A/N: Whipped this up pretty quickly to make-up for not updating in a while. I feel guilty if I don't give you readers something new to read, you know? xD

This is one of the few smut-fics I plan on writing. By the way, I won't be doing Soap/Roach no matter how smoking hot they are! Those who are looking for smut of them should try duvalia's stories. She doesn't update anymore but she's a smut-writing genius, and most of her works involve Soap/Roach.

Enjoy this one~

Joseph Allen lied down at full-length on the single bed in the room he was provided with, staring up thoughtfully at the ceiling. Moonlight seeped in through the small opening between the drawn curtains. A dim, yellow lamp illuminated the room comfortably. There was no sound other than the hum of the air-conditioner as it cooled the atmosphere.

Half of the blanket was dangling off the bed, whereas the other half was pinned underneath Allen's leg. The pillow was already on the floor and the covers were in disarray. Allen had his arm over his forehead, not minding the messiness of the room, since he felt too comfortable to move. He wanted to rest for five minutes before cleaning it up. He wanted to appreciate the privacy following the smug silence of his bedroom.

Allen closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he fancied he heard a creak, but made no effort to investigate the source of the sound since his eyelids were heavy from the sleepiness, which was caused by the cool air.

"Do you always sleep like that?"

His eyes flew open and glanced at the door. To his surprise, Makarov was standing by the entrance to his bedroom, his back slightly to him as though he had just closed the door. His lips were tugged into a smirk, and there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Allen blushed slightly, embarrassed to be caught in such a childish condition—that, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. He averted eye contact and threw his feet to the carpet, sitting up, before pulling the blanket onto the bed.

"Heh, I didn't hear you come in," he said, chuckling nervously. "Er—you could've knocked."

"Where's the excitement in that?" Makarov's smirk became more apparent. The icy Russian tone hit Allen's ears nicely. He could also hear the gentle tap of his shoes as he drew closer.

Noticing Makarov's approach, Allen became more self-conscious. He considered reaching for his shirt or the covers to cover his upper body, but restrained himself from doing so, afraid his actions would somehow appear suspicious to the Russian—or, even worse, may elicit a chuckle, which was far more embarrassing.

He swallowed his hesitance and looked up, gathering the courage to make eye contact with Makarov as casually as possible. Allen inwardly cringed at the cold gaze he met with, the unique, blue-and-green irises staring him down with an unreadable glint.

"So, what do you want—sir?" Allen asked, forcing an inquiring smile amid his nervousness.

Instead of replying immediately, Makarov's eyes wandered to his chest, and that only made Allen bite the insides of his cheeks. He could feel a slight burn in them as the Russian stared at his torso for a few moments.

"Interesting tattoos," Makarov commented.

Allen wasn't entirely sure how to respond. He looked away and scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks…?"

Suddenly, Makarov walked up to the bed and pushed Allen down onto the mattress. Caught off guard, Allen was completely at Makarov's mercy as he took a while to register what was happening. As he was doing so, Makarov held his shoulders down, looking down at him with an amused smirk.

"Tell me…" Makarov whispered against his ear, the icy Russian accent now a sexy, seductive tone which sent tingles down his spine. "Have you ever done this before?"

Allen gulped, his heart pounding against his ribs and a blush burning his cheeks pink. His thoughts were disoriented from the suggestive position they were in, especially more so since he could feel Makarov's hot breath against his skin. He also wondered what Makarov was referring to—it couldn't possibly be sex he was talking about, could it?

"I'll take your silence as a yes," The older man chuckled.

It was then Makarov's mouth crashed against his. Allen noted the paper-like lips against his own soft ones, the tongue which slipped past and begged for entry, and when he did not give permission, the feeling of Makarov's teeth nibbling on his bottom lip to compensate for the declined access. Allen squirmed underneath the rough kiss, uncomfortable that he was actually starting to enjoy the ordeal, but froze when he felt Makarov's hands move from his shoulders. Makarov's cold palms slid down his arms and ghosted over his chest, causing him to shudder.

Suddenly, Makarov cupped his hand between Allen's thighs, eliciting a sharp gasp. The Russian forced his tongue into Allen's mouth in that brief moment of surprise, and wrapped his tongue around Allen's, all the while pressing his palm softly against Allen's hardening arousal. Allen moaned into the kiss as a result, each moan suppressed due to the lip-locking, creating strings of vibrations that tickled Makarov's lips and tongue.

Allen could feel that Makarov was working on his jeans. He could feel a pair of hands fumble with the zipper for a few moments before the Russian was successful. Makarov pulled on his jeans slightly, bringing the boxers down with them, just enough until it reached a little below Allen's waist, all the while mantaining the dominating kiss.

Then, his hands moved away from the younger man's waist and went back up to his shoulders. At this point, Makarov pulled away and bit into his throat—the sudden pain which seared through Allen forcing a gasp. The Russian's lips travelled all around his neck, tracing along the collarbones, nibbling and teasing below his jaw, until he reached a particular sensitive spot that caused a moan when kissed.

Makarov focused on that susceptible spot, sucking on it as though to soften it up. Allen's eyes were tightly shut and his jaw was clenched in an effort to hold back whimpers of pleasure. His attempt proved futile, for a loud moan left his lips when Makarov bit into the damp spot, working into a hickey.

Then there was a short tug on Allen's loose jeans. He received the message immediately—Makarov wanted him to get rid of the pants by himself, probably by wiggling out as Makarov was 'busy'. Instead of complying, Allen's feeble hands held Makarov's shoulders, but didn't push him off (he was bit too weak to do that) and a faint smirk formed on his face.

