[moscow] anywhere, in between. [tag; arkadiy]

It was cold.

Properly cold. Florence hadn't felt cold like it before. Everything was frozen. People were bundled up, heads bowed against the Arctic wind that was sending fat snowflakes spiralling. It sank into her very bones, seeming to freeze her blood in her very veins. Born and raised in Paris, the worst winters where the Seine froze over were no comparison.

She was ill-prepared. She was the type of woman who lives solely for summer and liked to wear sundresses and sandals. Currently, she was wearing two jumpers, jeans, boots, scarf, gloves, a thick coat and a pair of her husband's thermal socks. And she was inside.

The rush of warmth and chatter that greeted her felt wonderful. Almost instantly, she was engulfed in a number of hugs. Kisses were exchanged, handshakes and snuggles. The Russian was rapid as Florence caught some but not all words. Naturally, they were keen to see Arkasha but they hadn't made her feel unwelcome. Her big blue eyes looked around and she was surprised by the space inside. Outside, it was a fairly standard grey apartment block but inside was warm and cosy and she was flattered they were letting her stay.

Christmas had been a busy time for them both. Florence had deadlines to meet as they pushed to get books out in time for the holidays. Arkadiy had been working hard with that peculiar Englishman who looked like he was permanently on the verge of having a complete and utter nervous breakdown. They'd spent Christmas day with her parents and they were spending New Year with his. Florence was looking forward to it. In years past, she just went out with friends and drank in overpriced bars but this? This was an actual party.

She dropped their bags by the door before she was enveloped in another warm hug that knocked the hood of her coat clean off her face. "Kak dela?" She asked with a sunny smile as she stopped to chat warmly. Russian had been a struggle for her to learn. She'd toyed with the idea of casting a translation spell but it felt like cheating. Soon enough, Arkasha was swept away and Florence offered him a bemused smile. She wasn't offended. "I'm just going to drop these off," she told one of his aunts before picking up their stuff and opening the door.

It was like stepping back into her husband's past. She hadn't known him then but she felt like everything she needed to know was laid out in front of her. She didn't think it had been touched since he'd left home. It pulled on her heartstrings as she left the bags by the door and peeled off her outer clothes. She saw the bunk beds and she let out a snort of laughter. Arkadiy was a tall man and she wasn't petite and the logistics of how they were meant to cohabitate for a few days were just mind-boggling.

Florence closed the door gently, blocking out the noise as she picked up a picture frame. It was a real warm family home. It was crammed with people, all looking forward to the new year. She'd seen pictures, of her husband and his brothers, all proudly on the wall. She felt relaxed. The picture she held in her hands was Arkasha when he was a teenager, around fifteen or sixteen maybe. Even then, he was handsome. Florence loved the way his nose was slightly crooked and the shade of his eyes were so unique, even in this dated photograph.

It was a shame they hadn't met sooner. She would have liked to know if he'd changed at all but it didn't matter because they had the rest of their lives together to work stuff out.

The tall blonde woman sunk down onto the bottom bunk, her fingers curling around a small teddy that had been propped up against one of the pillows. It was a bear, midnight blue fur with very uneven eyes. It had a love worn nose from years of kisses and it was missing its left arm. Florence gave the bear a quick hug, secretly planning on smuggling him out of Moscow and back to Russia. It was clearly Arkadiy's favourite childhood toy and she felt a stab of guilt as it got left behind. But not for long. "I think you'd like Paris," she told the bear softly with a nod.

Her dress for tomorrow night was hanging up on the back of the wardrobe, in the same bag as her husband's suit. Her dress was second-hand and still needed some last minute alterations. Some sequins needed securing and the bow needed to be tied and the hem needed to be attached more securely. The snow still on her blonde curls was now starting to melt but she hadn't taken off her scarf or her boots. Her socks (red with gold stars on them) were peeking out from beneath the cuffs and she wiggled her almost frozen toes that were starting to thaw.

As the door opened, she looked up and offered Arkadiy a grin. She held up the bear and wiggled it's one remaining arm into a wave of hello. "Help," she said with a laugh, her nose still red from the cold. "I can't feel my toes."



@Arkadiy Malenkov

Women. Women everywhere. They were, however, all related, and all vying for a chance to plant kisses on his cheeks, not minding that their chin hairs could give his own a run for their money. He was whisked away to the kitchen before he could point Florence in the direction of his boyhood bedroom, his opinion being requested on all manner of things. After a few years growing up, he had been the default baby of the family, and he was still treated accordingly. Was there enough cabbage in the shchi? Enough beet on the shuba? Would that be enough pelmeni do get them through the weekend?

He kissed everyone, tasted every dish, reassured every woman in the kitchen that their cooking was beyond perfect and that yes, he was so glad to back in Moscow after having been ‘gone for too long’. They gave him a knowing look when he said he needed to check on his wife, not letting him insist that no, he really was just going to see how she was doing and that no, they didn’t need to worry about soundproofing his room.

Arkasha slipped into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it. It had been roughly five minutes yet his family had already exhausted him. The sight of Florence was usually a reassuring one, but she usually wasn’t also holding up his most cherished childhood possession, one that he had left in Moscow on purpose, one that was embarrassing him even in front of the woman he had shared everything with.

