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In one moment snow was lily-white, unmarred by human sin. In another stained in blood. Slow blink, followed by another. To no avail, sight remained unvaried; kept on bedeviling. Fyodor took a deep breath and tried to unclench tense jaw but in vain. He stayed unnerved – not by the sight itself, but bitter comprehension he’s not above making foolishly human mistakes.
It was supposed to be a simple task. He was to meet up with the Mafia rat in Yokohama bay in the dead of the night, collect information, pass the instructions and head back to the base. Usually he’d go alone, ironically it was safer that way. This time around Nikolai was nearby, caught a whisper of his plans and insisted on tagging along. After shorter deliberation Fyodor decided company can’t hurt; sure, jocosity can get in the way but Fyodor knew better than to fall for the charade. If told to behave Nikolai not only could but would mind his p's and q's. Ergo Fyodor saw no reasons to refuse him; not to mention extra pair of hands could come in handy if things turn sour. In retrospect that arbitrary decision turned out to be life-saving.
He’s been wheeling and dealing for centuries, prudence came as naturally as breathing. Fyodor expected a squealer in his lines, thus stashed a gun on his person. However he didn’t expect Port Mafia to gain intel on his activities so soon. They were caught off guard. As soon as they stepped out in the open fire was opened. First bullet slashed cheek; had Fyodor’s heart jumping. After all these years he’s still not above the hardwired; flesh still fears death. Thankfully impulse could be overridden to an extend. Limbs quickly unfroze, but it was to no effect. He is nimble, but not that nimble to escape shower of bullets. Fyodor squeezed eyes shut and braced himself for the inevitable. It’d be an instant death, no doubt. Nothing to lose sleep over, however Mafia will end up throwing a wrench in his plans if they were to know his ability.
Pain never arrived. Instead he was pulled against someone's chest, swung around and shoved away with immense might. Somehow in all that ruckus Fyodor ended up face down in the snow behind the dumpster. Bullets ricocheted, ear-splitting screams broke out. Everything drew attention, got blood roaring and tempted into taking a peek, but he was wise enough to grasp that’s a guaranteed death. Barrage of bullets is far from over, if he jolts up he’ll be in direct line of fire. Fyodor closed eyes, made himself go limp and played dead for time being.
Eventually commotion died down. No movements, no sounds. Dead silence was harrowing. Could still be a trap, so he laid low for a bit more. Perhaps a minute ticked by before Fyodor slowly got up. First thing first, the damage. He checked for the injuries. Miraculously he had only minor scratches and bruises from the fall, but nothing to worry about. Good, now he had to figure what came crashing down. Rather than rushing out of cover Fyodor scooped the surroundings. No potential assassins on the roofs, no one hiding behind the corner, no tickling sensation of eyes tracing over skin. Absence of visible threat didn’t mean he’s out of the woods, he had to stay on high alert.
Now that head no longer buzzed in tandem with ricochets and blood no longer pumped Fyodor could take a moment to calmly assess the situation. In a sense, little was left to the deliberation. Who else could have saved him but Nikolai? For what reason however, Fyodor could only conjecture; supposed deep within he already knew. Still, making a hasty assessment can cost heftily, he better threads carefully. With nothing but caution in mind Fyodor left cover and snaked towards where shooting began. Nikolai was still there, at first glance safe and sound.
Mild smile touched lips. Good job – praise melted on them the very moment he saw Nikolai crouching in the snow. Same instant smile fell into a frown. All tension Fyodor surmised was no more amassed in stomach once more; now suspense pricked more. Granted Nikolai’s knack for chicanery this might as well be another artifice; fruitless trick for sympathy points. Sixth sense harried this is no stage show – this rawness is chillingly real.
Nikolai can fend for himself, that much is irrefutable. Him taking care off all shooters under couple seconds is a living testament to frightening dexterity he wielded. With that in mind he could have easily avoid being hit – if that’s where priorities laid. Instead Nikolai prioritized his safety and getting him out of harm’s way. He succeeded, but at the cost of risking own well-being. Blood dribbling down white sleeve onto once pure snow spoke of the sacrifice. To say his endeavor was injudicious would be minimizing it. But it was genuine, that Fyodor had to give to him. There was no merit, no ulterior motives, nothing of machiavellian gains – simply nothing. It was just an impulse.
Bullet to the head wouldn’t have killed him, courtesy of God-like ability – but it would have killed Nikolai in a heartbeat. You fool.
Icy gust slapped against Fyodor’s sides. Drenched clothes provided no warmth. Snow kept on falling; couple droplets trickled down nose and tickled. He shuddered, perhaps due to the cold. Stalling would be a waste of time. Fyodor marched closer. “Can you stand?”, he didn’t bother mellowing tone to cloak concern. Pretense would be unsavory on his part.
