Chapter 50
The New Order
Ivan had been acting strange lately.
Saying and doing strange things. Odd looks. Ludwig couldn't pinpoint the reason. Ivan wasn't himself, and it was rather disconcerting in a way, because sometimes Ludwig looked at Ivan and thought that maybe Ivan was nervous. Anxious.
Impossible.
Ivan was nothing less than confident, and yet all the same, as impossible as it was, Ludwig could see Ivan sitting there in a chair, elbows on his knees and face covered by his palms, eyes peering out above his fingertips as he stared ahead with a furrowed brow. His foot was always tapping. Pulse racing. Ivan was nervous, and seemed to be waiting for something.
Toris.
Had to be Toris, had to be something Toris had done, and Ludwig walked by Ivan, saw him staring anxiously out of the window, and rolled his eyes. Toris hardly seemed worth the effort it took to feel anything, and the fact that Ivan was thinking so furiously about Toris irritated the hell out of Ludwig. Why bother? Toris was gone. If he knew what was good for him he wasn't coming back, so what was Ivan waiting for?
Ludwig couldn't say for sure what Toris had done to set him off, but it was more than a little interesting, to see normally confident Ivan in such a state. Would admit that. Annoying, yes, but fascinating. Ivan seemed to be slowly unraveling. Had stopped shaving for days on end, had stopped combing his hair in the morning. His shirts were always wrinkled and halfway unbuttoned. The summer air was warm, and instead of going outside to enjoy good weather Ivan had all but barricaded them inside the house.
Ivan was god, and he wasn't supposed to be afraid of anything.
But Ivan sometimes looked over at Ludwig from his constant vigil of the window, and Ludwig was so sure that he saw fear on Ivan's face.
When the fear vanished, though, it left wrath in its wake, and Ludwig enjoyed Ivan much more in those moments. Didn't like seeing him feeling under, and so when Ivan was holding a rather angry shouting-match on the phone with someone one afternoon in the office, Ludwig just sat on the edge of the desk, inspecting his nails in boredom as he waited for Ivan to stop shrieking. He glanced from time to time at ruffled Ivan, chest hair poking out from the collar of his sloppy shirt, forehead covered in sweat and cheeks gleaming with pale stubble, sleeves rolled up and muscles on display, and would admit that this unraveled Ivan was rather dashing.
Ivan did, eventually, stop shrieking and stood up, throwing his arms in the air with a curse, and started stomping around the room. When Ivan started punching the wall shortly after, Ludwig just glanced at the phone and wished he had studied his Russian a little more. Wished he knew why, exactly, Ivan was so angry and so nervous and so scared.
Didn't ask, because Ivan wouldn't tell him.
When Ivan's fist started leaving blood streaks on the stone wall, Ludwig finally slid off the desk and came forward, reaching out to grab Ivan by the waist. From the way Ivan squirmed around in his arms and lifted his shoulders and his fist flew up into the air, Ludwig thought for a second that he was going to be punched in the face along with that wall.
He just stared up at Ivan, rather drolly, and Ivan eventually lowered his arm, staring at Ludwig in turn and looking rather alarmed. Blood dripped from his knuckles down to the floor, and Ludwig couldn't tell what exactly was running through Ivan's mind then.
Knew one thing, though; Toris was going to be absolutely torn apart if Ivan could get his hands on him. Oh, Toris. Wasn't going to stand a chance once Ivan got a hold of him. Would be utterly annihilated. Ha. Sure hoped he was there to see it.
Ivan was very still there in Ludwig's arms, uncombed hair falling onto his damp forehead and sticking there, a few beads of sweat rolling down his neck, and for once, it seemed to be Ivan that was pinned under Ludwig's gaze, and for a while there he looked a little dazed and confused.
Big oaf.
"You know," Ludwig finally said, as Ivan malfunctioned, "I find you far more handsome when you're angry."
Trying to get him to snap out of it, and it worked, after a short silence. Ivan's face suddenly relaxed, he gave a hiss of air through his teeth, that look of alarm faded, and then he gave a laugh. Ludwig smiled at him, and Ivan gave a great sigh, fell up against him, and seemed to come down a little. He buried his face in Ludwig's shoulder, as Ludwig eyed the blood streaking the wall.