He returned her grin, though he was flushed from his nose to his ears at the sight of Shura. “I’ll save you,” he offered swiftly, wasting no time in crossing the few feet of space between them, sitting on the bed at the perfect distance to pull her feet into his lap and slowly rub warmth back into them, hoping to take her mind off the bear. “I don’t like it when we split up,” he continued, still massaging her feet, pausing every now and then to tickle one. “My aunts talk too much.” He was worried about what sort of stories they could come up with, their sole intention to embarrass him further in front of Florence.

He was sitting hunched over, much too tall now to sit up properly without bashing his head on the bunk bed above him. Surely someone could have magicked a bit more space into the room over the years as he and Kolya grew, but doing it so late after the fact just seemed silly now.

“They’ll try to feed you. Don’t refuse or they’ll just be offended.” He smiled at her, knowing full well that her own family had behaved exactly the same way toward him over Christmas. Of course, now the cuisine was much better, but Arkasha was nearly worried that her few brushes with Russian cooking hadn’t quite emphasized how much boiled meat and cabbage she would be encountering soon. “Just stay away from the vodka in the unmarked bottle,” he added with a grave nod. “Babushka’s family recipe.” And not the babushka that had an actual vodka distillery, the babushka that had learned to perfect her recipe in a large metal tub set up in the kitchen.

He glanced around the room, the belongings scattered about that he hadn’t deemed important enough to take with him as he moved across the continent. So, almost everything he had owned. Old school things, older quidditch things, photos of he and Kolya on the rare occasions their parents had managed to make them stand still long enough. There was no trace of Florence in the room at all, and it hit him just how uncomfortable this entire trip might be for her. “Thank you again for coming with me.” He smiled before leaning down to plant a quick kiss on her lips, being careful to rub his it’s-winter-and-my-face-is-cold-barely-there-beard on her chin.

Florence liked it here. The apartment was a home and she could practically hear it creaking, trying to contain all the love inside of it. She sat in silence, a smile on  her face as she heard happy chatter and the occasional cry of excitement as someone new entered the place. She didn't understand everything that was being said but she was trying her hardest. She hadn't wanted to interrupt Arkasha as he returned home, figuring he'd come and find her when he was done.

"Thank you," she said brightly as she placed the bear back down with care. "That feels nice," Florence said gently as a shiver of pleasure rippled down her back, goose bumps rising on her flesh and hidden by her layers of clothes. She wiggled her toes happily as his thumbs worked wonders. For such a tall man, Arkasha had a wonderfully gentle touch and sometimes, like now, it surprised him. As he tickled her, she let out a squawk of laughter and surprise as she tried to pull her foot  back and away before she laughed again, warmed up incredibly.

Biting her lip, Florence scooted closer to Arkadiy, taking the duvet with her accidentally. "Moi aussi," she told him seriously about the comment about them being apart. She shifted her legs so her knees were bent, the soles of her feet resting lightly on his lap so the heat of his thighs still warmed her. "They're lovely," she assured her husband with another grin, reaching out to lace her fingers with his and squeeze them affectionately. "Your whole family is lovely. They've been really accepting of me." So far, she thought absently. They didn't know her that well yet.

"I love cabbage and I'm starving," she told Arkasha quickly, visibly excited by the prospect of food and she giggled when she understood what he meant. Her maman hadn't been forceful. Well, no, she had. French food was very rich. They'd had goose with stuffing and chestnuts and gravy and cream laden potatoes and buttery vegetables. It all must have been rather traumatic for the Russian man. Florence was never one to say die and as if on cue, her stomach let out a loud grumble. "See?" She said, amused.

"Oh?" Flo asked, her bright blue eyes wide as though she'd just been let in on a secret. She inhaled her breath quickly and grimaced. "Yikes," she replied. "That bad?" She asked her husband before she paused. "Is it…bad that I kind of want to try it?" The tall blonde did want to fit in with his family and she'd do almost anything. She grew up with wine, drinking it at meals with her family since she was fourteen but half a glass of red wasn't exactly the same as babushka's moonshine. "It's not going to make me go blind, is it?" Florence asked cautiously. She didn't want to offend either of his babushkas.

As Arkasha glanced around, Florence's attention was solely on his face. Absently, the pad of her thumb made small circles on the back of his hand in soft, comforting motions. She didn't know how he was feeling being back home; happy? Sad? Lonely? The last thing she wanted him to feel was regret, regret for leaving his homeland and regret for moving to France. She was very aware that all of his choices as of late had been centred around her. "I like it here," she assured him. Maybe they could go sightseeing. She knew spells to stop herself from freezing solid. She needed him to know that they could move here if that was really what he wanted.

"De rein," the artist replied with a softly bemused smile; he didn't need to thank her. He should know that she'd do absolutely anything for him. Except commit murder. She tilted her head. Nah. She would. She totally would. In a heartbeat.

Her cool hands came up to cup his cheeks to kiss him back  before letting out another squeak of laughter. "No!" She cried out between laughter, squiggling and wriggling in his arms as he rubbed his beard against her sensitive skin, curling her sock-clad toes in giddy pleasure. Flinging one arm around his neck, she flopped backwards onto his mattress, taking him with her, landing on the pillows and knocking his teddy bear to the floor.

