Special Forces: Soldiers Vashtan/Aleksandr Voinov and Marquesate

Carefully, as if nervous he could startle the strange new Dan, Vadim 

brushed his lips against the other man. Broad light. Without sex, just so, like in the 

cave. “I’d call it test firing gun.” 

Dan laughed quietly, the sound as warm as the fire in the metal stove, and 

as comfortable as the sleeping bag. “Aye, I did and it worked. Had to make sure.” 

 550 

He lifted his hand, was about to abort the motion it mid-air, when he smiled 

and let his fingertips run down the side of Vadim’s face. His own hands less 

calloused than usual, blond stubble beneath his fingertips more intense. “I fucking 

missed you, Russkie. The bastards didn’t want to send me back. According to them, 

I belong to the scrapheap with my knackered knee. Desk job, I told them to fuck 

off.” His hand was still stroking with slow, deliberate movements. “Politely, of 

course.” 

“Of course.” Vadim breathed a short laugh. He could imagine. Hardly any 

chance in arguing with Dan. What Dan lacked in insight, he had surplus in brazen 

balls. “Didn’t court-martial you, then? And you left.” Vadim’s eyes opened. 

“You...you know, you’re free. No more freezing up in mountains, no more evading 

patrols.” No more turkeys, and no more bullets with your name on them. 

“Not quite.” Dan shrugged, his hand creeping to the back of Vadim’s neck, 

resting there, comfortable. “I’m looking for a job, close security they call it 

nowadays. Should be plenty around, here in Kabul. Got a lead, seems they are 

looking for some grunts for the newly installed ambassador in the British 

embassy.” Leaning forward, he gently head butted Vadim. “Still, sounds cushy, 

eh?” 

“Better than mountains,” agreed Vadim, and smiled, keeping his forehead 

right against Dan’s. “I’m stationed here for while. Help retreat. Lots of paperwork. 

Coordination. Talking. Will be exercises in spring, but it’s just…spending time. No 

great offensives planned. It’s burning low, fire of this war.” 

Nodding slowly, Dan murmured, “this war’s not going to go on forever…” 

he didn’t want to go there, couldn’t finish the sentence. The end of the war would 

be just that—the end of everything. “Still, before then we have food to eat, booze 

to drink, and bodies to fuck, eh?” 

Vadim inhaled deeply, alcohol loosening the tongue, and thought, and 

emotions, it seemed, and he couldn’t care. The threat of some other war was far 

away, this wasn’t quite finished. He couldn’t make plans beyond this war. 

There was another rank to climb in the next, what, five or seven years, or 

less. “Just...for while yet. Still have you,” he murmured. 

“Aye...as long as this war keeps you here.” Dan frowned. Morose shit and 

maudlin thoughts, he didn’t need that. Jerking his head back, he shook it 

vigorously. “Food. Now.” 

 551 

Vadim leaned back, grinning, tightness and heaviness in his chest, and 

made a sweeping gesture to the bergan. “Dish up.” Sounding almost like Dan, from 

another day, similar situation. 

Dan was glad for the sudden change, threw his rag onto the bed, pulled out 

the rest of the food, slicing the packages open with his favourite knife, and 

arranged a spread of meats and cheeses and bread across the rag. The oven was 

giving off good, solid, living heat, and Vadim stood to undress facing it, watched 

by Dan, while allowing the warmth to wash over his skin, and his face, reddening 

from the heat and maybe the strange, and not so strange thought. Lovers. No longer 

two men who got off on the same stuff. Comrades, lovers, even worse. From his 

lovers – and they seemed precious few in hindsight – none was like Dan. As good 

as Dan. Vadim pulled the shirt free and rubbed his chest in a strangely self-

conscious motion, then glanced over his shoulder, smiling. “Do you...meet others 

when you are in London?” 

“London?” Dan looked up, this was the second time Vadim mentioned the 

city. Seemed that foreigners couldn’t think of any other place in Britain than 

London. “No, I don’t usually go to London. I used to stay in smaller places, near 

the barracks, and up to Scotland to visit my brother.” 

“Oh yes, you said. Edinburgh. Place with castle on mountain.” Vadim 

turned his back towards the oven and opened his belt. “Small big country.” 