Familiar. Ah, Toris.
Hands clenched in his hair. Ivan's lips were pressing into his neck, a hand up his back, and when Ivan finally pulled back, his confidence seemed to have returned.
Ludwig was pleased with his ability to drag Ivan out of a rage. Was getting better and better at it every time it happened. Ludwig had gotten quite confident with himself, very much so, and his ego rose each time he successfully wrangled that thundercloud.
Ludwig's next project, although one still being put together in his head, a bit intangible still, was on how successfully he could send Ivan into one of those rages. Had always done it before by accident, and now was trying to piece together how he could set it off purposefully. Wanted to push Ivan into a rage and then try to get him back. See what made him tick, so to speak. Why not? Had nothing else to do, not right at the moment, and now that Ivan was constantly preoccupied Ludwig found his mind wandering.
More days passed.
No sight or sound of Toris, as far as he knew. Ivan seemed to be hovering over the phone, and, to be quite frank, it was starting to get on Ludwig's last goddamn nerve. Hated that Ivan's full attention wasn't on him. Couldn't stand it.
Didn't know that Toris could still piss him off so badly when he wasn't even in the house. Skilled, certainly. Toris had a knack for driving Ludwig up the wall, even when he was gone.
One day, after hours of sitting there at the desk with his face buried in his palms, Ivan finally looked up at Ludwig, ever perched on the edge of the desk with crossed legs and bored eyes. A long, prying stare, and then Ivan sat up straight in his chair, eyes wide and brow low, jaw clenched, shoulders braced, and he looked quite intent on something suddenly.
Ludwig turned halfway towards him, resting his hands upon his knee a bit primly, and waited for Ivan's great revelation.
Not so great, as it turned out.
An inhale, hands flying to the desk, and Ivan suddenly said, "Hey. Do you remember when I told you that I'd take you wherever you wanted to go? I think we should go somewhere. Would you like that? I never got around to letting you pick somewhere."
A crinkle of Ludwig's brow, a twitch of his nose. Was hardly able to keep from sighing then, because that wasn't exactly what he had expected. Hell yes, he wanted to get out of this house and go somewhere and wreak havoc, but that wasn't what Ivan was saying. He wasn't saying 'Let's get back to work.' Seemed to be saying more like, 'Let's go on vacation.'
Ludwig didn't want to go on vacation; wanted to get back on the field.
Missed the tanks, suddenly.
Ludwig looked at Ivan, and felt that twinge of irritation. Looked so hassled, suddenly. Ivan looked anxious again, as he often did these days, and that was just so unlike Ivan that Ludwig found he didn't want to move a muscle until Ivan was back to normal. Hated seeing Ivan like that, because it messed up his own routine and abilities. Needed Ivan in his normal state, in order to continue conducting his own experiments. When Ivan wasn't himself, Ludwig couldn't perform an unbiased study.
Ivan wanted to go somewhere. Surely—
Not possible. Stupid thought, stupid, but Ludwig couldn't help but wonder, a little, if Ivan was attempting to flee from Toris. Ha! Oh, that thought! Impossible, so impossible, not from Toris. Toris was nothing. Not a thing. Toris was dirt, and Ivan would never run from pitiful Toris. Toris could get one over on anyone else alive, but not Ivan.
Surely.
...so why was he suddenly asking?
Sure enough, at Ludwig's silence, Ivan pressed, "Remember, I said I'd like to go to Argentina? Ha, maybe we can go. Would you go with me, if I went?"
Without hesitation, Ludwig said, "Of course."
Didn't want to, but would have followed Ivan anywhere, anywhere at all.
Ivan's hands fell off the desk and he crossed his arms across his chest, turning his eyes up to the great map on the wall. In the end, Ivan still called the shots, and all Ludwig could do was wait.
More restless days passed, but Ivan never made good on his words of travel, and Ludwig was glad. Maybe Ivan had realized that up and leaving would take a little more effort than he was comfortable giving in that particular time.