Still giggling, she reached out a slim index finger and slid it ever-so gently down the bridge of his nose, booping him softly when she reached the tip. Florence gazed up at him with a smile, still breathing hard from the tickling and the struggle. "Thank you for inviting me," she told Arkadiy seriously as her large eyes flickered over his face. She was treasuring the moment of peace and quiet while they had it.

Unable to help herself, she slid the pad of her thumb across his sharp cheekbone. Sometimes, often late at night, she marvelled at how lucky she was to be married to him. She watched him while he slept at times, so peaceful and calm. Being his wife awarded  her with these precious moments of intimacy, where she could touch him softly as thousands of other girls could only dream of being so blessed. "You didn't tell me what's happening tomorrow," she reminded him, now very warm and comfortable, sandwiched between his chest and the mattress. "Do I need to do anything?" Florence was pretty clueless about what a Russian New Years Eve might entail and if there was anything special she should prepare. "I need to show you my dress, too," she enthused. "It's gorgeous. I hope you'll like it."

“You had nothing to worry about.” His parents had done a good job psyching up the family for their arrival, being two of the three family members to have already met Florence. He was almost positive that his mother had compelled his aunts to speak slow, use short words and sentences if they could. Their speech had been just a bit more staccato before his wife had left the room. He wasn’t about to tell her though; hopefully it sounded almost normal to the untrained ear.

Florence would be thrilled to know that there would be no shortage of cabbage. He wasn’t sure that her idea of it matched up with what she would get, but he happy she was trying all the same. “No, no,” Arkasha replied with a laugh as she inquired about the vodka. “It’s only…” He recalled one of Kolya’s friends from school sampling it a while back. He was German and apparently hadn’t ventured farther than lager. After a couple glasses he had streaked down the road, mid-winter. It wasn’t his finest moment, but it was certainly a story that was told over and over again whenever the whole family was gathered and drinking together.

“Just make sure I’m there if you do try it.” He knew that she would take it if she offered, even if he protested; instead he would simply make sure that if Florence had any desire to take her clothes off, he would be around to steer her back to his bedroom where he could fully enjoy it.

“I like you being here.” Arkasha squeezed Florence’s hand without taking his eyes off his things around the room. He did mean it though; they had passed through Moscow right after being married, but they hadn’t stayed, hadn’t met any extended family, hadn’t even been to the apartment, and it had been summer. It was a whole different experience now, surely. He didn’t mind explaining things to her, downright enjoyed whispering translations in her ear when she didn’t catch something.

He flopped with Florence on the mattress, shifting to flatten himself completely on top of her for a brief few seconds before propping himself up on his elbows above her. He scrunched up his nose as she drew a finger down it, pretending he didn’t enjoy the cuteness that was happening. But of course, he was head over heels for it, nose boop and all. He never tolerated this sort of thing from women before her; clearly that meant that he had made the right decision with her.

Returning her smile, Arkasha shrugged as best as he could in his position. “I couldn’t have a family party without my family,” he replied just as seriously, talking about the family of two that they had started all those months ago. He leaned down to kiss her her quickly, not wanting to get too carried away with himself after being home for such a brief amount of time. But her hand on his cheek made him reconsider for a second, only being brought back to the present the sound of her voice before he could manage to kiss her again.

He wiggled on top of her, doing his best to share as much of his body heat as possible. “We’ll be having the party tomorrow. Not sure where but I can bet it will not be on this side of town.” The Malenkovs were one branch of the family that hadn’t been as successful as the others, had never moved out of the neighborhood that never picked itself up out of its earlier days. He skipped her question about doing anything, deciding to come back to it in a minute. “I love everything you wear,” he acknowledged, leaning down to place a kiss just below her ear. He didn’t bother leaning up before adding, “And everything you don’t wear.” He planted another kiss before closing his eyes and willing himself to stay focused.

“Just promise you won’t leave my side tomorrow.” He wasn’t overly clingy on a good day, but the party would need extra care. He straightened his back, pulling himself up so he could take a good look at his wife. “Remember how I told you about the woman I dated for a while, and how we got a little drunk and I told you we had ended up being related?” She had thought it fairly funny, judging by her reaction at the time, but she hadn’t brought it up again and he thought he had the wine to tank for that. He didn’t wait for her recognition before finishing, “I assume she’ll be there.” Was he planning to use her as a shield? Absolutely. “Also to show you off,” he added quickly, dipping down to plant another kiss on the tip of her nose.

As Arkadiy laughed, she heard herself give a happy little sigh. The list of things she loved about him seemed endless but his laugh was almost number one. She didn't care if he was laughing at her, just as long as he was laughing. In fact, she knew she was in love with him the moment that she heard it. In Cannes, he'd told a punch line of a joke wrong and he didn't really understand it but it was still the purest thing she'd ever witnessed.

"Okay," Florence said brightly as she nodded, bouncing on the mattress with the eagerness of a puppy. Cool. No drinking illegal alcohol without his supervision, it seemed safe.

The tall blonde chewed on her lower lip as she gazed up at him, her features softening as he referred to her as his family. As if on cue,  Florence began to well up. She could blame it on the cold but she knew it was because she was happy. Really happy. Whenever Arkasha was near, her heart grew to three times it's usual size anyway but she gave a little sniff. "It's just the cold," she said softly, wiping at her eyes before she gave a little laugh as he warmed her up.

