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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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.

"No. You're going to help me clean this up, Volgin, and you're going to like it," Ivan growled.

He squirmed as Volgin moved him, grumbling as the Soviet paid special attention to his neck. It felt...nice, but he was still too angry to appreciate it. Or at least he was; lucky for Volgin it seemed to be calming his younger comrade down. "Hmm...let me go, asshole."

Or not.

"You need to relax," was the wet, hot mumble. "It's not good for you... to get so worked up like this."

As Volgin, easily restraining the smaller man, slowly released the thinner wrists, sliding a gloved hand down his arm groinwards while another was slithering up Raikov's shirt, if he had reasonably easy access.

Or not, perhaps.

Well, the Nexus could provide whatever casualties to Ivan's wardrobe that would occur.

"I'm not worked up, I'm reasonably irritat--," his breath hitched at the movements of Volgin's hands.

Unfortunately his uniform's jacket, tied down with belts, buckles, straps, and buttons--did not easy access make.

But his groin was right there in waiting. "Mmhh...you're trying to distract me. It's not going to work."

"You often say that."

Volgin was very familiar with those belts, buckles, straps, and buttons. He would have been a terrible example of a lover too if he could not open all those without looking, through the cumbersome rubber of his gloves.

Raikov could feel those giant hands working regardless of what he said, undeterred.

"... Over a table, Ivan."

"You seem to be forgetting all this shit floating around!" Ivan squirmed against Volgin's grip, trying to offset his advances.

Even if those hands against him were a usually welcome--and still, when it came down to it all--occurrence.

"You better help me clean this up later...," he sigh heavily, giving into the touch.

"It isn't that bad," breathed Volgin against the snowy skin, his voice a low rumble of a purr. "You're quick to forget when we were at Tselinoyarsk, yes?" Although those incidents pertained more to scientists and soldiers being carted off to the sick bay with broken noses and black eyes (mostly) when the Major was in a bad mood, often in relation to the Colonel's moods.

And their sexual excursions between shifts. And during shifts. And whenever Volgin needed relief and found his Major convenient.

The older man's bulk worked well for him, especially restraining the fidgets and protests of his Ivan. He liked them when they squirmed.

Raikov's pants breached for the most part, the belt and fly open, that large hand was eager enough to slide down to possibly one more, feeble barrier before the prize beyond that.

"You've been keeping in shape," Volgin off-commented. The smaller of the two Soviets might have felt something approaching a very aroused state below him around the Colonel's loins too.

"I liked my room orderly in Tselinoyarsk too," he mumbled. It was easier to keep that trend when he had people cleaning for him, of course. Doing his laundry, cooking his food...it was very different here.

He felt like melting into Yevgeny's touch, arching his hips up eagerly.

"I've been training," with another Ivan, he declined to mention. A smirk tugged at his lips as he felt that hardening against his rear.

"Already, Yevgeny?"

It isn't organized now, the giant thought, but he spoke instead:

"Good to know you're not going to waste, with a beautiful, perfect body like that." There were lustful notes to Volgin's smooth tone, as his hand worked around Raikov's genitals. Rubber against flesh: His fingers cupped balls, slid up to graze his shaft, while a thumb would tease the head when it could.

"I would have to do something about it if you were not." Before another round of biting, wet kisses assaulted the side of the Major's other head. Meanwhile his hand had been feeling around that white stomach, initially admiring what he thought was the delicate toning found there.

Raikov got a hard pinch instead.

Volgin stopped kissing and fondling.

"What is this." His voice went flat.

Damn right he was beautiful. Ivan bathed in his supremacy, enjoying himself as Volgin worked on his cock.

He moaned softly, tilting his head to allow Volgin easier access to the sensitive skin of his neck.

Then his head snapped back, "Ow!"

And a deep flush stained his cheeks as he realized what Volgin was pinching, "What...what is what?"

"I had been mistaken."

Raikov was nonchalantly shoved off him, undone and all, as Volgin sat up, his own contained erection sagging. He did not look impressed at all.

"What happened. You're not a walrus, are you? Your stomach!"

Volgin removed a glove as he voiced his irritated surprise, tossing it aside before crawling at the other Russian in the light layer of toilet paper to have the bare, surprisingly soft hand grab at Raikov's stomach again.

"That's not the stomach- my stomach I remember!"

"About--huh?!" Ivan shouted as he unceremoniously hit the floor. Clambering up to a seated position, he shot a pouty, angry look at the Colonel.

Which only grew more so of the former.

"N-no, I--hey!" He shoved at Volgin's hand, face burning red with shame. His erection was quick to disappear.

"Hey--I said I train!"

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