death's jackal: part ii in the works and some icons
This post contains hints of yaoi and Resident Evil. This post contains extreme man sex and odd pairings. This post will rock your world. Maybe.
First, some icons:
Art (c) th3newblack because she is awesome. Doujin is from Revenger. Hurrr. I ship Oz and James because IT'S AWESOME.
Next, some Nicholai x HUNK in the works. This is a draft of part II and it's still in the works, so bear with me.
"You look like shit."
Nicholai grunted softly as he flicked a few pieces of ash into a tray nearby. He wasn't expecting Mikhail this early in the morning and at his apartment no less, but there he was and he was now invading his kitchen, as always. Ginovaef just gave a roll of his eyes and huffed. "It is good seeing you too, Comrade."
"You haven't even made coffee for me, have you? Praise the Mother Land, you've gotten lazy." Mikhail was looking for the coffee beans as Nicholai entered the kitchen. "Where do you keep the grounds hidden?"
"On the upper shelf, just as always." The cigarette was smothered on the silver lining of the sink as Nicholai closed in on Mikhail. "The coffee pot was cleaned last night, so you should be all set to go." As he spoke, he rubbed the back of his hair a bit, sending bits of water in all different directions. He hadn't had the time to enjoy a proper shower before Mikhail showed up. Oh well.
Mikhail had picked up the Arabic coffee from the shelf and was making his way to the coffee machine when he finally turned his eyes towards his friend. "By the way, congratulations, Sergeant."
The other Russian had half of his body in the fridge when he heard the comment and he merely froze there, watching the frosted light bulb near the back. Sergeant Ginovaef; the title wasn't something he expected Mikhail to call him, but there it was. He was a commander now, wasn't he? A commander of his own unit; his own elite unit of men hailing from all parts of the world. The title was doing well to stroke his ego, but it extended further than that. It acknowledged him as an equal to his rival and it provided him with the perfect platform to crush the other man. He couldn't have asked for a better promotion and he made a mental note to order a favorite brandy for the Colonel when he had the spare time.
A loud grunt broke him from his thought process and soon, he was peering behind him only to see a frowning Mikhail. "Can't even look at me now that you have your head so up in the sky, Nicholai?"
"No, Mikhail." He peeled from the fridge and stood to face his comrade. "I was merely thinking about what you had just said. A new title should be respected." He reached back into the fridge and pulled out a jug of milk. "I was merely reflecting on it."
"Tch," Victor cracked a smile. "You're starting to sound like one of those philosophers, Ginovaef. Are you sure you're all right?"
Nicholai had moved to the counter as Victor spoke, now with a box of cereal in his free hand. "I'm perfect, my friend. Absolutely, perfect."
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The alarm clock had been tolling on for the last few minutes, but neither of the two men had the will to reach over to shut it off. It had been a long evening for both of them, what with the day's work and the evening's play. Finally, though, it was Alex who promptly smacked his hand across the top-face of the clock, rendering it silent, much to Nicholai's pleasure.
"I hate those things. We had a horn in morning followed by national anthem," the Russian stretched his arms above his head and clutched onto the steel-frame of the bed behind him. "This beeping sound does not make for good morning."
"Yeah, well, that's how it is over here." Sierra groaned and swung his legs over he bed with a huff. "You're just going to have-"
"-to get used to. I know; you say this many times during course of day." The Russian gave a wave of his hand before pushing himself upright. "I still think it is bullshit."
The Russian was slowly starting to peel out of his Soviet shell, but it would take a lot more work and far more aspirin to finish the job. Nick was a stubborn man and far less easy to break than any of the the men Alexander had had the pleasure of meeting. But, the challenge was somewhat of a wake-up call for the American and he took it in stride. Plus, Nicholai was tolerant enough during the day to deal with, even if he did come back to the barracks completely shit-faced most nights. Sierra just figured that was a part of his culture.
But last night had been weird, if he did recall. He hadn't paid Nicholai much thought as he staggered into the room and fumbled with the suit and tie. Why the Russian was wearing such a fancy outfit, Alex didn't know, but Ginovaef fought to tear it off all the way to his bed. But unlike usual, he didn't just go to sleep. For a while, Alexander had forced himself away, listening to the Russian hum something as he kicked off his shoes and coiled in bed. The tune was something Russian and for every whisper of a word Nicholai spoke, Sierra couldn't understand any of it.
