Page 83 of Ascendent
“I like the sound of that.” Sergey chased his lips for another kiss. He ripped his undone tie free from his neck, balled it up and tossed it behind his desk.
“I’m going to make love to you,Seryozha,” Sasha growled. “Right here, or in our bed.”
Sergey’s knees weakened. He fell against Sasha. Part of him wanted to sweep his desk clear of everything—files, pens, tablets, classified information packets, his laptop—and just let Sasha ravish him. Scream his exultation as Sasha pulled him from one end of pleasure to the other, as he stood on the absolute edge of ecstasy.
But the other part of him was fifty-two years old, and he appreciated the comfort of a mattress. He nipped at Sasha’s lips. “Let’s go home.”
* * *
The walkback to Sergey’s apartment was as long as it was short. Sergey kept darting sidelong glances at Sasha. Every step seemed to lengthen the distance, a trigonometry problem with no solution. How long until they were finally home? Until he was finally holding Sergey in his arms?
It was all Sasha could do to walk in a straight line.
This was it. He was ready.
Getting to the apartment was a blur. Sergey started talking, a babble that soothed Sasha’s soul, that made the world go soft. Sergey loved to talk, and Sasha loved to listen. He smiled as Sergey’s ramble rolled on, as they rode the elevator to the apartment.
He took Sergey’s hand when they got off. Kissed Sergey’s palm. Sergey’s breath shook.
Sasha led Sergey into his apartment. He’d planned this night. Oleg Ostrovsky had made him wait, but now, the moment was here. He walked Sergey through the darkened front room to their bedroom. A glow flickered through the open doorway.
“Sasha…”
Sasha squeezed his hand. Held one finger to his lips. He moved behind Sergey, wrapped his arms around Sergey’s waist, and guided him into the bedroom.
A hundred candles covered every surface. Clusters on the dresser, on the nightstand, on the floor, set on plates and mosaics and mirrors. The room was ablaze, covered in a mismatch of softly flickering candles, most burned down almost to halfway. He’d wanted them to burn all night. Oleg’s distraction was a minor one.
A single rose lay at the foot of the bed, carved out of glass. It looked frozen, like it had bloomed out of the Arctic ice. Turquoise and sapphire light seemed to catch the curves of the petals, fold into the delicate glass.
“Sashunya,” Sergey whispered. “What…”
He rested his chin on Sergey’s shoulder. “For years, I thought I needed to cut out everything I hated in me. That if I just got rid of being gay, I would be happy. I would be a better man.”
Sergey’s hands clamped down on Sasha’s arms, a painful, ragged clench.
“I know now that everything I actually needed… is you.” He nuzzled Sergey’s cheek, kissed his ear. His hair. “I’ve needed the acceptance you gave me. The faith you put in me. The confidence you grew in me.” He kissed his neck, Sergey’s pounding pulse. “I fall in love with you all over again every single day,Seryozha. I tried to fight it. But the only way for me to live is to accept this love.”
He spun Sergey in his arms. He saw stars shining in Sergey’s eyes, glittering diamonds hovering over his eyelashes, every color of every galaxy a fractal shimmer in the warmth of the candlelight. “I refuse to live in the past any longer. I want to be with you, Sergey Demitriyevich Puchkov. I want to love you. Forever.” He used Sergey’s full name, his patronymic, his father’s name. The weight of history and identity.
Maybe one day, their names and identities would be linked in the zigzag of Russian history.
“Sasha—” Sergey’s voice choked off. He shook his head as his expression cracked, and for only the second time ever, Sasha watched a tear slide down Sergey’s face. He wiped it away with his thumb. He leaned forward, nuzzling their foreheads, their noses, felt the wetness of Sergey’s unshed tears against his cheeks. He dropped kisses to Sergey’s chin, his jawbone, the corner of his lips.
Sergey’s hand rose, cupping his face in a trembling hold. He guided Sasha to him, and Sasha went, folding into Sergey’s arms, into his hold, molding their bodies together. Their lips met, a gentle, tender caress.
Moaning, Sasha’s passion lit like his MiG launching from a cold burn to liftoff inside a half second. Everything he’d ever felt for Sergey roared through him, all the longing, the yearning, the sleepless nights, the hungry days, the wishing and craving and hundreds of hours of berating himself for what he could never have. But now, Sergey was in his arms. Sergey was in his heart. He poured his stockpiled love, his restrained desire, into his kiss, trying to convey to Sergey every moment of his love story.I have loved you since time began. Since we were elements inside the same star.
Sergey stumbled as if dizzy. Sasha guided him to the bed, slipped the rose to the dresser. He crawled up Sergey’s body, straddling his lap. He kissed him. “I want to make love to you. May I?”
Sergey laughed and threw his hands over his head. “I want you so badly! I’ve wanted you to make love to me for ages! But I don’t want to push—”
He silenced Sergey with a kiss.
Sasha undressed him, unbuttoning buttons, undoing his belt, unzipping his fly. He tugged off Sergey’s trousers, dropped each sock and shoe to the floor. Spread open his shirt and slipped it off, tugged off Sergey’s undershirt, until Sergey was naked, quivering on the bed.
He pressed his cheek to Sergey’s foot, kissing the arch, the knobby bones of his ankle. The spry hairs of his shin. He ran his hands up both calves, breathed in Sergey’s scent. Pressed his nose into the curve of Sergey’s knee. He worshipped Sergey’s legs, taking his time, reveling in each kiss, each nip, each new scent. How Sergey shivered as he kissed the inside of each knee, how he arched his back as Sasha trailed his fingers up the back of his thighs. How his legs fell open, quivering, as Sasha licked a slow path up his thigh. His nose buried in Sergey’s heavy balls. Hairs tickled him, his cheeks. He loved it, every part and piece of Sergey.
Sergey screamed as he sucked first one ball, and then the other, bringing both into his mouth. Sasha’s tongue laved at the musky skin, his mouth watering around the taste, the heft, of Sergey’s sac in his mouth. Both of Sergey’s hands flew to his shoulders, squeezing and pulling, grabbing and tugging and pushing away.
