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The days were growing longer, but the legacy of Vasily’s commendable patience was growing thinner.
The sticky, dehydrated rheum glazing his vision absorbed the dying rays of the mid-evening sun. Where the turbulent ocean met the natural opulence of the land, icy blue eyes incorporated shards of tigerseye and citrine borrowed from the skyline to form a kaleidoscope. Behind the waxy veneer of ocular glass raced thoughts that no doctor of the mind could explain within limited terminology; none for God or glory or even the pursuit of material comforts, the cinema of his mental theatre replayed the minutes of an event that changed the trajectory of his future. Oiled paper and cellulose images of blood, saliva, and the silhouette of a fellow and equally despicable man ticked on and shifted the barren field sprawling out below him.
A sympathetic ache throbbed in the back of his mouth. Cavernous dimples encompassed by knobby scar tissue reminded him of his shattered teeth and the taste of iron whenever he tried to chew hardtack. The omnipresent cold clawed at his still raw scars; his skin grieved the permanent loss of a portion of his insulating beard. Lowering his bashlyk away from his face and moving an index finger to his lips, Vasily drowned out the lifelong consequences of his injury and considered the benefits of the encounter with his Japanese counterpart.
During his recovery, he became acquainted with medical staff and was often entertained by the friendliness of his nurses. Although his gratitude went unspoken for anatomical reasons, small depictions of wildlife and flora scrawled onto paper delighted the young women. Morphine highs burned every nerve in his body and left behind a warm emptiness and a chance for restful sleep. Once discharged back to the field weeks later, he was greeted by heavier portions of cooked meat and relied less on tasteless, government-issued rations. The characteristic deafening silence resumed among the guard, but displays of camaraderie were enough to assure him of his own existence.
Forced out of the state of his gratitude by a gust of wind, Vasily moved his fingers to affectionately regard the beginnings of a gruesome keloid on his left cheek for a few seconds before wrapping his face again. His eyes narrowed into thin, shimmering slits while reaching for a small pack situated just above his pelvis. After rifling through trivial possessions, his hand emerged with a rusty spoon; a quick evaluation of its surface located a spot devoid of the rust, which revealed a reflective silver. Most logical people would balk at the potential utility of such an old and ugly thing, but it was all Vasily needed to satisfy his objective. It may have never been used in a sweet soup, but conventional usage of utensils was reserved for conventional people.
Ripping his heels out of the snow beneath him, the sniper gathered his belongings and took a few steps backwards to gauge the projections of the sun’s rays before finding the right spot; a glint of amber sky appeared when he raised the spoon up. Both the sleeve of his wool coat and his button down sagged down to his elbow, exposing his pale forearm to the brutal elements of the impending dusk. Seconds bled into minutes before a stone of doubt sank his innards.
What if the other man abandoned this plan… what if he was captured or what if he died?
A misplaced and inappropriate sadness clouded the brilliance of Vasily’s eyes. Before his thoughts could manifest a tear, a loud clink pierced through the haze and whipped his body back into the snow with a remorseful pain sinking into his shoulder blade. Shocked eyes ripped away from the sky overhead to scan the surface of the spoon and immediately spotted the deformity — a large, conical dent in the shiny center that had been the result of a bullet so forceful that it severed a portion of the rust from the utensil. A smile that jeopardized the integrity of the tightly knit flesh of his freshly mended jaw cracked his cowled face.
He was very much alive and he was here.
The Russian man scrambled to his feet and scurried to the ledge of the hill he was upon to watch as a spectral figure materialized right before his eyes. Blending with the churning of freshly fallen snow, Ogata’s sniper cloak carried on the breeze. Vasily had entertained the idea of the Japanese man’s corporeal form simply unraveling bit by bit like the threads of a garment too ethereal for this miserable plane of existence to sustain. Blood rushed to his cheeks and his heart thundered within his chest. An abandoned longing for the presence of another soul just like him had eaten him to the rib — his naive hopes had but the scraps of thin gristle to survive off of for years.
His mind slipped away once more to a time before the war — back to a time before everything went wrong. He was assured swift victory over the Japanese and then freedom to pursue a normal life. Normalcy was a subjective, fickle thing, but he had picked up cues from society to determine what he was supposed to have. A life after the war was supposed to be spent creating a family with a pretty young woman and making his parents proud of the man he was destined to be.
The only problem was that the war had taken far too much from him, for him to start a simple life with another.
He thought back to the nurses at the field hospital. Delicate hands and sparkling eyes comforted his body and soul in a way he could not entirely comprehend, yet their kindness was wasted on the worst their society had to offer. None of those men bore the privilege of impunity. The viscous blood of his slain rivals would wilt their fragile petals and cast their offspring into generational shame. He surmised that a few of those girls were of a marrying age and perhaps some even suitable for someone like him, but he did not deserve anything beautiful.