The humming had stopped an hour into Nicholai's return and Alex had the right mind to roll over and ask him what he hell he was doing, but he was already coiled up, back to him with his head tucked right up at his knees. It was cute in a way, but it wasn't the type of position Nicholai usually took. Perhaps that was the very reason Alex found himself unable to question what had happened last night. It seemed it was a personal matter and nothing a capitalist would understand.
"You have been making little conversations all morning. You have trouble?" Nicholai was the one to break the awkward silence as he suited up for the day; black tactical sweater, silver parachute slacks, laced up black combat boots and a gun holster around his left arm. Alexander caught himself staring for a few moments before shaking his head.
"N'aw, n'aw. Ain't nothing bothering me." Alexander stood, but as soon as he did, he found himself face to face with Nicholai. What the hell was he pulling?
"What did you say?" Those silver brows furrowed, as if the Russian were studying something with great interest. Alex just shot up a brow back. "What do you mean, what did I say?"
"I do no understand accent," Nicholai spoke, his voice soft. "You said ant. I do not understand."
"Oh, oh!" Alexander snorted, snuffing out a chuckle. "Ain't, you mean, not ant. Uh, it's what the south uses for I'm not." He didn't realize he had slipped. Unfortunately, as he refocused on Nicholai, there wasn't much amusement on his face.
"You are supposed to, what was word, ah, teaching me English. Now you are making me headache. Stick to basic."
Alex placed a hand on Nicholai shoulder and rolled his eyes back as he shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You'd hate the south and the south still hates you." He released his companion and smiled. "Let's get going."
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He hated himself.
No, it wasn't that he hated himself. He hated what he had done. Nicholai had been drunk and he hadn't been far behind him. It was a drinking contest that had started it all and Alexander had been in far too deep before he knew it. Half the shit he had said, he couldn't remember and half the actions that had happened between him and Nicholai had been wiped by the liquor.
But he could remember that moment, of course. Of all things to fucking remember.
Alexander clutched his head, trying not to show much pain as the meeting went on. He wasn't even paying attention anymore; he didn't care about the new adjustments to the Training Facility and he didn't care about who the next line of scientists were. All he could think about was what had happened last night and it played back like a film in his head. It had started out as something stupid, a dare probably. The door frame had been the starting line and it was only seconds into the game before the Russian ended it with a quick punch to the side of his head.
"Oh god, just let this day be over," Alexander thought as he watched the projector with mild curiosity. Two of the names he could read were Birkin and Wesker; they were at the bottom of the list, the two youngest men coming in. Why Umbrella was plucking teenagers for workers, Sierra wouldn't know. But, there had to be something special about those two, otherwise Spencer wouldn't have bothered.
There had to be something special about himself and Nicholai too, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered with them as well.
Alexander stood once the meeting was over and politely excused himself back to his quarters. Nicholai had knocked him right in the temple and with the amount of liquor he had ingested last night, his head was rightfully pounding. He could feel the blood-vessels pulsating and as he staggered towards his room, he groaned and pushed up against the wall for leverage. It was only until he got to the door, did he manage to fumble and collapse against the side of his bed, his head to the ground and his eyes nailed shut. Everything hurt so much.
That's when he heard the door close behind him. He knew it was Nicholai even when the hands came down to touch him. It was a gentle feeling, despite the callouses that littered the Russian's fingers. He could feel his body being lifted, then finally settled on the bed near by. He could feel his shirt coming off, his belt being undone and his shoes sliding from his feet. But the gracefulness wasn't something he took the Russian for, so he reached out, trying to find some sort of solid for in front of him; his hand found a cropped set of hair and he settled on resting his fingers in it as Nicholai did his work.
"Nick, look, I'm sorry about last night.." Alexander managed as he felt Nicholai pull away. He didn't get a reply and as he sat up, he could feel a strong hand forcing him back down. Alex tried to sit back up again, but the hand was keeping him pinned and suddenly, a wave of panic hit him. Nicholai was going to kill him. Right there, he was going to kill him. He didn't even have time to fight back before he felt the Russian's forehead touch his own. Then, a whisper.
"There is no need for sorries," it was Nick and he was breathing heavily. "I am not angry. Why do you have look of fear?"
