A/N: Emil – Iceland. Ivan – Russia. Lukas – Norway. Matthias – Denmark. Tino – Finland. Berwald – Sweden. Alfred – America. Matthew – Canada. All Hetalia characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

The Challenge

Emil doodled on the papers he'd been given for this meeting. Outside, the temperature was far below zero, but inside was nice and warm. Some of the nations yawned. Matthias was fast asleep, drooling on the table. It had been Ivan's idea to hold this meeting so early in the morning, before the city had awoken and the streets were empty. No one had objected. It was Ivan's turn to host the Arctic Council, and he was allowed to do it any way he liked.

Emil liked early mornings. Especially dark winter mornings when every sound was muffled by the falling snow and even big cities like Moscow turned into Winter Wonderland. Snowflakes fluttered past the windows, shining white against a bister sky. They reminded Emil of ballerinas. As he watched their dance, he started looking forward to the ballet Ivan was taking them to see this afternoon. It would probably be spectacular. Ivan had a sense for choosing just the right show to fit everyone's mood during meetings at his place.

Not that Emil ever paid much attention to what happened on stage. There was another reason for his giddiness whenever he attended a meeting in Moscow, another reason why his imagination flared whenever it was Ivan's turn to host the Council.

Emil rested his cheek on his hand. He added another lock of hair to the man he was drawing; another fold to his scarf; a bit more lust in his eyes. Every now and then, Emil let his eyes wander around the conference room to make sure that no one was interested in his drawing. Emil was by no stretch of the imagination as good at drawing as Berwald, but even someone as clueless as Alfred would immediately recognize the man Emil was doodling. After all, Ivan had very distinct features: like his nose and broad shoulders, and the cut of his hair and the scarf that was always snug around his neck.

Emil loved all of those things and made sure to portray them the best he could in his drawing. He didn't get many chances to capture the beauty of that man using anything else than photographs and his imagination. Today, Ivan was standing at the front of the room, giving a speech on his chosen subject as host of the Arctic Council. Since those meetings were for the sole purpose of bettering relations between the nations, and in no way as political as the real Arctic Council meetings attended by each government's representatives, the hosting nation could choose whatever topic they pleased to be discussed at the four hour long meeting.

Today, Ivan had chosen "The Cultivation of Sunflowers in Arctic Regions" as the main topic. Since no one else had bothered to prepare a speech, Ivan had been happily babbling away about sunflowers for the last two hours.

Not that Emil minded. For two hours now he'd been able to savour the sound of Ivan's soft monologue filling the drowsy meeting room, all the while daydreaming and drawing the man's features. The Arctic meetings held by Ivan were by far Emil's favourite ones – he even looked more forward to them than the meetings he got to host himself.

The meetings in Moscow always had the same form: Before noon, there were discussions on whatever Ivan pleased and afterwards everyone ate lunch together at a place of Ivan's choosing. During the afternoon, it was time for a cultural event, like a visit to the theatre or a tour around a museum. When the sun set it was time to let loose over a homemade dinner at Ivan's place – with lots of alcohol and singing and arguing until morning.

If a single nation wasn't coiling over from alcohol abuse at the airport the following day, the meeting would be deemed unsuccessful. Ivan prided himself with currently holding the record of times his guests had missed their flights from sheer drunkenness.

Emil sighed. This was the second meeting in Moscow for this year already, meaning that the next Arctic Council meeting would be held by Lukas. Ivan would still be there, but Emil wouldn't have as much time to dream of him since the meetings at Lukas's place tended to be more serious, with everyone having to take part in the discussions at least once. As Lukas's brother, Emil almost always had to hold a long speech on his point of view, even if the topic was something as bizarre as "Falling in Love with Fairy-Tales" or "Trolls and Their Customs". Matthias assured him that this was Lukas' way of getting Emil to partake in things, but it annoyed Emil anyway.

He'd much rather spend the meetings his own way. Just as everyone else had their own traditional ways of letting time pass without sinking into boredom.

