Andrei blinked, and his lips stumbled over a smile, but it righted after a moment, and burned brightly.
"I'm favorable," he said, though Irinarhov had not asked.
At least not with words.
Yes, as always, at the crux of it he was fine. Although he realized his slight turn of ennui for what it was, and did not try to dismiss or deny it in his own mind.
It was easy enough to explain.
The cold, the drink, the snow- the default assignment of ringmaster and taskmaster that he always seemed to inhabit like a favored pair of gloves- it had all taken its toll.
He wanted nothing more than cool sheets and borrowed warmth, and a hasteless descent into pleasure and somnolence.
Thick blankets above, and solid flesh below.
Arms, perhaps, to collapse into, in exchange for his own.
He thought of his bed back home- both in the sprawling townhouse in Petrograd and the Krimea holiday villa, and how for all the fine linens and down bolsters, he had never slept better than here in Groznyj Grad, in a rough bunk, in a shared room.
He hadn't slept as well since Ilya went down sick.
Used to the breathing, perhaps, or the resultant proximity of those frequent visits in the dead of night.
Andrei shook his head, to clear it.
"I think Borishnaov may get to skip the unmentionable part two of the tradition," he laughed, absently. "Unless Charushkin feels mercenary tonight."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-10-02 08:49 am (UTC)"I'm favorable," he said, though Irinarhov had not asked.
At least not with words.
Yes, as always, at the crux of it he was fine. Although he realized his slight turn of ennui for what it was, and did not try to dismiss or deny it in his own mind.
It was easy enough to explain.
The cold, the drink, the snow- the default assignment of ringmaster and taskmaster that he always seemed to inhabit like a favored pair of gloves- it had all taken its toll.
He wanted nothing more than cool sheets and borrowed warmth, and a hasteless descent into pleasure and somnolence.
Thick blankets above, and solid flesh below.
Arms, perhaps, to collapse into, in exchange for his own.
He thought of his bed back home- both in the sprawling townhouse in Petrograd and the Krimea holiday villa, and how for all the fine linens and down bolsters, he had never slept better than here in Groznyj Grad, in a rough bunk, in a shared room.
He hadn't slept as well since Ilya went down sick.
Used to the breathing, perhaps, or the resultant proximity of those frequent visits in the dead of night.
Andrei shook his head, to clear it.
"I think Borishnaov may get to skip the unmentionable part two of the tradition," he laughed, absently. "Unless Charushkin feels mercenary tonight."