Fic: Bullet Sky (RPF)
Nov. 15th, 2009 05:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
urbancatePairing: Karl(Kirill)/OFC
Length: 750
Rating: R
Written for prompt fromhypatia_82at ![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
stxi_sinfest. Karl/OFC. Character research/development. Sometimes when he has trouble getting a character just right, he lets the character go out and find a girl. (if the character happens to be McCoy or Kirill, I might have to promise you my first born)
Note: Many many years ago, I spent a few days in Berlin. There has been much modernization and brightening since then (since the wall came down), I'm sure, but in my mind it will always be a very gray sort of city.
The girls on stage are mostly naked and the working girls on the floor of the club don't have them beat much for decency, and they are all a little hard around the edges. It's a likely place. Especially for someone as hard around the edges as Kirill. He thinks of it as practicality, but that is because anyone's view of themselves is...colored. It's that bullet-lead color of Kirill's view that has been elusive, that Karl is here to find. In a more tangible form than even a Walther P99 or the scope on his Sauer Rifle. Karl - Kirill, actually - Karl is only along for the ride, to observe - Kirill needs a woman.
It doesn't take long, sitting in a table at the back, drinking his vodka straight, almost as if it is the water it sounds like in Russian - it takes almost no time at all before three woman-girls with their over-painted eyes and lips have joined him, in competition with each other and interested in making deals, transactions. He drinks vodka and considers their individual attractions, mainly in silence, while they vie for his attention - red mouths and bare skin. He finally chooses - in his mind, only, at this point, not by any indication they will pick up - the most girlish of the three. Her edges are the softest, there are still fragments of hope floating through her vision. And she is Russian. Come to Berlin for a different life, no doubt. Karl thinks she makes an excellent flip-image for this character study. Kirill only thinks that he will enjoy her, that her twisty blond hair will feel good in his hands and that "da" from her lips as he fucks her will sound sweet and bitter and right.
The thing is, he - Kirill - does not give or receive, he inflicts. Pleasure or pain, death or sex, it is all the same - transactional business between Kirill and the world, and Kirill makes the terms. A number, so many Euros, and some more vodka after the other two slink away for other game, and the soft Russian girl with the twisty blond hair and pornographically red mouth is his in a back room.
He fucks her rough and hard and fast, from behind, after she strips and he pushes her to her knees on the bed. Whether she comes or not is only a matter of ego, not of misplaced romanticism, so he honestly doesn't give it much effort. Just his cock, her cunt, and the slap of skin. He pulls on her hair and she arches into him. She's actually enjoying this, rough sex with the rough-edged mystery man who wouldn't give a name. So it draws out longer than he expected, slippery and more heated than he expected. If this were Moscow, he thinks, she would have lost her softness a long time ago. But this is Berlin, more Western by only the slightest degrees, so there is still give and take in this girl-woman-whore. So he takes. And maybe he gives. But mostly he takes, demands. And the screaming moan that escapes her is genuine. His own release is better than expected, but he can blame that on her voice and the curve of her ass and the bend of her spine.
If her leaves her twice the number of Euros than previously agreed upon, it is only because he is Russian, and she is Russian, and the pragmatic and the romantic have long been at war in the Russian soul.
Length: 750
Rating: R
Written for prompt from
hypatia_82at stxi_sinfest. Karl/OFC. Character research/development. Sometimes when he has trouble getting a character just right, he lets the character go out and find a girl. (if the character happens to be McCoy or Kirill, I might have to promise you my first born) Note: Many many years ago, I spent a few days in Berlin. There has been much modernization and brightening since then (since the wall came down), I'm sure, but in my mind it will always be a very gray sort of city.
Character Study: Bullet Sky
The sky over Berlin is gray and leaden, the mid-afternoon sun hidden. The sky is the color of bullets. It is something Karl notes because he is in the habit of looking up at the sky just to look at it. It is something Kirill notes because he is in the habit of calculating things like visibility and how the 15k wind from the southeast will effect the flight of a kill shot rendered from 2000 meters away. Kirill's eyes look at the world through refractions of death and pleasure and mission and self. Kirill is a...difficulty. Much to Karl's dismay. Kirill, though, he will enjoy this afternoon's outing.
The girls on stage are mostly naked and the working girls on the floor of the club don't have them beat much for decency, and they are all a little hard around the edges. It's a likely place. Especially for someone as hard around the edges as Kirill. He thinks of it as practicality, but that is because anyone's view of themselves is...colored. It's that bullet-lead color of Kirill's view that has been elusive, that Karl is here to find. In a more tangible form than even a Walther P99 or the scope on his Sauer Rifle. Karl - Kirill, actually - Karl is only along for the ride, to observe - Kirill needs a woman.
It doesn't take long, sitting in a table at the back, drinking his vodka straight, almost as if it is the water it sounds like in Russian - it takes almost no time at all before three woman-girls with their over-painted eyes and lips have joined him, in competition with each other and interested in making deals, transactions. He drinks vodka and considers their individual attractions, mainly in silence, while they vie for his attention - red mouths and bare skin. He finally chooses - in his mind, only, at this point, not by any indication they will pick up - the most girlish of the three. Her edges are the softest, there are still fragments of hope floating through her vision. And she is Russian. Come to Berlin for a different life, no doubt. Karl thinks she makes an excellent flip-image for this character study. Kirill only thinks that he will enjoy her, that her twisty blond hair will feel good in his hands and that "da" from her lips as he fucks her will sound sweet and bitter and right.
The thing is, he - Kirill - does not give or receive, he inflicts. Pleasure or pain, death or sex, it is all the same - transactional business between Kirill and the world, and Kirill makes the terms. A number, so many Euros, and some more vodka after the other two slink away for other game, and the soft Russian girl with the twisty blond hair and pornographically red mouth is his in a back room.
He fucks her rough and hard and fast, from behind, after she strips and he pushes her to her knees on the bed. Whether she comes or not is only a matter of ego, not of misplaced romanticism, so he honestly doesn't give it much effort. Just his cock, her cunt, and the slap of skin. He pulls on her hair and she arches into him. She's actually enjoying this, rough sex with the rough-edged mystery man who wouldn't give a name. So it draws out longer than he expected, slippery and more heated than he expected. If this were Moscow, he thinks, she would have lost her softness a long time ago. But this is Berlin, more Western by only the slightest degrees, so there is still give and take in this girl-woman-whore. So he takes. And maybe he gives. But mostly he takes, demands. And the screaming moan that escapes her is genuine. His own release is better than expected, but he can blame that on her voice and the curve of her ass and the bend of her spine.
If her leaves her twice the number of Euros than previously agreed upon, it is only because he is Russian, and she is Russian, and the pragmatic and the romantic have long been at war in the Russian soul.
