Special Forces: Soldiers Vashtan/Aleksandr Voinov and Marquesate

getting closer, fuck, felt the tightness of the throat, felt it tighten, realized what 

happened, knew from too much experience the other had no control whatsoever, 

and just couldn’t stop things now, rammed the fucking knife into the door near the 

other’s head, and quicker than even Dan realized or could act, took a handful of the 

hair instead, and forced, forced his cock down that constricting throat. 

Dan’s hands gripped the other’s thighs in panic. Eyes wide open. Air cut 

off. Violent intrusion. 

Vadim felt muscles spasm, tight and hot and quick, felt the hand on his 

thighs, no fucking knife, and even if there was a knife, he just couldn’t care. Head, 

mind, everything empty as he thrust into the other’s throat, no regard for anything 

but the need to come. 

Hand in his hair and Dan was in terror, suddenly. Had lost control, a 

nightmare come true, the control freak who needed to be in control to survive at all 

times. That cock wasn’t what he wanted anymore, had turned into an enemy, just 

like the fucking Russian, invading throat and air. Convulsive gagging, body 

fighting against the intrusion, hands formed into fists, beating upon thighs, couldn’t 

move his head, nor twist his body away and yet...Fuck! Yet there was something 

dark and dangerous, raising its voice from the depths of his mind. 

Take it! Fight it. Want it! 

It’s what you fucking deserve you cocksucking cunt! 

Pain and panic, then convulsion. Retching the moment the Russkie came 

down his throat, finally releasing the grip on his hair. Violent spasms, once, twice, 

almost throwing up, retching like a miserable whore on her knees on the cum-

sticky floor. 

Motherfucking bastard! Anger flared within split seconds. Fucker. Cunt. 

Wanker. Sudden flare of hatred, like a flame touching match cord and powder pan. 

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Remembered the dropped knife. There. Could hardly see, neither breathe, still 

coughing, but the blade was in Dan’s hand and his body off the floor before he 

could think. He attacked the still weakened Russian, knife aimed at the heart, but 

aim and vision distorted and his blade flew towards the arm while throwing 

himself against the other. 

But in Dan’s mouth the taste. God he fucking loved that taste. 

Vadim staggered back, breathless. For once not clear enough to grab the 

knife. Still stuck in the wood. Fucking trousers in the way, held them with one 

hand, shit, the knife, his body shifting gear, go from sex to fighting, no, defending, 

blocking, unprepared for the onslaught, the knife a searing line across his arm. He 

could feel the steel touch bone, and that sobered him, but he was falling. 

He tensed to take the force off, head didn’t hit the ground, brought both 

hands up, one to the Brit’s throat, but the other dodged, free hand fended off the 

fucking knife. Saw the lips, wet, raw, body still trying to pick up the pieces of his 

training, this thing just didn’t happen and nobody could prepare him for it.  

This time, the other would cut his throat. They were too evenly matched, 

he’d known that from the start. And the other had the advantage. 

Dan turned the knife, till the tip pointed and pushed into Vadim’s throat, 

forcing the body beneath him to still. Sat on the still bucking body, straddled the 

hips with the Russkie’s trousers still down. 

Hard, he was so goddamned hard. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.” Voice raspy, reminder of that cock 

down his throat only a moment ago. 

Vadim was breathing hard, moved his chin up to evade the knife point, 

knew he was baring his throat even more. Vanya could have died like this. 

Afterburn and fear just didn’t mix, the two emotions nearly ripped him apart. Had 

no idea what he should feel, could feel, just wanted to stay alive now. Stared at the 

man, his crotch from under heavy lids, assessed him, knew what he would do in his 

stead. Force him to turn around, bind his hands and fuck him. Better than getting 

his throat slit. 

Bargain. Think. He’s speaking, that means he won’t kill. And he’s hard. He 

liked it. “Wait,” Vadim whispered, speaking English. “I can...do that. Same thing. 

Suck you.” Easiest option. Take the edge off, even at fucking knife point. They had 

left sanity and common sense behind long ago. 