Between suppressed moans, Allen stammered, "No way, I'm not going to be the one who—aahh—gets naked first…"

Makarov lifted himself up and stared at Allen with a raised eyebrow and upward-turned lips. With the older man so close to him, Allen finally could see the true depth of his features. He was a surprisingly handsome man who looked too young to be forty-plus. And, now, he could identify the unreadable emotion in Makarov's eyes—it wasn't a glint of amusement, but lust.

He watched as Makarov sat up and removed his coat, revealing a white button-up shirt underneath. Allen's heart raced and his face absorbed into a deeper shade of red when Makarov unbuckled his belt and removed it from his jeans.

"The rest will have to wait," Makarov whispered, leaning back down on Allen. This time, he trailed his lips further down. He liked Allen's scent—the nice-smelling perfume he used still stuck to his body, and was actually appealing, unlike so many other colognes which usually had unpleasant smells. Makarov was especially sensitive to these scents, and to learn he enjoyed Allen's was just an unexpected bonus.

Makarov felt the saliva pooling in his mouth as he came across Allen's nipple. A small cry forced its way out of Allen's mouth when Makarov licked the hardening nipple and sucked on it, whereas his hand reached out for the other one and teased it. Allen was panting at this point, each moan increasing Makarov's excitement and driving him to be more 'meticulous' with his tongue and hand.

"Mmph!" Allen bit his lip, preventing the groan from escaping. The man on top of him moved back up to his face and gave him a quick peck on the swollen lips, before releasing a smug chuckle.

"Excited?" Makarov murmured, his hand moving from Allen's chest down to his waist. His fingers crawled past the boxers and stroked Allen's hardness, and he smirked when the younger man squirmed underneath the touch.

Slightly annoyed that he still had the pants on, Makarov stripped Allen down for him. Allen could feel the cold air wrap around his legs as his erection no longer had to strain against the fabric, but the coolness was replaced by a rush of heat when Makarov stroked him up and down his length. He cursed underneath his breath and closed his eyes tightly, increasingly losing his breath as Makarov increased his pace.

"Ah—aahh…" Allen could hear himself moan. It was embarrassing but he knew now there was no use suppressing them.

Makarov enjoyed the expression on Allen's face. His hand up in his brown hair, his eyes closed tightly, a pleasant blush tinting his cheeks, his mouth slightly open as he panted for air—his condition only excited Makarov more, and he strove to go faster.

Allen tensed up. His groans and murmurs were becoming more incoherent with each stroke, but every word which left his mouth was in some sort of beg for Makarov to keep going. A few moments later, when the Russian could tell Allen was close, he ordered him to open his eyes and look at him.

Allen complied, and his green eyes met Makarov's unique ones. The younger man was exceptionally fine-looking, even more so in such a vulnerable condition. He mantained the eye contact for a while, and even allowed Allen to wrap his arms around his shoulders as he let out yet another moan.

Makarov felt warm liquid against his palm as Allen relaxed. They were both panting; Allen from the release of excitement, and Makarov from the building of it. In fact, he could feel himself straining against his jeans.

Makarov hooked one of Allen's legs over his shoulder and rubbed the fresh cum between his fingers.

Allen watched curiously, and with caution. "What are you doing?"

His inquiries were answered when he felt one finger push into his opening. Allen gasped and then held his breath, clearly aware Makarov was doing this because there was no lube for their convenience. He felt the slim finger pump in and out for a few times before another one joined it. Makarov took about five minutes 'preparing' Allen, slicking him up as he trained the younger man to adjust to the feeling of having something inside him. Finally, three fingers in, Makarov removed his jeans, noticing how Allen's face absorbed into a deeper shade when he did so.

Makarov guided himself to Allen's opening, before gently pushing forward. The younger man mantained his gaze on the ceiling. Makarov wasn't fast—but he wasn't so slow, either. Shortly Makarov had already begun pushing in halfway, and Allen shuddered at the slight pain.

A few moments later, Makarov suddenly pushed into him completely, only going a bit upward this time. His movement, though rather painful, hit a spot Allen never realized he had—and an immesurable boost of pleasure surged through him. He gasped and dug his fingers into Makarov's shoulders.

Having discovered his weak spot, Makarov rolled his hips once again. The sharp moan he received was like music to his ears. He chuckled and repeated the action, rocking waves of pain mixed with pleasure throughout Allen's body.

"Borodin?" Viktor suddenly called from outside. "Is that you?"

Both of them froze. Makarov only seemed irritated by the risk, whereas Allen looked downright terrified.

"Don't say anything," Makarov murmured, leaning down to trap Allen in a surprisingly soft kiss.

Allen melted into the contact, his hands running through Makarov's choppy brown hair. However, despite the seduction, he was still slightly alarmed.

It was then Kiril's voice was heard from outside the door. "Don't disturb him, Viktor. He's most probably asleep."

"Really? I heard sounds from his bedroom."

Kiril chuckled. "Is that so? Heh, no wonder. Anyway, he must be snoring. Come, my friend, let's go."

When the silence that ensued proved their departure, Allen looked at Makarov inquiringly. "What did Kiril mean by 'no wonder'?"

"I told him to warn the others to stay away," Makarov answered with a smirk, thrusting deeper before Allen could say another word.

A/N: *takes in a deep breath* Let me just—calm myself down ./.

So, uh…review?