Page 12 of Ascendent
“I know, I know,” Sergey babbled. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry.” His shaking hand landed on Sasha’s elbow, stroked up and down his arm. Exhaling, he pitched forward, his forehead finding Sasha’s, pressing into him.
“You can push everything else in the world. Push Jack Spiers and the United States and the EU and the Duma and your Cabinet. But not this.Please.”
“I’ll do better. I promise.” He squeezed Sasha’s biceps, held him in both hands. Rubbed his nose against Sasha’s. “I’ll do anything for you.”
Sasha pushed against Sergey, as if trying to merge their skin, their bones, their minds. “Let’s go to bed?” He sounded nervous, uncertain. As if he didn’t know if he was allowed to ask.
Sergey beamed. He threaded their fingers together and kissed Sasha’s knuckles, soft kisses to each scarred joint. Sometime in Sasha’s past, there had been brawls and bare-knuckle fights, enough to leave him with scars on his body and soul.
He would take his time, learn this man inside out. Learn every millimeter of his skin, of his memory. He’d do it, he’d go slow, he’d be patient, because Sasha was worth it.
He led Sasha to the bedroom, took his time stripping him. Sasha kept his eyes closed, breathed deeply as Sergey’s hands tried to soothe, tried to apologize. He wrapped Sasha up from behind, dropping kisses like snowflakes on Sasha’s shoulder, the rise of his trapezius, the line of his neck that disappeared into his blond hair. He held on to Sasha’s ribs, tried to cradle him in the safety of his embrace. Sasha’s big hands laid over Sergey’s, and he exhaled Sergey’s name as he tilted his head to one side, welcoming Sergey’s lips and the study of his ear.
They met over Sasha’s shoulder in a slow, careful kiss. Sasha trembled, from his lips to his toes. Sergey felt every shiver, every shake. He stroked him gently, palmed his way across Sasha’s ribs and abdomen, up to his neck, cradled his jaw as they traded kisses and swipes of their tongues.
Eventually, Sasha shied away, turning into Sergey’s hold and then breaking free, looking down, away, anywhere but into Sergey’s gaze.
Sergey understood. It was already too much, tonight. The game, their date, the kiss, and then this. Each had been something new, a depth of intimacy Sasha had never before unearthed. He was already vibrating at the end of his tether, already stretched to the limit. He was going to pull back, retreat, regroup, recalibrate. But he was going to do it within Sergey’s reach, within his care. He wasn’t going to run again, at least not tonight, and that was all Sergey could ask for.
They brushed their teeth in the bathroom, shirtless, side by side. Sasha’s eyes strayed to Sergey’s in the mirror. Sergey grinned around his toothbrush, blew him a kiss after he spat. Sasha blushed.
Sergey clambered into bed first in just his boxer briefs. His hip bones stuck out from his waistband, stretching his pale skin taut, pulling at the tiny padding he’d mostly lost while on the run, fighting in the insurgency. A month before, he’d been able to count each of his own ribs.
Sasha followed, sliding between the sheets in his briefs. He, too, had lost some of his mass, some of the All-Russian brawn that had made him stand out in the Kremlin halls. Russian men usually lost their luster after they hit their thirties, but Sasha seemed to grow even more handsome, even more beautiful as the months and weeks and hours rolled on.
Their legs tangled together, thighs and knees and calves interlocking. One of Sasha’s hands gripped his hip, the other cradled Sergey’s cheek between his face and the pillow. Sergey traced constellations in Sasha’s scattered chest freckles, drew futures of space ships and kisses and hearts on the cream of his skin as Sasha’s eyes slipped closed, as his breathing leveled out. He dropped a kiss to Sasha’s nose, to his eyelids, to the center of his forehead. He left his lips pressed to Sasha’s blond strands, breathing him in, pushing sleep off just a little bit further.
Two nights together. That’s all they’d had. Two nights in each other’s arms. Once on Simushir Island after baring his heart and soul, only to be rejected for Sasha’s fiery devotion to Mother Russia and to Sergey’s role in her future. And once on theUSS Honolulubeneath the ice, after their passion could no longer be restrained, not one second more. After he’d told Sasha he picked him over Russia, that he’d throw everything away for the chance to kiss him again, to see Sasha’s eyes light up with happiness, to see them turn to Sergey. For Sergey to know he’d been the one to put that glow in Sasha’s gaze, that exultation.
After each night, Sasha had fled. He’d deserted Sergey’s heart and his arms, their passion and their joy.
Two nights, and the agony of abandonment, lay between them. He had oceans of hope, enough dreams to hang from every star in the sky, but the blackness beyond was his fear, his doubt, and he dreaded waking up alone in the morning. Would Sasha be there when his eyes opened?
“I love you,” Sergey whispered into Sasha’s hair as his eyelids dropped for the final time. He couldn’t push it off any longer. Sleep, and the reckoning, would come. Sasha would stay or he would flee. “Remember that.”
* * *
Bangingon his apartment door woke Sergey, the crash of the wood opening and slamming shut.
Sunlight splintered through the bedroom windows.
Heavy boots barged into the apartment, crossed the front room.
“Seryozha!” Ilya bellowed. “I’m not coming in there and looking at your ugly naked body again! Come out here! I brought you both coffee!”
In Sergey’s, arms, Sasha groaned and pressed his face into Sergey’s neck.
Sergey smiled.
Chapter Three
“How was the game?”Ilya shoved two coffees at Sergey and Sasha and plopped himself down at the dining room table. He had a stack of binders and a notepad under one arm, and his own coffee sloshed out of the plastic lid, down the back of his hand. He cursed and shook it away.
Sasha seemed bleary on the edges, fuzzy, still sleep-confused. He cradled his coffee cup and slumped in his chair, his gaze darting between Sergey and Ilya. Sergey sat beside him, one hand on Sasha’s knee. “The game was excellent. Thank you for the tickets.”
Ilya snorted. “I saw you on TV. The camera loves you,Seryozha.” He jerked his chin at Sasha. “And you, Pretty Boy, caught some screen time.”
Sasha stared over his coffee cup at Ilya. He blinked once.
