Title: ON THE STEPPES II: AT THE BEACH
Author: Josan
Beta: The List at SkinnerKrycek
Date: July, 2000
Summary: In another time, in another incarnation.

BTW: this is *not* a serious piece of
historical fiction. It's AU, so the time period is more "costume" than real...sorta history a la Hollywood of the 1920's.

Pairing: Duh!
Rating: Yes, RJ, finally NC-17
Archive: Yes to SKSA, Basement, Ratlover, and RatB.
Anyone else, please ask so I know where this is going.

Comments: jmann@mondenet.com
OR, if you're getting bounced due to the anti-spam filter my server has added, try jmann@spam.mondenet.com

DISCLAIMER: These are the property of CC, Fox and
1013: let's see if they actually use them in Season 8.

NOTE: This story is for RJ, aka THE WICKED BETA OF THE
WEST, who requested a story with Alex on a horse. So that begat ON THE STEPPES.

Okay, that was fine, she said, but where's the sex? You promised me some sex.

So I spoke to the guys about it. And they agreed.

 

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Sergei Sergeyevich looked around him and sighed with pleasure. Life was good.

His enemies would be livid to know that the posting they had arranged for him, far from the society of Moscow or St. Petersburg, was not exactly the exile they had sought for him.

His true superiors realized that some of his activities against those who had delusions of grandeur had now put his very life at stake. He was too important to them to be thrown to the wolves.

They made a show of capitulating to the demands of his enemies and sent him to ........., on the Sea of Azov. Only temporarily, they assured him: only until they had finished rounding up those who threatened his holy majesty, Tsar Nikolai, the first of that name.

They apologized for the location of the posting, but surely he understood that it had to look like a real punishment.

He accepted, with grace: they congratulated him on the dignity with which he accepted. Little knowing that it took all his training to keep his face so carefully neutral when what he wanted to do was shout with joy.

"Where would your honour like to rest?"

The General looked around the beach and pointed to a dry section in front of a high, partially grassed dune. Silently, the serfs expertly set up a sun-screen, a large piece of heavy canvas on four posts they staked into the ground, the back portion low to the sand, the front almost six feet above it. A heavy, beautifully woven rug was laid on the ground and then several large, gaudily coloured cushions were piled, to be used as their honours wished for their comfort.

Lastly, two large wicker containers were set up under the screen, in the shade but not on the rug. One of them contained ice and the run-off would go into the ground, not on the rug which could disrupt the pleasure of the day for their honours.

Not, thought the servant who was directing the whole thing, that these particular honours would order the entire household beaten if something went wrong with their plans. Though strict -- the soldiers at the post were quite in awe of the General's temper and the officers had certainly learnt to be wary of his tongue -- the servant had to admit that, on the whole, the household had never been better treated.

Oh, the General had his "quirks". Like his insistence that his secretary be given the bedchamber next to his, the one with the connecting doors. As if they couldn't guess what went on behind those doors. But the food for the household had also improved: no one had been ordered beaten by the disappointed wife of the latest commander in disgrace. The household was more than willing to turn a blind eye to the goings-on.

"Shall we return at sunset, your honour?"

The General nodded, dismissed the servant and the serfs with a negligent wave of his hand, all the while watching the horizon.

He waited until he was alone to find shelter from the morning sun under the screen.

That he was alone at the moment was his own fault.

Towards the end of his second leave, a few days before he was to return to St. Petersburg, Alexander had asked to speak to him. Quite formally. Not as his lover, but as a member of his household.

"Please. Is there something I could be taught to do here while you are gone?"

The General thought and realized that apart from riding and waiting for him, Alexander really had nothing with which to occupy his time. "Would you like to learn to read?"

"I can already read," Alexander informed him, hesitantly. "I can write a little as well."

And with those words, Sergei Sergeyevich realized that he had won more than Alexander's love: he had also won his trust. The Law considered it to be an offense, punishable by death, to teach a serf to read and write. Both for the student and the teacher.

"Show me," he said, handing his lover the book he had on his desk. And Alexander read, slowly at first, carefully sounding out the words he was not familiar with, but with more and more confidence. His writing was not as good, but before he left, Sergei Sergeyevich had instructed the retired teacher who acted as his sometime secretary to train Alexander in his profession.