Since Ivan didn't move, Ludwig did notice that he was doing something else :
Erasing Toris from this household.
Ludwig was extremely pleased by that, because, well, he had been the one to push Ivan to it, and that had only been another little experiment.
Ivan had been ever by the window, eyes scanning the grounds endlessly, and Ludwig, so bored by Ivan's wandering mind, had said, from the couch, "If he's gone for good, why don't you just throw all of his stuff out? One more spare room."
Ivan had turned his head, looking at Ludwig over his shoulder, opened his mouth, a strange look on his face, and then he turned his eyes back to the window without a word.
Ludwig stifled his sigh, glowering at Ivan's back and throwing himself backwards on the couch. Was gonna die any minute now, he knew it, from absolute boredom. Was so restless. Ivan had riled him up for all of these months, had been training him and prepping him, and yet they hadn't set foot out of this house since the day Toris had left, and Ludwig was going crazy. Had far too much pent up energy, far too much pent up frustration and anger and everything else, and Ivan wasn't even letting him get out some aggression by taking him out into the world.
Just stood and stared out of the window.
Ludwig had thought at first that his words had truly fallen on deaf ears, but that wasn't so.
Ludwig woke up the next morning to a ruckus, and was surprised when he realized that Ivan had gotten up before him. For once. A quick tromp downstairs, and Ludwig saw that Ivan was ransacking Toris' bedroom, ripping it apart and throwing all of Toris' belongings out into the hall.
Ludwig came to a halt before the pile of junk, and smirked.
Ah...
Well, well, well. Ivan had taken his suggestion after all. Had taken a long while, yeah, but had done it all the same. Ludwig felt satisfied, content, confident, and just leaned against the wall with crossed arms and a leer as he watched red-faced, sweaty Ivan throwing every single thing in Toris' bedroom out the door.
Ludwig didn't help him. Ivan did the heavy lifting here, not him.
Ivan looked livid, muttering to himself the whole while under his breath, kicking things frequently, and it was Irina, surprisingly, that actually seemed quite upset. She was standing over Ivan as he hauled out furniture, looking for all the world as if she wanted nothing more than to punch Ivan in the nose. She was screaming at him before long, really screaming at him, and Ludwig just stood there and watched eagerly.
Ivan dropped a piece of the bed he had been hauling out, stood up to his full height, sweating and face flushed and shirt unbuttoned, looking wild and dangerous and damn handsome, and Irina stood there before him, and they just screamed at each other. Irina reached out to shove her hand in Ivan's face, pushing him back, Ivan wrenched her wrist aside and threw her off, Irina shoved him, Ivan shoved her back, she hit the wall for the force, and their shrieks echoed down the hall.
Raivis came bolting in from outside, to see the cause of the chaos.
Ludwig had never once seen Ivan touch Irina, not once, and it was very interesting to him. Far from intervening as he may have once before, Ludwig raised a hand up to his chin, ever leaning casually against the wall and was fully aware that he was smiling inappropriately.
But he wasn't the only one : Raivis seemed ecstatic.
The second Raivis realized what was happening, the very second he realized that Ivan was throwing out Toris' possessions, he broke into a wide beam, trotted forward, and immediately started grabbing things out of the hall and helping Ivan cart them out into the yard.
Irina screamed so hard and so furiously, this time at the both of them, that she had started losing her voice. She couldn't stop them, not Ivan and not even Raivis, not as intent as they were, and suddenly all of Toris' belongings were in a pile in the yard. Ivan hated Toris so much in that moment that he had literally taken apart perfectly good pieces of furniture, simply because Toris had been using them.
Ludwig walked outside, behind them, observing a bit from a distance, and Ivan had started trudging up with a can of petrol.
Irina started screaming again, barging forward and trying to yank the can from Ivan's hand. Impossible; Ivan was brutally strong on a normal day, and trying to take something from him when he was angry was entirely inconceivable.
Raivis, still smiling, just darted over and tried to drag Irina back.