Alfred and Matthew usually played games like tic-tac-toe on the meeting papers, pretending to listen while they contemplated their moves. Berwald and Tino texted each other under the table with their phones on silent mode or swapped recipes. Matthias either slept or played handheld games and Lukas wrote lyrics and scores for whatever song was haunting him at that moment. Emil wrote stories, drew pictures and daydreamt about Ivan, and Ivan… As the only nation not attending the Arctic Council meetings with a family member, Ivan usually sat alone, knitting and humming to himself or writing something in Russian.

Emil had spent entire meetings staring wishfully at Ivan's beautiful handwriting, wondering what magical things the unfamiliar letters were guarding. Could it be that Ivan actually paid attention at meetings, taking notes about whatever topic was up for discussion? Or was Ivan also lost in his own world during meetings, dreaming up stories and songs and other things that moved his heart at that particular moment?

Emil would give the world to know what kind of things they were, the things that moved Ivan's heart. Did he have a crush? Someone who made him put away that smiling mask of his and actually look serious for a while – someone who'd make him blush?

Emil's thoughts were sometimes disturbed by Ivan looking up from his writing and meeting Emil's eyes. Emil hated himself for it, but he always blushed and looked away instead of averting his gaze discreetly to the wall behind Ivan. A few times, out of the corners of his eyes, Emil thought he saw Ivan smirk, but he knew it couldn't be true. Ivan always hid his true self behind that despicable smile.

How Emil wished he could wipe that smile away and see instead astonishment, a pout, a lustful grin… It was the cruel injustice of the world that Emil would never get to see those features adorn Ivan's handsome face. Emil sighed. His drawing was finished. For this one, he'd chosen the last possibility: a lustful Ivan. Just looking at the drawing gave Emil a fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he also felt disappointment, like always when he looked at his drawings. They weren't real.

If only he wasn't such a coward, Emil could have maybe spent his time doing something else than just daydreaming. He longed to see Ivan's other sides – the faces he pulled when he was with the people he loved. Surely, no man could go through life sporting only one look. True, there were variations to Ivan's smile. It could be threatening or humorous, sometimes even childish. But it was never sad, never disappointed, never lustful, never surprised…. Ivan was as hard to read as a closed book and Emil revelled in the enigma.

It was time for a short break. The nations piled out of the meeting room for coffee and snacks, everyone except Matthias and Emil. Matthias was sleeping soundly and Emil, he usually never ate much in the morning. A cup of coffee was his breakfast and then he didn't eat until lunch. It wasn't healthy, Emil knew, but it had been his habit for decades at least.

His attention was drawn to the unguarded podium and Ivan's papers on top of it. If Emil wanted to, he could sneak up there and see if Ivan had written anything special on his papers. Or, Emil could even leave a secret message. Ivan would never find out it was him. A message from Emil… A confession?

Emil blushed at the mere thought of it. It was stupid. Ivan would never know if was from Emil and what was the use in a confession then? And even if Ivan somehow found out who the sender was, there was no way he reciprocated Emil's feelings. Emil was just a small island in the Atlantic. It was a fact he got constantly reminded of and stopped by, no matter where he was or what he was doing. He was a tiny, stupid island and if it wasn't for the Arctic Council meetings, a big nation like Ivan probably wouldn't have even remembered Emil's name…

But still. The idea wouldn't leave Emil alone. A confession… Was Emil even the type to do such a thing? Wasn't he rather the type to dream on endlessly, getting more and more frustrated at his inability to act on his crush until he snapped and attacked his pillow with scissors?

Emil looked at his picture. It was by far the best picture he had drawn of Ivan to date. It was also the sultriest, the most seducing, sexiest picture Emil had ever drawn. Would he dare give it to Ivan himself?

Emil could hear the sound of cups and plates being put down and knew that the other nations were finished with their pause. He looked between the picture and the podium, his mind racing. It was now or never. Did Emil want to be the spineless boy who always dreamed and who never did anything daring?

Emil quickly jotted something down on the picture and placed it among Ivan's papers on the podium. He placed it so that Ivan wouldn't notice it immediately, but so that he had to see it as he went on with his presentation. Emil had just sat back down in his seat when the other nations came back.

His heart was racing. Oh god, what had he done? Not only had he given Ivan a picture of himself with sultry eyes, Emil had also written a stupid challenge on the picture. When this meeting officially ends tomorrow morning, I will have seen that look on your face or I'll sport it myself.

