|
August 1984,
Afghanistan
It had
gone wrong. So fucking wrong, Dan was screaming when the bullet
impacted in his thigh, stumbled backwards, fell, just knew
it was over. Wrong, goddamned wrong, was losing it all; goat-fuckers,
duty, sanity and his life. Pain, bullets, blood and screams,
and those motherfucking Mujas dying like flies all around
him.
Fucking
Russians, they'd done it this time. He'd under-estimated the
Glorious Red Army. Cock-sure. Cock ... nothing. No more. Reduced
to trying to crawl out of the worst of this hellfire. Shot
at from left, right, centre. Only a few more minutes and they'd
be under fire from behind as well. Really fucked. Truly buggered,
right up the arse this time; bullets, RPG, staccato of AKs
and any old GMP.
Gripping
the flesh wound on his thigh, Dan slung the rifle onto his
back, pistol in one hand, dragging himself forward on hands
and knees, desperate to get to the outcrop of rock he'd recced
earlier. Blind to the dying, deaf to their screams, his own
pain bridled with clenched teeth and that never-ending greed
to live.
Crawling
like a dog, eating dirt, using the dead and dying as shields,
he had to get away, or they'd figure out that the man beneath
the native rags was nothing like the Afghans. Turkey. Merc.
Dead as a dodo after interrogation and torture, unless he'd
be lucky and kicked the bucket beforehand. But fuck, he wasn't
ready to die yet.
Damned
Russkies. Damn them all and their ambush, and thrice damned
his rag-tag of insurgents, unable to hold the village.
Dan managed
to crawl two, three feet, the rocks came closer, hope was
just about in reach, when he heard more than felt a bullet,
too close, impacting on the rock, a sound that made him throw
himself down to the ground, belly first. Swallowing dust,
dirt, and blood, then pain. Felled like a fucking bull shot
with a dart gun, ready for slaughter.
The bullet
had ricocheted off the rocks, would have killed him if he
hadn't thrown himself down. Grazed his temple. Hit with force.
Blood. Pain.
Over.
*
* * * * * *
"We're
finished here, Major."
"Very
well, Captain. Congratulations."
The man
gave him a crisp salute, and people were pulling out. A massing
of effort, men, and gear. This was as much an example as would
do. Part of a massive offensive designed to drive the enemy
back, and underground, and generally out of the way.
There
was a mass grave, the bodies had begun to bloat and posed
a health risk this close to the outpost. There was that smell
in the air, sour blood, and oily smoke.
Vadim
walked into the settlement, what was left of it, saw soldiers
standing guard and was pretty sure everything had been looted
already. Intelligence had worked with this one. They assumed
they'd hit a lieutenant of one of the warlords
no names,
just bets being hedged. He was only here to confirm.
And that
he did. He began to turn stones, metaphorically and literally,
trying to find a scrap of information which faction exactly
had been bombed and shot into the stone age, which of the
many foes was no more
and found a bergan that didn't
belong here. He knew that one, knew the smell, the frayed,
bleached thing. Thought, Dan, then thought mass grave, then
thought Dan would not survive in the mountains.
He sat
there, hands shaking, thought of their last encounter, force
and need as always, and thought again of the mass grave. Thought
of the turkey that had been Dan's comrade, and dread crept
up and turned his throat to lead. What if, this time, it was
actually what he had feared?
He stood,
composed himself, hid the bergan in its exact spot, and left
to radio the Colonel. He was pretty sure the insurgent leader
had left for the mountains, might be wounded, requested permission
to hunt.
Hemming
and hawking, too valuable, but the target was valuable, too,
and permission was given. Vadim got his kit from the Hind
helicopter, and watched the men leaving, wrapping up, knew
what they were thinking. The crazy Spetsnaz was out to get
himself killed. But that was exactly how the crazy Spetsnaz
had made Major, that was what the grandfathers said, and,
eventually, Vadim was left alone, with the stench of bodies
and the settlement, aware that vengeance was in the air. If
the Mujas had any forces left in the area, they'd come crashing
down on him. He should be out and gone as soon as possible.
*
* * * * * *
Pain.
Heat. Stench and weight. Impossible to move. Restricted. Bound
and Held. Panic.
Dan woke,
unable to see, impossible to move. Couldn't fathom where he
was, what had happened. Dizzy, thirsty, head spinning from
the bullet impact, face a sticky mess, eyes glued shut with
blood.
Bodies.
Felt hands, arms, legs and torsos. Fabric, rags, felt and
wool, smell. Blood. Stink. Flies. Too much weight and heat,
and panic rose like bile in his throat. Alive, but amongst
the dead. Pried his eyes open, tried to move, froze when he
heard voices and pain shot through his leg, almost screamed.
Stared
at by a face, bloated, ripe-swollen skin stretching grey-black
over distorted features. Mouth wide open, eyes bulging, dimmed
like brack-water.
Dead.
Everywhere. Decay and horror. Unable to move; unable to die.
Welcome
to hell, McFadyen, the face seemed to smirk. We got you at
last.
Hours
that felt like Days. Weeks. Dead and alive. Rotting corpses,
exploding flesh. Fermented shit, curdled blood and bile. The
heat drew in flies in the millions. Bodies oozing, fluids
drenching, horror.
Death.
Please, dead.
Let me
die.
Don't
talk to me. Faces, bodies, rotting and torn. Limbs, flesh,
skin.
Don't
touch me. Leave me.
Dead.
Please.
*
* * * * * *
Vadim
searched the settlement again. No Dan. No more bodies. Checked
the surrounding area. No. He stood above the pile of corpses,
blue and black, the stench like nothing else in the world.
Unforgiving heat. Had no idea what he'd do if Dan was in there,
but there was only one way to confirm his death.
Vadim
downed half a bottle of vodka, trying to psych himself up
for the deed, then climbed down into the mass grave. "Fucking
hell", he muttered, one of Dan's expressions.
He reached
down to shift the first body, the stench was so bad it made
him retch, every fibre in his body telling him to get away
from this, from death. Some of the bodies were half-burned,
skin had turned to ashes, torn open in the heat to reveal
raw and half-cooked flesh underneath. Piss and shit, and the
stench of death, and Vadim's stomach churned restlessly, until
he climbed out again, dizzy with exhaustion, and relieved
himself of the vodka and the bile, wound the rag around his
head again, and continued the search.
He checked their faces, whatever their bodies looked like,
even if they were only in pieces, even when they had been
shot trough the face, had been ripped apart and were missing
half the face or jaw. He needed to find Dan.
Near
the middle, there was a tall, bulky body, and Vadim closed
his eyes. No. Please, no. He climbed over to him, treading
into flesh and blood and guts and knelt down beside that body,
lying on his front, wearing one of those rags, but blood-soaked,
dried blood, native clothes. Reached for the shoulder to turn
him over, and did, and at least the face was only covered
in gore and not mutilated. He didn't care any longer about
whatever warlord, whatever Mujahideen, just grabbed that body
and placed it over his shoulders, a heavy load, stumbled forward,
tied rope to Dan and pulled him out of the hole.
That
was when the body twitched.
*
* * * * * *
Dead.
Mercy, at last. Gone. That face didn't speak to him anymore.
No more accusations of why and what and how come he hadn't
died, the only one, while all others were rotting in heaps
of mutilated corpses.
Dead.
At last.
Free, no longer restricted. His accusers had left, no more
weight on his body. Floated. Taken. The Gods had Mercy upon
his Soul. Hell and purgatory. Guilt and questions. Why hadn't
he died, how dare he survive. No longer. It was over. Thankful.
