Slavonic Dances

-Farfalla Caquí-

It was Friday morning, the slowest time of the week for the Donfield's tiny family-owned pest control service. Mrs. Anne Donfield was entirely cognizant of this, and decided to exploit the natural lull in order to make a brief run to the grocer's. "Darling, I'm going down to the grocery store to pick up some rice for tonight," she told her husband as she put on her hat. "I have my keys in case you get called to a job."

"Good idea," said Michael Donfield, tapping his foot to the ambient music without realizing it.

Anne noticed. "You're listening to the Slavonic Dances again," she observed as she opened the door. "I'm amazed you haven't worn a hole through the record. Any particular reason you keep playing it?"

Michael smiled at her tensely. Deep down, he knew the reason as truly as he knew his own name. But he wasn't about to admit that he'd been listening to the symphonic record all day for an entire week because he had a raging homosexual crush on an Eastern European man he barely knew. He hadn't even admitted it to himself yet. Instead, he filled his ears with Dvorak's native peasant dances and let them sing his unphrased thoughts.

He'd selected the Slavonic Dances as the focal point of his obsession instinctively, without any logic or calculation. He had no idea what country Ambassador Vladeck was from--all those tiny countries were controlled by the Soviets, anyway, weren't they?--but Slavonic was vague enough to his white-bread, American mind to cover all bases. The music was certainly very ethnic-sounding of *some* variety, and Vladeck's good looks were nothing if not ethnic and exotic.

He wasn't about to tell his wife about the bewitchingly crooked eyebrows and lilting, smirking voice. He doubted she'd understand--on any level; Vladeck wasn't Anne's type of man. She preferred the clean-cut, blonde, buff, smiling All-American--just like Michael.

Michael wondered what Ambassador Vladeck preferred.

He had a feeling there would be something unpredictable about it.

"Guess it's my week for Dvorak," Michael told his wife, and blew her a kiss as she walked off to the store. He leaned back in his chair and opened his legs as he waited until he knew she was gone. The anticipation got the better of him, though, and as the music filled his ears, blood began to fill his groin. His fingers curled on his thighs as he forced himself to wait a safe amount of time.

When he felt safe enough, with quick movements--before his mind had time to catch up with his fingers--he unzipped and was holding himself in his practiced hand. He let the sounds of the native dances wash over him as he brought himself to full erection, images of the lithe Ambassador floating through his mind. They changed in character as the music changed. He imagined him wistful, gazing out of the windows in the palatial Embassy, surrounded by wealth and power but thinking briefly of his green and bucolic homeland. He imagined him buoyantly happy, surrounded by servants and chefs, tailors to fit him with new hundred-dollar suits, an expensive cigar balanced smartly between two sparkling white fangs. He imagined him walking down the street at night flanked by bodyguards, on his way to parties and plays, moonlight and streetlights glinting erratically from anything shiny in his clothing.

He barely had the courage to imagine himself in any of these fantasies. He found the idea almost too intimidating to fathom. Instead, he simply concentrated his dreams on Vladeck's large, dark eyes, and pinioned himself on those startling cheekbones.

At the instant his penis throbbed hot stickiness into his agitatedly-working fingers, the telephone rang.

"Shit." He quickly caught his breath and picked up the phone with the other hand. "Michael Donfield, pest control."

"Meester Donfield." The voice was slow, calculating, and foreign. Unmistakably foreign.

"Am--Ambassador Vladeck. Good morning." Michael's professionalism switched on autopilot, "What can I do for you?" He was terrified of what he unrealistically wished the answer would be. Unable to resist the insectoid metaphor, he imagined himself as a moth, drawn to the flame of the Ambassador's fiery eyes.

"I vould like you to come to the Embassy in an hour," said the voice on the telephone. "I vant your help dealing vith a snake."

"A snake--in the Embassy?" Michael visually scanned his equipment shelf. "Well, I do own a trap and a smoke-kit.... I've never caught a snake before."

"You vill have assistance. I'm sure it vill not cause you too much trouble." God, was there no end to the sexiness merely in the way he said 'trouble'? Trouble. This was full of it, evidently. Now Michael pictured himself as a small bug trapped in a spiderweb, with Vladeck the slick, dark master of its silken trap.