If Ivan ever found out it was Emil who had made that picture, Emil was sure to die of embarrassment.

Even though Emil looked at Ivan every time the other nation looked down to adjust his papers, Emil had seen no evidence that Ivan had seen the picture he made of him. Ivan had skimmed his papers a few times, but his expression had always remained the same so Emil was sure he'd just been trying to remember what to say next.

Emil hoped Ivan hadn't seen the picture. He hoped Ivan wouldn't see the picture until Emil was back in Iceland. Why had he written that stupid challenge on it? What if Ivan somehow found out who he was through his handwriting?

Emil did his best to look calm on the surface, but inside he was panicking.

Finally, the meeting was over.

Ivan had chosen a traditional restaurant this time for their lunch and by his recommendation most of the nations ordered a hearty stew, Emil included. There was some confusion with the seating arrangements as the nations pushed two different tables together to fit them all, so Emil wound up seated between Ivan and Berwald. The Swede was silent as usual, so Emil couldn't talk to him to divert his attention. He tried to be silent as well, but then Ivan struck up a polite conversation with him about the origins and traditions behind the dish they were eating.

Emil had to steel himself to not let his nervousness be shown – as always, this backfired. He came across as far too distant and Ivan turned to speak with Canada before the silence turned awkward.

At no point did Ivan seem anything else than polite towards Emil. If Ivan had seen the picture, it was clear that he didn't think Emil had been the one to draw it.

Emil's heart was heavy on the way to the ballet. He wasn't really sure why. Had he hoped for something to happen, now that Ivan had his picture? That was silly. The world didn't work that way. Rather than Ivan somehow magically acknowledging Emil's feelings, Emil was sure that he had managed to offend Ivan with his standoffishness. After all, Ivan had actually taken the time to describe the cooking method to Emil, as well as explaining the customs and traditions of the region that stew originated from, and all Emil could do was nod and ask one word questions until the discussion came to a natural end. Ivan must think of him as the most boring nation in the world.

Once in the theatre, Emil followed the other nations automatically, too deep in thought to pay attention to his surroundings. It wasn't until the curtains were raised that Emil looked around – and saw that Ivan was again sat next to him. The lights dimmed, the music started and dancers filed onto the stage, but Emil heard nothing but the beating of his own heart and saw nothing but the dark shadow of Ivan in the corner of his eye.

Why did he choose this seat? Emil thought. It didn't matter. For the entirety of the show, Emil's shoulder would be touching Ivan's ever so slightly, and Emil could hear the large man beside him breathing and smell the faint smell of Ivan that he'd been longing for on many sleepless nights.

Emil's heart razed when Ivan shifted his position, leaning closer to him. Emil prayed in his mind that Ivan would stay that way a while so that Emil might revel in the heat of his body. Emil closed his eyes and shifted his own weight so that he was a bit closer to Ivan as well. He thought he was dreaming when he felt Ivan's hand slide down his arm and lock fingers with his own, squeezing his hand slightly. Emil blushed furiously, afraid to look Ivan's way. Was it a mistake? Did Ivan maybe think Emil was someone else and had accidentally sat down in the wrong seat? Did he mean anything by this?

Was it in any way connected to the picture?

The remaining time until intermission passed by in a flash. As soon as the lights turned up, Ivan let go of Emil's hand and stood up, signalling for the other nations to follow him into the lobby where refreshments awaited them. Emil followed in a daze. He hid his hand inside the sleeve of his jacket, afraid to lose the memory of Ivan's heat if he touched anything with it.

"What did you think of the show?"

Emil startled. Lukas was looking at him, without an expression as usual.

"It was nice," Emil said, even though he had no idea what the ballet was about. To avoid further conversation he excused himself for the bathroom and hid there until the show started again.

Back in his seat, Emil made it a point to bump into Ivan and lock eyes with him to make sure Ivan knew that it was him and not someone else sitting beside him. Ivan smiled his fake smile, giving nothing away. When the lights went out, Ivan's fingers locked with Emil's again.

At the end of the show, Emil was so tense he could hardly breathe. All the way to Ivan's house Emil held his clenched fist close to his body as if it was precious or blessed by a saint, watching the streets fly by, not daring to think about anything in case he started to hope for something. Thankfully Ivan was riding a different car from Emil, or he would not have been able to stop himself from constantly looking over to the Russian.

