejournal.com profile] eyes_adrift: Aryol's grin blossomed.

"...I'd want to see you fuck him," he murmured to Lynx, keeping his voice low enough so Leshovik couldn't hear.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Leshovik pause and look over at them.

"Are you whispering?" Leshovik growled.

Aryol glanced back at the board, shoulders shaking silently.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: "No," said Alexei calmly, pretending to study the board. "We're shouting sotto voce."

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at Aryol.

"Well? Is it my move?"

[livejournal.com profile] eyes_adrift: Aryol nodded vigorously.

"Definitely," he urged. "Go for it."

Leshovik was scowling at them.

"What are you guys talking about?"

Aryol grinned.

"Oh, you'll see," he said with a lilt, holding Lynx's gaze, eyes gleaming.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei shook his head, and then his finger at Aryol, as if chastising him, but he was smiling.

After a moment he stretched, raising his arms above his head, and scratched his chest, glancing over at Leshovik.

"Hey. Longshot. Come here."

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik looked at Lynx, suspiciously.


His hands twitched, almost indecisive, hovering between putting his rifle aside and keeping a grip on it, though in the end he stayed seated.

"What do you want?"

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei snorted and laughed, idly toying with a pawn.

"Come now- are you a girl in a skirt or a mercenary? What do you think I'm going to do, anyway?"

He lowered his eyes, but kept the smile on his face.

"Are you going to make me come over there, comrade?"

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik's jaw tightened, and he scowled furiously.

"I don't know what you're going to do," he growled, but looked around and carefully sat down his rifle and cleaning kit between two flat rocks.

He stood up, and marched over to Lynx, looking down at the larger man.

"I'm not going to play chess," he declared.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei looked up at him, raising his jaw and jutting it out in a slight pantomime of thuggery.

"No one asked you to," he said, in a low voice, meeting Leshovik's eyes.

His mouth jerked at the corner.

"I'm done playing, anyway."

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik's gaze locked with Lynx's.

Something about the way Lynx looked at him made a now-familiar tingle run through him, and his cock responded, tightening reflexively.

His breath hitched, faintly, turning more shallow.

Leshovik licked his lips.

"Then...what are you doing?" he asked, slowly.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei gave him a lazy, slightly insolent smile, and grabbed the sniper's jumpsuit, pulling him forward.

Reaching halfway up his chest and finding the zipper, pinching it in his fingers.

Drawing it slowly down.

Encountering no resistance, only a certain open-mouthed expression that could either pass for outrage, arousal or incredulity.

Lynx's eyes were blue as fleeting taiga flowers in the glow of the lamps.

"I'm fucking you," he said.

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik released a shaky breath, and his shoulders shook.

"Oh," he said.

The exposed vee of torso under the opened jumpsuit was covered by a grey tank, but all the same, in the cave's cool air, his nipples hardened, turning to sharp points under soft cotton.

His groin began to ache.

Leshovik held Lynx's gaze, and shivered.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei caressed Leshovik's chest though the thin cotton for a moment, before pushing the tank up, exposing his nicely knotted stomach.

"Da," murmured Alexei, sighing. "There's some nice terrain, bratan."

It was. Lightly bronzed and fully formed, built for quick action and reaction. Like every muscle on Leshovik's body.

The jumpsuit was unzipped down to its zenith, well past the bulge at the delta of his torso, and it was this that drew Lynx's eye, as he realized Leshovik was already hard for it.

Lynx wasted no time, but got Leshovik's cock in his mouth, angling his head toward the sniper's loins and seeking with fingers and lips, until he wrested it free and it slipped from the prison of cotton and past his lips, effortlessly. Immediately, from one to the other.

The length disappeared into his throat, like a parlor trick, and he heard Aryol's soft curse.

That was good, Alexei thought reverent. Leshovik filled his mouth with heat and rigid form, a tactile pleasure that he felt deeply and viscerally, almost like the first cigarette of the day.

He was reminded how much pleasure it gave him, to suck a man off, and how much it had given him to suck off this one, in particular

His broad hand eased up, slipping the jumpsuit off Leshovik's shoulder, the other one following at gravity's insistence.

It pooled on the floor of the cave like an ego deflated.

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: "Oh, Christ," Leshovik gasped, barely breathing.

He didn't know how long he could keep his feet like this, standing in front of Lynx half-naked and exposed, the length of his cock buried in the other man's throat. He had to lean one hand against Lynx's shoulder for support, just to hold himself up.

