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Winters were always Nikolai’s favorite.
He loved the snow, and the cold, and the dark, vast nights. He loved being able to wear nice sweaters and tasteful coats out to work. And he loved walking hand in hand with his lover through the pretty lit streets of the city, like they were doing right now.
Fyodor had just gotten out of a business meeting that Nikolai had picked him up from. He had been a bit tired, but had agreed to Nikolai’s suggestion to come downtown with a smile. Nikolai got the feeling that a peaceful stroll through the various shops was just what Fyodor needed after his long day.
He squeezed his lover’s bare hand tighter in his gloved one. He could feel through the thin wool how cold Fyodor’s hand was, and noticed him shivering when he glanced over.
Winters were not Fyodor’s favorite. He did terribly with the cold, frail and anemic as he was. And no matter how much Nikolai insisted, he always refused to cover up properly against the intense chill. Not wearing gloves, for example.
“Ah, Fedya, you look freezing. Maybe we should step inside somewhere?”
“I’m alright.” The man gave him a watery smile. “I’d say I’m used to the cold by now, ay?”
“You’re going to make yourself sick one of these days. I won’t have it, I tell you.”
Nikolai pulled Fyodor closer to his side, stuffing both of their hands into his coat pocket. The other rolled his eyes but didn’t complain otherwise.
“Let’s go in here, Fedya…” Nikolai gestured with his head toward the fairly trustworthy antique shop on their left-anything to get those weak lungs out of harm’s way for a bit-but stopped when he saw Fyodor gazing at the hot cocoa stand at the end of the sidewalk. A mother and her son were the only ones in line. She had just bought a fruit-topped crepe and a steaming mug of cocoa for the son, the pair laughing as he dug into the treats eagerly.
Fyodor’s wistful sigh would have gone unnoticed to anyone but Nikolai. He knew very well of the soft spot his partner had for such mother-son relationships. He had been very close with his own mother, a gentle woman who had raised her boy to be just as gentle to all he met. She had died when he was a teen. That gentleness had been buried since then. Fyodor claimed that there was simply no room for love in the demanding business world. He would tell Nikolai that the way he was at work had nothing to do with his personal life, but Nikolai remembered how he had been when they first met at 16. It was a stark contrast to the cold man he loved now.
Still, sometimes he managed to bring that softness out of him again.
Fyodor blinked and looked over when he felt Nikolai’s eyes on him.
“Ah…that looks nice.”
“The food?”
“Mmm.”
“Wait here a second.”
Nikolai stepped up to the stand and got two crepes, one for him and one for Fyodor. He was sure to get one of the hot drinks for Fyodor as well.
“Nikolai, you…”
“Enjoy, my love!” He handed his purchases to Fyodor.
“You didn’t have to…” Fyodor took a sip of his hot cocoa nonetheless, the whipped cream on the surface getting on his lips. Nikolai watched his eyes light up as he smiled at him. “This is really good.”
It wouldn’t seem like it at first glance, but the dark haired man loved sweets and sugary drinks. Nikolai loved spoiling his Fedya, so he made a point of getting him yummy things as often as he could. And oh, it was all worth it when he gave him that sweet look. He’d spend all his money just to see more of this version of his lover’s face.
He wrapped his arm around Fyodor’s waist and pulled him close. Nuzzled into his neck, pressed their lips together, licked the whipped cream off his mouth.
“Do you have any idea how cute you are?”
Fyodor’s cheeks turned the slightest bit redder. It would have been very easy to mistake the blush for the cold.
“Someone’s touchy today.”
Yes, sometimes he was able to bring that softness out of Fyodor again. He lived for those times.
After making their way through a few shops, it was starting to get dark. They didn’t want to be out too late, so they made their way back to the car. Nikolai started the car while Fyodor settled in the passenger seat, clutching the small mirror he had picked out in the antique shop.
He pulled out onto the road, smiling at the memory of his partner’s hands running along the gilded edges of the mirror. He had insisted that they pick something out for their living room, knowing how much Fyodor loved collecting antiques and decorating their home with them.
Pick out one thing and I’ll buy it for us, no matter the cost. I trust your taste much more than mine!
The choice had been a good one, as he expected. He leaned back in the seat as he gazed at the road illuminated only by the car’s headlights. The heat had been cranked up all the way the moment they got in, and Nikolai found himself getting sleepy from the warmth. When he looked back over at Fyodor, he was already out cold next to him.
“I knew he’d be exhausted,” he muttered to himself, reaching out to rub the other’s thigh.
He ended up having to carry Fyodor in when they arrived home. The man groaned when Nikolai nudged him, barely opening his eyes when he came around to the passenger side and opened the door. Nikolai reached in and lifted him into his arms.
Fyodor gasped at being brought out into the cold, burying his face in Nikolai’s shoulder. He was always a bit more clingy when he was tired.
“Let’s get you inside, dear.”
Legs wrapped around his waist in reply as he brought him inside to lay him down on the couch. He went back out to get the mirror and lock the car.
Once he’d gotten everything put away and settled in, he woke Fyodor so they could get ready for bed.
“Fedya, why don’t you go run us a bath? I’ll get our stuff together,” he said between kisses against his cheek.
