Oceanus

Oceanus, the back of the grand casino cruise liner read. Maiden of the Pacific. Chosen specifically for its aesthetic beauty and the fact that it could hold 700 passengers within its detailed, royally beautiful suites, the ship picked up passengers from all major ports along the west coast of the United States and Canada, and then sailed throughout the eastern Pacific, among the whales in the coastal waters of California and British Columbia, and the icebergs in Alaska, finishing its tour in Anchorage and then offering complimentary flights back to the passengers' points of origin.

Ilyanis Lazarenko and his lover Roman Sapelli had boarded the ship in Oregon and were taking a half-sail to Anchorage, where Roman had an eventual business meeting to attend. They would stay there for a few days as a mini vacation and then fly back on their own dollar, to their home in Sicily.

Delicate of facial structure though built well enough for his size, Ilyanis sported dark brown hair and eyes to match, though they seemed black on occasion. He had childish features which earned him the nickname 'Baby' from his lover and because Roman was so outwardly masculine and virile, their relationship was often mistaken for father and son, despite their cultural differences.

Born in Sochi, Krasnodar Krai, Russia, Ilyanis had studied hard in order to leave his meager hometown and make something of himself, finally settling on a personal banker, for rich socialites with little else to do with their money other than spend it. After meeting Roman during an investors convention in Prague, the two had struck up a relationship and the young Russian eventually moved in with the older male, relocating to the island of Sicily, where Roman lived comfortably as a personal investor. He regularly helped wealthy individuals to better entrust their savings and had gradually worked up quite a fortune of his own.

The slim brunet sighed as he looked over the railing of the grand staircase, passive brown eyes scanning the crowd for his traveling partner. The elder man, who had assured the young Russian that he would be back by a quarter to ten, had not shown as promised and had therefore caused Ilyanis to worry. He huffed and turned away from the milling crowd, leaving behind a warm piece of railing and a little bit of the confidence he had once felt.

“You look lost, Sir. May I be of assistance?” a warm, slightly accented voice asked from behind Ilyanis' back.

He turned and blanked out for a second, grimacing as the ballroom's massive chandelier blinded him momentarily. He lifted a hand to shield his face and was greeted by a handsome face, the smile suggesting genuine concern, or a very successful 'workingman's' grin. He looked down to the obvious, bright yellow name tag above the man's breast pocket and read it silently.

Hello. My name is:
Bonjour. Je m'appelle:
"Valdrik"

As it was a cruise liner shared by both an American company and a corporation from France, it was only natural that the name tags would have both English and French greetings. Ilyanis smiled politely in return to the employee's question and calmed himself mentally, not about to blow up in front of such a beautiful man, let alone a worker of the casino boat, who would undoubtedly have him thrown out if he caused a scene.

“I'm all right, thank you. I'm waiting for a friend of mine but he has yet to show up for the evening. I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble.”

The sandy blond shook his head and held a hand out, obviously looking to shake the pretty Russian's hand, if only for an end to the conversation.

“Please, shake on this conversation and I'll forget the fact that you walked away from the roulette table without first signing your name on the register.”

Ilyanis was taken aback by the man's abruptness but he paused for a moment and thought to himself that yes, he had indeed forgotten to sign the register, which follows each of the passengers and their travels throughout the casino, so that no problems arise with cheating or falsehoods within the closed gambling community.

“Ah, forgive me!” he cried, quickly digging through his tailor-made suit jacket for the pen he always carried. “I've just been so flustered this evening. I even forgot my wallet in the bathroom when I first arrived.”

The friendly stranger chuckled and held the paperwork out to the brunet, allowing him to sign while standing out of the way of the through traffic. Each passenger was intent on winning their share of the millions the casino gave out daily and even though they were both slim figures, they had been bumped into numerous times already, by ignorant and scurrying guests.

“Thank you very much, Mr...Lazarenko. Shall I have a call put out for your companion? Or will you enjoy our facilities for the duration of the night and then simply wait for him to return?”

