Alfred peered through dark lashes at the man seated across from him, the man he had married so many years ago, the man he loved. A single question keeping him from fully enjoying the soup he was spooning into his mouth at great velocity. How long has it been since we last did it?

He had only gradually begun to notice the lack of sex in their recent days. Digging through his memories, he tried to find it, the last time he'd had to go to the store to buy a new box of condoms, the last time they had made out in the shower, the latest groping fest or blowjob or anything, really.

Well, it wasn't like there had been nothing. For example, about three weeks ago after that office party, they had been getting it on a little on top of their bed, all sweet touches and gropes and hot kisses. But then Alfred's phone had rang, and he ran out with the promise to turn it off and come back immediately after doing so, only to find Ivan already drifting off to sleep upon his return.

And before that, after a whole week of being so busy the mere stress made him horny. The first free Sunday evening in what felt like months. But Ivan had been forced to go somewhere last-minute, leaving Alfred to jerk away his frustration in a steaming bath.

Then…there was that one time they'd almost gotten to it, only to have their kids drop by for a surprise visit. Never had they gone from undressing to being fully dressed again in such a short amount of time. They might even have broken a record.

But that was ages ago! Or at least months, from before New Year's, before Christmas. And they hadn't even done anything. Had it really been that long? It couldn't be. Because Alfred thought about sex at least once a day, whether it be true lustful considerations or just snickering over an accidental innuendo. If he thought about sex so much, especially sex with his partner, then why hadn't anything happened for so long? Alfred looked up from his soup, spoon frozen in his mouth.

Unless Ivan didn't find him that attractive anymore. Which was absurd, really. Ivan had always found him attractive, or at least, he told Alfred, and his actions implied the same truth. His late actions.

Alfred reached down to pat his stomach. He had gained a little weight lately, but that was only because there had been so many business meetings and receptions these past few months (Alfred would never be the type to order lightly, but these past few years his metabolism had simply decided to take things a little easier, that was all).

Alfred looked at his hands. They were robust, calloused fingertips, not a wrinkle to be spotted, not a dollop of decolourisation to indicate aging. He was younger than Ivan, so it couldn't be his age. Then maybe, Ivan was just getting old? Or maybe, it was because Alfred was younger?

"Something wrong?"

Alfred started, looking over to find Ivan sending him a gentle smile, gazing at the hand still rubbing away at Alfred's stomach. The blond quickly removed it, placed both hands on top of the table, palms up.

"No, nothing. Was just wondering if I should have some more soup."

Ivan pushed the bowl towards him. "By all means. I made enough to fill up two Alfreds."

There was a chuckle of fondness in his tone, but Alfred suddenly had his doubts. He slowly shook his head, causing Ivan to quirk his brow. "No thanks, I think I'm good." There were bigger concerns on his mind.

"Are you sure?"

Alfred nodded. "Positive."

Ivan held his gaze for a moment longer before shrugging. He rose from his seat, bringing the leftover soup to the kitchen to freeze it in for another time. Alfred stared after him, fingers rapping onto the tabletop. He needed to test his theory. Because the lack of sex was really starting to build up in him. Despite him not being that young filly of twenty anymore, he still had needs. Okay, he probably couldn't do it five times in a row anymore, but nothing at all? Now that was a whole new extreme he simply wasn't ready for.

He sincerely hoped Ivan's lack of interest was a product of their busy lifestyle, instead of it being a result of more complicated emotions.

~o~

The first Friday evening after that, Alfred made sure to keep the whole night free of any plans. He cooked a nice meal for two, put on his best suit (the one that accentuated his butt), prepared music and candlelight. He wanted it to be a special evening, recalling so many others they had spent in equal fashion.

He eagerly waited for Ivan to come home, having his fantasies to keep him company in the meantime. He had to keep his thoughts ordered to keep himself under control; now that he had begun thinking about it, the promise of passionate sex after such a long time without was enough to excite him.

He waited. And waited. At first there were only five-minute intervals in between every glance at the grandfather clock standing in a corner of the living room, a gift from Ivan's dedushka. When that began to make him impatient, he turned his mind to the television, opting for a distraction. After a period of restless channel surfing he checked the clock again, noting that it was an hour after Ivan usually came home, then looked at his watch in case this clock was fast (it wasn't, and he knew).