Was it a message? Could it be that Ivan had not only seen the picture, but also recognized who it was that had drawn it? Was it possible?

Emil tried not to focus too hard on those questions. He was sure it was a fluke. Maybe Ivan was scared of the dark and just needed someone to hold his hand, no matter whom? Maybe it was a Russian tradition to hold hands with your seatmate at a ballet?

In any case, getting his hopes up was out of the question for Emil. He needed to remain calm. Otherwise he could end up making a fool of himself.

Ivan's house smelled faintly of him. It was something that had always interested Emil about other people's houses: The way they smelled so distinctly of their owners, just like clothing and pillow cases and shoes. Emil had been to Ivan's place a couple of times before, accompanied by the other Arctics, but he was always as excited to enter it as he had been the first time.

The party would take place on the first floor, with no one, no matter how drunk, daring to breach the sanctity of the second floor. Usually during such parties, Emil sat beside his brother and Matthias and dreamed the night away while only sipping on his alcohol, or he spiced things up and sat between Alfred and Matthew and chatted with them about everything and nothing.

Tonight would be just the same. But still, Emil couldn't completely supress the rising hope within him that this time would be different. Even just a conversation with Ivan, one that didn't die out much too early due to Emil being too stiff and awkward to keep the ball rolling, would suffice.

Emil was too agitated to have much appetite, but since dinner was cooked by Ivan himself, Emil made sure to eat his fill of it, slowly to savour the taste. Ivan was a good cook. It was yet another thing that drew Emil to him.

Emil didn't partake in the friendly chat at the dinner table and when the nations moved on to the living room and passed bottles and cans of alcohol around, Emil was quick to draw back from the company, seeking comfort and safety between his two former rulers. The two often overlooked the small nation, so Emil could always be sure to have his peace when he was with them. Sitting back with a can of beer in his hand, Emil gave himself away to daydreams, occasionally looking at Ivan to refuel his fantasies.

With the help of vodka and other strong spirits, the nations quickly became tipsy, if not completely drunk. Emil was only on his second can of beer. With his overly active imagination, he had all but forgotten the alcohol in his hand. Matthias was rambling on beside him, not caring if anyone was listening to his rambles or not and directing them at no one in particular. Lukas hummed away, lost in his own world. It was a haunting melody. Emil would probably ask his brother to hum it to him on the flight back home to help him sleep. Tino, Berwald, Alfred and Matthew were playing some board game, and judging by their cheers and yells, they were having a lot of fun. Matthias stood up to join them when he'd had enough of his less than attentive audience. Lukas followed behind, still humming.

Emil yawned and lay down in the warm sofa he now had all to himself. He was feeling sleepy already, although it wasn't even midnight yet. He let his eyes wander about the room drowsily until he noticed that Ivan was nowhere to be seen.

Emil raised his head. Where could Ivan be? And why was he not taking part in his own party?

Could this be Emil's chance to finally be alone with the mysterious Russian?

No, no. What was he thinking? Emil wasn't the type to do such a thing… How would it go anyway? Emil would just stand up, walk into the kitchen, or wherever Ivan was, and find him there? And Emil would claim to be bored, or that he wanted water or needed to go to the bathroom? What if Ivan mentioned the picture?

Come on, Emil told himself. That was unlikely. Ivan wouldn't go mentioning such a thing to just anyone, would he? Especially not to Emil, whom Ivan hardly knew. But then what was keeping Emil from seeking a chance to be alone with Ivan? Surely, he could come up with some excuse to be in the same room as his host. Emil had to at least go search for the man. Daydreaming felt good, but Emil would only get frustrated at himself later if he let a chance like this slip by him like an idiot.

After making sure everyone else was focused on their game, Emil slipped out of the living room and into the kitchen.

No one there. The bathroom was empty as well, and so were the dining room, the hallway and the doorway. Emil stopped and looked up the stairs. Could Ivan have drawn back into the privacy of the second floor? Should Emil be as bold as to go there to check on him? What would he say if Ivan really was there and got irritated that he didn't get to be alone?