 194 

“No,” Dan hissed, “no fucking hair to force my whore.” Eyes ablaze, with 

more than anger and lust. Feral glint, betraying the basest desires. Like the taste 

that lingered, the sore throat, the wanting again. 

Knife shifted, point turned to blade, pressed against the soft tissue at the 

throat. One flick and there’d be more blood than just from the arm. Dan moved up 

the chest, until he sat on Vadim’s biceps. Each knee forcing down one arm, 

uncaring of the blood that started to seep from the cut into his own trousers. Put his 

full weight on his legs, knew too damn well how fucking much that would hurt. 

Left hand undid his fly, had gone commando, his cock was in his hand. Right there, 

in the bastard’s face. 

Vadim pulled his lips from his teeth, hissing with the pain, felt his arm 

pulse, could smell his blood through the mist of sweat and lust and cum. The man’s 

crotch closer, was sure he’d fuck his face in this position, stared at the cock close 

up, good size, fully hard, could see every vein, could smell it. Feet found the 

ground, knees up, find some stability in this position. Bitch. Suka. 

“You’re not just my cunt, fucker.” Dan murmured hoarsely, starting to 

stroke himself, staring down at the Russian and his own cock. Fast, efficient. 

“You’re my bitch.” 

What...? Vadim thought. The Brit didn’t trust him enough, of course not, 

one rare moment of common sense, a vicious thought, and at the same time Vadim 

fucking liked the way the other touched himself, fiercely, veins on his arm standing 

out, the look of anger and concentration, the way the cock responded to that strong 

hand. 

His hands formed fists, muscles tensed, but there was the knife. So, that 

was the idea. Shoot the load into his face. Vadim couldn’t help but watch the other, 

and if the other had known in the least how fucking erotic he looked doing that, 

he’d had opted to punch him and break his nose – and really every bone in his 

body. 

Dan felt fury, lust, one fuelled the other. Angry strokes, bordering on 

painful. Face contorted with aggression and tension, climbing to that toppling point 

in pathetically short time. Seemed that a blade on the fucker’s throat, the taste of 

the Russkie’s cum, and staring into the bastard’s face and too-fucking bright eyes, 

was enough to get him off within seconds, if he could get that one notch higher. 

 195 

Shit, left hand awkward, Dan lost rhythm, almost there, almost, so full of bloody 

rage and lust, just needed to come or he’d cut the cunt’s throat out of frustration. 

Only that orgasm with a knife to somebody’s throat required too much 

fucking control, more than Vadim gave the other credit for. The Brit would come 

and cut his throat. That was the punishment. Fear tensed every muscle in his body. 

Dan dropped the knife again, safe with the weight on the arms, took himself 

into the right and groaned. Faster. Well-practiced, harder and brutal. Looked as if 

he were punishing himself, hatred in his face. Leaned forward, left hand beside the 

other’s head, supporting himself and coming closer. 

Vadim’s arm muscles between concrete and the fucking hard shins of the 

other, not enough movement to fight, but at least the knife went, and he kept 

staring at the other, didn’t want this, fucking hated the idea of that stuff in his face, 

demeaning, yes, that was the point of it, wasn’t it? Treat him like a cunt, like a 

bitch in one of those porn films, money shot, whatever, at the same time felt an 

absurd erotic appreciation of the other’s cock and his technique, could imagine his 

own cock in the man’s hand, like this, his body liking the idea. 

“Fuck!” Dan groaned. 

Now. Fuck, now. That supreme moment of absolute pain and pleasure and 

perfect tension, before the crash-down of climax. Felt everything draw into his 

body before losing himself in release. 

Close enough to bite, if Vadim chose to. The moment the other didn’t even 

look at him any more, but was getting there, a few heartbeats, nothing else, Vadim 

strained and brought up his head, opened his lips and took the angry, swollen tip 

between his lips, and sucked, pushing the cock deeper, not as far as the other, 

tasted the sweat and the dust and could feel it twitch, and took it deeper again, as 

far as his neck would allow. 

“Oh God!” Dan shouted, taken by surprise. Taken in, and taken deeper. 

