Page 33 of Ascendent
Sasha scowled. Sergey kissed his run-reddened cheek. “Sit with me?”
“After I shower.” He stood, but Sergey grabbed his hand, pressed a kiss to his fingers. Sasha graced him with a tiny smile.
He almost followed Sasha, almost shed the remains of his suit and wandered into the bathroom after his lover. He could soap Sasha down, run his hands over his legs, his chest, his back. Slide his fingers into Sasha’s wet hair, massage his scalp. He’d follow the water down Sasha’s body, kneel on the tile and take his cock in his mouth again. Maybe Sasha would spin him around, press him against the wall, and––
The water started, and then stopped. Sasha was not one for long showers. He still had so much of the military in him, it seemed. All the water he wanted at his disposal, and he still rushed through like he was timed.
He reappeared, towel around his neck, boxers and a fresh undershirt on. His hair was still wet. Sergey beckoned him to the fire, made a space for him on the carpet.
Sasha’s skin was frigidly cold when it brushed against Sergey. “You’re freezing!”
“I’m fine.” Sasha’s reply was automatic.
“Didn’t you take a warm shower? You’re cold as ice.” He pulled Sasha toward him, pressed Sasha’s back to his chest, wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Sasha seemed to melt into his embrace, going limp and boneless against him.
“This is better.” Sasha’s forehead pushed into Sergey’s neck. “You can warm me up.”
“I will.” Sergey rubbed his hands up and down Sasha’s arms. They were nearly bone white, almost painfully cold to the touch. He kissed Sasha’s hair, his temple. “How was your day?” he asked.
Sasha shrugged. He pushed into Sergey’s touch. “It was fine.”
“Your surgery is in a few days, yes?”
Sasha nodded.
“Are you ready?”
“Dr. Voronov says I am.”
Chuckling, Sergey kissed his hair again. “How aboutyou? Are you nervous? Excited?”
Another shrug. “It has to happen.”
That was Sasha. His lover could be as practical as he was dour. His mind churned through regulations, lined up rules and procedures as roads he traversed through life. And then there was Sergey, taking a bulldozer to his roads, his carefully-laid plans.You put up with me. I hope I’m half as decent to you as you are to me.
He grabbed “History of American Spaceflight” and flipped it open to a page Sasha had dogeared. “How goes your reading? Do the Americans claim they were the first in space? Are they properly recounting Russia’s achievements?”
“They say they were the first who wanted to go to space.” Sasha pointed to a paragraph. “‘July 29, 1955. The U.S. announces it will launch satellites into orbit in celebration of the International Geophysical year. The Soviet Union, in response to the U.S., says they will launch too.’”
“So we are just mindlessly following their lead,hmm?”
“We were the first to make it in space, though. October 4, 1957. Sputnik One launched into orbit. And, April 12, 1961, Yuri Gagarin became the first human in space.”
“Well, other than the lost cosmonauts.”
Sasha turned his big blue eyes upward, rolling in Sergey’s arms until he was staring upside down. “Is it true? About the lost cosmonauts?”
“I’ve heard the rumors. Any evidence was destroyed during the fall of the Soviet Union. But I heard plenty of stories in the KGB about old cosmonauts strapped to rockets out of Kapustin Yar, before Gagarin.”
Sasha’s eyes held all the curiosity in the world. Sergey saw stars glitter in his irises, icebergs melt in his rings of sapphire.
“Of course, the rumors could have started because two unmanned rockets with dummies went up before Gagarin, playing tape recorded messages. To check the radio connections back to ground control.”
“That sounds like Soviet disinformation to me.” Sasha’s eyes narrowed.
“If youdobelieve the rumors, four lost cosmonauts made it into space but never made it back. Gagarin is recognized as the first to come backalive.”
“He almost didn’t.” Sasha nodded to the binder. “NASA goes to great lengths to describe how brutal his reentry was.”
