Take my hand
A bomb goes off a few meters from them, Erzsi tripping as they try to get away. Vanya pulls her arm and it hurts, she fell on her wrist a while back, but he doesn't let up when she cries out in pain, only pulls her closer. He grabs her shoulders to push her down in front of him, flat on the ground, and the Russian manages to throw his body on hers before the next bomb explodes.
Tears keep coming though the soldier in her knows they're useless. She tries to wipe them from her face with her left hand before realizing that Vanya is gripping the hand tightly, his palm to the back of it and their fingers threaded together. She shifts to move her right arm around his head as it hangs low between her neck and shoulder; he isn't moving.
"Vanya," she whispers desperately. Nothing. "Vanya," she says louder; in the distance she can see men coming forward to get them, having recognized their fallen leader. "Vanya!"
At that he seems to stir as if groggy from slumber, the full weight of his body finally beginning to feel heavy on her smaller Hungarian frame. Violet eyes blink several times before he remembers where he is, looking her in her emerald eyes.
Removing her hand from his she strokes the side of his face, stealing a kiss they don't have time for, before Vanya manages to pull himself up, starting to drag himself back to where their side has fallen back to. "Take my hand," he barks in rough Russian, extending his right arm. Blindly she grabs for it with her left hand, Erzsi allowing herself to once more be pulled across the battle field as tanks approach, the sound of their wheels spinning in the mud driving her to madness.
He falters a little on a rock but recovers quickly, Erzsi finally gaining enough so that she is keeping some sort of pace with her Soviet lover. When they near their line he turns quickly to look at something. Before she too can look he's shoved the Hungarian forward, away from him, away from whatever it is. Men pull her down into the safety behind their line.
But she can't let go, looking over the small wall to see Vanya preparing to go back out. That tank, she knows it, though she doesn't know why, and her Russian squares his shoulders as if preparing to single-handedly fight it off.
"Nyet!" she screams, a soldier trying to pull her down, but the Hungarian will not relent. "No, Vanya no!"
Time seems to stand still in that moment as he turns back, his violet eyes soft, his face loving. His shoulders fall in a relaxed way as if they were in a garden outside the house and not some battlefield defending themselves. The Soviet smiles wide.
"No!" Erzsi screams, "Take my hand!"
He shakes his head, turning back and allowing himself to become hardened in preparation for the task ahead of him. And he charges at the tank without care, ready to die, Erzsi's heart breaking in two as she prays this isn't it, that she's not about to watch her Vanya Braginski die-
In a cold sweat she sits up, her whole body shaking, tears falling freely. Erzsi immediately cradles her head to her knees, screaming in anguish until arms encircle her, arms that are strong and capable of both killing a man and loving her tenderly. Two lips kiss her head.
"Shh," Vanya coos, "shh, it's ok Erzsi, it's ok."
"No," she moans, her body raked by sobs, "no it isn't!" One hand slides up into her hair, the other over her smooth stomach. At that she startles, taking it in her own hands and holding it tightly to her chest. "Don't let go!" she screams, turning to look at him in the dark night, the fire in the hearth low but warm. "Don't ever let go!"
The violet eyes are cool, calculating, as he takes her in. He looks at where she's holding his hand before back at her face, smiling weakly without happiness behind his mouth. "Did I die?" he whispers without any emotion. She nods vehemently. "Erzsi," Vanya finally sighs, his face smoothing in sadness as he pulls her lithe frame to his wide chest.
She holds him as tightly as her arms can, weak from fear, as his hands rub her back in small circles. After several minutes of silence have passed Vanya mutters, "I love you," into her hair.
Taking a deep breath Erzsi too whispers, "I love you Vanya."
Hands hold the sides of her face. "Shall we go back to bed now then?" Vanya inquires, his face neither cold nor warm, neutral. She knows he hates when she wakes him like this, the nightmares becoming more and more frequent. For all that she loves him, Vanya Braginski is not a nice person when he's just woken up.
Leaning forward Hungarian lips press against the Russian ones in a silent apology for the unspoken of insult. In response he pulls her close, Erzsi running her hands up and over his shoulder and neck to tangle in his hair, her naked breasts pressing into his bare chest.
They break for air, Vanya asking, "Would you like to do something else before bed?" In misery Erzsi nods, wanting to feel her lover close, to know that it was just a dream, that in that unnamed war they've yet to fight he doesn't die, he takes her hand and comes back to the safety of their side.