The bluntness of the employee's questions suddenly irked Ilyanis and he gave a gruff answer before hurrying off, leaving the brightly grinning casino worker standing alone on the balcony walkway. Valdrik chuckled to himself and bowed to an elderly woman who passed by, earning a giggle from her, before moving slowly down the spiral staircase and heading back to his place at the helm of the blackjack table.

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“Yes, but why did he pick on me?” Ilyanis asked his companion, after the pair had met up again close to midnight, on the ship's main deck.

The young Russian had ventured outside for some air and had come across the other male leaning against the deck rail, a lit cigarette hanging from his slightly curved lips. There was a short argument, which had led to them returning to their suite to resolve the frackus. Both men, now satiated from a rather rigorous bout of lovemaking, laid beneath the soft sheets; Ilyanis with a glass of wine and Roman with another cigarette.

“Maybe he's got the hots for you, Baby. You do look pretty gorgeous in a full suit, Ilya.”

“My appearance isn't the issue here. I want to know why he let the old woman beside me walk away without doing it, but then he stalked me up a floor from where he worked. He's a dealer for fuck's sake.”

“A dealer, huh? Maybe I should go ask him what sort of hand he'd deal to a man with a pistol in his briefcase. That should get a good rise out of him.”

Ilyanis rolled his eyes and playfully smacked the larger man on the chest, scooting his slim form out from under the covers and padding nude to the large bathroom. He cast a glance backwards long enough to hear a whistle from his lover, before he closed the door behind himself and started running water for a bath. It was too late for a full soak but he could at least clean himself of the fruits of their marathon-esque romp.

He waited after, cleaning himself thoroughly, for the snores from the bedroom, indicating that his lover had again fallen asleep. With a smile, Ilyanis scooted down in the tub so that he could throw both legs over the edges of the claw-footed monstrosity, his feet chilly but comfortable as they dangled above the floor. He was ignorant to the plip-plip of water as it dripped from his heels, his mind elsewhere as his right hand worked his cock furiously.

He had come during his time with Roman, more than once in fact, but it was inheritantly different to be masturbating to an image that was not of your lover, while said beloved lay only a dozen feet away, snoring soundly in the bed they had just recently soiled with their passion.

Ilyanis licked his lips and let his head fall back against the small pillow which hung over the end for comfort. The tub was wide enough to accommodate both men, as they had proven the first night they had arrived and as such, the brunet knew he could spread his legs a little bit more and gain the perfect angle to work his flesh to. With the other hand, he gently cupped his balls and gave them momentary squeezes, coaxing them to release just a little more of the delicious seed he had so enjoyed only hours before and after grunting loudly enough for it to echo back from the porcelain tiled walls, Ilya spilled into the cool, soapy water.

He allowed himself a few minutes to cool down and then stood up in the massive tub, rinsing himself down with the adjustable shower head, careful not to spray the water onto the floor. He hung the nozzle back on its hook and stepped out onto the mat, scooping a towel up from the edge of the vanity and padding himself dry, the damp item now tossed into the hamper behind the door. Ilyanis knew that housekeeping would come for the hamper in the afternoon, so he would have to remember to put the bedsheets in there as well. As they ventured around the ship during the day, the bedroom would be picked up as well, and the bed remade into its normal perfectionistic glory.

The brunet crept silently back into the bedroom and slid himself under the covers of the second bed in the room, choosing to remain clean and certain that Roman would not wake and worry where he was. He cringed a little bit when he thought of the mess the elder man was laying in, but when he woke the next morning, the burly Sicilian would no doubt bathe as well, giving Ilyanis time to strip the bed and toss the sheets into the laundry.

