|My Only One
Author: Shadow Padawan PM
Theodore Dolokhov remembers the short time he had with the young Petya Rostov. Slash. Somewhat AU.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Dolokhov & Petya R. - Words: 1,417 - Favs: 1 - Published: 03-06-10 - Status: Complete - id: 5797500
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: My Only One
Author: Boss Dallas
Translator: Shadow Padawan
Fandom: War and Peace
Paring: Dolokhov/Peter Rostov
Rating: PG-13 (the author had the rating at R but I don't think it's quite that explicit.)
Genre: angst, drama, POV
Warning: some AU, slash
Translator's Note: First, this is a translation of a fanfic originally written in Russia. If you would like a link to the author's profile, PM me. ( has a tendency to eat links.) Secondly, the original starts with a quote from a song, which I have left out since it is a quote and there is no official translation of the song (that I know of) to quote. Thirdly, if you notice that tenses jump, that's because they do so in the original, to which I have attempted to stay true. Fourthly, to avoid character confusion: Peter Rostov is the same character as Petya Rostov (as most translations have it). Petya is the transliterated diminutive of Petor, which when translated into English becomes Peter. The author uses only the full name so I've used the full name as well.
I watch the flames in the fireplace. The fiery tongues dance some unimaginable dance, the devilish light writhing and writhing. Oh. Hell. My thoughts are not of this reality. Only my body sits here by the hearth, but not my soul. It is not here, in this warm, comfortable room with my wife and children, who have never been so close or far from me as you had been… My soul, my heart – eternally yours – have left this world forever. I am but a shell. In my thoughts – only you.
I remember those far of days, five years ago. The sun did not shine in those days. It was a gloomy, misty autumn, heavy and a bit frosty. I have never liked the fog. There is no certainty in it. For me, the whole world is still as though in fog. I have only one dear memory, one that is truly precious, that keeps me living, or rather, just existing.
I remember your large eyes, your sweet, childishly naïve smile, your serious gaze, under which you tried to hide the fear, when we went into enemy camp. You were brave, ready for heroics, even death. You knew little of real troops but still you wanted to be part of some noble dead. So young and innocent. Everything I could no longer be. I no longer had a way back. You did. I am a lot older than you. I never cared for training the youngsters but I was struck by your bravery… Just like me in my long gone days of seventeen. I remember how you looked at me. Such a rapturous, fanatical gaze. You thought of me as idol when I'm nothing but a sinner. You scarcely ever smiled, your gaze either shy or thoughtful. But for me, and only for me, you smiled that bright, genuine smile. At first I took it for granted, by in the aftermath I was even proud that such a beautiful, radiant smile was always meant for me. What did we talk about? Oh, of everything. You were an interesting companion. I felt comfortable with you. And now all that is gone. Now there won't be anymore fireside conversations. You were the first with whom I discussed my feelings for Sonya, whom I thought I loved. I was wrong. You listened to me and did not judge, or laugh like Anatole had, or look in that sympathetic way like so many of my friends. By then, you did not look at me with such excitement. That gaze…as though it came to me through fog. It was foggy that night too. We tore our way through the forest. It was awfully cold but neither of us let it show, You just walked beside me and I could hear your heavy breathing. We did not speak. You had already done so much for me. You'd listened to me, nodded, showed that you wouldn't judge me. We had already gone a long way but the forest remained exactly as it had been some six years ago. It was getting dark. Windy, too. We stopped. I could tell that you were about to fall over. I grabbed your arm and put it on my shoulder. You were muttering something quietly. I suddenly wanted to protect you from all the dangers of this world that you never got the chance to encounter after all. And that is not your fault. That is your tragedy. Only now do I realize that I had wanted to rediscover this world, with you, with each other to lean on.
The rain began in a downpour. Usually, I would have gone on alone, but you were feverish. We came to a small shelter, something akin to a shed. I carried you inside and laid you down on some semblance of a cot. It was claustrophobic and cold inside, you were shaking. There was nothing to use for a blanket so I took off my filthy cloak and covered you with it. I held your hand in an attempt to warm you. Your grip was so tight that I was almost afraid that you might break my fingers. Not that I would have minded. Looking at your feverish face I remembered… Our first excursion when we had just met, your bravery that had so amazed me, your accidental "how I love you!" And our first kiss. I don't know what you or I had met by it. Perhaps, you had been struck by my bravery and I – by the fact that I had met such a courageous, eager to fight, young man. Though, had it been anyone else, I would have shamed him for such a sudden display of affection. The absence of which I feel so sharply…
You shifted a little. "I'm sorry."
"For what, Peter?"
"I'm in your way."
"Don't worry about it." I stroke your hair soothingly. "Either way the weather's not a treat."
You smiled just barely. And. I think I did too.
I don't remember how long we stayed like that, but when you fell asleep, I gave in and kissed you. Your lips – cold and chapped. I press against them, grabbing at straws, even as my rational mind berets my whole being. I pull away and meet your glazed-over eyes.
"I…Mr. Dolokhov, I…"
You're fighting to get the words out but I can tell by your eyes that you're not quite brave enough.
"Mr. Dolokhov, see, I have never…"
"That's fine, Peter," I say flatly.
Suddenly, your arms are around my neck and you're reaching for my lips… And then, as it is called, the ice broke. And how! I assault your lips, capturing them with mine. My tongue mercilessly explores your mouth, and you timidly respond. It seemed that when I no longer could control myself, our clothes suddenly disappeared as though by magic. I kissed your neck, chest, lower.. You didn't hold back the moans and my head spun from the sound. I took you without preparation, knowing what agony it would cause you. I almost felt that agony myself. But soon, the pain passed, replaced with something more pleasant.
I remember our whispered words…
"I love you. I do love you so much. I don't know what to do. I'm week, but...but…"
I never let you finish. Did you understand that I had come to love you?
I remember how angered people were by your death. Not many came to the funeral. There were numerous crying bodies and my single, weeping, wracked with wretched sobs, soul...
And now, as I sit by the fireplace, tears well up in my eyes. No one except for us knew of that single, special night, when we had been one. I doubt anyone would even believe me. Cruel, unscrupulous Theodore Dolokhov, suddenly gave in to a forbidden feeling. But it is stronger than I. And I do not want it to leave me. Because, then I really would die.
Now I sit here, not listening to my wife and kids, thoughts turned inward, toward that time when there was only you and I and no reality aside from our own. A reality that can no longer be; one in which I had wanted to live life anew…