"Because I don't feel like dying when I'm at this kind of disadvantage," Sierra spat back.
First, some icons:
Art (c) th3newblack because she is awesome. Doujin is from Revenger. Hurrr. I ship Oz and James because IT'S AWESOME.
Next, some Nicholai x HUNK in the works. This is a draft of part II and it's still in the works, so bear with me.
"You look like shit."
Nicholai grunted softly as he flicked a few pieces of ash into a tray nearby. He wasn't expecting Mikhail this early in the morning and at his apartment no less, but there he was and he was now invading his kitchen, as always. Ginovaef just gave a roll of his eyes and huffed. "It is good seeing you too, Comrade."
"You haven't even made coffee for me, have you? Praise the Mother Land, you've gotten lazy." Mikhail was looking for the coffee beans as Nicholai entered the kitchen. "Where do you keep the grounds hidden?"
"On the upper shelf, just as always." The cigarette was smothered on the silver lining of the sink as Nicholai closed in on Mikhail. "The coffee pot was cleaned last night, so you should be all set to go." As he spoke, he rubbed the back of his hair a bit, sending bits of water in all different directions. He hadn't had the time to enjoy a proper shower before Mikhail showed up. Oh well.
Mikhail had picked up the Arabic coffee from the shelf and was making his way to the coffee machine when he finally turned his eyes towards his friend. "By the way, congratulations, Sergeant."
The other Russian had half of his body in the fridge when he heard the comment and he merely froze there, watching the frosted light bulb near the back. Sergeant Ginovaef; the title wasn't something he expected Mikhail to call him, but there it was. He was a commander now, wasn't he? A commander of his own unit; his own elite unit of men hailing from all parts of the world. The title was doing well to stroke his ego, but it extended further than that. It acknowledged him as an equal to his rival and it provided him with the perfect platform to crush the other man. He couldn't have asked for a better promotion and he made a mental note to order a favorite brandy for the Colonel when he had the spare time.
A loud grunt broke him from his thought process and soon, he was peering behind him only to see a frowning Mikhail. "Can't even look at me now that you have your head so up in the sky, Nicholai?"
"No, Mikhail." He peeled from the fridge and stood to face his comrade. "I was merely thinking about what you had just said. A new title should be respected." He reached back into the fridge and pulled out a jug of milk. "I was merely reflecting on it."
"Tch," Victor cracked a smile. "You're starting to sound like one of those philosophers, Ginovaef. Are you sure you're all right?"
Nicholai had moved to the counter as Victor spoke, now with a box of cereal in his free hand. "I'm perfect, my friend. Absolutely, perfect."
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The alarm clock had been tolling on for the last few minutes, but neither of the two men had the will to reach over to shut it off. It had been a long evening for both of them, what with the day's work and the evening's play. Finally, though, it was Alex who promptly smacked his hand across the top-face of the clock, rendering it silent, much to Nicholai's pleasure.
"I hate those things. We had a horn in morning followed by national anthem," the Russian stretched his arms above his head and clutched onto the steel-frame of the bed behind him. "This beeping sound does not make for good morning."
"Yeah, well, that's how it is over here." Sierra groaned and swung his legs over he bed with a huff. "You're just going to have-"
"-to get used to. I know; you say this many times during course of day." The Russian gave a wave of his hand before pushing himself upright. "I still think it is bullshit."
The Russian was slowly starting to peel out of his Soviet shell, but it would take a lot more work and far more aspirin to finish the job. Nick was a stubborn man and far less easy to break than any of the the men Alexander had had the pleasure of meeting. But, the challenge was somewhat of a wake-up call for the American and he took it in stride. Plus, Nicholai was tolerant enough during the day to deal with, even if he did come back to the barracks completely shit-faced most nights. Sierra just figured that was a part of his culture.
But last night had been weird, if he did recall. He hadn't paid Nicholai much thought as he staggered into the room and fumbled with the suit and tie. Why the Russian was wearing such a fancy outfit, Alex didn't know, but Ginovaef fought to tear it off all the way to his bed. But unlike usual, he didn't just go to sleep. For a while, Alexander had forced himself away, listening to the Russian hum something as he kicked off his shoes and coiled in bed. The tune was something Russian and for every whisper of a word Nicholai spoke, Sierra couldn't understand any of it.
