Special Forces: Soldiers Vashtan/Aleksandr Voinov and Marquesate

His toneless chuckle ghosted across Vadim’s face as his lips touched the stubbly 

skin again. So much for sex and fucking, but damn, it didn’t even really matter. 

He’d had six months to think, a long time to understand about love. 

“That’s good. You made it out alive. That’s very good.” Vadim gave a 

broad, happy grin, as if he was still a young officer, and his best friend had just 

made another rank. “Congrat…lations. You can have...peace and no...no more...ah, 

like, rations. As much time in tea houses as you...like.” 

Dan ran his fingers over the goofy smiling face which made him grin. “Not 

quite. I came here to get a job, was thinking of close security. I have a few leads. 

Anything, really, as long as it’s here.” 

Vadim leaned his head against the touch, didn’t quite get it. “Body…guard? 

Why? It’s nicer in London. Better food. Weather, too.” 

“How would you know about London?” Dan chuckled, wondered what 

they told the Soviets about foreign countries. Food, and most of all the weather, 

were legendarily bad. “You’re in Kabul, not London or anywhere else. “Besides, I 

can earn shitloads of money as a bodyguard.” 

“Oh. That’s good. Money’s good.” Vadim didn’t get it. Who could or 

would pay that much? The warlords? Maybe. All the opium money had to go 

somewhere. 

Dan’s other hand slid down to the small of Vadim’s back, making its way 

through the layers of clothing, to find some skin. Vadim shifted closer, chest to 

chest with Dan, felt the hand touch his back, and he gave a drunken grin again. “‘s 

alright, won’t fall asleep when you fuck me. You want to, aye?” 

“I do.” Fuck, yes, any second, minute, hour, day, Dan had been thinking 

about this, “of course I do.” Craving the heat and strength. “But not when you’re 

this fucked.” Dan’s lips quirked into a grin. “I heard it’s better to fuck someone 

when they’re not quite passed out drunk.” 

“I’m still talking,” murmured Vadim. “Still ‘round.” A searching, eager, 

almost childlike uncoordinated kiss to Dan’s chin, corner of his mouth, then, full 

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on target. Not great at seduction at the best of times, and these weren’t. Hand 

sliding down to Dan’s chest, stomach, resting there for a moment as if he had 

forgotten about it while trying another kiss. “Still...can feel you.” 

“Sure you do.” Dan grinned, moved his head a fraction, in sync with the 

searching lips, until they hit their target with every single attempt. “But I know a 

better way to get the edge off...” snaking his tongue back between Vadim’s lips. 

“For now.” 

“Okay.” Vadim didn’t know what Dan was getting at, trusted the man to 

make the right decision, whatever Dan said or wanted, it would be alright. Kissed 

back, the dreamlike quality of blurred reality, only it was strange all this kissing, 

things would go different in a dream, more like he knew it. 

Dan wanted Vadim like he always had, with full force and the whole hog, 

and if he couldn’t have that now he’d get it later. His free hand found skin between 

the layers of cloth and he shifted his weight, pressing closer in the movement, until 

he freed his other hand, fiddling with his own trouser buttons. 

Vadim noticed the need and still somehow had the idea Dan would do 

something to him and whatever it was, it was welcome. If anything, his own fault 

he couldn’t get an orgasm out of it, self-inflicted loss. Hand around Dan’s shoulder, 

other hand touching skin, stomach muscles, Dan shifting, brushing his cock. 

Vadim wasn’t sure he could give head right now, mostly because he lacked focus 

and Dan’s tongue was between his lips, and he gave a snort at that thought, 

reaching down to Dan’s cock and balls, squeezing both. He was rewarded with a 

small sound, caught in Vadim’s mouth. Dan’s tongue delving deeper, with a pent-

up greed that sought its release, while he pushed his fly open, commando as usual. 

It was different this time, better, even though it was still his own hand that stroked 

his cock. Held close, kissed readily—drunken or not, hand and cock trapped 

between their bodies, it made everything more intense, and so goddamned right. 

Stroking himself, with the same efficient movements as usual, Dan broke the kiss 

for a moment to gasp out, “fucking missed you like hell.” 