He tried reading a magazine (seeing nothing of the text), chatting with their daughter (but she was busy in the kitchen as well, so Alfred soon left her be), went upstairs for another look at his hair and suit (maybe an extra cloud of aftershave?), until he finally relented and called Ivan on his phone.

"Ah, my apologies. A colleague is sick, and I volunteered to keep track of their paperwork. I will be late tonight, so please, go ahead and eat."

Alfred kept his voice under control, but Ivan heard the pout nonetheless, had already expected it.

"I promise to make it up to you tomorrow. We only have that dinner with the neighbours, right? We can have a lazy morning together."

A lazy morning didn't equal a passionate night, but Alfred conceded regardless. It wasn't Ivan's fault that his colleague was ill and he was such a saint (in earlier years he would have teasingly called Ivan a communist). It was part of why Alfred loved him, after all.

The candles were extinguished, suit exchanged for a more comfortable shirt and pair of trousers, half of the food put onto a plate for Ivan to microwave later. Alfred ate his meal in front of the TV, some music program playing with the sound turned way up. He decided to help himself to a glass of whiskey, if they were going to take it slow tomorrow anyway. Then another. The liquor at first heated him, but soon made him forget about his irritation.

Finally, Ivan found him asleep on the couch, glass still clutched in his hand but hanging at a dangerous angle, cleared plate not yet put away. Ivan gingerly took the glass from his husband's hand, took care of the dishes, turned off the television. He gently took Alfred in his arms and carried him upstairs, not with as much ease as he used to be able to, but still doing so, lovingly. Alfred was tucked in, a kiss pressed to his golden locks (only a trained eye could spot the first grey hairs, but even then Ivan wouldn't dream of pointing them out, if only because Alfred had sworn to dye his hair if ever he discovered some). Alfred was murmuring incomprehensible things, making Ivan chuckle. He went downstairs again for his own dinner, then a quick shower, before joining his beloved with a groan of exhaustion. Finally, some rest.

~o~

The next morning, Alfred woke up with a hangover. He tried to ignore it, searching for the usual heat to cuddle up to, quickly discovering that Ivan had already left the bed. Groaning, he forced himself to leave the warm comfort of his little nest, dragging his feet down the steps and into the kitchen for a painkiller and big gulps of water. He finally found Ivan in the garden, working away at the flowerbeds.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"I thought you said we'd take it easy this morning," Alfred reminded him, walking over for a sloppy morning kiss, sounding grumpy despite his attempt not to care.

Ivan sent him a guilty look. "Sorry. I wanted to, but I remembered it was weeding day. And I was awake anyway, and you were sleeping so beautifully…"

Alfred waved his hand. "Leave the excuses, Mr. Perfect Garden. Are you coming inside for breakfast?"

"I already had some, dear. I cut up some oranges. Do not forget to take a few bites." Ivan was always forcing Alfred to eat more healthily. As if he was an old man needing to watch his diet.

"Sure, whatever you say," Alfred mumbled, but Ivan had already returned his attention to the flowerbed. No sex happened that day. How could it, what with how busy they ended up being? After the garden there was cleaning, taking turns in the bathroom to prepare for dinner, a moment of panic when Alfred couldn't locate the bottle of champagne they had bought to gift to the neighbours (Ivan had already put it aside). And of course, as always, in the evening, Ivan only wanted to read another chapter in his book while Alfred tried slouch against him for a movie, and go to bed early, for Sunday morning they usually went swimming.

No sex came that Sunday, or that Monday (grandchildren were sleeping over, twins of only two years old). Tuesday Ivan was still tired from the night before and the busy working day that followed, on Wednesday Alfred tried to coax Ivan into the bedroom but he didn't seem to get the hint, Thursday the blond tried a repeat of the special dinner but he spilled on his suit and managed to burn the food which ruined his mood altogether, and then Friday was a visit to Ivan's sister and her partner.

