Draped in one of Ivan's nightshirts, Alfred cocked a hip as he contemplated his choices. He had rifled through the enormous armoire where his and Ivan's clothes were kept three times already, and still nothing stood out.
Ivan was in the bathroom; his morning routine tended to take a while. Alfred had plenty of time to pick out something. He blew a strand of hair out of his eyes and prepared to dig through the armoire again.
The Northern Territories were getting unbearably cold—it was supposed to be High Brumal soon, whatever that was—so Ivan had found a tailor to outfit Alfred for his winter wardrobe. The angel's light tunics had been fine back in Francis' sunny palace; they were comfy and allowed the guards easy access, but it was just Ivan here in the castle, and Ivan wanted Alfred to be warm.
The tailor that Ivan hired had been very Russian. No surprise there. Ivan himself was very Russian, from his taste in food to his sense of fatalism. He had mentioned spending a lot of time in the human country as a child. Come to think of it, Alfred should probably learn Russian at some point. Ivan spoke the language with Toris sometimes, and when giving commands to his men.
Alfred didn't like not knowing what was happening, so, yes—Russian. He put it on his mental to-do list, which was emptier than he usually liked it.
The clothes were delivered a week ago, mostly traditional folk shirts and military-style outfits. Ivan had insisted that they be stored in the same place as his own apparel, saying that it would be an impractical use of space otherwise, the armoire was half-empty anyway.
Yeah, right, as if Alfred hadn't seen the demon raise the sleeve of his military coat up to his nose every two seconds since the angel had started wearing his new attire. Alfred had snickered the first time that Ivan had done it—Ivan blushed—and then straddled Ivan's lap and sucked the air out of the demon's lungs until they were both breathless. Ivan was such a loser.
But then again, it wasn't like Alfred was much better. The angel brought a pale gold kosovorotka to his face. It smelled of pine, sugar plums, and snow, like Ivan's hugs, underneath the faint notes of apricot and cardamom. Ivan had told him that Alfred's scent was actually quite strong, but having lived with it for so long, Alfred had grown more or less desensitized.
The kosovorotka was soft and loose-fitting, with delicate embroidery along the collar and cuffs. It was a solid choice. The military jacket and slacks—cut to the Imperial Russian style—really flattered Alfred's figure, though. When Alfred had tried them on, Ivan had looked ready to ravish him on the spot. It was just unfortunate that they were made of a stiff material that was better suited for the outside than indoors.
Be comfortable or look good? Decisions, decisions.
Alfred's gaze slid to the chest beside the armoire. Oh!
Perfect.
Finished with his morning ablutions, Ivan left the bathroom, a towel around his hips.
Alfred was perched on the edge of the bed, winding a silver sash around his slim waist. The door clicked shut behind Ivan, and Alfred looked up.
"You're done!"
"Da." Ivan appreciatively eyed Alfred's ensemble—a kosovorotka and trousers tucked into heeled lace-up boots—as he headed to the armoire. The sash had given the tunic some shape, and the silver color brought out the blue of Alfred's eyes beautifully. Alfred looked very nice. Russian fashion suited him well, but most things did.
Ivan picked out a pair of slacks and a shirt to wear under his black regulation army coat. Being a general meant that selecting his outfit for the day was easy: the same uniform as always. He buttoned up the shirt and coat and pulled on his riding boots.
"What are your plans for today, dorogoy?" Ivan glanced into the mirror to see the angel.
Alfred crossed one leg over the other and started to preen his feathers.
"Nothing much. Eduard and I are researching how we're gonna use the energy from the Lava Golem's heart to heat up the castle. I was thinking a central furnace at first, but I want the floors to be heated, too, so we might end up going with a boiler system instead. What about you?"
"Meetings all morning. King Francis called yesterday about a case that he wanted me to look into. The case files should be arriving sometime in the afternoon. It is looking like a long day."
Alfred made a noise of sympathy. "I'll come get you for lunch. Picnic in the garden?"
"Da, that would be very nice. Thank you, Fedya." Ivan reached for a silk tie from the rack.
