majorbonerkiller | FISSIONMAILED: Apartment complex

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FISSIONMAILED: Apartment complex

Well Ivan certainly didn't remember leaving the door to his apartment wide open, just beckoning squatters to come shit on his carpet--or even worse, eat his food.

Not that they weren't all squatters here anyway. Ivan crouched down near the door frame, pulling out his tranquilizer gun. He peered over the threshold, and took a chance, hoping his dog was still here--and still alive.

"Galina! Here girl!"

When he heard the familiar patter and panting he sighed in relief, ruffling her ears when she was close enough, "Good girl." Curse himself for smiling at a time like this.

Slightly more confident now with his canine comrade, Ivan entered the dark apartment, keeping his footsteps quiet and his tranquilizer at the ready.

And he almost immediately tripped over his own dirty laundry, screaming in the process of mid-falling terror. Luckily his amazing acrobatic skills (catching himself on the dresser) came to the rescue.

Moving forward towards the center of the room Ivan could hear--breathing. He baited his breath, trying to hold back any instincts to just start shooting up the place. He was fueled by a sort of cocktail of terror and anger--how dare somebody come waltzing into his apartment thinking they own the goddamn place?!

He padded closer, towards the sounds of life--they must be on the couch, since he just knocked his knee on the coffee table and had to hiss in silent agony a moment before going on.

Finally steadying himself he located the perpetrator's head after several seconds (a whole minute of squinting) and pressed the muzzle of his gun against it, "Get up!"

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"I've been busy--whoa!" Almost tripped over a chair, no big deal.

Now Ivan knew where the switch was though, and turned it on. Only after that did he remember the LED on his shotgun. Of course.

"It...hasn't been that long, Sir," he scuffled after him.

"Long enough," Volgin said as he flicked on the switch to the bedroom, considering the floor before beelining to a discarded pair of underwear. He coolly leaned over to pinch it up between two rubber-gloved fingers, midnight black, to show Raikov. "For this."

Dog toys on the floor. Discarded food wrappers overflowing around the waste bin. More underwear.

Volgin wrinkled his nose, although the expression was more feigned than anything.

"What about you? Look at what you're wearing!" Ivan snatched his underwear back and promptly tossed them on the chair--or at least that was his intention; they landed on the floor. It irritated him when people went through his stuff--anybody.

"You look like an old man."

Volgin fed off this irritation, forever certain to have that shit-eating grin of his at this rate. The attempt at an insult bounced off him; he was very aware of his age, if his creeping joint pains fluctuating at the whim of the weather were any indication.

"I know."

... he said as he skimmed his eye about the room for other things of interest, bringing himself to the contents atop a dresser. The junk on the floor caught the eye of his strict adherence to base protocol. The brightly colored things on the dresser, well.

He pinched the end of a string of anal beads and held them up to Ivan with a short chuff of a grunt.

Ivan had gone off rambling, "I mean, a turtleneck--really, Yevgeny? It's like you're not even trying. A collared shirt or a..."

He forgot he'd left that stuff on the dresser; a blush painted his face and his train of thought ran right off a cliff (then proceeded to sink to the farthest most reaches of the sea floor). It wasn't that he was shy, far from it, but he really only appreciated the thought or occurrence of candid discovers when he was aroused.

And surprisingly, he wasn't right now.

So he grabbed the beads in one hand, opened the top drawer with the other and swept the contents of his dresser inside. The anal beads were like cherries on a sundae as he shut the drawer.

Ivan wanted a sundae.

"You've been entertaining yourself," Volgin commented, suppressing his laughter. Still grinning. With teeth.

"Come on, Vanya." He brought a gloved hand out to squeakily toy with a stray lock of Raikov's hair. He twirled it on his finger. "You act as if you have something to hide from me.

"I do know you better than anyone after all."

Or not really. Volgin did not know this Raikov, but he was finding him a perfectly intriguing and raunchy little thing. A pleasing thing.

And he would nose about wherever he liked as he wanted on the coattails of his past authority.

"I get bored too," he turned back around, facing Volgin.

"I'm not hiding anything, Zhenya," a coy smile, "it's just bad show to have those kinds of things lying around when company--uninvited or not--comes over."

Not that Ivan really gave two shits about company. If he did have any over and they were coming into his bedroom those toys would have plans for use.

"Bad show, eh?" Volgin let that lock of hair slide away as Raikov turned to make direct eye contact. He leaned in. Raikov could feel his breath on his forehead. It was warm, moist, with some metallic odor lining on the heavy punch of old alcohol. "Maybe you should start by taking care of your laundry more so than worrying about your little... interesting collection right there."

The distance of his mouth closed briefly, in a quick brush of a kiss.

Then, he pulled away and sat down on Raikov's bed, perhaps patting his lap for the dog's attention should she have still been there.

"Is that offer for seconds in the dark still standing?"

Alcohol--Ivan could go for some right now, when he thought about it.

