And indeed, Volgin had aimed, Raikov's release marking the older man across his nose and broad forehead. He was a hard target to miss anyway.

Still, he cocked a brow and closed his eyes as those pale, thin fingers painted him up in his mark.

Rubbing it in. Just as his little Ivan should. Bastard. Heeh...

There was a low growl, as he adjusted his grip around Raikov, his arms getting tired, but he still leaned in: "Keeps me young, doesn't it?"