I Know Each Of His Scars By Name

I Know Each of His Scars By Name

by spinner

It all began with a case of home-made cherry kirsch.

"Are you t-trying to get me drunk?" Fandorin whispered somewhere in the middle of bottle number seven.

They were lounging on the cushions and mats in the drawing room, discussing languages. They were avoiding talking about work because Prince Dolgorukoi's extended vacation, and Fandorin's lack of constructive outlets, was driving him slowly crazy. It didn't help that the perpetrator in the Chinatown murder case that they had recently worked had taken his own life the night before. Max had come here tonight to inform Erast that the Asian studies professor Zima-Volkov had hung himself, with fine-quality hemp smuggled in by one of his students. Fandorin's response to the news had been cold and nonchalant. Max wondered if he ought not to ask Erast if he could account for his whereabouts yesterday, but in the end he decided not to pursue the dark and horrible thought that Fandorin might have handed the villain an easy departure, or at least a tidy ending.

Kirnov watched Fandorin, wondering why he steered the conversation away from any discussion of the case. Erast's cold façade could be off-putting, but Kirnov didn't mind it, as it was the usual mode of operation for the Deputy of Special Assignments. Even after as much alcohol as he had consumed, Fandorin managed to keep his composure. Despite the fact that Erast was barely upright at this point, his every word was carefully calculated before delivery. Even so, Max could feel there was a lot of pain under that coldness, and he worried what might happen if that defensive wall was ever breached or, heaven forbid, destroyed.

"Yes, I am trying to get your drunk," Max answered without hesitation, refilling Fandorin's glass for him.

"That was refreshingly honest," Erast laughed nervously.

They attempted to return to the topic of conversation, but the words weren't rolling away off Erast's tongue as they had been before. Perhaps the death of the man who had almost killed him had stirred up bad memories of the case? Did he have bad memories about what had happened, or did he have pleasant ones, up to the point of near-death? Had Erast employed one of his disguises and crept into police headquarters under the very noses of his colleagues? Had he handed Zima-Volkov that fine-quality hemp noose? It could have been an act of kindness, or an act of forgiveness, or an act of love even. Kirnov was pondering these complexities as Erast watched him with cautious eyes.

"Why?" Fandorin finally thought to ask. Kirnov refilled both their glasses and sat closer to Fandorin on the mats. "You wish to see me make a f-fool of myself?" Erast worried.

"No," Max soothed, allowing a small smile.

Erast murmured, "Why then do you want me drunk?"

The demon of bad judgment reared its ugly head. Maybe it was seeing the end of bottle number seven that helped as well. Fandorin set his glass aside with careful movements. He was trembling slightly.

"I want you, Erast. Drunk or sober. I want you."

Fandorin blinked wildly at Kirnov, his blue eyes wide with alarm.

"I apologize. I shouldn't have said that so bluntly," Max whispered. "You aren't the only one who has had too much to drink, perhaps."

Alarm was quickly outweighing surprise in Fandorin's face. Panic was moments away. He breathed heavily a couple of times, shaking his head dizzily.

"The question at this point is how drunk I have to be before I don't want you," Max continued, hoping to keep the younger man calm. But Fandorin was coming more unraveled with each passing second. Were the walls falling? He laid upside-down on the floor and rolled onto his back on the cushions. Then he stared up at Kirnov with a child-like expression of puzzlement, tilting his head left then right.

"Have you reached that point?" Fandorin wondered.

"No," Max admitted, allowing another smile.

"Good. Stop drinking at once."

Max carefully set his glass away as ordered.

"Yes, your eminence," he mused.

"I miscalculated," Fandorin whispered. "Unforgiveable of me."

"What?" Kirnov asked softly.

"We could have had this conversation weeks ago, you realize?" he said.

"Could we?"

"We should have been drinking tea. My words would have not been tangled in my brain," Erast scolded, reaching one hand upwards and touching Max on the tip of his nose. It was a strange but gentle gesture. He paused again, as if all of it were sinking in on him. He didn't look afraid—he looked sad and worried. "Masa was right. He said you stare at me with a lover's eyes."