He raised the other had, which was shaking, and ran it over Lynx's hair. It was so fine and thick and soft under his fingers, it felt like the sleek fur of a minx.

Leshovik cupped his hand at the back of Lynx's neck, gently stroking, finessing the muscles and tracing the vertebrae, fingertips playing over the fragile ridges of bone that housed the fine bundles of nerves of the spinal cord.

It made a man, connected mind and flesh, and its severing could unmake him in the span of a second.

He shuddered, to think of the tenuous nature of life, how he could hold it now, like this, against his palm, how he could sever it with a bullet. How Lynx's strong hands could kill with a touch but instead they raised slow, aching fire wherever they roamed.

A killer should be more alive than anyone, Lynx had said earlier, and Leshovik felt it now, the thrum and pulse of his heart, and was amazed by the promise of life inside him.

His body quivered as he looked down to watch the play of Lynx's lip around him, the rhythmic hollowing of his cheeks, and the gentle bobbing of the sable head against his loins.

He heard a soft noise and slanted his gaze to see Aryol watching them and breathing hard, pressing a hand against his crotch. His spotter's eyes were dark with blown pupils, his lips parted.

Pleasure spiked like pain, and Leshovik shuddered, finding the eroticism of the moment strangely heightened by Aryol's burning gaze and smoldering presence. It made him feel even more vulnerable, to be undone in front of an audience, especially Aryol, who knew him best.

Leshovik let out a soft sob, trembling as rocked against the warm mouth that sheathed his cock, fighting to draw enough air to sustain him, though he wasted it on whispering soft curses to Lynx.

"Oh Christ, you beautiful bastard. Oh god," he breathed.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei relished it, the ebb and flow of Leshovik's response, as sung by his breath and heartbeat and the gentle quaking of his rocky, jutting hips.

The the full-body blush that suffused him like candlelight.

He worked Leshovik's prick over with tender violence, chasing and abetting the descent of his mouth with his palm, stroking in the slickness.

The taste of him was succulent, meted out in gentle pulses, gently pulsed drops of pickling salt against the flat of Alexei's adulating tongue, potent and piquant as liqueur.

He heard the sniper's words and grunted softly, hands curving over Leshovik's buttocks as he stood struck and flexed. Kneading into the flesh, surging in and taking him deep and whole, until his lips kissed the flat of Viktor's hips, and brushed the soft nest of dark blond matting.

Pulling back, slowly, and letting the rigid prick slide from his mouth and tremble in erotic suspension.

Looking up at Leshovik, body following his gaze as he rose, breathing softly, and now they stood against each other, every cell quivering with want of the act.

His eyes flicked to Aryol, his parted, wanton mouth and hungry eyes.

"You want him to watch?" he asked, throatily, to Leshovik. "While I fuck you? While I spread you open and shove my prick up inside you, comrade?"

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik shuddered and pressed his face against Lynx's broad chest, nodding once, unable to speak or turn his gaze in Aryol's direction.

He wanted it, but he didn't know why. It felt like something he could give that didn't require him to articulate anything. It felt like a bit of atonement for three years of hardship.

Leshovik hadn't treated Aryol right and though he couldn't change what he'd done, maybe he could change his behavior going forward.

Lynx was like a bridge between them, a pair of strong arms that drew them together and pulled them both up and against the comfort of his generous chest.

But he was more than that, too. There was a connection that ran between them, Leshovik and Lynx, as men, as individuals. Like Lynx had said earlier, they were killers, and understood each other on that visceral level.

It was something that both frightened and drew him, staggered him and made him feel more alive than when he sighted down his scope at a soon-to-be dead man.

Leshovik brought his arms around Lynx and held him, pressing himself close. It wasn't so bad, feeling as slight as he did, letting another man tower over him, not like this.

He swallowed and pulled back just a little so he could look into Lynx's bright blue eyes, nodding again once, silently.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Lynx blinked, and wrapped his arms around Leshovik as well, tempering his lust for a moment, and really feeling him, scenting his emotions. Drawing mentally back, at arm's length, so that he could see what he held in those arms.

So far he'd been sensual but cavalier about this second seduction. He'd been in a relaxed state of mind- having a good game, Aryol had made a cheeky suggestion, and Leshovik had looked appealingly, tantalizingly resistant, cleaning his immaculate rifle- so he'd pounced, lazily and readily as his namesake, hungry and id-driven.

As with the first time he'd carefully broken Leshovik open to finger the works of his clock, he realized that surrendering like this held powerful meaning to the sniper, and the catharsis was still very much alive in Leshovik's experience.