No, a shell of a body hosting a decaying soul deserved something equally heinous — filth begot filth. The bride he yearned for was a menacing and cruel thing with a heavy militaristic veil which doubled as a disguise from which to snipe enemies. His body would never be bound by a high lace collar and ornate sleeves, but instead he shouldered the chevrons and donned the vestments of an enemy. The love of Vasily’s life was an indelicate, grizzled veteran who mirrored his own impurity.
The feminine squeals and flushed cheeks of the nurses thawed the ice he had forced to encase his heart, but even the hottest day in the coldest months could not have started the defrosting process. That honor — the prestige of cracking the impenetrable barricade that warded his soul from pain — belonged as an insignia upon the breast of a formerly nameless man he knew only from memories.
He learned of the name eventually through a mutual contact in the field: Hyakunosuke Ogata. The name itself conjured images of a noble, beloved son of Japan. His almost romantic given name was a counter, however, for the animalistic nature of his last name. Hushed rumors spoke of his birth to a wildcat — was it possible that this humanlike body sheltered the spirit of an unhinged animal?
Before he could come to a definitive conclusion, pain burgeoned in Vasily’s nose as a gloved fist connected with his face, effectively ejecting him from his dreamlike state. His lax body spilled into the snow behind him once more, with parts of it sinking deeper due to his former indent. His trembling fingers threaded together and cupped over his nose in defense, but relief escaped him in a thin sigh. The impact did not draw blood.
“How did you survive the fucking war,” Ogata questioned in his passable grasp of the Russian tongue before clearing his throat and spitting the contents into Vasily’s eyes. His shoulders shrugged away his rifle and kit, but not before stripping the bolt away from his weapon. “Maybe next time I’ll just take your head clear off.”
The Russian man winced away from the insult, but was unable to shake the surge of conflicting emotions once his beloved sank to his knees beside him. A muscular thigh swung over the Russian’s lap and the weight of the other man settled onto his groin.
In response to the movements above him, Vasily’s full eyelashes fluttered away strings of saliva. He harrumphed in simultaneous confusion and excitement behind the heaviness of his bashlyk as his palms rested upon the curve of foreign hips. A pink hue overpowered the pallor of his heritage, with Ogata’s mere presence reducing the contents of his brain into nothing more than a base for his primal curiosity. Small squeezes pushed his fingers deeper into clothed, toned flesh; hopeful reassurances intended to encourage the continuation of Ogata’s exploration.
Ogata did not protest for the moment and busied himself with pulling away the cover upon Vasily’s face, relishing in the slow revelation of a countenance permanently disfigured by his own hand. A nearly imperceptible constriction of his oblong pupils came with a low laugh stemming from an invisible joke that Vasily sought no explanation for. He leaned forward then, his empty but deliberate eyes locking with icy patience before he set his teeth to a particularly irritated patch of scar tissue at Vasily’s cheek.
The Russian man scowled instantaneously and his lips parted in a deep, rational desire to reprimand Ogata; however, intentions are not always reflected in action, and a tightness grew in the confines of his pants. Pained by his urges, Vasily directed his gaze to a nearby branch and attempted to steady his tremulous breathing pattern. He despised Ogata’s fascination with an injury that interfered with his daily happenings, but a stronger need to satiate his beloved’s sadistic streak prevented him from casting the man aside.
“You’re an ugly fucking freak,” Ogata noted coolly against inflamed tissue, his tone passing his cruelty off as an observation. He jerked his hips forward, which granted Vasily’s curious cock with a passing friction that forced the air out of his lungs. Languid shifts of his jaw sank his canines deeper into the skin there, allowing him to gnaw on his mark at a painfully slow, tormenting pace.
Vasily had determined that this was standard fare for their relationship; forged in the fires of narcissism and wrought by the crushing weight of self-loathing and depression, the two soldiers created an unlikely but mutually beneficial bond that fulfilled both of their depraved interests. In his heart, Vasily craved the idea of a romantic connection, though his war-torn brain conflated his rage and lust with something far more innocent and sincere. Ogata — ever the unreadable contrarian — had his own motivations; Vasily fetishized the idea that their lives would overlap permanently if they kept meeting up once a month.
They could be together. They could build a family. The designation of ‘normal’ could become just another bland line of his epitaph at the end of his life. He will have redeemed his chance at a normal man’s life.
The rush of his emotions manifested openly on Vasily’s face. The tenseness in his locked jaw dissolved and his mouth fell ajar while a distant paradise flickered just behind his eyes in the likeness of a picture show. His fingers loosened in their grip upon Ogata’s hips and began to skim along his sides in greater strides as if offering silent alms to his future wife. His interested cock sought out the warmth beneath Ogata’s icy exterior, aiming to bury itself and spill deep within the belly of the man he desperately loved. He longed to bestow upon Ogata the opportunity for a normal life.