Ilya smiled at his lover's gentle snores, still irked about his whereabouts during the evening but having forgotten to ask about them earlier. Perhaps Roman had chatted up a guest in the dining room? Or maybe he had come across an old lover and returned to the man's room for a casual round before going outside for a cigarette? The latter option suited Ilyanis' mind at the moment, especially since he had caught the elder man smoking on the upper deck; a gesture Roman only ever reserved as an after-sex ritual.

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Breakfast on the ship was a casual affair clothing-wise, but a massively detailed, elaborate shindig regarding the food and food service, giving rise to the fact that most passengers ordered room service and avoided the dining room entirely before noon.

Ilyanis had risen early, stripped the sheets from Roman's bed and added them to the already brimming hamper, along with his clothes from the day before and those of his lover. He left a note for housekeeping, that they should replace the sheets, clean the bathroom and restock the cabinet above the bathroom vanity (as Roman was prone to headaches and bouts of seasickness, and had emptied the drugs from within in a matter of days).

Said lover was nowhere to be found, which was normal considering the hour. Roman was an early riser due to his former profession as a pilot, so he was usually awake before dawn and out messing about the ship while his young consort still slept.

“Breakfast is still being served if you're interested,” a woman said to him, as Ilyanis stepped out into the hallway and headed in the direction of the formal dining room.

“Ah, thank you. I was heading there, actually.”

He nodded politely as she ducked into the room next to his. He knew her name was Ruth, and that she was an American, but he had not bothered to learn anything else, when her husband was blathering on about useless nonsense after too many drinks in the lounge.

More than a dozen people turned to see who was entering late for breakfast and in his beige shorts and polo shirt, Ilyanis fit right in, though his age made him somewhat of a firebrand amongst the elderly passengers. He quickly scanned the room and confirmed that Roman was not among those gathered for their meal and friendly conversation, so the brunet walked to a table and waited for a server to bring him his menu.

Ilyanis took the first item offered to him as he looked dazedly out of the window to his right, unfolding the menu and not noticing the broad form sliding itself into the chair across from him. The server approaching the table took the menu from him, wrote down his order of coffee, orange juice and a Spanish omelet, and left the pair to take the order to the kitchen.

The young passenger blinked at the man sitting across from him when the barrier between them was taken away, acutely aware that he was not Roman but that he did seem familiar.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm afraid that I was rude to you last night, Mr. Lazarenko. I have come to apologize and offer my company as consolation.”

Ilyanis blinked again, uncertain of what to do.

“Valdrik?”

“Yes, sir. Valdrik Sommer. I accosted you about the registry last night.”

“Oh, yes. But you didn't accost me exactly. You were just very abrupt, as all of the employees aboard seem to be.”

The tall dealer chuckled, not dressed in his uniform but instead covered by a very comfortable looking tweed suit, something far too costly to be wearing to breakfast.

“We are told to be as polite as possible, even to the point of nearly insulting the guests' intelligence. To the owners of the ship, you are all touring with us to win their money. To most of the employees, you're all very stuck up and genuinely irritating.”

Ilyanis smirked, leaning forward in his seat, intrigued by how frankly the young dealer was speaking. “And what do you think of us, Valdrik?”

“The same, except for you, Mr. Lazarenko.”

“It's Ilyanis, please. The formality in this place is going to choke me one day, I swear. And why am I any different?”

“You don't belong with this crowd. Your lover certainly does and he enjoys the crowd far more than he probably should, but you stick out, Ilyanis. Something about you drew me over last night, and it was not the fact that you had neglected the registry.”

The young brunet shook his head in disbelief and then sat back gently as the waiter returned with his drinks.

“Valdrik, I insist that you order something as well. I don't like eating in front of other people unless they've got something as well.”

“Fair enough,” the blond replied, immediately turning to the waiter. “I'll have coffee and the blueberry pancakes.”

The waiter—Paul, according to his name tag-- nodded and ventured off. Valdrik returned his gaze to his dining companion and smiled a blazingly bright smile, one reserved for his most difficult of customers.

“So, do you not work on Tuesdays, Valdrik?”