Alfred uncrossed his legs and stood up. He plucked it from the demon's hands, tied a half-Windsor knot, and adjusted the coat's lapels. He wound the tan scarf snugly around Ivan's neck. Leaning up slightly—the heeled boots gave him a few extra inches—Alfred pressed a kiss to a cold cheek, then pulled away with a disapproving tsk.
"You forgot to moisturize. Again."
Ivan at least had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry, lapochka."
"Stay here," Alfred ordered as he strode to the bathroom. In no time, he returned with two small jars. He unscrewed the lid off of one of them and gently dabbed the cream onto Ivan's pale cheeks.
"The weather is getting colder, so you need to pay more attention to this kind of stuff, or else your skin will dry out."
"Da, da."
Alfred swiped his thumb—covered in a thin layer of balm from the other jar—across Ivan's lips.
"There," Alfred settled back on his heels. "I'm not kissing chapped lips."
Ivan chuckled. "I must be going now, but I will see you later." He affectionately ruffled the angel's hair and left the bedroom.
"Have a good day, Vanya!" Alfred called after Ivan. Before the door closed, he saw the demon turn and smile.
Satisfied, Alfred plopped down in front of the vanity. He flipped open an eyeshadow palette.
It had been a month since the night Ivan had apologized, made Alfred putty in his huge hands, and given Alfred a damn good orgasm, in that order.
Alfred grinned as he recalled the events of the morning after.
Alfred felt something wet on his cheeks, but he wasn't the one crying, for a change. He shot up in Ivan's lap and put a concerned hand on the demon's cheek.
"Ivan, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"No," Ivan muttered. "I'm fine." He buried his head in Alfred's shoulder. Alfred wrapped his arms around the other.
"Did you not like it when I called you Vanya?"
Ivan shook his head.
"So… you did like it?"
Another nod.
"Do you want me to call you Vanya again?"
Ivan nodded aggressively.
"Aww," Alfred cooed, "who knew that the Terror of the North was such a softie? You just want someone to call you nicknames and hug you, huh, big guy?"
A small, shy nod.
The angel laughed. "I think we can make that happen."
Ivan was definitely onto something with the nicknames and hugs—Alfred was coming to like them a lot, too. Ivan seemed to come up with a new nickname for him every week. It was endearingly sappy. Ivan's hugs were great, and he was generous with them.
Ivan always held Alfred as they went to sleep now, sometimes after sex, sometimes not.
The sex was much, much better.
With a practiced hand, Alfred brushed a few strokes of silver eyeshadow across his lids. He wouldn't put on eyeliner today, and the lipstick was unnecessary—he didn't want to look cheap—but the silver looked good. Alfred liked looking good for himself. If the silver happened to bring out his eyes in a way that made Ivan's pupils dilate a little, well, that was merely a pleasant bonus.
"Are you sure? The Lava Golem heart could power a furnace system without any trouble. The system would be easy to install, as well."
Eduard von Bock—the castle's Facilities Manager and the only one who understood Alfred's plight at not having access to a quantum computer—adjusted his glasses as he pored over the blueprints with the angel. Alfred was across from him, eyes fixed on the paper as he spoke.
"Really, Eduard, I think the hydronic heating system makes a lot of sense. If you look at the layout of the castle, there's already a pretty elaborate infrastructure in place for transporting water. We'll just need to check up on the water pipes, maybe install some more for the hot water—"
The door to the library opened.
"—and it'll be efficient if we clip the tubs to the underside of the floor, installing grooved panels in a place of this size would be a real hassle. We'd need a lot of polyethylene tubing, though, and aluminum clips. Could you put in an order today? It'll be great to start as soon as possible, this project could take a while."
Alfred looked up from the castle blueprints when there was no response.
"Eduard?"
The Facilities Manager wasn't paying attention; he was staring at something behind Alfred. The air chilled, and a heavy weight settled on Alfred's shoulders.
"Oh, hey, Vanya! Didn't notice you come in, big guy." Alfred's smile slipped off when he turned around and saw the demon. Alfred glanced at the clock—it was only four. Ivan had left work early to find Alfred.
He hadn't looked this unhappy during their picnic, so it was probably something to do with the case files that Francis sent over in the afternoon.
"Hey, Eduard, let's pick this up tomorrow, okay?"