No response. Nikolai kept head down, frame quivering and nothing but vapor leaving mouth. If it weren’t for the pool of blood beneath him Fyodor would have speculated if he’s playing. But no, this isn’t part of the play. Nikolai didn’t desist from jesting to set him up, but because he genuinely struggled coordinating movements and finding his voice due to the searing pain.
“I’ll take that as a no”, Fyodor sighed and crouched in front of Nikolai, who curiously refused to meet his eyes. To less sharp ones a perplexity, mayhap misguided disgrace, but to his hawk ones dilemma was clear as the virgin snow. Given violence inside your mind these wounds are bound to be the least of your worries.
Why’s and wherefore’s are for some other time. Equanimity was a blessing in disguise for Fyodor easily remained levelheaded. Now that he’s up close he examined damage more thoroughly. Nikolai had couple grazes over legs but nothing grave; surely it’s not that that brought to knees. As luck would have it Overcoat protected most of torso and chest. Fyodor spied wound on the right hip but it seemed bullet merely grazed skin again. Most of the blood gushed from the wound on the left shoulder right where Nikolai was compressing. Without a second thought Fyodor pressed hand against it to stop the bleeding. Shrill hiss was attestation to the severity of injury.
In accordance something in Fyodor clenched as well. Perhaps it was realization gloomy scene enfolding in front of eyes is, in every respect, his creation. If he didn’t grow too arrogant he wouldn’t have underestimated the Mafia and dismissed the possibility of an ambush. He would have warned Nikolai beforehand, which would have likely been enough to prevent this. Fyodor bit lower lip, loured and sighed from the bottom of his soul. Alas, this is not the time for pointing fingers and pity parties. Silver lining was that Nikolai is in no grave danger. But that didn’t change the fact he’s in a need of medial assistance. Not to mention it’s only a matter of time before more Mafia tropes surround the area. They had to get going.
But that’s easier said than done. Fyodor cocked head and inspected Nikolai’s face up-close. Cold should give cheeks a healthy flush, but skin was unhealthily pale due to the blood loss. Quivering lips parted into a silent o, nothing but gasps passing. Eye patch dropped off during the showdown, now exposed both narrowed blurry eyes. Goes without saying Nikolai didn’t look well. Without a forethought Fyodor palmed Nikolai’s face. “Should I call for -”
Titter was a sole warning. Nikolai seized his wrist before Fyodor could finish the offer. This was expected, so save for a muffled gasp Fyodor showed no reaction. Fool flashed a glaringly plastic grin meant to fool just own eyes. “Tricked ya~”, then peeped in tone of a lamenting bird.
Fyodor pulled a face. Is the really the game he wants to play? Pursing lips he was more than ready to berate, but that’s when comprehension sank in. Ah, it’s not that Nikolai wants to play pretend, but feels like he has to. Faced with the reality that instinct and affections still guide he felt more trapped than ever. Naturally he itched to escape but there’s simply no escaping the skull he deemed a cage. Therefore the same vulnerable core that was battered demanded he puts on a mask and hides – not from the audience raring to judge, first and foremost from himself.
“Eyes deceive Dos-kun”, jester went on with the show, undeterred by harsh breath and pain seeping into tone. Chuckling cynically Nikolai lifted gaze and rasped with a phony grin. “I’m impressed I managed to have even you fooled”
Only one you’re fooling here is yourself. “Doesn’t change the fact you’ve been shot”, Fyodor reasoned instead. Last thing he needs is wounded ego to bring about incorporation when same is vital. Nikolai has always been at the war with himself; trickster in him itched for absolute self-reliance, inner child yearned for warmth. Mending the conflict that intricate would be grueling, not to mention infeasible at the moment. Fyodor knew his best shot at the current it to let the sleeping dogs lay. No gloating, no jabbing, no pressing and reminding Nikolai of entropy within and how much he betrayed in a single moment of heedlessness. He had to focus on what’s tactile and evade all landmines. “I have a safe house twenty minutes from here. Can you walk that much?”
Nikolai didn’t nod right away. First he hissed and recoiled, then forced a smile and lied. “Never fall for clown’s facade, of course I -”
Quite aptly violent cough interrupted the jest. Frame shook, face twisted due to pain. Nikolai sank teeth into lips and looked away, as if embarrassed he’s caught in this state. It’d be easy to exult and rub salt into his wounds, albeit tasteless and counterproductive. Indistinct weight fell on Fyodor’s shoulders, brought about tension he could neither pin down nor exactly aspired to. Presence of the disquietude additionally disquieted.
Ultimately Fyodor opted for silence. Not due to mindfulness or tongue tying up, in reality he had a lot to say. No, it was out of concern what might leave mouth. He didn’t trust what he might disclose under these cliffhanging left-field circumstances. After all, it’s not just Nikolai who was bitterly reminded what it means to be human.