Another week had passed, not even a hint of anything sexual whatsoever. The frustration was beginning to drive him mad. While most of the time he could simply think his way around it (and hey, he still had his hand), the thoughts were accumulating, now starting to attack him whenever he stopped paying attention. Luckily he was no longer a horny teenager, meaning he didn't get boners at the most inconvenient times, but only because he put an effort into focusing on other things.

Still, he thought he was losing his mind when on Saturday, he made a detour from the supermarket to drop by a sex shop and buy some erotic lingerie. Lingerie of all things. He hadn't worn kinky costumes since his fortieth birthday. The last sex he could recall had been as vanilla as can be. Maybe he was getting desperate for Ivan to notice the amount of blue balls he had been given these past few months.

Ivan was out to drop off some homemade cookies at his parents' house, so Alfred took the moment of quietude to hurry to their bedroom and change into the newly purchased outfit. He looked at himself in the mirror with pounding heart, both nervous and excited. The corset helped cover his love handles, but he realised he needed a quick shave to look clean and sensual (which he did with sweating hands, almost cutting himself twice). Another look contained more scrutiny.

He wasn't as tanned as he used to be, because most of his time was spent indoors. But his teeth were still white, as they should, keeping in mind how much care he took of them (which always surprised his dentist, who knew how much food Alfred liked to stuff into that mouth of his). He was a little less muscled than his younger self, but that was only natural; back then he had been on the baseball team, and had joined several charity runs, and the swimming was done thrice a week instead of once. There were some lines in his once smooth face, sure, and there was a scar on his chest that had never fully faded, and his vision was even worse than it used to be, meaning he needed his glasses at all times, or strong lenses when that wasn't an option. But he still looked okay! He still looked desirable, or at least, he should.

Alfred jumped when hearing the front door open and close. "Alfred?"

"U-up here!" he called back, quickly moving over to the bed and flopping down, before positioning himself in a more appealing form. The nerves were starting to be drowned out by the desire to have Ivan look at him the way he used to, eyes darkened with lust, lust for Alfred. He wanted Ivan to walk over to him, caress him on top of the ludicrous outfit, kiss his sensitive skin. He shivered at the sudden pang of desire, wanting Ivan more with each step he could hear echoing through the hallway.

Finally, the door to their bedroom was opened, and a tired Ivan took a step inside, pausing the very moment his gaze fell upon his husband, displayed on top of the bed like a tasty treat.

Alfred swallowed, then offered a warm smile. "Welcome home, lover." It sounded cheesy even to his ears, but he didn't mind; a lot of corny yet sweet words had been uttered in this very room.

Ivan didn't respond at first, taking a long look at Alfred's half-naked form. Alfred was starting to squirm a little, opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a burst of joyful giggling.

Alfred's jaw dropped a little further down, eyes bulging when Ivan gripped his stomach, almost bending over in his mirth. Alfred could feel the shameful red setting his cheeks on fire, spreading to his ears and neck. He had anticipated on many kinds of responses, but mockery had certainly not been one of them.

"W-why are you…"

"You l-look like a candy wra-pper!" Ivan wheezed, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, giggles still bursting forth in between every gasp for air.

Alfred's mouth opened and closed. Tears began to form in his eyes as well, albeit for different reasons. He felt utterly humiliated. Perhaps under different circumstances, he would have just went with it, joined Ivan in his laughter, using the ice breaker to pull him in for a kiss. Not possible with the way he was feeling now, however.

His suspicions were confirmed. Ivan no longer found him attractive. For what reason, Alfred couldn't fathom. There was of course the speculation that Ivan could have found someone else to occupy that more dirty part of him, that the late evenings and trips away from home were merely a cover-up. But Alfred didn't even want to consider that possibility. His heart was breaking enough without it, and he had always trusted Ivan to be faithful.

"Stop laughing!" Alfred yelled, and Ivan did at once, not because of his tone, but because of the thick drops of salt now rolling down his cheeks.

"Alfred? What is wrong?"

"Nothing!" Alfred raged, a contradiction to both his high-pitched voice and current appearance. He began curling in on himself protectively to hide from that piercing gaze, but Ivan quickly surged forward to grab his wrists, preventing him from fully disappearing.

