[Ch 4/?] The Boy in the Painting
Woohoo! Longest chapter yet! A bit more happens in this one, so keep your eyes peeled~ Ohoho~ I've been loving all of your comments, since I wasn't exactly sure how well this AU would go over with people when I first posted it, as well as the theme. But you guys have really seemed to warm up well to it and I hope you continue to enjoy it!
I don't think I've done this well on keeping a fairly regular updating schedule for a chapter fic in a long time. Definitely not for four whole chapters!
As always, enjoy!
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Ivan was at his wit's end, he really was. He has scoured every inch of the library looking for some record of a boy even fitting the age of the one in his dreams, let alone the description. Any white male associated with the plantation between the ages of 17 and 22 had been recorded in a separate notebook in blocky print while he was waiting for the electricians to finish up their assessment of the house so that he could look over them later.
Then he'd met up with his business associate, Toris. He was a quiet, nervous man who seemed incompetent at first glance. But after getting around the stuttering and nerves he was quite good at what he did. Toris had been close to the Braginski sibling before the accident, especially to Natalia. The two had been in the beginning stages of a mutual crush and it had been adorable to watch. Katyusha and he had teased Natalia about it too many times to count on days when Toris would come over, finally going home after hours of shy almost-flirting with the youngest Braginski.
Of course, after Katyusha's death, nothing had been the same. Toris had left on business about a week before the shooting and hadn't been able to make it back for three weeks after. By the time he had come back, Natalia had been cold and distant. She was so unlike the sweet, shy girl he had begun to fall in love with. But Toris was nothing if not persistent when it came to love. He would show up nearly every day, trying to reignite the spark that had died in Natalia's heart during his absence.
It wasn't until Ivan had informed him of his sister's illness that his visits had diminished. He never truly gave up hope, still coming around the house from time to time, trying to coax even something as simple as a smile out of her. He never succeeded, but he never gave up. Ivan wondered idly if he still visited his sister in that dark, lonely house that was haunted by so many memories. He probably did, he decided. If Natalia had any company at all outside of the servants paid to take care of her, it would be Toris.
They had parted ways after a casual dinner and a bit of small talk, both pointedly avoiding any conversation to do with Ivan's sisters. It had been pleasant, if shallow conversation. But that's the way Ivan preferred it. Even before the incident, he had not been particularly close to the Lithuanian man. He didn't seem the right person to confide in about issues like this. Katyusha had always been the one to hold him close when the world was breaking down around him, but she was gone.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the memories away. He loosened the knot on his tie as he sank into one of the plush chairs of the library. This was the first time since he'd scribbled the notes down that he would be able to look over them. He scoured the pages, hoping that something would jump out at him. One of the names or their occupations that would just scream 'X marks the spot'.
But nothing was out of the ordinary. They were just names on a page that held no meaning to him. These were all just the names of faceless people who'd lived and died long before he was even a twinkle in his father's eye. No matter how hard he stared at the words, there was nothing there. He might as well be looking at a list of completely random names. And the longer he stared at the page, the more he lost hope. A wave of despondency washed over him at his failure. This boy needed him and he had failed.
But he couldn't give up hope, not just yet. He stood up from the chair and strode purposefully over to the phone, digging an address book out of his briefcase and flipping through the pages until he found what he needed. Dialing the number, he waited impatiently for the person on the other end to pick up.
"Hello?" The answer finally came and it was like a godsend.
"Yes, my name is Ivan Braginski. I recently purchased property from you and I have a few questions. Would you like to schedule a meeting?"
He took down the address and promised to be there on time before hanging up the phone and crawling into bed.
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Ivan frowned as he found himself once more on his back in the grass. Really? He had to go through this again? What would it be this time, waking up screaming because he'd been left in a black abyss, or waking up thinking the blonde was with him only to have that dull ache in his chest come back because he wasn't there? Either option left him feeling empty and ragged. He wondered idly if it was better to dream this dream night after night, or not get any sleep at all.