Arduous to tell if taciturnity bespoke a thing; nor did it cut ice. “Jokes aside”, Nikolai murmured more soberly. “I’m flattered you are concerned for my well-being”, smiled ruefully while pressing over the wound. Flickering street light was the only source of illumination, nevertheless enough for Fyodor to make out blood running over already red gloves and dripping onto the snow. “But I assure you that I’m perfectly fine”
Sure he is. If circumstances were any less dire, if heaviness in own chest didn’t insinuate things he’d rather stay blind to – Fyodor would have ridiculed Nikolai’s doltish lies. Desperation opened curtains to this lousy show. If there’s one thing Nikolai despises it’s being met with the proofs of ineluctable humanity. What more conspicuous reminder of painful vulnerability could he ask for than sight of own blood? What more smarting proof he’s still enthralled by primary drives could he demand than dicing with death? It’s not the wound that afflicted the most, but awareness why he sustained it. Bleeding was bad on its own, let alone in front of him. So no, it’s not blow to the pride that made Nikolai avoid his eyes. He knew he’s seen right through and what that entails.
Lack of scoffing regarding his, woefully, barefaced miscalculation was an attestation to how rapidly Nikolai was losing lucidity. In one aspect Fyodor was grateful, but it was a signal he’s to take Nikolai somewhere safe. Still, just because Nikolai failed to grasp the oversight didn’t mean Fyodor was blind to it. Quite the contrary, it gnawed. That slip… it could have been fatal. In fact it’s mere stroke of luck it didn’t turn fatal. Realization left bitter taste on Fyodor’s tongue; realization he’s to blame only made it worse. If you died then…
Sigh. What’s the use of dwelling on what-if’s? Rumination will culminate in no answers, just throbbing headaches. Worse didn’t come to pass and that is what’s essential at the current. Unlike Nikolai he learns on own mistakes. Unlike this fool’s his heart wrenches far and in between. Fyodor knew he won’t be forgetting this tribulation anytime soon – not even if he wished to.
Either way, assault was too sudden. It left no place for calculation and any deliberation. Nikolai acted in a moment – more importantly, on an impulse. He could go all day what it means for Nikolai and tempest his skull sheltered. When all is said and done one thing is indubitable – at the core Nikolai wants him safe and sound. Epiphany elicited a smile. Fyodor tangled fingers through Nikolai’s hair and massaged; surely he’s too dazed to sense a thing. It’d be a waste to not award such foolish human devotion.
Alas, sentimentality would lead them nowhere. “I couldn’t care less for excuses. You are going with me”, Fyodor attested with a glare. Nikolai tried to echo it but fruitlessly. Nevertheless mere attempt at resistance rubbed salt into the wound. “That’s a final”
Without any further ado he flung Nikolai’s arm around his shoulder and slowly guided up. It’ll be a struggle to navigate their way through narrow dim alleys but they’ll manage. Nikolai grunted and made couple stifled protests. “You’re doing yourself a disservice by refusing help”, Fyodor quickly shut them all up. “Save the games for some other time”
Of course, Nikolai wouldn’t be Nikolai if he deferred easily; trust him to be defiant. Defeated yet impish smile signified enough, Fyodor made a face in advance. “Why?”, single gasp along with sullen eyes divulged all he suspected.
Why – that’s a very good question. On the surface it was evident why. His colleague got hurt due to his poor judgment, leaving him behind would be a dead loss. It’s in best interest of them both he provides assistance, thence nothing profounder than a mutual benefit. It’ll be a simple explanation, adequate one as well, however insufficient; not to Nikolai, he’d likely buy the story, but to himself. Snow can keep on falling days and nights, but it’ll never cover the blood – it’ll never undo the revelation it sparked.
“You got wounded because of my miscalculation”, Fyodor admitted with a heavy heart. In long run it’ll be nugatory to waffle. Nikolai might not realize it now, but he will once he’s in the better shape. Trust jester to jab – heaven knows those jabs will sting. Mayhap on the first glance it seemed contradictory, but upon deeper deliberation crystallized candidness is the best course of action. Thereby Fyodor laid all cards facing up; leastwise those he was willing to face himself. “I don’t like being in debt”
It wasn’t a lie per se, but it was far from the full truth.
- - - - - - -
Trip to the safe house turned out far longer than expected. Between Nikolai’s staggering, heaving and Fyodor’s feebleness it took them round about an hour; likely would have been less if they weren’t forced to dawdled through the alleys and orbit around the destination. For all he knows Mafia could still be hard on their heels, he’s not taking chances. After what went down tonight they had to err on the side of caution.
Eventually they made it to the base. It was a small motel room. Save for a bed, a nightstand, dilapidated closet, desk with one of his numerous laptops and a small bathroom there was nothing to be seen. Closet was ajar enough to catch a glimpse of something inside; upon inspection it turned out to be a small heater. Fyodor immediately plunged it in and turned on After freezing for more than an hour warmth felt like sent right from heaven. He endured far worse for far longer; it’s the circumstances that drilled coldness into the marrow. In contrast Nikolai’s skin was anything but icy to the touch, unhealthily warm for the conditions outside; fever must be rampaging. Fyodor doubted there’s a first-kid aid in the bathroom. As luck would have it Nikolai had it stashed in the Overcoat. He had him fish it out first, then maneuvered Nikolai towards the bed and finally let him go.