"I am so sorry, I shouldn't have laughed," he immediately said, cooing gentle words through the angry sobs. "I simply didn't expect it—"

"Of course you didn't!" Alfred growled, near hysterics. "You don't seem to think about sex at all these days! I can only take so many masturbating before I break, Ivan!"

At this snarled confession, which hadn't even been meant to be a confession in the first place, Ivan grew completely silent. Alfred continued to sob, face hidden in the blankets, though he didn't dare pull his hands from the other's tight grip. He didn't want to hear the excuses, didn't want to hear that there was someone else (if there was he'd kill them), or even just that Ivan didn't want him anymore. Sex had always been invariably intertwined with their romantic lives, and Alfred simply couldn't imagine what would make either of them want to fix what wasn't broken.

"Are you really troubled by this?" Ivan asked softly when the crying finally subdued, only the occasional sniffle now permeating the air. Alfred allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position, chin sullenly hanging onto his chest. He wished he hadn't bought the stupid outfit. Would have saved him the embarrassment (plus it was starting to get a little chilly now that he no longer had his overheated mind to regulate his temperature).

Alfred shrugged weakly. "I was just…I noticed nothing had happened in a long time, and I was getting frustrated." It was hard talking about things that had never needed to be discussed. It was hard admitting that their relationship wasn't perfect (not that it ever had been, but he'd never felt so insecure about it before now).

"I am sorry you feel this way." Ivan's tone surprised him. He didn't sound apologetic or remorseful, only insecure. Which was weird, because it had been Alfred to make a fool out of himself, not Ivan.

Alfred looked up when the other sat down next to him, expression grave, brow furrowed. He sent a reassuring smile at Alfred, but couldn't hold it for long. "I guess I simply did not notice it had been so long."

Alfred looked equally surprised and doubtful. "You're kidding."

Ivan shook his head, began folding and unfolding his hands. They were starting to get wrinkled, showing the age difference between him and his husband. There were also lines next to his eyes and mouth that had never been there, and then there were the problems with his back (the doctor had forbidden him from doing heavy lifting, which he blatantly ignored most of the time, but the issue was still present).

"It is not like I no longer find you attractive. On the contrary." He smirked while pinching Alfred's hip, hand quickly getting slapped away. The humour left his expression as he looked Alfred in the eye (he had always been mature for his age, but now his body truly seemed to have caught up to his mental age). "I do not know exactly why. It's just that…" His shoulders hunched up, something he always did when having to talk about his own emotions. "I…rarely feel those desires anymore."

Alfred had expected some grandiose confession, after which wild accusations would have sprung forth. Not…whatever this was. "What do you mean? You don't get aroused by me anymore?"

Ivan cringed, then sent Alfred a look both comforting and stern. "I am not talking about my feelings for you, Alfred. Just my sexual feelings in general." He hesitated, searched for the right words to explain himself. "When I was younger, my appetite for you was an all-consuming fire that never seemed to stop burning."

"Nice analogy, Mr. Poet." Ivan hushed him, but seemed glad that Alfred was no longer angry, or angrily crying.

"I think the fire still exists, but it no longer consumes me. Even thinking about sex makes me tired, it—it is hard to explain. There is so much work to be done nowadays, both for my job and around the house, and we have so many social obligations now; neighbours, our children, parents, sisters and your brother, nieces and nephews, colleagues and employers, we even have grandchildren now! All that work, while being nice, and I love every minute of our lives—but it takes up so much of my energy. Maybe that is it, that I have less energy now than I used to."

Now that he had begun talking, the words seem to come to him more easily. "When we were just married, I only found it natural to have a job and go out late in the evening and stay up all night to make love to you."

Alfred felt his cheeks redden again, earning Ivan an affectionate jab between the ribs, but he was quickly hushed (and he let himself be hushed, because Ivan's story was an important one, one concerning their marriage).

"I seem to have lost that desire. Or perhaps not lost, but it has changed. Why have sex when I can kiss you or cuddle with you, when just you talking excitedly about your day makes me fall in love with you all over again?"

Alfred had gone dead-silent, but Ivan's voice was only rising.

"I love you, and I will never stop loving you, Alfred. But I no longer feel that sex is a necessary part of showing that love… I hope I am making myself clear."