Dan turned round, shrugging out of his jacket while watching Vadim 

intently, whose body had never lost its fascination. 

Vadim opened the trousers and kept his hands there for a moment. “You 

can’t do it in army. It’s illegal. But outside. You can. Less hiding.” There are gyms 

and bars and...he shook his head. Not allowed. Dan was not supposed to know 

about Darren, or Mark, or his trip to London. Shit. 

Dan’s brows drew together, but the frown vanished before it could settle. “I 

guess so.” Shutting himself off from further answer or question by vigorously 

pulling the jumper over his head and getting ‘stuck’ in it for a long moment. 

Vadim allowed the trousers to fall and stepped out of them as he placed his 

hands on Dan’s flanks, just tracing the lines there, warm skin on warm skin, and a 

half-drunk, half tender desire washed away the question, at least for the moment. 

Too long, and Dan back. He kissed Dan’s shoulder when it was bared, then his 

neck. 

 552 

Reluctant to break the touch and kiss, Dan sat still for a while, before 

pulling the jumper off to drop it behind him. Looking up, slowly, all the way from 

the abs across the chest and pecs, to the face that was looking down at him. A slow 

grin began to spread across his face. “You want to see a seriously cool scar?” 

Vadim smiled. “If it’s in good place?” 

“Train tracks along my knee. They don’t tend to have knife wielding 

Mudjas running around in Britain who think that slashing my face is fun.” Dan 

flashed a wry grin, working on the buttons of his denims. Fabric so soft and well 

worn, it slid smoothly over his hips when he lifted off the bed, pushing them all the 

way down to his ankles, then kicked them off. “See?” Lifting his knee, the scar ran 

neatly down the middle. “They opened it up and drilled holes to make stuff fill 

back up again.” Grinning, “Or whatever else they tried to explain.” 

Vadim stared at the scar. That looked painful, to say the least. Nothing 

small or nice about it. It looked...bad. He reached down to touch the knee. “But 

you can use it? I mean, it doesn’t hurt?” 

“It’s a lot better than it was before.” Another question deflected, Dan 

pointed to his cock, flaccid on his thigh. “I think there’s a scar here...” Waggling 

his brows with a cheesy grin. 

“Would be interesting to learn how you got it,” said Vadim, grinning. 

“Well, you see, there was that Amazonian tribe in the mountains, all fierce 

Afghan warrior women, and they were fighting over me. Their Queen got me by 

the balls and decided to mark her property by taking a hefty bite, when just at that 

moment a rival clobbered her over the head and I managed to get away.” 

Vadim gave a laugh, pushed Dan’s legs apart and kneeled between them, 

hand again touching the scar on that knee, the strange new trait on Dan’s body. 

Imagining the cut, and Dan on an operating table, and being thankful it was only 

the leg. Drunk enough to not worry overly much, and clearly drunk enough to not 

mind Dan’s connection between ‘food’ and ‘cock’. He glanced to the food and 

decided it could wait. Lube was close, too. Check.  

“Oi, Russkie, I was just joking. It’s technically your turn to get blown.” Not 

that Dan’s protest was more than a token. 

“My turn?” Vadim rubbed his face against Dan’s inner thigh, right up, until 

he brushed the cock and balls with his face. Still felt dulled and lazy, but he’d get 

into the spirit, no doubt. Strange to think Dan kept track of who did what to whom. 

 553 

Vadim didn’t. It was a mood thing – right now, he wanted to give Dan something. 

And knowing how much Dan loved to fuck his throat, and Vadim feeling generous, 

that was that. 

“Aye,” Dan drew in a quick, sharp breath, “theoretically...your turn, but...” 

His hand was already in the short-shaved hair, feeling the familiar buzz on his 

palm. No longer soft, interest sparked by the promise of lips and throat. Something 

he’d come to regard as a ‘treat’. Dan grinned, leaned to kiss Vadim’s forehead, lips 

moving against skin as he murmured, “Seems I might be old but not past it yet.” 

Could feel himself hardening slowly but steadily, without so much as a touch. 

 “Tell me,” said Vadim, moving forward to briefly lick that swelling head, 

“what you were dreaming, there. All that rest, must have been boring.” Another 

lick, more serious now, well aware of the hand that could try and force him. But 

that was always part of the deal, and he wouldn’t mind being forced.  