Rather than jesting a thing Nikolai collapsed face down over sheets. Silence for most of the journey alarmed already, but seeing him this wrecked confirmed Fyodor’s suspicion – Nikolai was really operating on last atom of strength. He better gets the ball rolling. Fyodor lifted first-aid kit onto the bed, opened the box and fished through it. Antiseptics, tweezers, scissors, safety pins, disposable gloves, gauze pads, triangular bandages, pack of medical needles, surgical suture and many more – for sure not your average first-aid kit. Comprehensive content alluded Nikolai is no stranger to injuries – and tending them. The most dangerous thing in the world is the loneliness of self-reliance and the stupor of worldliness. Most find freedom in being own masters, you found madness.
It took some time for hands to warm up. Fyodor pulled fresh set of clothes from the closet and changed from cold drenched ones. Then he gathered everything needed from the kit and put the gloves on. Briskness would lead into more mistakes, he reminded himself to take it slow, despite time ticking. Gaze wandered back to listless form on the bed. Nikolai was looking right at him, but also through him. Heavy hardly seeing eyes didn’t conceal drowsiness. Clear as day enervation lured Nikolai into slumber. He’s seen fair share of injuries of all kinds during lengthened lifetime, thereupon Fyodor doubted Nikolai’s would turn out to be fatal.
But he’s not chancing it. The sooner wound is stitched the better. “I know your body demands rest”, Fyodor argued and nudged uninjured shoulder. “But I can’t let you doze off before tending your wounds”, he urged Nikolai to sober and sit up. Woefully he wobbled; not to irk him but because he genuinely struggled with coordination.
After bit of groaning and hissing Nikolai managed to do as told – but failed to undress. Just how does he think wounds will be treated? Unbelievable. In spite of Nikolai’s bewails he’s burning up on the way to the safe house Fyodor insisted he buttons up to the collar; fever duped, he would have earned a hypothermia on top of everything. “Take your shirt off”, now Fyodor insisted otherwise.
Adrenaline rush wore off. Full scope of lightheadedness settled in. If drowsiness wasn’t denoting enough than absentmindedness sure marked the point. It took Nikolai couple moments to fathom what he’s been asked. Once it reached his skull smirk adorned flushed face. “Oh my, how forward of you Dos-kun~”, Nikolai just had to purr and wink.
In turn Fyodor scowled. If a gunshot and excessive blood loss weren’t enough to taper off Nikolai’s tomfoolery then nothing will. Unfortunately frown just psyched him up. “How low of you to take advantage of wounded vulnerable old me!”, Nikolai rested hand on chest and lamented histrionically. Fyodor sighed again; suddenly he was tempted to put scissors to more nefarious use.
However by doing so he’d indirectly accept Nikolai’s games, thence Fyodor refrained from taking the bait. Show was far from over however, jester couldn’t give his role up. “But I can’t say I’m complaining~”, Nikolai cheeped but pain remained tactile. First was a wince, then he doctored it with a plastic smile. “In fact go right ahead”, Nikolai struck an equally plastically seductive pose and reached for the collar.
Insinuation was transparent – transparent that it was a red herring. “Too bad I can’t brush your nonsense off on blood loss”, Fyodor made an unamused face and heaved a sigh. No, it’s not a delirium, Nikolai simply weaponized it as a plausible excuse for jolliness under these conditions. Leastwise he’ll comply now, or so Fyodor surmised, thus he skimmed over the glaring charade.
Nikolai unfastened vest all the way but didn’t shake it off; nor touched blood-stained shirt. If hands were any shakier Fyodor would have entertained the possibility he’s in need of help. But no, it was crystal clear Nikolai refused to undress. Curious. Is he opposed to showing vulnerability or there’s more to bungling resistance than it met the eye? Is he hiding something? Or is this about principles and amplified sense of subjugation? Wouldn’t be the first. Surely Nikolai couldn’t be conscious of his body? That’s be unthinkable. But then again, that’s exactly why it’s a possibility. For all its absurdity Fyodor couldn’t write anything off, not when Nikolai is the very epitome of absurdity.
Alas, Nikolai’s reasoning, whatever it is (and he vowed to himself he’ll get to the bottom of it) amounted to nothing. Gunshot wound is in dire need of treatment, no if’s or but’s. Leniency isn’t an option. Fyodor arched a brow and lifted chin; wordlessly questioned. In reality there was no need for a single word, obstructing signified enough. Nikolai answered with a rueful smile. “There’s really no need for that”, he lightly shook head and pointed chin towards the wound. “I’m telling you I’m -”
“Fine?”, Fyodor cut in austerely. He stepped directly in front of Nikolai, crossed arms and went for the throat. “I didn’t peg you as this childish”, Fyodor narrowed eyes and chided, mindfulness thrown out of the window. If Nikolai wants to make things difficult he won’t be met without opposition; just too bad for him coherence is ambitious to muster when bleeding out.
