Either man walked into that morning, melting snow crunching beneath their feet, with hands connected as adjoining puzzle pieces. They regarded one another with a degree of affection, lips rolled into pleasant lines and skin exhilarated by the chill.
It was a lovely morning.
The colors fluttering in the sky, purple, pink, reverse sunset. That grand orange ball was actually rising.
And as the men walked, somewhere or another, they watched that fantastic sky, the pockets of exploding color. The beautiful and heavenly clouds pigmented by so many hues.
It was tranquil, neither wanted to tarnish it with the sound of a rising voice. That would be horrendously disrespectful.
So they did not. Simply, they walked onward.
And after long minutes of silence, as the dawn bleached away, the pair spoke.
"How did you sleep, Ivan?"
"I slept quite well, actually." An assault to that blushing cheek. "It was nice that you came in to warm me up."
"Of course, Ivan. I needed to be warm as well."
Grins.
Fingers wove together even more tightly.
"Thank you for agreeing to come out with me." The Russian man offered a kindly glance. "Has anything new happened since I wrote last? I still have to answer your letter, by the way."
"No, not truly. Just the same old things. More business. All of that nonsense."
"But it's been exactly the same for me. It's terrible isn't it? You'd think they'd eventually stop making so many papers, but the minute you think you're finished with one huge stack another arrives that's twice its size. I had gotten sick, and I returned to my office to find the entire thing swarmed with document after document. I actually began to cry."
"I'm sorry, Ivan. Sadly, I know just how you feel." Toris took the Russian's warmth into his own palm. "This life is a terribly boring one. And I hate it with my whole heart. It's the same cycle day upon day upon day. And the only thing that breaks it up is the visits the visits from you." The brunette closed his eyes a moment. And with those shut eyes came the vision of the former Hungarian princess. Yes. The one with such thick and wondrous tresses. The one that wore flowers within her curls. The one with emeralds sewn beneath her lashes.
Yes. That one.
She too had torn apart the monotony.
How painful these old memories were.
But nothing was said of it.
"You're very sweet, Toris…May I ask you something?"
"Yes, of course."
"The last time we saw one another…Well. Did you make love to me solely for the need to make love? Or are you truly attracted to me?"
The shorter regarded the taller with a glance wallowing in thought thick as cement. "Honestly, it was a bit of both, at that time. You're a handsome man. And not only that, but you're intelligent and understanding. Not to mention, calm. I feel very relaxed around you. You wouldn't judge me, even if I did something horrendous-which actually occurred."
Silence.
"I like you quite a bit, Mr. Braginski. You're an all around favorable person, and your company is always refreshing. It's a shame we can't see one another more often."
"I agree completely. I wish we could spend more time around one another. I truly enjoy speaking to you." A petit smile. "Toris, would you mind-" The man cut himself off. "No. No. Never mind. I'm being foolish."
"No please. You can tell me. I certainly won't reject you." A reassuring grin in return.
"Well, I was hoping I could make you my lover." The pair stopped walking and the Russian stared deeply into the Lithuanian's gaze with unfettered sentiment. That huge crux had been held captive within those tragic sapphires gems. "Perhaps-Perhaps I am being somewhat rash. I know it hasn't been the longest of time since we've known one another, but I feel very drawn to you." That small set of fingers was gripped even harder. "I understand if you can't, for any number of reasons. In many ways, you're bound to Feliks. But…" A gaping pause. "Oh. I just wanted you to know." That blue pair was pushing into frost.
"No, Ivan. I'm glad you told me." That burly shoulder was touched gently. "I like you quite a bit as well, but you're absolutely right. I'm stuck to my position." Toris' heart wept within his sound chest. "But I'm willing to be near to you. I mean- Feliks sleeps with whomever he pleases, so it's not as though that matters. I'm just not able to leave this place as often as I would like. That's all."
"So you wouldn't mind being near to me?"
"No! Of course not. I'd love to start over with someone else. Perhaps I'll even be able to move on from this hell hole one day. I'm not certain. But I no longer care about that stupid Polish man. I've given up on that hopeless cause long, long ago. It's been over a while now, honestly."
And in an odd expression of pure bliss, the smaller was yanked into the grips of the larger and spun around in a grand and happy circle, that powerful man laughing the entire duration, stamping kisses into his companion's frozen pink cheeks.
Toris laughed as well, hanging on tightly to his new darling's body.
Then, they fell into the snow and connected their lips.
Numerous times, mirthful.
"Thank you, Toris." More sweet touches. "Thank you."
"Of course." A press in return.
Somehow, they managed to rise from the frost, and they kept walking. Holding hands and talking to one another. Kissing each other's frigid cheeks.
Yes, moving forward. Something spontaneous and new. A flower growing from the ash of a burnt field.
And as that new life arose from the dust, the Polish man sat at his tower, and he looked over his kingdom. No. Feliks could not see Ivan or Toris. But he was aware of what exactly was happening.
He was thinking of destroying them.
Either of them.
Because it would hurt the Lithuanian. A bull's eye painted on his forehead and the man could not even feel the brush.
He was waiting for this new assault; he was indeed anticipating it. But Toris did not know when or where; he was distracted with the promise of fresh love.
It was the perfect time to inflict the mark.
So, Feliks utilized the stinger.
And now look, there it was. Now comes the arrow. Then comes the blood.
Feliks watched the snow fall in little flakes; its small conformity, and plotted. How to get the blood. How to take that essence. How to inflect that soon to be gaping stab wound.
Where, even, to press the dagger.
His face sunk into the cushion of his palm.
Those blond lashes closed.
And the lovely assassin, with a cool breeze blowing through those hay colored strands, sighed.