And of course, his Alexander proved to have the intelligence, the ability to serve as his secretary by the time of his next leave.

Not that he could take him with him to St. Petersburg. There he had his own military secretary. Nor to the house he supposedly maintained with his wife. Her foibles and his were kept out of that edifice. Not that he even pretended to live there: he usually resided in the officers' quarters. He presented himself only for important family gatherings, such as the presentation of his elder daughter.

His lady wife had not been pleased with this new posting of his, his supposed exile. Still it was well known that they had not lived together for many years, so it should impose no great hardship on her social life. Moreover her money would smooth out any bump that would have the temerity to interrupt the flow of that life. And his elder daughter was already safely married off, soon to make him a grandfather.

He shook his head. At 36, he did not feel old enough to be a grandfather, still he was growing as bald as he remembered his had been.

So, since arriving at ......., Alexander had taken over the role of secretary and done so with proficiency, dedication. And damn his bloody dedication, thought the General: who cared if the reports went out on this mail or the next? Nobody bothered to read the damn things anyway.

It crossed his mind, as he made himself comfortable on the cushions, if this were how Alexander felt, waiting for him to find the time to allow his lover into his life? It made him understand all the more Alexander's enthusiastic response to his offer to come along with him on this posting.

"For a great General, you should be paying more attention to your surroundings. For all you know, I could be some assassin hired to dispose of you."

The General shaded his eyes and grinned up at the man who was watching him, smiling. "Don't be ridiculous, Alexander. I have been exiled to the ends of the earth. Even an assassin wouldn't bother coming all this way. Don't you know that this post is known as a living death?"

Alexander laughed, dropped to his knees next to the General. "I can think of another kind of death I would rather experience."

The General rejoiced that besides allowing Alexander a chance to show off his training, this posting also seemed to have stripped off the last of his vestiges of serfdom. In public, he was the General and Alexander his secretary. In private, they were equals, each meeting the other on a level field. Before Alexander had waited for him to indicate the time for intercourse: here, Alexander often took the lead.

As he did now.

And then the General went away and Sergei was left to enjoy the way Alexander's mouth was playing with his.

Alexander nibbled on Sergei's mouth while his hand went to the buttons at his lover's shoulder and pulled back the flap. His mouth wetly slipped its way down the muscular throat exposed for his attention, playfully sucked on the protruding adam's apple before leaving a line of bite marks along the part of the collar bone it could reach.

Sergei's hand was also carefully busy with the buttons on Alexander's tunic. He loved this particular shirt on his lover. It was white as his was, but the seamstress who had decorated it had a sense of humour. The heavy green embroidery on both collar and cuffs was that of an endless line of cats, in various poses: stretching, curled up sleeping, hissing with arched backs, washing themselves.

They took their time, slowing ridding the other of his tunic, exposing skin to the warm air. Alexander nuzzled one brown nipple and then the other while Sergei's hands caressed the long back, leisurely making their way down the line of the spine, coming up by way of the rib cage.

Alexander's mouth moved up to claim another of those devouring kisses that left Sergei breathless and hungry. Eyes holding, he deliberately rubbed his lower body against Sergei's, watching with one of those satisfied cat-smiles of his as Sergei's eyes closed, as his hips pushed up against his lover's.

They were both hard. Alexander revelled in the fact that he was the one who could make the General forget who he was; make him aware that all he was, was the organ that rose between his legs.

And he rejoiced that this man made him feel the same way. That he had no need to pretend to feelings, to reactions. To force his body to accept what was being done to it. He knew too that if he asked, he would be allowed to leave. Not that he wanted to. But the freedom to do so imbued all this with so much more meaning.

"A...lex...an...der!" Sergei wanted more than just the rubbing of cloth against his cock. And lost even that as Alexander raised himself off the body he was tormenting. A hand quickly loosened his riding pants and he returned the favour. They were both still wearing their boots so that the most they could do was draw the other's pants down past his hips. But it was enough.

Sergei reached between them and caught both erections in his large callused hand. Alexander groaned loudly. He supported his weight on his good hand, raised himself enough to pump his hips faster as that deliciously painful friction on his highly sensitized cock sent him over the edge. His cry was followed by a long low moan from the man under him.