Annoyance curled Ogata’s lips into a glower at the base of his enemy’s jaw. Correction for the shift in intimacy came in the form of a toothy bite and shake of the wildcat’s head. His nostrils flared and forced steam against Vasily’s skin before detaching his lips and resuming an upright posture while astride the Russian. Vasily turned his head to acknowledge Ogata’s protest by parting his lips weakly.
“Pretty.” Burdened by the stiffness in his scars, Vasily’s love-wrecked voice croaked to offer his beloved one of the only words he knew in Japanese.
“I wasn’t done,” Ogata immediately retorted, making no attempt to hide the way Vasily’s compliment darkened his raw cheeks and produced a visible twitch in his own pants. “Do you not remember how this works? Me first, then you. Unless you want to just end this all now.”
Silence fell between them, but the Russian man grew ever impatient beneath Ogata. Gently opting to assert control of the situation, Vasily forced himself to sit upright, which sent his partner tumbling back into the snow. Never one to accept the mercy of an outstretched hand, Ogata moved to swat away the incoming assistance, but found himself overwhelmed when Vasily squatted at his side and hooked quivering but strong hands beneath his thighs. Wordless tuts prompted Ogata to drape his legs over Vasily’s lap and his arms loosely looped around the Russian’s neck; a ruse of indignation protected Ogata from forfeiting any semblance of control with neutrality washing over his features.
A loud, strained grunt escorted Vasily to his feet with Ogata now forced against his body. Heavy and clumsy footfalls carried the men a short distance away from the ledge to a small encampment where the Russian man had constructed a makeshift tent with spare canvas and rope. An involuntary laugh erupted from Ogata when he realized that Vasily had crafted a private space for the two of them.
“Pitiful,” Ogata stated flatly, but his attempt failed to lessen the sight of Vasily’s blissed out expression. Pushing his way into the tent and immediately lowering to kneel against a deer pelt, the Russian man released his hold on his lover before taking Ogata’s right foot into his hands. With all of the reverence of a devout disciple, he stripped his Japanese counterpart of his ice-soaked boots and socks. A single tug of a string freed the wildcat of his cloak, which sagged lifelessly off of his shoulders before settling into a messy halo around his body.
The stimulation irritated Ogata to no end. While he withdrew in on himself in the opposite end of the tent, Vasily busied himself with removing his own accessories. The squeaking leather of his boots accented a certain urgency in his movements as they were kicked off and stored in the entrance of the shelter along with his socks, bashlyk, and heavy woolen coat. Disorganized but rapid movements within the enclosure also resulted in the lighting of a small oil lamp. The resulting dull glow of light radiating from its blown glass surface faintly illuminated the area, but lacked the power to breach the canvas overhead. Sufficiently pleased by his relative state of undress and the little ambience he had produced, he crawled on all fours towards Ogata before stopping just centimeters away and bowing his upper body down; he was prostrating himself.
Ogata stared at the unusual display of submission before sneering. He considered his options, but a hardness rubbing against the inside of his pants begged for release. Once again, the sniper found himself betrayed by the fragment of his humanity he wished would die once and for all. Defeated, he produced a low but exaggerated sigh. His arms peeled away from the safety of his chest and his fingers found the uppermost button of his coat.
“All right. Let’s be quick, then,” he digressed, but the passive invitation and his stripping was met with resistance when Vasily stopped his hands and forced them to his sides. It was an unspoken request, but it rang out louder than any cry and even louder than that fateful gunshot that intertwined their lives: let me undress you. Fundamentally lazy at his core and far too proud to exert needless effort, Ogata nodded in agreement and sat back, but not before spreading his legs wantonly and cocking his head forward. “Come.”
From the moment the blood of a lesser man painted the face of his bullet, a heaviness dissipated from Vasily’s small world. The eyes of a God who had been mythologized by literature and weaponized by the pious closed and turned his eyes from Russia’s most vulnerable minds. Damned by an intangible heaven and rejected by a proud society, was Vasily happier with the consuming heaviness of religion or with the gnawing emptiness of atheism? Perhaps a former echo of the sniper would have taken comfort in independence and faced the threat of nothing, but as his glimmering blue eyes devoured the image of a lecherous wildcat in heat, he knew that to worship was to truly live.
Vasily bowed his head in gratitude but took no initiative to advance upon Ogata for the time being. The blatant and profane invitation extended by his lover drew attention to a questionable attribute — his sexual stamina. The pressing issue of his furious and weeping cock prevented any sudden movements, as the friction provided from his trousers and his meager undergarments proved sufficient to push him near the edge. Delaying his orgasm in order to succeed with his desires became the first order of business.
He retracted his body then and moved to sit before Ogata on his bottom; Ogata responded with a stunned and annoyed wrinkle of his nose, but a flare of feline curiosity muted any unnecessary or deterring commentary. Vasily laced his fingers into the gaps produced between the buttons of his shirt and meticulously popped them out one-by-one; the restraint of a trained soldier spared his garment of any damage, and he slowly shifted forward to free his torso and arms of their bindings.