His assent had not been flippant, or wry, or even taunting, as Lynx had half-expected when making his affectionate overture. No, Leshovik was not playing.

And neither was Aryol, he realized, as his gaze brushed the young spotter. There was no smile on his face, only a sultry, expectant voyeurism, and a marked lack of breath.

Alexei looked at Leshovik for a moment, his gaze encompassing and blue as the Baltic.

"This isn't play, is it?" he said softly. "Not to you."

He paused, watching Leshovik's face. Realizing he hadn't yet kissed him, and how much he wanted to. The hard and petulant mouth was inviting in its uncertainty.

He bent his head, like a sparrowhawk, and made the kill, taking the sniper's lips with his own, slowly revolving a kiss from within the motion, and feeling a jolt of heart-knocking intimacy, unexpected and staggering.

"I want you," Lynx said, then, and bent like a burden beast, gathering the other man easily up into his arms.

He stepped over to the rough sprawl of blankets, carrying his brute of a cargo, and setting him down, as Alexei himself came to his knees.

"Undress me," he whispered.

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik's hands were trembling like a virgin's, though not with uncertainty, but rather, emotion. He took a hold of Lynx's fatigue shirt and pushed it carefully off his shoulders.

Lynx had a chest that was smooth and muscular, nearly unreal in its breadth and tone, perfectly formed like an artist's rendition.

He paused and leaned forward to draw his lips across the lightly tanned skin to place a quietly purposeful kiss over the flat planes of muscle that guarded Lynx's heart.

His mouth lingered while his shaking hands dropped, fumbling at the fastenings of Lynx's fatigue pants.

He had done this before, a thousand times, undressing Aryol with hungry efficiency. But he had never done this for Lynx, and each simple motion felt like a quiet revelation. His body trembled with the wanting of this, responding to the baring of Lynx's powerful body with a deep thrumming ache.

Leshovik paused and pressed his face against Lynx's chest, drawing in a long breath to steady himself before he looped his thumbs to push Lynx's pants downward.

He drew them down as far as he could then sat back to look at the man who still kneeled like a penitent.

Leshovik reached out to rest his palm against Lynx's chest.

"Lie back," he whispered, "and I'll take care of the rest."

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei kept his eyes deliberately averted as Leshovik disrobed him, sensing the man's tenuous and tender emotional state, and the shaking of his hands.

There was no need to put the onus of his gaze on him at this moment, when the chemistry in the air was thick as velvet, and neither of them had a doubt about what they needed.

But he raised his gaze once more when he felt Leshovik's grounded and sensual touch on his breast, urging him to recline.

Alexei lay back, slowly, controlled, rolling his stomach muscles on the descent, until he was flat on the grey field blanket, looking up at Leshovik with a leveled gaze.

"Do you like what you see, Eyes Adrift?" he asked, quietly, without taking his eyes from Leshovik's face.

[livejournal.com profile] eyes_adrift: Aryol had been watching them in muted disbelief but powerful arousal. He had never seen Leshovik like this, trembling and tentative, seemingly uncertain. He couldn't reconcile it with the man he knew, except for the few times he'd seen Leshovik act with true regret.

This gentleness wasn't regret, he could tell, but instead was something else more powerful.

It made him love Leshovik more to see him so strangely vulnerable, and it made him love Lynx more to see treat the occasion with the reverence it deserved. There was something between the two of them that made Aryol unable to look away, breathless and anticipating.

"Don't stop," he whispered, gently, watching as Leshovik drew his eyes up to meet Lynx's gaze and began to strip the rest of Lynx's clothing.

Aryol lay back and unzipped his own jumpsuit, then reached inside to palm his cock, holding back for now and touching himself idly, not wanting to miss anything in the throes of his own arousal.

He watched as Leshovik removed the rest of Lynx's clothing. Leshovik climbed over Lynx's body to straddle him, and Aryol admired the study in contrasts of their naked bodies, lean and broad and sleek and muscular. It made them look like a pair, like they belonged together.

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik looked down at Lynx, who looked up at him calmly. Lynx had a gaze that saw right through him. He couldn't hide who he was from those piercing blue eyes, and nor did he truly want to stay hidden, not when Lynx took in all and accepted it quietly.

He bent his head to brush across Lynx's mouth, kissing him softly, with slow aching passion.

Leshovik breathed the name of Lynx's true self against his lips, the way he'd done earlier that morning.

"Alexei," he murmured, but only for them. It was still a secret to be kept between them.