The most interesting thing of the entire day happened then—actually, the most interesting thing of his entire life happened then :
As Raivis yanked Irina back, Ivan started splashing the gas on Toris' things, and Irina suddenly whirled around and slapped Raivis across the face so hard that he staggered. That didn't shock Ludwig so much. What absolutely shocked Ludwig, stunned him, was when Ivan dropped the gas can, lunged forward, and slapped Irina.
Ivan had never hit Irina, never, and she looked just as stunned as Ludwig did, hand flying immediately up to her cheek and eyes wider than he had ever seen them. Ivan grabbed her arm, gave her a brutal shake, hissing at her the whole while, and then shoved her back.
Ivan went back to what he was doing, and Raivis tossed him a pack of matches.
Ludwig felt breathless, smile wide across his face.
Another splash, and the smell of gasoline. The strike of a match.
Ivan tossed it down with a curse in Russian, and Toris went up in flames.
With that, with that fire, Ivan wiped the slate clean. Cast Toris out of their world forever. As far as Ivan was concerned, Toris was already dead. When he spit upon the ground in front of the bonfire, it was essentially upon Toris' grave.
The flames shot up, embers floating, dancing, and Ivan stared into the fire and muttered to himself. Irina stared at Ivan through the fire, arms crossed, and looked more furious than Ludwig had ever seen her. That look she sent Ivan through the crackling flames was one Ludwig had never seen.
Didn't like it, though.
The next day, Ivan slept almost until nightfall, no doubt exhausted from exertion and anger, poor thing, and Ludwig just watched Raivis pacing around Toris' empty bedroom with what could have very well been a look of triumph. Ha. Raivis. Wished he could talk to him, because Raivis seemed to grow on him a little more every day. Really should be studying Russian. He was getting complacent. A bit lazy. Turning into Ivan, as it was.
From that moment, though, Raivis was lifted up above Irina, and was more important than she was. Hadn't been that way before, and Ludwig had hardly paid attention to Raivis.
Ivan had slapped Irina because she had slapped Raivis, and Ivan clearly saw something in Raivis that he liked enough for that. Maybe to Ivan, Raivis was a little bit like a son, and Ludwig found himself suddenly wandering around behind Raivis, looking him up and down and observing him.
In his head then, Ludwig claimed Raivis as his.
Theirs.
Could be a little family unit, even, if he and Ivan raised Raivis and turned him into them.
Ludwig observed suddenly, for the first time, that Raivis' cheeks were dark from the hair he had been shaving. Hadn't noticed that, until then. Raivis wasn't a little kid anymore, fifteen, and Ludwig took note of that.
In the late evening, Ivan finally came trudging down the stairs, and Ludwig watched as Ivan went straight over to Raivis, waved a hand in the air, and suddenly Ivan was leading Raivis down the hall. Ludwig followed, because anything Ivan did automatically involved him without it having to be said.
Irina was missing.
Irina, still so angry, was huffing away somewhere, and didn't seem to want to be around Ivan. Maybe Irina missed Toris. Had to have been a shock for her, after having him around for so long. Toris had been a part of her family. Well. Irina would get over it, wouldn't she? No choice.
Toris was replaceable.
Actually, he already had been; suddenly, Ivan had taken up a uniform into his hand, gave a deep, irritable sigh, and handed it reluctantly to Raivis. Raivis stared at it for a long while, eyes wide and barely breathing, before he was finally able to reach out and take it. Looked like he'd been given the world entire. Ludwig watched him with a smile as Raivis lit up like the moon and was ripping on the uniform so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet. Had wanted one for so long, according to Toris, so it must have been overwhelming for him to finally get it.
As Raivis hectically pulled on the clothes, Ivan watched him from behind, that crinkle still there in his brow, the lines on his forehead obvious, and it was clear how upset he was by this.
Ludwig came up to his side, and Ivan shifted a little, before finally muttering, "I wanted to wait until he was older. He's not old enough."
Ludwig, observing again the shadow on Raivis' cheeks and chin as he admired himself in the mirror, disagreed. Looked good enough in the uniform for Ludwig, sure as hell didn't look like a mid-teenage boy then, less so from behind.