A healthy dusting of auburn hair spanned the entirety of his broad and well-defined pectorals before funneling into a relatively thin line detailing the midline from his chest to his groin. A hand idly scratched into his chest hair, but soon situated at the front of his pants and squeezed. An involuntary shutter rocked his chest and his hungry, pleading eyes rolled to the ceiling in search of the composure to move on. Slowly and steadily, Vasily pulled the buttons loose on his trousers and shed them down the impressive lengths of his legs; the stiff, unforgiving chrysalis of his nationalism and thankless duty gave way to the evolution of his human desperation.
Crowned by only a thin and tattered loincloth, Vasily’s cock stood in a defiled state; the front of his garment clung to its outline, soaked through and sodden with precum. A soft and broken whimper arose when he shifted his hips and gravity started to steal his cover, and Vasily’s eyes immediately affixed themselves to the heated cheeks and concentrated gaze of the wildcat spread before him. Ogata’s hand weakly palmed at the front of his pants, unapologetically interested in the makeshift peepshow before him.
The Russian man’s nostrils fluttered at the silent encouragement. Without a need for a preamble, he painstakingly peeled his undergarments down and discarded them with a comedic wiggle of his feet. Comfort and control alternated positions at the forefront of his thoughts, but he shunned any selfish proclivities in favor of shifting onto all fours again and approaching Ogata. His cock — heavy and needy — bobbed between his legs with every centimeter reclaimed, spilling globs of fluid onto the hide beneath their bodies before settling against Ogata’s left thigh as Vasily slung a leg over him.
A glance over Ogata’s attentive expression suggested to Vasily that their roles had reversed. Precum smeared along the sapphire fabric of the Japanese man’s uniform, staking a small claim on him while Vasily pressed his lips to the other man’s ear. A misshapen knob of a tongue slithered out from between Vasily’s lips and danced along the cartilage of Ogata’s ear just long enough to surprise his muse with a hand tucking beneath his jacket.
“Pretty,” Vasily muttered again, his truly lousy comprehension of the Japanese language on display for the other man to critique. Still, the effort in his praise drew an anxious gasp from Ogata. Rawboned knuckles brushed against the indent of the Japanese man’s abdomen, lingering there for a few seconds while he considered his next move. A cautious, questioning touch lowered until playful tugs untucked Ogata’s shirt and allowed the excess to flow over his belt. The first direct skin contact had Ogata keening into the touch; a shallow and involuntary thrust upward from the wildcat’s hips drew a low, heated chuckle from Vasily.
“Patience,” his thick, syrupy voice recommended in his native tongue. Flattening the breadth of his palm, he advanced upward and traced nameless shapes into the hardened musculature of Ogata’s abdomen. Though the search was blind, Vasily had mapped the intimate geography of every smooth curve and fuzzy valley in the furthest, most sacred recesses of his mind during previous bouts. Sparse tufts of black hair brushed over his knuckles before his palm settled firmly against the dense muscle just below Ogata’s navel. Fruitless longing for the presence of an ounce of accessory fat or the telltale swell of a fecund womb drew a sorrowful breath from the Russian man’s lips.
“You need more meat on your bones if you’re going to bear my children, Hyakunosuke.” Between the improper fusion of his mouth and the dulcet drag of lust slowing his words, Vasily produced only half of the total message.
A final pat of assurance capped localized ministrations and his fingers tapped their way down to the hemline of Ogata’s trousers. Ebbing light illuminated profiles of utility boxes shielding bullets and other survival essentials, but considerations for craftsmanship crumbled beneath the need to be deep in his muse; metallic snapping severed cloth from leather and Ogata’s belt slipped away in the growing pile surrounding him. Guttural purrs followed the descent of the Russian’s hand into Ogata’s fundoshi. Tropical heat kissed his nails; it was a refreshing vacation from the long shadow of winter. “Wet.”
Rusted cogs stuttered and then whirred behind Ogata’s thinning mask; cobbling together syllables from the limited lexicon accessible to him, a realization bludgeoned him over the head and he leaned away from the Russian. The suggestion of bearing offspring was enough to make his stomach invert. Queasiness born of repulsion coated his innards, but before his dissociation could spare him further embarrassment, a frigid and callused thumb rounded the tip of his treacherous cock. An abrupt cough and a healthy spurt of precum rocked his core and glazed Vasily’s awaiting knuckles.
“You’re disgusting and an idiot. Even if I could carry a child, I’d sooner blow my brains —” His breath hitched in his throat when Vasily gave him an experimental pump. Nervous eyes fixated on the wrist buried in his hemline before he took a steadying breath. Shaking his head in dismissal, the thrum of his arousal laced every word: “Just hurry up. This is not a date.”
