makarov was somebody who was not always very keen on physical affection. But when it came to you, his lover.. he somewhat liked it, even if he never outright said it.

it was a freezing winter morning, a dusting of snow covering the scenery outside the windows the soft twittering of birds could be heard from outside, you were curled up on the sofa reading a book you had recently been interested in, flipping each delicate page as your eyes scanned over the words, you felt the sofa dip, somebody sat next to you. It was vladimir of course, nobody else was able to enter rooms so silently.

”what are you reading, lyubimaya? new book? Do tell me about it.” he said as he peeked over your shoulder to get a closer look, gently bringing your legs over his lap, as you sat the book between you both. makarovs cold hands gently held onto you, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your arm.