Anatoly's head was spinning, but whether it was the vodka or Roger, he couldn't say. Whatever the reason, it wasn't about to stop him from needing Roger, wanting him.

He exhaled slowly and turned his head to leave soft feather-light kisses against the hand caressing his cheek. He brought Roger's hand to his chest, holding it tightly, and if his hand was trembling a little, he didn't notice.

"Roger," he whispered, his accent emphasizing the Rs more thickly than usual. He leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, first one side than the other before finally meeting his lips.