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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Ivan didn't mind the weight--it was almost comforting. A rare but much appreciated sight to see the powerful Russian so relaxed in his presence.

"...I want you to suck me off," an impossible request, he knew. But wasn't it worth a try?

Tension. Pause.

The weight of that arm was temporarily lifted when it struck at Raikov's crotch like a snake. His aim was perfect, if the angle was awkward. Volgin, a creature of adaptability as far as the duties of a soldier and commanding officer had taught him, worked with it.

"How direct of you."

"Mmh--! Oohh..." Ivan tensed at the sudden assault, straightening his back. Then relaxed.

He smiled lecherously, sighed, "I always am..."

"I would expect no less."

There was the sound of rubber tensing as Volgin squeezed. It was one of his softer groin assaults, however. The petting had dulled his grip.

Raikov was a pretty good reason for any deviations in his usual violent and destructive course of behavior.

With that, there was a shuffling, the bed moving and squeaking with the giant's adjustment in position, and then there was now a part of the hard, muscular torso flopped over Raikov's lap. The Colonel settled himself with a satisfied grunt, not too unlike the air brake of a semi truck easing to a stop.

"Give me a moment," was Volgin's low murmur, enjoying taking up the bed and Ivan for the time being a bit too much.

The Major likely knew what would get the inert beast of a man to move if he so needed, either way.

Ivan enjoyed it as much as any other fondling of his privates. More so because it was the Colonel.

He watched in disbelief as the older man seemed to--actually be intent on giving him a blowjob.

"Are you really--?" He couldn't even fathom it, couldn't stop the stupid grin from spread across his face.

He didn't even care that Volgin's massive bulk was effectively crushing part of his legs.

Raikov might have been stupidly grinning for awhile.

Volgin was sure flopped there for awhile. He might have been dozing off again after enough slow blinks. His breathing was audible, heavy and deep.

(... Was that snoring?)

That grin slowly ebbed away at each passing minute. It turned into an outright frown at the snoring.

"Hey!" He balled his hand into a fist, punching Volgin in the same shoulder as before.

Volgin jolted (the simple, black rubber suit under his clothes provided decent insulation from whatever electricity that peaked in his startling). He shot up, Raikov's thighs momentarily relieved.

The grogginess masked, he narrowed his eyes, sitting up to make direct eye contact with the Major and leer in. A supporting hand and arm pressed against his companion's package.

"The sniper almost got me, but I didn't let him. I told you not to hit me there." Often. The old battle wound was a good spot for Ivan to use to drive a point home as needed. Unusually for the Colonel, but not so much in regards to Ivan, the threat was empty.

Ivan jolted in sync, but paid no more acknowledge to it than that. His thighs tingled as blood returned to them. His arousal tingled as Volgin continued to put pressure on it.

"Well then maybe you shouldn't fall asleep in the middle of giving me a blowjob!" Ivan huffed, keeping a steady gaze, but he wasn't really angry. In fact, he softened quite quickly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the Colonel's lips.

"A blowj-uff." Grunt. Yes, a blowjob, that was right, as Volgin's lips moved and kissed along those lovely, soft ones. He might have mumbled something else, but he decided kissing was a more pressing matter, so he put his energies more towards that.

Then he stopped and considered a very important thing, and jerked away.

"I need to check something."

Whatever it was, Volgin was twisting himself and using the momentum to fling his respectable mass off the bed and to the door.

"Mmm...," Ivan frowned when Volgin's lips left his. Anything he needed to check wasn't half as important as him--no, not even a fifth as important.

He sat on the bed with an irritated look, and as Volgin opened the door he flopped back on the bed, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

What Ivan couldn't see was though was what Volgin surely could--toilet paper everywhere, shredded to pieces, floating through the air like a dusty blizzard. Everything was covered.

And in the middle of it, Galina.

A rolled of shredded toilet paper in her mouth.

Volgin glared at the dog. His bag! His things! (Was Ivan's.)

"You!"

Although a husky was a much more agile and fleeter animal than Volgin ever could be, the giant thundered towards the offending creature anyway, right through the flurry of fluffy white and double-quilted for extra comfort.

Galina growled, bounding off with the toilet paper in her mouth. When Volgin go to close she ran underneath the dining room table and sprinted towards the other end of the room.

Meanwhile, Ivan sat up to see Volgin bounding out of the room with a vengeance.

"Hey, you can't just take my stuff and lea--...," it was then he noticed the mist of paper through the doorway. Ivan's jaw practically fell off as he hoped off the bed and ran over, sticking his head through the door way to see Volgin chasing after his dog.