It's now or never. Emil had to at least apologize for his standoffishness at lunch. It wasn't weird or anything, Emil told himself. It was normal to not want people to believe that you disliked them, right? So if Ivan really was up there, Emil could say he just wanted to say thanks for dinner, that he had really liked it, and apologize if he seemed to not be interested in their conversation earlier.

Emil drew a deep breath and headed up the stairs to the second floor. The first thing he noticed was the temperature drop – this floor didn't seem to be heated as much as the first floor. In fact, it didn't seem heated at all. The windows were partially frosted over and Emil could see his own breath form a cloud before him. Could it be that Ivan didn't really need all that heating for himself and that he had turned up the heat downstairs for his guests? Emil smiled. It was yet another mystery he could add to the enigma that was Ivan.

This floor was also completely dark, whereas everything was lit up downstairs. Emil passed closed doors and paintings that were too dark for him to see what they were of, and small tables with vases and statues on them. He could hear nothing that indicated Ivan's whereabouts, only the distant cries of the other party guests. Was Ivan maybe not on this floor after all?

Emil reached the end of the hallway. Looking back, he wondered if he should knock on the doors to see if Ivan was maybe behind one of them. He was thankful for the soft carpets under his socks, he wasn't sure if he'd be comfortable in the chill without it. Moscow was so much colder than Reykjavik during the winter – even in the northernmost part of Iceland, temperatures rarely went below -10°C. Ivan had told them during lunch today that the temperature tonight would drop to -40°C.

Emil shuddered as he stood still in the dark, listening to the sound of his own breathing. He had been hoping to simply run into Ivan up here – knocking on doors was another thing altogether. Should he call the whole thing off and head back down, maybe even join the game that entertained the others so much? If Emil went back now he might even make it before anyone noticed his absence.

Emil shrieked when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He hadn't heard the door behind him open at all.

"Emil?" Ivan asked. "Is that you?"

Emil felt his face heat up and wished he hadn't just shrieked like a little girl.

"It is," he answered. "I'm sorry for intruding, I just noticed that you weren't downstairs and I wanted to apologize about today - about being so cold to you at lunch today, I mean." Darn it. Why was he rambling? Ivan must have caught on to his nervousness now.

Ivan chuckled, making Emil even more nervous.

"I see," he said. "Come on in then, there's no need for you to stand there in the dark."

Ivan removed his hand from Emil's shoulder and beckoned the Icelander to follow him into the even darker room. Emil shivered with excitement. Could that room be a study? A library? Or even, Emil hardly dared think of it, the master bedroom?

Ivan closed the door behind him and thereby shut out the faint moonlight that had lit up the hallway. Emil felt naked in the black darkness and felt around timidly for something to hold on to. He pulled away when his hand grabbed Ivan, only to have Ivan take his hand and lead him to a chair. It seemed that Ivan knew this room well enough to manoeuvre around it without light. Emil wondered if Ivan often had the lights off in his house and if he liked it better that way.

Emil heard Ivan sit down but didn't know where until Ivan spoke again. He was really close, sitting directly in front of Emil.

"Are you scared of the dark?" Ivan asked.

"Not really," Emil said. "I sometimes take hot baths in the dark to recharge when I'm feeling tired. It's not knowing where I am or what my surroundings look like that unsettles me."

Ivan shuffled in his seat. He seemed to be sitting on something softer than the wooden chair Emil sat on, since Emil could hear fabrics shuffle underneath him.

"I like the dark," Ivan said. "If it's someplace I know, I can hide and no one can find me."

That excluded Emil's theory that Ivan had just been holding his hand to overcome his fear of the dark. That left… tradition?

"Who are you hiding from?" Emil asked. He immediately regretted it – asking such things seemed like prying.

Ivan hummed.

"That's an interesting question," he said. He made no attempts to answer it. "You said you wanted to apologize to me about something," Ivan continued after a brief pause.

Emil sank in his seat.

"Yeah," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that I wasn't being distant on purpose at lunch, when we were talking about that stew, you know. I thought it was really interesting, but I seemed to have offended you or given you the wrong idea because I didn't know how to seem more interested… But I guess that makes it sound as if I was actually really bored, but I wasn't. Honestly. It's just…" Emil shut his mouth and swore in his mind. Everything had come out wrong again. Ivan must find him to be a complete idiot.