No more eyes that stared at him. No longer hands that were
pulling, dragging. Not anymore tied to legs and limbs, arms
and heads that were moving around himself in ever decreasing
circles.
Dan groaned
with pain when Vadim put him down on the ground. Unaware.
Dead.
Free. Only the final questions to answer. Would there be heaven
or hell, and a god he'd never believed in.
*
* * * * * *
Vadim
checked Dan for wounds. Alive. Or dying? A wound in the leg
looked painful, but not life threatening. The thing at his
head was worse, though. He carried him off into one of the
less demolished houses, found water, stripped him, cleaned
up the blood and other mess. Working silently. Hoped there
were no Mujas close, no way he could carry Dan in this state.
Maybe after nightfall.
He dribbled
a little water between the other's lips, just elated he was
alive, but wary because he was in a bad state. Out there.
He didn't react much to words, to being touched, even light
slaps to the cheeks did exactly nothing more than a blink,
or a flutter of eyelashes.
*
* * * * * *
Fluid.
Lips. Something touched Dan's lips and dribbled into his mouth.
No!
Dan shrieked,
eyes tore wide open, seeing nothing. Fighting. Arms flailing.
No, not this, no! He'd been granted reprieve in death, no
more of this, no more stench and drying blood, no more shit
and guts running into his mouth.
Fighting,
screaming, pressing his lips together, whole body convulsing.
No more, no more. No tendrils of putrid body-puss snaking
its way into his mind and taking his sanity. Eating away with
clouded eyes and open-mouthed grins, lips torn away from teeth,
black-swollen tongue stretched out at him, trying to kiss.
To taste. To take.
He was
theirs.
No!
Vadim
pulled back, too surprised to restrain Dan. Fuck. That looked
like shock. Or worse. Madness. They didn't move like that
in shock, did they?
He left
him in peace, hoped the other would calm, and he did, probably
from exhaustion more than any real calm.
Needed
to get out of here. Couldn't risk the whole night. No way.
Vadim
began to scout, found a cave up in the rocks, might have served
this village well at some point in time, but no sign of it
having been used recently. Trekked up there twice, once with
his gear and Dan's kit, another time with Dan's naked body
wrapped in a blanket slung across his shoulders. He rested,
made a fire, shielded it, then trekked down one final time
to bring as much water as he could, because he just didn't
want to risk being seen. Not even in a forsaken valley like
this.
Dan was
shaking. Eyes closed. Unaware of being moved, yet aware of
the motion.
'Let
me die'. Mouthed. No voice, no sound.
Trembling
all over, refused to open his eyes. No more skull-stares and
flesh-rotten greetings from the ones who'd died around him.
"Let
me die." Whispered. "Sorry." Repeated. "So
sorry." Lips moving again and again. So sorry, so sorry,
so sorry, forgive me, don't stare at me, don't talk to me,
don't touch me, don't feed me. Not your putrefied flesh in
my mouth, nor your rotting stench in my nostrils.
"Die
" Begging.
Vadim
stared at him, shook his head and returned to the cave mouth.
Dan had lost it, lost it completely. He knew nothing about
how to deal with this, didn't even know exactly what it was,
dreaded to know.
But just
couldn't put a gun to the other's temple and pull the trigger.
Too much they'd done, and too much he still wanted to do.
The man meant too much. Simply did. But he needed a solution
to the problem, and he was pretty sure stroking his forehead
and telling him all would be good wouldn't do.
He rolled
Dan over on a blanket and insulation, covered him with another
blanket, looked into the face and felt a forlorn pain that
was unbearable after the hope. What to do? He rested next
to him, hoping for a miracle, then let his hands run over
that smooth, powerful back, trying to take a little of the
tension out, nervous that would trigger another of those reactions,
dug in the pack for Vaseline, and began to massage, knead
the muscles, trying to make the other aware, aware of himself,
and aware he was alive. And that that wasn't the worst place
to be.
Dan shuddered.
Touched. Moved again. Couldn't understand how his body could
feel the imprint of hands, why the stench was replaced with
another smell. Were they pulling at him? Trying to get him
to join them in the mass grave, trapped between bodies upon
bodies. But he could move. Arms twitched. Lost.
Dan whimpered.
Vadim
worked like the masseur had worked, starting on the lower
back, moving up, tackling the tension that just didn't subside,
went carefully ahead, tried to get the muscles to relax, murmured
under his breath much like Dima did when working on a dying
man, and shook his head, discarding that thought at once.
Dan was alright. He needed rest, that was all.
They
continued. Dan felt those hands, touching, not pulling. Couldn't
understand. Wanted to scream, let out a pained moan instead.
Where, what and why wouldn't they let him die. Trying to open
his eyes, shadows and shades, movements, something above him.
Someone? He cried out, tried to sit upright, fought against
the hands once more. A demon. Out to get him, a tall, broad-shouldered
beast, and he was about to scream, unseeing eyes wide open,
when the red firelight shifted, fell onto hair.
Blond.
Memories. Eyes, pale. Remembered.
"Who
are you." Whispered, slumped, then focussed. That man.
No demon. A glimmer of recognition in his eyes before he fell
back onto the blankets.
"Vadim",
said Vadim, meeting the wide-eyed gaze, hands still on the
shuddering body. "It's me. You're
alive."
Worked down over the buttocks, felt the tension under his
fingers, wanted nothing but to dig into that body, claws,
teeth, tongue, take the terror away. Maybe
I
do it after a shit day at the office, when he's out there
and nothing else can reach the bastard.
Shit
day at the office indeed. Amidst this insanity, that made
perfect sense.
Dan lay
prone. Shuddering, trembling as if cold was wrecking his body.
"Vadim." Whispered. Who are you - who am I. Alive,
dead?
Body
moving towards the hand, seeking protection from the shadows.
Nameless terror, but he'd be safe under the wings of the broad
shouldered demon. Remembered the hair. That name. Recognition
of something deep, profound, reaching on a level where conscious
thoughts did not matter.
"Protect
me." Big words - small voice.
Vadim's
hand scooped more Vaseline out of the tub, warmed it between
his fingers, rubbed it between Dan's ass cheeks, one hand
splayed between the other's shoulder blades, to calm, and
soothe, and keep him down, just in case he began lashing out
again. "Trust me", he said, and meant it, and hoped
he would. "I'm here."
"They
want me." Dan whispered, tried to scoot closer but the
hand between his shoulder blades kept him down. Stilled. Easier
to stay in this place, beneath the demon's wings, and the
strangely familiar touch. "They're waiting for me. They
kept talking to me with their rotting faces. Want me."
Dan trailed off, wrecked by a shudder.
"They'll
have to fight me for you." Vadim didn't believe in hell,
damnation, or gods. Only knew Muslims thought they went straight
to Allah, whatever happened. Nothing could keep them away
from their god. Dan - was a different matter. He needed something,
and Vadim remembered Mark's moment of complete awareness,
of trust, of longing, deeper and more powerful than anything
else he had thought possible. He pushed away thoughts of his
own lust, he didn't want to take advantage, all he wanted
to do was bring Dan back into his own body.
The ring,
resistance, but yielding, warm, living flesh. Vadim knelt
between Dan's legs, kept them open with his own legs, pushing
a finger into the body, easing it in, the other hand on his
lower back, the man, sprawled, nothing but strength, even
now, strength that was confused and had no focus, off kilter,
no will that held him together.