They lay, arms around each other, while their hearts gradually stopped pounding.

Sergei played lazily with the silky hair that tickled his face. Alexander licked at the bite marks that remained on his lover's collar bone.

Sergei's hands made their way down to this lover's ass. They caressed what he thought was one of Alexander's best features.

"HEY!" Alexander rolled off as his ass tingled from a slap.

Sergei grinned, unrepentant. "We wasted a hour of our holiday while you sent the mail on its way."

Alexander rubbed at his sore ass. "Every day has been a holiday since we arrived. All I did was see to it that all the letters in the village were included in the pouch, not just those 'official' reports that we both know will end up in some filing cabinet."

That was another reason the General knew that his lover was accepted in local society. Mail service between the village and the outer world had been minimal at best. No longer. Reports were to be sent on a monthly basis to the Department of War. So what if the pouch now contained more than the compulsory monthly report? If a soldier wished to send a letter home to his mother, he now could. If the mayor's wife wished to write to her sister in one of the communities the military served in, she could. She might even receive an answer.

Sergei passed a loving hand over his lover's torso. "You're sticky."

Alexander lay back on the rug. "You're not?"

Raising his hips, Sergei reached down and pulled up his pants enough so that he could stand. "Give me your leg." With some difficulty, he removed Alexander's boots. Who shimmied his pants off. Who then rose to his knees, took one of his lover's boots between his thighs and managed to rid him of it, then the other. Sergei hurriedly stripped his pants off. Laughing, together they ran into the still cool Azov.

The family physician had been pleased with the progress he was getting with the exercises he had developed for Alexander's left arm. But he had been delighted to know that they were being posted by the sea. "Swimming. As much as possible. The best exercise for the muscles that are left."

Alexander had had no knowledge of swimming. Their first time in the water, Sergei knew it was only the great trust and love he bore him that allowed Alexander to follow him into the choppy waters. Sergei had repaid that trust by never being more than an arms's length away from the man who would follow him into Hell if he asked it of him.

As everything else he did, Alexander threw himself into learning this skill. It was harder since he really had very little use of his left arm. He couldn't lift and carry it overhead, or push with it. It meant that he was often off course though he did acquire enough ability and confidence to enjoy the activity. But he went only if Sergei were free to go with him, never alone, never with anyone else.

They idled the day away. In and out of the water, letting the sun dry them. Snacking their way through the wicker container of roasted chicken, fruit, breads and cheeses. Through the one with ice-chilled lemonade, champagne. They napped under the sun-screen, against the cushions, heads on each other's shoulders: lazily talked about insignificant things; sometimes just kissing because here, in the open, they could.

They were awakened in late afternoon by a snort and a wet, bristly kiss.

"What?" Sergei rubbed the drool off his face. He looked up to see the pleased expression on what had to be one of the local farm horses. An animal who seemed more interested in the contents of the wicker baskets now that he had some attention.

Alexander merely grunted and went back to sleep.

Sergei propped himself up on his elbows and examined the huge stallion. He wasn't in the first blush of youth: the grey whiskers were proof of that. But he seemed healthy enough. "So, taking the day away from work too, are you?"

Sergei stood up and carefully checked the temperament of the horse. Apart from looking over his shoulder to see just what the man was up to, the horse continued happily eating the melon rind he had found in a bowl. He allowed the man to pick up his feet, to gently pull on his tail, to scratch under his chin. To rub under the bridle he was wearing.

Sergei checked the sun, calculated the time.

He smiled.

"Alexander. Come on, Alexander, wake up. We have a visitor."

Alexander sleepily turned, yawned and stretched. "Visitor? What visitor?"

Sergei and his cock both responded to that stretch: they always did. "Open your eyes and you'll see."

Alexander lazily opened his eyes part-way, checked out the massive black beast and sat up. "Radishchev's prize stallion. He uses him for breeding."

Sergei grinned. "Of course. How could I not recognize him?"

Alexander laughed. "You're too busy trying to turn those incompetents they send out here into a real troop." He got up, scratched the horse between the ears.

"Alexander, let's go for a ride."

"A ride? On him?"

"Yes. A ride. On him. He's big enough to bear both our weights. Along the beach. There's something I want to show you."

Alexander shrugged, reached for his pants.