Shuddering, Eduard nodded and hastily left the room. He honestly didn't know how Alfred remained so unaffected—his employer was terrifying, and it looked like the Dark general was in one of his moods. People usually died when he was in one of his moods, and Eduard wanted to live, thank you very much.
When the library door closed, Alfred pushed aside the blueprints and hopped up onto the table so that he was eye-level with Ivan. He cupped the pale face in his hands.
"Vanya, baby, what's wrong?"
Ivan scowled, but remained silent.
Alfred studied the demon thoughtfully. Sometimes Ivan didn't want to talk when he was very frustrated or very upset, and didn't trust himself to speak calmly.
"Is it work stuff?"
Ivan nodded.
"Want a hug?"
Ivan nodded again, and Alfred drew his master into a summer-scented embrace.
Ivan had felt much better after the hug. He and Alfred were in the lounge now, and the golden blond was curled up in Ivan's lap, wings unfurled. Their tips quivered as Ivan slowly stroked the sleek feathers.
Alfred adored attention, especially attention paid to his wings.
Ivan had discovered this serendipitous fact a few weeks ago. He had been reading some Tolstoy on the settee. Alfred was nestled into the armchair nearby, with Blini in his lap and an astrophysics book in his hands.
The demon was fifty pages into Anna Karenina when he noticed Alfred sneaking peeks at him. The angel would turn a page, glance up briefly, then lower his eyes again.
"Fredka, do you need something?"
Alfred quickly shook his head.
Ivan returned to his book. Alfred made a little huffing sound, but didn't speak.
He only made it ten pages further before Alfred's periodic glaring and little huffs became too distracting. Ivan examined the angel over the top of his novel. Was Alfred bothered by something? He looked comfortable in the armchair with Blini, but…
"Would you like to sit with me, dorogoy?"
Alfred immediately snatched up the Persian—who meowed in protest—made his way over to the settee, and pressed himself against Ivan's front.
"Took you long enough," the blue-eyed blond grumbled as he tucked his head under Ivan's chin. He spread open his wings and fluffed up the gold-edged feathers.
"Fredka?"
"You only need one hand to flip the pages, right? Put the other one to use," Alfred demanded brattily.
Chuckling, Ivan had. Who could have guessed that the fearsome General Jones was so touch-starved?
Not that Ivan was complaining—he would never complain, not when Alfred was so warm and sweet and pliant in his arms, practically purring with pleasure under Ivan's ministrations. Alfred's presence soothed him in a way that no one else's ever had.
Silently, Ivan sent his gratitude to King Francis and the gods above for the divine gift, and brought the angel closer.
"How is your research going, Fredka?"
"Oh, we're going to go with a boiler system. I told Eduard to put in an order for materials." Alfred leaned his head back on Ivan's shoulder. Ivan was calm enough to speak now, that was good. "What about you?"
Ivan sighed. "Work is a mess," he mumbled into Alfred's hair. "The case files arrived a few hours ago. The situation is worse than I expected. Trouble along the western borders. A rash of mysterious deaths. The king is very concerned."
Alfred hummed. News of casualties—civilian casualties, in particular—always got the other general down. Ivan was kind of weirdly philosophical when it came to mortality, and unnecessary deaths tended to drive him into a strange headspace that Alfred usually had to drag him out of.
Today was one of those days. He was better, now, after Alfred had let Ivan pet his wings, but still clearly troubled.
"Do you want a massage, Vanya?"
"Please," Ivan said, almost whimpering. Alfred climbed off of Ivan's lap and helped him take off his coat. The platinum blond laid across the settee.
The angel ran his fingers along Ivan's back.
"Wow," Alfred whistled lowly, "you are tense. I can work out a few of the knots right now and give you another massage later tonight, with some of the self-heating oil from Francis."
"That sounds very nice, Fredka. Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah, no worries, big guy." With a crack of his knuckles, Alfred got to work.
Ivan's breathing was soft and even by the time that Alfred finished.
"Vanya?"
Silence. Hm, Ivan must have been really worn out. Alfred tugged Ivan's coat over him and, settling into the settee, carefully lifted Ivan's head into his lap.