Suddenly
something in Dan that forced him to focus. Something his body
felt. Somewhere. A centre, sensations, inside of him, but
tiny. Insignificant, yet there. Tried to focus, feel, but
his mind flittered away again. Murmured sounds and words with
no meaning. Brought back for another second to that something
inside, this point in his body that made more sense than anything
else.
Dan stilled
for a moment, seemed to gather his thoughts, before his mind
was lost again.
Vadim
leaned in to check whether Dan's breathing had changed, he
thought he'd heard something, then proceeded, pulled the finger
out, Dan was nicely slicked up now, and entered him with two
fingers, thumb rubbing against the ring, feeling it relax
slightly, listening into the other's body for any sign of
panic, murmuring softly in Russian, about trust and about
being there, then joined a third finger to the two inside.
Dan felt
that focus again. More now. Back again and moving, centring.
Never leaving him alone, and he started to pool all of his
thoughts towards that one point. Nothing else mattered. Just
the protection from the shadows and that focus. Inside his
body. Safe.
He shivered,
minute movement of his hips as if getting closer to that thing
inside of him. Dan murmured nonsense, about shadows, death,
life and guilt. About killing and murder, duties and genocide.
About corpses and bodies, lust and living.
The body
responded, finally did. Vadim ran his free hand down Dan's
flanks, down the powerful back, leaned in to make contact
with his body, not restricting, not crushing, more a touch
of body against body as his fingers stayed exactly there,
firm, but gentle, not forcing, waiting for the other's body
to yield, movements minute as he joined a fourth finger, amazed
at the flesh that allowed this. He'd seen it, no doubt it
was possible, but Mark certainly had a lot more practice.
Listened to the body speak, the shift of breathing, the shudder
running through that strong back, the flowing and subsiding,
tensing of the legs, bare toes stretched as if Dan was trying
to push something away.
Dan felt
alive. One in that single point that made sense. The intrusion
that was part of himself. His mind curling around that focus,
unable to notice anything but the sensation inside him. Stretching,
asking. Felt as if his demon demanded. What? That pressure
point kept increasing in intensity. Demanding him to focus?
Live?
Dan's
breath evened out. No more shallow desperation; no more air
being pulled into burning lungs that remained filled with
the putrid stench of rotting corpses. Breathing instead like
a dragging of wings. Birds. Slow and steady, circling above
the mountains, focussed on nothing but their prey. Like his
body. Centred in the intrusion, the demand to live and to
accept - to yield.
Dan moaned
continuously. Didn't realise it was his own body, crying out
quietly as it opened up. Accepted.
Vadim
reached for the Vaseline, pulled back a little, added more
of the stuff, fingers close together, trying to make this
easy on Dan, but could feel him respond, slowly return, maybe.
It sure as fuck would override anything else. Shit day at
the office, rotting bodies. Fear of dying. Even a fucking
death wish. He felt his shoulder tense from the control, from
the work to keep the pressure up, slowly moving his hand back
and in again, not fucking, not truly, he wasn't quite sure
there was a word for it, just a different way of touching,
even if his body thought it was about sex. How could he not
desire Dan, open like he was now, and how could he, in that
fucked up state that he was.
You
can only do this if you are not only in control of him, but
yourself. A man who's out of control can be restrained, but
you need to do this without the comfort of the rope. If you
can't, you're not able to do this. And you'll never understand
what it actually means. You think it's about power? That's
like saying living is about driving a car.
Dan was
lost, yet caught. Didn't have to think, not required to act.
Wasn't needed nor wanted, just allowed to feel. To be, not
do. Felt nothing but that something inside himself, more and
more, growing with intensity and slow-tender yet relentless
demand. Further, more, opening wider, accepting, his body
growing accustomed to the intrusion until that intense focus
became part of him. The part that wanted to be alive, that
refused to listen to dead eyes and bleeding mouths.
He had
no idea what he was doing. His body merely reacting. Moaning,
whimpering, sounds he'd never allowed himself. Small cries,
needy groans he'd have berated himself for. Didn't matter.
Nothing did, just that powerful sensation. Body and mind focused,
hips moved on their own accord, backwards, further, moving
and shifting, legs opening further, as far as they could,
until he was on his knees, face on the ground. Following the
demand inside his body.
Vadim
listened, and Dan's sounds were driving him insane. He would
have liked nothing more than drive himself into that shuddering,
sweating, gleaming body that seemed so hot to the touch now,
claim him completely, and pulled his lips from his teeth.
Control just as fierce as need. Kept thinking of the intricate
dance between Mark and Darren, the less Darren actually took
for himself, the more Mark gave, begged, the more Mark was
his - and wasn't that a mystery that needed exploring? Forcing
his fingers apart, sweat trickling from his forehead with
denial and concentration, he put the fifth finger between
them, and moved in again, the row of knuckles the main problem,
and how to do it but just try and go ahead. It took forever,
and part of him hoped he wouldn't have to go that far, didn't
have to go to the limit, because his hard-on was already torture.
Dan sobbed,
let go of everything. Abandoned. Thoughts, pain, fear and
madness. Pushing backwards in a slow continuous movement.
Elegant, the way his body moved on its own, taking in that
hand, accepting the fingers and moving steadily in the flow.
Mindless, on instinct.
Crying
and sweating, trembling, he moaned and whimpered, lost in
base desire and deepest need, no notion of what he should
or could do, just a body that was nothing but centred sensations;
a body that reacted at last. Pulled away from death and decay,
Dan's cock giving proof of life, almost flat against the stomach,
foreskin retreating and dark purple head glistening with precum
with every further breach of that hand through yielding muscle,
deeper into his body.
Vadim
muttered tender insults, curses, his hand engulfed in that
powerful heat, muscles closing his hand to form a fist, and
he moved to kiss Dan's back, lick the sweat from it, while
offering resistance to the body that moved on instinct, the
smallest motions, moving inside, against Dan in ways that
surprised and amazed him, opening and closing that fist against
the resistance.
Dan pressed
his head against the ground, arms wide as if spread-eagled,
crucified by that fist inside his body and the unbearable
intensity, yet he was craving forever more. Muscles in his
body tensing-relaxing, one second steel hardened ropes, the
other as loose as the tears flooding down his face. Unaware
of any of his physical reaction, just one large surface of
skin and feeling.
Dan's
fists surreptitiously opened and clenched, as far stretched
out from his body as possible, while his back arched to push
his arse higher. Breathing fast now, yet deep, drawing air
into his lungs. Alive, and he cried out for more. Senseless,
pushing backwards, driving himself onto the fist that owned
him. Took him, possessed him and allowed him to live in return.
Vadim
noticed the raging need and reached around Dan's body, his
own need killing him now, seeing Dan like this, hell, yes,
just like Mark, Dan, who was so fierce about it, about his
body, about the rape and just the thought of doing anything
like this to him. Nothing like it, now, and not the cheap
whore thing that Gavriil had done. Took the heavy cock and
pumped it, slow, intense, hand also slicked up with the Vaseline,
small movements inside, leisure strokes on the cock, he, himself,
groaning with need, but unable to do anything about it but
rub himself against the tensed leg, like a dog, whatever.
Dan came
within seconds, no more than a few strokes, and he crashed
like never before in his life. His voice echoed across the
mountains, swallowed by the rocks and the cold of the night
as he screamed, losing himself. Thrashing, his whole body
shuddering, flailing. Choking on tears and sounds, too much
sensation. Intensity scalding, drilling into his core and
bursting out with insane explosions of energy, pain, and life.
