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The first time was so unexpected and brief that you can hardly even call it like that.
If there was something Valery Legasov admired about Boris Shcherbina was the aura of confidence and power his presence emanated. To his eyes, he wasn’t less than a divine creature fallen from the sky, born to rule among the mortals, completely immune to their vices and distractions. And even if his poetic side was overreacting, he had proof that this man was brave enough to contain several bottles of vodka in his organism like he was made of it. So it mustn’t have been that.
Maybe it was the occasion. This night was one of those rare ones where they could feel thankful for being there. Where they could feel that all the hard work they’ve been doing wasn’t in vain. So it must have been the bright spirits that disturbed Boris grim mood and made him even sing one of those classical patriotic chores honoring the victory while moving around the tent, inviting an imaginable audience to join his celebration.
The picture amused Valery so much than although it couldn’t break the barriers of his coyness as much as to join him, it forced a hopeful look in his temples and an honest wide smile that reached his eyes. It was his most authentic way of joining the rejoice of the small achievement.
Boris seemed to notice the particular gift Valery was offering to the world. He got closer, let out a chuckle and grabbed both sides of his face, bringing it sharply to him and slammed his lips into the startled man that helplessly watched the scene wide-eyed, while his limbs became rigid and uncooperative in surprise and panic and the breath was literally knocked out of his lungs.
As soon as he came, Boris moved away and continued his celebration across the place, receiving an equally enthusiastic Tarakanov that was entering the tent in that moment.
Valery just stayed there while his blank eyes moved desperately around the room to get any clue of what actually happened, but as much as he tried to make some sense to his surroundings he was too aware of himself to elaborate any rational thoughts.
He could feel the blood pulsing in his veins, an iced cold shiver running through his back, the force on his lips gradually fading away and the dizziness of a room that didn’t want to stop spinning. Soon nausea would bring him to his knees.
He could still hear the voices of the two cheerful men but being now forgotten in the exchange, he used the opportunity to quickly get away from there, picking his cigarettes from the table as some kind of defensive weapon, before rushing through the door to meet the wide-open space and with it the crispy night that was being offered.
--
The second time was completely different.
Valery was standing against the wall of the hotel room, still contemplating Ulana’s mumbles in the prison cell. Her words filled with implications and dark possibilities mixed with the fatigue and the desolation his soul was already carrying, making him the most miserable version of himself so far.
How much would he like to give up all this. How much would he like to be in another place, in another time, dealing with his known demons alone, in the safeguard of his own realms; but it was too late. He was too compromised, in so many ways, that the only escape lay in whatever the future will bring to him.
His gaze fell onto the floor; his chin against his chest assuming the ultimate posture of defeat and surrender.
“Valery?”
Not even the sound of his name or the previously unnoticed presence pulled him out of his misery trance; his mind was too far away to respond.
It was the feeling of a hand running through his chin, cupping his left cheek that finally broke up his musings. He hardly had time to withdraw his mind from its far places before Boris drew him closer and softly brushed his warm lips over his.
From deep inside his chest a warmth spread through his body like the blessed burn of vodka in the coldest soviet winter; burning away any trace of his melancholy, exponentially increasing the sensitivity of his skin, burning where Boris's hand was still pressed against his face. As by a natural necessity, he moved further into Boris, laying his palms in his chest, trying to erase any barrier that would keep them away.
It wasn’t like Valery expected, it wasn’t violent or sloppy, it was all so harmonic and exquisite that almost made him believe their mouths were made for this.
While he was too absorbed into the sensations, Boris’s hands deepened into Valery’s neck pushing through the fabric of his shirt, amazed at the pounding pulse below his digits. Valery consented the intrusion pulling him by his collar, slightly opening his mouth to capture Boris bottom lip between his and sucking at it for dear life, enjoying the unmistakable taste of cigarettes and the overwhelming scent of this divine being. He could only let go of the bliss long enough for Boris to press his tongue between his swollen lips and make contact with his own.
His mouth was so warm and the caress of his lips so soft than it mumbled all his boundaries and forced him to escape a deep loud moan, feeling Boris smirk against his mouth. But as much as he wanted to take a glimpse of the man who was kissing him so dearly, his eyes shut even harder surrounding to his internal fire, turning his head just a little to catch a better angle.
Each time their lungs tried to separate them, it only ended up in a more vicious and desperate kiss, trying to consume as much of the other as possible.
Boris finally parted enough to break the charm, resting his forehead against Valery’s, breathing deep and heavy, slowly becoming aware of the broken distance between them and how much they needed this moment.
“Boris...” he started, but there wasn’t space for words. He was quickly cut by swollen red lips forced back at his.
Demanding silence. Claiming his divine authority.