"No?" Florence asked when he said the party was somewhere else. The way he'd said it made it seem like his part of town was somehow less desirable than others. "That's a shame," she said lightly as she reached up, her slender fingers making slow tracks, up and down the back of his neck out of habit. She was absolutely keen to explore but the idea of leaving his warm envelope made her feel a bit sick.

"Oooh," she giggled, squirming a little at his kiss but automatically arching her back to get as much body contact as possible. She snorted with laughter at his comment but she didn't have the heart to tell him that she was absolutely not going to take her clothes off in this weather. "Well," she whispered, bumping underneath his chin with her nose. "My dress is pretty low cut so I might not wear a bra," she told Arkadiy with wide eyes before she wiggled her eyebrows at him.

"Obeshchayu," she told Arkasha with a nod, her blonde hair rumpled by the pillows. A look of confusion creased her pretty face before her eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh!" She said before she nodded again. It was less funny than when he'd first told her but still, a hint of a smile threatened to escape as she turned it into a cough. Florence wasn't one to dwell but now that he'd reminded her, she wondered if he was still upset over it. Maybe he'd been in love with her. Worse yet, maybe she was still in love with him.

"Cool," she told Arkadiy breezily with a smile. "Make sure to point her out," she reminded him gently. Did they look alike? She wasn't sure. All of the Russians she'd met so far were all tall and beautiful with high cheekbones; there was something distinctly Samoyed about everyone.

Florence fell silent, as though she was deeply studying her husband's face. The ruse was up quickly as she offered him a lopsided grin. "I can't help but imagine her looking like you, but with long hair and boobs," she admitted, sliding her hands down his chest gently. "It's absolutely not funny," she told Arkadiy bit she was speaking mainly to herself.

She flushed pleasantly at his kiss. "Yeah?" Florence asked brightly, practically glowing as she relaxed in his childhood bedroom. "I think I'd like that," she replied, being shown off. "And I've totally revised family members names," she assured him, stroking his forearms either side of her body. "And I've got absolutely no idea who anyone is," she said truthfully with a sheepish smile, turning her face and kissing the inside of his wrist softly. "But! I'm super eager to at least try. I have a great memory," she smiled. Of course that was a lie and she was banking on Arkadiy being too much of a gentleman to correct her. "Hair up or hair down?" She asked her husband, curious to her preference for when she got ready later on.

“The cold, of course.” Arkasha offered his wife a soft smile, shifting so he could wipe away tear that she had missed with the pad of his thumb. He pressed his weight against her more, careful to not leave any inch of her uncovered, not wanting to risk her getting cold again.

Arkasha pulled back the slightest it, wanting to ensure that he had heard Florence correctly and, if he had, that she wasn’t kidding. He nodded, a serious nod in contrast to her wiggling eyebrows. He was a lucky man and he grinned, willing himself to not get carried away. They still had too much family time to get through. It really wouldn’t help to only be thinking of how there would be one less layer to have to deal with if she went without a bra.

Her promise meant so much more to him because she delivered it in Russian and he smiled despite himself. But he dropped his expression once again as the look of recognition passed across her face and he nodded once, almost solemnly. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to consider all the possible scenarios that a reunion with Veronika Nikolayevna could bring, all of them horrible for everyone involved.

He expected the smile, even expected a laugh, but her calm and collected ‘cool’ was certainly not what he thought she would say. “Okay,” he agreed automatically, knowing that he should be hoping for some sort of catfight should he point out his cousin to his wife. That would only bring attention to the matter, and so far they had (as far as Araksha knew, anyway) been successful in keeping their family in the dark.

But maybe a slightly-more-than-usual possessive Florence could be fun. He would certainly use that to his advantage after the evening was through.

Arkasha balked as his wife pictured him with long hair and breasts. Of course, that was how he saw Vera now; once they had found out about their more-relation-than-relationship, he hadn’t been able to look at her without spotting some new similarity between them. “Oh no,” he started, matching Florence’s smirk. “She doesn’t have quite my dashing good looks.” Florence would see her tomorrow and if Arkasha knew anything, Vera wouldn’t look terrible. She could make her own judgements then. But until the party, Arkasha would help her think she was a genuinely ugly specimen as long as he possibly could.

He considered her for a moment before settling on her wearing her hair up. He told her as much before leaning down to place a kiss as near to her collarbone as he could get through the layers of sweaters. “Cannot have all that hair getting in the way of all that no bra.” He tugged on one of her blonde curls before he sat up, finally getting realizing he needed to stop touching her so much if he expected to spend time with his mother with a clean conscience.

Arkasha stood and crossed the small room to the wardrobe. He threw open the doors, expecting to have to look long and hard to find what he was looking for, but he was already staring right at it. “Here we go,” he said as he shrugged his deep red Durmstrang issued coat off its hanger, tossing it more at his wife rather than to her. He turned back and grabbed the black fur ushanka form the top shelf before rejoining Florence by the bed. He didn’t ask before placing the hat on her head, pulling down on the brim to ensure that her ears would be nice and warm. “Perfect,” he appraised with a grin, pulling her to stand up so he could help her into his old coat.