Alive. So fucking alive that very moment, he had no name,
no past, no future, and all he was, was a body, cumming, and
nearly killing itself with its might.
Dan collapsed.
Out of his mind, but in his body. Trembling uncontrollably.
Vadim
pulled free when Dan lost it, another thing he'd learnt that
strange night in London. Slowly, but firmly, his own need
didn't matter, he didn't manage to get there, it didn't matter,
not right now. Wiped his hands on the ever-present, ever useful
rag, moved Dan away from the wet patch, shifted his weight
for him because Dan didn't have enough control or focus now,
judged by the way his body went slack, but in a good way.
He covered
Dan with a blanket, to keep the heat inside, then stood and
walked off towards the mouth of the cave, checking if they
had attracted any attention. Realised it must have taken hours,
dawn was already approaching. Took a moment to finish himself
off, thinking of Dan, naked, in this cave, fully his, and
yielding, begging, asking for more, begging for his cock;
willed his hand to be Dan's throat, lips, forced himself to
feel the heated breath against his groin, then, more violent,
breaching that body, doing with his cock what his hand had
done, ah, deeper, stronger, more powerful, and Dan pushing
back, moaning and groaning and cumming. Vadim bit a curse
down when he did, again wiped his hands, put the uniform in
order.
Then
returned to share warmth, and nothing more.
*
* * * * * *
Sleep.
Darkness. No dreams, no voices nor rotting faces, no dead
and torn limbs holding him down. Dan's sleep was unconsciousness.
Mercy.
Warmth.
Waking. He wasn't sure if the darkness was inside him, behind
or before his eyes, but he felt warmth and a touch, a close
presence. Felt sore, too, a strange pain, but all he remembered
was this focus, this something that had turned his body and
mind into utter abandon, but what this 'something' was, he
didn't know. Knew nothing, barely his own name, just the source
of heat in his back, the ache deep inside, and the feeling
as if this 'something' was still inside of him, still protecting,
connecting.
Half-awake,
Dan scrambled more than moved with any coherence, turned and
rolled over onto the other side, curled up in a foetal position
and burrowing into the heat. Closer. As close as he could,
the memory of light, fire, and demon.
Vadim
was awake, felt Dan's breath against his chest, shifted his
legs to allow him to lie as close, and pushed a fold of the
blanket back to make sure Dan was fully covered. Dan. Always
him. Always, and again and again. This time, the Brit hadn't
even been there for his desire, was just a comrade, on a deeper,
more fundamental level than Dima, Sershka, or Alyosha. Stronger
than Platon, even though he sometimes missed the courageous
little conscript. He did the numbers. Yes, indeed. Platon,
had he lived, would now be home in Russia, with his girlfriend,
if she had still wanted him back.
He ran
his fingers through Dan's hair, carefully, checking that wound
that had freaked him the first time he'd checked on it. The
swelling was profound, the skin broken and discoloured. Something
had hit him there with plenty of force. Had to hurt like a
motherfucker.
Dan twitched,
his head jerking, moaned at a pain that was somewhere other
than inside his body. Moved his head, craned his neck, so
close to the other's body, the heat was everywhere. "Don't
let them take me." Whispered.
Vadim
gave a smile. "They're all dead, Dan. You're alive."
And thank whatever force for that. Blind chance. Destiny.
The odd pattern of physics, too complex to calculate, but
still a pattern which, sometimes, made things look intentional.
Dan wasn't
awake, wasn't quite there yet. Moved his head again
to nuzzle his face into the other's chest. His head hurt,
while turning his hands that had been curled into fists. Palms
out and against the other. Connection.
"I
need to check on your leg."
Dan just
grunted something, no understanding what those words meant.
Vadim had cleaned and bandaged the wound yesterday, but feared
that last night's exertions might have been not exactly what
that leg needed. Felt oddly guilty, but at least he'd fulfilled
the objective. Dan was no longer fighting and screaming his
head off.
He shifted,
making sure Dan didn't lose too much heat, and gave that wound
a check-up, while Dan lay perfectly still, curled up and into
himself. Letting himself be handled like a puppet. It looked
like a flesh wound, the bullet had passed through, without
doing any damage to bones. Would hurt, hurt plenty, but not
incapacitate. Vadim bandaged it all up again, with dressings
that he'd salvaged from a turkey and given to Dima, and Dima
had shared his stock with him as well. Something to the end
of it being too damn convenient if he died of gangrene. Dima
was alright.
Dan's
eyes remained closed, just breathing, was easier. Started
to hurt like a motherfucker, head trying to explode from within,
hammering against his skull, and his leg was on fire. Concentrated
on another pain, that ache deep inside him, the soreness that
was unfamiliar and kept reminding him of his sanity and saviour.
Vadim
dug into his thigh pocket and found the antibiotics, also
from a turkey. Thank you, bitches, thought Vadim and offered
the pills to Dan, reaching behind himself for the canteen.
"Take these."
Dan opened
his eyes, looked uncomprehending at the other's hand. Dark,
dark eyes, big, deep, just staring. Trying to get his head
around what he had been asked to do. White things. Pills.
Tablets. Take.
Take.
Swallow.
Suddenly
made sense. "Blowjob?"
Vadim
frowned. "Not
right now. Antibiotics. Gangrene's
a bitch, and that
" mass grave, "place I found
you wasn't exactly clean. Come on." Opened the lips with
his fingers, gentle, manoeuvred the pills onto the tongue,
and offered the canteen, placing it against Dan's lips and
Dan swallowed. Lips Vadim had seen so often getting him off,
lips that could just as easily sneer. Lips he'd kissed exactly
once, and that mainly to muffle a scream and because no other
touch would do. And what exactly could Dan do to fend him
off? Nothing. He leaned in to touch Dan's lips with his, felt
the touch like a tingle, knew he should be pulling back, but
pressed in closer, licked those lips, could taste the water
on them and the dust and the misery and thought how very fucking
fitting, the touch warm, no teeth now, no sneering. Shit.
He wanted him, wanted him badly even in this state.
Dan responded
immediately. Lips seeking, hands palming at the other's chest,
wanting that touch, warmth, this softness. Something deep
and tender, connecting straight through his centre, with the
remaining sensations inside himself. Body and mind being one.
Vadim
pulled away. "I
need to scout the area. I should
be back shortly." Just a few hours. Allow the other to
rest.
"No!"
Dan's voice was low, but his hands scrabbling for the other.
Bereft, alone. "Don't leave me."
Vadim
covered Dan's hands with his and pressed them against his
chest. "I won't leave. I'm here. Sleep, Dan. Rest."
A bold-faced lie, he really needed to do some scouting, couldn't
have anybody walk in on them, not his side, not the other,
nobody.
Vadim
wedged the open canteen between the bergans, checked his daypack
and took the rifle, checked again on Dan, who had drifted
off to sleep before he could realise Vadim was leaving.
Sleep.
Rest that his body and mind sorely needed. Dan slept for hours,
the meds doing their job, his body in pain but his mind too
exhausted to notice.
*
* * * * * *
Vadim
went back to the settlement; the mass grave clearly marked
with a cloud of buzzing flies, and, most of all, the stench.
He covered his face and did recce, thinking of Dan who waited
up there in that mountain, but needed to take his time to
be completely sure.
His patience
was rewarded when he found a body that had crawled away -
tried to flee despite the wounds. The man was panting, soaked
in blood, fingers turned into claws. Vadim turned him around,
checked the face. To him, they all looked the same, beards,
hawk noses, bony features, he was pretty sure he recognized
the structure of the other's teeth from the photo. The man
was delirious with pain and exhaustion. He'd been responsible
for killing Soviet prisoners of war, had organized and plotted,
and fought, and was now just dying flesh in the sun. Vadim
had no time to take prisoners, didn't want to burden himself
with yet another, and was pretty sure he was dying anyway.