He hauled himself up off the ground, anyway, stretching and glaring in the direction of the field of sunflowers. He knew from experience that trying to stay here would only fail in the end, but he really didn't want to make the nightly trek to the boy. It felt almost like avoiding a lover who you were annoyed at out of spite. Ivan brushed the thought away and stuffed his hands into his pockets, grumbling to himself in his native tongue as he started out. As usual, it didn't take long before he was standing just before the invisible line separating him from the ghost.
The boy turned around almost instantly this time, the warm smile almost enough to melt away the annoyance at having to dream about him again. Accusing violet eyes bored into him, but the boy just kept smiling. Ivan tried so hard to stay mad at him, but with a sigh he let the glare relax into a weary look of resignment. And before he knew it that, too, had been replaced with a complacent kind of happiness. The corners of his lips twitched upward a bit as the boy mouthed his nightly phrase at him, as if still expecting him to hear it even after all the nights spent saying it over and over.
What he would give to be able to hear what he was saying. He wondered what his voice sounded like. A dark, depraved part of him even wondered what he would sound like screaming his name. He licked his lips and looked away from the blonde, swallowing thickly. Now was not the time to be thinking those kinds of things. And about a ghost, at that! He kept his eyes cast downwards for moments that seemed to go on for an eternity before looking back up at the now slightly confused boy. So he could do other things besides smile an talk, huh? The dark part of him that he had just worked to squash down rose back up, wondering what other faces he could make. Images flashes in front of his eyes in flashes before the picture settled back to the normal landscape of the boy, the flowers, and those horribly blue eyes.
His whole conscious screamed at him to stop, but he couldn't help but take a step forward. He advanced towards the boy, not quite thinking about what he was doing. Maybe he expected the dream to fade to black before he could even reach the boy, or for the world to explode in a flash of white as soon as he did. But neither of these things happened and it was like fireworks when he grabbed his hand. It was warm and smaller than his own, but with callouses on the palms and fingertips. The boy looked up at him, head tilting to the side in a curious manner. Ivan just smiled at him and leaned down, pressing his lips to the smaller man's. Because for all that he had been calling him a boy, he was certainly not a child.
Maybe because it was a dream, maybe because it was what he wanted, but the younger man leaned into the kiss, returning it with sweet, soft lips moulded to his own. A hand reached up to tangle in golden hair and an arm snaked around a trim waist. Bodies pressed flush together, Ivan should be able to feel the blonde's heartbeat. But he can't, of course he can't. The boy might have been dead for a hundred years or more for all he knew.
Not sensing a fight, Ivan moved to deepen the kiss. He was let in at the first swipe of his tongue across slightly kiss-swollen lips. If he had thought that the boy's lips were sweet, then the hot, moist cavern he was plundering with his tongue must be made of pure sugar. He could imagine the boy practically mainlining the stuff when he was alive.
Alive...
Oh shit, he was kissing a ghost! He pulled back like someone had slapped him, staring at the blonde in utter mortification. The boy, for his part, only seemed confused and a little disappointed that the kissing had stopped. And, God, was it hard not to kiss him again. Puffed up red lips, blue eyes slightly hazed over, glasses just a hair askew. He was practically begging to be kissed again. In fact, he leaned in and Ivan thought he was going to do just that. But at the last second he stopped, looking into his eyes with a mischievous glint in his own. He mouthed the words that Ivan had tried to read so many times before, but with their newfound closeness he was finding it much easier to trace every movement of the boy's Cupid's bow mouth.
"The name's Alfred."
The boy, Alfred apparently, kissed him again and the world exploded into a thousand milti-colored sparks.
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Ivan didn't wake for a few more hours after that, sleeping dreamlessly through the rest of the night. When he woke up he felt more refreshed than he had since buying the house and didn't' even have to contend with the crushing disappointment of thinking the boy, Alfred, was there with him. The fact that he only didn't expect him to be there because he knew he was dead was counterbalanced by the joy of finally knowing his name. So now when he met with the previous owner he would have at least something to go on.