"So you like stews, then?" Ivan asked.

Emil looked up, even though he couldn't see anything in the dark. Habits were hard to break, apparently. He thought he heard a teasing tone in Ivan's voice. If only he could see, he would know if Ivan was smirking now or smiling forcefully as always.

"Not particularly," Emil said. "That wasn't what I was trying to say. I wanted you to know that I didn't find you boring. I really liked talking to you."

Ivan chuckled.

"I see," he said. "And what did you like so much about talking to me?"

Ivan was making fun of him now, Emil was sure of it. Why else would he ask such a strange question?

"You don't really expect me to answer that," Emil said.

"Why not?" Ivan said. "It's a perfectly normal question."

"It's weird," Emil said. "Definitely not normal."

"Let's talk about something else then," Ivan said. "I'll tell you something I like, and instead, you tell me what you like about talking to me. How about that? Wait, don't answer it. You'll probably just say it's weird again." Emil stiffened when he felt Ivan's knees touch his. They were very close now. "I liked the picture you drew of me today. It had a very… sultry look to it. I don't think anyone has drawn me that way before. I especially liked the eyes, so dark with need. Is that the way you think of me?"

Emil's breath got stuck in his throat. Ivan had seen the picture? He knew it was Emil who drew it? But how?

"I-I…"

"I have seen another picture of me as well," Ivan continued, relishing in Emil's embarrassment. "In it, my facial features were contorted with madness and I had blood on my cheek. Very likely not my own. Tell me, little Milya, have you ever seen me that way, or was that just your imagination?"

Ivan had seen more than just the picture Emil gave to him? How was that possible? Emil had always been sure to cover his pictures from everyone's view by leaning over them and by sitting slightly away from everyone. Had he been too caught up in his daydreams to notice Ivan peeking at his papers?

That would explain why Ivan immediately knew that Emil had made the picture.

And wait a second. If Ivan had seen his pictures, who else could have seen them?

"I-I was just fooling around," Emil said. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"I have seen you write heatedly during meetings as well. I don't understand your language, but I've seen my name pop up in your texts many times. And I've seen you staring at my writing as if you were searching for something in it as well." Ivan's voice moved closer, he seemed to be on his knees now, moving in between Emil's legs. Emil's breath hitched when he felt Ivan's head on his chest and strong arms wrap around his waist. "It's my writing system's fault, I know," Ivan said, hugging Emil so that he was enclosed in Ivan's body heat. "If you could read it, you would have seen your name pop up many times as well, Milya. And in such a context, it would have made you blush dark red."

Emil was blushing dark red right now. His mind was racing as he tried to take in everything that was happening. Ivan, the tall, big man that struck fear into even Lukas was so close Emil could hear his heartbeat, talking about… Emil couldn't fathom it. He was dumbstruck.

Ivan moved his head so that he nuzzled Emil's jaw.

"You aren't taking part in the exchange at all," he complained. "But very well. I'll collect my due later, with interests. Let me tell you a fantasy of mine, and later you'll tell me one of yours, yes? It's the one I wrote down at the last meeting before it was my turn to host. Can you remember? It was your hosting year…" Ivan nipped at Emil's jaw, causing a gasp to escape the latter's lips. Ivan chuckled.

"I wrote: It was a meeting day in Iceland and suddenly, the power went off, and the meeting room was all dark. The nations were unruly and wanted to leave the room, but Emil told everyone to wait for the power to come back on, since it could be dangerous to walk around in the dark. But I was used to the dark, and knew how to find the podium, so I made my way there, feeling around until I found my Milya. I wrapped my arms around him and drew him in for a passionate kiss. He knew it was me and responded eagerly, careful not to make a sound that would make the other nations suspicious. They were talking together, trying to calm each other down…"

Ivan grabbed Emil by the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Emil felt a wet tongue pushing between his lips and parted them, allowing Ivan to search his mouth, meeting his tongue with his own. Ivan pushed deeper, moaning. He pulled away. "Emil pulled me with him to the floor," Ivan whispered, so close to Emil's ear that he could feel Ivan's lips brush against his skin, sending shivers down his body. "He pulled me on top of him, wrapping his legs around me, kissing me. I pulled at the bow around his neck until it came loose." Ivan proceeded with doing just that and kissed the small of Emil's neck for good measure.