Vadim smiled, pulled Dan closer, he wasn’t weak, just unfocused, and 

kissed Dan’s face and throat and neck, sucking on the flesh like he hadn’t been 

able before, but wanted, not biting, kissing and sucking, with only a promise of 

teeth. Wanted to shed the uniform so Dan could come against him, loved the heat 

of Dan’s cock against his stomach. “You were gone...too long.” 

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Dan’s lips parted, breathing harsher, faster, and his eyes half-closed. Just 

like the way he jerked himself off, and yet it was different. His fingers splayed 

across the small of Vadim’s back, digging hard into muscle and flesh, while his 

hand moved ever harder. “Fucking...army...” panted, each word carried on another 

quick breath, “not keeping me...away...” The next word never followed, he was too 

close, too fast, shifting his hips towards the bed, and he came into the grubby 

clothes instead of Vadim’s uniform. Groaning when he toppled over, he bit his 

own lip before he found the other’s again, teeth clashing, ecstasy tinged with 

hunger and too much greed. 

Vadim gave as good as he got, sluggish, slow, but responding to Dan’s 

kisses, getting very much into the kissing thing that Dan did. Felt good, felt nice, a 

great way to spend time, really. Dan’s stubble, Dan’s breath, Dan’s smell, 

everything about him so close to the dreams and memories. He leaned back, 

feeling dizzy, and grinned, lips open and raw. “Yes. Fucking army. You. Here. ‘s 

all good.” Smiled because he was happy, just that, just a man at peace. “You there, 

tomorrow?” 

Dan couldn’t quite answer yet, flat out for a while longer, just lying and 

grinning like a fool, while wiping his hand on the cloth, the other still pressed into 

Vadim’s back. Cracking one eye open at last, confronted with that happy smile. He 

shook his head while drawing in breath, waiting for his heartbeat to calm. “I’m 

here whenever, now.” Grinning, reluctant to move, “whenever you have time. No 

more insurgents for me.” His lips tingled from the ferocious kissing, scraping 

against stubble and clashing with teeth. Almost raw, just like he felt inside at times. 

Raw and open with those feelings that he’d first understood in a cave, less than a 

year ago. 

“That’s good.” No more worries. No more fear to see Dan’s kit show up on 

the black market. No more turkeys that could be Dan. And – more time. Always 

greedy for something that they had no command over, where and how they spent 

their life. He’d finally have an ‘Afghan sweetheart waiting for him in Kabul’ – 

how very ironic, but at least it wasn’t treason anymore. Dan might have a house, a 

proper house. A place to cook, and to be safe. For fucking once. 

Leaning closer once more, Dan placed a light kiss onto Vadim’s chin. 

Damn, that kissing stuff was bloody addictive, same with the touching, the holding, 

and of course the fucking. “Right now, though, I’ll be leaving you for a short while, 

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have to get a few things. Don’t think you’re up for a wander around Kabul.” Dan 

chuckled quietly, “You sleep the worst off and I’ll be back.” 

“Aye...pretty wasted.” Vadim smirked, looking oddly smug in his sleepy 

drunk way. “Prefer to stay here, if you...don’t mind.” 

“Wise words, Russkie.” Dan had to grin at the way Vadim had got used to 

saying ‘aye’. A Soviet Scots, just what he needed. “You’re a security hazard at the 

moment.” 

“Always am. I’m fucking deadly.” Vadim gave another grin. 

“Yeah, right now in your fucking dreams, mate.” Dan placed another kiss 

onto the sleepy-smug face, rolled over, and covered the wet patch with a piece of 

the bedclothes that were soiled anyway. The room was getting colder, and Dan 

looked around as he sat, closing his trousers. His jeans snug and worn, comfortably 

soft, with the back pocket holding his fag packet in a faded rectangle, indicating its 

customary place. Lighting a cigarette, Dan glanced down at Vadim, inhaling 

deeply, before blowing the smoke the other way.  

Strange, how he’d got into the habit of keeping his fags away from the 

other, and he grinned at that snippet of cosy familiarity. “Got a fireplace in this 

room?” There should be a stove, but he hadn’t spotted it, and the single light bulb 

gave nothing but a feeble glow. How apt, it illuminated Vadim, nothing else. 