"When do I do this?" Max wanted to know, understanding that he might have actually achieved his goal. It took Fandorin several seconds to formulate a sentence in its entirety.

"I haven't seen it. I'm sorry," Erast whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"If I've offended you by saying anything at all, I do apologize," Max murmured.

"No, I…you haven't….I….don't understand. How you can want me? I annoy you."

"You do."

"We can't…."

"I don't mean to offend you," Max whispered apologetically.

"No, it's not…you haven't offended me," Erast whispered back, touching Max's nose again. "But you put yourself in danger with me."

"I shouldn't have said anything," Max sighed, dying a little inside.

"Yes! Weeks ago! Weeks ago you should have said!" Fandorin blurted angrily.

"Weeks ago?" Max questioned, his hope rising just a bit.

"All this time I've been thinking you despised me! You….you aren't the problem. I am. Max, I…I am cursed…..cursed."

"Cursed?" Kirnov whispered, trying not to smile, because Erast was being so keenly honest and open.

"Everyone I love dies," Fandorin whispered. "Horribly," he added for emphasis, squinting in pain.

"Nonsense," Max scoffed, leaning down and touching his mouth to Fandorin's parted lips. It felt as if a spark of energy ignited a fire between them. The world is suddenly topsy-turvy like this kiss, Max thought. Long arms reached up around him at an awkward angle. Slender, strong fingers clenched through his bristle-short hair. Fandorin's kiss tasted of kirsch and desperate hunger and untouchable pain. The world could not contain a more potent cocktail, in Max's opinion.

They miraculously were able to get to their feet and across the hallway to Fandorin's bedroom without parting more than a few inches at the most. Displaying a self-assuredness he did not feel, Max stretched Erast out on his bed and began to undress him quite quickly. Soon though, Kirnov's guilt pulled on his reigns to quiet his anxiousness. Fandorin watched him with half-open eyes.

Max forced himself to slow down. What if Erast had never been in this sort of relationship before? People at court whispered about Fandorin and Masa, owing to the fact that Erast had never remarried after his wife's death. But what if those malicious gossipers were wrong? Fandorin was known for his protective and faithful valet, but he was also known for having unintentionally (and in some cases very intentionally) charmed half the female population of Moscow. It was possible Max was barking up the wrong tree. Kirnov himself hadn't touched another man since he was a scared teenager.

Max stopped ripping open buttons, stopped biting burning skin. He made himself nuzzle gently under Erast's chin, along his jaw, under his ear. He kissed one grayed temple and surfaced for another deep breath and a tentative glance into Fandorin's mysterious face. Those blue eyes were still examining him, filled with confusion and concern.

"I can't p-possibly let myself love you," Fandorin murmured.

"That's quite all right," Max agreed, amused by the words. "May I continue?" he tested, dotting a kiss to Erast's bottom lip. The blue eyes closed, fingers curled tightly through his hair, and the lithe, athletic body under him arched. Fandorin started pining quietly in frustration. Did Erast want Kirnov to get off of him?

No. Definitely not. Erast pulled Kirnov's mouth back to his neck, and began to whisper softly in a language Max didn't recognize. It could have been Japanese, but far more advanced than he had learned thus far. He thought he might have gleaned a syllable or two. Kirnov nearly started laughing, partially in joy and partially in amusement.

Whatever Fandorin was saying, he was lifting his chin and offering his throat, and he looked truly, madly peeved! Wouldn't it be just Kirnov's luck to have unlocked the region of Fandorin's brain that contained both his demon of lust and his demon of Babylon, the one who governed his pleasure of undecipherable foreign tongues? What if the two were conjoined twins? Could Max be that unlucky? Kirnov rumbled words against Fandorin's ear, and finished unbuttoning the front of his crisp, white shirt.

"Speak Russian, damn you."

"If you stop-stop what you are doing, I will never speak to you again! Not in any language!" Erast threatened.