One slightly faster breath every time Vadim took a lick, before Dan 

answered. “Less dreams than daydreams.” Looking down at his hand, the head, lips, 

part of the face. Fingers moving against the short hair. “Your arse, your throat. In 

all ways, every way. Your body, all of it. With time, no threats, and...,” stalled, 

second hand creeping to the back of the other’s neck, fingers tightening at the next 

words, “ropes and knives, chains...” 

Vadim’s breath caught at the last, at the force he could feel against his neck. 

Strong fingers. The promise of strength, of that edge between pain and naked lust. 

Yes. That thought aroused him, body not caring about the caution. Time. With no 

threat. They would be able to do things like Darren and Mark did. Tied down and 

fucked. He moved closer, taking Dan between his lips with a sudden hunger than 

overrode the teasing. Semi-drunken mind accepting the images. Tied down, 

stretched, moaning with pain. 

Dan shuddered, felt the sudden hunger, its shift from leisurely teasing to 

greed. His fingers tensing, digging harder into neck muscles, pulling closer, down, 

making Vadim take his cock. Deep, better than images and memories. The 

goddamned real thing. “I’m going to fuck your throat.” Pressed out between his 

teeth. “Coz I fucking missed you.” 

Force. Yes. Couldn’t have done it before, Vadim thought, now he could, 

not with Darren, shit, because Darren had never beaten him. Never broken him. 

But he knew the savage strength in Dan, and that was what made him do it, again. 

 554 

Not resisting as Dan shoved his head fully onto his cock, relaxed and accepting. 

Greedy enough to take this all the way without panicking, assuming the faster and 

harder they did it, the sooner he’d breathe again. Hands grabbing Dan’s legs, 

pulling him closer to the edge, falling into a quick, unforgiving rhythm as if it was 

him that forced Dan, not the other way round. Both. Neither. 

Force and need, love and lust, it all came together, and Dan’s mind blanked 

with every brutal push of almost painful intensity. He felt as if he could come again 

and again, endless orgasms, wherever, whenever and in all eternity. Losing himself 

too soon, he gasped and moaned, long forgotten the cautious silence when he thrust 

hard, kept the head locked, convulsing and cumming while feeling lips against his 

groin, and a throat frantically gagging against the intrusion of his cock. “Fuck!” 

Dan groaned out, hips bucking, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

No breath. No air. Body fighting on its own. Vadim couldn’t deny the 

reflex, the training to stay alive, keep breathing, and the loss of air and control was 

a cold blade touching his brain. Nevertheless. The heat. Heat in his face, heat 

everywhere in his mouth, down his throat, running towards his stomach, burning 

like vodka. Heat at the back of his head, holding him, engulfing him, and Vadim 

was close to cumming as well, body just doing its thing. His right hand released 

Dan’s thigh and reached for his own cock, knew it could be fast, just a few quick 

strokes, but right now. 

The movement of neck and shoulder under his hands brought Dan partially 

back to conscious thought. Keeping his hands where they were, one on the top of 

Vadim’s head, the other in the back of the neck. Steadying, while his cock was 

softening, allowing air. He could hear the whistling breath and feel the harsh 

movement of his Russkie’s hand, jerking off. 

Vadim couldn’t think of freeing himself, Dan’s grip meant he was staying 

right there, as simple as that. Strong grip, motions not conscious, just doing what 

needed doing, feeling his body tense, knees on the floor, taste and smell of Dan. 

Dan close, never mind the kneeling, whatever, didn’t care, just took the need and 

increased it, pressure already close to boiling, and he came with a few harsh 

motions. Eyes closed, trick of the mind, seeing Dan, feeling and smelling Dan as 

he did, not aware at the same time. 

Only when Vadim’s shudders subsided and the body stilled, did Dan let his 

hands lose tension, sliding down, while keeping contact. Fingers on skin, heat 

 555 

transferred between palms and body. “Hey, Russkie.” Murmured, as he gazed 

down onto the other’s head. 