Vasily sought no further counsel. Pulling away from Ogata’s lap, he regressed several steps before prostrating himself once more and resting dense scar tissue against the exposed portion of his lover’s fundoshi. Without leaving his station, he hooked both index fingers around the hips of the undergarment before shifting it down just low enough for the Japanese man’s cock to bob out. It was an unremarkable but charming thing — shorter and thinner than Vasily’s, but pale with a pretty, angry pink head that poked out past his foreskin begging for acknowledgement. The mere sight of it forced Ogata to hide his face behind heavy palms while simultaneously drawing an affectionate nudge from the man below it.
Every moon cycle began with a sinner’s baptism. Divorced long from the path of purity and justice, Vasily purged himself of trespasses and grievances by bathing in the scent and wetness of his lover. Embellishments of winter forests and sticky rice playfully coexisted within the backwash of the slightly sour notes of natural musk and gun oil in every pore of his unmarred body; not even the most prestigious of chemists could manufacture such a natural scent — such a human scent. The thought of being the sole claimant and witness to this distinct experience drove him to the edge of madness.
Heterogenous layers of ruined flesh wiped along the side of Ogata’s cock, spreading the filth of his precum into a filmy layer over one of Vasily’s scars before Vasily preemptively wet his lips. A chaste kiss gave way to his lips parting over the weeping head, though the tender ache in the back of his mouth prevented deeper penetration. Bitterness and sweat overwhelmed his senses and tears stung the corners of his eyes from the minimal stretch.
“Turn.” Flecks of his crumbling constitution roughened the edges of his Russian intonation, but the tending to his needs had commanded Ogata’s attention enough to warrant some investment. A heavy palm patted at his thigh, which prompted Vasily to pull away just long enough to shuffle to the side and settle back down into his bow with his head perpendicular to the wildcat’s midline. Newfound closeness had the same quivering paw prodding into the horrific scar tissue at his enemy’s jaw. He had taken so much from that pathetic jaw, and it seemed only fair to fill it once more.
As Vasily returned to languidly suckle on his lover, a rough thrust upward elicited a gag and subsequent cough; saliva rushed down Ogata’s shaft and Vasily raised his head slightly. A stray tear — emotionless and instinctual — dripped down his jaw; Ogata met it with a loose wipe and brought it to his mouth, which immediately curled into a suspicious smile. A hint of waxy canine emerged from between his lips and he lifted his hips again to meet Vasily’s shallow bob.
Pain erupted in the back of the Russian’s mouth. A dangerous pressure compressed the tender exit wound, with an insistent cock and a crooked finger flanking freshly healed suture marks and itchy scabs. Another hand reached for Vasily, but it elected to rake through his soaked scalp and occupy itself with clumps of knots in painstaking pulls. Passing thoughts and longing for a new ivory comb reverberated against the cock in his mouth when Vasily failed to stifle a laugh at such a ludicrous and selfish desire.
Ogata perceived the laugh as an insult. Misshapen bracket-like brows furrowed, sending droplets of sweat to rain down on Vasily. The same fingers detangling the clutter mass of auburn hair soon squeezed to seize it. A weighted strike downward pushed Ogata’s cock to strike tonsils, and Vasily jumped up and away. Wet coughs and gasps filled the tent as Vasily sat up and composed himself enough to give Ogata a glance of consternation.
A cheeky, spiteful grin touched the edges of the wildcat’s beard. “You’re bad at it. I was bored.” His hand — now clothed in frayed pieces of reddish hair — loosely wrapped around himself and gave a few open tugs to keep himself entertained and interested. “I should just finish and leave.” His thinly-veiled threat brought a huffing, disheveled Vasily closer again with his hands up in surrender.
“Stay.” A simple plea tumbled out, but his concision came with a lilt of confidence. Despite his bravado and condescension, at the end of the day Ogata was still a wildcat. A wildcat in heat. The flush of the exposed portions of his body belied any of his words. Subtle jerks of his hips and the curls of his toes were invitations to fulfill their mutual desires. He could not leave if he wanted to.
Nostalgia burned its way to the forefront of his sex-ravaged brain. He recalled a particularly cold day spent by the fireside in their family home back in his younger years. His parents and maternal grandparents shared stories of a time before his birth, but that was not the relevant detail he searched for. Although he never expressed fondness for it, the cat his grandmother cared for often joined them for stories and commanded a certain control over them. Along with an insatiable itch in his nose, the cat bestowed upon him unconventional wisdom regarding the predilections of feline companions.
Long gone were the days of his milk teeth, but cats shared the faces and blood of their ancient ancestors. Ogata was no exception. Placing a palm to the small of the wildcat’s back, Vasily started the process of massaging his tailbone. Dirt and debris beneath his nails tracked along sparse hairs. His teeth gleamed when he grit them but widened his mouth to spit at the air.
“Pspsps. Good boy.” Soothing coos fell from the Russian’s lips while a soft smile tugged his lips into a thin line.