Kirnov lifted Fandorin upright and faced a barrage of indignant, poignant growls. Max was struggling to unbutton the right cuff of Erast's shirt. It was hit and miss in the near-dark as it was. Why did Fandorin have to wear clothes with all these buttons on them? Three small, delicate blue and gold pieces of decoration stood between Max and satisfaction, and he hated them for it!

Erast lifted his wrist to his mouth and undid the buttons with his teeth and the end of his tongue, giving the wrist back to Kirnov and raising one brow. As Max watched, Erast deftly unlatched his left cuff as well. Kirnov watched that thin mouth curl into an inviting smile. Fandorin pushed Max back slightly, knelt in front of him, and leaned his mouth to Kirnov's throat. Buttons came undone on Max's own shirt with an alarming rapidity as Fandorin nosed his way down Kirnov's chest, twisting his slim frame nearly in half. Kirnov caressed Fandorin's back through his clothes, touching his spine and his waist. When his shirt was entirely undone, Max felt a wet tongue and soft mouth touch his navel. Terrified, Kirnov grabbed Fandorin's shoulders and made him stop.

"I'm not sure I needed to know you can do that," Max said, taking Erast's shirt and carefully pulling it off of his arms. He laid it aside over the corner of the bedpost. Fandorin was laughing to himself. Max took Erast's hands and kissed them gently, then eased him back into a prone position on the bed. Annoyed, Fandorin sat back up at once.

"Let me…." Erast started to say, but Kirnov silenced him with the touch of lips to his mouth. "Max, let me…." Another kiss, the touch of tongues, and Fandorin was growling again. "Stop trying to…." Max put his tongue inside Erast's ear, and jumped when Fandorin bit him on the nearest shoulder. "I need to say one thing."

"What could you possibly have to say that can't wait?" Kirnov snapped, testing his shoulder to make sure there wasn't a hunk of flesh missing.

"Promise you-you're n-not going to hang yours-self?"

"What makes you think…."

Fandorin stopped Kirnov mid-sentence with the dreadful shake of one slim finger and a dead-serious frown, which Max would have found terribly cute under different circumstances.

"I will n-not have that on my c-conscience. This….this….mmm…."

Max began lapping at Fandorin's ear.

"P-play fair," Erast pleaded.

"Shut up and lie back."

"I want to say…."

"Shut up and lie back," Kirnov repeated. Fandorin narrowed his icy eyes. "You don't need to say a thing."

"You make me so….make me…so….FURIOUS," Erast panted as Max kissed slowly down his chest and encircled one nipple, tenderly sucking, teasing and touching with the tip of his tongue. Fandorin called out longingly.

"You don't sound furious," Max felt obligated to point out.

Max heard footsteps outside the bedroom door. Masa spoke one word in Japanese, and Fandorin opened his mouth to answer. All that came out was an undignified bleat, because Max began sucking and tweaking his nipples again. Fandorin cleared his throat a little and repeated himself more quietly in stutter-fractured syllables. The footsteps retreated. Masa was cackling softly. A wonderful, hot blush flooded Fandorin's face.

"Is he all right with me…with me and you?" Max asked softly. Fandorin lit up with humor, and his eyes widened brightly for half a second before returning to their usual, shrewd, thin lines.

"You misunderstand our relationship, Masa and I."

"I don't misunderstand it at all," Max replied, laughing against Fandorin's ear as he was undoing his trousers. Same damn buttons. Same problem. Why couldn't Erast be wearing that wonderful black silk outfit with the large, easy to grip, wooden buttons?

"Yes, you do," Erast insisted, helping Max with the recalcitrant fastenings.

"Where did you get this scar?" Max asked, touching Fandorin's collarbone where a small white line protruded. "I have wanted to ask you about it so many times."

"It was a l-lesson I failed," Fandorin whispered. "Renate."

"This one? This one too? You will tell me sometime?" Max asked, cataloguing each imperfection with glowing admiration.

"Not now," Fandorin whispered impatiently.