Lost it, more than just the tension and his cum; lost himself in the orgasm and 

couldn’t help but push deeper into the willing throat. 

Vadim took it, just swallowed because the other option was have the stuff 

come out through his nose, and that was less pleasant. He did this for the power, 

the power to have a man lose it, lose himself completely, nothing demeaning about 

it especially when the other didn’t hold a knife or a gun or any other way to control 

him. Sucked the other dry, took the rest of the cum as well, taking it deep, tongue, 

 196 

the whole deal, liked the heat and size, much more than the taste. Then, suddenly, 

it was pulled away, and he turned his head, felt it slip out against the corner of his 

lips, against his cheek, wet and hot. 

Dan stumbled backwards, moved in near-panic off the other, fell and 

crawled away, drew the pistol by instinct, before ending a few feet apart, on his 

arse, legs sprawled, trousers open and cock still hard. Wet. Spent. 

Aimed the pistol at the Russian, hand shaking wildly, breath desperate still, 

heart off kilter.  

Vadim brought his legs under him, moved into a crouch, and rolled his 

head in an exaggerated motion. What now, Danny-boy? Scared of your bitch? Saw 

the gun, which sobered him, but that bullet could go anywhere. “Don’t worry. I 

didn’t expect roses,” he murmured in English. 

He stood, pulled up his trousers, fixed the belt. Nice warm, relaxed feeling. 

Hated the taste. Rummaged through the other’s bundle. Water. No vodka. Of 

course not. The other didn’t seem the type to bring moonshine. Well. Plenty more 

water to wash down the rather unexpected dinner. Unscrewed the plastic bottle and 

drank, deeply, for several long moments, then let some water run down his scalp 

and chest. 

Tossed the other a water bottle as well, skittering aimlessly across the dirty 

floor, continued to check the pack. Ah, something more substantial. Protein bars. 

Dan stared, would probably have pulled the trigger if he’d realise he was 

transfixed yet again like the deer in fucking headlights, but did nothing. 

Absolutely nothing, while the Russian rummaged in the bag he kept in the 

room, and murmured words he should by all means kill or at least maim him for. 

The hand still shook, and so did the forgotten gun. 

Ah, this one had a peanut butter flavour. Vadim tore the foil of one of the 

bars, pushed some of that bar between his lips, just slightly making fun of what had 

happened, regarding the Brit. 

Dan didn’t even think. Completely numb and shell-shocked, until he saw 

the mockery of the bar of food, pushed ostentatiously between those lips. The lips 

where his cock had been. The cock where his own lips...throat... 

Vadim chewed a little, swallowed. “Guess I’m little rusty,” he murmured, 

then crouched again. “Put that gun away.” 

 197 

Dan’s eyes narrowed at the Russian’s words. Felt exceedingly stupid. A 

right idiot, Dan, aren’t you? Cocksucking poof? How long to the shit-stabbing fag? 

Dropped gun and hand over his now-flaccid cock. 

Vadim regarded the Brit, saw that strange expression haunt those eyes. He 

wanted and didn’t want, always the fear and the disgust on those features. It might 

be some fucked-up game for him, but the other took things more seriously. If the 

man hated this with the same intensity that he lusted, fuck, that had to be a bitch. 

“I got to go.” Dan suddenly said. 

Vadim bit back the response he wanted to give, one about ‘not for my sake, 

I quite enjoyed this’, and pondered again, meanwhile washing the cut on his lower 

arm with the water, and rummaging his pockets for a bandage. Might need stitches, 

he was only grateful the bone was really close to the skin there, hardly any meat 

severed. Fumbled around a bit, then pulled the ends together with teeth and hand. 

If he had to pay in blood each and every time they met, and pay like this for 

coming and having the other come, that had to be worth it. He was bleeding for the 

matters of two flags and some general secretary’s ideas about the southern borders. 

This was more personal, and he got more out of it. 

“Waste of recce and time and effort if you leave now,” Vadim said, 

speaking to the bandage on his arm, and took another bite from the sports bar. “I 

have two hours.” Glanced up to meet the other’s eyes, crouched, as he was, the 

white bandage a stark contrast to the sweaty reddened skin. 