All the same, because he hated that look on Ivan's face, Ludwig was quick to say, "Well, it's good for him to learn, right? Just let him play around for now. When he's old enough, he'll already know what to do, won't he?"
A pursing of Ivan's lips, before he exhaled through his nose and his brow lifted a little. Ludwig was content when Ivan suddenly smiled, if only halfway, and then looked over at him. A sudden, heavy arm over his shoulders, and a nose in his cheek. A whisper in his ear.
"You always know how to make me feel better, you know?"
Ludwig just smirked.
Yeah, that was something he was certainly honing and sharpening.
Ludwig suddenly asked, "What did you make him? Lieutenant?"
A steady nod of Ivan's head. Ludwig snorted. Raivis had gotten Toris' rank right off—kinda wished he could have seen the look on Toris' face. Bet he woulda had a coronary.
The next day, when Raivis came into the kitchen, he was dressed in his uniform. Come to think, he never took it off after that. Looked on top of the world, so confident, and he didn't really look like a kid after that day. Maybe Ludwig had just never paid complete attention to Raivis, and so it was a little interesting to see him at long last, and in uniform.
Was tall, as tall as Irina, and he wasn't as lanky as he had been when Ludwig had arrived. Along with that stubble, Raivis had gotten taller and broader, stronger, and seemed to get a little more so each day. In that uniform, Raivis really didn't look as young as he was. Just looked like any other young Red soldier, and he knew it too because he was always puffed out so proudly. Raivis' boldness and pride made him look older, too, and sometimes when Raivis rounded a corner, Ludwig had to do a double-take because he had caught a glimpse of brunet and had thought it was Toris. Raivis was a little older every day, a little more fearless, and he suddenly wasn't so hyper. Didn't blabber away to Irina anymore, didn't run down the halls. Raivis, as far as he was concerned, was a soldier at long last and seemed very intent on acting the part. When Ludwig looked at Raivis then, he didn't see a kid. He saw a Red soldier of lower rank, but one whose utter fearlessness ensured him quick rising. He saw something he could create. Saw something he and Ivan could claim as something they made together.
Ludwig would catch Raivis' eye in the hall in passing, and they would stop and stare at each other, and Raivis would stand at perfect attention, smiling at Ludwig, and Raivis looked at Ludwig then as if he were looking at Ivan himself. Ludwig would just lift his chin and smile, and Raivis carried on.
Ludwig's ego was well stoked with Raivis.
Not so much, lately, with Irina.
Irina looked so angry, and so strange, and wasn't speaking to any of them, even Raivis. Irina looked so strange all of a sudden, and Ludwig couldn't put his finger to it. Suddenly, Ludwig noticed that Irina was looking out of the door and windows as much as Ivan, but she didn't seem to be waiting for something. Almost looked like she searching for an escape.
Huh—now she was the one who wanted to run. Funny.
Ludwig watched Irina very pointedly, very intently, with every move she made, and he didn't know why he suddenly felt so oddly angry at her. What? She wanted to get out of here or something? Why was she acting like that? Ludwig stood there and watched her, watched her every step, her every move, her every breath, and she knew it.
She looked so jittery around him, so antsy, and maybe so nervous, because every time Ludwig came into the room Irina suddenly fell still, turned her eyes away, and then quickly left.
Something about Irina, then...
Ludwig couldn't say what it was, but with her abruptly strange and evasive motions and after having seen Ivan slap her, Irina suddenly didn't seem as important as she once had. Ivan had hit her, for the first time, and that meant that Irina had, somehow or another, lost her power over Ivan. She had lost her position, her stance of invincibility, and she probably knew it and that was why she wanted to leave. Without Toris here to watch out for her, maybe Irina realized that she was as vulnerable to Ivan as anyone else.
Ludwig watched her watch windows and doors, and couldn't help but be a little content, actually, because Irina losing that last little shred of control over Ivan meant that, really, the only person now on this planet that controlled Ivan was him.
So long Ivan had told Ludwig he owned the world, and that was the first time he knew he really did.