Carefully, he dipped his head lower to kiss Lynx's neck, still aware of the way his body tremored. He wanted to do more, but thought it would undo him.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Already stunned at the slow sweep of that cruel mouth, broken against his own, Lynx shuddered at the sound of his true name.

The follow-up shot, he thought, like a good sniper. One for good measure, just to make sure the kill was good.

Apart from Volgin and Isaev, the sniper might have been the only man to know it, to connect it to him.

But of those three men, Isaev had never used it, acknowledged it. To him, Lynx was only Major, or sir.

He made a soft noise as Leshovik's mouth ranged over his throat, hands roaming up and down the man's naked back with broad, hungry palms.

Lynx turned his head, so that his lips moved against Leshovik's ear.

"I want to be inside you," he whispered, "Viktor Nikolaivich."

His hand reached for Leshovik's kit and shook it, until a small bottle of rifle oil tumbled out onto the blanket and rolled up against his body.

"Good enough for your Dragunov, good enough for you," he intoned.

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik's breath hitched and he nodded quietly, then reached to retrieve the bottle of oil before looking down between them, at Lynx's thick, yearning cock.

Once more he felt awed by its sheer size and width, and in spite of Lynx's earlier assertion that it was only that large to be in proportion, he thought the only man who downplayed his size was the man who knew he was the largest.

Leshovik looked back up at Lynx with a faint and gentle smile, then maneuvered himself so that he lightly straddled Lynx's thighs just below his hips. Lynx's cock lay flush against his stomach, and responded with a twitch as Leshovik settled.

He carefully unscrewed the bottle lid then pooled a generous amount of oil into his palm, holding it for a while, letting it warm. The cleaning oil was light and clear but would be enough for their purposes.

Leshovik smoothed the oil along the length of Lynx's cock, turning the dark veined flesh shiny and glistening.

He anointed the massive length with tender, slick fingers, letting it glide through his hand until he reached the exposed glans, stroking the broad head, then massaging back down the other side.

The scent of the oil was heady and keenly familiar, one irrevocably associated with his rifle. It made him shiver, and swell harder.

When he was done, he moved forward, to straddle Lynx's hips, reaching one hand down to guide Lynx's cock between them. He pressed the tip against the warm, puckered skin of his opening.

Leshovik looked up at Lynx again, meeting his eyes.

"I want you inside me. Alexei Nikitavich," he murmured, words shaped by his lips and carried on the softest of breaths.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei's cock ached at the proximity, and he caught his breath at the brush of soft, ruched flesh across the glans.

His hands played over Leshovik's chest, and down to his hips, easing soothing circles against his flanks, gently parting the globes of his ass to entice and encourage him.

"Lesha," he said, softly, locking his eyes to the sniper's, "I need you. Come here. Come down to me."

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik nodded, once, and pressed down, mouth parting as his body gave up its resistance to the initial penetration, and Lynx's rigid thickness slipped inside.

He made it all one motion, pressing down without faltering, taking all of Lynx's length inside him, gorging himself on thick, hungry cock, gasping at the sensation.

"Christ," he breathed, "I swear, you got bigger."

Rocking back, he arched his spine slowly, eyes going wider, gaze turning hazy and euphoric.

"Oh god. This is so good."

He shivered, lips curving upward.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei eyes widened and he sat up, fully, catching Leshovik in his arms.

"Easy," he whispered, alarmed. "Jesus fuck, Leshovik...are you trying to kill both of us?"

He couldn't believe Long Shot had just..taken him in like that. Like catching a bullet between his teeth. Like it was nothing.

Their gazes met. He saw storm blue determination behind the amorphous ecstasy of the sniper's eyes.

And Leshovik was beautiful, and hard, and wild.

After a moment, he laughed, softly, delighted.

"You're phenomenal," he said, under his breath. "Feels like heaven."

Heaven in the tropics. Far from Tselinoyarsk and rock and ragged hills.

His hand eased down Leshovik's back, caressing. Alexei's mouth ached to kiss and be kissed, as his prick ached to fuck and be fucked.

He slowly lay back down, pulling Leshovik against him, as his hips began to revolve, a reflex demanded by his longing.

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Leshovik laughed as their bodies came together, flush with adrenaline and the thrill of some small, carefree part of him that had broken loose to wend down streams of rapturous bliss like a runaway boat.

He planted his arms for support and leaned forward, bringing his mouth up to Lynx's, kissing him with hungry abandon.

He felt like he'd been given temporary leave and could put aside the trappings of his tradecraft, no snipers or ghost squads or remote postings, no men to kill, no rules to be followed. He could be Viktor now, even just for the moment.

