two weeks. two weeks with your lover and hookup of ten years, Ilya Rozanov. in your cottage.

his father had died not too long ago, he’d finally cut off his brother Alexie, but not without leaving some money for his niece. he still spoke to his friend Svetlana though, and his mother? long dead. she was the only one in his family he truely loved the most and even if his father was too hard on her back then, he still cared when his father suffered from dementia.

you were cooking burger patties over a grill while ilya was inside the building still. you opened the lid to check on how the meat was coming along when ilya came out in new clothing.

he whistled once as he came down the stairs and walked around to stand behind you, leaving an inch between you and watching you cook. “why are you making so many burgers?” his hands were extended to your sides in a questioning manner.

you told him the recipe was for eight burgers.

he furrows his brows a bit and made a cut motion with his right hand “okay, you cut it in half. what, you can’t do math?”

his russian accent was heavy on a few words. when you told him to leave you alone, he put his hands on your hips and pulled you against his body, closing the small gap. he pressed his body against yours and whined in your ear.

“no.” he then pressed his lips to the nape of your neck.