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Karma is reading a story when Fyodor returns.
The book is one Fyodor brought during his last visit. Karma knows the older man prefers gloomy novels and philosophical essays, but he’d made the effort to find something Karma would like. It’s confectioner’s sugar romance neatly packaged in a hundred pages for easy consumption. Karma loves it.
He does not flinch at the front door opening, despite it being an unfamiliar sound. This far into the wilderness, Karma is certain he’s more likely to be discovered by a wolf pack than another human being. The creak of the hinges can only mean his partner’s presence
“Welcome home,” he greets, gaze still glued to the page. Footsteps pause in the hall, alongside the rustle of thick cloth. Karma closes his eyes for a moment and smiles, picturing Fyodor’s steady hands removing his overcoat and hat.
The footsteps find their way into the sitting room where Karma resides in his armchair, curled up by the window that overlooks the mountains of Fyodor’s home country. Karma’s eyes are still closed when he feels those gentle hands he’d imagined find their place on his shoulders.
“You were gone longer than last time,” he says. Fyodor’s thumbs press into the knot between his shoulder blades. “I missed you.”
He opens his eyes and tilts his head to the side to better see his partner. The older man wears the same vaguely clever expression he always does, markedly different only by the crow’s feet that grip the corners of his face when his enemies are nowhere near.
“I did not mean to be long, my beloved,” Fyodor replies in his heavily accented English, and Karma blushes at the endearment. It’s been two years, and he doubts he will be used to it even a decade from now.
Karma rests his cheek against Fyodor’s wrist, eliciting a chuckle in the other man. A finger traces the bridge of his nose as he nuzzles against the exposed skin, intensifying his flush when he feels the brush of cold metal indicating the gold band on the man’s ring finger.
“What are you reading?”
“A story,” Karma teases, gently dog-earing his spot and closing the book in his lap. Better to focus on Fyodor than be distracted. His husband arches an elegant eyebrow. “The one you gave me last time,” he relents.
Fyodor’s lips curve upwards, as close to sly as his porcelain face will allow. “Ah yes, I remember,” he says. “I believe I received a much different welcoming, then.”
Karma’s blush, recently deceased, resurrects itself valiantly at the reminder of when he’d more or less climbed Fyodor like a tree when last he’d entered their secret cottage in the mountains. It’s not his fault Fyodor had left hand-penned vignettes on their bedside table detailing his ravenous imaginings before he had left.
“Keep it up and you won’t get any of that until next visit,” Karma snarks in an effort to hide his fluster. He can’t say he’s surprised when Fyodor’s eyes alight in challenge, and he’s suddenly craning his neck to meet his husband’s lips.
The kiss is warm and heavy, and it reminds him of the one they shared at their wedding. He’d been so confused for so long – Fyodor was never one to make his intentions clear, even to the man he’d been romancing for months – but they’d tumbled gracefully into eternity without much difficulty.
When Fyodor sees fit to allow him a breath, Karma presses their foreheads together and sinks into the older man’s lovely violet eyes. He could spin endless silky poetry on his husband’s eyes. His enemies say they’re demonic, of another realm ensnared by madness and calculated evil. Karma prefers the term hypnotic.
“How long will you stay?” he asks quietly. He can feel Fyodor’s breath on his lips as he exhales.
“As long as I can,” is the answer he receives, although it is not the one he wants. What Karma aches to hear is the word engraved on the inside of his own pale gold band that wraps around his left ring finger.
Karma has lived many lives. An orphan, a slave, a pet to the hideous heart of a butchering gambler. Occasionally a lonely husband, but more often than not a beloved one. When he’d said the words that bound them together forever, he had been scared. There was much to fear for a young man who had seen little of the world outside of its cruelty, especially when suddenly offered insurmountable kindness. He thinks he’s loved Fyodor from the moment they met, when he’d freed Karma without expectation of repayment.
He would have followed Fyodor to the ends of the Earth, and in a way, he did. He followed him to a home in the mountains, where the older man promised he would be safe. He followed his instructions to wait patiently and find peace and healing in a silence he had never experienced before. He followed his lips into a bed they now share, and then to the altar that sealed their fate.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You are thinking too much,” says Fyodor, tucking an errant strand of Karma’s hair behind his ear.
Karma sighs. “What would you do if I asked you to stay with me?”
Fyodor’s mouth quirks into another soft smile. “I already stay with you, dear one.”
“That’s not what I mean,” protests the younger gently. “Stay here. With me.”
The smile on his husband’s face falls slightly. “My beloved, you know of my duty. I cannot sacrifice it for selfish reasons.” He presses his lips to Karma’s nose. “Even when those reasons are more tempting than the promises of Heaven.”
Karma sighs again. This is the penance for the evil he has committed, despite it being at the behest of others. He is destined to experience love interspersed by longing for eternity, for his husband’s work will never be done.
“I know,” he finally says, releasing any tension held in his expression. He wraps his arms around Fyodor’s neck and allows himself a grin. “But I won’t ever stop asking.”
“I do not expect you to, my beloved.” Fyodor sneaks another kiss before gently disentangling himself from the younger man. “Allow me to make it up to you.”
“In the bedroom?” Karma asks hopefully, mind easily derailed. His husband laughs.
“In the kitchen,” he corrects, gaze twinkling mischievously. “Although your request has been noted.”
Karma abruptly turns back to the window, opening his book in a flurry of pages. “I’ll be waiting,” he says, hoping Fyodor doesn’t recognize his attempts at hiding his ever-present flush. He realizes he could never be that lucky when the older man chuckles and presses a last kiss to his hair before wandering into the kitchen.
As the smell of delicious devotion carries into the sitting room, Karma decides he could spend eternity loving his husband this way, so long as there is eternity.