Per expected Nikolai diverted gaze; couldn’t face him knowing he’s caught in a mortifying infantile lie. Someone else might have felt a pang of sympathy, considering his state. Fyodor spared none. Instead he clasped Nikolai’s chin and forced their eyes to meet. “Or you’re pegging me for a fool?”
Clear-cut challenge – normally Nikolai would take it with delight. This time around he was too wearied to fight it; not him, not the very self that longs for compliancy. Slacked eyes spoke of conceding. With a heavy sigh Nikolai reached for the collar, but not before summoning enough strength to shake the clasp off. Fyodor let him. Glare he was met with didn’t weigh down or ruffle. Why would it when it’s so ludicrously obvious what Nikolai’s huffiness is about? Do give in. Pry your soul open just for my eyes. Allow me to poke fingers into all your open wounds.
Nikolai bent head, turned back towards him and gradually unfastened shirt. Inch by inch gruesome injury came into the view. Fyodor shied from an audible responses, but he did wince. Blood still gushed. Something shiny caught Fyodor’s eye. By all indications bullet was still inside. That complicated things, but wasn’t anything he couldn't overcome. In all forthrightness it’s a minor miracle Nikolai sustained only one major injury. Most people would have ended up riddled with bullets. If a single shadow of doubt regarding his skills remained it dispersed now. Fyodor rubbed fingers up Nikolai’s arm and pressed around the wound to see if nerves are damaged. Muscles spasmed, Nikolai couldn't suppress a grunt; good, he still registered pain. Notwithstanding the grisly sight spark ignited; allure couldn't be negated. Check-out will have to be saved for later, he better knuckles down.
Save for sporadic hisses and grunts silence prevailed. Medical training came in handy in his walk of life. Fyodor knew exactly what to do. He disinfected the wound and slowly pulled the bullet out; cleaned the blood and began stitching. Far from a professional procedure but Fyodor was positive it’ll make do. Hospital is out of the question so it’s not like they had other choice. Much to his credit Nikolai remained as still and calm as possible; most would be thrashing and bellowing, but he refused to yield to the drive now that defiance isn’t far-fetched notion. Alas, purposeless bids, they both knew it’s too late – in that one split second he could not take back no matter how much he might wish to Nikolai betrayed enough for an entire lifetime.
Once done Fyodor pulled away and inspected his work. Far from perfect, hence insult to perfectionist eye, but makeshift stitches was stable enough to suffice. With urgency out of the way Fyodor was finally free to check out. Nikolai’s strength and skills were never to be brought into the question, but feeling his muscles and firm lines under palm was something else entirely. It wasn’t just the first time Fyodor saw him topless but also took in his strength with bare hands. Not to downplay, it was fascinating – and inviting. Without any reservations Fyodor let not only eyes wander but hands as well.
Fresh burns and bruises were easy to pick out. Benign on the face of it, however he better not plays it down; better disinfects them as well. But that’s not what got Fyodor’s eye. Nikolai’s entire back was covered in scars. Some were tiny, some not so much. Some were visible, some only tactile under fingertips. Most were quite old, that Fyodor could tell right away. Oh well, it’s not an enigma how they were made. Practice makes perfect, of course he wasn’t above mistakes. You still aren’t. None of us are. Therefore it’s only natural some of those mistake inscribed – and etched in memory. Every faded scar testified to the hardship, told a story Fyodor wasn’t too keen on pressing about at the moment.
Fondles started at the elbows. Fyodor caressed up biceps and palpated muscles; stroked right shoulder, dabbed left in order to not irritate the injury. He rubbed up to neck, trailed hands down to collar bones but didn’t go anywhere Nikolai could see. Instead retraced and kneaded tension from frame; if iota melted away Nikolai didn’t show it. Thumb caught over larger scar below left shoulder blade. Fyodor didn’t press too hard, merely skimmed over it. Touch remained light, almost like a worship. Resemblance was partially intentional, partially by nature. Warmth enkindled at the reminder, Fyodor supposed gentleness is the heavenliest and cruelest reward he could offer. Heater failed to do much, room remained icy cold; in comparison fever made Nikolai’s skin tantalizingly warm. Fyodor stretched palms over his back, leaned in and purred. Contact made Nikolai draw in and tense. His inability to subdue affect psyched up, thence Fyodor pushed on.
Far from a chiseled body, imperfections were glaring, but in Fyodor’s eye exactly those blemishes enhanced. God may prefer perfection and harmony, but he personally found it tedious with time. The more sweetened the pot the lusher the results.