"Of course," Florence replied to his comment about his good looks with a grin. Despite Arkadiy joking, she didn't think she'd seen a  more handsome man in her entire life. Despite the laughter, there was a very small part of her that she kept hidden that always said what if. What if his cousin was a sort of Amazon princess? A beauty queen? What if she was smart and kind and funny and warm? What if she was better?

She found comfort in touch as Arkasha dropped a casual kiss on her collarbone that made her eyes close and her nearly-frozen toes curl. Hair up? Not a problem; she'd packed both hair pins and hair potions. Florence really did want to look  her best. She wanted to throw herself into the welcoming arms of her new family. She was still fairly new to the Russian culture and she wanted to dive in, head first.

"Will there be dancing?" She asked with a grin, her nose wrinkling playfully as her husband tugged at her hair. Florence loved to dance. To her, it was the purest form of expression. Though she was skilled in small talk, she didn't really like stuffy dinner parties where nobody smiled. She felt cold and bereft in his absence and she rubbed at her arms, giving him a wink as the topic of her underwear was touched upon. "Exactement," the tall blonde replied. "And you're going to need to keep my boobs warm."

As Arkadiy left the bed, a soft frown creased her pretty face as she swung her legs over and placed them gingerly on the floor. To anyone else, the apartment wasn't at all cold. But poor Florence had been exposed to her very first blizzard and her body was trying hard to play catch up.

Automatically, she reached out, her pale fingers grabbing the garment before it hit the floor. "Oh wow," she breathed. Florence ran her fingers over the coat and she was surprised by its softness. She turned it over and smiled when she saw the Durmstrang crest. She didn't know that much about Arkadiy's schooling. She wondered if it had shaped him somewhat. "I heard you didn't have fires in your dormitories," Florence said as she looked up, concern etched on her face. She'd heard that at school but it could easily be Chinese whispers. If anyone had made her husband cold at school, she'd march right back there and demand an explanation.

"Oof," came the mumbled response, her pale eyes wide. "I can't hear anything," she said with a grin as the hat slipped down over her brow. Up on her feet, she turned her back and allowed Arkasha to drape the coat over her shoulders. "This is so cool," she gushed, eyes still wide as she turned around to face him. The coat was large on her but it wasn't swimming as she fastened the belt and shifted the fur collar. The sleeves fell over the backs of her hands and covered them from view as she wiggled, her body heat almost tenfold what it had been.

She giggled, still mystified at how different her husband's school had been from hers. Beauxbatons was pale blue silk and Durmstrang was blood red wool. She didn't know much about the school, other than the one and only Viktor Krum had attended. For years, she'd had a poster of the seeker on her bedroom wall but since buying their Parisian apartment, she'd put it into storage. In fact, she may have lost it. Infrequently, she'd thought of buying another but she never did because she had Arkadiy and he was way better than the super hot, super rich, super bulky Bulgarian man.

"What do you think?" Florence asked with a grin as she flapped her arms, the sleeves loose. It did feel a little bit like dress-up but her head was filled with all sorts of fantasies of her wearing his hat and maybe nothing else, except for a set of lacy black lingerie. She zoned out momentarily, thinking about what she'd packed for their trip away. There was definitely some underwear. And she had heels. Snapping back into things, she offered her husband a goofy grin. "Thank you," she said as she slid her warm palms over the leather detailing, still a little bit in awe. "I like this," she said with a nod of approval.

Outside of his bedroom door, she could hear laughter and there was a faint twinge of guilt. His parents had been so sweet to let her stay over, she felt really rather rude for at least not stopping to chat. Florence turned and went over to her bag, extracting a bottle of vodka. France was a wine producing country, they didn't exactly go for liquor but she'd found one called Grey Goose. She'd brought it as a present, to say thank you to Arkadiy's family for letting her stay. Swiftly, she held it out for him to take.

"For your mum," she instructed with another smile. "I was going to buy flowers but I think they would have gotten a bit mangled," she added with an apologetic smile. Stepping towards him, she wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug, pressing her face into his warm chest. "I love you," she told Arkadiy,  her voice muffled somewhat by his shirt front. "And I want to meet your family and I want to make them like me," she admitted, finding it easier to say now that she wasn't looking him in the eye. Looking up swiftly, she sniffed at the air. "Do I smell shchi?" Quickly, she batted her eyelashes at her husband, her hands snaking up his back. "Can we go and get some?"

“Of course we had fires in our dormitories,” he reassured her with a half smile. “That’s why we had dragons.” He shrugged and finished the other half of his smile. “Trained dragons, of course,” not wanting to worry his wife any further than she already was at the prospect of him being cold. She didn’t need to know that she wasn’t completely wrong; they occasionally lost fire privileges for chip contest reasons but being cold was really only a problem for those Mediterranean students anyway.

Arkasha mouthed the words, “You can’t hear anything?” hardly suppressing a laugh before adjusting the hat a tad and adding, “How about that?” He turned her back around to face him and he paused a minute to take it all in. Florence was the first girl Arkasha had managed to get into his school pants, and while that wasn’t something he was willing to admit, he was certainly enjoying the look of it now.