Alfred swallowed harshly, licked his lips, found his throat to have gone dry as well. "I think so… So you're saying that, while still finding me attractive, you just no longer get horny." He mulled it over. "Are you…you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but…impotent?"

Ivan scowled at him, pink dusting his cheeks, and Alfred wished he hadn't suggested it. "No, Alfred. Biologically, everything still functions as it should." He shrugged again, looking forlorn, at a loss. "It is the only way to explain it. While there are moments I think about sex, those moment rarely excite me anymore. Sex does not interest me as much as it used to."

They sat there in silence for a while, Alfred staring at Ivan, Ivan staring at his hands. Alfred's voice barely rose above a whisper. "You could've said so. I wouldn't have bought this if I knew."

"I would have told you had I known it was an issue," Ivan admitted, head sinking deeper into the ribbed neck of his pullover. "But I suppose, since I do not really think about it anymore, I forgot to consider how you would feel." He smiled apologetically. "I should have thought about it. My diminishing libido does not immediately imply the same happening to you." He looked at Alfred, studied him.

Alfred shrugged weakly, feeling as lost as Ivan appeared in that fragile moment. "I don't know what to say. I feel sorry you feel this way, and want to respect your feelings, but I also still want to have sex with you. I…I don't know."

Ivan folded his hands firmly, slightly hunched over, expression troubled, position terse. Alfred could tell there was something on his mind. Three times Ivan opened his mouth, about to speak, soundlessly closing it again. Alfred waited, nodded his head encouragingly. Ivan didn't look him in the eye when finally speaking.

"If…if it would help you to…" The thought alone seemed to pain him. Alfred's stomach began churning, some part of him beginning to catch on. "To…ask or hire someone to—"

"Out of the question," Alfred snapped, eyes ablaze. The mere suggestion infuriated him, filled him with disgust. "I only ever want you."

Ivan slumped forward, breathing a sigh of relief. Alfred could place the emotion now as fierce jealousy. He grabbed the other's hand, squeezed it. "Hey. I'd never cheat on you, okay? Not even with your permission. It's not that bad." But the implication was there; perhaps not that bad, but nevertheless bad enough.

Ivan locked eyes with him, lips twitching up into a grateful smile. "Thank you. I do not think I would be able to bear it…" He pursed his lips, and Alfred hung his head. Be that as it may be, it didn't help their case to move forwards. It appeared they were at an impasse.

"So…" Alfred swallowed harshly.

Ivan dragged his free hand over his face into his hair, tousling the platinum locks, now more white and grey than that silvery blond it was when they first met. "So," he confirmed. Another beat of hesitation. "I could…co-operate, every once in a while."

Alfred was already shaking his head before Ivan had finished the sentence. "You mean just letting me do you, or have my way with you? Ivan. I married you for you, not for your body. I wouldn't want to do anything if you didn't feel up to it. That's called rape."

Ivan looked at him with both fondness and helpless anxiety. "I know, and I shouldn't have suggested it. But I want to help you, I just do not know how."

Alfred reached out, planted a kiss to the other's lips, shushing the other when he eagerly responded. "I know you do, and I'm really grateful. But this is my problem, not yours. If you don't feel like it, then it's not up to me to force you."

He lay down, coaxing Ivan down with him so they could lie face to face, expressions filled with love, but also exhaustion.

"I married the most considerate man in the world," Ivan murmured, making Alfred giggle. "But I really want to do something for you too."

Alfred shook his head, caressing that stupidly handsome face (it would never stop being handsome). "I still have my hand. Two, to be exact. And vibrators and toys to help me. I'll be fine. Besides, sex isn't everything." He made it out to be a joke, but Ivan could tell that the frustration hadn't been relieved one single bit.

Ivan sighed, mournful of a lost past. How could a hand relieve the tension when they were used to all kinds of wild play? He recalled Alfred's loud and pleasured screams, pounding him into the mattress or taking him against a wall or on top of a table or counter or desk, or the floor if nothing else availed (many a time they had spent the day after with sore backs). He remembered the positions they tried, the toys that after a while became part of the routine, the safe words they had used, licking and scratching and biting whenever they pleased. He still knew each and every one of Alfred's sweet spots (right beneath his jawline, earlobes, nipples, firm ass cheeks, the hollow of his knees, the soft skin right beneath his navel).