"This one too?" Max caressed the top of Erast's right hip, where a raised crescent moon lit the way further downward. Kirnov nuzzled the scar with his nose and then traced it with his tongue. Fandorin nearly passed out from lack of oxygen. "What is this one?" Max asked, touching again with the very tip of his tongue.

"Hippolyte," Fandorin moaned. "Oh. Oh."

"Hippolyta?" Kirnov questioned, sliding smooth material out of his path and nosing his way over Erast's abdomen.

"S-s-s-hussar," Fandorin gasped. Kirnov stopped, lifted his head to watch Erast's face in what bare light there was.

"You were stabbed in the hip by a female hussar?" Kirnov questioned, kissing blazing skin and torturing Erast a moment longer in order to drag a response from him.

"Have you ever met a female hussar?" Fandorin growled by way of an answer.

"Actually, I have," Max replied, nosing further southward. He stopped himself quickly when the implication of the words sunk in. "Wait....you had an affair with a hussar? When was this?"

Kirnov found himself jealously cataloguing any and all hussar officers that sprang to mind which Fandorin might know. As if reading his mind, Erast growled menacingly. One hand, fingertips really, reached out for Max's face, not intent on touching him tenderly on the tip of his nose, he surmised. Kirnov grasped the fingers and held the hand tight, kissing Erast's palm, and then his abdomen again, using his other hand to slide Erast's trousers down to his knees. Underclothes soon followed. Max circled the head of his lover's cock with the tip of his tongue, and felt a keen delight when Erast gasped his name. I'm lucky it's a short name, Kirnov imagined, feeling his own insides quaking with fear as he enveloped Fandorin's sex with warm, wet heat. It had been too many years since he had done this. He hoped Erast was patient while he relearned and explored at the same time.

It was not hard at all to look Fandorin in the eyes the next time they saw each other. Max had spent two days worrying that slipping out of bed before dawn, before Erast had awakened, had been a mistake. But he had worried for nothing. Fandorin was obviously glad to see him.

They weren't alone in the study for five minutes before Kirnov had Fandorin pinned to the cushions, moaning under a luxurious kiss. The Deputy for Special Assignments cum linguists instructor was wearing one of those wonderful oriental silk outfits under his dressing gown. It was indeed incredibly easy to unbutton. Max had Erast half-undressed in no time at all, and was free to nuzzle as he pleased, free to take his time about things because he knew Erast wasn't going to flee in fear or stab him to death in horror.

When they were lying intertwined, utterly spent, Max realized they had been left alone for an extraordinary amount of time. He glanced up at the door, and discovered that Masa had locked it on his way out more than an hour ago. Masa was keeping Anisii busy in an adjourning room. Their voices were exchanging shouts and Japanese war sounds. Fandorin had an ear cocked towards their sporadic conversation, and he was smiling faintly. Tulipov was not going to find his way back in here unexpectedly. It was almost as if Masa had anticipated Max's plans, while Erast had been utterly clueless.

The next lesson was spent much the same way. The next as well. The afternoon lessons became longer and longer, until entire evenings were spent between silken sheets, learning words by bits and pieces, learning words in whispers and in moans. At least they were speaking some Japanese, but it wasn't exactly the kind of vocabulary that Max could use in a great variety of circumstances.

If Tulipov had a clue what was going on, Max would have been highly surprised. But it would have been impossible to hide anything from the ever-present Masa. Max kept waiting for the Japanese valet to treat him differently, to respond to him in anger or in jealousy, but this never happened. If anything, Masa became warmer and more friendly to him.

Forgoing any pretense, Max came to Fandorin's home several days in a row, and was not turned away. Masa greeted him at the door with a friendly bow, inviting him inside, studying him approvingly before going to alert Fandorin. Tonight, for example, Masa had straightened Max's tie, and frowned at his hair, which was turning dark gray again after spending a month approaching dark brown.

"Did Kirnov-san color hair?" Masa asked.

