The way Hotel Moscow flanked their kapitan, Balalaika's side was one of the safest places in Roanapurr. Rock agreed immediately when she asked him on a weekend training mission outside the city. Alarm bells should have gone off when the convoy dropped them off alone, the barrel of Balalaika's rifle banging the car door on the way out.
Rock stared at the cars' vanishing taillights. "Miss Balalaika, where are they going?"
"Where they're wanted," she replied, handing him a backpack.
Rock frowned at her cryptic answer, following her into the greenery. He would have welcomed extra firepower.
They marched through the forest at a steady pace. Balalaika led him down a little path that shrunk the deeper they went, cutting uncomfortably down steep slopes and snarling roots. Rock didn't want to out himself as the most urban breed of human, but he definitely wished there was gravel, if not an actual boardwalk through the leaves.
Balalaika turned to him after they reached a flat clearing. "How are you feeling, Rock?" she asked.
"It's not bad," Rock said honestly, giving his pack a shake. Something clanged loudly, making him jump.
Balalaika grinned at his reaction. "Well, we're not in a rush. Let's take a water break, and move in five minutes." She pulled the gun over her head and set it on the floor, her own pack landing next to it.
Rock followed suit, rummaging around his bag for the bottle. Or canteen, whatever. He hoped he wouldn't pull out a tent pole. No need to look incompetent in the first hour. A cardboard box poked his palm, and Rock figured it was the muesli bars. He grabbed it and pulled it out.
"Hey, I think we have som—" Rock's voice died when he saw the picture of a jolly, phallic cartoon on the box. He dropped it and swore loudly.
The woman who packed their bags had the nerve to look surprised. "What's wrong?" Balalaika said, looking up in alarm.
"What are these?!" Rock demanded.
Balalaika had to lean over, and Rock wasn't ready to see her flinch. When she slowly looked up, Balalaika looked like she had difficulty breathing.
"I think they're condoms," she said at last, staring fixedly at him.
Not looking at the box wasn't gonna make it evaporate. Rock felt his face burning.
"No shit!" he yelled. "What's it doing in your bags?!"
She didn't respond immediately, and Rock flashed through every negative outcome involving using the condoms, then the gun. For all her psychopathic tendencies, Rock never expected Balalaika to be that kind of criminal!
Balalaika cleared her throat.
"They're survival tools," Balalaika said, and Rock groaned. Her eyes half-closed in that slow blink she did right before doing something outrageous.
"It's true," she drawled. "They're essential for any soldier, and if you're going to perform well on this mission, you'll learn how to use them soon enough."
Saying "I already know how to use a condom" to his female employer sounded way too vulgar, but Rock's brain stuttered to a stop before he could call her. "I- You- We both know what these are, so why—"
"Would you like a demonstration?" Balalaika said lightly. She opened the box with a swift finger, pulling out a little silver packet by the time he found the words again.
"I'm not — I'm not having sex with you!" Rock exclaimed. He back-pedalled into a tree, unable to take his eyes off her hands.
Balalaika snorted. "As if that's the only use for a condom." She tapped the condom to her chin, looking thoughtful.
I'm going to be alone with this woman two whole days, Rock thought. Fuck my life.
She finally pocketed the horrendous little packet and picked up her pack. "Looks like I'll have to show you later!" Balalaika said cheerfully, walking off.
He stared at her back, resisting the urge to mouth Revy's favourite words. Logically, Balalaika had put the condom away because there was no fucking use for it in the jungle, but a small voice told him not to be optimistic. Rock took several deep breaths before grabbing his own pack, following Balalaika into the most awkward weekend ever.
A rabbit had to be the author of such a narrow, twisting road. Even though Rock's feet caught in more branches than a bad sabah dancer, the fear of crashing into Balalaika helped him regain his balance every time.
Balalaika was walking a few paces ahead, her long strides seemingly unchanged by the terrain. Rock studied her from the back. Plucked out of her cushy office, Balalaika was almost unrecognisable, her trademark frizzy hair now pulled into a dutch braid, dangling as a thick rope down the side of her pack. Dressed in olive green camouflage, she nearly blended into their surroundings seamlessly, if not for the stiff gun barrel cutting across her back.
She squared her shoulders much more when she wasn't in a skirt and blazer. Rock started; there was something about her outfit's straight cut that looked familiar. "Miss Balalaika, is that… uniform?" Rock asked.
Balalaika turned around, beaming like she'd received a fabulous compliment. "Why, this old thing?" she said, smoothing her shirt. "It absolutely is; do you like it?" Balalaika winked.
