Salt

Vladimir misses him savagely, much like how he does everything else. He kills savagely, he speaks savagely, loves those closest to him even more so. Being so close to him, yet feeling so far as only the cloth of a tent stands between the two resonates a deep ache in his chest. It twists with the knowledge of two years worth of lost time.

He had missed his husband viscerally, like a missing limb. Vladimir had spent many a night the past two years dreaming of the subtle ridges of his hands, the jut of his wrist, the curve of his lips, and stillness of his eyes that were reminiscent of crystalline glass. He used to dream about the feeling of his delicate skin beneath his calloused hands, and how easily it would bruise under his grip.

There are scars now that plague Matt’s previously unmarred skin, making Vladimir almost physically sick. He had stared at the marks for a long time the first time he saw them, almost expecting them to vanish when he next blinks. They don’t, and it disappoints him, serving as a reminder of how long they had been separated. Of how much he doesn’t know about Matt in those long two years.

Gathering his bearings, Vladimir inhales deeply, clenching his fists and setting his jaw stubbornly. Matt was simply a man and Vladimir had killed things more dangerous and barely batted an eye. Also it is the next day, Matt had most likely had time to calm down. Exhaling steadily, he grabs a fistful of the tent, and pulls it open.

Matt’s eyes shoot open, and automatically shift towards the shuffling of the cloth. There are bags under his eyes, Vladimir notes. He must not have slept, or if he did, it must not have been until now.

“Sleep well, little devil?”

Matt scoffs, and turns his head the opposite direction. “Vladimir,” he greets dryly.

“Matvey,” Vladimir returns in kind.

There is a tense silence for a few long moments until Matt pipes up again.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, what are you planning to do with us? What of the others? Will you kill me off like you had originally planned? Or are you going to ship me over to Fisk so that he can finish the job?

Vladimir grits his teeth, “That was never the plan- well not never, but-“

“So it was at one point,” Matt deadpans.

“Yes. No. It was…” Vladimir struggles to find the right way to explain. “This isn’t going the way I had planned!”

“How was this supposed to go, just curious? Was the idea to butter me up with an explanation, and then kill me? I though you were cleverer than that Vladimir,” he grunts.

“No, of course not!” Vladimir shouts, frustrated.

Matt hums to himself, “That’s not the message I’m getting from the tied hands and secluded tent. At least tell me that Foggy and Karen are being kept in better conditions than this.”

“You forget, husband, we would not have need of that had you not attacked me,” Vladimir splutters. “And I had assumed you would prefer space to cool off.”

“Oh.” Matt says sarcastically. “My bad then.”

“They had Anatoly,” Vladimir finally grits out.

“…Anatoly?”

“My brother,” Vladimir explains.

“Who had your brother?” Matt asks.

“Fisk.”

After another long minute, Matt speaks, “And that is why you were going to…” He trails off.

Vladimir has never been an overly emotional man. He does not revel in the fact that he is hostage to this hollow feeling in his chest, so he did in that moment what he does best. Ignoring the issue until the last possible moment.

“Never mind that,” he continues. “You will not die,” Vladimir says resolutely.

“We are to ride towards Dorne in the next fortnight. If I free your hands, you must save your energy until then.”

Matt nods, in acknowledgement, then Vladimir crouches down on his knees, unsheathing the blade at his hip, and leans in unnecessarily close to cut the tie binding the other man’s hands. Matt’s breath tickles his ear, and the tips of his lips brush Vladimir’s temple. His skin craves more like an itch that can’t be satiated, but Vladimir pulls himself away nonetheless.

He swallows thickly, watching Matt rub the irritated skin on his wrists before turning away and quickly fleeing the tent that somehow felt inexplicably smaller than when he first had entered.