"Make
your peace with Allah", he muttered and pulled the pistol.
He was exhausted, didn't relish this the way he would have,
like the country, the years of war had sapped his enthusiasm
for it. He didn't even hate the man anymore. All he really
wanted to do was go back to Dan and make sure he was alright
and would survive.
He pressed
the muzzle under the man's jaw, made sure it was aligned to
send the bullet straight up into the skull, then squeezed
the trigger, and holstered the gun in the next moment. He
stood, checked whether the shot had drawn any attention, but
nothing.
It was
far away enough from the cave. They were safe. Stolen time,
yet again.
*
* * * * * *
When
Vadim returned Dan had moved to the other side again, less
pressure on the leg, and was curled up within the blankets,
the canteen empty. Without waking, he had drunk the water,
on instinct, then fallen back to sleep. Deep, regular breathing,
unruly hair sticking out of the blankets and into his face.
Not even twitching, nothing, just breathing.
Vadim
washed himself, then joined Dan on the blanket, moving his
arms around the other, head to his shoulder, cradling the
back of his head, one leg over his to pull him closer. He'd
long lost any idea what this man was to him, only knew he
had no words for it, no concept, lover didn't quite fit it,
even if it was technically true, comrade
wrong allegiance.
And they weren't friends. He knew at least that much. "Rest
up", he muttered in Russian, and, mostly to keep himself
awake, talked. Talked about Moscow, about the neighbours there,
then remembered a story he had liked. The Firebird. He couldn't
tell a good story to save his life, but he had read that story
to Anoushka back home.
Dan was
listening to the sound of that voice long before he realised
he was waking. Began to make sense of words, sentences, the
language that had become a second home to him. English. Russian.
He almost felt more at home in the latter.
Awareness
returning into his body, and with it came pain. His head was
pounding and his leg was in agony. But there was warmth, and
closeness, arms that should feel restrictive but instead felt
right. There. Around him and on him, close to him, and he
lay still. Listening to the voice and tales of folklore and
stories, while trying to make sense of the sensations in his
body.
Remembered
blood, death and decay, horror. A shot, his leg, then something
against his head. Pain, injuries. After that? Nothing. Shadowy
figures and movements, then tears and terror, but something
there to protect and focus, keeping the horror away. Rotten
stench and putrefied bodies, the memory pushed away, not allowed
back at the surface.
Soreness.
Could feel a sensation inside his body he'd never felt before.
Stretched. Entered. Taken and used and oh so filled and centred
and one with something
he just didn't know what.
Finally
awake, Dan was slowly trying to make sense of it all, checking
his body and mind, seemed he had lost many hours. "My
arse hurts." Astonished at the sound of his own voice,
the croaked words of a stranger. Brittle, abused.
Vadim
placed a kiss on that forehead, much like he would kiss Anoushka,
and nodded. "Yes." How to explain what he'd done?
Better not. "Needed to
ah." No delicate way
of putting it. "Uhm. Give you focus." He winced.
That sounded bad.
"Focus."
Dan cleared his throat, parched. Dreaded to move his head,
pounding away with a jackhammer inside. "Don't understand."
Thoughts already flittering forward. Couldn't quite hold onto
anything. Too much effort.
Opening
his eyes, he looked at Vadim. It took him a moment to cut
through the blurry picture, before he made out pale eyes,
sharp-featured face, shaved blond hair. Dan smiled. Childlike.
For just this moment. "What happened?" Murmured.
Why are you here, why do I hurt, how did I survive, and what
are those hours that I have lost.
"You
were under the boot of the Red Army when it came down",
said Vadim. Easier to speak Russian now. "It nearly crushed
you. I was tasked to find a rebel leader, and found you amidst
the ruins." Vadim reached to the side and offered
the canteen again. "You were in shock. I waited for you
to return. I think it was shock, you were far gone."
Vadim's jaw muscles tightened. "Something hit you in
the head, another shot in the leg. Dehydrated, but nothing
serious."
"I
remember death." Dan shuddered, reached for the refilled
canteen, drank in deep gulps. Finished and wiped his lips
on the other's uniform. Every movement hurt his head. "Remember
stench. Couldn't move." Handing the canteen back, Dan
suddenly tensed. "I was buried alive." Shook
his head, fuck the pain that caused. "No, don't want
to remember." Closed his eyes instead.
Vadim
ran his fingers down Dan's face, careful to not touch the
wound. "Rest. Just the usual stuff. Just war, Dan."
Maybe I'll tell you one day, but not now. It made me fucking
throw up, and you were in there, what? A day? Two? Fucked
up? "You are safe, for the moment. I need to leave in
maybe two days, three when I'm stretching it." And I
will, of course. Stretch my luck again, just to make sure
you're alright. Worse than friendship could hurt.
Dan kept
his eyes closed, smiled again. Was much easier to simply listen
to the voice, feel the touch, and refuse to remember. Could
feel the lead descending onto his limbs, taking his mind back
down into sleep. "Got food?" Too tired to eat, yet
his body was hungry. Didn't wait for an answer, already dropping
off within moments.
"Plenty",
murmured Vadim and felt the insane impulse to make Dan eat
Russian food, as if he could just invite him after a cold
winter day into the apartment and feed him with a stew that
had been boiling away for hours and hours, and keep pouring
him tea, and show him food that he probably didn't know. Nothing
like the rations that he did have and despised, or the nuts
and dried fruits that he kept because they kept him going
in the mountains, far better than the rations managed. No,
a long, relaxed dinner with friends, with vodka, and courses
upon courses, saved for for weeks, if not months, only to
have one feast.
"I'm
delusional", he muttered. "What's going on in your
stupid head, Vadim", he cursed softly. It was wrong,
wanting that, wrong trying to share these things, or even
feeling the impulse to. Not in the middle of a war.
But Dan
was asleep already, his face smoothing and his breath evening
out. Just a man, not an enemy. Wounded, tired and hurting.
Sheltered by another.
Vadim
only left his side to piss, or prepare tea, or check the surroundings
for any sign of Mujahideen activity, but nothing he could
spot, and he didn't venture far from the cave. At the moment,
they were both living off his rations - and the food in Dan's
bergan, and all Vadim did was make sure Dan had all the rest
he needed. Taking a strange pleasure from Dan lying close
and needing his help, his care, and even his protection. It
was like repaying him, and it was also like owning him on
some level. Which was probably not the nicest thought, but
it was this sense of belonging that Vadim cherished.
Dan had
no idea what time of day or night it was, nor how long he
had slept, when he woke once more. Had neither a clue where
he was, what had happened, and why the fuck he was hurting.
For a moment, while waking, he couldn't even fathom out why
he was warm on one side, and why there was something heavy
across his body. Moving, sluggishly, until his leg protested
and he hissed.
Vadim
opened his eyes when something pulled the blanket off his
shoulder, and it registered with him. He looked at Dan in
the near-darkness. "You alright?"
"Hungry."
That was easy. Identifying the major feeling in his body.
"Thirsty?" Number two was getting a bit more complicated,
and he was having a hard time trying to figure out the rest.
"Head hurts." Like a motherfucker, but at least
less than before. "Leg
" remembered that one,
made sense, and he shifted again, stilled, moved his head,
ever so slowly. Looked up, trying to make out the shape close
to him. "Arse?" Had already forgotten he'd asked
before.