"An hour, you said?" He quoted his rates as he frantically cleaned the semen off his hand with a handkerchief.

"I vill send around my car. My men vill bring you here."

"That's very nice of you, Ambassador. Thank you very much." He shoved the cloth back in his pocket absentmindedly without realizing it and then hung up the phone.

My God.

Ambassador Vladeck had sent for him, not two seconds after he had finished spilling his own seed on the man's account. Wondering if he looked as nervous as he felt, he went into the washroom to splash some cold water on his face.

He suited up and wrote a note for his wife. Then he sat down and waited, the martial, smug glory of the seventh Slavonic Dance reverberating all around the room.


Two joyless men in dark suits accompanied Michael on his journey. One opened the door of the limousine for him and the other one took his smoke-kit and snake-trap and found a place for them within the vehicle. He sat by himself in the passenger area, peering out of the window with the same eager yet nervous excitement of a young boy on his first day of summer camp. At least he had the sense to realize that thinking about anything, anticipating anything at all would lead to more mental turmoil than was sensible. He resolved himself to devote his mind to the capture of snakes. He'd done some reading while he had waited; luckily, he kept a stash of books about all manner of unwelcome animals in a crate in his office.

The stone-faced men helped him out of the car and gave him back his things. "Follow me, please, Mr. Donfield," said the taller of the two, and they showed him the way up the staircase. It was at least seven feet wide and Michael, wearing his white chemical suit, felt awkwardly worker-bee amidst all the marble and gild in the building.

The men summited the staircase before he did and assumed a position flanking the door. "In here, Mr. Donfield," said one of them, opening the door. "He is vaiting for you." The other one had not said a word.

Michael gulped. Then he smiled, always his secret weapon against the world. He was still smiling as he walked inside and laid eyes on the Ambassador.

Vladeck was seated in an ornate, high-backed chair at the opposite end of the room, facing the door. He was leaning back, shifted onto one elbow against the armrest, and his legs were crossed. In each hand he held a brandy glass. His powerful, compelling eyes swept over Michael's body.

"You--you said you've got a snake loose in the building, Ambassador?" Michael asked him. The door shut mysteriously behind him, no doubt the work of the stoic men in the dark suits.

"Come. Have a drink. Sit down," Vladeck commanded in a genial, inviting sotto-voce. He held out one of the brandies.

Michael's eyes flickered over the glasses, then at his own snake-wrangling gear, then over Vladeck's body. When his eyes met those dark Slavic ones he knew the other man knew exactly what he was thinking. He was reminded again of his spider analogy, and wondered if any bug had ever felt so lucky to be caught. Then he chastised himself for letting his fantasies get in the way of his career. He stepped closer, leaving his gear behind him on the floor.

Vladeck stood up and held out the brandy to him, and Michael lifted his hand to accept it. He fully meant to grasp the glass, but his nervousness must have gotten the better of him. At the instant his fingers brushed against Vladeck's, the glass slipped through both of their clutches and tumbled to the floor.

Michael exhaled sharply and looked down. Luckily, the elaborate carpet was far too plush to allow for the breakage of glassware. The brandy had spilled out all over his white uniform, but at least the crystal was safe. Thank God--it looked priceless.

Vladeck looked slightly troubled, but not offended. "I apologize, Meester Donfield. I intended to share vith you this brandy."

"Well, I--" Michael stuttered, relieved that he wasn't about to be fired before the job had even begun, and also slightly confused.

Vladeck held up his hand, motioning for Michael to stop talking, which he instantly obeyed. "Is wery good," Vladeck drawled. "You must try. Taste." He took a sip from his own glass.

Since there wasn't another glass next to the brandy bottle on the little table beside the chair, Michael expected Vladeck to pass the glass to him next.

Michael did not expect Vladeck to place a fiercely strong hand on his shoulder, draw him closer as if he were on wheels, and plant his mouth across Michael's own.

Vladeck pried Michael's lips apart with his tongue and hot brandy poured down Michael's throat. Michael swallowed it and kissed and sucked onto everything that would be sucked and held on for dear life, his tongue and throat burning in every place the brandy--or Vladeck--had touched. He threw his arms around the other man's body and clutched him so hard he almost felt like he'd scratched flesh through the expensive tailored suit.