Dan merely closed his eyes, dropped his head into his neck for a moment, 

before coming back up again, inhaling a deeper breath. Oddly resigned. “Guess 

so.” 

Cleared his throat, still sore, and the taste was lingering somewhere. Either 

imagined and in his mind or real, didn’t matter. He liked it too much, entirely far 

too much. No mistaking. Realised he even stalled pouring down some water, for no 

other reason that that goddamned taste. Cocksucker. Yeah, shit.  

Dan glanced at the bandage, then back to his bag. Dismissed the injury. 

Had to be a deep cut, didn’t care. Spilling the Russkie’s blood seemed as ‘normal’ 

as his need to taste that cock again. 

“Give me one of the strawberry bars.” The sickeningly sweet ones. Held 

out his hand, palm up, pistol dangling from his thumb, the other hand fumbled with 

 198 

the button on his trousers. Hadn’t even taken off the belt. Too bloody needy, too 

angry, far too consumed by that crazed lust. 

Vadim dug into the bag and brought out a handful, found the one that said 

‘strawberry’, tossed that between the other’s knees and dropped the rest on the 

pack. Didn’t they call homosexuals ‘fruits’? His slang was too patchy to be much 

good in this situation. 

Eyes on that gun again, and the much steadier hand. The man was back to 

fighting fit. Which meant, there would be more fighting. His knife still stuck in the 

door. Vadim moved his left hand to the holster, pulled the gun with his fingers, 

thumb away, and let it slide over the floor. Within reach, but not right on his body. 

He then finished off the bar, worst hunger dealt with, gave his stomach something 

to work with. 

Dan was in the process of ripping the bar open, his sweet tooth legendary, 

but how was the Russkie to know that. Figured he’d be safe enough to drop the gun, 

put it down on the floor when the Russkie dropped his, as close to himself as the 

other’s. Somehow, somewhere, he just couldn’t be bothered right now. Had to be 

the mellowing after the orgasm, preferred this as the likeliest explanation. Could 

always kill the wankstain later. As if. 

Vadim regarded the other man. So many things he wondered. Could 

wonder now. He wanted to see him naked, like up in the mountains, washing 

himself, with that mixture of defiance and anger. He had been hardly in any state to 

appreciate it fully. 

Didn’t know how to start a conversation, or what else to do to tell the other 

he wasn’t after killing him. That was long over. But where to from here? “Thanks 

for that thing in mountains.” He felt his face go cold, and shook his head. “Your 

distraction.” 

“What?” Dan raised his head, digging his teeth into the sweet stickiness. 

The same teeth that had mauled skin and flesh a month ago. “What fucking 

distraction?” While chewing. 

Vadim could smell the strawberry aroma, nothing like real strawberries, but 

the Disney version of it. “You kept bandits off my back.” Calm, as if helping the 

other’s memory. Just for the sake of conversation. He wanted to say other things, 

but the Brit was too aloof for that. 

 199 

“Oh that,” Dan shrugged, swallowed the large bite, wished it was even 

sweeter. “Guess I owed you.” 

Vadim watched the other man, storing away those images for a night on the 

bunk bed, alone. His lips, his hands, the powerful neck. His cock. Vadim smiled. 

Yes, he had really gotten a good view of that. He smirked against the water bottle, 

hiding what threatened to become a grin. 

Dan took another bite, chewed while his fingers toyed with the gun on the 

floor. Absentmindedly transfixed by the small round burn wound at the hollow of 

the Russkie’s throat. 

Vadim’s eyes came to rest on the pistol. Only paranoia this time. Good. 

Owing. Now, this was dangerous ground again. They owed each other so much by 

now, it was hard to keep track. Rest up, round two. 

Maybe he’d be so nice as to give proper head. Show him how to do it. 

Vadim smirked again. Maybe rub their bodies together until they both came. He 

liked that thought a lot. And it was easier lying down, but how could he get the 

other to do that? 

“Mind if I lose some khaki?” 