His lips were curved wide and ravenous as he kissed Lynx, giving without the restraint of caution. It didn't matter, somehow, not now, not with everything that had already passed between them.

Lynx still felt huge inside him but slowly he shifted his hips and began a slow rhythm, as much as he could manage.

It was almost too much, but that made it better.

Viktor rocked in a delicate motion offset by the press of his mouth and his breath, which came hard. His lips broke free to gasp in air, and he laughed again, almost in disbelief.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: Alexei watched Leshovik's face, holding his arousal steady, breathing rhythmically, centering his kingdom on the man who rode his body.

Viktor. That was Viktor. He lost years when he laughed, or smiled. When pleasure suffused the sardonic visage. Not age- he was a handsome and vital thirty-three, and not a babe in arms. A man, still, despite it all. But years, the kind that left nicotine stains on the soul.

Lynx was rapt with the spare physical intelligence Leshovik had, the kinetic simplicity of the way he moved. In another life, he might have been an athlete, in disciplines that called for lean and stripped-down motion.

He was facile and fluid, falling into Alexei's slow, elliptical rhythm with the instinctive ease of a jockey who feels and knows the gait and temperament of his mount.

They fucked beautifully, and it felt too good.

"I love fucking your ass," he breathed, the soft and smoldering embers of his voice belying the crudeness of the words. "You take it like a man."

He couldn't stop himself from returning to Leshovik's lips, like water. With every kiss, the friction mounted between them, like charging ions, and he felt his skin tingle all over.

"Do I feel good to you, Leshava?" he intoned, voice low and labored with the burden of lust. "Do I give you what you want?"

[livejournal.com profile] leshovik: Viktor laughed again, and kissed Lynx's lips.

"Oh god. I can't believe how good you make me feel. How do you do it, you gorgeous bastard?"

He didn't know what it was about Lynx, who had the patience and wisdom of an old man, though he was barely older than Leshovik. Somewhere along the way, Lynx had learned things about life, not everyday lessons, but the kind of secrets that were whispered on the tongues of angels.

It wasn't just the man's giant rigid cock or the way he knew how to kiss that felt good. Lynx knew how to say things with a word or a gesture that spoke more resonantly than the speeches of generals.

Leshovik kept arching with slow, leisurely motion, their pace unhurried but gradually building, though he found himself savoring the pleasure of the journey and felt no particular rush to reach their destination.

"Rys'..." he breathed, quietly, licking his lips as he tried to gather his thoughts, though the graze of their lips sent his mind wandering. "You give me what I don't even know I want."

He had the feeling that Lynx thought about a lot of things, but never shared his burdens. He'd never seen the man complain once, or get angry. How could a person have that sort of grounding, to never rail at what was unjust, Leshovik didn't know, but at the same time, he'd felt Lynx's need, which seemed equal to his own.

Viktor paused in his kissing, though continued fucking, hips still rolling against Lynx's hips as he pulled back a little to look at Lynx carefully.

Lynx's lips were parted, and his eyes low-lidded, the expression on his face one of sweet gratification.

For some reason Viktor hesitated, and found the next hard to say.

"Thanks," he muttered, quiet and low, then dipped his head down to kiss Lynx fiercely.

[livejournal.com profile] snow_death: He felt Leshovik's easy exhilaration, and it moved him, almost too much. Hearing him laugh, toying with himself and Lynx, inhabiting the moment like this.

Alexei knew he was seeing the man the sniper had been, eight years ago, before Black Ops. When he'd known this Kasya. A fun-loving and careless miscreant, without the sidecar of bitter disillusionment he'd come to carry.

"It's nothing," grunted Lynx softly, "for everything."

His arms tightened, holding Leshovik to him, driving the sub-rhythm as he pressed a kiss to the sniper's tanned brow, lightly damp with perspiration.

Leshovik's cock skimmed the hard ridges of his stomach, again and again, and he loved that, the play of body against body, man against man.

He moaned, spreading his knees and gripping Leshovik's hips as they shifted, rising and falling.

It was getting easier now. Leshovik had opened to him, accepted him, formidable as he was, and Lynx's cock slid up and down, in and out of him like a thick, slick piston.

The night was quiet, apart from the odd calls of owls and wind beyond the cave, and the muted noises of pleasure and breath that escaped them as they rutted on the rough ground, heedless of circumstance or condition.

Beyond the spare symphony of their involuntary utterances, he could hear Aryol's raw and ragged breathing.
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November 2009


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