Vadim looked up, raising his head enough to let Dan’s cock slip out, and 

gave a grin. “Aye? Listening.” He cleared his throat – felt raw, but that was well 

worth it. Somewhat self-consciously reaching for the rag and cleaning himself up, 

but remaining on his knees. 

“Nothing.” Dan shrugged and grinned, lopsided. “Just testing if my voice 

still works.” Allowing his hands to fall off Vadim’s body, he shuffled back on the 

bed to fall to the side, supported by his elbow. “You hungry?” Still grinning, 

seemed impossible to wipe it off his face. 

“Aye.” Vadim gave a short laugh. “You look well-fucked. Already.” He 

stood, popping his neck on purpose, pleased when the tightness left. He motioned 

to the food. “And willing to share.” 

“Already? What’s that supposed to mean?” Dan arched a brow, reaching for 

the knife amongst the food. “That was number two for me. You try and top that, 

old man.” 

“I’m starting at…disadvantage.” Vadim walked around the bed and sat 

down heavily, pulled his legs up and stretching out, head fell to the side to watch 

Dan cut up the food. Darkened hand on the gleaming knife. Cutting. He gave a 

toneless laugh at the way that fucked his mind, and moved a bit closer. 

Looking up curiously at the way the bed moved slightly, Dan wondered 

about the peculiar expression on Vadim’s face. Decided he was seeing ghosts, he 

stuck pieces of cheese and ham onto the tip of the blade, holding it out to the other. 

“Eat, you might catch me up on my advantage.” Arranging whisky, cheese, salami 

and bread in front of him, before tucking in ravenously. Wellfucked, indeed. 

Hungry, warm, and plain old satisfied, lying on that grubby bed in front of 

his…yeah, shit. Lover. Dan couldn’t help a goofy grin as he looked back up, 

watching Vadim chew. 

“You make good porn material, you know.” 

Vadim managed to swallow, but just barely at that, and gave Dan a 

surprised stare. “What?” 

“Well,” Dan shrugged, “for me anyway. But judging from the couple of 

mags I managed to snatch in a crap porn shop ‘under cover of night’, you’d beat 

any of the so-called studs on there.” 

 556 

Studs. What a ridiculous word. Dan had gone into a porn shop and bought, 

yeah, porn. Of course. That stuff was available in London, he remembered having 

marvelled at the ease to get whatever he wanted. Stuffing his face with a big piece 

of cheese, Dan washed it down with an equally large gulp of whisky. “Let’s face it, 

Russkie, you’re fucking perfect, and I hazard a guess that you know it.” 

Good for the cameras. Good for the clothes. Endearing athlete, in tight 

swimming trunks, every muscle taut in his body. Vadim had never thought about it 

that way – flesh was flesh in sports, and had a meaning beyond the jerking off part. 

He wondered what people had felt staring at him. Staring at the fencing lunges 

performed in the tight white dress, breeches and socks oddly enhancing male and 

female forms. Especially with the coiled up energy inside. Yes, he was as close to 

perfection as he could maintain. An end in itself. Not for anybody but himself. To 

intimidate. To keep up appearances in all ways that mattered. 

“You should have seen me in Montreal.” 

“I did. Photos.” Dan pushed himself up, sitting on his hip. Fingers leaving 

greasy prints on the tin mug filled with whisky. “How the fuck do you think I knew 

who you were? Seven years ago, after Kabul.” Taking a mouthful of single malt, 

he cherished the taste, before reaching for his pack of Superkings, tapping it open 

and fishing a cigarette out. “Soviet hero. Athlete, pentathlon, and then elite soldier. 

When you finally told me you were Spetsnaz you just verified my suspicions.” He 

lit his fag, taking his time before exhaling the first plume of smoke. “I never told 

anyone.” A rueful smile twisted the scar in his face into shapes of shadow and light. 

“Not quite like that. Many of Soviet athletes are soldiers. All killers. Even 

women. You make fun of female Soviet swimmers, but they are lethal. Not pretty. 

That’s not their job. There’s plan behind it. Olympic cadre is small army in heart of 

enemy. You wouldn’t believe how much goes on behind scenes.” 

Vadim grinned, but shook his head. “I liked the mask too much. Delusional. 

