Work Text:
andrei's eyes glimmer in the firelight, filled with something broken that strikes pierre deep in his chest.
it was her soul i loved.
the words rip out of andrei roughly, as if they're the most painful thing he's ever said. he bites down on his lip, curling into himself just enough that pierre notices.
pierre, it was her soul i loved.
andrei's eyes are so earnest in their pain that pierre might have thought he was deep in prayer had he not known him so well. (he knows andrei much too well for his own good, he thinks.)
her soul.
and oh, what a soul it was. is? pierre isn't sure. natasha's bright eyes and hopeful smile already seem to be fading from his mind, replaced by the shouts of soldiers just a little too drunk and the sharp smell of military campfires. andrei's hand lies on his leg, clenched into a tight fist. pierre wants nothing more than to reach out and grab his hand, to soothe the tension that runs through andrei's entire body. he doesn't have the nerve. he settles for what he hopes is a sympathetic glance, but he's afraid it reads more like pity. andrei pointedly avoids his gaze.
silence settles between them, punctuated by the odd crackle of the fire, spitting sparks as if in mockery of them. it's strained. pierre longs for the comfortable silences they used to share as young men, when life was simpler and andrei's eyes weren't clouded with the despair of life.
andrei stands, abruptly, and pierre starts slightly.
"i'm retiring for the night," he says, not looking at pierre. "join me when you're ready; it's looking to be a long day tomorrow." his voice quivers slightly, despite his best efforts, and his fingers curl in frustration as he walks off.
pierre lets his head fall into his hands and stares at the flames. a group of young men not too far from him laugh loudly, their flushed faces showing no signs of fear or apprehension for the next day. andrei told him that this battle will be the bloodiest. he wonders if the men have any idea that tomorrow will almost certainly find them lying out on the battlefield, eyes fixed blankly on the sky. will pierre be among them? or, worse, will it be andrei?
natasha's gentle smile may be gone, with no return in sight, but he still has andrei. andrei, with his sharp wit and stern eyes that soften only on the rarest occasions, with his perfect mouth that curls up just a little bit whenever he sees pierre. pierre loves natasha, loves her with his whole being, but can a heart not beat for two?
pierre's thoughts swirl furiously in his mind as he searches for the makeshift sleeping chambers he knows andrei occupies. he reaches the door, but hesitates outside for a moment. the realization that this could be the very last time he'll see andrei hits him full force. his hands twitch by his sides, as though they know pierre wants nothing more than to use them to hold andrei close.
when he finally works up the nerve to enter, he nearly runs into a pacing andrei. they both stop, a tension running between them that hadn't been there before. andrei's eyes flick down to pierre's lips as he draws a shaky breath. pierre meets his eyes, and there's such a longing in them that pierre swears he can feel it too. he swallows hard, and that seems to be all the confirmation andrei needs.
he surges forward, pressing his lips to pierre's with such force it's a wonder they remain standing. it tastes just as it had all those years ago, when andrei was young and uncertain and pierre even more so. but andrei had never trembled like this, had never clutched pierre's arms as though his life depended on it. there's something different now, and they both know it. andrei's head falls against pierre's shoulder, and it's as if all the life falls from him with it.
then it's a soft murmur of petrushka, and they're kissing again, clinging to each other as though this is the last time they'll see each other. it very well may be. the thought runs through pierre's mind more than once, and it only makes him draw andrei even closer, run his hands through his hair, pull back slightly to see the eyes that cry out to him with the uncertainty of it.
andrei's hands shake as he begins to unbutton pierre's shirt, and pierre's mirror them as he touches andrei's arm, his face, his neck, splays his fingers across andrei's chest. he can feel andrei's heart racing furiously against his palm. he's suddenly so fragile in pierre's arms.
they're gentle with each other, more gentle than they've ever been, and it hurts. pierre wishes he could say something, anything, but the soft, open-mouthed kisses andrei presses to his neck and chest render him unable to make a sound. he backs toward the cot that's wedged into the corner, pulling andrei with him by the front of his shirt. andrei falls on top of him, and he feels too light, like the slightest move from pierre will set him off balance. he almost can't bear to look at him but he knows he must. this might be his last chance.
it's not until andrei's head has dipped below pierre's waist that he realizes he's crying, tears dripping onto pierre's thigh. andrei doesn't cry. he's seen enough of andrei's distaste at his sister's quickness to emotion to know that. pierre tries to stave off his own tears, biting his lip and threading his fingers through andrei's hair, but they fall all the same. when he moans, it feels more like a sob. andrei clutches tightly to pierre's legs, and pierre finds he doesn't mind how andrei's fingers dig into his skin.
it goes on like that, the soft moans muffled against arms and chests and shoulders; the tenderness that seeps out of them, from their eyes and mouths and the places where their bodies touch.
(it's tender, but there's something terribly insistent about it. maybe that's what scares pierre the most.)
he wraps andrei in his arms as his eyes betray him and he surrenders to sleep. andrei lets him.
when he wakes, andrei is gone.