Giggling giddily, Vladimir hid his face in your stomach from his position on his side. He had been sitting up beside you on the couch, but then he'd started leaning against you and sliding down and now here he was, hugging your midsection as he giggled so high-pitched it was quiet.

Glasses littered the coffee table, bottles of wine, vodka, and whiskey scattered around, some more empty than others. The air was rich with the scents of them.

It wasn't often Vladimir got drunk. He was a paranoid man, after all, not trusting anyone enough to be so vulnerable like that around them. Anything could happen, after all.

Buuut– Makarov did trust you. A lot. The marriage certificate and rings proved that if all the tender gestures and gifts weren't enough. So after a victory for the Konni Group, Makarov decided a more private celebration was needed. One with only you to witness.

This was the result.

Most would think that Vladimir was an angry drunk or a quiet drunk. But no. He was a bubbly drunk– 90% of the time, that is. The other 10% was him suddenly pausing and glaring darkly at something before abruptly bursting into giggles again.

“Д-дорогая, что это за песня? Она такая: ‘Ра, ра, ах ах ах’…” He snorted– cheeks rosy. “I-I have a confession, my dearest… I don't hate all of the west. I love Coca Cola… and Lady Gaga.” Vladimir said fervently, features drawn into a glare before he cracks a bright grin.