The young European shook his head and took the cup and saucer the waiter returned with, earning himself a little smile from the man, as they knew each other as employees...and more at one time.

“I work Saturday through Monday at the blackjack table, and on Thursday nights I run the Bingo room, for our even more elderly passengers. Usually those who cannot wander the gaming floor with ease and who only board our ship for short trips. Mrs. Lieberson is a regular there.”

Ilyanis looked puzzled for a moment, before the realization dawned on him and he slapped a hand down on the table.

“Ruth, in the room next to ours! I remember that she introduced herself as Mrs. Don Lieberson. I've been trying to forget that cranky old man and must've forgotten their last name along the way.”

He had been rambling but Valdrik seemed immune to it, whereas Roman would have called Ilyanis out on it and made him out to be a bit simple. Color rose to the Russian's face and he cleared his throat awkwardly, quickly lifting the coffee cup to his lips and sipping it hesitantly.

Valdrik leaned forward again and reached a hand out to rest it atop Ilyanis', causing the younger man to jump slightly.

“Someone as young and attractive as yourself shouldn't be forgetting things so easily. Has your mind been at ease while traveling with us, Ilyanis? Or has something been bothering you?”

The brunet stared for a moment and then tugged his hand away, ashamed of the thoughts running through his head regarding Roman and his nearly assured dalliance the night before. He crossed his arms and sat back—his protective gesture, one Roman referred to as his 'armor plating'-- his dark eyes glaring a hole into the blond's forehead.

“I don't think that's any of your business, is it? Maybe getting to know the passengers through personal questions is something you're taught to do, but it's rude.”

Paul returned for a final time, bringing their meals and setting them out diligently, placing the plates down without spillage. Valdrik nodded to him and Ilyanis chuffed a response, while picking his fork up and stabbing it into the fluffy mound of filled egg.

“I've been watching you and your lover since you boarded in Portland. I'm afraid that I know more about the both of you without having asked questions, than I would have if I asked every question I was ever taught to ask.”

The fork hovered before Ilyanis' mouth and Valdrik watched the egg tremble on the edge of it, half on and half off of the stainless steel, dangerously close to plopping itself back into a rather large pool of Hollandaise.

“I don't know whether or not I should be worried. I haven't been paying much attention to people watching me, but I know there are a lot watching Roman. He's just so...exotic looking.”

“Exactly the word I would use to describe him.”

“Then why aren't you watching him, instead of me?”

Valdrik shifted to the side so that he could cross his legs out from under the table, his left arm supporting him on the edge of the table. He draped his right over the back of the ornate chair and cast a surprisingly alluring glance at the Russian passenger, his smoky gray eyes smoldering.

“He's not my type. You are.”

“Ok, and just what exactly do you mean by your 'type'?”

A chuckle and a clink of the cup and saucer as Valdrik leaned closer and caught it with his elbow.

“Gullible. Blind to anything that doesn't seem to concern yourself. Easily flustered but adorable when embarrassed. Attractive in that little boy way-”

“Ok, enough. I get it. You can't have me, Valdrik. I'm taken.”

“More like smitten, as your lover seems to be as well.”

The German male pointed over Ilyanis' shoulder and the brunet turned to see, staring in disbelief as Roman leaned to his left more than a dozen tables away, and kissed the man he was dining with. Not a gentlemanly peck on the cheek either. He kissed the pretty blond full on the mouth and then curled his arms around the man's sleight frame, cuddling him closer in an extremely intimate gesture that suggested mutual attraction and not simply a whim.

Ilyanis scowled and shoved himself away from the table, tipping his coffee cup and soiling the immaculately white linen tablecloth in the process. Valdrik was on his feet an instant later but the lithe Russian was already storming out of the dining room, completely ignoring the shouts of the nearby passengers, an angered waiter—most likely Paul-- and Valdrik as well, who spared a moment to turn in Roman's direction and smile, receiving a nod and a small wave from the Italian for a job well done.