Salt

Matt’s whiskey eyes are still as beautiful and unseeing as they were the day they had met, yet now they hold a sagaciousness that he previously lacked. His lips are red, not the shade they were when Vladimir used to kiss him, but the kind of tint that appeared when he has been biting them nervously as he always was in the habit of doing.

Their first night together, he had done the same. Matt had worried his lips until they were swollen and to the point of bleeding, then transferred his ministrations to his thumb just before Vladimir dragged it back down. How fitting that he be doing the exact same when they meet again.

Vladimir watches as Matt adjusts his wrists to the ropes tightly wound around his hands, he had to be restrained after his angered fit. He had landed a pretty good hit to Vladimir’s right cheekbone, which was beginning to swell and turn into veiny splotches of purple and yellow.

He probes the beaten flesh with two fingers, silently admiring the solidity of the punch. Matt had become stronger since his disappearance. It was even more noticeable upon closer inspection, his torso filled out and lightly muscled, and clothes more form fitting than how they used to be. Vladimir can remember the way Matt’s clothes used to be stylishly baggy in an almost intentional way, and the way his heart would beat faster when Matt breathed on his neck and his clothes dragging across Vladimir’s skin.

Matt turns his head in Vladimir’s direction, his blank eyes staring right at Vladimir.

“Just because I can not see, does not mean I cannot tell when someone is staring,” he growls under his breath in Russian.

Vladimir is floored briefly, hearing his voice being almost too much to bear. He wants to bring him in close and taste his skin again and feel the lines of his face. Swallowing thickly, Vladimir plasters on a cocky smile that Matt can’t see, filling his voice with a false vibrato, “Can’t blame me for looking. You’re quite the view.”

“I can blame you. And as a matter of fact, I will blame you,” Matt spits back vehemently.

Vladimir chuckles, “Still as dramatic as ever Matvey. You have not changed much after all.”

Matt closes his eyes, breathing in deeply before replying. “You have not the slightest clue as to how much I have changed. It is you who is still just as arrogant and insolent as the last moment we drew breath together.”

Vladimir’s smile drops, and his hands itch for a blade. Not to wield on Matt, but rather to use on someone else- more accurately the nurse that showed Matt Fisk’s letter but that was of no use. She absconded not long after news of Matt’s disappearance spread.

“Well that is untrue, I am those things and quite a few more. Contumelious, abrasive, rude, just to name a few.”

Matt scoffs, “You forgot to add snake to the list.”

Vladimir hums thoughtfully, “Yes, those are quite charming creatures, right, husband?”

Something flickers across Matt’s face. It’s not rage, or annoyance but something more vulnerable. A brief moment of gentle avenoir, with a softness that Matt rarely ever showed on his face even before things between them were so strained.

“Screw you,” Matt rasps in his native tongue.

Vladimir does not speak English but the message comes across clear enough. That tone of voice and phrase are universally understood.

He stands, sparing one last look at Matt as he leaves the secluded tent they had both sat in. At least he was shaded from the sun so that he would not burn. He was always prone to being injured by the sun.