"Where's all the…um, pictures?" He struggled to find the word, gesturing towards her shoulder.
"The insignia?" Balalaika filled in the term. "Not on these fatigues, I'm afraid. They're still on the coat though."
A faded blue patch with symmetrical aircraft branded each sleeve of her greatcoat, Rock remembered. They continued to walk.
"Special forces?" he asked, recalling Benny's words.
"I'm flattered, but no," Balalaika said, her voice sad. "Spetsnaz has far better job security.
"We were desantniki, paratroopers," she continued. "We were good, but no one needed us after the war."
It made sense, Rock thought. The Soviet-Afghan war was dogged by the fall of the Soviet Union, and work ran in short supply.
"They laid off your unit?" Rock wondered.
She snorted loudly. "Try 'disbanded, scapegoated and exiled'," Balalaika told him. "It was easier to punish soldiers than admit that the ten-year war was fucked."
He'd never heard her swear before. "I guess you've all done well here though," Rock said, thinking of Hotel Moscow, loyal to the bone.
"Mm, not bad for traitors and gang members," she agreed, before lapsing into a silence no one wanted to break.
The ground had become more even, squelching loudly under his shoes. Rock ignored the sound until a bubbling noise rose over it.
"Miss Balalaika, are we following a river?" Rock asked. He could definitely hear water, even the occasional splash.
"Yes, we're going to cross it," she replied. "Hope you're not afraid to get your feet wet."
"I'm not—" Rock started to say, before the forest spat them out on a muddy bank. Trees and vines folded messily away at the waterline. They were on one side of a small river, its water rippling over rocks and dark sand.
Balalaika dropped her pack on the ground, Rock hastily following her lead. She handed him a large plastic cover and showed him how to seal the backpack shut, preventing water from ruining their supplies. They were helping each other get the wrapped bags on when Rock noticed Balalaika's rifle lying on the ground.
"What about your gun?" he asked. "Should we cover that too?"
Balalaika opened her mouth, but Rock's stomach flipped when he saw her change her mind mid-breath.
"Oh, normally I just hold it out of the water," Balalaika said, grinning mischievously. "But since you asked, I'll show you a survival skill."
He didn't look away fast enough as she pulled out a condom. Oh, bloody hell.
"Watch, Rock, you never know when this might come in useful," she said slyly, picking up her rifle. Rock rubbed his face and tried not to think about her eyes darkening in amusement.
It really, really didn't help that his past experience with condoms were for their actual function. Balalaika placed the rifle on the ground stock-first, steadying the barrel with one hand. The other positioned a brand-new condom over the barrel and started working it down like a terribly live demonstration of using birth control.
Balalaika was being bloody gentle with the gun, making it look like… something else. Swivelling the little ring this way and that, she propped the gun against her hip and used both hands to try snap the rubber to the metal barrel.
Rock wanted to drop dead on the spot; the gun had nestled in the folds of her shirt and definitely did not resemble a—
The condom wouldn't stay put. Balalaika bent over it, her braid falling over her shoulder as she held the tip in place with her teeth. She hovered there for a moment, trying to find a good hold. Rock flinched when Balalaika suddenly looked up at him, the pale latex between her lips. With a devilish grin, Balalaika held his stare as she rolled the condom slowly down the barrel, then carefully rubbed it up and down in her hands, making sure it didn't stray.
His heart jumped, not knowing whether to send blood to his face or his cock.
"That's not a survival skill," Rock said faintly.
Balalaika finally let the tip fall out of her mouth and straightened, snapping the makeshift barrel cover secure one last time. "It keeps sand and water from getting into the mechanism," she said coolly, as though she hadn't just mimed a blowjob on her gun. "Ready to cross?"
Rock was more than ready to throw himself into the river. "Yeah," he managed.
Balalaika waded into the water, pushing through the current like a market crowd. Rock stayed close in the slipstream, wishing looks could kill. Her rifle was slung high up across her broad shoulders, in no danger of getting wet in the waist-high water.
Well, chest-high for him. Rock hoped his ungraceful sloshing didn't sound too much like drowning in the kiddie pool. The way Balalaika kept checking over her shoulder, it did.
"Are you all right?" she asked, the corner of her scars pulling up in concern.
"Never better," Rock said, and meant it; the running, gritty water was absolutely murdering any hint of a boner he got from her teasing gun safety. He looked over at the opposite bank, searching for a good tree.
"Will we have enough time to dry these clothes?" he asked.
"No, we have to keep moving," Balalaika said. "As long as you're not wearing underwear, they'll dry just fine as you walk." It took her a while to notice that Rock was frozen in shock.
Balalaika turned to him and crossed her arms. "You're wearing underwear?" She said, sounding ready to scold him for getting dressed like a normal person.
Rock could only stare at her. "And you're not?!" The water pressure made his voice squeakier than he would have liked. He fixed his eyes solidly on her frowning face.
Don't look down to check, don't look down to check—
"Of course not, it's not hygienic," Balalaika said impatiently.
Rock was at loss for words, but what could you say when your attractive boss just told you they were going commando? He wasn't even thinking about his underpants, now that he knew about the lack of hers. Wait, did that rule apply to bras as well?
Don't look! his last voice of reason screeched, even as Balalaika reached the other side, swinging her pack and gun onto dry land. As she levered herself out of the water, Rock goggled as the curve of her hips pushed out with a light splash. Her pants clung closely to her legs, stretching over the swell of her backside.
With the vast experience of a man, Rock could confirm she was not wearing any underwear.
Balalaika knelt by the river for a moment, wringing out the heaviest parts of her trousers before offering a hand to him. Rock stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment, before letting her pull him out of the water. He looked longingly towards the path when Balalaika's voice chimed out.
"Where are you going?" she teased. "We're not done yet."
Rock didn't stifle his groan when she pulled out a condom again. Where the hell was she even hiding those things?
"How many have we wasted already?" Rock said, running a hand over his face. Dammit, his reaction wasn't getting better. His face felt like he'd been tanning it with a lamp, and his pants…
"It's hardly a waste if you learn something useful," Balalaika said primly, stretching out the rubbery sheath and placing it under the water, held in with a sock. Apparently, it was possible to inflate a condom to the size of a medium balloon with a face as straight as a politician's. Whatever sexiness he used to equate with the sight of a condom was rapidly vanishing as the new water carrier swelled to an uncomfortable, sloshing size.
"Can we go now?" Rock grumbled, as she tied the condom shut.
Balalaika just held up the other sock. "Not until you show me you can do it," she said sweetly.
Rock tried to stab her with his eyes as he tore open the condom.
"Not on the floor— give it to me," Balalaika interrupted, as he moved to toss the foil wrapper. Bewildered, Rock put it in her outstretched hand, watching her tuck it into a side pocket. Well, he'd already suspended all definitions of weird when it came to Balalaika. Rock sighed and focussed on getting water into the rubber.
It was a lot harder than it looked. After an age of humiliation, all he had was a saggy condom inside a wet sock, looking like a kid with a coal-filled stocking on Christmas. Actually, Rock preferred the coal. At least Balalaika couldn't trigger awkward half-boners just by holding one.
Balalaika watched him tie it off and pack it away, nodding in satisfaction. "Something before we go," she said, offering something to him.
Rock gingerly held out his hand, expecting an encore round of condoms, but he caught three muesli bars instead. Thank god.
They ate as they walked. The path had widened on this bank, showing signs of human use: a boot print here, a cigarette butt there. Refusing to meet Balalaika's amused gaze, Rock marched ahead, trying to ignore his sopping pants.
He managed it for about ten minutes before his skin started to crawl. Behind him, Balalaika cheerily recounted all the homemade remedies Hotel Moscow used on each other whenever they encountered goddamn nappy rash.
"You know, I think they call it 'crotch rot' in English!" she said.
Rock glared over his shoulder, trying not to walk bow-legged. Balalaika smirked.
"Don't you want to take it off?" Balalaika asked. "I promise not to peek."
Rock gave up. "You better not," he grumbled, heading into the bushes. Rock figured a distance of several trees was enough to keep from mooning her and dropped his pants. His undergarments were an unsalvageable green, so he buried it under some leaves before heading back.
"Feeling better?" she inquired.
"Actually, yeah," Rock said, finally able to stand straight. Surprisingly, Balalaika was right about drying out; by the time they reached their campsite, the wet edge of his pants only came up to mid-knee. Even the heavy fabric of Balalaika's trousers was merely damp, not dripping.
"Wow, who built that?" Rock asked. The sun had started to drop, but he could easily make out the small, grey bunker, nestled between the forest edge and a steep cliff. Balalaika swung open a steeply angled door to let them into the small dugout.
"We did," Balalaika admitted, a bit of pride creeping into her voice. "It took three weeks, we had to bring the concrete up ourselves…"
The inside looked like a quarter of an army dorm, holding mainly a metal footlocker, a portable stove, and a cot. There wasn't even any bedding. It was so square and oblong, the only evidence that it wasn't built by a robot was a group of saplings near the entrance, future trees taller and greener than their neighbours.
Balalaika placed her rifle away carefully in the footlocker, then shut the door. She rolled out a map to show him where they were. The coordinates showed a gravel road below the cliff edge, and Rock could actually hear the odd rumble as a truck rolled through the twisting mountain road.
"Yes, that's the highway between Chupat and Roanapurr," Balalaika said, tracing it with a finger. "It used to be a popular heroin route before we got here. Then the government paved it, and now everyone has to pay toll on their bootlegs."
Rock checked at the elevation figures out of curiosity, and was immediately glad Balalaika hadn't taken the most vertical approach. "It's one hell of a safe house, so long as you're not attacked by mountain goats," he joked, rolling up the map.
Balalaika smiled. "You can set up the tent outside, then come in and wash up," she told him.
Rock had no problem following those basic instructions, until he somehow lost the tent's main line. He ran his hands through the grass, then the dirt, and was about to dig up all the rocks when Balalaika came out.
"What's wrong?" she asked, spotting the tent still lying like a deflated balloon. "Is it broken?"
"Er, not really," Rock said. "I can't find the main line."
"Oh, I can fix that," Balalaika said. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and gave him a sideways look. "Don't think you're going to like it though."
A whole day and he knew that look. Rock sighed and went to fetch the condoms.
True to her word, Balalaika fashioned a stout-looking rope from far too many of the stretchy things. Watching her unfurl each condom was like being at the most bizarre strip show, but he wasn't ready for audience participation when she thrust the makeshift rope into his hands.
"Hold this end," she instructed. Rock obeyed, trying not to cringe. Thank god they weren't the lubricated ones. He was allowed to let go only when Balalaika secured it smartly to the tent.
Balalaika placed all the wrappers back in the box, muttering something about "not littering" and "I'm gonna get them for this". Rock put it out of his mind; he had enough trouble being on Balalaika's good side, he didn't want to contemplate anyone having it worse.
Rock rubbed his too-hot face. "I could have gotten elastic out of the spare pants, you know…"
"And ruin your clothes? Don't be silly," Balalaika replied. She pulled her lopsided grin again. "Besides, I've got plenty more where that came from."
She didn't have to shake the box in his face.
They put the stove on outside, setting water to boil. Balalaika ducked into the safe house, emerging minutes later in a change of clothes, shaking dry shampoo out of her hair.
"You can have a wash in there too," she said, combing her hair out with her fingers. "Just make sure all the water goes back in the bucket."
Rock had never seen anyone's hair explode from just been stroked. Freed from a heavy coat of oil, Balalaika's hair dramatically expanded into a cloud of yellow. She tucked it into her usual ponytail, plopping onto the grass next to him.
As they waited for their rations to cook, Rock decided to ask something that had been on his mind ever since he was invited on this mission.
"Why you?" Balalaika repeated. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I felt that you needed to know something about field missions before I started sending you on them."
Rock suspected it was always rude to call a woman out on her bullshit.
"With all due respect, Miss Balalaika, that's a terrible reason," Rock said. "You could easily get Dutch or one of your men to train me without going to all this trouble, so…?"
"Because I like to torture myself," Balalaika muttered, so low Rock was sure he wasn't meant to hear that.
"Look," she said, turning to face him. "Would it sound foolish to say I wanted to get to know you better?" Balalaika tipped her head to the side, as though hoping for a reaction.
Rock blinked in surprise. "But…why?"
Balalaika smiled, the firelight glancing off her cheekbones.
"Because you're interesting," she told him, "and when I first met you, I told Boris you'd probably wind up dead or missing within a month.
"Yet here you are, thriving in the city of shit, blooming like a rose."
It felt weird to be compared to a flower, but Rock couldn't think of a better metaphor for living in dirt.
"Well, I make the most of where I am, I suppose," he said. "Like you."
There was a wry satisfaction in her eyes he couldn't quite explain. "You're more at home here than you think," Balalaika said, putting down her bowl.
"Um, thanks?" Rock said, handing her a dinner of instant noodles. Unfortunately, he also gave her the chopsticks, and there was no way he could stay quiet.
"How do you not break a finger like that?!" Rock said incredulously.
Balalaika somehow made her pinky look like a second opposable thumb. "There are two of them," Balalaika said, as dignified as she could, "and I only have one hand." Rock nearly slapped himself in the mouth to keep from laughing.
"That honestly looks painful, Miss Balalaika," Rock said, when he finally calmed down. "You should be able to use them like this," he added, clicking his own.
Balalaika had to untangle her claw-like grip. "Like this?"
"Try moving it up and down…" Rock said. He watched her struggle to move the chopsticks for a while before putting his food down.
"Here," he said, taking her hand. "Pretend you're holding a pen." Rock realigned the chopsticks in her hand, noticing absently how warm her hands were. They were as wide as his, slightly calloused, her fingers long and slender even without the extra inch of acrylic nail.
"It's okay, I'm afraid this might be beyond me," Balalaika said lightly. Rock wasn't giving up though.
"No, it's really easy once you get the hang of it." Rock crouched down, pulling her hand up. Using chopsticks was one of the things he took for granted, and he was useless at explaining it.
Balalaika placed her other hand over his. "I said it's okay," she said, leaning close.
Rock could smell the musk of her hair as she rubbed the back of his hand gently, gazing at him in a strange way. The fire crackled and for a moment her eyes reflected the gold of the sparks, shiny and hot. She was so close, he could see every strand framing her face, glowing as finely as her eyelashes. Her mouth opened slightly, as though about to say something—
"I'm sorry," Rock interrupted, pulling away. "I know I'm not teaching it very well. No need to make me feel better."
"'Feel better?'" Balalaika echoed. She looked at him in a mix of surprise and disappointment. "Oh."
Rock quickly handed her the rest of her dinner, feeling guilty. The food was definitely colder, but at least she wasn't on the verge of spraining her thumb anymore. Balalaika didn't say much for the rest of the meal, looking very…annoyed?
Balalaika waved him away when he offered to do the dishes. "You can go wash yourself first," she said. "You'll feel much better in new clothes." Balalaika flapped her fresh shirt for emphasis, which immediately revealed that she wasn't wearing a bra.
Rock glued his eyes to her forehead. "Sure!" he said, too loudly. "That's great!"
Her laughter sent her chest bouncing. A lot. "Goodness, you're eager!" Balalaika grinned, putting her hands on her hips. The movement took her shoulders back, pushing her chest towards him.
Rock practically ran past her and tried to drown himself in the washbasin. It didn't work. He settled for scrubbing his face until it felt like he'd filed off a layer of skin and the memory of her freely moving breasts.
Which were still on display when he returned to the tent. Balalaika rolled over, stretched out on the sleeping bag. A camping light hung from the ceiling, illuminating every fold of the thin shirt over her body. Rock covered his eyes when she arched her back and yawned.
"Miss Balalaika, what are you doing here," he said flatly. He now knew the answer to 'How low did Balalaika's scars go' and it was not a revelation he needed.
"I'm sleeping here," Balalaika replied, rolling on her stomach and looking innocently at him. "It's a two-man tent, I don't see why you're fussed." The white shirt was in stark contrast to the line of her cleavage. Balalaika grinned as he slowly lost his words.
"Miss Balalaika, t-that's inappropriate—" he said, trying and failing to block out thoughts of lying next to her silky hair, and long legs, and enormous—
"You could take the cot," Balalaika mused, playing with her hair. "But I can tell you that it gets very, very stuffy in that little room."
She ran a hand over the space next to her, smiling.
"I already set up your sleeping bag, don't be shy," she drawled.
Rock gave her a very level look, then flopped onto his side, pulling his sleeping bag firmly around himself and curling against the wall.
"Goodnight, Miss Balalaika," Rock said, closing his eyes. For the slightest moment, the silhouette of Balalaika's figure burned behind his eyelids, hour-glassed and soft.
There was a pointed silence, then the light clicked off. A soft repeated thudding could be heard, like someone slamming their head into a pillow, then nothing.
A sharp pain bloomed in his shin and Rock jolted upright, biting back a yell. He curled over his leg, trying to scream silently. He'd barely managed to muffle his pain when Balalaika's foot jerked again, this time hitting him in the knee.
He clutched his leg, biting his lip hard. Balalaika wasn't even awake! She'd curled on her side, loose hair falling over her face. Rock shuffled his sleeping bag as far away as possible and tried to go back to sleep. He had barely settled down when Balalaika made a strange noise.
It sounded like she had trouble breathing, but as far as he could tell, she didn't seem to have moved at - no, she'd folded herself like a hunchback, and her breaths came quick and shallow.
"Miss Balalaika?" Rock whispered, shuffling towards her. Uh oh, he thought, as she made another wordless sound, restless. I think she's having a nightmare.
Rock had heard enough of Balalaika's chequered past from his colleagues to guess its lows. Death, war, getting your skin burnt off, more death - it probably made for vicious dreams that clawed through sleep.
Shit… "Balalaika, wake up." Rock searched the shadows for a hint of consciousness. One of her hands was curled rigidly like a dead spider, fingers twitching.
He reached out to shake her awake, but something held him back. It felt way out of line, too inappropriate —
She asked to sleep in the same tent, I don't think it gets more inappropriate than that, Rock thought.
It was no different from calling Revy awake after their booze-fests, right? Rock touched Balalaika's shoulder as gently as he could.
"Hey, wake up," he whispered.
Balalaika didn't seem to hear, her body tense under his hand. She made a pained noise when he tried again.
"Miss Balalaika? Balalaika? Can you hear me?"
Shaking Balalaika was like trying to hand-mould marble. Rock shook her with both hands this time, more insistently.
"Miss Bala—!"
Balalaika snapped his words in two as she suddenly rolled awake, slamming him onto his back with a shove. Rock landed on the hard-packed dirt, knocking his breath out. A leg crossed over him, then the rest of her. He caught a glimpse of her eyes, wide and angry, before Balalaika pinned him solidly under her, his wrists forced over his head as another hand locked over his throat.
Rock couldn't breathe; Balalaika's weight was firmly on his diaphragm, her knees digging into his ribs as she neutralised the threat. Rock gasped, instinctively trying to buck her off, but half-asleep he was no match for a fully-trained soldier intent on keeping him down.
Her breath fell fast and shallow on his face. "Balalaika," Rock croaked. Dammit. Balalaika blinked at the sound of his voice, recognition finally blooming in her eyes, and she
let go of him faster than a burning coal.
Rock grabbed her hand. "Are you…" Okay, he tried to say, but from her choked, harsh breathing, she definitely wasn't. He reached out and took the scrunch of her lapel tangled up in her hair, pulling her down.
Balalaika buried her face in his neck, breathing wetly. Rock stroked her hair until she was no longer shivering.
"Hey," he said quietly, as her breathing evened out. "I'm going to turn on the light, okay?"
Balalaika shifted against him slightly, and nodded. Her grip on his shirt didn't loosen.
She flinched when the light came on. The stark light gave her skin a waxed quality which the scars tore through. Rock sat her up slowly, wrapping her in his sleeping bag. Balalaika's eyes were a watery grey and didn't seem to register as he tucked her loose hair into the makeshift blanket.
Pale and still, she looked too much like a dead woman. He jumped when she spoke suddenly.
"I… want to go outside," Balalaika said quietly, looking straight through him.
The air was cool, and their lamp turned the tent into a gentle nightlight that lit the area several metres in every direction. At her soft directions, Rock walked Balalaika to the cliff, setting her down with her feet over the edge.
Below them, the forest swallowed all light and sound, an eerie void that stretched to the horizon. He sat down next to her, legs crossed.
"We were escorting a civilian convoy," Balalaika said softly.
Her voice was nearly inaudible. Rock tried breathing silently, straining to catch her words.
"Translators of the Soviet embassy, moving between the generals every day," she continued. "We didn't think much of the job. Just waiting, guarding the cars.
"It wasn't until a smarter terrorist made a mine that wouldn't activate under a tank - useless, of course — but could go off under something less armoured." Balalaika's voice was faraway, but Rock could hear the rumbling of the Soviet column, rolling through dry sand. "It went off under the car in the centre, after all our tanks had gone past.
"It didn't blow it up, just set the fuel tanks on fire," Balalaika said. "We didn't have anything to fight the blaze."
Rock had seen a car fire before; an oily, stinking wreck that vomited smoke a mile high.
"Any survivors?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"No," Balalaika said.
Their fingers brushed, fragments of warmth in the dark.
"Tell me something," Balalaika said suddenly.
"Um," Rock said, confused, "tell you what?"
Her fingers dug into the dirt next to his hand. "Anything," she said.
Rock told her about his family, even the extended ones. He told her about the dog he once befriended riding home, but then he changed the route for high school and never saw it again. He told her about Japan, if she cared to visit. Even his favourite places in Roanapurr, but halfway through describing the six-fan breeze of his local cafeteria Rock realised he wasn't being entirely honest.
"My favourite place in that city is usually where you are," he said. Rock saw Balalaika blink. "It's true," he added.
"I've never regretted spending time with you, ever," Rock said. He looked out over the forest. "Not even now."
Balalaika was silent for a long time. "Thank you," she said distantly.
Rock studied Balalaika closely. Her face was still drawn, but there was something about her eyes. They weren't looking outwards, only in.
Oh, hell no, Rock thought. I'm not going to let you torture yourself like that. He slipped back to their packs, looking for a few familiar items.
Moments later, he came tearing out of the bunker. "Help!" Rock cried as pathetically as he could. "There's a snake!"
Absolutely dependable, Balalaika leaped to her feet —holy shit where did she get that bayonet — and ran towards him. "Where!?" she demanded, grabbing him roughly. "Were you bitten?"
"Nope, I caught it!" Rock said, revealing his co-star, a hand puppet with lopsided eyes and badly drawn scales. Lacking craft supplies, he'd made do with the most versatile thing they had — a nice, stretchy condom.
Rock had never seen Balalaika boggle at something, but her eyes went so wide he thought they'd fall out of her head. She lowered her weapon and gaped at him soundlessly. Rock felt his dignity shrivel up and die, but he was beyond committed now.
Rock reached out and took her hand in the puppet's jaws. "Oops, looks like you've been bitten," he said. Kindergarten shows had better acting, honestly. Rock raised her hand to his lips, smiling.
"Think I could get the poison out, or…"
"Don't be silly," Balalaika said automatically. "Snake venom doesn't work that way—" she managed, before bursting into laughter. Rock started giggling a bit himself when she hugged him tightly, still laughing into his hair.
"You… you really are…" she gasped. "You really are something."She smoothed back her hair.
"Oh, fuck it," Balalaika said.
Rock didn't have time to react before she kissed him full on the mouth. He had a momentary Do all Russians do this with their friends before the addition of tongue made it very clear what she meant.
Rock felt lightheaded when she finally let him go. The sky was starting to lighten with the pale pinks of dawn, outlining the smug expression of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
Balalaika grabbed him by the hand and started back to their tent. He managed to keep up with her though, and when they finally tumbled back inside he was the first to get his hands under her shirt.
She laughed and made him take off that condom first.
There was so much Rock forgot he could feel. In between death-defying adrenaline and crippling terror, he'd forgotten how nice it was to feel like the world ended at the fingertips of the person next to you.
Balalaika's hair was even messier now, and Rock dimly remembered it tumbling like a waterfall down her breasts as she rode him against the sunrise. Now, it curled tamely across the floor, where he could reach out and stroke it, like loosely pulled silk.
"You like my hair," Balalaika murmured, pleased. Her eyes were still closed, blissfully relaxed. "Is it 'cause it's blonde?"
"I dunno, feels nice," Rock said. His thoughts were still a bit jumbled, but seeing Balalaika breathe deeply in front of him grounded the warmth in his chest. "Being with you feels nice," he sighed.
Balalaika opened her eyes, squinting at him. "That's all you have to say after everything I've done?" she said pointedly.
"I know it took all day, but I got it eventually…"
Her mouth fell open. "'All day'?" she echoed. "You think it was just yesterday?"
Rock groaned. "Yeah, all those condom jokes and not wearing underwear and—"
"You think that was it?!" Balalaika hissed.
She shot him a look that made Rock's life flash before his eyes. And as the last few months flew by on fast-forward, he realised why.
"Oh my god," Rock said, mouth dry. "You asked me out. Lots of times." Dinners, late night drives and an invitation to play chess in her hotel room—
"Yes, but you're an idiot," Balalaika muttered. "It didn't matter how many candles I lit, you always remarked, 'Miss Balalaika, aren't those a fire hazard?'"
Having his exact words thrown at him stung a little. "It was your safety I was worried ab—"
"Oh, shut up," Balalaika said, kissing him again.
Rock took the hint, stroking her leg as she folded herself over him. Her lips pushed roughly against his, pressing his head firmly into the hard-packed floor. Rock reached up, running his hands over her bare thighs and up between her legs as she straddled him. She moaned into his throat when he slipped his fingers inside her. Balalaika's breasts were soft and heavy against him, and they jumped nicely every time she jerked herself against his hand.
She was already so sensitive, it didn't take much to get her off. His fingers glistened underneath her body, disappearing as she ground her hips against them, a short breath escaping from the corner of her mouth as she turned her head for a better angle. Balalaika broke the kiss to swear loudly when he pushed a third finger inside, brushing his thumb over her clit at the same time. She tensed, then let out an explosive breath before tugging his hand away.
"Enough, enough," Balalaika panted, flushing pink to her clavicle. "Let me…"
Balalaika travelled lower down his body, trailing a fingertip down his stomach as though marking a path to his groin. She nudged Rock's legs apart a little, making room for herself between his thighs as she took his cock in one hand. Balalaika's hand gave him a warm massage along the shaft, and Rock nearly fainted with pleasure. Oh god, she knew exactly how to hold it, her thumb under the head and another finger trailing nearly to his—
"Get hard for me, baby," Balalaika crooned, before taking the head into her mouth.