Vadim
gave a low chuckle and reached for the canteen, opened it
and held it to Dan's lips, digging for dried fruit when Dan
had taken a few mouthfuls of water. Slipped small pieces between
Dan's lips, allowing him plenty of time to chew and swallow,
and offered water afterwards. "The leg looks alright.
You'll enjoy that for a while longer."
Taking
his time to swallow and chew, then drink some water, Dan was
starting to feel more human, yet didn't realise that being
hand-fed wasn't quite what special forces guys did. The liquid
and fruit sugar seemed to help with his head. He groaned as
he tried to stretch, very carefully, at least he had his limbs
under control. Some sort of progress.
"Aching."
Dan tried to prop himself up on his elbow. Feeling every bone
in his body from lying down too long. Frowned. "Remember
stuff I don't want to remember." Wiped his lips with
the back of his hand, equally slowly, looked questioningly
into Vadim's face. "Remember bits of something else.
Vague. Hazy. Something inside me? Some kind of focus?"
Frowned again, lost, seemed his brain was playing dirty tricks.
Vadim
nodded. "Yes. Something inside you. But it's not what
you might think." Shit, that sounded wrong, and maybe
guilty, too, only it was the pure, unadulterated truth. "Some
kind of massage. Needed to
ah, get you to relax. It
worked."
Dan blinked
slowly, rubbing his hand over his face. Eye to eye with the
other. Occasionally struggling to keep his gaze focussed,
but at least he was starting to believe this mind wasn't going
insane. "Massage inside?" His flummoxed, almost
childlike expression seemed comical.
"Well
yes." Shit, like Vadim had taken advantage of
a seriously disturbed man. Somebody in his care.
"Don't
understand." Dan was rubbing his nose, "You said
it worked. Will I feel better if you did it again? Still fuzzy.
Head's weird. I was out, aye?"
"Out
and gone. Looked like shock to me. Or something close to that,
anyway. Shell shock? Dima would know, he's the medic."
Dan nodded
slowly, said nothing for a while.
Do it
again. Oh yes. Why not. The memory of Dan's sounds and movements
tensed Vadim's stomach, in a good way. Different from that
other memory of yielding. Lusting after Dan, any way he could
have him, even if it meant this, and not the other thing.
He shuddered at the thought. "First time I did that.
No idea. No experience. I was
just trying out something
I've seen once."
"Where
did you see that massage?" Dan yawned, stretching again,
every movement slow, deliberate. Unaware of being naked. Burrowed
into blankets and sleeping bag, and the heat of the other's
body.
There
was really no answer to it. Some things Dan was not supposed
to know. Like travelling to London to kill people. "Uhm.
Some guy's place. Did it on
his partner."
"You
been to other soldiers' places who massaged each other?"
Dan's dark eyes grew wide, something wasn't right there, but
couldn't put his finger onto the whole thing.
"Not
quite."
"And
why does my arse still ache? Not bad, just weird. Strange
massage." He smiled, a trusting smile. Dan McFadyen,
SAS, was right now Dan. Just Dan, no more. Mind still foggy.
"Not
strictly something a masseur would do." No, yours never
got that far inside. Just a couple fingers. "Normal masseurs,
I mean." Hoped Dan would just stop asking.
"So
what kind of not normal masseur was that, then?" Dan
was shuffling even closer, while Vadim won time, the heat
from the other's body welcome. "But if it's good, and
I think it was good, you think you can do it again?"
Vadim
grinned. "I
yes, I could, but I think a traditional
massage might be better at this stage."
"Why?
What's wrong with the special one? Or does that ache come
from you sticking stuff up my arse?"
Shit.
He'd been honest about worse things. Vadim inhaled deeply,
felt his body tense, expecting a punch, or anything really.
"Yes. But not what you think."
Dan's
easy simpleton smile froze. That
was something very
bad. Yes? Yes. Had to be. Remembered ... nothing right now,
just a vague recollection of something very bad and very dark
and very painful, but it seemed too far away and disconnected,
he felt as if that Bad Thing had happened to someone else.
"What
do I think?" He frowned, lost.
"I
didn't
fuck you." But I want to, always wanted
to, and right now fucking want to. "Might feel like I
did but I didn't." Apologising for something he'd never
done. Felt guilty even for apologizing, for trying to not
think about it. Shit. Dan had sworn to kill him if he ever
did. He remembered well.
"I
remember
," Dan's dark brows drew together with
concentration, "
fucking you." Memory like
bright sparks flashing across the surface of his hurting brain.
"Good memory." He smiled again, guileless, slowly
images were coming together, one after the other.
Vadim
just barely breathed. Oh yes. Very good memory. It increased
the tension in his body, up a couple notches. Shit. He wanted
Dan. Wanted that body, wanted to feel him squirm with need.
"You
fucking me, that's a bad thing?" Again this intense concentration.
"I don't remember. Just something forbidden. Long ago."
Dan paused, "Is fucking me not a good thing? Unlike me
fucking you?"
"It's
a very good thing", said Vadim, voice strained. "Something
I liked a lot." Hand reaching out to run over
Dan's back, tracing the spine beneath the flesh, rested in
the hollow above the ass. "I'd kill to have you."
Dan moved
with the hand, like a slow-coiling snake, until he froze again,
some memory triggered that he couldn't quite fathom. "Kill
" Thinking. Memory came back with each hour, mind
getting clearer, but too many puzzle pieces still missing.
"Kill
who?"
"Figure
of speech. I'd do anything to have you." Vadim inched
closer, making more contact, lips touching Dan's delta muscle.
"Anything?"
Dan moved his head enough to rub his face against the other's.
Asking
for something Vadim knew he couldn't have, and still wanting
it. On the off chance that a beaten up, shell shocked and
wounded man wouldn't resist. Fuck you, Vadim, you're an utter
bastard.
"You
done it before? Is just that I can't remember right now."
Eyes dark, Dan's gaze was innocent. "You fucked me before?"
Vadim
winced. "I did." Now, what? Admitting to something
that was forgotten for a couple blissful hours? Ruining the
chance for a repetition with the word 'rape'? "You
didn't like it." Understatement of the war, in a war
full of understatements. Growing trees. Rape is just bad sex,
is it, Vadim? Violence just impatience? "I hurt you."
I wanted to kill you. He shook his head and pulled back, body
protesting the distance. "You should rest."
"OK."
Dan frowned again, couldn't remember, impossible. Nothing
except those long-ago shadows, something dark and awful, profoundly
nasty, and deeply terrifying. Yet it didn't make any sense.
The feeling of being close to that man, of being taken care
of by the Russian, and that disturbing, truly unpleasant memory
of yore, those didn't go together.
"Not
tired, though." No, but Dan could feel himself drifting
off yet again when the blankets were tugged around him and
the fruit and water were kicking into his system. The warmth
of the other's body and that all encompassing sensation of
belonging. It was good. It was right. He was alive and would
be taken care of.
He fell
asleep again before he could protest once more, his brain
resting, healing. Memories and mind returning while he slept
deeply and undisturbed.
*
* * * * * *
When
Dan woke again, he was alone. Couldn't feel the heat anymore
that had been enveloping his sleep and guarding his mind.
He felt different when surfacing, strange. The hazy cloud
that had kept his memories at bay had dissipated, and there
were flashes of images that made his mind reel and his body
jerk. Breathing, concentrating on drawing air into his lungs
and expelling the warmed breath through his nose, he started
to check his body. Functional. Sore. Leg hurting, head in
drilling/pounding pain. Arse
Oh.