"No," Max replied, running a hand through the bristles. "It comes and it goes."

"Keep that way. Very handsome," he said loudly, then leaned in to whisper more. "Danna likes it. Him in kitchen. I am going out. Don't let him burn down house."

Masa returned to find Max pacing by the front door, wearing a face that couldn't decide between smugness and concern.

"What is wrong?" the valet questioned. Max dragged him by the arm by into the bedroom, where Fandorin was lying in bed, fully dressed and wrapped in his robe, holding an icepack on his right temple. "What happen?" Masa worried, sitting down and examining Fandorin's skull under the icepack. Had an accident occurred because he let Erast make dinner?

"I'm fine," Erast said moodily.

"You are not fine!" Max exclaimed.

"It's nothing," Fandorin growled.

"I don't know about you, but this doesn't happen to me every day. I did something wrong," he explained to Masa. The valet looked to his master for answers, but Erast didn't offer any. Exasperated, Kirnov started babbling. "I have made people cry, scream, bite, growl, bark, and curse. But I have never, never in my life made anyone sing," Max exclaimed.

"Shut up," Erast said bluntly.

"What did he sing?" Masa asked, smiling devilishly.

"I'm going to smother the both of you in your sleep," Fandorin warned, putting the icepack against his temple again and lying back down, fighting off a deep blush.

"Not to worry. Singing is splendid," Masa pronounced. "He sings before battle. Very good sign."

"What causes this?" Max asked.

"Concussion. Confused connections in brain," Masa nodded grimly.

"Oh, yes, of course," Max agreed. They pondered Fandorin quietly for a second or two. "So I did something right?" Kirnov decided, beginning to smile.

"Yes, yes," Masa nodded. "Singing. Or shivering. Or speaking only French for hour or two."

"Really? Only French? What would cause that?"

"Buddha alone knows," Masa mused. "Touch certain spot, do certain thing, strange responses. Different each time."

"There was a bit of touching involved," Max nodded. "Which spots?" he asked Masa plaintively.

"If danna is cooperative, I can show you," the mischievous valet answered. They advanced towards Erast. Fandorin sat bolt upright on the bed, glaring in fury. He opened his mouth to scream at them, but Max grabbed him by the shoulders and applied a gentle and persuasive kiss to his mouth. Two sets of hands began undoing Fandorin's robe and clothes.

Max paused by the bed the next morning, surveying the scene of great calmness which had descended from one of great madness the night before. There were clothes from one end of the room to the other, even discounting the ones that he himself had drawn on. In the bed, Fandorin was stretched out on his back, one set of fingers buried in the hedgehog spikes of Masa's dark hair. The valet was sleeping across Erast's front, his face concealed in Fandorin's chest. Erast's other hand was on the pillow where Max had been sleeping before he crept out of bed soundlessly.

Kirnov wanted to reach out and take that hand, to kiss the long fingers and nuzzle the slender palm. As he was watching Erast's face, wondering at the calm serenity there, he remembered parts of last night, unable to stop himself from smiling. In particular one or two of the words that Masa had murmured in Erast's ear stuck in his mind. He had spoken them while showing Max exactly where to caress and stroke Fandorin to make him pliable and ecstatic at once. The best spot proved to be quite difficult to reach, and required rather a lot of cooperation on Fandorin's part, which had been hard to win at first. But Masa had whispered certain words in Erast's ear, chanting them softly like an incantation. These words had initially made Erast angry, but then, slowly, uncertainly, Fandorin had started to cooperate, parting his knees, opening his legs, allowing first Masa and then Max and for a few minutes both of them, to touch and caress and massage him inside and out (Inside? Max had marveled at the thought!) They didn't manage to make Erast sing—they had made him pass out!

Once Fandorin had regained consciousness, he was utterly compliant with anything Max or Masa wanted to do with him until he had fallen quietly asleep between them. No wonder he had so easily adapted himself to the capture of Zima-Volkov in the Chinatown murder case! Max had a gleeful moment of realization. There wasn't anything Fandorin was afraid to try. He was undeniably adventurous! Max had managed to involve himself with a paradox—an amoral moralist!