Naiver soul would jump the the conclusion scars daunted. But no, this was never about physical flaws and self-consciousness. Persona non grata like Nikolai isn’t moved by opinions and preferences of the masses; not even by his. This isn’t about bareness of the body but the soul. After what came down in that alley Nikolai knew au fond he’s stripped to the very bone. Not only he caved in to every instinct he denounced but did so in front of him – for him.
In that aspect Fyodor wondered why Nikolai allowed to be caressed this freely. Perhaps if he squeezed a bit tighter he’d remind Nikolai how trapped he really is. Or you came to adore these shackles? Analogously Fyodor could only wonder what this atypical touchiness is about. Sure, he was tempted but that didn’t mean he had to yield to the temptation, especially not this flagrantly. I might as well do what heart itches, considering this night will end up a silent topic.
At long last Fyodor shattered tense silence. “Surely you weren’t conscious of your body”, he snorted while inspecting fresh stitches with right hand; with left palpated Nikolai’s forearm, out of anything but medical reasons. “I don’t see a single reason for insecurity” – at least not when it came to Nikolai’s physique; mind and heart are completely different kettles of fish.
His voice broke Nikolai out of, in retrospect irrefutably, deep mussing. He couldn’t keep a flinch back on time. Muscles flexed under Fyodor’s fingers; accordingly he couldn’t contain a praise. “Impressive”, thus whispered mellifluously, tone teeming with awe. Observation was meant for himself, but Nikolai’s sharp inhale suggested he discerned it nonetheless. Fyodor felt his surprise under palms. Even a scintilla of rawness entranced, consequentially petrified for their potency – it was awfully addicting.
Nikolai turned head around. “I take it you like what you see”, purred and gave him a look that left little to imagination. “So much you can’t keep hands off”, added thicker, licked lips and marginally leaned forwards. Micro-movement denoted true desires, just too bad none could be fulfilled at the moment, courtesy of not just Nikolai’s injuries but also principles.
Fyodor halted palpations but kept hands on Nikolai’s upper body, as a dare. Crystal clear he meant physique, but jab did run deeper, whether Nikolai grasped that or not. This isn’t mealy about feeling him up while mending wounds, but about prying and seizing into the essence. Instinct demanded reticence, thence Nikolai’s previous obduracy. Yielding, especially volitional, is a rarity. Of course Fyodor was eager to drink in every drop of vulnerability Nikolai chose to present; of course he ‘couldn't keep hands off’, as Nikolai eloquently put it.
All previous lures he refused to take, but this one is something else entirely. This was no longer frothy repartee and thinly veiled gibing, but clear-cut flirting. “Have I stated otherwise?”, Fyodor arched an eyebrow, feigned bafflement and wised off.
Sly curve of lips spelled out enough. Stupefied and faint he may be but when it comes to friskiness Nikolai was dead-set on reading in between then lines. Thereby he echoed dark smile with one of his own. “So you do want -”
Fyodor plucked a piece of cotton wool, soaked it with medical alcohol and tapped over now stitched wound. “Ouch ouch!”, Nikolai made a wry face and fizzled, as intended. He was patently caught off guard; surely wouldn’t be if it weren't for wooziness. Stinging might have cut the joke off but didn’t bring show to the culmination. “Heartless as ever”, Nikolai whined melodramatically; disappointment was simply magnified, not made up.
So childishly endearing; so defenseless itch to tease was irresistible. Fyodor tickled hair on back of nape and toyed with half-undone braid. “Clownish as ever”, he sassed and let sultrier gleam touch gaze; molded touch into something far more sensual for a heartbeat, both to rib and insinuate.
Nikolai tittered, evidently elated with how things are unfolding; or rather sidestepping the elephant in the room. Transparent as ever, Fyodor toyed with the idea of needling, but ultimately kept dig to himself. Nothing will be gained by rubbing salt in the wounds. Instead he traced fingers over numerous tiny scars on Nikolai’s back, snuggled closer and nuzzled cheek between shoulder blades.
Even so, after everything it’d be unsavory to let Nikolai hide. Fyodor wasn’t lenient enough to let him off hook completely. “There’s beauty in imperfection”, so he hushed softly and stroked larger scar near right hip. If it weren’t for Nikolai’s accented inhale and subtle flick he would have replaced fingers with lips. Quite strange tenderness took over, it was almost alarming. Fyodor wished to write it off as just a spur of a moment, nothing unremitting or worth losing sleep over. At heart he suspected what’s the deal, thence knew that’s a pipe dream.
Moping would be easy, instead Fyodor flashed a despondent smile of his own. “There’s liberty in giving up control”, susurrated with astonishing honesty. Once more he doubted Nikolai fathomed it given wooziness, but that’s aside the matter. Admission on its own was presiding. Image of blood stained snow was imprinted in back of mind; frigidity of that gust wasn’t anything he hasn’t experienced before, yet this one promised to haunt. There’s hollowness nothing but human warmth can cure.