Hyakunosuke Ogata fancied himself a proud and dignified man. Wrung out from between the legs of a depraved beauty, he survived the shame and indignity of his broken upbringing to become a fearsome and despicable sniper. Nary monsters nor demons matched his ferocity and its rightful reputation. The designation of a ‘wildcat’ and all of the stigma behind it served as a permanent guise to shroud his duplicitous intentions.
In that very moment, however, he faced the rapid disintegration of his false dignity.
An assuredly hideous scowl threatened to split his face in two, but still he fell into stunned silence as a comfortable warmth blistered within his synapses. Be it through an unlikely electrical short-circuit or a lightning strike, a tingling energy curved his spine forward and he slowly lowered to rub his face in the deer pelt until he was entirely hunched over. Flustered beyond reason, Ogata tucked his face into the velvety fur and sulked.
With fondness burgeoning in his breast and heat rushing to his cock once more, Vasily watched in awe as this cynical, wretched beast — nay, the man he loved — keened into his touch and presented his ass up into the air.
The Russian smoothed his palm over the tailbone one final time in approval before he crept closer to appreciate his work. Hushed platitudes in both of their languages filled the seconds that separated their bodies. Eventually both hands rested against the hardened muscle that composed Ogata’s ass.
“You look good like this.” The compliment was simple enough in concept, but such shorthanded colloquialisms rarely conveyed their meaning in complete context. Feigning reverence, the Russian pecked at each blushing cheek before gently parting them to reveal an eager and twitching entrance. The sight alone forced a lascivious groan from him, but the noise was buried with his remaining teeth into his lower lip. A substantial height disparity between the two forced Vasily to retreat on his knees by a few centimeters so he could properly face his intended target.
Feasting after famine paled in comparison to the depth of his hunger. Starved of frequent opportunities, his mutilated tongue tapped against Ogata’s entrance before plunging forward in earnest. An all-consuming wetness immediately sank into the pit of his stomach, cloying and primal. His own neglected cock wept between his legs, but the heady, raw taste of his lover deterred any and all selfish intentions.
Beneath him, Ogata twitched in overstimulation. Greasy sweat droplets dampened the fur against his face, creating an unpleasant friction upon his already burning skin. Unmitigated agitation and humiliation urged his mouth forward to sink his canines into the hide, effectively stifling outright mewling. Muffled whines and grunts reflected the tremulous wobble of his body and the surging lust, and unable to process his conflicting feelings, he screwed his features shut and braced.
The unkempt scruff of Vasily’s beard roughly rubbed between Ogata’s legs, but in the midst of his lapping, he grew still. For a moment, he shifted back and rested his weight atop his thighs while placing a placating pat to the small of his lover’s back. The observed trembling and separation had him thumbing through the archive of his mind to find the right words.
“Please.” He rasped — his voice nothing but a small whisper — in Japanese while bringing his free wrist to wipe at his drooling maw. “If you like it…” The blues of his eyes briefly searched the ceiling as he formulated his thoughts. “Let me hear you… I need to hear you.” The last amendment came with a gentle squeeze against Ogata’s back before he dipped down once more.
The tip of his nose tested the give of Ogata’s entrance this time. Despite the tenseness in the rest of the wildcat’s body, he seemed eager to receive any offering and his weight bore down to meet the touch. He replaced his nose with his tongue once more, paving the rim with a broad and flat stroke. Once inside that suffocating heat again, Vasily loosed an unholy moan and resumed the gentle but consistent lapping; alternating every few seconds between shallow kitten licks and deep dives, he patiently tilted his head while listening for responses.
What he eventually heard stopped him in his tracks. To the untrained ear, the droning noise mimicked the susurrus of birds; chirpy and consistent, it forced him to focus on anything other than ravishing his lover. However, those concepts were not mutually exclusive. The quivering, uncooperative body falling apart beneath his ministrations adopted a lone expression forced between grit teeth: more.
The resultant feeling was not something familiar. Neither enlistment nor personal accomplishments warranted positive reflection. It was the jagged engraving of ticks in the stock of his rifle that brought him the closest to the feeling he experienced as Ogata begged him for more. It was pride. An unfit pride stilled his movements and made him appreciate his work. Was this what it was to shatter the foundation of this beautiful and despicable beast? Was this what it was to skin a wildcat?
He longed to crawl into the empty husk that the ferine ghost occupied. Borrowed blood rushing behind his ears and coursing through his veins belonged to the guts of the other man. The heat pooling between his legs and clouding his thoughts was a boon from an ancestral spirit. Vasily deserved to melt into its pores and imbue it with something substantial. That ghost — an earthbound, wayward soul just like himself — deserved the same chance at the luxury of a normal life.