Speaking of something to go on, he should probably make a pot of coffee and check for Alfred's name in the notes he'd taken down the other day. He drug himself out of bed and into the kitchen with copious amount of yawning and a few stretches. Putting the coffee on, he stumbled into the library to snatch up the notes and tumble into an arm chair.
Violet eyes scanned the notes, thankful that Alfred hadn't been a particularly common name even back then. If he was going to find any Alfreds at all, there was a good chance it would be his Alfred. His Alfred...it was a nice thought. Nicer than it should be, in fact. Ivan warned himself against getting too close to someone who was dead. He had enough dysfuctionin his life without being in love with a corpse.
He reached the end of the page and growled low in his throat. Still nothing! There was not a single Alfred mentioned on this whole goddamned plantation! But he had to be here, he just knew he had to be. Somewhere on this property a blonde boy named Alfred had lived and died and for some reason wanted Ivan to know it.
He tore up the notes and threw them into the fireplace, leaning against the mantle and brooding silently over the issue. He didn't look back up until the grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed the hour. Had it already been that long? He looked at his watch and cursed. The meeting with the previous owner was in an hour and he hadn't even had his coffee yet.
Fifteen minutes later saw him showered, dressed, reading the paper, and sipping his coffee at the kitchen table. It was where he took all of his meals. The dining room was much too large to eat in alone, but the kitchen was small and functional and he didn't have to think too much about how lonely it was going to be when this whole thing was solved and Alfred was resting in peace and not bothering him any more.
Deciding his time was better spent doing just about anything but brooding over Alfred possibly crossing over, or whatever they called it, he got up from the kitchen table and grabbed his keys. He may have a limo and driver waiting at his beck and call, but he much preferred to drive himself around for errands like this. So he checked the address one more time and decided to show up a little bit early.
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And there you have it, finally a little bit of RusAme lovins. For anyone who might have been squicked about the lack of development of the spark between them and/or the guilt Ivan should be feeling about wanting to bang a ghost, trust me it will show up later. This is a gothic-esque story, afterall.
More development in coming chapers! =DDD
I don't think I've done this well on keeping a fairly regular updating schedule for a chapter fic in a long time. Definitely not for four whole chapters!
As always, enjoy!
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Ivan was at his wit's end, he really was. He has scoured every inch of the library looking for some record of a boy even fitting the age of the one in his dreams, let alone the description. Any white male associated with the plantation between the ages of 17 and 22 had been recorded in a separate notebook in blocky print while he was waiting for the electricians to finish up their assessment of the house so that he could look over them later.
Then he'd met up with his business associate, Toris. He was a quiet, nervous man who seemed incompetent at first glance. But after getting around the stuttering and nerves he was quite good at what he did. Toris had been close to the Braginski sibling before the accident, especially to Natalia. The two had been in the beginning stages of a mutual crush and it had been adorable to watch. Katyusha and he had teased Natalia about it too many times to count on days when Toris would come over, finally going home after hours of shy almost-flirting with the youngest Braginski.
Of course, after Katyusha's death, nothing had been the same. Toris had left on business about a week before the shooting and hadn't been able to make it back for three weeks after. By the time he had come back, Natalia had been cold and distant. She was so unlike the sweet, shy girl he had begun to fall in love with. But Toris was nothing if not persistent when it came to love. He would show up nearly every day, trying to reignite the spark that had died in Natalia's heart during his absence.
It wasn't until Ivan had informed him of his sister's illness that his visits had diminished. He never truly gave up hope, still coming around the house from time to time, trying to coax even something as simple as a smile out of her. He never succeeded, but he never gave up. Ivan wondered idly if he still visited his sister in that dark, lonely house that was haunted by so many memories. He probably did, he decided. If Natalia had any company at all outside of the servants paid to take care of her, it would be Toris.