Confession was met with silence, however it carried an undeniable melancholic undertone. Granted everything that preceded Fyodor could tell what every second of taciturnity bespoke. “But I suppose you don’t see it that way”, he added faintly and rubbed comforting circles over Nikolai’s back.
Shoulders slacked, head lowered, voice dwindled; everything demonstrated resignation. “You know me too well”, Nikolai laughed sardonically. Wryness was evidently directed at the self, so Fyodor looked the other way. Deep inhale, followed by a defeated shrug. “It’s…”
Scary. Nikolai needn’t utter a thing more, Fyodor understood perfectly well what he meant. What he couldn't get to the bottom of however was what possessed Nikolai to divulge this much. Maybe he grasped restrain is in vain; maybe he finally grasped the more he rebels against the natural flow the more he’ll end up scratched and bruised by fate. Or perhaps words did sink in. Perhaps Nikolai did end up finding liberty in surrendering control.
Alas, even if he did taste freedom in shackles didn’t last long. Nikolai had to fight for scintilla of fictitious control. He scooted and put more space between them. Before Fyodor could question a thing Nikolai leaned backwards and rested head on his chest. “But you know Dos-kun”, proclaimed with chirpiness denoting a mask. Of course tractability had to be ephemeral, of course vulnerability causing cognitive dissonance could not last. Nikolai arched so they were eye to eye, flashed a cheeky grin and taunted. “I did save your life back then”
No, you didn’t. Another rejoinder Fyodor kept behind teeth. Divulging secrets of his ability without a gain would not only be counterproductive in the long run, but also scurrilous given Nikolai risked his life for nothing. So Fyodor massaged back of his nape and petted hair. “And I tended your wounds, I’d say we are even”, he countered lightly.
“Are we really?”, so did Nikolai, in the same breath. Theatricality was once more in place. Shield was, as it seemed, a necessity, thence Fyodor let clown lead the circus. “Did I get a thank you? I don’t recall I did”, which Nikolai did right away. “It’s unfair!”, pursed lips like an immature brat.
Fyodor stopped fondling. “You’d rather I thanked you and left you to bleed out?”, more snorted than posed a genuine question. Instantaneously Nikolai closed eyes and hummed with a blissfully dopey smile.
Accordingly Fyodor sighed. “Fool”, shook head with feigned disbelief and pulled Nikolai’s ear. He winced and kept on bewailing, but Fyodor paid melodrama no heed. In actuality remark was more about Nikolai’s rashness than anything else. That fickleness of his is a double edge sword. More often than not Nikolai finds himself faced with its sharper side, yet this time around it pierced them both. Blood is one thing, but he’s not used to bleeding, not from the inside.
“I may be”, fool cooed, moony smile still present. Comforting prospect was that Nikolai remained so obliviously blind to the struggle he was faced with. For those reasons Fyodor let him be. Nikolai took lour as a cue to proceed. “But you love me like that~”, so he quipped and poked tongue out. Fyodor frowned more than he ought to. “Love me so much you can’t -”
“Impudent fool”, Fyodor corrected with wry amusement and yanked Nikolai’s braid hard enough to sting and cut the jest off. “If you exert yourself too much you’ll end up reopening the wound. I suggest resting”, he urged Nikolai into drifting off; out of sight, out of mind.
“Ouch again!”, Nikolai pretended to cry out. “Is this a way to treat a patient?!”, he squirmed to the left and pouted; but in process of play acting bushed wound against his shoulder and winced. Belittling to offer ounce of sympathy. Thereby Fyodor shrugged and offered a ‘I told you so’ patronizing look.
Nikolai pulled a long face – which sadly worked. Before Fyodor knew it hands found way to his chest again. Avoiding wounds he slowly pulled Nikolai into a sideways embrace. Fool couldn't stifle a keen in time; much to his dismay Fyodor knew it had nothing to do with physical ache. He wished to laugh, but end of Nikolai’s hair tickled chin. Seeing braid was already loose Fyodor tugged the tie off and methodically unlaced it. At first he combed through locks and worked knotty ends, then fathom they better avoid irritating stitches anyhow. Fyodor tied hair into a low pony-tail and swept to the right side, away from the wound; maybe a hair pin or clip would help.
Gentleness must have stung more than the bullet did. “Stone cold”, Nikolai moped like a little child yet looked like he wanted to cry. Gun shot and stitching didn’t bring him to the verge of tears but little bit of kindness did; plain ridiculous. Declaring him callous after display of tenderness seemed paradoxical on the first glance, but Fyodor knew perfectly well what Nikolai meant. Just like he knew rawness will be overridden by pretense in a heartbeat.
Like clockwork. “And to think I’ve over here dying in worst agonies”, Nikolai went off the tangent entirely, clearly running mouth for sake of filling the silence; or rather to escape pounding heart and cage it entails. As result Fyodor dozed off; truth to be told after everything he too is worn out. Doped like this Nikolai posed virtually no threat, thus no reason to admonish himself for lowered guard.
