Newlyweds, they were called. Raisa, admittedly, hadn't found much joy in that term, nor had she found joy in Leo's romantic attempts. Being a resilient spirit, she was still bitter towards him for pursuing her and succeeding. She had lost the battle in trying to hide from him, trying to lead him awry and stop pursuing her. She had failed, although she could expect nothing less from an MGB officer; he was trained to find people. And he had found her. He had done his duty.
The passion would simmer eventually and if she was lucky, fade away entirely. His work would kill that passion, or him, and until then, Raisa would fulfil her duty as his wife, allowing him to find pleasure within her body. Leo was handsome to the country, but not as much to Raisa. He had strong, blue eyes, but they had seen more death and pain than she could grasp. He possessed an ample pout that did him no favours in appearing innocent nor appealing; Raisa was used to seeing him with a straight-back, clenched jaw and lips straightened in a perpetual expression of obedience. He had a strong build, but Raisa could think only of the physical pain he had caused.
She was slicing carrots when the door opened, revealing a snow-peppered Leo Demidov. He stomped his boots at the door, knocking off the packed snow. Raisa didn't bother to stop cutting the wide segments of carrots. She knew that Leo was looking at her, watching her. She felt him. If he was in the mood to talk, which was rare, he would.
"Raisa," he said, lowly.
She knew the tone of voice. It was the tone of passion, of want. It was the tone that Leo had possessed almost ceaselessly since they had been married. It was the tone that Raisa, as the wife of an MGB officer, was required to respond to. Raisa slowly set the knife down and wiped her hands on her skirt before turning around to face him.
He was already in front of her, having joined her in the kitchen. This didn't come as a surprise to Raisa, she had heard his heavy footsteps as he crossed the room.
His face was cold, having absorbed the frigidness of the outside. When he tried to nuzzle into her warm neck, he shied away from the sting. Her face was contorted, twisted and angry. Leo interpreted Raisa's scowl as passion; she wanted him to take his gloves off before he touched her. She welcomed his touch more than she did his kissing. In contrast to his icy features, his fingers were warm as they snaked around her waist. It was a moment longer before Leo quietly asked her to the bedroom. She walked behind him, watching his almost-eager gait. She didn't say a word; there were no heated words of passion between them.
Once Raisa had stepped into the bedroom, he shut the door behind her. Leo gestured to her clothes, he had already began unbuttoning his jacket. Raisa's head dropped to her chest. As though she was stripping down for officials, she undressed slowly, emotionlessly, and took care in separating each button. Stiffly, she laid back on the bed.
She might've hated him and everything he stood for, but Leo Demidov, her husband, was a lover as well as a soldier. He was strong, and used that strength in his deep thrusts. She felt each one, wincing when the solidity of his hips pounded against her own wider ones. His uniform had kept him warm and Raisa found comfort in that warmth as she lay underneath him. Her arms were cold, so she wrapped them around his bare back, pulling herself closer. The underside of her forearms began absorbing his warmth and Raisa inhaled. Leo muttered something softly, next to her ear, raising his hips to pull out, then buried himself deep inside her once more. Raisa exhaled, holding onto Leo as he continued. The sense of fullness made her eyelids droop shut, abandoning their interest in the ceilings above.
His pace quickened, the impact of his thrusts intensified. Raisa blinked with each thrust he delivered, though her expression remained deadpan. Her arousal was fleeting; it skittered away every time she remembered all of the pain that Leo had caused. How he stood for his country and his country's methods when they were wrong. They were so wrong.
His body went stiff above hers, Raisa felt the contraction of his muscles. His chest lifted away from hers, and the chill slithered in between them. A rough-sounding groan started deep in Leo's throat, but eventually travelled out of his mouth in a strained gasp.
Every time they had sex, the hope for a child was present. Leo wanted one for the sole purpose that wives were meant to have children, to carry on the father's duties in serving the country. Raisa's opinions didn't filter into the discussion, but she knew if she could give Leo a child, she would. She would, because she wanted nothing more than to never see him wondering if there was something wrong with her again.
Leo rolled off of his wife and sat up on the edge of the bed while Raisa retrieved her skirt from the floor and stepped into the circle of fabric. The blouse followed, buttoning it up with the same deliberate slowness that she had undone them. She heard the sound of Leo zipping up his trousers, his heavy breathing as it steadied. She rotated her body, slowly, to address her husband. She was gazing at the wall behind him, because had she looked directly in his eyes, she would've been looking down on him; an offence that she didn't want on her record.
"I will finish dinner," she said.
Leo nodded and hooked his thumb under one suspender, pulling it back up over his shoulder. Leo would sit and think, brood about whatever ideas he had in his mind. Raisa and Leo rarely talked. For the time being, she was comfortable with that. There was a foreign part of her that wanted to talk to him, wanted to be his wife and wanted to try to love him. Thus far, she hadn't put in the effort to allow that part out.