“Aye. Corner.” Vadim glanced to the right – towards a metal monstrosity 

made from welded pipe and scrap metal. “Can’t get it going. Guess needs to be 

cleaned. Can’t be arsed.” He pulled his coat up to his chin, and pulled his legs 

closer. Glanced at the red dot that gave Dan’s position away, smell of smoke 

noticeable, but Vadim didn’t mind. 

Dan’s brows rose. It was one thing to get wasted regularly, when the 

fucked-up war ate away body and soul, but another to not care anymore about the 

bare necessities. He pulled in another drag, deep into his lungs, until he could feel 

the nicotine tickle the capillaries, before he stood, walking over to the stove. There 

was food, some kindling, but he’d be buggered if he could make out how to get 

that thing going without more light. Turning back round, he idly scratched the scar 

in his face while finishing off the fag. His face in the dim light, the rest of his body 

in shadows.  

“I’ll see what I can do, but I have to grab some stuff first. You take care, 

and don’t let any strangers in.” Flashing a toothy grin, which rapidly warped into a 

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frown. The door had been open when he’d come in, and Vadim had been passed 

out. Fuck. Oh fuck.  

“Will do.” Vadim shifted a little, as if to find the best position to continue 

sleeping, and seemed happy to lie half twisted on his stomach, hands and feet 

under the coat, head drawn in, and just closed his eyes. Like there were no enemies, 

nobody in the world could possibly want him dead, and not a care in the world. 

The end of paranoia, of soldiering. Too drunk. 

“Aye....” Dan murmured, threw the cigarette butt to the floor and stubbed it 

out, whispered: “What the fuck happened to you, Vadim.” He saw how Vadim’s 

face softened and his body slackened, asleep within seconds. Anyone could walk in 

and kill him, or worse, sell him to one of the warlords. A Soviet officer, his hide 

would be worth skinning alive. Dan swallowed, some things remained unbearable, 

even after all he’d done and—worst of all—seen. 

Slipping into his thick jacket, Dan searched for a key, anything to make the 

room safer while he was gone, and found it still in the lock, inside. Damned if it 

was safe to lock Vadim in, but twice damned if it wasn’t even more dangerous to 

leave him like that. Shaking his head, he noticed the lack of hair again, still short 

from hospital and army barracks. Taking the chair, Dan locked the door on his way 

out and placed the chair right in front, half-leaning, hoping anyone careless enough 

would at least make some noise as they bumped into the chair. Key pocketed safely, 

he stopped the hotel owner who was lingering at the entrance in front of a fire, 

demanding to know how to get the stove going for a few dollars that he slipped 

into a greedy hand. No one was to enter that room, no one, and if anyone asked for 

the Soviet soldier, the owner should know nothing about it. If all was well when 

Dan returned there’d be more dollars, because he would stay and there’d be no 

trouble. Money, damned money, it bought him everything he needed. Food, drink, 

shelter, and…Vadim’s security. 

The city was dark, but remarkably lively, now that sun had set and iftar was 

taking place. People were roaming the streets under the watchful eye of the Soviet 

army, its soldiers even more twitchy and nervous as ever before. Dan knew why, 

this ‘war’ could not be won, by no one, and they’d been losing it from the very 

beginning. ‘When the battle’s lost and won’ came to his mind from school days 

long ago, and he snorted to himself as he hurried through the streets. Wrapped into 

the dark blue jacket, providing warmth for a cold October night in Kabul. 

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It took him no more than a few minutes to get his bags from the room he’d 

found, took all the items he had carefully chosen, back in Blighty, and stuffed 

some more of the food on top of it. Untying the rolled-up sleeping bag from his 

bergan, he shouldered bag, grabbed his heavy torchlight, and hurried back out, 

buying bottled water on the way. Over-priced, but worth the safety.  

When Dan returned to the hotel, the owner was in the exact same spot as 

before, waiting for his promised dollars, which were exchanged with a bundle of 

fire wood. Dan made the man swear once more, with the added force of a few 

choice threats in Pashto, not to let anyone know about the Soviet officer and the 

dark haired Westerner. Taking the stairs two at a time, relieved to find the chair in 

exactly the same position, Dan knocked on the door before unlocking it, wary in 

case his Russkie had woken and regained some of his senses. He wasn’t keen on 

having his brains blown away because of a drunken stupor. 

