Warmth and Worries: Russia and Reader:

You don’t expect much out of a tiny apartment.  It fills up fast with boxes and newlywed’s suitcases packed to the point of bursting also take up too much room, but in the end it’s worth it. You have a little sanctuary for just the two of you.  Someplace where you could escape from some of the worries from work and he could escape the cold.

You had nothing to worry about when you were with him, and he was never cold. That’s how it had worked out when you were dating.  Most movie nights you would fall asleep snuggled against him with a pounding headache that he tried his best to get rid of, in return he got his warmth.

It increased when you were finally married.  A beautiful month in Russia and you were always at ease when he gave a reassuring kiss or put a warm hand on your shoulder.  In return you gave him his warmth, consisting of gentle kisses, never ending bear hugs, and blanket covered snuggles.

Now you were back and would continue to give him the love he needed and hopefully he wouldn’t mind when you pulled away the covers, inching them back to reveal his face buried in your pillow that he had stolen from one of the few unpacked boxes.

“Ivan,” you whispered, carefully tucking a lock of soft platinum hair behind his ear. “Can I join?”

You wouldn’t normally have to ask this.  He always invited you to cuddle beside him as he slept on the couch.  You were happy to oblige, stroking his silky hair or gently running a finger down his nose always calmed you. But tonight was different, not only was it the first night in your new apartment and your first night living together, but you finally understood how lonely Ivan was.

The king sized bed was covered in covers and blankets, reminding you of a warm lasagna, layers upon layers of pillows and covers stacked up on each other, finally concealed by the gauzy canopy.

You only had to wonder for a moment why he needed all of those pillows and blankets.  It filled up the bed, providing something close but far from companionship. How many of those pillows represent people? Were they dead or alive?  You knew that you would only have to knock one pillow off to make him snap, so you had to be careful.

His answer was simple; reaching out a muscle toned arm, he wrapped it around your waist and brought you close so you lay on top of the fortress. He kept a firm hold on your pillow in one arm and his calloused fingers gently brushed against your flush cheek.

“You’re warm,” he muttered, his Russian accent getting thicker as his slowly drifted.

You managed a smile, and very carefully lifted the covers and slid yourself under; glad you wore shorts and a tank-top to bed.  Ivan had every intention of snuggling even under the heat of the covers and pillows.

“I love you,” you whispered, and snuggled closer, letting his tired hand drift across your back and wrap his arms around you and his hands run across anything soft they could find.

Everywhere he touched prickled with cold, even with the mountains of blankets.  He needed you by his side so you could exchange body heat; his icy cold temperature reminded you of harsh cold tundra in exchange for your warmth that reminded him of warm sand that bordered a clear watered beach.

He mumbled something in Russian, something you heard every day but never grew tired of hearing. You smiled softly as your feelings were returned and kissed his temple, finally burrowing down into the mountain of covers so you could be close to him and sleep.

There would be no worry as long as you had warmth.