Russian Roulette

The smell of gun oil pervaded the damp air. Metal clinked against metal, and the small smile occasionally thrown his way did not calm his nerves. He swallowed thickly, fingers wrapped tight around the arms of the chair. He was scared because he was not being forced. He was not tied down. He was not doing this against his will. He had agreed to all of this madness.

"Dorogoi." Ivan whispered with a cruel smile, running his hand over his hair, brushing stray locks from his face. Francis did not flinch. "You're nervous." Ivan kissed his mouth, surprisingly gentle. Of course he was nervous. Of course. "Calm down."

He'd clearly gone mad.

But there was something sticky in the atmosphere around them, drenching them in something he didn't understand, couldn't put into words. He had to do this. Run. When Ivan looked at him, his eyes laughed and cracked and shimmered. Run, and prove me right. You will not stay. So run. Francis couldn't. Couldn't move. Wouldn't move.

Wouldn't run.

Ivan took hold of his hand, wrapping his fingers around the revolver handle. Then moved his hand up, so that the gun was at his temple, cold against his sweaty skin. "Are you sure you want to play?" Run. Go ahead. I dare you. He nodded, and swallowed around the lump in his throat. There was something that he had to prove. And he would prove it.

Ivan smiled at him, placing his large hand over his chest. He listened for a moment, his gaze, his entire face, nearly childlike in wonder, before the look darkened with hidden malice. "Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom." He whispered, kissing the top of his head. Go on. Run. Run so that I will know the truth.

Francis met his eyes easily, the gun still to his head, his chin lifting in silent defiance. He would not run. Whatever it was that Ivan was looking for, that Ivan wanted, he would give it to him. He would not run.

"Alright then." Ivan nodded, hand still on his chest, listening to the thundering heart beat. "Close your eyes. It helps, sometimes." He'd done this before. He'd put himself through this same thing countless times before. Trying to achieve what? Death? Victory? Francis took a deep breath, let his eyes slide shut.

He felt lips against his own, kissed back until Ivan pulled away. He would not run. He squeezed the trigger.

A dull click was his response. He let out the breath slowly through slightly parted lips, opened his eyes to see Ivan smiling at him. So you didn't run this time? You will, eventually. They all do. Francis gazed back evenly, wondering if Ivan enjoyed the sight of him so worked up. The revolver fell out of his hand to the cement floor.

"Very good, Dorogoi. Now let's play another game!"


Dorogoi/Dorogoy = Russian for Darling