Nothing, though. The room was as quiet as and even colder than before, the 

single light bulb illuminating the still figure beneath the coat. Dan pulled the chair 

inside, locked the door, wedged the chair under the handle and finally dropped all 

of his bags. Standing at the foot of the bed he looked down at the motionless body. 

Nothing on show, except for the blond, shaved head and one hand, curled up into a 

fist. He grinned, the odd sensation of tenderness so new, unused and unknown to 

him, it made him shake his head and mutter to himself “fool,” before throwing the 

brand new lightweight sleeping bag over Vadim. 

Vadim heard the sound of wood on wood – one hand crept to the pistol 

under the pillow as he peered through one eye, still drunk, but as the cover 

descended upon him, his lips moved into a lazy smile. Dan. No dream. Would have 

been a strange dream, anyway. Dreams about sex usually played out in a way that 

he got something out of it, too. Apparitions didn’t just show up to kiss him, jerk off 

and then leave. Meant that this was the genuine thing. “How long...?” 

“How long, what, princess?” Dan grinned, stooped to pick up torch and 

bundle of fire wood, to work on the concoction that was meant to be a stove. He’d 

be buggered if he didn’t get that thing going. 

It took Vadim a moment or two to put the sentence together. “You...been 

here.” He blinked, saw Dan’s ass as Dan bowed down and thought this was a nice 

way of waking up, even if he was in no state to take advantage. Much. 

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“Here, as in Kabul or Afghanistan or this room?” Dan craned his head 

backwards, flashed a grin, while crouched in front of the stove, trying to figure out 

a few particularly nonsensical parts by poking around inside. 

Something else strange, Vadim wondered. Yes. Dan clean. Clothes, non-

native, not his usual ‘clobber’ as he called it. Vadim released the pistol and pulled 

his hand back. “And how did you find me?” 

Not looking back this time, Dan’s voice sounded strained as he reached 

forward and upwards, awkward in this position and in a good measure of pain from 

that damned knee. “You think I was in the SAS for twenty years, spending the last 

six of them in Afghanistan and more or less shagging the living daylights out of 

you, and I didn’t know where to ask first for that crazy-arsed Russian?” 

Vadim’s smile grew wider, just enjoying Dan’s bent back and his presence, 

his being clean, his being there, and the light-hearted talk. It hurt, gently, to have 

him back, like hands warming after the frost, a tingle and itch and burn. “Aye. 

Course you could. Would.” He rolled over to the edge of the bed, uncovering 

himself halfway, but that didn’t matter, reached out and touched Dan’s back, 

tracing the spine under the warm jumper. He couldn’t reach further than the place 

between the shoulder blades. 

Dan rolled his head, still working, smoothly curving his back under the 

touch, like a cat moving into a stroking hand. “Keep that up and we’ll never have a 

fire.” Chuckling, while Vadim’s hand paused, but didn’t leave its place. Dan was 

rewarded a moment later when the first flames sprang to life under his hands, 

swiftly eating away at the wood, growing and demanding further logs. 

“There you go. Should be warmer soon.” Dan cleaned his hands by 

clapping them together and turned, the hand falling off his back in the process. 

Groaning when he got up from his crouch. “Fuck, I’m rather stiff, and it’s not my 

cock.” 

Vadim glanced up at him, still smiling. So fucking happy to have him back. 

The only thing that mattered, the one thing that kept him going, and the one thing 

that could make him forget all the gloom. “Cold, eh? Share warmth?” 

“You can fucking bet on it.” Chucking some more wood into the fire, Dan 

bent down. “But first this,” heaving the stuffed bag onto the bed, right into 

Vadim’s hands. “Yours. Unwrap it. I declare it Christmas tonight.” Sitting down on 

the edge of the bed to light a fag. 

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“And I thought you were present.” Vadim gave a soft sound when he felt 

the weight, and struggled a bit to sit up, back resting against the head of the bed, 

pulling and pushing his body into position. Hand resting on the bag, he grinned at 

Dan. “Please, no more peanut butter. I’ll tell everything.” 