"Emil tried to remove my scarf but I stopped him and he remembered that my scarf is a part of my body and cannot be removed." Ivan wrapped his scarf snugly around Emil's neck, tying the ends together at the back. "Instead, he unbuttoned my coat and opened it so it covered him as well. I could feel him grow hard and fondled him to make him harden quicker." Emil moaned when he felt Ivan's hand on his crotch, rubbing him through the fabric of his pants. He was indeed growing hard. "I opened his pants." The zipping sound was loud in the dark. "And yanked them down." Emil lifted himself to aid Ivan in the act. "And grinned when I realized that the naughty, naughty boy was going commando." Emil was sure that Ivan had added that bit spontaneously, when he felt that Emil was indeed not wearing any underwear. He never did to such meetings – it aided his flights of fantasy when looking at Ivan.

"Slowly, not making any sound, I slid down Emil's body until my head was between his legs." Emil felt the scarf pulling him down with Ivan, forcing him to bend over so as not to choke. His nose was buried in Ivan's hair and he drew a deep breath, sighing at the smell. Emil arched his hips when he felt Ivan's tongue lap at him. He moaned as the tongue drew circles into his sensitive skin, agonizingly slow. "I did to him what he had done to me under the table at the last world meeting," Ivan whispered, his lips brushing against Emil. Then his hot mouth encircled Emil and he had to grab Ivan's hair to keep himself from leaning back and choking himself with the scarf.

He came quickly. Far too quickly. Emil was disappointed in himself, but Ivan didn't seem to mind. He licked Emil clean and helped him put his pants back on. Ivan then pulled Emil off the chair and into his lap. Emil could feel that Ivan was hard as well.

"We fixed our clothing and I returned to my seat," Ivan said, hugging Emil closely and stroking his hair. "The power came back on. For the remainder of the meeting, Emil had a serene look on his face, but we avoided looking at each other. Our little games were a secret for only us to know – the others would never understand anyway." Ivan sighed. "They would try to take him away from me, telling him all sorts of lies about how I intended to use him, break him." He hugged Emil closer.

Emil pressed his ear against Ivan's chest and listened to his rapid heartbeat. Emil was afraid that he would wake up any minute now, back in the sofa downstairs, and this would all be just another dream. Ivan's even yet hard breathing gave Emil hope that this was indeed reality.

"Now's your turn, Milya," Ivan said. "My bed is behind me. The floor is spacey. Use your imagination. And remember to pay me back with interests."

Emil squeezed Ivan tightly.

"Why do you call me Milya?" he asked. "That's not my name."

"In Russia it is," Ivan said. "It's a special name for those named Emil that only those close to them can call them."

"Do you have one like that?" Emil asked.

"Vanya," Ivan whispered. "But you can only use it when no one else can hear it."

"Vanya," Emil said. He liked it. "Then you can only call me Milya when we are alone."

"Agreed."

Emil closed his eyes and focused on the sound of their breaths in the dark. It was his turn now? Emil felt nervousness rise from within. No one else had ever given Emil permission do as he pleased with them – usually, Emil was topped by someone else and had next to nothing to say about what was done to him, by whom and for how long. Emil wasn't respected enough by anyone for them think he might have some ideas on his own for what he liked.

But Ivan – no, Vanya – was different. He respected Emil as an equal – at least in bed. It was time to play out Emil's fantasies for once. Emil smiled. He let his hand wander further down, rubbing circles into Ivan's abdomen, chuckling when the man underneath him shuddered. Too bad Emil couldn't see his face in the dark.

But it's okay, Emil thought. We can practice in the dark – get the feel for each other. Then I'll take him in the sun, some day. On an open field. And all his glorious faces will be mine and mine alone.

Emil was determined to do this properly now. He sat up on Ivan's lap, trying to picture their surroundings in his mind. The wooden chair was behind him, the door farther left, Ivan's bed behind Ivan. Somehow, feeling around in the dark excited Emil more than it should. He hadn't written any stories about Ivan that took place in the dark, so he would have to improvise. Thankfully his ever changing land had made him an expert in improvisation.