"What are you doing?! And what is this stuff--?!"

CRASH!

This Raikov might never see what would become of his boyfriend in the final moments of his life, tearing through millions of dollars of equipment and structuring in an experimental nuclear tank in a destructive fury, after the two wretched scums instrumental in the collapse of his plans.

The indifference to leveling whatever in his way stained this incarnation's tendencies in spades: The dining room table was toppled over on conditioned reflex and the towering Soviet never felt the legs snap off at his impact as he barreled through, right for the dog. Raikov fell on deaf ears.

"My table--!" Ivan fumed, storming into the living room-dinning room.

Galina immediately ran for Ivan--and ran past him to hide in the bedroom. Ivan stayed planted where he was, leering at Volgin, the stupid boy unafraid of the freight train screeching towards him.

He clenched a fist.

A freight train sounded about right, difficultly stopping and all.

Which in this instance, almost four hundred pounds of muscle and implants carried a bit of momentum after changing course and barreling after a much smaller, swifter husky.

Volgin tried his best to stop, if by the last ditch, useless effort of jerking his body in a redirecting twist. Unfortunately, he might as well have been trying to skid his way to home plate as his feet headed straight for Raikov's and winded up on his side, possibly having a younger man on top of him.

Ivan regretted his stubbornness as he realized Volgin wasn't about to stop.

He went to turn and run, but instead was hit with a lug of meat and then, by some blind gracious act of fate, landed on top of Volgin instead of under him.

And then he punched him in the chest after the shock had worn off.

"You almost killed me?!"

Galina barked once in the background.

"I'd kill the dog first," Volgin grumbled, with an irritated Raikov on top of him. On a bed of shredded toilet paper.

With a broken dining room table nearby, its poor legs crunched off.

And, hey, there was his bag.

The Colonel might have had his head craned around to look at that instead, to see if the dog had chewed on anything else or just demolished his attempt at Grand Theft Toilet Paper (and other interesting things and possibly small, non-perishable food items that caught his eye). He also might have been trying to evade the fullest extent of the Wrath of Ivan Raidenovich Raikov.

Not that he had a terrible lot to be afraid of. Physically. Maybe.

Promoting a man to his equal standing had its risks.

"My ass you'll kill my dog!" Ivan barked back, deciding to punch him again in the same spot once he seemed to be focusing his attention one something other than Ivan.

"You broke my fucking table--and--," Ivan sneezed, sniffled, and looked to be on the verge of tears. "What the hell is this white shit?!"

He screamed in frustration, pounding the side of both hands on Volgin's chest, flailed at the snowfall of toilet paper.

A good Spetsnaz soldier was trained to absorb pain and assaults like this, but a good Spetsnaz soldier also targeted weak points in a strike.

Raikov had enough at Volgin's chinks in the armor of his tough musculature today.

The younger man's smaller body might have been easy to manipulate and restrain in the larger set of arms. If the Colonel had it his way, Raikov's back would have been against his chest instead, a pair of large hands clutching his wrists.

The Major's deadly feet were still in commission, however, if anything crossed his mind regarding them.

Maybe the teeth against Raikov's earlobe would change his mind. A mutter:

"This is not how I had intended things to work out."

Ivan had fought vigorously, but once he'd been restrained he began to calm, but still struggled. Still gritted his teeth, took heavy breathes--the teeth on his ear just pissed him off more.

"I'm getting dust in my eyes, Volgin" he irrelevantly spat back.

Hn. He called him "Volgin". That meant business.

Maybe a tongue and mouth session with his Major's ear might be in order. Although, in a way, seeing the smaller man in a fluster, especially against the likes of him, rather tickled him.

(The state of Raikov's apartment should not have mattered to him too much either, but...)

"Maybe you should stop moving around and stirring the dust up," he managed in-between tracing the rim of Raikov's ear with his tongue. "Your floor... also smells of dog."

Ivan grumbled in return, having wasted more than enough effort to escape the wroughtiron grip Volgin had on him.

He squeezed his eyes shut with a scowl on his face.

"It smells like dog because I have a dog. And I hope you realize you're going to help my clean this up--and get me a new goddamn table."

He did use the table quite a lot.

"I was thinking of more getting out of your way in the interests of preventing further damage, you see."

Raikov might have been shuffled a bit to allow Volgin easier access to his neck. It was looking pretty succulent and white right now, and there was a warm mouth soon enough nibbling at it.

He was still restrained.

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