He felt like brandy had replaced every drop of blood in his body.

Vladeck's fingers were doing something to his back that made him grind himself, hard, against the Ambassador. He was almost losing his breath. He was about to pull away but Vladeck must have sensed somehow and removed his mouth, first.

Michael tried to catch his breath.

"Do you like the brandy?" Vladeck murmured sultrily, barely moving his lips. His eyes were half-closed.

Michael nodded vigorously, his chest heaving powerfully. "I--I..."

"Ve get you out of zis...." Vladeck's hands plucked derisively at Michael's brandy-spattered uniform. "...vorker suit now?"

Michael's response was only a throaty groan. Both he and Vladeck began removing his suit, which was actually more trouble with two people clawing at it than one person working alone.

When it was finally around Michael's knees, he stepped out of it and kicked it aside. "I guess there isn't any snake." He gave his smoke-kit and trap a final glance.

Vladeck seized his hand and the next thing he knew, it was wrapped around a handful of wool-covered cock. Michael squeezed hungrily. "I theenk," said Vladeck slowly, "that you know exactly vhat to do... vith snakes."

Suddenly it dawned on Michael. He felt like an idiot. He'd been so busy concocting insect and spider metaphors, moths and flames and worker bees filling his mind, that he hadn't noticed the blatent reptile innuendo being flung at him full-force. And him with an engineering degree. Well, you know what they say about physicists not being able to add up their own grocery bills...

Grocer's! Anne. He'd written her the note... she'd know he was on a job. At least Vladeck had been cleverer than he'd been himself.

"I have, uh, limited experience," said Michael. "But I've got good instincts."

"Good," said Vladeck, smiling. He reached out and fondled the well-defined ridge in Michael's jeans. "I like vhat you have to offer, Meester Donfield."

Michael's eyelids flickered, his eyelashes almost as lush as a woman's. "Michael, at this point... please."

Vladeck murmured something Michael couldn't understand, let alone pronounce, before pouncing on his lips once again. Michael let his mouth fill with Vladeck's invading tongue, taking it in as deep as Vladeck had length to thrust. Both their hands rubbed more tightly against their twin erections.

A noise outside made Michael jerk away momentarily. Vladeck calmed him with a caress to his tense shoulder. "Do not vorry," he said reassuringly. "My men vill make sure that nobody disturbs us."

"What are we... where can we..." Michael looked all around the room. His eyes landed on the elegant cream-colored sofa near the back wall.

"It is comfortable. I vill *make* you comfortable." Vladeck led him to the sofa, his hands never leaving the young American's sturdy form.

They tackled each other against the sofa's elegant frame, Michael pulling the Ambassador down into himself demandingly. Vladeck mounted him, his hands and knees against the couch-cushions. He ducked his head and fed from Michael like a lion at a kill, and Michael in turn nipped at every bit of skin his lips could reach.

They couldn't strip each other fast enough. Both men's shirts and undershirts quickly joined Vladeck's tie against the high, sculpted back of the sofa. Shoes were kicked off, socks peeled away with such haste that scratches were left on their ankles by wayward fingernails.

Trousers were last. Michael became lazy and worshipful, and made Vladeck do all the work at this point. He was too entranced by Vladeck's moderately hairy chest and thin but powerfully strong form to do anything but lie there caressing him over and over, and the Ambassador was forced to undress them both. Michael's hands rested on either side of Vladeck's chest, and he scraped downwards with his thumbs. They grazed Vladeck's nipples, first delicately, then again more roughly.

Vladeck swept a hand across Michael's smooth, well-defined chest in an answering caress. His hand did not stop until it had trailed down past the belly to Michael's proudly erect penis, which he proceeded to envelop with his fingers and begin pumping.

Michael reached down to do the same to Vladeck and Ohh it felt sooo good.... both of his hands were soon grabbing at the stiff organ from all angles. Hot and heavy it weighed against his palm, bigger than his own, which was only ordinary but definitely sufficient for the purpose. He reached further back and trailed his fingers across Vladeck's balls, too. It occurred to him that he wished he could do this forever. It felt so ~right~ and so much better than anything sexual he'd ever experienced before.