The memories caused a twitch down there, but it simply wasn't enough. And if thinking about Alfred in the throes of passion didn't suffice, he doubted anything would…

Anything?

Ivan peppered soft kisses all over his husband's face, before hesitantly speaking up. "There is one thing we could try…"

~o~

Alfred stared warily at the box Ivan had just brought home from the pharmacy. He had never considered using something like this, had only once been confronted by it when searching his father's drawer (that had led to one very awkward conversation). He had no idea of what to expect, and he wasn't even the one to be using it.

Ivan was reading the small paper of instructions. The doctor had already explained them to him, but he wanted to make sure they didn't miss any important information. "Viagra is usually only taken when needed, thirty minutes to one hour before sexual activity. You may take it up to four hours before sexual activity, but do not take it more than once a day. Contact your doctor if any of the follow occurs during sexual activity: nausea, numbness, pain or tingling in the chest, arms, neck or jaw. Viagra alone will aide an erection, but is not enough to cause it. If you overdose, contact—"

"Don't think you're going to overdose from just one pill," Alfred interrupted him.

Ivan looked up, noting the cautious leer. He smiled, bending over to press a kiss to the other's forehead.

Alfred let him, but spoke up immediately after. "And you're one hundred percent positive you want to try this? You're not just doing this for me, are you?"

"Everything I do is with you in mind, lapushka. But I also want to try it for myself." Which was only half a lie, but after all, marriage was compromise. And it wasn't like he suddenly hated sex, he just needed a little something to help stimulate him. Which Viagra might be the perfect solution for.

He took out a pill, holding a glass of water in the other hand. "So if it works, once or twice a month."

"No need to set dates," Alfred protested, "We only do it when you feel like it. Like I said, I still have my hand, so no need to worry about me."

A determined look from Ivan successfully shut him up. Let me do this for you, it seemed to beg. As if sex wasn't a luxury, but a necessity. Alfred wanted to protest further, but Ivan had already brought the pill to his mouth, gulped it down with several sips of water. No going back now.

Alfred squirmed in his chair. Ivan had already bought the pills earlier this week, but had told him he wanted to wait until Alfred was actually feeling the need for it. Which had happened this lovely Sunday morning, after Alfred woke up from a wet dream, overly stimulated and ready to go. That was already an hour and a half ago, seeing as he'd forced Ivan to stay in bed until he was ready to get up ("My needs aren't more important than yours!"), but for whatever reason, Ivan seemed determined to try the pills out now, not wanting to wait a moment longer. ("We have nowhere to go today, and you are clearly ready. I want to try.")

"So, about an hour max," Alfred said, at the moment having a cool mind, but he knew that if Ivan would actually respond well to the Viagra, he wouldn't be able to keep himself under control any longer. It had been months, perhaps even longer. (A year? Could it be?) If Ivan was so stupidly determined to try out pills in order to satiate Alfred's desire, then fine. Let him. It was Ivan's choice, and Alfred only had that much willpower to try and change his mind.

"You go ahead to the bedroom, I need to clean up," Ivan said, giving Alfred a playful tap to the butt to hurry him along. As soon as the other was out of sight, he shot another glance at the instructions, making sure he hadn't missed anything important, before starting off towards the bathroom.

Viagra alone is not enough to cause an erection. All right. Erotic thoughts, then. He was lucky to have a husband he found so attractive, and a long repertoire of sensual memories to aide him. He would need it.

Ivan looked at himself in the mirror, seeing the young man he once was beneath a layer of wrinkles and other indications of his growing age. True, he was still only in his early fifties, far from a senior citizen, but he wasn't exactly a young sapling anymore. His stomach was soft, his legs no longer as muscled, the blue veins were more noticeable now, and he was prone to sudden cramps in hands and feet. He felt old in that moment, especially when put next to Alfred's undying urges. But he wasn't that old, not yet. And he was going to prove it.