Couldn't
quite remember, just fuzzy sensations, things that had kept
him sane in the midst of insanity, and the feeling of being
held, tethered, kept from falling into the chasm of madness.
Death, horror, and the invasion of his body.
Dan opened
his eyes before moving, peering across the cave.
Vadim
sat near the fire, idly toying with pieces of wood, pushing
them into the centre, taking one of the sticks and lifting
it in front of his face, gazing into the glow, fascinated
by the way fire moved and softly hissed, how the wood made
the faintest sounds. He glanced over at Dan, back at the stick
for a second, then dropped it into the flames. "Tea?"
Dan tried
to answer, but his voice wouldn't let him. Croaked out a sound,
cleared his throat. "Aye." Sitting up, he almost
fell over with dizziness. "How
long have I been here?" Holding his head while closing
his eyes against the nausea and the pounding ache. Got a lot
better when he didn't move.
"About
thirty hours." Vadim poured tea, stirred it, and came
over, sitting down next to Dan and placing a hand on his chest.
"Shit."
Thirty hours. Holy fuck. A lot more than he had imagined.
Had no real recollection of what had happened, just increasingly
clear ideas of what had taken place ever since those dead
eyes
. No. Felt the hand on his chest, stopped moving
for a while, until the pounding in his head subsided to a
dull ache.
"Go
easy. You're banged up pretty good." Vadim waited, patiently,
as the mug in his hand steamed, then pushed an arm under Dan's
shoulders and lifted his upper body enough to push the bergan
underneath for support. "Plenty of food and water. No
enemies."
"Cheers."
Lifting his eyes but not his head, Dan's gaze was a lot deeper
and more serious than it had ever been. Just studying the
other for a while. Silent, before taking the tea and warming
his hands. Vadim returned that gaze, clear light blue eyes
darker as they were turned away from the fire.
"I'm
getting my memories back." Stating a dry fact while still
watching, Dan took a first sip of the tea. The stuff tasted
like manna from heaven, not that he had a fucking clue what
manna would taste like.
Vadim
glanced to the side, the only indication that he felt guilty.
The rape was back. What he had done was back, everything was
back, and there would be questions. Of course there would.
"That's good."
"I
was pretty much out, huh?"
"Shell
shock does that. Can make soldiers completely deaf and blind.
Vegetables." Vadim shook his head. "Guess you should
go on R&R for a while. See if something's broken. Get
healed up." But the thought of Dan going back home was
painful. Shit. What if there was something broken? Dan could
just as well have turned into a raving lunatic. The human
mind was pretty resilient, but sometimes it could be very
fragile - with no reason why some people broke and some didn't.
A mystery.
Taking
another sip, Dan felt like laughing for no reason. The taste
of tea brought to his mind the way every goddamned Brit seemed
to cling to that fucking proverbial bit of bloody national
beverage. Nothing a fucking sip of fucking tea couldn't cure.
"You
didn't fuck me."
Vadim
shook his head. "I didn't." I wanted, but I didn't.
It would have been raping a corpse. Or a child. Not that far
down yet.
Dan nodded
slowly, not to get that damned pounding going in his battered
head again. "You could have. That's what you wanted."
Vadim
glanced up, then looked to the side again. "Guess I learnt
my lesson." Shit. What lesson? What fucking lesson? Had
he been trained like a dog, threatened and beaten often enough?
Scared often enough? Fuck me and I'll kill you. An end to
their twisted game, an end to everything that was sane in
an insane place, or the other way round, insane in a sane
place, no idea. Thoughts racing. Wanting the man too much
to have it end like that. It wasn't worth the price. No longer.
Again
Dan's slow, deliberate nod, even though he wasn't quite sure
if he actually understood what Vadim had said. Didn't matter,
he might understand the Russkie one day, or perhaps he already
did, just taking his time to move from subconscious to conscious.
"Thanks."
Simple as that, sipping his tea. "That's fucking decent."
Vadim
nodded, then, at the strangeness of it, flashed a smile. "You're
welcome. Just
don't do this too often. Might get second
thought." Or third, or fourth.
"Yeah
..." drawing out the vowel, Dan placed the mug onto his
lap, cradling it in his hand while just looking. Dark eyes
and steady gaze. Studying, watching.
"And
that other thing?"
"What
other thing?"
"My
arse is still sore." Dan felt his fingertips, each touching
its opposite, heated on the mug.
Oh shit.
Back to the interrogation chamber. "Should pass. Just
rest." Vadim tried to make it sound normal, because explaining
it would possibly not be good. I just fucked you with my hand.
No big deal. As long as it wasn't my cock
no.
Dan ignored
Vadim's reply, ploughed on instead. "I remember you kept
me from going insane. Somehow." Lifted the mug, the last
sip was lukewarm. "Shellshock. All that crap." Watching,
always just looking. "It was good." Mug dropped
back in his lap, empty now. "What did you do." Permission.
Vadim
inhaled. No delicate way of putting it. Darren had called
it something, but the word didn't actually fit, didn't actually
work. Sounded too much like punching, like violence, when
it really wasn't. "Massage. I
used my hand."
Small pause, just a beat. "All of it."
"Holy
fuck." Dan inhaled sharply, hadn't forgotten his threat.
I'll fucking kill you if you ever try to shove your cock
up my arse again. Don't make the mistake to think I don't
mean it. Don't ever.
"No
wonder my arse is sore." Felt a strange sensation of
hilarity, bubbling right up from his core. He'd had a fist
up his arse. That fist. And that fist wasn't a delicate
little flowery girl's one. "A cock seems to be dinky
compared to that." Looked pointedly at Vadim's hand,
twisting the empty mug slowly in his lap.
Vadim
looked at his hand, too, shook his head. He had no idea what
'dinky' meant, but he could guess. Something small and pleasant.
When it really wasn't. "It
took a while."
As if that was an excuse. Or an explanation.
"Aye.
Can imagine." Dan's voice as dry as his words. "Should
probably kick your arse for that, but whatever I do remember,
was good. Strange. Freaked, really. Fucked-up good."
Placing the mug beside himself, he dared to move slowly. Pleased
to find his head complying with the careful movements.
Not that
you're in any state to kick my ass, right now, thought Vadim,
but kept silent. Wouldn't do to rile him. "Well, yeah.
You
reacted. Came back."
"Where
the fuck did you get the idea from?"
"Saw
it done
somebody did it to somebody else. Said it was
one way to focus, to stretch time
I saw what it did
to the other guy."
"Wonder
what it's like when not being totally fucked-up and spaced
out." Dan couldn't imagine where Vadim would have seen
that, forgotten he'd asked before. "I guess I'd have
to be pissed as a newt instead."
"I
could
well, do it again. At some point. And bring vodka."
And jerk off before I do, because I have no idea what I will
do to you when you're not half dead, half insane.
"Good
idea. When hell freezes over." Dan didn't grin.
Back
to normal. Back to struggling with the other even if there
was nothing left to lose, nothing left to win. Vadim forced
a laugh, like it had been a joke, and stood, headed towards
the fire, where the rations had warmed up. Also dried out,
but he didn't mind. As long as Dan stopped asking questions.
As long as things were under control. "I guess you're
hungry."
"Aye,
guess so." Dan didn't actually know if he was hungry
or not, couldn't read the signs from his body. "What's
my leg like, by the way? Feels like raw meat in places."
"Got
shot through, but most of muscle seems intact. Flesh wound.
