Work Text:
(this art is life)
"It's still sloppy."
"What?"
"The tie."
"Oh, I... hm..."
"Nevermind, get up."
"I'm not used to wear it," Valery explains, "you don't need it in the lab."
"This is obvious," Boris mumbles in his usual rough tone, but then he gently raises the collar of Valery's shirt and arranges the silk ribbon beneath it.
His hands are big, firm, and warm.
Valery is like a deer caught in the headlights, his heart is galloping, and he barely breaths as Boris’ skilled hands fix the mess he has made.
The only thing he's acutely aware of it's his own intense blushing, and he's cursing himself for it, because he's a grown up man, not a young maiden.
And yet...
But what will Boris think?
He dares to raise his eyes, but Boris is serene, totally unperturbed as he finishes to fix his tie.
Didn't he notice it?
No, it's impossible. Like the miners, Boris sees everything. And surely the knuckles leaning against his sternum are feeling the fast beating of his heart.
So, maybe... is Boris... okay with that?
Valery desires with all his heart to be in another place, in another time, too, where that question could leave his lips without shame or consequences.
"Here, now it's perfect."
"I... ah... thank you..."
Boris's hands linger for a moment on his jacket, then slip away.
"Valery?"
"Y-yes?"
Boris eyes the armed guards along the corridor and lowers his voice: "I know you can't stand these formalisms, but for the men in that room they are important. If you want them to listen to you, you must speak their language, and that language passes also through a tidy suit."
“I see... thank you, Boris.”
He had no idea. He doesn’t know anything about the politics of his own Country, but he is a little less frightened than when he first entered that room, because now he is no longer alone.