Ludwig released Irina from his gaze that day, as she fidgeted there on the couch, arms crossed and trying so hard to avoid looking at him, and he turned towards the hall to go find Ivan. Had been missing all day, had been absent since Ludwig had woken up, and wanted to see him then with this new sense of power.
Ludwig finally found Ivan in one of the empty rooms, sitting alone on a roll of carpet, back to the door and hunched over. The window was open, warm air blowing in, Ivan's white wifebeater was as wrinkled as everything else, and his hair was sticking up to high heaven. Ivan's sudden sloppiness, although visually appealing, was starting to annoy Ludwig as much as the rest. Would have to start grooming him soon, apparently, since he seemed incapable nowadays.
When Ludwig came forward to start fussing, though, he could see that Ivan's face was buried in his hands, he was rocking a little bit back and forth, and, god, it almost sounded like he was crying.
Couldn't be.
Ludwig came over, knelt down before Ivan, and reached up to grab his wrists.
Ivan's fingers parted, and pale eyes stared out at him. Bleary and red, dark circles beneath, eyelids lidded low and puffy, and Ludwig knew, suddenly, that Ivan had been crying.
He fell fully onto his knees, forced Ivan's hands down, and the pitiful way Ivan looked at him made Ludwig feel an alarmingly potent sense of adoration. Oh, this man. Loved him so much, loved everything about him, and he couldn't held but reach his hand up and run it over Ivan's stubbled cheek.
Ivan's face crumpled, for an awful second, about to start crying again, and he hung his head. Must have been the stress of whatever situation was forcing Ivan to constantly stare out of the window for hours on end. The stress of Toris, as it was.
Heavy breathing.
Ivan pressed his face into Ludwig's palm, resting the full weight of his head there, and Ludwig held him steady. Ivan's hands raised up, then, one gripping Ludwig's wrist and the other resting on his shoulder, and Ivan seemed so oddly vulnerable to him in that moment. Felt like Ivan was just that lost little kid then, long forgotten.
A muffled mutter.
"Irina's so mad at me. She wants to go back to Moscow."
Ludwig was silent, because he didn't really know what to say. Just felt an odd rush of irritation, aggression, and felt so annoyed more than anything.
Before he could think of anything, Ivan said, in almost a moan, "I don't wanna go back to Moscow, I hate it there so much. I want to stay here, with you."
Ludwig reached up his other hand, ran it over Ivan's uncombed hair, smoothing it back, and said, with a hint of amusement, "You don't have to go back to Moscow. You know? You don't have to go, just because she does."
For a while there, it almost seemed like Ivan didn't hear him at all, as he continued to burrow away in Ludwig's palm.
Ivan squinted his eyes shut, and whispered, shakily, "I love you so much. You can't ever leave. You can't. I wouldn't— I love you. Please don't ever leave. Please. I'd do anything to keep you. I'll do anything you want, if you stay. Please don't leave. Please, don't ever go away."
Ludwig's brow came down in confusion, as Ivan continued nuzzling into his palm.
Leave? Never. He couldn't even fathom waking up now without Ivan being beside of him. Didn't know what was going on suddenly, why Ivan was acting so strangely, speaking so strangely, why his motions and words were unfamiliar and so uncharacteristically helpless. Wished he knew what was happening. Before he could ask, at long last, Ivan suddenly fell deathly still. The hand on Ludwig's shoulder contracted so tightly that Ludwig couldn't help but give a hiss, and the one clenching his wrist damn near snapped the bone.
Pain.
A sharp inhale.
Ivan suddenly opened his eyes then, wet as they were, and looked up at Ludwig. Intensity. As they always had before, Ivan's eyes froze Ludwig in place, so intent were they, and the expression on his face would have terrified him once. Ivan's voice had stopped shaking, and seemed suddenly brusque and sure when he spoke again. Sharp and very low.
"If you ever leave me, I'll shoot you. I'd shoot us both before I ever let you go. You can't leave me. Ever."
Well, then. No more 'please'.
