Author's note: FF request (applepierush): « So, can I request a story with RuHun? The plot would be something like Hungary kinda falls in love with him during the period she's under Soviet control. If it's okay, I leave the rest to you, I know I won't be dissappointed. :) » Since I've done a longer story arc with that plot, I thought a little bit of angst in a one-shot might be just the ticket. I hope you like it! I have missed writing RuHun so much.
An Annual Vigil
When Erzsi arrives in the dinning room his back is to her, Ivan Braginski sitting alone at the head of the table.
"Where are the others?" she dares to ask in Russian, her voice higher than normal.
The man shrugs.
"May I sit?"
He gestures to the seat beside him.
Carefully Erzsi places herself in the chair, watching the man who hasn't looked up once from the table. Before him is a picture, old and worn and black and white. But the Hungarian doesn't need to look at it to know it's the tsar and his family, the Russian nation happy amongst them.
She places her small hand atop his larger one. His thumb strokes hers.
"You shouldn't have to be alone." She means on this day, this day where they are all sent out from the house, away, told to leave him be. Some years he's violent; most are like today, quiet, calm, reserved. Spent lost in memories of the family he had loved above all others.
"All my life," Ivan beings with a deep, desperate voice, "I have been alone." Tired eyes meet her green ones, eyes that are lost and confused and hard and soft all at once. "I do not know how else to be."
And Erzsi aches to reach out, to touch him, to comfort him. She wants to draw him to her chest, his head on her bosom. She wants to kiss those lips, run her hands through his hair, to rip his clothes from his body and fuck him right here and now. She has wanted him for years, an itch that she dare not scratch.
Because those are all dangerous thoughts, one more than the next, even if her heart is racing and her brain has gone blank and all the Hungarian can think about is how warm Ivan's hand is in hers and how he won't look away from her.
"You cannot save me," the Russian murmurs. Whether he knows what's going on in her head, Erzsi will never know; it might simply be that his words are said with one intention and her mind gave them another. "I am beyond redemption."
All she can do is nod, powerless to the truth in his words, powerless to the Soviet system, powerless to the world.
Erzsi is powerless to falling in love with him.
Ivan laughs once to himself, admitting a quiet snort of air from his nose as he looks back down at the photograph. "Pity, really." His hand grips hers tight.
More than anything else, they are powerless to falling in love with each other.