Among the blabbers one caught ear and sealed Nikolai’s fate.“If only you’d kiss to make it better, but no, you have to tease me this heartlessly!” – that was a joke, but Fyodor was intrigued – and challenged. Nikolai’s vulnerability and defenselessness were addicting, Fyodor didn’t fancy him regaining as much as a scrap of control. Not to mince words, Nikolai’s infatuation has never been a secret. So what is bit of affections in exchange for seizing power?
Ah, that’s off beam. If only it was just a bit of power and nothing else, everything would be a breeze; gust wouldn’t keep on haunting. These ruminations wouldn’t do him no good at the moment (or ever, to be frank), thence Fyodor shoved them aside in favor of newly conceived ruse. Allow me to show you real teasing. Carefully avoiding sore spots he planted palms on Nikolai’s back and nudged him forwards. Inquisitive hums and puzzled look didn’t deter. Fyodor lowered head and kissed inches below the wound. Same instant Nikolai went rigid.
Contact was evanescent, lasted mere seconds. But it was enough to transfix. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”, Fyodor teased, barely suppressing laughter. Per expected Nikolai failed to provide a response. Save for sharp inhales and heart hammering beneath palm nothing indicated he was still among the living. To think a single peck was enough defeat an infamous bloodthirsty jester… it was that absurd it was endearing.
Chuckling to himself Fyodor sat up and crawled around so they were face to face – and sure enough Nikolai’s was a sight to behold. Once more cheeks were blood red, just this time had little to do with fever. Mismatched eyes still half-lidded and glassy, just this time pain was nowhere to be found – just utter mindless lovesickness. Nikolai clasped mouth to subdue whatever embarrassment unbefitting jester of his status he was about to eject. Cute, Fyodor wanted to tease him more.
Conveniently fingers dabbed over cheek. Oh if that didn’t give Fyodor an idea. “There hmm?”, he droned, curiously tipped head and got into Nikolai’s personal space. He didn’t yelp but widened eyes gave surprise away. Fyodor clasped Nikolai’s wrist, guided it away and pecked left cheek.
This kiss wasn’t lasting either. But this time Fyodor was directly in front of Nikolai, so there was no hiding. Pupils dilated, breath hitched in throat; he let out a sound that couldn't be categorized as anything but utterly and hopelessly smitten. Starving for affections a single crumb had the potential to overstuff; being deprived for so long it was little surprise he was subjugated so easily. Nikolai’s attachment, borderline obsession to be precise, isn't exactly a revelation, but Fyodor didn’t know it’s this… this bad, he wished to remark at first, but no, this is plain puerile; so green he had to wonder which part of Nikolai’s heart is left untarnished and was capable of loving this innocently.
Forget the gun shot, excessive blood loss and improvised medical procedure, now Nikolai looked like he’s about to faint. Chuffing, but not enough for Fyodor’s sadistic appetite. “Is that it?”, he purred and goaded Nikolai into tapping at his lips. That’s when it hit Fyodor – he’s not opposed to this. If Nikolai takes the bait he will kiss him, no doubt; leastwise it’d be a convenient excuse.
“I…”, slow gulp accompanied by couple shivers. Nikolai raised hand. It was shaking. Fyodor had to titter a bit. If Nikolai were in his right mind he would have seized the chance; seized him by the waist, spun around and kissed senseless all night long – why hold back when he’s basically given an invitation? Alas, Nikolai was anything but in character tonight. Rather than leading the show he was left paralyzed.
Fingers never got anywhere near close mouth. “Ugh”, Nikolai groaned and clasped entire face instead; too bad Fyodor still easily made out it was tomato red. Apparently teasing was too much for his poor unsuspecting heart. Scratch fever, now he was positively burning up.
Faintness along with tugging of heartstrings proved to be beyond bearing. “You’re really unfair Fedya, you know that?”, Nikolai bemoaned and unceremoniously collapsed on the sheets; rolled onto side, uncaring if he opens stitches by wiggling around. Funny how moments prior he was on the brink of nodding off, now teeming with energy.
Fyodor lifted a brow, taken aback by abruptness of theatricality, but it just as abruptly dawned – this is not theatricality. Nothing in this circus is staged, or even magnified. Oh what charm little bit of friskiness weaved, vulnerability paved the path right into his heart; thus a peck brought down to knees. Nikolai buried face into the pillow, presumably to conceal flushed face, squeaked and repetitively slammed fist onto the mattress. Even tips of his ears burned bright red. It was quite a spectacle, Fyodor had to admit; one he hardly ever beheld and wasn’t keen on disturbing.
So he observed Nikolai make a fool of himself with a smile and fondness he didn’t know prior to this moment he could summon. Ultimately Fyodor supposed this is the most adequate ‘thank you’ man like himself can offer.