He took a step back to admire everything: “C’est parfait,” he concluded, taking the step forward to close the space between them. Taking his time, Arkasha folded back the sleeves for her, unfastening and fastening buttons to make them stay, exposing her hands to the elements once more. “The pockets are charmed,” he mentioned as he finished up the second sleeve, avoiding the additional suggestion that she could always keep her hands warm in his pants if she was so inclined.

“You can keep it,” he offered with a smile. It was his to give away, after all, and she looked so nice in it. He was convinced it wouldn’t fit him anymore, as he had filled out and bulked up considerably in the years since. Or that’s what he was telling himself, anyway.

It was strange, standing in the middle of his bedroom, the one he had shared with his brother for years on end, instead staring at his wife dressed in his school coat. She certainly pulled it off, though, her blonde hair contrasting beautifully with the deep red wool, though he did have to silently curse himself for putting more clothes on her when he really ought to be preoccupied with taking things off.

Florence moved and Arkasha was brought back to the task at hand: family time. “Oh, right,” he said automatically, reaching out to take the offered bottle. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had been handed a bottle of decidedly not-Russian vodka. His eyes widened a bit at the label as he glanced over the French flag and the very obvious ‘France’. “We do gifts tomorrow,” he said quickly, hopefully implying that they saved their gift giving for New Year’s Eve, rather than saving this bottle of vodka for after the family was drunk. It wasn’t that it wouldn’t be appreciated per se, it would just be appreciated much, much more if it didn’t accompany the very first impression of his wife.

He might have forgotten to mention that his mother’s family owned their own distillery and that a good majority of the family was involved in the distribution of the product. No need to ruin things with that news now.

“We can still find flowers,” he added. “The city doesn’t just close up because it’s cold, you know.” He smiled, though it widened into a grin as she wrapped her arms around him. “You too, mon cœur ,” he replied, wrapping one hand around Florence and using the other to tilt the hat up enough so he could see her forehead and plant a kiss on it. “They already like you,” he reassured her again, silently adding and will like you more if we hide your vodka to himself.

Thankfully, she changed the subject, hopefully forgetting about her gift for the time being. “Shchi, yes. Yes, there is. With plenty of cabbage, too.” As if she couldn’t smell the over abundance of cabbage. Of all the smells, that was the one that made him feel most at home. He reached around his back and grabbed Florence’s hands, taking them in his own and giving them a squeeze before leading her out of the bedroom and announcing to the family gathered close by, “Now that she’s warm, we can eat~”

***

“Is this straight?” Arkasha was looking into the mirror perched atop his dresser, knees bent so he could get a proper look. He never wore ties, never wore suits, but Florence had managed to convince him to put a little extra effort into his appearance for the party. He moved the knot of his deep blue tie to the right then back to the left. Straightening up, he turned to face his wife, his arms outstretched at his sides so she could fix him.

They were already running late for the evening; the rest of the apartment had emptied out an hour before, leaving Arkasha and Florence behind because they were taking too long to get ready. Of course, they had only spent the last twenty minutes getting ready, the rest of the time before that getting thoroughly distracted. “Help, please.”

While Arkadiy was otherwise occupied, Florence found herself simply watching him. She did that a lot and she was banking on her husband never finding out that she took photographs of him while he slept. There was just something innately entrancing about him, even when he did the most mundane things like brushing his teeth or fastening his tie.

Help? "You don't need me," Florence replied gallantly as she clambered out of the bottom bunk bed, unfurling her long legs and ignoring the crick she felt after being confined in such a small space. With a delicate touch, she unfastened the tie completely with a soft smile, adjusting the length of fabric correctly. She crossed the wider end of the tie over the thinner, pulled the edge up and tucked it down through the centre to form a knot.

The moment of peace and quiet made her thoughts jangle. Florence was absolutely terrified of meeting Arkasha's family, all of his family. Had he been so nervous meeting her parents? The vodka had been a bad idea and her husband had been nice enough to tell her in the gentlest of ways. Honestly, how could she have been so completely stupid? French vodka for a Russian family? It was probably as weak as gnat's piss. She'd have to not drink tonight and get up super early to buy really good last minute gifts.

"Oh, sorry," Florence apologised softly as she accidentally yanked on the knot, a hint of her anxiety almost escaping. She relaxed her hold accordingly. She hadn't told Arkadiy to fasten up his top button of his shirt in case it restricted him. Instead, she'd cleverly made the knot a little bigger and she gave him more room to breathe. "There," she said as she straightened his tie with a small smile, resting her palms briefly on his chest.

Skirting around him, Florence took her time with her hair, once she'd eventually teased out all of the tangled with her fingers. She wanted to look good, better than good, actually. She'd added a lot of unnecessary pressure on her shoulders. His assurance that his family liked her was nice but she knew it was a big adjustment for them. Marrying outside of their own country must have been a shock and Florence felt a bit sick but she was trying her hardest as she slipped pins into her hair. Into her lobes went the decidedly fake diamond drop earrings that she'd picked up at Les Puces. They were crystal or paste but in the low light, no one would be able to really tell.

She turned her back to Arkasha in a wordless invitation for him to zip up her dress. Also bought at the market for next to nothing, Florence had put a lot of work into the 1930s number. Bronze and gold, she'd fixed the hem and the holes, the pulled fabric and torn organza. The neckline was high but the back was low, awarding her husband with a view of her elegant spine and, as promised, she wasn't wearing a bra. It was muted but filled with enough sparkle and interest to keep the eyes moving. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Arkasha if she could borrow his school coat again.