They had parted ways after a casual dinner and a bit of small talk, both pointedly avoiding any conversation to do with Ivan's sisters. It had been pleasant, if shallow conversation. But that's the way Ivan preferred it. Even before the incident, he had not been particularly close to the Lithuanian man. He didn't seem the right person to confide in about issues like this. Katyusha had always been the one to hold him close when the world was breaking down around him, but she was gone.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the memories away. He loosened the knot on his tie as he sank into one of the plush chairs of the library. This was the first time since he'd scribbled the notes down that he would be able to look over them. He scoured the pages, hoping that something would jump out at him. One of the names or their occupations that would just scream 'X marks the spot'.
But nothing was out of the ordinary. They were just names on a page that held no meaning to him. These were all just the names of faceless people who'd lived and died long before he was even a twinkle in his father's eye. No matter how hard he stared at the words, there was nothing there. He might as well be looking at a list of completely random names. And the longer he stared at the page, the more he lost hope. A wave of despondency washed over him at his failure. This boy needed him and he had failed.
But he couldn't give up hope, not just yet. He stood up from the chair and strode purposefully over to the phone, digging an address book out of his briefcase and flipping through the pages until he found what he needed. Dialing the number, he waited impatiently for the person on the other end to pick up.
"Hello?" The answer finally came and it was like a godsend.
"Yes, my name is Ivan Braginski. I recently purchased property from you and I have a few questions. Would you like to schedule a meeting?"
He took down the address and promised to be there on time before hanging up the phone and crawling into bed.
.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~
Ivan frowned as he found himself once more on his back in the grass. Really? He had to go through this again? What would it be this time, waking up screaming because he'd been left in a black abyss, or waking up thinking the blonde was with him only to have that dull ache in his chest come back because he wasn't there? Either option left him feeling empty and ragged. He wondered idly if it was better to dream this dream night after night, or not get any sleep at all.
He hauled himself up off the ground, anyway, stretching and glaring in the direction of the field of sunflowers. He knew from experience that trying to stay here would only fail in the end, but he really didn't want to make the nightly trek to the boy. It felt almost like avoiding a lover who you were annoyed at out of spite. Ivan brushed the thought away and stuffed his hands into his pockets, grumbling to himself in his native tongue as he started out. As usual, it didn't take long before he was standing just before the invisible line separating him from the ghost.
The boy turned around almost instantly this time, the warm smile almost enough to melt away the annoyance at having to dream about him again. Accusing violet eyes bored into him, but the boy just kept smiling. Ivan tried so hard to stay mad at him, but with a sigh he let the glare relax into a weary look of resignment. And before he knew it that, too, had been replaced with a complacent kind of happiness. The corners of his lips twitched upward a bit as the boy mouthed his nightly phrase at him, as if still expecting him to hear it even after all the nights spent saying it over and over.
What he would give to be able to hear what he was saying. He wondered what his voice sounded like. A dark, depraved part of him even wondered what he would sound like screaming his name. He licked his lips and looked away from the blonde, swallowing thickly. Now was not the time to be thinking those kinds of things. And about a ghost, at that! He kept his eyes cast downwards for moments that seemed to go on for an eternity before looking back up at the now slightly confused boy. So he could do other things besides smile an talk, huh? The dark part of him that he had just worked to squash down rose back up, wondering what other faces he could make. Images flashes in front of his eyes in flashes before the picture settled back to the normal landscape of the boy, the flowers, and those horribly blue eyes.
His whole conscious screamed at him to stop, but he couldn't help but take a step forward. He advanced towards the boy, not quite thinking about what he was doing. Maybe he expected the dream to fade to black before he could even reach the boy, or for the world to explode in a flash of white as soon as he did. But neither of these things happened and it was like fireworks when he grabbed his hand. It was warm and smaller than his own, but with callouses on the palms and fingertips. The boy looked up at him, head tilting to the side in a curious manner. Ivan just smiled at him and leaned down, pressing his lips to the smaller man's. Because for all that he had been calling him a boy, he was certainly not a child.
