Neutral Grounds [lemon] RusFra//

{ Part II }

[NOTE: see end of work for translation]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

« I never hated you, Ivan. »

Ivan's eyebrow slightly raised in confusion.

He made a move towards the Frenchman.

« That's why I want this paper and treaty to be over with as soon as possible, mon cher. » Francis felt his anger slowly wash away, only for a feeling of guilt and embarrassment to take over.

« But you know just as well as I do that one must make sacrifices, in order to achieve their goals, don't you? »

« If I sign this we know that it isn't going to last long. No matter what I shall do, you will still be going after me, are you not? »

Ivan knew Francis's leader. He knew that none of this peace that Francis was talking about would last and that eventually, he will come back to make his own and Ivan's people bleed.

« I don't know if I can trust you as much as your Emperor. »

Francis did not answer.

He felt bad. His stomach felt tight. He started to understand what Ivan implied, in many ways.

Peace would last, for a certain period of time, at least. That is what he told himself. Enough time to keep the British away, and build up his forces again. Francis knew that the Russian still loved him. But he did not expect the feelings coming from such stoic man to be strong enough to not wash away in the face of danger, blood, war.

Death.

« Ivan, » Francis stepped closer towards the taller nation, and hesitantly reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. « I did not forget about you, tu sais. »

The hand on his shoulder. It was warm. It wasn't mean.

He felt his breath shakier.

That's when he suddenly wrapped an arm around Francis's waist, letting the sealed letter fall to the ground, and cupped Francis's face to bring it closer to his own, tightly shutting his eyes and pressing his lips against the older man's.

Ivan himself didn't know why he did that, it was instinctive.

Eyes wide, Francis felt his waist press against the other's, as a fierce, bitter kiss was placed upon his lips. He did not try to get away.

The cold of the thin lips of his old partner, the scent of his cologne, despite the smell of dried blood and dirt still sticking to him from the fight.

He had missed it.

He had missed him.

Francis returned the kiss, placing his other arm around the man's back, sourly gripping at his uniform.

Ivan finally broke the kiss.

« I don't want you to leave again, Frashenka. » He was bitter. And he was scared. Scared he would be left to the side by the man he admired and cared for so much, scared he would be rejected and attacked by these same hands that were now around him. He wanted Francis, more than he had thought he would. He wanted to feel his love again, to feel his hands, feel his skin, his breath, feel his attention when readjusting his attire. He never wanted to go to war with him to begin with.

« ...не оставляй меня.... » was all he could utter in a higher pitch this time, a faint cry, as he felt his eyes starting to water.

Francis knew he wouldn't be able to stay for ever. They both knew it. But tonight, he didn't want to leave Ivan. He just wanted to stay there, talk to him.