“I can bathe in the morning…I’m tired, Nikolai.”
“You won’t have time in the morning. You have to go in at 7 tomorrow, remember?”
“Oh, I forgot. Damn it.”
So Fyodor went to get the bath ready, and Nikolai headed into the bathroom to grab their pajamas and some towels. When he walked into the bathroom, a wave of steam rushed past his head and escaped out the door. His lover had already stripped and gotten into the bath while it was still running. He was typically impatient to get into the hot water.
Nikolai grabbed the soap and shampoo from the shelf. He removed his sweater, his pants, his socks, his boxers. Some nights he’d make a show of it for Fyodor’s enjoyment, but tonight the shorter man was half nodding off in the bathtub. The water had risen nearly all the way to the rim, and Nikolai reached over to shut it off as he got in behind him.
“Careful not to drown yourself in the water.”
He sat back against the porcelain, pulling Fyodor between his legs.
“What a silly thing to say.” The other lay easily against him. “You’d never let that happen.”
Nikolai leisurely washed the both of them, rubbing and kissing the other’s shoulders as he did so. His lover eventually woke up enough to scrub his own legs and torso. He caught Nikolai’s braid between his fingers and started fiddling with it. He asked the white-haired man if he could help untie his hair and was met with an enthusiastic yes.
Nikolai turned his head to the side as Fyodor adjusted himself to face him. He took out the braid with delicate and careful fingers, combing through Nikolai’s long hair.
Nikolai was sometimes reminded of trauma when he saw himself with his hair down. He’d once told Fyodor that he’d only cut his hair when he forgave those who had hurt him. His hair came down almost to his butt now. Immediately he felt embarrassed at saying something like that, and a little bit of that embarrassment came back every time Fyodor touched his hair. But Fyodor never looked at him with disdain, only fondness and a gentle touch. Every stroke of his fingers through Nikolai’s hair felt like one step closer to forgiveness.
“You know I love feeling your hands in my hair?”
He caressed his darling’s hips, smiling at him.
“I know.”
After the bath they sat in the living room together, Fyodor on the couch brushing through Nikolai’s wet hair as he sat on the floor in front of him. A Russian soap opera from the 70s played on TV. This particular show Nikolai had gotten them into. Fyodor complained at first about how stupid and cheesy it was, but now he refused to go to bed without watching an episode of it every night no matter how tired he was.
Whenever they had friends over for the night there were always some remarks made about the two being like a pair of little old ladies. They went to bed early and woke up before the sunrise, watched their old shows, shared a love of split pea soup…
There was also their choice in sleepwear.
What had started out as Fyodor wearing long flannel gowns to bed out of necessity had turned into a fashion trend among the two of them. Nikolai insisted that if he had to wear nightgowns he may as well make it pretty instead of walking around like Wee Willie Winkie or some shit. He had obtained new matching gowns for the two of them, a long blue one for Fyodor and a thigh-length pink one for himself. They were from some old lady catalogue that they kept getting in the mail, with lace and tiny flower patterns.
Nikolai still found himself laughing from time to time when he looked at the two of them, but in all honesty he quite liked the nightgowns. They were comfortable and made him feel pretty.
“Close your legs,” Fyodor scolded, swatting his shoulder with the hairbrush.
He had a horrible habit of manspreading in the short nightgown. Not that he was exposing anything that Fyodor hadn’t seen before. The other man was weird about the strangest things.
“Like it matters.” He leaned back against Fyodor’s legs as he put the brush down and turned on a hair dryer.
Now it was Nikolai’s turn to nearly fall asleep, soothed by the warmth of the dryer and the steady stroking of his hair. He turned his head to the side and pressed his cheek against Fyodor’s knee. His lover was humming a song that he sang sometimes on nights like these, something his mother used to sing to him as a child. He didn’t get to hear his voice very often, but when he did he was reminded of how nice it was. He cherished every moment he could listen to him sing. How he ached to kiss that pretty throat until his lips were sore.
When his hair was dry and he got up on the couch next to Fyodor, he was barely settled before the other climbed into his lap.
“Well, hello.”
“Kolya.” The dark haired man curled up against his chest.
“What is it, love?”
“I don’t know. I’m cold.”
“Well, we can fix that.”
He wrapped his arms around Fyodor, held him close to his heart. Rubbed his hands and pressed kisses along his forehead. His Fedya always fit so perfectly in his arms-oh, he was just so perfect. He loved him. He rested his chin on his head and rocked him a little as they watched the last few minutes of the show.
When they were finally in bed, cuddled up together, Nikolai lay there for a bit longer in the dark just so he could feel that priceless treasure pressed against him. One hand on Fyodor’s butt, one wrapped around his shoulders, and he kissed his cheeks and his nose and his eyes until his breathing evened out. Before he met him, he’d sometimes stay up all night waiting for the sunrise so he could feel safe enough to sleep. He smiled as he remembered the relief he’d feel at seeing the sun and knowing he’d made it through another endless night. But now that relief was always there in the form of this man he loved. And oh, god, he loved him. He loved Fyodor, and he loved the winter, and the cold, and he loved the nights, and he loved, and he loved, and he loved.