He couldn't get enough of Vladeck's touch. Thrusting as hard as he could into the other man's hand, he fondled him completely and ravenously. Their lips met periodically, but kissing had been deferred since the heavy panting associated with sexual activity made it difficult to maintain.

Michael was so turned on that holding back became painful. With an exalted gasp, he came in gushes across Vladeck's fingers. Vladeck milked the waning erection for every last drop of pleasure possible. "Oh, God," Michael gasped when he could once again speak. Then he started scooting down the sofa. "Have to suck you."

"Have you ewer...?"

Michael shook his head. "I've barely even had one or two."

"Ees simple. No teeth." Vladeck smiled, which was definitely full of teeth. He moved his body forward as Michael moved back so that they would line up properly.

Michael's head was now nestled in between the Ambassador's thighs. All around him was the intoxicating smell of maleness. On a whim, he began to lick the thighs, causing Vladeck to wriggle and moan slightly. Then he licked and then slurped the head of Vladeck's dick, lubricating it with saliva before opening his mouth and taking more of it inside.

Once he had it, it was his. Vladeck's penis was in his mouth and Oh yes. He gripped the other man's thighs with both hands and sucked to his heart's content. Vladeck jerked his hips gently, tenderly fucking his mouth. He began to mumble incoherent passages in an unknown language. Michael realized he still didn't know what country the man was from. Who cares, he was hot enough to melt the Iron Curtain.

Vladeck's babblings in his native tongue progressed to shouts, growing almost so loud, at least to Michael's ears, that Michael feared the entrance of the dour-faced guards. He sucked harder and raked his fingernails across Vladeck's perfect ass.

He could tell that Vladeck was about to come. He could not wait to taste it.

Hot, bitter liquid flooded Michael's mouth, accompanied by a violent convulsion that rocked Vladeck's body and nearly sent him spinning off the sofa. Michael caught him and pulled him back on top of him. The two men lay, nude, nestled in each other's sweating embrace, groaning softly.

"So good..." Michael murmured.

"I vanted you from the moment I saw you," Vladeck told him. "I am pleased to learn that I vas not mistaken about you, Michael."

"You... wanted..."

"And to think, vithout the success of your friends in their plan to depose my former boss, I vould never have this glorious opportunity. I vould have remained simply the much abused attachˇ, gazing at pretty American boys vithout a vord vhile my boss called me names and gave me four times as much vork as in job description."

Michael looked at Vladeck suddenly with new eyes, realization dawning on him. "You were lonely?" It occurred to him that he'd been very self-centered in his assessment of Vladeck's character. All the references to spiders and dangerous seduction--they'd all been internal, seeing only Michael's own tantalizing inner torment. He'd never imagined that Vladeck's feelings were--well, feelings!

"Now, I have power." Vladeck gestured around him at the ornate room. "I pick up the telephone and call, and," he gestured back to Michael, "I have company. Someone vith vhom to feel some pleasure."

"But why me?"

"You are intelligent and you are incredibly beautiful," Vladeck explained simply. "Also, you have a vife, vhich means you vill not be so qvick to embarrass me or put me up to blackmail, should I have misjudged your character."

Michael's eyes widened in horror at the idea. "I would never do anything like that."

"I know," said Vladeck smugly.

"I don't want to get up," Michael burst out suddenly. "I feel... I feel the same way I always feel after taking off that awful white chemical suit, only a hundred times greater. I feel like I can finally be myself for the first time in my whole life."

"I vould wery much enjoy future wisits from you, Michael." Vladeck rubbed his face against Michael's like a purring cat.

"I don't think I could live without them," said Michael. "Not after this." He ran a hand through his sticky hair. "I didn't exactly catch your name the first time you said it. What was it, again?"

Vladeck repeated the very un-English conflagration of syllables.

Michael tried to imitate it, resulting in shared, embarrassed laughter. "I'll get it one of these days."

"You are qvick learner." They both chuckled again.

A clock struck. Michael's face fell. "I better get back to the shop. Anne will worry if I'm gone for too long, especially since she probably doesn't trust this Embassy after everything that happened last week."

They dressed in record time. Vladeck seemed to memorize him with his large, dark eyes as he buttoned up his shirt. "Goodbye for now, Michael Donfield."

"So long."

The white chemical suit closed over Michael's life once again, and he left the room.

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