"I didn't expect company," another excuse, but mostly true. Had he known somebody was coming over--even for a quick fuck--he would have picked up his laundry.

The kiss just made him want that alcohol even more. Among other things, but his thoughts were interrupted as Galina came trotting into the room, sticking her face in Yevgeny's laps for pets.

Ivan looked over at her as if betrayed--she should only come to his command! Volgin's question did not fall on deaf ears though, even through Ivan's jumbled musings.

He smiled, dirty and implicative at the older Soviet, "Always."

Volgin let it slide; it was Raikov and Raikov was allowed his special permissions, even if the Red Army was growing longer and longer behind them both.

(But the giant, of the other incarnations in his mold, clones, him before him, was unaware of the full nature of the Nexus.)

Galina received a hearty scratch behind the ear. Volgin loved dogs, if the dogs in question were powerful, sizable, and of particular use to him. A loyal German Shepherd was a welcome companion at his side. A yapping terrier was a welcome companion with the bottom of his heel.

Raikov might have seen the tiniest hint of actual pleasure from the old bastard that was not derived from savagely beating a man until he was coughing up blood, thick as honey.

"Consider it payment," he said almost distantly, as his gloved fingers whispered through fur. He left a satchel in the other room, next to the couch. It was a battered, worn thing with a pack of toilet paper and other things he pilfered inside.

Ivan continued to glower at Galina's betrayal.

Sad really, he couldn't stay mad at her. And it was only Yevgeny; had it been Liquid or Talib he'd be more incline to stay mad.

Payment?

Ivan looked up at Volgin's face for the first time since Galina entered the room, and was surprised to see him looking rather--pleased. And here he thought only broken bones, blood, and his own flawless visage could draw such an expression. Jealousy.

He whistled, calling Galina back over to him, and then shooed her out the door.

"Payment for what?"

... Or the afterglow of a good fuck.

Volgin watched the dog turn away, then turned his gaze towards Raikov for a moment, flashing him a look of stern disappointment. Although, the other man might have known the giant enough that he resembled more a dog himself having a favorite toy taken away before it could be chewed into a slimy stub than the dangerous creature with an aroused ire everyone else perceived (and appropriately relieved themselves).

"A few things."

Then the bed creaked when Volgin decided to lay fully on it, draping a large, thick arm casually across his belly. It was a small bed and annoyingly so; he did not miss custom ordering those, among other things. His knees were bent around the edge. He could have adjusted himself and curled up, like he did (uncomfortably) on the couch, but effect was effect.

"Your bed is too small, by the way."

"You didn't take any of my food, did you--," Ivan returned that stern look, taking a few steps closer with his hands girlishly on his hips.

He watched as Volgin laid down and crossed his arms instead.

"It fits me just fine."

"I know better than to lift perishables if I'm going to take a nap. Too late for that now, knowing you."

Volgin's lazy expression begged for the looming Raikov to try something, if he might. He carried not a single note of being threatened.

A Colonel, without the world's superpowers breathing down the back of his neck.

"This won't be the last time I'm here," he distantly added.

"Wait you stole from me--Yevgeny!" Ivan is completely appalled. He almost looked like he might throttled him.

"No, I'm borrowing," Volgin calmly corrected.

"Borrowing--borrowing what?"

Ivan not so calmly replied.

"A few... essentials. Toilet paper. Alcohol. Still need to do the weekly grocery run, anyway.

"The Nexus has everything in easy access, doesn't it?"

"--you can't have my toilet paper!"

He uses that a lot.

"Doesn't the Nexus provide for you?" yawned Volgin, momentarily forgetting his fixation with restrooms.

"Yes, but I still have to go find everything!"

Ivan sat on the bed, punching Volgin in the shoulder. Hard.

It took a lot for Volgin to wince. Raikov knew just the spot, however, to draw a hint of one out of him.

"You remember that," he grunted, rolling over to spill an arm into Raikov's lap with another wrapping around him. He pressed his face into the smaller Soviet's thigh, muffling: "I know you would have remembered that."

"Of course I do," Ivan smiled, feeling powerful and confident again.

And in his chest--warm from the intimate gesture; it fueled his smile, but it didn't look any less wicked. His hand reached out to run over the other man's short, pale hair.

"Good." Volgin nuzzled that thigh in response, taking a deep whiff of his clothes, Raikov's scent. Raikov might have felt him roll a low rumble in his chest. Smelled like him alright. It was lovely.

Belying of the giant's coarse nature, Volgin had deceptively soft hair. It was thinning and the white hairs were getting easier and easier to pick out.

His hand was suggestively close to the younger man's crotch. If Volgin was teasing or simply too occupied with Raikov's side was a debatable matter.

Ivan wanted to lay back, cuddle up to the larger Russian and have a nice fuck; in his bed, in the dark.

But instead he just sat there dumbly, continually grazing his fingers through the short crop of hair.

"So...about those seconds?" Stupid...tantalizing hand near his crotch.

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