Hardly more than grazing. Might be ticket home." Vadim
returned with the food and put it on the ground between them.
"Maybe."
Dan shrugged, "home's overrated." Leaning forward,
ever so slowly, seemed his head was starting to get used to
the idea of belonging to a body that was supposed to function.
"Where's home anyway." Reached for the food, hot,
took it with his hand. He'd learned from the Mujas. "Home's
the mountains." Began to chew, still watching. Always
that dark-eyed gaze.
"Living
like mountain lion. Fierce loner." Vadim shook his head.
"I miss sauna, and proper food, and family. I miss books,
and Metro, can do without walking thirty or fifty clicks in
day, in this territory. Can do without getting shot at."
Truth be told, somewhere he'd begun to lose the zest for war.
It was now just a task, and one he could do, but he was no
longer craving it. Maybe he was getting old.
Helping
himself, Dan continued to eat, only now realising how hungry
he had been. "Books?" Stuffing himself with another
handful, chewing quickly. "You read books?"
Vadim
looked up. "You don't?" It had never occurred to
him that that was even worth asking. Of course he read books.
He liked theatre and ballet, too, but if Dan thought reading
strange, there was no point explaining Swan Lake or the Nutcracker
Suite. A love that could not be and that killed the lovers.
Self-destruction. Tchaikovsky had known things about love,
there, some deep and profound and horrible truth about mortality.
"No."
Dan was thirsty, glancing around for the canteen. "Used
to read mags, broadsheets, crap like that. No time for books,
no patience. What good would they do? They don't tell you
how to survive."
"No,
they don't do that. They are reason, not tool." Vadim
smirked. "They hold more truth than Pravda. Politburo
can't lie in Pushkin. Pushkin was there before we became Soviets.
It means
if we have past, we have future." As
close to political treason as he could come without showing
too much.
"Truth?
Reason to live? Bullshit. Food is a reason to live, a juicy
steak with oil dripping chips; booze is a reason to live,
getting pissed on beer and whisky with mates; sex is a reason
to live. In fact, it's the best and biggest one." Finding
the canteen behind him, Dan closed his eyes for a moment,
felt dizzy and nauseous after moving his head. "What
good has the truth done you, eh?" Uncapping, he took
a swig of water, feeling better with every gulp.
"At
least I know that there are many truths. It's about learning
to think different thoughts. Know things that you never felt.
You could know what being rich feels like, or being in love,
without ever getting real feeling." Vadim shrugged. "Like
guilt." Raskolnikov. Guilt leading to insanity, and,
later, Siberia. "And it tells us who we are. What we
are fighting for. I don't mean orders. I mean people."
"But
that's bollocks, that feeling and knowing thing. How can you
know if you haven't experienced it. I think your books
are fakes. They tell you something you believe you
know what it feels like, but you're lying to yourself. You
don't. You just fell prey to a big old scam."
But what's
the difference between a lie that is believed and the truth?
Vadim shook his head. Paradox of his existence. Sometimes
he thought it would be easier if he could believe the official
story. Doublethink.
Taking
another swig of the water, Dan leaned his head back against
the cave wall, pulling the blanket closer around his naked
body. "And what do you fight for? Why are you here?"
"The
Russian people", said Vadim. "My family. People
I hold dear." He smiled. "Trying to make this career.
Climb ladder. Watch out for what's mine."
Career.
Dan couldn't understand that one either. Mind not fully sharp
yet, but he knew that he'd never felt he had to climb anything.
No career, just doing what he did. Perhaps he just liked killing
and evading getting killed. Great sum of how a man had spent
his life. "So, that's why you're here?" Lifting
his hand, he made a slow-sweeping gesture around the cave.
"Watching out for your own enemy?" His lips quirked
up into a strange half-smile.
Vadim
smirked. "Well, in absence of my unit or properly cultured
Russian, guess you'll have to do."
"Fuck
you, too, Russkie." Dan grinned tiredly. "In that
case, help me up. I'd like to go for a piss without keeling
over or throwing up."
Vadim
nodded, moved behind Dan and put his arms under the other's,
steadying and pulling him up a bit, causing Dan to hiss, then
took his arm and placed it around his shoulders, helping him
walk by taking the weight off the side where the leg needed
rest and healing. Couldn't help but stare at Dan's nakedness.
He'd washed him, and massaged him, had been that close, and
he still always noticed.
"Ah
shit." Dan grumped, then kept his teeth clenched while
walking towards the mouth of the cave. Remained silent until
the reached a spot just outside. "Feels like I haven't
moved for a week." The dizziness could have been worse,
though, and he kind of got his bearings once he stood still.
Looking down at his body he eyed his cock for a moment. Pondering,
couldn't remember what he was supposed to do with it. Expecting
the other to stay and steady him, Dan was swaying for a moment.
"What did I mean to do again?" He frowned, kept
staring at his cock, flaccid between the darkness of hair.
"You
meant to piss." Vadim hoped it was only a concussion,
not something major, not something that fucked Dan up worse.
Hoped the skull was alright, some people walked and talked
with hidden gruesome injuries, then fell over, dead.
"Fuck,
yes." Dan frowned, felt the urge to shake his head, trying
to clear the cobwebs, but the constant dull ache reminded
him to stay still. "Seems my memory's shot to pieces
at the moment." Took his cock, tried to relax, willing
the piss to flow. "Can remember yesterday, though, and
before. Kind of. Can't quite remember before you found me.
Guess I don't want to." Letting out a sigh of relief
when the urine started to trickle and then shot out in a mighty
stream. Hadn't realised how full his bladder had been. "Shit,
that's good."
Vadim
swallowed. The way Dan's voice changed with that simple pleasure.
If he could only have him under him, saying exactly that.
Yeah, lusting after a man who was pissing and rested half
his weight on his shoulder.
"Concussion." Vadim tried to pull his mind off the
fact Dan was naked and in no state to fight. "I'll have
to leave tomorrow. You better remember safer place somewhere
around here. You're too close to one of our bases."
"Aye,"
two quick shakes and last drops, and Dan lifted his head,
carefully looking over his shoulder. "Survived worse
situations. I'll get out." How? He didn't have a clue,
but he'd do it, somehow. Even if he had to crawl across the
mountains, dizzy and disorientated, but he'd do it. Fuck that
leg, his head, and the fact he couldn't remember things he
should know.
Vadim
frowned, didn't believe it, but had no other option but to
take the risk. He couldn't stay here forever, and this was
on the brink of getting very, very dangerous. "Yes. I
know you will."
"Did
you find my bergan? Haven't got a fucking clue where it is,
but I guess that means nothing right now that I can't remember."
Hopping on his good leg, Dan tried to put some weight on the
injured one. Hurt like a motherfucker, but it would have to
do. He could hole up another day, then make his way across
the pass throughout the night. At least he remembered the
terrain, and if he were lucky, he'd cross the path of some
friendly Mujahideen. He wasn't going to die like this; not
that easy to take down.
"It
was down in village. I brought it up. That was how I knew
you were there somewhere. I remembered your kit."
"You
better. You usually help yourself to peanut butter energy
bars." Dan flashed a small grin. "Right, nurse,
take me back inside. Fucking freezing without clothes."
Clothes, shit. Couldn't remember when last he had any.
"I'll
help you put your spares on." Vadim manoeuvred Dan to
turn around and brought him back into the cave, back to the
blankets. "It's all right there. See?" His kit,
Dan's kit. He could give Dan some of his stuff. To make sure
he had it as easy as possible.
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