Florence already felt doubly guilty; for making the family wait to eat dinner and then wait again for their arrival at the party. Her original idea for a gift was a family portrait. She'd already started and she wasn't presumptive enough to paint herself into it. It was almost done but not quite. She was going to sneak off back to Paris in the middle of the night when the party was over, finish it and then scoot back here, all before Arkadiy would realise she was missing. Problem solved. "We should go," Florence was quick to stay, ignoring the warm pull of the apartment and the bunk beds. "Lead the way."

"Oh wow."

Florence's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when she saw the park all lit up. The bare tree branches had fairy lights wound around them as the large tent seemed to take up the space, transforming it into a winter wonderland. Whenever she was nervous, she slipped her hand into Arkasha's, which she promptly did, squeezing it three times as they crossed the snow. The music and chatter seemed to calm her somewhat as she lingered at the entrance.

"I'm cool," she told herself as she took a deep breath and shook herself. "I can totally do this. I'm capable," the tall blonde babbled as she closed her eyes briefly, offering a silent prayer that her Russian would hold and that no one would make fun of her accent. Squeezing his hand one last time, she stepped in. Whether she was imagining it or not, Florence could have sworn a hush had descended and she felt like there were a few dozen sets of eyes looking at her. Undeterred, she offered the closest man a megawatt smile and extended her free hand out for him to shake. "Hello!" Florence began brightly. "I'm Florence," she added. Her mother had always told her how to strike up polite conversation. Soon enough, there was a glass of clear liquid pressed into her hand. "Oh thank you," she beamed and downed it in one, much to the surprise of the other man.

Arkasha could only smile. He didn’t bother correcting his wife, that of course he needed her, wasting breath on stating the obvious. She undid the work he had previously done with the tie, and once again he was thankful for her presence as she fixed him up properly. He watched her face as she worked, thoroughly distracted by her close proximity. But he had already let that distraction take hold of him earlier, which was the whole reason they were running late in the first place.

“Thank you,” he breathed, placing a light kiss on Florence’s forehead. She moved around him to finish her own things and he turned to the tiny excuse of a mirror on the desk, studying his reflection as he buttoned his top button and slid the knot of his tie perfectly into place. He really out to wear these more often, he concluded, rather impressed with his look.

He took a seat on the lower bunk as Florence finished getting ready, his wand held aloft as he passed the time by levitating various objects from his boyhood across the room. His free hand was clutched to Shura the teddy bear and he was quite unsure of how that had managed to happen. Stowing the bear hastily behind him as Florence called him to attention, Arkasha dutifully complied with her wishes, zipping up her dress slowly. He let his hands linger on her hips for a few brief seconds as he placed a kiss just below her ear. He had finally shaved that evening, and he took an extra chance to remind her just how smooth his chin was now. That would be important information for later.

“We should,” he agreed, finally taking a step back and shrugging on his suit jacket. His gaze flicked to her bare shoulders and he added a reassuring, “The tent will be heated, I am sure.” He flicked an odd ball of lint from his own shoulder. Holding his hand out, he posed his next question in Russian: “Are you ready for it?”

This side of the family was a tad… excessive. As if anyone in the family had forgotten, everyone had shown up looking their best, to a venue also looking its best. He had only been to this area of Moscow a handful of times; neither he nor his parents had any reason to venture so far up in the world. It was still quite a shock that the Malenkovs had been invited at all, but he wasn’t about to argue. He could already taste how good this top shelf vodka would be.

The designated spot for apparation was just a few steps from the tent proper, and Arkasha appreciated the squeeze from his wife’s hand as they made their way inside. He squeezed it back reassuringly, smiling to himself as he overheard the words she was saying, clearly meant for only herself. “It will be fine. They are just like me, but less fun.” He offered her a final smile before they were engrossed in family members.

No one noticed them right away, but Florence was all over taking the initiative. She had grabbed the arm of a man he had never seen before, but it was easy to fall into the conversation. He saw a passing tray of drinks and he took two, casually putting one into his wife’s hand. He kept on hand on the small of her back and the other on his vodka; the first glass was finished rather quickly, especially as they started comparing great-grandparents to determine how they were related. His apparent-second-cousin was rather chatty, and soon inquired after any forthcoming Malenkov children -- it was then that Arkasha spotted an actual familiar face across the room and he excused them both to go say hello.

It was a lie, but even with a self-refilling glass, he couldn’t spend any more time in that conversation. “Want to dance?”

"Are these…all of your family?" Florence's question came out a little high pitched and squeaky and it was beyond her control. Whether Arkadiy knew it or not, she'd made flash cards with the names of his immediate family on them. While a lot of them didn't even know they'd gotten married, their first anniversary was quickly approaching. She'd never presume that they'd want to visit or send gifts to mark the occasion but Florence was damn sure she was going to meet as many of his family as she possibly could while she was here. Just in case.

They were like him, just less fun, he'd said. The tall blonde gave a snort of welcome laughter as the joke took the edge off somewhat. The place did look incredibly beautiful in the winter splendour. The soft lights caught her dress' embellishments beautifully and she felt like a walking disco ball.

