Brothers Romanoff [MMF]

37

Mikhail brushed back her curls, Lev smirking behind her his hands on her waist. She shifted, as his hands pushed up his shirt.

Mikhail glanced at Lev over her body. "It's not exactly the time, but you have mail from the Convent again."

Lev winced. "Mh..."

"Let me guess..." She sat up. "You wandered into a convent, and decided to fuck as many women as you could, and now they want her head."

He frowned. "She knows all my secrets."

Xiomara heaved a heavy sigh, sitting up, not bothering to cover herself as she climbed over Mikhail, who kissed her cheek as she went. Lev watched her go, and when she'd shut the door behind him, glanced at Mikhail, cupping his cheek.

"Something is on your mind," Lev stated matter of factly.

Mikhail shook his head.

"Was gonna make mimosa's," Xiomara shouted from the kitchen. "Anyone want any?"

Mikhail glanced up. "This early?" He called back his eyes on Lev.

"I'll take one," Lev replied.

Mikhail elbowed him roughly. Lev frowned, furrowing his brows in question.

"Well...it is early," Lev amended, his eyes darting between Mikhail's.

"I've seen you two smoke a whole cigar at 3 in the morning and it's too early for mimosas?" She asked quizzically.

"We're trying to cut back. If you drink we'll have to drink. Just orange juice?" Mikhail suggested.

"I really want a mimosa though," Lev complained quietly, closer to a whine.

"Shut the fuck up about a mimosa," Mikhail hissed back.

"If that's what you want," Xiomara shrugged dubiously, entering the room with a tray of orange juices.

"How convenient is this right? It was just sitting on the table," she grinned, looking around the room. "The colors in here so dull. Open the windows, let some light in."

Mikhail clapped, the windows shuddering to life the motor humming as they opened.

"Filthy rich bastards," she grumbled, "Here's your orange juice."

Mikhail raised the orange juice to his lips. Looking pointedly at Lev to say something. Lev however was unsure what it was Mikhail was pushing for him to say so he just shrugged cluelessly. Mikhail rolled his eyes, at his cluelessness, as if it were a personal affront.

She sat on the bed, sipping her orange juice, her eyes roving around the room.

"You could use some wall decor. They look so...barren." She suggested. "Who decorated this place?"

Mikhail smiled softly. "We'll give you a card. Decorate however you want."

Lev stood, as she set her orange juice down on the tray, laying down flat. Lev took her hand, standing above her.

His eyes widened. All he could see was her, dying, her lips blue, her and Katya, transparent and floating between one another, flickering back and forth.

Lev jerked away, looking down at his hand. It shook. Mikhail looked up at him with a concerned look.

"Are you.. alright?" Xiomara asked softly, cupping his cheek. "You look sick." She sniffed the orange juice. "It seemed fine."

Lev smiled opening his mouth to speak. She tilted her head curiously. All he could see was her neck, limp, hanging, a noose around her neck. He shivered.

"Lev? Do I have the plague or something?" She asked, touching her face.

"No I—Blyad. I mean—Eta tak razdrazhayet." He cursed standing. "I'm leaving."

(Fuck.) (This is so frustrating)

"What?" Mikhail asked. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Lev muttered, "Don't fucking follow me. Either of you."

Mikhail watched him with worry.

"What crawled up his ass?" Xiomara remarked.

Mikhail raised his brows and frowned. "I...don't know. I should go find out. You should rest: take my card and buy some things to brighten up the house." He murmured.

"Hey I can't be set in front of a screen like a child—"

He turned on the tv, changing the channel to a reality show.

"Be right back," he called.

She nodded, entranced.

Mikhail followed after Lev who was getting into the car. "What's going on?" He demanded.

"I don't want to talk. I'm going out. Didn't I just say don't follow me?" Lev spat.

"You were fine. Happy even. What happened?"

"I don't want to talk," Lev repeated in Russian. "You understand now? Since you no longer speak English?"

"Don't get fucking smart with me I didn't do anything to you," Mikhail swore, pulling his shoulder.

Lev pushed him back. "I said...I am leaving. And if you not what's good for you, you will let me."

Mikhail swallowed roughly. "Leave? Will you be coming back?"

"Fuck you," Lev spat, pushing Mikhail. Mikhail frowned, shoving him back.

"No fuck you. Just tell me where you're going or at least when you'll be back. It's not the fucking hard, da?" Mikhail shouted.

Lev frowned, shoving him back even more forcefully. "I'm a grown man I don't have to report to you what I'm doing where I am going!"

"I am your husband of you do!"

"Who decided that?" Lev shouted.

Mikhail raised and brows and scoffed. "Well if you don't like it, we can undecide it right now. There's no laws, no paperwork you just say the word." Mikhail said softly.

Lev closed his eyes. "I...am going to get a drink. I will be back. Just...let me be for a bit."

Mikhail looked away. "Is this about...do you know about it?"

Lev froze. "About..." he swallowed imagining the sight of that noose on her neck. "Yes. I didn't know you knew. That's why you've been so careful of her."

Mikhail nodded. "Yes. I didn't know you know about it either."

And though the two men were equally distraught, they had no idea that they were each talking about two different distressing circumstances regarding the same woman who sat entranced, unknowing, watching two very real housewives being very cruel to one another.

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