A familiar pang soon urged Vasily to withdraw his mouth, and an audible sigh echoed from the figure below. His slobbery jaw brushed along Ogata’s ass, dislodging the excess his beard failed to absorb. “I will give you more.” His right hand gracefully swept over the curve of his lover’s bottom and reached below his periphery to find Ogata’s cock drenched with the rewards of his efforts. Feverish skin pulsed within his callused hand so he gave a few long and limp strokes; the wildcat growled and turned his head away, rejecting any prospect of intimacy.
“Patience.” The Russian’s free paw crept back into the damp space his tongue left bare. Crepitus from years of shooting rang out from his knuckles as he tucked his fingertips to his palm; a preparatory crack to loosen his joints. Before long, his index finger drew a ring around Ogata’s entrance before sinking into the first joint without any resistance. Impossibly tight heat pulled his knuckle in with the strength of a tidal surge, which buried him soon to the base of his finger.
Ogata trembled. From the bristled hair of his forearms and into the crust of his marrow, every conscious part of his body fought to stave off the pleasure. Resistance to give an inch in fear of being robbed of a mile lingered like greasy bile in the back of his mind. He could taste the disdain in the gaps between his teeth. Still, when Vasily introduced a second eager finger into him and gave his cock a tug, he failed to suppress a high-pitched whine. Vasily’s spindly fingers searched through dense muscle to locate a small bundle; immediately Ogata recognized the spot and shoved his cheeks into the pelt.
Negligent in the exploration of emotion, he mastered instead the art of observation. Few things caught his interest, and even fewer actually mattered at the end of the day. A learned tactician by trade and creed, he knew of a perfidious weakness deep inside. As his enemy curled his fingers and jabbed into the dark, Ogata watched his mask of apathy crumble away from the whiskers on his face and vanish into the world below his shaking eyes. An unforgivable howl left him, and he raised his head with haste to face Vasily.
Equally stunned, a tempestuous sea stared back before blackness filled those eyes; the torch of reservation and selflessness fizzled out. Strings of saliva kept the Russian’s fingers connected to Ogata as he moved to reclaim his full height upon his knees. The weight in his thick cock suddenly propped itself against the wildcat’s tailbone, leaking an obscene puddle of precum into the dimples there. Sticky from sweat and set aflame by Ogata’s wordless affirmation, he rutted forward to jam his needy head beneath the hem of the shirt and into the tailbone. The target of his seed, however, lingered beneath that skeleton and instead in the imaginary cradle of his pelvis.
He imagined then the sight of idealized and forced domesticity. They would part by the end of the night, but the Japanese man would leave with more than he had arrived with; a heavenly gift and a hellish curse that would carve their bond — their love — into stone forever. Vasily would chase him to the edges of their frozen world, watching from a distance as his lover forfeited control and possession over his body to bear something Vasily fucked into him. Soon they would both bear the indelible mark of the other.
Vasily drooled at the thought. “So fucking pretty.”
Grimy fingernails burrowed into the meat of Ogata’s hips, promising to bruise but threatening to puncture. Ogata briefly regarded Vasily’s heavy cock gliding against his back; based on the annoyance in his eyes, he appeared to lack appreciation for stickiness and the noises of squelching. Vasily leaned in then, capturing the buttons of Ogata’s shirt beneath his fingers and fumbling with them to free Ogata’s chest. Pulling away and encouraging Ogata to come upright, Vasily tugged away the remainder of the wildcat’s garb and tossed it over his shoulder.
“Hurry up,” the Japanese man barked in a sonorous boom, growing visibly restless. He started to move back into his presenting position, but a hand reached out to rest against his lower abdomen. He looked back with a brow raised and a sniff wrinkling his nose — a silent question.
“Back. On your back. I want to watch you,” Vasily answered in kind, his hand willing success into the belly beneath it. The wildcat rolled his eyes but complied; turning to face Vasily, he begrudgingly drank in the sight of the towering figure and its flushed, generous cock twitching over a thigh. Once his shoulders brushed against the pelt, Ogata found himself overshadowed by his enemy.
The Russian licked his lips at the sight of his lover’s pretty pink nipples; the firm, aroused nubs racked his brain, filling its valleys with the desires of sweet and salty whey. Pressing closer, he lifted the other man’s ankles and propped them up upon his shoulders and shoved himself flush against that enticing, eager hole. The tip of his cock spit a fresh coat of precum as it began to breach Ogata’s heat.
Ogata tensed and averted his gaze once more, but his brain went haywire when Vasily growled and abruptly buried himself to the base in one sharp snap of his hips. He yelped in surprise, his own cock leaking against his bare belly as the Russian shifted his weight against Ogata’s shaking thighs to trap them in. His toes flexed in frantic pulses over his enemy’s head, crowning him with a position no one deserved.