But no. Everyone she'd met so far and been warm and welcoming and she had no reason to think that Arkasha's extended family wouldn't be the same. She was well versed enough in polite conversation to know that they wanted to speak to him in particular and she didn't want to get in the way. Her role tonight was to support him. Out of habit, her big blue eyes looked around for Arkadiy's mum. Their shared home in Paris felt like a million miles away.

His gentle touch was comforting at the warmth of his hand radiated easily through her dress and a bright smile was fixed on her face. It wasn't forced because it was a touch that no one else would be able to see. Without thinking, she leaned casually into his hand as her lithe body automatically sought out to fill the space between their bodies.

The first glass of vodka hadn't touched the sides before the mention of children popped up and she began to panic. In all fairness, they hadn't really had that conversation yet, which seemed a bit strange considering they were married. "Well," Florence said intelligently, shooting Arkasha a look that clearly said help me. She wanted kids. Or, at least she thought she did. Some day. Not right now. She didn't have the heart to let her husband know that she'd rather raise a dog than a baby in case they weren't on the same page.

"We're still just enjoying being married," the artist replied diplomatically with a dimpled smile that she was hoping was charming enough. Having kids would mean leaving their little love nest and moving to the suburbs, not necessarily the Parisian ones. They'd need space for their future kidlets to learn to ride their bikes and practice magic in a safe space. Then there would have to be the talks about which school to send them to, either Beauxbatons or Durmstrang as the children would be entitled to both. She winced. "And we have plenty of time to figure that out, don't we?" She asked her husband warmly as she tried to block out her mother's comment of you won't be twenty-something forever.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she practically sprinted away with Arkasha but not before necking her second shot of vodka and offering a very unladylike burp. "I'm sweating," she told the poet with a laugh as she fanned herself. It had absolutely nothing to do with the heat in the tent and all to do with the mini Spanish Inquisition they'd just been subjected to.

"God yes," Florence replied to Arkasha's offer to dance almost immediately as her eyes widened with thanks. She really hoped she'd handled herself in a polite and gentle way and she really hoped the same question wasn't going to be banded about. It might have been a good idea to come up with a solution before they'd arrived so they could have some sort of united front but it was too late now. "This is really nice," she told the Russian as she drank her third glass of the highly potent clear liquid. "I don't feel anything," she added as her pretty facial features clouded in confusion.

Placing her glass down on an empty table, she intertwined her fingers with his while placing her free hand on his opposite shoulder. Florence took a step closer and into Arkasha's body line, taking their embrace from classic to romantic as left a small gap between their faces. The last time they'd danced like this had been their wedding night. Most of the dancing they did lately had been in their kitchen to cheesy European pop music. "Ohh," she said softly as they swayed. "Now I'm feeling it," she told him with a giggle as the delayed vodka results began to show.

“You’re doing beautifully,” Arkasha breathed into her ear from behind, his hand on the small of her back as he led her through the crowd and his rather inquisitive relatives. It wasn’t like the topic of children had never come up -- it might have been after their wedding, but it had still happened -- but he filed away her responses to his cousin to think about later. Now, he only wanted to focus on his wife and how gorgeous she looked. “Glistening,” he insisted with a laugh, having learned long ago that women didn’t sweat.

He smirked as she agreed to dance, and he hoped that she wouldn’t regret her decision once it was obvious that he had two left feet. But instead of warning her, he got distracted by her drinking yet another glass of vodka. Good vodka this time, the sort they couldn’t usually afford even though he was related to the label’s owners. “You will,” he reassured her as she claimed she couldn’t feel anything. “White Fire smolders at first…” he recited, familiar with one of the brand’s slogans.

After finishing his own glass, he led Florence onto the dancefloor, his fingers sliding between hers as he pulled her closer with his free hand on her lower back. The feel of bare skin under his fingers sent a shiver down his spine and he attempted to get even closer to her, to get rid of all the space that existed between them. There were plenty of people around them that he wasn’t being obviously indecent, though he was sure that they wouldn’t be able to blame him if he was.

His rhythm was off, but it really didn’t matter. He just wanted to be with her, not talking to his family, not dodging questions about any family they were or weren’t making, just spending time together. The past year with her had been one of his best, and while he didn’t particularly want to get cheesy just because of the holidays, he thought he had plenty of reasons why he should.

But he was brought back to the presence as Florence spoke again. “Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow, curious just how much she was feeling. “It’s when you start not feeling it again, that’s when you know it’s really working.” And when he would know that they could sneak outside and take a little roll in the snow -- not that he was planning anything, of course. “I’m sure there’s plenty more.” He leaned down to place a quick kiss on her lips before pulling back and getting a little twirl-ier with his swaying.

Arkasha felt a tap on his shoulder as he heard a, “May I cut in?” But instead of a low voice from what he expected to be a cousin trying to move in on his bride, it was the voice of his grandmother. He couldn’t very well argue with her, even as she dashed his plan to keep his wife close in every effort to use her as a buffer between him and any family he didn’t want to see. She was very insistent, claiming she had the secret to keeping marriages spicy.

His arms felt quite empty without his wife in them, and he quickly busied himself with another glass of vodka and another random relative to catch up with.

[[ out ]]