The Soviet nation shifts, laying his kept lover out on the bed as if she was a beloved relic, her value immeasurable. He settles between her legs that part for him, rubbing her thighs reassuringly as his eyes once more take her in, Vanya's face changing from cool and angry to warm and loving, lustful almost. He leans over her, careful not to let their bodies touch as his lips meet hers. Hungarian hands thread through his silver hair, pulling him closer, demanding so much more than he's giving her. Vanya settles his body down carefully, his hands ghosting up her sides starting at her hips, over the sides of her breasts, before going over her shoulders and threading in her hair.
In the early hour they move slowly, Russian hips rolling gently against Hungarian ones, no rush, no desperation to their moves. As they grow more needy Vanya shifts to one side, a hand coming down to tease one breast until he can play with the nipple, rolling and flicking it between his fingers. She bucks against him even as his mouth moves lower, his whole body slipping down hers. His teeth bite at the skin under her jaw, Erzsi bending a leg as his lips trail to her collarbone, making yet another mark to say that she is his, that Erzsi belongs to Vanya, Hungary to Soviet Russia.
His hand plays with her other breast as his mouth moves over the tender nipple, making the woman moans in ecstasy, gripping his hair tighter, harder. She bucks against him and his unoccupied hand goes down to her center, spreading her folds so that his middle finger can better caress her.
She's losing it, between his mouth and his hands, she's losing it as her eyes roll back into her head, Erzsi's whole body moving outside of her control. Vanya's lips kiss lower, lower, until he pauses and she knows what that means, her eyes opening to meet his intense stare. She watches him as he moves, his tongue coming out to lick at a hypersensitive spot, the Hungarian nation throwing her head aback immediately and screaming his name.
Vanya moves slow, teasing her just enough to bring her to the edge without ever letting her go over. She notices that one of his hands has trailed down his own body, stroking his hard member until they can almost no longer take it. Erzsi pulls at his head the way she's learned to signal that she's ready, that she doesn't want to wait anymore. Happily he obliges, settling once more between her legs. Leaning over her, Hungarian breasts pressing up into the flat Russian chest, Vanya kisses Erzsi as he inserts two fingers into her, teasing and scissoring before bringing those fingers to his mouth. He watches her as he sucks on them, Erzsi spreading her legs as wide as she can for him.
Elbows hook behind her knees, rolling her hips forward as the Russian finally thrusts in, pausing to let out a long, throaty groan as Erzsi lets the wonderful feeling of his cock inside her wash over her. Vanya pulls out, pushing back in, groaning once more as if they haven't done this before, hadn't done this just hours before. She clenches her inner walls against him and he half smiles, half moans at that because Erzsi knows it drives her Soviet crazy.
With each thrust he leans more and more forward, lips meeting and mouthes crashing and teeth gnashing. Her arms wrap around his neck as his slip under her back, lifting her off the bed, tilting until he's hitting that spot like only he's ever been able to.
A hand slides down to rest over his heart in his chest, one of Vanya's coming up to hold Erzsi's, his palm to the back of her hand, fingers threaded together. She screams as she comes, Vanya holding the Hungarian hand tightly. Finished she collapses on the bed, waiting for the Russian to finish as well; with a short shout of her name Vanya empties himself inside her, falling heavily onto her chest.
When she closes her eyes she's on the ground, laying on her stomach. Vanya is heavy on her back, unconscious, their hands still linked. And when she opens her eyes she's on the mattress, laying on her back. Vanya is heavy on her stomach, barely conscious, their hands still linked.
He shifts so that his nose rubs just under one nipple, lips kissing a breast. "Sleep?" he asks in a deep voice; Erzsi nods.
In his arms she feels safe, still afraid to let herself go back to the world of dreams. Vanya's breathing quickly slows and the Hungarian is left alone to wonder once more how someone who has seen possibly more bloodshed than anyone else can sleep so easily. She turns in his arms, one hand ghosting his strong cheek and jaw, and Erzsi kisses the tip of his beautiful nose, burying her head under his chin. That makes the Russian roll onto his back, holding his breath until she settles in, then going back to sleep.
The thought of battlefields drifts further and further from her mind, replaced with the smell of vodka and old books, sunflowers standing tall above her as she lays in the garden with her lover.
Her heart still races a little when she hears someone walk by outside the house.