Kirnov's moment of glee was followed by complete panic. He had heard at least one of those words before, the ones Masa had whispered in Erast's ear last night. Fandorin had been shouting it in the other room when he was smashing glass cologne bottles on the floor in anger.

Tsuuzetsu

Max memorized the word in order to ask Erast about it later.

Later arrived in two days' time. They were having dinner out. In spite of Fandorin's wishes otherwise, Masa had made his excuses and went plunging off into the night with a wicked smile on his face, leaving his master inexplicably annoyed, and leaving Max wondering what had happened before he had arrived.

Erast had driven them by droshky to a cozy French restaurant, and they made polite conversation over unsatisfying food that left Max feeling hungry and confused. This kind of repast simply wasn't to his taste. As Erast was pouring him a second glass of wine, Max leaned across the small space and whispered the word to him.

"Tsuuzetsu. What does it mean?" Kirnov asked as Fandorin blushed seven colors of red and nearly dropped the bottle of wine.

"Ask m-me again at home, and I will explain," Fandorin had said simply, returning the conversation to polite topics and confirming Kirnov's fears that it must be a very bad word indeed.

At home, in the study, Erast avoided sitting down by Max on the cushions and mats, pacing before the desk and clasping and unclasping his hands. Kirnov watched him go back and forth several times before he reached out and grasped one ankle and pulled Erast to a stop.

"Tell me what it means."

"Only if you p-promise never t-to repeat it."

"Not a term of affection then?"

Fandorin blushed hotly, shaking his head no.

"Why was Masa whispering it in your ear?" Max asked.

"T-tormenting me, meant in affection, I suppose."

"Well?"

"Whore."

"Are you calling me names?"

"Exactly my p-point," Erast trembled.

"That's why you were so angry?" Max questioned, standing up and pulling Fandorin around to face him. "You thought…..during the case….you thought I was using you as if you were a whore?"

Fandorin was completely bewildered.

"That's what you were shouting from over there," Kirnov said, pointing across the hall to the bedroom. Erast placed what Max was going on about, and horrified embarrassment covered his face.

"You were pretending to be a prostitute, but you were mad at me for using you as such to interrogate the Morozovi?" Max added.

"Yes!" Erast blasted back at him. "Because I'm not, and there's a big difference!"

Kirnov chuckled darkly, embracing Fandorin very carefully.

"You're such a thundercloud when you're angry," Max whispered smoothly in Erast's ear. "All energy and explosions. I should hate to see you really lose your temper."

Epilogue

I know each of his scars by name. I have caressed them with my fingers, and I have touched them with my tongue. I love even his smallest imperfections, you see. The scars on his body are nothing compared to the ones on his heart. If only I could reach inside him and take away that pain.

On his upper lip is Addy, a lover's bite concealed by his thin moustache.

Just below his collarbone is Renate, a sliver of pain that would have taken his life if a certain evil demon had been a second faster and Erast had been a second slower.

On his right shoulder is Heddy, the tiny star-shaped spot from the dart that Cupid misfired.

On his right side between two ribs is Azazel, and each time I kiss this one, he trembles.

On the back of his left shoulder is the distinct mark of a whip. He calls that one 'Treason' and gives no other explanation. His frown is enough to keep me from asking more.

On his right hip is the crescent moon named Hippolyte. I have worshipped this mark with much tenderness. The barest touch there makes Erast smile and grow anxious with anticipation.

My favorite scar is Max, a nearly-indistinguishable nick on the underside of his cock. It's about as long as the very tip of my thumb. I have smoothed this one over with my hands, my fingertips, my tongue. As we move against one another, skin against skin, soul against soul, I can feel this scar against my own flesh. When Erast has decided to stop arguing with me about who will lead our strange dance, when he lies back against the silken sheets and lets me touch where I please, lets me kiss where I please, lets me do as I please, it is the name of my own scar that he is whispering.

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