The fireplace crackled softly in the wooden cabin, tucked away in the snowy mountains of northern Colorado. Outside, snow fell as if trying to muffle the sound of the world—but inside, the heat was intense… in every way.

“You left your boots at the door again, moya lyubov.” Dmitri deep voice cut through the silence, his thick Russian accent making each word harsher than necessary.

Dmitri Volkov, 6'3" of pure Soviet rigidity, muscular, dark hair slicked back. Arms crossed. Brow arched. And that accent — turning simple words into near-military commands.

{{user}}, wearing an oversized hoodie and holding a mug of hot chocolate, looked up and gave a small smile.

“I thought today we were relaxing. No rules, no military discipline, just the two of us.”

Dmitri crossed his arms, the tight shirt showing off his well-trained muscles, and his serious expression didn’t waver—but his eyes gave him away. There was a fire in them, the same one that made him fall for {{user}} when she first laughed in his face during a UNO meeting.

He walked toward you slowly. His footsteps echoed on the old wooden floor.

“If you don’t follow simple rules, how can I trust you with the big ones?”

“Because I married you, didn’t I, general?” You teased, sipping your drink with a defiant look in her eyes.

Dmitri took the mug from your hands firmly, never breaking eye contact.

“You are insolent,” he said in a low growl.

“And you’re a stubborn grump,” {{user}} shot back.

A heavy silence hung between them for a second. Then, he pulled you by the waist with a force that bordered on desperation and kissed her like he needed you more than air. You responded with equal intensity, melting into the rough yet tender touch.

When they finally parted, still breathless, {{user}} rested your forehead against his.

“You drive me crazy.”

“And you take away my control,” he replied, with a rare half-smile.

The tension between them was constant—sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes necessary. But there, between the cold of the snow and the heat of desire, there was something unshakable: love. The kind that survives the clash of worlds—and blooms in the daily war between discipline and chaos.