Not afraid. Not alarmed. Ivan's oath didn't frighten him, didn't shake him up, didn't make him panic. Ludwig was damn glad to hear it, actually. What he felt was something more like exhilaration. Elation. Not only pride in himself, but he was glad to see Ivan snap out of it, because he couldn't stand seeing Ivan being such a wreck.
So Ludwig just sighed, stood up, pulled Ivan to his feet, and took his face within his hands. Looking Ivan up and down, as Ivan's fingers continued to bruise him, Ludwig just chided, gently, "What's the matter with you? I told you I'd never leave. I meant it."
Ivan's piercing, deadly stare, boring right into Ludwig's brain and judging his sincerity. Of that, there was plenty, because he absolutely meant it, and Ivan seemed satisfied. The painful grip loosened up, Ivan's shoulders slumped, and dammit all, that misery came back. What the hell was wrong with him?
Ludwig shook his head to himself, and all he could think of to do then was to drag Ivan out of that empty room, take him down the hall to the bedroom, and shove him down into the chair before the desk. Wanted to give him a good whack, to wake him up, but also didn't want a broken leg, so, instead, he took Ivan's face again and straddled him in the chair.
Ivan looked so pitiful, and he held Ludwig's waist and stared blearily up at him.
Ludwig kissed him, quickly, and said, once more, just in case, "I won't leave you. And hey—if you ever told me to leave, I'd shoot you."
And honestly?
He meant that as much as he meant anything else.
Ivan's mouth fell open, breathlessly, he looked quite incredulous, and when Ludwig smiled down at him, Ivan finally smiled, too.
Good.
At last Ludwig said, before Ivan could get his brain working, "I'm bored. I want to go outside. Can't we just go walking around? Something? I'm so bored. I want to go walking in town."
Ivan's brow crinkled, he looked alarmed, as he had that one day, and his grip on Ludwig's waist was tight. A long study of his face, Ivan's eyes flitting away, and then there was a sharp inhale.
"You won't leave me, ever, right?"
Again?
Successfully able to suppress what would otherwise have been his hundredth eye roll that week, Ludwig just affirmed, "I won't leave you."
A swallow, a nod, and then Ivan's husky voice, whispering, "Alright. Okay. Alright. We'll go on walks, every now and then. Is that okay? I'll take you a walk tonight, if that's what you want."
Ivan had said, earlier, that he would do anything Ludwig wanted, after all, as long as Ludwig stayed.
Every day, Ludwig stepped up just a little bit more above the fog. Seemed, sometimes, that maybe he was a little more above it than Ivan was. Sometimes, Ludwig felt like he was so close, so damn close, to harnessing Ivan. Ivan would do anything for him, and that meant that he was the only one that had power over Ivan, and for that, really, it was Ludwig who truly owned the world.
So Ludwig kissed Ivan again, pulled off his shirt, unclasped his belt, and Ivan, as always, fell to him and started ripping his clothes off, because, really, Ivan did just do whatever Ludwig wanted. In some way, since the very beginning, he always had.
Fingers digging into his waist, as Ivan used his brute strength, as always, to move him along. And Ludwig just clung to Ivan's neck and held on for the ride, as always, and couldn't wipe that sneer off of his face, even as Ivan tried to hurt him.
Ivan did everything he said, even if it wasn't immediately.
Power.
The whole time, Ivan clenched him, and every time he moved upwards Ivan muttered, "I love you."
Ludwig just kissed his neck, and smiled. Big dummy. If Ivan thought he would ever try to leave, then that was one thing perfect Ivan had gotten wrong. How could he ever have even thought it? Never. Wasn't going anywhere, not anywhere. Anyone who ever tried to come between them would have to go through him first. Whatever was going on outside that window, it wouldn't be enough to part them.
Love.
They'd always be together.
That window, though, seemed to be drawing everyone's attention lately, and Ludwig was suddenly less irritated with Ivan's waiting than he was with Irina's planning.
Moscow—that was some nerve.
Ludwig held on to Ivan's neck, staring above him and at the wall as Ivan moved him up and down, and it suddenly occurred to Ludwig that if Irina wanted to leave so badly, then she could just go.
In one way or another.