Maybe because it was a dream, maybe because it was what he wanted, but the younger man leaned into the kiss, returning it with sweet, soft lips moulded to his own. A hand reached up to tangle in golden hair and an arm snaked around a trim waist. Bodies pressed flush together, Ivan should be able to feel the blonde's heartbeat. But he can't, of course he can't. The boy might have been dead for a hundred years or more for all he knew.
Not sensing a fight, Ivan moved to deepen the kiss. He was let in at the first swipe of his tongue across slightly kiss-swollen lips. If he had thought that the boy's lips were sweet, then the hot, moist cavern he was plundering with his tongue must be made of pure sugar. He could imagine the boy practically mainlining the stuff when he was alive.
Alive...
Oh shit, he was kissing a ghost! He pulled back like someone had slapped him, staring at the blonde in utter mortification. The boy, for his part, only seemed confused and a little disappointed that the kissing had stopped. And, God, was it hard not to kiss him again. Puffed up red lips, blue eyes slightly hazed over, glasses just a hair askew. He was practically begging to be kissed again. In fact, he leaned in and Ivan thought he was going to do just that. But at the last second he stopped, looking into his eyes with a mischievous glint in his own. He mouthed the words that Ivan had tried to read so many times before, but with their newfound closeness he was finding it much easier to trace every movement of the boy's Cupid's bow mouth.
"The name's Alfred."
The boy, Alfred apparently, kissed him again and the world exploded into a thousand milti-colored sparks.
.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~
Ivan didn't wake for a few more hours after that, sleeping dreamlessly through the rest of the night. When he woke up he felt more refreshed than he had since buying the house and didn't' even have to contend with the crushing disappointment of thinking the boy, Alfred, was there with him. The fact that he only didn't expect him to be there because he knew he was dead was counterbalanced by the joy of finally knowing his name. So now when he met with the previous owner he would have at least something to go on.
Speaking of something to go on, he should probably make a pot of coffee and check for Alfred's name in the notes he'd taken down the other day. He drug himself out of bed and into the kitchen with copious amount of yawning and a few stretches. Putting the coffee on, he stumbled into the library to snatch up the notes and tumble into an arm chair.
Violet eyes scanned the notes, thankful that Alfred hadn't been a particularly common name even back then. If he was going to find any Alfreds at all, there was a good chance it would be his Alfred. His Alfred...it was a nice thought. Nicer than it should be, in fact. Ivan warned himself against getting too close to someone who was dead. He had enough dysfuctionin his life without being in love with a corpse.
He reached the end of the page and growled low in his throat. Still nothing! There was not a single Alfred mentioned on this whole goddamned plantation! But he had to be here, he just knew he had to be. Somewhere on this property a blonde boy named Alfred had lived and died and for some reason wanted Ivan to know it.
He tore up the notes and threw them into the fireplace, leaning against the mantle and brooding silently over the issue. He didn't look back up until the grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed the hour. Had it already been that long? He looked at his watch and cursed. The meeting with the previous owner was in an hour and he hadn't even had his coffee yet.
Fifteen minutes later saw him showered, dressed, reading the paper, and sipping his coffee at the kitchen table. It was where he took all of his meals. The dining room was much too large to eat in alone, but the kitchen was small and functional and he didn't have to think too much about how lonely it was going to be when this whole thing was solved and Alfred was resting in peace and not bothering him any more.
Deciding his time was better spent doing just about anything but brooding over Alfred possibly crossing over, or whatever they called it, he got up from the kitchen table and grabbed his keys. He may have a limo and driver waiting at his beck and call, but he much preferred to drive himself around for errands like this. So he checked the address one more time and decided to show up a little bit early.
.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~.-.~
And there you have it, finally a little bit of RusAme lovins. For anyone who might have been squicked about the lack of development of the spark between them and/or the guilt Ivan should be feeling about wanting to bang a ghost, trust me it will show up later. This is a gothic-esque story, afterall.
More development in coming chapers! =DDD