Dan pulled his face into a mock frown. “Here I am, thirty-eight years old, 

bringing my lover presents, and he is mocking me!” Placing his hand on his heart 

he tried a theatrical groan but ended up in a cocky grin instead. Realising that same 

moment he’d not even stumbled over the word ‘lover’, let alone the concept. Six 

months were a long time, stuck in hospital and rehab, mulling over and in the end 

accepting what had happened to them. 

Lover. Vadim paused, drunk mind reeling. Afghan sweetheart. Yes. But 

Dan just saying it like this? It was strange, strange and unknown. That word didn’t 

feature when they talked. Didn’t. Couldn’t. Never had. Too drunk to think clearly. 

Maybe Dan was drunk too. He peered at him questioningly. 

“Was I convincing?” Dan grinned. 

“What?” 

Dan shook his head, ignored his own question and took a drag, holding the 

fag out of the way, he waved towards the bag. “Go on, you need some food, and 

I’m bloody starving as well.” 

Vadim’s fingers found the laces, pulled them loose and opened the bag. The 

survival collection didn’t change; bandages, medical gear, food, yes, even the 

mock-dreaded peanut butter bars, which were more than welcome. As usual 

condoms, lube, whisky. All welcome, necessary, needed and sparse indeed.  

“No longer treason for you, aye?” 

“No, but even if it were, I never gave a shit when it came to this stuff.” Dan 

offered a grin, which turned into a smile, swiftly aborted with another drag from 

his cigarette. The smell of nicotine and burning firewood filled the small, rapidly 

warming room. 

Vadim placed the lube on the bed, the whisky, the packed meat and cheese 

and crisp bread. Glanced at Dan, giving him a smile, found it hard to say thank you, 

somehow. The concern. The care. His face twitched and his dulled mind wrestled 

with a way to cover this up. Didn’t like for Dan to see it. “I...” 

“It’s OK.” Dan made a curt gesture with his hand and shrugged. “Let’s get 

eating, but no whisky for you, mate, you’ll stick to the water or I’ll never get a 

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decent fuck out of you tonight.” Used bravado and bare-toothed grins to deal with 

that big, fat, enormous thing inside. The ‘thing’ that was new to him and consumed 

him inside out. Some men seemed to be slow starters and he sure as hell was one of 

them. 

“No. No whisky.” Vadim laughed, glad Dan had moved away from the 

very difficult topic of gifts. Sex, warmth. Why then were some items like these so 

important? “Shouldn’t have drunk so fucking much. Send postcard next time, so 

I’m sober when you show up, yes?” Vadim set the bag down and moved towards 

Dan on the bed, ran a hand over the stubbly cheek, through the shortened hair. Saw 

threads of silver glint in the dark hair, smelt the smoke on his breath. “Better make 

it worth your time, yes?” 

Dan swallowed hard. Since when had a simple touch changed its meaning, 

taken on gravity and made that ‘thing’ inside expand ten times, constricting his 

throat and holding his heart in a vice grip. “I’m here.” He cleared his throat, funny 

how talking was suddenly difficult, “I found you, just as I promised. That’s 

worthwhile enough.” The cigarette forgotten, burning down to a stub between his 

fingers, eating into the filter. 

Vadim nodded, still close enough to Dan’s face to feel his breath, gazing 

into the dark eyes, noticing lashes and veins in the white, the exact curve of 

eyebrows and forehead. Pores of his nose, up to where the stubble reached on the 

cheeks. Felt like he just couldn’t see enough of Dan, not often enough. “Well, it’s 

for me, but you seemed...more impatient?” Mocking him softly for the need, what? 

An hour ago? Two? Hard to judge. 

“Do you complain?” Dan smiled, oddly self-conscious under the scrutiny, 

“you didn’t seem to.” Dropping the butt to the ground, reluctant to move. 

Vadim grinned. “Sleeping Beauty, aye? You were just caught up in my 

male beauty.” 

“Yeah...,” Dan drew out the sound, “passed out, piss drunk, smelling and 

tasting of booze. I’d call that a right old Prince Charming.”