Ivan shut the lid of the toilet and sat down, closing his eyes. He tried to ignore the harsh lights of the bathroom, tried to forget where he was, tried to lose himself in his memories. He held a hand on his crotch to help him achieve his goal, and felt a little indignant at the same time; was this really where it had come to? That he couldn't even have sex with his beloved Alfred without needing stimulants? His younger self would have scoffed at him. What Alfred said was true, sex wasn't everything, and no one should force themselves to please a lover. But now it was a matter of pride. Ivan wanted to get excited, if only because the mere thought of Alfred wanting him without him wanting the same back infuriated him beyond all reason.

Ivan dug deep. The first time he ever saw Alfred naked, how they had been both shy and bold, trying to hide their own nudity while wanting to lay the other bare. Alfred's lean body folding easily under his hands, arching against him, panting and tossing and begging for more. He remembered the sensation of sliding into him, hot tightness enveloping him, how that alone used to drive him crazy, even when he was set on teasing Alfred to the point where his pleas no longer made sense. He remembered dragging those firm hips up, feet crossed behind his back, Alfred spouting lewd challenges even when hungrily meeting him halfway. He remembered that greedy mouth wrapped around him, his own wanton moans, sheets ripping beneath his twisting fingers. They had ruined a lot of fabric in their many years of love-making. Pillows, too.

Ivan grunted when he felt himself stir under his stroking hand. Of course he had had erections in that long sex-less period, but that had merely been his body checking its own functions. It had been too long since he last touched himself like this, not with the intent to get rid of a nuisance and then move on, but to prepare for something far more passionate.

Without noting the change, the memories began invading his mind, rather than being called upon. Alfred riding him with his cowboy hat on, mutual masturbation in the bathroom of the office during a Christmas party, the first time they tried on bondage, every erotic detail. Within minutes he was hard as a rock and prepared for the next step.

Alfred in the meantime, had been slowly undressing before the closet. He kept trying to figure out what he wanted to wear; go straight for nothing, or pull on something sexy to help arouse his partner? He also kept doubting the Viagra, despite his father having assured him (even if he didn't want to know), that one time back in the days, that it definitely worked.

Alfred was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't hear the door creaking open, socked feet stalking closer. He bent over to pull out a loose shirt, but froze when possessive hands took hold of his hips. A shudder rippled up his spine when a longing kiss was placed to the dip at its base, soft lips lingering, promising at least a few hours of oblivion.

Alfred could only sigh the other's name as he was spun around, mouth captured by another. In the end, they didn't even make it to the bed.

~o~

"We shouldn't be lying on the floor, you know."

"Hm-hm."

"It's bad for your back. You know what the doctor said."

"I can take care of myself, dorogoy."

Alfred didn't respond. His fingers were tangled in the other's chest hair, head resting sluggishly onto the broad expanse of Ivan's chest. They only had a towel covering their naked bodies, something Ivan had pulled from the closet right next to them. Neither felt like getting up and pulling the covers from the bed, even if that would help against the cold much better than a single fluffy towel.

"That was…amazing," Alfred sighed.

"That is only the third time you told me," Ivan mused, turning his head to press another chaste kiss to Alfred's scalp.

Alfred chuckled, blinking drowsily. "But I mean it. I knew I needed it, but I didn't know how badly until I finally felt your hands on me. And don't apologise," he finished, having felt the breath intake beneath his sweaty cheek. Instead of an apology, he heard a rumble of subdued laughter.

"Once or twice a month. I insist." More had already been shot down by Alfred.

"Only if you want to."

"I do. But I am afraid it would take its toll on me." They both laughed silently.

"You sound like an old man."

"I feel old. Sometimes."

Alfred pressed even closer, listening to Ivan's heartbeat. "I'm married to an old man," he considered, giggling when this earned him a light slap.

"You won't keep that libido forever, you know," Ivan said, and the way he said it made it sound like a threat.

Alfred lifted his head, leering up at the other. "Try me."

Ivan leant down for another kiss, sweet against Alfred's lips. "Three times a month."

"No way, old man."

"Fine," Ivan relented. "But then we will have to make sure those two times thoroughly satisfy you."

And Alfred shuddered at the implications of those words. True, they were no longer young adults. But even if Ivan's libido wasn't what it used to be, and Alfred's might follow suit, they knew they were stuck with each other until the bitter end, gladly surrendering to that little thing called love.