"No. We don't need any clothes. It's not that far away."

Alexander looked at the curiously innocent expression on Sergei's face. He looked to the horse. "No reins. How are we going to lead him?"

"Do you doubt I can control him?" Sergei allowed just the merest bit of hurt, but pulled one of the straps that had held a basket shut and looped it around the bridle.

Alexander shrugged. With some help from Sergei, he managed to get up on the broad back, just over the horse's shoulders. He pulled Sergei up behind him. "Now what?"

"Lean forward." Sergei reached around Alexander, tugged on the strap sharply, causing the horse to raise his head, and with a couple of kicks, got the animal moving. It took a few more minutes before he got the animal to understand he wanted him to make his way along the wet part of the sandy beach.

Alexander laughed at Sergei's attempts but once the horse began walking in the path directed, Sergei nudged him. "Here, you hold the strap. You're closer to his head."

Alexander groaned. "This had better be a short ride or we may both end up with a pair of sore balls."

Hands now free, Sergei rubbed his lover's back. "Not too long, I think." Slid his hands teasingly across the sensitive skin of Alexander's groin. Bent over and caught an earlobe with his mouth, sucked on it.

"Sergei?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are we going to do what I think we're going to do?"

Sergei moved his mouth to nibble on a particularly sensitive spot just under his lover's ear. "Any objections?"

Alexander bit his lip against the sensations his lover's mouth was arousing. "If we fall off..."

"Ah, if we do, it will be your fault. You'll have stopped holding on.

"And try not to pull: you'll steer him off the beach. If we do fall, I for one would prefer the sand to the rocks up there.

"Careful. Now lean forward. Onto his neck."

Alexander's cock had already climbed to attention at the tone in Sergei's voice. His new position, the movement of the horse caused it to rub back and forth along the animal's velvety rough skin. He groaned at the sensation.

Behind him, Sergei took a moment to appreciate the view. The forward angle of Alexander's body had raised his hips; the width of the horse had caused his ass cheeks to separate. Sergei's target was in full view.

He used some spit to slick the way in, causing more groans from the front. He used the pre-cum leaking from his cock mixed with more spit to facilitate his way into his lover's asshole. Then, he carefully pulled Alexander back, fully staking him onto his cock. He used one hand to hold Alexander close. "Spit." And Alexander spat onto the other hand which took loose possession of his cock.

And then nothing. Neither man did anything. But the gait of the horse, the fact that they were sitting joined...

Sergei waited until they were both comfortable with the rhythm before he gave the horse the gentlest of kicks, just enough so that he picked up the pace.

Alexander bit his lip. Sergei tightened his grip on his lover. He also tightened his grip on the horse with his thighs, not knowing that the animal was used to being ridden by children whose legs did not reach far down the broad back. The horse responded by once more picking up the pace.

The horse didn't often get to run along the open beach and he decided that since his riders were not complaining -- at least those didn't sound like complaints -- he would take advantage. He hurried a little faster.

The rhythm of the horse's movements caused Alexander to bounce up and down along Sergei's cock, caused Alexander's cock to slide back and forth in Sergei's hand.

Alexander threw his head back, unconsciously gripping the makeshift rein with all his strength. Sergei had no idea why the horse was speeding up, had just enough brains left to know that he had to stay on the animal.

The horse wasn't sure which command he was to follow: whether he should turn or go faster. Their shouts of completion startled him into wondering if he should slow down. The dead weight that fell on his neck told him it might be a better idea to stop. Besides, there were some nice grasses there that needed sampling.

Slowly, Sergei raised himself off Alexander, carefully wriggled back and out of him. He slid off the grazing animal and pulled Alexander off, quickly checking him for damage.

Alexander lay with his arm over his eyes.

Sergei joined him, propped up on an elbow, snagged a piece of grass to stroke his lover's face.

"To think that once," sighed Alexander, "all I wanted, was the experience of riding a horse. Today, I can truly say that I've ridden two stallions at the same time."

Sergei Sergeyevich roared with laughed.

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Tsar Nikolai reigned from 1825 - 1855

Sergei's and Alexander's embroidered shirts might look something like these at:

http://www.costumes.org/pages/ethnogra.htm

Again, thanks go to Fan4Richie for the site.