Vasily wiggled his hips to adjust before tucking his face just over a shoulder. “So fucking… tight… just touch me, Hyakunosuke,” he whispered into the shell of a blushing ear, shuttering as he planted his palms at their sides and withdrew only a few centimeters before thrusting deep again. The initial pace set was agonizing and slow, as both men knew they would not last long. The meaty head of the Russian’s cock brushed against Ogata’s prostate, sending electrical pulses crawling down his back and discharging into the prickly goosebumps along his limbs.
Ogata refused to face Vasily, but he draped his arms over the enemy’s shoulders and dug his fingers into the skin there. The painful encouragement garnered a long growl of approval as Vasily’s began thrusting with purpose; every long pull punctuated a rough snap, painting the walls of the canvas with wet sounds of slapping hips and balls smacking against the curve of Ogata’s soaked ass. Seeking purchase in the deepest spots of the wildcat’s belly but lacking the experience to reach, overzealous shoves and uneven jerks assured that the pace was never consistent.
“You take me so well. You were made for my cock. You look so pretty on me.” Gargled Russian hissed between them, leaving Ogata none the wiser as he was dangerously close to the edge. Soft gasps contrasted aggressive grunts, with the detached pleasure of the wildcat losing in their verbal war of attrition. Vasily, however, could feel the edge of his partner through the vice grip surrounding his cock.
With one piercing bite to his earlobe and a stabbing thrust into his abused prostate, Ogata stepped into the looming darkness. Relieved tears blurred his vision and spilled down his thin, scarred cheeks. A pronounced cry followed by a timid whimper carried him to completion, and his mostly touch-starved cock spilled over his abdomen. Every muscle in his tired body loosened and he became a putty beneath the weight of his lover.
Vasily lapped at the pinpoints of blood on Ogata’s ear before tracing the curve of his jaw with kisses. “Need to fatten you up. Fill you up. Make you mine.” Beads of stale, sour sweat dripped down into his lover’s listless expression as Vasily closed in on the cusp of his own orgasm. The calluses on his feet scraped away at the rough earth, revealing raw and tender skin on his heels as he continued to climb his way into the belly of the beast.
Devolving even further into messy and stuttering thrusts, he pressed his nose against the hollow of Ogata’s cheek in search of a kiss. Chapped lips tasted rice and snow at the corners of his lover’s neutral mouth before capturing it. Sticky saliva and a deformed tongue slid into the Japanese man’s throat like a sludge, but a brief moment of clarity sent sharpened canines plunging into scar tissue.
The bite sent Vasily careening into his orgasm. After a few aborted thrusts, one final slam into the wildcat’s heat sent wave after wave of cum flooding into the depths of Ogata’s belly. Determined to be milked of every last drop, he spent the remainder of his energy spreading his seed along the inner walls with sluggish, flippant flicks of his hips. Exhaustion sank into the Russian’s core and he fell forward, pinning Ogata’s thighs and withered cock between them.
Persistent squeezes against his shoulders silently begged Vasily to get up, but he refused to move until his softening cock deposited every last desperate drop. “Stay… stay like this. Just a few minutes longer.” The gravity of Ogata’s elevated hips was something of a deliberate construction, as Vasily had once heard a dated old wives’ tale that encouraged women to keep their hips elevated in order to help seed take root. Once again tickled by his memories, Vasily managed a hearty laugh, much to the wildcat’s dismay.
After a few minutes, Vasily pried his drained cock away from Ogata and collapsed next to him on the pelt. His lover said and did nothing after spending himself, opting instead to take an uncharacteristic nap. With little time left in their monthly trust, the Russian shifted closer to Ogata and rested a hand gingerly against the slope of the man’s pelvis. This time would be different.
Cresting over the horizon, the blood of the sun’s afterbirth washed over the tent. Light stung Vasily’s eyes, but he remained unresponsive until the sound of fabric shuffling and a fresh gust of winter air awoke him from his slumber. Surging upright, he found that no trace of the wildcat’s possessions remained scattered around the area. A lonesome, hollow ache settled into the pit of his stomach as he moved to pull on his trousers and shirt; however, a sudden sharpness raked across his back and forced him to shove away the garment.
Nestled within the wrinkles of the shirt was a long, pronged, cream-colored accessory — a comb, but not one he recognized. The matted hair upon his scalp shifted with a scratch, and his roots throbbed with the memory of Ogata running his fingers through his hair. Urgency forced Vasily to his feet and out of the tent without his shoes. Icy snow squished through his pale toes as he rushed to the observational ledge where he first spotted Ogata the night before.
Back turned to Vasily, the whipping silhouette of a white shroud carried his bride further and further away from his sight. He tried to call out in protest, but a sharp and depleted pain sealed his mouth again. Still, the broad features of the escaping ghost paused in their retreat and turned to face Vasily; tucked behind the safety of his hood, Ogata remained expressionless as he parted his cloak and rested a gloved palm to the base of his pelvis. His child. Their child.
His lips mouthed a laugh — ha ha — before he turned and continued on, leaving Vasily to collapse to his knees and offer a wordless thanks to whoever was listening.