majorbonerkiller | FISSIONMAILED: Apartment complex

Entry tags:

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!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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!"

"Not enough for your stomach," replied Volgin with a curled lip of obvious displeasure, still intent on pinching out the full extent of the damage. "I know how you much eat! I will get you back into shape myself if I have to!

"Clearly, you're not exercising properly."

(... Said the man who obviously had a preference for overbuilding his arms in relation to the rest of his body.)

"It's not that much--I don't eat that much!" He replied defensively, pulling his shirt down over his tummy and scooting away.

"I'm doing the same things I did at Groznyj Grad!" More or less.

"Then I will order you to expand your duties by cleaning this mess for a start!" the older man barked, his tone rising, the bare hand making a wide arc at the toilet paper snow scattered around them. "Maybe that will help with your weight problem!"

Never mind the slight softening of Volgin's own abdomen, the result of a months-long foray into the boring, sedentary lifestyle plague that accompanied the loss of his position in the Red Army (death was an inconvenience). Raikov would have found a touch more skin around the Colonel's gut if he tried for a grope himself; Yevgeny was as hypocritical and double standardizing as they came.

"What--no way, Yevgeny! This is your fault, if you don't remember!" he retaliated, shooing the flurry of white away from his face.

"And I--I don't have a weight problem!" He was utterly shocked and horrified, his mouth curved into a permanent, exaggerated frown. Then he jabbed at Volgin with a finger. "What about you, huh? You're looking rounder!"

He didn't know really, but he figured he'd just say something to try and offend the other man. In fact, he decided to emphasize his made-up point by groping at Volgin's stomach--only to find he was right. "You really are..."

Volgin, for a moment, looked shocked. His jaw hung. His teeth clicked when he snapped his mouth shut and furrowed his brow.

He really did not want to be reminded of-

Raikov's hand was sharply smacked away from his stomach. He did not need to know that!

"You should control your dog and keep her from getting into my things!" Volgin hotly countered. He was reaching for his satchel, to rummage about and see what else that damned husky got her teeth on.

Ivan pulled his hand back, rubbing where it now stung from the slap.

"Maybe you shouldn't steal my things and my dog wouldn't have anything to get into!" He was flustered again now, gritting his teeth.

"You come in here and you take my stuff, you break my table, and then you insult me and leave me hanging!"

Ivan wanted to pull out his hair in frustration and scream. And he did--except without pulling his hair out. So basically, he just screamed.

And tackled Volgin in an attempt to beat the living hell out of him.

It was a noble attempt, because Volgin was going to check through his bag and Raikov was not going to stop him.

Not only could the giant Soviet steel himself against the assault, he very well quickly was willing to end it with a harsh discharge utilizing the circuit made when both hands grabbed his person. It was enough to stun but not enough to really hurt the younger man in the long run.

Or so Volgin was intending.

He thought he caught a whiff of smoke, enough to ebb a little concern out of him despite his cultivated and various experiences involving the application of electrical current to warm, live human bodies.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject