'Personnel Transfer Request

Special Agent Piers Nivans,

Bioterrorism Security Assessment Aliiance's United States of America branch, Special Operations Unit; transferred under order of Captain Luka Gvorik, Russia's own. With special permission granted from Head Quarter's General...'

Luka tapped the pen on his desk yet again, staring at the words written and how they played out against and again. He had transferred three agents from Delta, and another thirteen from the rookie bull pen that was offered for him. It had all started out as a rouse. No captain within the B.S.A.A. would willingly offer up their agents to the likes of the Russian S.O.U. Headquarters signed off on the operation. Bring in an intelligence officer to look into those who would make for candidates that were possible for transfer. Those agents would receive transfer. His position in Alpha was to appease the men in Russia, that they were acquiring proper intelligence, and now here it was. Weeks of work at this hidden agenda, and here he was staring at a transfer sheet he had never envisioned filling out. Damn that sniper. It had started as a rouse. Get confidence from someone who knew the ranks, who understood the men, which he had in the first considered to have been their 'heroic' captain Chris Redfield. It had turned all wrong when he met Piers. It wasn't suppose to be someone he could have fallen for. Using Piers to get information wasn't easy either. He had failed in that department because that foolish sniper was so damnably perfect. Everything he needed or wanted, and perfectly capable of being a captain in the Russian S.O.U. If he could have convinced him otherwise... And the damn mission. Why did Piers have to be so incredibly intoxicating. A tiger, hidden and caged within the confines of his captain's folds. It shouldn't have happened, but static sparked between those eyes. The pen scratched, thinking on the last few weeks and the unimpeded progress he'd made with the sniper, just on the verge of bringing it to him that he could have joined him in Russia, and then the mission. It left an ink bled mark on the place of the name he was yet to insert. It didn't matter who's name was inserted as the consigning officer, if Piers wouldn't sign off on the transfer himself; and his printsessa would no sooner jot his name on a transfer consignment, than he would leave his precious Captain Redfield.

The tone of his voice was he was pleading for his captain, still rang sour within that twisted mind, prying away each second for all the facts. His voice was so desperate for the man who in his darkest thoughts could only be considered a leech on society. Captain Christopher Redfield was no captain, he allowed his sniper to maintain control of his team while he drank himself into oblivion. And because of a long lost title of hero, he waved to over the heads of those who loved them in a sick way that kept Luka at an arms length with the younger man. There was no winning or losing, but then that was where Chris had failed this game. He treated this like a game, as though Piers was a toy to be won over by the highest bidder. That was where he was wrong. Thin pale lips tugged upward into a smile, filling out the remains of the document required before filing it away in his desk, in this cubicle they called fitting of a captain. It was for guests, but it would work. He wasn't leaving here without it signed. Log limbs straightened, cracking in several places where the cartilage in some joints failed to support him well enough anymore, but without complaint. Crossing the silence of B.S.A.A.'s secretarial honey comb of workers, Luka crossed the room, weaving through the labyrinth of all small boxes hat he could see over with ease, and their occupants typing away like worker bees. The click clack of fingers driving a hard bargain on the keyboards under their manicured finger nails, whilst he pushed himself into the silence of the men's room. After the mission, days ago, Luka had seen fit to push himself away from Alpha team, and finish his duties as delegate to the Russian S.O.U. program. With the remaining files submitted, all apart from the sniper, that made him the final priority before being sent back. The trickle of systematic faucets and the wetness as he rinsed his hands in the water aided to think. The cold made it easier on the brain. Made it strain harder.

"Headed to the captain's office? He's not in right now." Luka's ear pricked at the whiny nasal congestion of the league of bees queen. Gladius. The woman who had given him an unintellectual our of the offices when he had first brought himself here to get his work done. However there was only one captain in this section of the building that was never in. Attempting to hide away a smirk, brown absorbent towels sucked up the remaining moisture form his hands, deposited into the bin before he shoved back on the door, using the back of broad shoulders to shove. Luka couldn't help the quiet smirk, watching the sniper that huffed with paperwork lodged under his bicep. Standing in that manner where he could push out his hip, impatiently flashing his tags at gigantic bug eyed glasses, that squint. They all knew Piers, but it didn't stop Gladius from being as unproductive as possible making the sniper undergo her inspection. "How are the rookies doing this afternoon agent?"

"Give me the key."

Eighty-five year old creaking bones took forever to retrieve, bungling around in the drawer for the key to Chris' office. So like Piers to not make copies of people's keys. He could have, he was the A.T.L. He could have gotten away with that, and the pain of dealing with why people questioned who he was every time he came in to the office, but he didn't. He did everything by the books. It didn't stop half the office of women to stop their typing and peek over the top of their cubicles to admire him. Sweat soaked, and still huffing from the work in 92 degrees outside, suddenly met with the 72 indoors. Pouted lips bowed out at the corner as he nudged his tongue against the nook and swept a drop of sweat from the corner of his mouth, tapping a heel as he waited. "Printsessa, a sight for sore eyes. I had not expected you." His voice drew Piers' attention, but unlike the average, unobservant idiot, just in the manner that Piers had already noted his presence and gave a nod without meeting his eyes, still watching Gladius and her fumbling about. 'In here somewhere.' "You have been giving close quarter combat instruction have you?" A thin lipped smirked tugged into place when that brought hazel eyes up from the desk, shifting the lithe body under his gaze for a moment, question written there. "Your forearms." Glancing down, the younger man managed a chortle at icy blue's observation of his damaged arms, sweat slick and and tan with a fair bit of fresh bruising starting to pink the flesh. "I never took the great sniper to be an errand boy."

"The captain was called out by the brass."

Whatever the reason, it didn't hide the obvious annoyance at being called out as the captain's errand boy. Though, they hadn't spoken in days. Perhaps the sniper was sour that Luka had taken the last few to observe rather than get in the way of their beloved Alpha team. Whatever the case, his irked expression said it all, folding the paperwork in his arms over to the other side when Gladius came up with the key, victorious and still flapping her gab when the sniper swiped the key and walked away, the pace most people would be hard pressed to follow..., if Piers wasn't 5'11 and sporting legs that were four inches shorter than the Russian's. In the blond's case it was far easier to catch up to the sniper without any trouble, ignoring how the room of women followed them both with their dreamy eyes, straight from some Japanese manga, like Sailor Moon. The humidity outside, could have rivaled the steam breaths of those behind them. Luka ignored them, noting Piers' little quirks to tip his chin down and head to the side by just millimeters when he was listening to someone behind him, or how his jaw flexed with the added annoyance of of a thousand oak doors and white walls that led to Chris' office. Empty office. "Tell me Printsessa, how long will you continue to play at avoiding me?"

"Who says I'm avoiding you, Lucky?"

That nickname... Endearing at first, it had come to grate on his very last nerve, like pins being thrust into the spinal cortex and twist to inflict pain of recognition that Piers considered Luka to be lucky to have ever spent time with him. "Do not call me that." Luka's teeth grit, feeling the white enamel wear from the way it ground against each other in a personal attempt not to lash out. "I've not seen you for days, agent. One would qualify that as avoidance." More doors shoved through, stopping when Piers swiped his clearance card, a tiny beep granting access into the inner offices. Luka followed, not surprised that Piers didn't bother holding the door and instead moved on without him. Such a volatile young man, always business and no play. That was unless someone was forcing him into it. There was a great difference between what Chris Redfield had done with Piers on that mission, and what Luka did for him. Piers was too special to treat like a whore, but it was clearly made obvious that his own approach was rebuffed for a stronger hand. If that was what it took, than Luka had no trouble weaving his long strong fingers into those bangs, in their ever perfect flip, and giving him a bit of what he desired. That was... after he had made his point. And with Piers currently blazing a few feet ahead of him and with that musical stride, that would be more important than he had considered. Beautiful tiger, always on the prowl. "Tell me, Printsessa. What is it that has made you so frustrated with me? Have I not treated you like the exotic creature you are?"

"I'm not frustrated."

"I am beg to differ. The way you have shortened your 'T's, say that you hold tension in your neck. Agent."

"What does it matter if I'm frustrated? I'm a soldier, Luka, not a child."

"You matter. Is it so foreign to you agent Nivans, that I care about your well being? That bothers you?"

"I'm a trained killer, and you want to know why the fuck I'm frustrated, after spending the day..., you know what, it doesn't matter. Yes, it bothers me!" Piers stride sped; casting a glower over his shoulder toward that sharp angular features that examined his body language so intently. It was clear though, and even if the sniper hadn't shown his own amount of caring in those icy blues, he at least saw Piers. That disconcerted look, where the younger man questioned his entire being, while taking in the way his drafting partner followed. Defeat played in the sniper's voice when it resumed, showing the kind of resilience Piers always carried, breakdown to hint at some of he raw emotion that he knew lingered there. "I don't understand you."

"Yes, you do."

"No Luka, I don't! Why do you do this to yourself? You know I'm not..., Look, I belong with Alpha team. I'm not leaving it, no matter how I feel about this. About you."

Cool and collected as ever, hearing it made the Russian smile, not frown. No one ever said that, who hadn't thought about leaving. Meaning he already had won that part of the battle, and wasn't fool enough to pretend Piers didn't know what his ultimate goal was. Men like the sniper didn't think about things that weren't worth considering, it wasted time and energy that might be used for something better, so there was plenty of reason to think about it, and more of a reason to stay calm. "You belong with someone to treat you like the perfect soldier you are, Piers."

Thudding against his back, Piers flopping backward with a flex of taut forearms against his chest, paperwork crunched under their strength. He leaned like a woman, though Luka would never tell him so. Particularly the way his hips always nudged back against the wall whilst his one heel shoved backward on the wall with them, bracing his weight like his rifle arm, on his right foot. "Why are you here Lucky?" Such a strange mix his beautiful sniper, violent and sultry all in one. It was no wonder the captain never wanted to give him up. If Piers was his, he certainly never would have given Chris the opportunity to rival that. His foolish mistake, that just made it easier to make his own move. A move closer to Piers in a way that closed their gap and left the sniper's knee nudged firmly against his own inner thigh, drawing a smirk and pleasing ice blue eyes. At least it was clear that the younger man hadn't lost his will to play the game. That much was clear in those bedroom eyes. That didn't stop him from holding a thousand yards between them with his fierce hatred of being toyed with. Plunging passed his personal space, Luka thrust a calloused palm against the wall, just to the side of Piers face. It didn't result as he pleased, slick fingers winding with an access key in it before it was slid through the lock, a foot thrust out and catching Luka as gravity pulled him forward and over the limb, stumbling into the office. "Oh, I'm sorry, Lucky. Did my foot kick your ass?" Just as he was saying it, a dexterous limb snapped out and collided with Luka's backside, sending him forward into the desk, gripping the edge of Chris' desk with his palms. Crafty little monster. "I haven't got the time to deal with your attention issues, Gvorik. I need to send these in, and you need to get the Hell out of the captain's office." Ever the drill Sergeant.

"You seem to spend enough time inside of captain's office."

"Keep pushing it, Luck-

A flurry of movement parried by brilliantly learned close quarter combat, and the paperwork so coveted was pinned beneath the planes of Piers' chest, a arm wrenched behind his back and bent over at the waist with the desk flush beneath him. Luka's grip tightened every few seconds, stilling the jerking battle by laying his own weight over that of the lean sniper. "I am not lucky, soldier. I fought to earn you. I bled for it. You will never call me by that..., insult, again." Slim shoulders pegged to the desk top, roughly tossing the weight that was easily counter-balanced against, solidifying his position as Luka's hot breath skated over Piers' cheek, lips touching the soft lobe of his ear as he leaned forward to push a prolonged kiss to sweat slick flesh of the sniper's temple. Sickly sweet as tresses of blond fell foward against Piers' cheek. Listening to constrained huffs of adrenaline pumped breaths. "Every time I get close to you, my printsessa. You pull away," thick accent made it harder to understand, but the thick tongued manner of Russian speech made their listener gulp down his adam's apple. "What must I do? What must I say? We both know you care for me, agent. Why do you fight so?" Clenched jaw was the little give away, the sign that the sniper was hearing and taking it all in, even as that limber right leg worked to slip and tangle with his own; letting him fight for position. "Is it because the captain?" Back rigid, the younger man winced, "I understand. You are forgetting though, my dear tiger." Hazel eyes flicked from the hard wood surface beneath, weight shifted off his back to allow Piers' more room to move, even in the confines of those large hands grasping handfuls of slim hips, grinding them together. "I am captain, and that's what you call me," Fatigues jerked down, tearing the waistline as Luka thrust them back over those round cheeks, griping a handful of each one. "While I take you on his desk." The dead give away, the lack of resistance as bare ass, touched against cool pale skin. "Good boy."

If Piers needed Luka to be hard with him, forthright and damaging in order to get his attention, then he would give him his soul, to get his sniper back. His. There was nothing that belonged to Chris anymore; not those piercing eyes, tan flesh, or strong, perfectly wrought muscles that his cool, pale fingers traced and scratched. That hopeless drunk could hope and pray that he would ever have a chance. That washed up captain with an agenda, who merely wanted Piers physically, would never touch him again. He was nothing. Luka would give Piers everything. He would satisfy him in every walk of life. He'd give him that fuel that he needed to get better; give him a team. He wanted more than just that olive tanned body, pushing back against him and letting himself fall apart. He wanted him mentally, wanted to have every part of him. He knew this was not going to end of the war, because Christopher Redfield imagined his own accomplishments to be more than they were, he wouldn't let go easily. He was old news though. And youth and exotics had every place within Luka's fold within the Russian S.O.U. He would take him in every way humanly possible.

This one is starting to come to a close. Anything anyone wants before these last few chapters?