Never first class athlete. Went into pentathlon because I wasn’t fast enough as 

swimmer.” He gave a snort. “But first class Spetsnaz. Irony, eh?”  

“Better than me.” Dan shrugged, “I was never anything but a soldier. No 

more, no less, and now I’m not even that anymore. Guess I have to find myself 

something else to be first class in.” Smoke tendrils curled out of his nostrils as he 

chuckled, “what about first class fuck?” 

 557 

Vadim grinned. “Gold medal in cocksucking? Interesting...idea.” Dan 

laughed and Vadim reached for some of that cut-up cheese and tossed the bits in, 

chewing in between. “Still think, was best time of my life. Apart from 

time…here.” Touching Dan’s arm briefly. Not here: Afghanistan, but here: with 

you. 

Dan smiled, slowly exhaling smoke, watching the white-grey plumes waft 

out of sight. He didn’t try to stop himself this time, touching the no-go subject. 

“Your family? What time of your life was…is that?” 

“I sometimes feel like guest in their life. Russian style guest, so...welcome, 

and heartfelt, part of it, but...” Vadim swallowed. The provider. Himself covered 

for by the real protector. 

“But?” Dan stilled, intently watching him. He knew something about 

feeling like a stranger in a house and amongst a family that was his own, but knew 

nothing about having a wife, let alone children. Children. Fucking impossible 

thought. 

“Maybe I should let them go. So Katya’s free. So I’m not just...absence in 

their life.” Vadim shook his head. “I love...them very much, but what father am I? 

I’m not much of husband but paying most of bills.” 

Torn between shaking his head and nodding, Dan was reduced to asking yet 

another question. “Why did you marry? I mean, why did you get her pregnant in 

the first place?” Stubbing the fag out on the side of the bed, he let the butt drop to 

the floor. “I don’t think you ever told me. I sure as fuck never asked.” Did he 

sound like a jealous lover? Asking and prying, poking and pulling at a scab. 

“Living with the Hungarian fencer was not option,” Vadim murmured and 

shook his head. “I married because she promised to protect me. All I had to be was 

father to her child. For fucking career. To stay out of prison. To have fucking life.” 

Vadim stood, driven up by what felt like pain, and could just be guilt. 

“What if you hadn’t married.” Dan didn’t move except for his head. 

Following Vadim. “And what if the army hadn’t provided conscripts for male flesh 

and blood, and silence.” 

Vadim shook his head. “No idea. Maybe different career. Maybe just left, 

gone somewhere else, where it doesn’t matter.” Yes, him cutting wood in Siberia. 

Or something. Don’t kid yourself, Vadim, you don’t have the taste for living rough. 

 558 

“Would you have deserted? Left the Soviet Union and gone to a country 

where it doesn’t matter?” 

Vadim shook his head. “I’d done my two years. But...there’s still my father. 

Extended family. Just running away...” so I can fuck men – and be fucked with no 

danger. How pathetic. “...What other choice do I have? All decisions were made 

long ago. This way, I could travel. Meet you. That’s something.” Vadim looked at 

Dan on the bed. 

Taking another mouthful of whisky, Dan shook his head. “Shit.” Murmured 

to himself, the again, “shit.” Just quietly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Bold-faced lie, “just me being a pathetic poof.” Lips curling 

into an acidic grin that didn’t touch Dan’s eyes. “I just realised something.” 

Downing all of the whisky that remained in the mug. “You’ll be fucking off back 

home. Back to the Soviet Union. Family.” Wiping his lips, throat burning, belly on 

fire with the liquor. “When this war’s over, so are we. Over.” Dan put on a fake 

smile. “Best get some food and fucks in before that, aye?” 

Vadim nodded, speechless for a moment by the ache he felt at the thought. 

Could he do that, live with Katya, living that marriage for the happiness of children 

– well, in addition to the worry and the burden, and the hassle. No sex, no Dan, 

maybe the occasional high-risk fuck that Katya arranged for him. Finding a way to 

do this in Moscow. How? He had no idea. “Might ask to be posted somewhere else. 

German Democratic Republic, maybe. That’s...closer.” 

Dan shook his head, “don’t be stupid. Closer or not, there’s the Iron Curtain 

and they sure as fuck wouldn’t let an ex-SAS soldier through.”