The humming had stopped an hour into Nicholai's return and Alex had the right mind to roll over and ask him what he hell he was doing, but he was already coiled up, back to him with his head tucked right up at his knees. It was cute in a way, but it wasn't the type of position Nicholai usually took. Perhaps that was the very reason Alex found himself unable to question what had happened last night. It seemed it was a personal matter and nothing a capitalist would understand.
"You have been making little conversations all morning. You have trouble?" Nicholai was the one to break the awkward silence as he suited up for the day; black tactical sweater, silver parachute slacks, laced up black combat boots and a gun holster around his left arm. Alexander caught himself staring for a few moments before shaking his head.
"N'aw, n'aw. Ain't nothing bothering me." Alexander stood, but as soon as he did, he found himself face to face with Nicholai. What the hell was he pulling?
"What did you say?" Those silver brows furrowed, as if the Russian were studying something with great interest. Alex just shot up a brow back. "What do you mean, what did I say?"
"I do no understand accent," Nicholai spoke, his voice soft. "You said ant. I do not understand."
"Oh, oh!" Alexander snorted, snuffing out a chuckle. "Ain't, you mean, not ant. Uh, it's what the south uses for I'm not." He didn't realize he had slipped. Unfortunately, as he refocused on Nicholai, there wasn't much amusement on his face.
"You are supposed to, what was word, ah, teaching me English. Now you are making me headache. Stick to basic."
Alex placed a hand on Nicholai shoulder and rolled his eyes back as he shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You'd hate the south and the south still hates you." He released his companion and smiled. "Let's get going."
------------------------------------------------------------------
He hated himself.
No, it wasn't that he hated himself. He hated what he had done. Nicholai had been drunk and he hadn't been far behind him. It was a drinking contest that had started it all and Alexander had been in far too deep before he knew it. Half the shit he had said, he couldn't remember and half the actions that had happened between him and Nicholai had been wiped by the liquor.
But he could remember that moment, of course. Of all things to fucking remember.
Alexander clutched his head, trying not to show much pain as the meeting went on. He wasn't even paying attention anymore; he didn't care about the new adjustments to the Training Facility and he didn't care about who the next line of scientists were. All he could think about was what had happened last night and it played back like a film in his head. It had started out as something stupid, a dare probably. The door frame had been the starting line and it was only seconds into the game before the Russian ended it with a quick punch to the side of his head.
"Oh god, just let this day be over," Alexander thought as he watched the projector with mild curiosity. Two of the names he could read were Birkin and Wesker; they were at the bottom of the list, the two youngest men coming in. Why Umbrella was plucking teenagers for workers, Sierra wouldn't know. But, there had to be something special about those two, otherwise Spencer wouldn't have bothered.
There had to be something special about himself and Nicholai too, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered with them as well.
Alexander stood once the meeting was over and politely excused himself back to his quarters. Nicholai had knocked him right in the temple and with the amount of liquor he had ingested last night, his head was rightfully pounding. He could feel the blood-vessels pulsating and as he staggered towards his room, he groaned and pushed up against the wall for leverage. It was only until he got to the door, did he manage to fumble and collapse against the side of his bed, his head to the ground and his eyes nailed shut. Everything hurt so much.
That's when he heard the door close behind him. He knew it was Nicholai even when the hands came down to touch him. It was a gentle feeling, despite the callouses that littered the Russian's fingers. He could feel his body being lifted, then finally settled on the bed near by. He could feel his shirt coming off, his belt being undone and his shoes sliding from his feet. But the gracefulness wasn't something he took the Russian for, so he reached out, trying to find some sort of solid for in front of him; his hand found a cropped set of hair and he settled on resting his fingers in it as Nicholai did his work.
"Nick, look, I'm sorry about last night.." Alexander managed as he felt Nicholai pull away. He didn't get a reply and as he sat up, he could feel a strong hand forcing him back down. Alex tried to sit back up again, but the hand was keeping him pinned and suddenly, a wave of panic hit him. Nicholai was going to kill him. Right there, he was going to kill him. He didn't even have time to fight back before he felt the Russian's forehead touch his own. Then, a whisper.
"There is no need for sorries," it was Nick and he was breathing heavily. "I am not angry. Why do you have look of fear?"
"Because I don't feel like dying when I'm at this kind of disadvantage," Sierra spat back.