Rock would have been embarrassed at how well that worked if Balalaika wasn't thrilled at his immediate erection. She paused to roll another condom on him before getting to work. Rock couldn't remember the last time a woman's tongue got him this horny; her mouth was hot and her tongue inquisitive, and she even knew how to run her teeth down his length in a way that got him panting hard.
Rock wanted to buck into her throat but the hands on his hips were clear: Lie back and enjoy it.
As Balalaika lapped at the tip of his cock, the latex made the pressure just a bit tighter and warmer, like a corkscrew slowly tightening. Rock moaned, clenching his fists. Between nips and licks, Balalaika knew exactly what to do to bring him skyrocketing to the edge, but pulling back before he came.
She finally started going down the shaft. Just the heat of her mouth and tongue on his cock made his breathing ragged, and Rock couldn't stand much more of the teasing, straining against her grip to go deeper into her mouth —
Balalaika suddenly pulled away from him, making him jerk in surprise; she'd let go of his cock too, sitting up and wiping her mouth in satisfaction. He stared incredulously at his ramrod-straight dick, then back to her smug expression.
"Are you serious?!" Rock said. "You can't just leave me—"
"And you can?" Balalaika said. She crooked one hand over her hip, the look in her eyes daring him to argue.
"It's not the same!"
Balalaika ignored his protest, stretching out dramatically, her hair fanning under her. "Goodness knows you left me alone far too many times," she said, turning over and settling down for a nap.
The hope of still being able to cum in her mouth made him bold. Rock stroked her shoulder gently, "Hey, I'm sorry—"
"Nope," she replied, not turning. "You have hands, yes?"
Rock sighed and turned to face the tent wall.
"Please tell me we're going to burn this," Rock said, sliding the tent poles out.
"Absolutely not, it's still equipment," Balalaika said around her cigarette. She'd donned her plain fatigues again, but her overshirt was left open to the waist to stay cool.
Between the sleeping bags, tent and clothes, Rock figured that keeping this secret was only possible if they stayed downwind for the rest of their lives. He doubted he could look anyone from Hotel Moscow in the eye after this. There was a huge difference between I got laid! and I shagged your beloved captain in the literal bushes.
"Please hurry, pick up is in thirty minutes," Balalaika said, checking her watch.
"Yes, Miss Balalaika," he said quickly, pulling the pack shut.
The way out was surprisingly straightforward; Balalaika followed the cliff to a marked tree, showing Rock how to abseil to the highway. From there she herded him up the road a few kilometres, where a nondescript black car was waiting.
Boris got out to greet them. "Kapitan, dobry—" Boris caught himself, switching as he saw Rock. "Good afternoon, kapitan, Rock. You're late."
"My mistake, Sergeant," Balalaika drawled behind him. "Don't blame the boy."
Rock groaned inwardly. With her knotted hair and open shirt, Balalaika practically reeked of a good lay; not a bad look, except that Rock was still within reach of the sergeant.
Boris looked at Balalaika, then Rock. His scarred face was expressionless as he put their bags away and opened the door for them. Rock hurriedly climbed in.
Balalaika got in next to him, right after she high-fived Boris loudly.
"You told him?" Rock said in disbelief as the engine started. He didn't know who was snickering louder, Balalaika or Boris.
"I keep no secrets from my men," Balalaika said with an almost-straight face.
Boris snorted. "You can start now," he told her, angling the rear-view mirror to catch both of them.
Rock saw his own beet-red face and dropped his head with a miserable groan. Balalaika ruffled his hair in his moment of weakness, laughing.
"Oh, Boris," Balalaika said, after she'd finished comparing Rock's face to shades of cooked prawn, "call Levatsky and tell him his M76 is in the locker. If he says he can't find it, tell him to check under the first aid kit then punch himself in the face."
"Yes, kapitan," Boris said, grinning. "Also, while you were gone, a report on the Ya Hang junk came in from the docks…"
As Balalaika and Boris debated strategy for dealing with rogue Asian pirates, Rock leaned back and watched the forest give way to packed plantations. It was just like their trip up the mountain yesterday.
He felt Balalaika's hand on his leg, her fingers curling over the inside of his thigh.
Well, today feels infinitely better.
AN: Stay tuned for the epilogue! It's got Hotel Moscow in it!