“Sure.” Mind? Fuck, no. “Go right ahead. Feel at home.” Dan meant to 

sound snide, but the comment lacked proper enthusiasm. 

Vadim took off belt, shirt, bared the dog tags, kept these on at all times. 

The other had brought blankets, fair enough. This had to be one of his regular 

hideouts, there should be several strewn all over the city. 

Dan was mechanically biting and chewing and biting again, debating if he 

should stare at the other or not. Shit. Why the fuck did he even have to make those 

decisions. Watched the man lay down the blankets, start to undress. 

Couldn’t be any more obvious what he wanted. 

Empty foil wrapper in Dan’s hand, slowly crumbling in his fist, turning the 

foil into a small ball of tension, the more pieces of kit the Russian was losing.  

Vadim untied the boots, pulled them off, socks, took more of the bottled 

water, and headed over into another corner to get some essential washing done, a 

few handfuls, but basic hygiene. He hated the dust and sun. And it showed off his 

body. Could convince the other that skin on skin was an option. Non threatening. A 

naked man was never threatening. He half-turned away, not to protect anything 

resembling modesty, but to not make it too provocative. 

 200 

Dan winced. What the fuck now. Should he drool and pant, run over like 

Pavlov’s dog, begging to have a taste of the bone? Felt like the unskilled, 

unsophisticated idiot. He should have stuck with knife and guns, and stayed the 

hell away. 

He left the gun where it was, threw the wrapper into the bag, scrambled up 

to stand. Took a couple of steps and a half-hearted attempt to pull at least the 

tattered parka off. Was lost, hadn’t learned the language he needed for blokes, not 

bints. Had the violent urge to get back to his weapons, at least he knew those. 

Vadim could feel the restless hesitation, the debate. The thing that triggered 

violence, and right now he was unsuitably kitted out for violence. Show more 

weakness, like a bird dragging a wing behind to attract the predator? Only that he 

was by no means, ever, a kind of bird. 

He was setting a trap to catch himself a rival, an opponent that wouldn’t 

break, a man who was just as likely to punch him in the face than push a cock 

down his throat. He had to move like the hunter, how ironic, a suburban kid from 

Moscow. Russia was a lot of wilderness, but he only knew wild animals from the 

zoo. 

He knew the objective, and, how did the instructors put it? Do everything, 

anything, to reach the objective. Even be the bitch. It was just a word. A word like 

homosexual, like degenerate. Yeah, bite me. 

He went over to the blankets, and sat down, stretched his legs, no weapon 

on him, no scrap of fabric. Lay down and rolled onto his side. They had shared 

warmth like that. It was familiar enough. The closest thing to dragging a wing, he 

figured. And very real danger. Lots of weapons around. 

Dan stood, increasingly awkward. What now? What the fuck now! Blankets. 

Body. Skin and want. 

“I need to leave in hour,” Vadim said, the words wanted to be Russian, but 

he kept them fixed in the other language, even if that meant getting part of the 

meaning wrong. “Do us favour and come here.” Wondered if the words were right, 

did say the right things, turned around to watch the other. “I’m off to Bagram for 

week. Inspection.” 

Dan moved. Pressed into action by a few words. Had underrated his 

ingrained reflex to simply take an order. No, wrong, an invitation. Shrugged the 

jacket off, walked over. Was easy like this, didn’t need to feel awkward. 

 201 

Come here and one hour and that naked body on the blanket. Heaven could 

be a motherfucker and a dingy room in Kabul. “Don’t tell me where you’ll be. 

Don’t want to know. Can’t be arsed to have to go and kill you if I could do it right 

here.” 

I won’t tell you I’m off to kill a traitorous Afghani scumbag who’s selling 

our weapons wholesale to the mountain people, thought Vadim and nodded. “No 

operational information.” 

Dan got to his knees, half on the blanket. Hesitated for a moment. “I 

fucking hate you, Russkie, don’t get me wrong.” Lowered to sit on his heels, own 

knees opening for comfort. He leaned closer, was getting used to those strange 

eyes too quickly. 

Vadim looked at the other’s crotch, then up to his face again. Hatred. He