[ There's some lingering strangeness about the fact Vasiliy is a man, a thing that challenges even more of what's already been challenged in Konstantin. Such things are beyond simple taboo in his time and place — but not as dangerous as they'd once been, perhaps. It's known that they happen, and that they're kept as quiet as any potentially dangerous secret.
He isn't worried about the danger part of any of that, though. It's more... his place within himself, within society — the two are impossibly intertwined, so much that he doesn't know where one ends and the other begins, and he's always been fine with that. Who and what Konstantin is, is a very specific concept. Having this sort of affection for a man is... well, on its own it might not be the most unsettling thing in the world, but coupled with everything else.... the fact he's no longer able to work as fast and as hard as he once was, that his body isn't as physically capable, that he's been reduced to household tasks the way a woman stereotypically would be...
It's all very strange, a particular loss of self that he's not sure what to do with some days. ...But he's not so twitchy about the fact Vasiliy is a man, specifically. That part doesn't seem to matter so much, not when it's— his spirit that he's drawn to, and maybe the rest goes along after it. Maybe. He doesn't know. He doesn't know how to identify most of any of this. He's been with women before, but not as many as most people might think — nearly always kept at some safe distance. He's a thing you look at but don't touch, and that always suited him fine.
Except now he wonders about being touched more, craves it hard and fast and sweet and slow and everything inbetween, as much as the thought scares the hell out of him, considering how disgusting he's become— ]
A hundred years?
[ That beats what Vasiliy has on him by a long shot. He curses quietly in Russian as her cabin comes into view, and he's finding himself grateful for the chance in a few short moments to sit down and warm himself and coax out some of the pained cramps that the thing keeps eliciting in him. Times like this, he's reminded that even in its most shrunken state, it's an entire fucking foot long, curled into the soft parts of his insides like a little snake.
He looks back over at Wynonna as she struggles to find the right shape of her own relationship with Edward Little, and then— he can't help himself smiling a little, but he quickly tilts his head down when he does it, almost like it would be a betrayal to show her the expression when they've found some solidarity with each other, no matter how unhappily it may be. ]
I like that a lot better than "soul mate." [ He admits, quietly. He could say it like that too, he thinks — his Vasya. His person. Even that much is terrifying, the implications: someone you couldn't survive this place without? Someone who fills in some empty space in you, and when they're gone, it's too cold? Or maybe someone who makes you a better version of yourself, which means when they're not there, you become worse again. All of it's terrifying. All of it's precious. ]
...Maybe the red just means that it's reciprocated. You know? Maybe that's what it is.
cw: themes of cultural / general Toxic Masculinity & whatnot, also some horniness
He isn't worried about the danger part of any of that, though. It's more... his place within himself, within society — the two are impossibly intertwined, so much that he doesn't know where one ends and the other begins, and he's always been fine with that. Who and what Konstantin is, is a very specific concept. Having this sort of affection for a man is... well, on its own it might not be the most unsettling thing in the world, but coupled with everything else.... the fact he's no longer able to work as fast and as hard as he once was, that his body isn't as physically capable, that he's been reduced to household tasks the way a woman stereotypically would be...
It's all very strange, a particular loss of self that he's not sure what to do with some days. ...But he's not so twitchy about the fact Vasiliy is a man, specifically. That part doesn't seem to matter so much, not when it's— his spirit that he's drawn to, and maybe the rest goes along after it. Maybe. He doesn't know. He doesn't know how to identify most of any of this. He's been with women before, but not as many as most people might think — nearly always kept at some safe distance. He's a thing you look at but don't touch, and that always suited him fine.
Except now he wonders about being touched more, craves it hard and fast and sweet and slow and everything inbetween, as much as the thought scares the hell out of him, considering how disgusting he's become— ]
A hundred years?
[ That beats what Vasiliy has on him by a long shot. He curses quietly in Russian as her cabin comes into view, and he's finding himself grateful for the chance in a few short moments to sit down and warm himself and coax out some of the pained cramps that the thing keeps eliciting in him. Times like this, he's reminded that even in its most shrunken state, it's an entire fucking foot long, curled into the soft parts of his insides like a little snake.
He looks back over at Wynonna as she struggles to find the right shape of her own relationship with Edward Little, and then— he can't help himself smiling a little, but he quickly tilts his head down when he does it, almost like it would be a betrayal to show her the expression when they've found some solidarity with each other, no matter how unhappily it may be. ]
I like that a lot better than "soul mate." [ He admits, quietly. He could say it like that too, he thinks — his Vasya. His person. Even that much is terrifying, the implications: someone you couldn't survive this place without? Someone who fills in some empty space in you, and when they're gone, it's too cold? Or maybe someone who makes you a better version of yourself, which means when they're not there, you become worse again. All of it's terrifying. All of it's precious. ]
...Maybe the red just means that it's reciprocated. You know? Maybe that's what it is.