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In spring, the water was no longer so cold. Natalya dipped her bare feet in a stream, looking to the side at her brother. He seemed as if nothing bothered him, running a hand through the water, splashing it up his shirt. She heard him giggle, as if that had been the most wonderful thing in the world. The afternoon sun hit them soft and warmly in the face as it slowly set beyond the tree line, and she watched him, his deep eyes now glowing in the light. Eyebrows furrowed, perhaps unconsciously, trying to shield his eyes from the bright rays. So many times, they had spent in that place, or a place so similar. Natalya would come see him when she could, although Ivan brought her nothing real — Her words went straight through him, as did any attempt at conversation. He loved her, she knew. Way more than she could love him back.
So long had it been since they had much time alone. They never let Ivan go, they had to be careful with him. She understood. He would go off, lost into the fields. And he could not find his way back, not even when the sun so obviously referenced east to west. She saw it in an instant, in a clear sky. But Ivan did not. She wondered if her brother truly had the ability of thought. But he must have, as he would sometimes look far into the distance, gaze intense and focused. Or he would look at her with the same burning intensity. Somehow, she swore, she saw some form of passion in his eyes. Love. He loved too much, how strongly and affectionately he would grip onto her arm if she let it close.
Never did she truly find out when he was born. Novgorod. But when? He did not know either, useless to answer a question of his own birth. But he was much older than her, she knew. By the time she was able to form memories — at least, memories withstanding through time — he had already been the same as he was now in front of her, only slightly more youthful, a smoother complexion, hair not yet so gray. Still dark, black even. But she saw hints of brown in the light. Now, too spread out were the light strands for her to figure out the real color of his hair. But he was never so young, not in her own memory. She came only when the Rus’ was at its end. He lived through it all. She wished, too, that he could tell her. Tell her great stories of all the things he had gone through. But she doubted he even remembered anything. Ivan seemed to live only in the present, the passing of time meaningless to him.
Ah, to think of him brought only a bittersweet feeling. Natalya did not know when she realized that he was not normal. It was always right in front of her, although as a young girl, he seemed such a strong man. He still did, her big brother. Yet she knew how truly powerless he was. Defenseless, smiling even with the end of a gun flush with his temple. He did not fear what did not cause him pain.
She remembered, still, when she would hold a dull knife to the scarred skin of his neck, too naïve to realize that he truly did not understand. At that time, she still imagined he knew more than he would let on. Ivan would only giggle, clueless. She liked to see that genuine, innocent smile. Perhaps he looked at her and saw only his beloved sister. Harmless. Harmless, as was he, the strong body truly deceiving. She enjoyed that power. Though not sharp, had she pushed the tip of the blade too hard into his skin, he would bleed. Yet even then, he cried, pulled away. But he did not fear her. She would clean off the small crimson drops trailing down his neck with the hem of her skirt, hiding the stain in the inside. He whined, but in not long, he would have almost forgotten. Every time she brought it back, he would allow her, until she learned the limit of his skin and no longer hurt him with it. Then, it became just a game.
But she knew that to him, that was gone. Almost gone. Perhaps if she did it again, he would remember. Natalya could see it in his eyes, that sometimes, there was a flash of awareness. But he seemed to not recall the past at will. Nostalgia — Such nostalgia. She barely knew of the world back then. A time long gone. Now, there was only modernity. The only things that reminded her of her youth were rare, rare sights. But nature, when encountered in a well kept form, remained the same. Like the clear, fast waters of the stream. She had seen so many like it. Pulling her skirt up beyond her knees, trying to keep the cool water from touching the fabric. She could see herself there, centuries ago. Ivan would never feel that, she knew. He only touched the water because he enjoyed how it felt. But there was no pain of yearning. How would he yearn, if he did not remember? For him, it had always been the same. Too easy. He had never done anything. She would discuss, deal with people within her own nation. Ivan lived as a parasite. Treated softly by his government.
The communists treated her less than well — Although she had experienced way worse. At least they took modernity. But Ivan, they would always gain some sort of sympathy for him. She saw the same men who treated her as if she were irrelevant hold her brother at their side, hand in his hair. What was so charming about his useless nature? Ah, she did not know, but there must be something. Because even she felt something towards him. He was not a bad man. Just so terribly unfortunate, to end up in his place with such condition.
“Look.” Her thoughts were interrupted by an obscenely tight grip on her forearm and Ivan’s soft, low voice.
His free hand pointed unsteadily at the sky, the sun beginning to set. She looked around, he could not really point out what he wanted to show. But her eyes soon reached the crescent moon coming up in the still bright sky. Natalya did not care much for it, yet her brother seemed oddly enchanted.
“It is beautiful, Vanyek. Beautiful.”
The smile which spread across his face brought her a sort of joy unable to be bought in any currency — Asymmetrical, saliva running down his chin. Yet he seemed so happy at nothing. Perhaps it was the acknowledgment which did it. It was not often that a statement he made was given relevance, or even understood at all.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. Not really a whisper, just a soft, soft voice, spoken so close to her ear.
And she just had not much left to do beyond to put a hand on the back of his neck and place a firm, short kiss on his wet lips. She felt her body tense up at the sudden grasp, but it took less than a full second for him to relax back again. He giggled. She did not know if that was even a giggle, or rather just a soft coo of happiness. He was strange, she still could not really understand some things, but that was how it was.
Something inclined her to do so, she did not know why. Her brother was disgusting, and the act itself was repulsive. But he did not understand, and so, did not push her away. And he was still innocent — Ivan did not willingly partake in such a thing. It was just that, and he accepted what came to him. His body was essentially public property; Anyone could do anything, and he did not stop them, did not mind. It was wrong, she knew, to take advantage of it. But in the grand scheme of things, it was just another meaningless moment she would take in her memory, until her people, too, were long gone, and she faded away.
The first time she kissed him, Natalya remembered as well. Russia expanded east, and with that, Ivan went as a consequence. For what? He was a burden more than anything. But she went to see him, of course she did. It had been too many years. Though he brought her little, he was still her brother, and had always been fond of him.
Within all these people, she found herself lonely. So many men, rough and unappealing, trying to start conversation with her. Perhaps it was unusual to see someone such as herself around. An unknown woman coming from beyond the borders of their state. But Ivan, he was soft and calm as he was. Strangely polite, it seemed to come naturally. He went far into a field, sitting on the ground peacefully as if he did not cause such concern every time he wandered off. She went after him. Somehow, there was an inclination as to where he would be. They could almost feel each other. And there he was, the sun beaming in his face as he looked up into the blue sky. There was no denying the frustration — But she knew he did not go with the intent of running away. It was a surprise how he even went that far, as his steps were heavy and unsteady, a little slow. But she had him back.
As soon as his eyes landed on her face, he smiled, holding her wrists and pulling her down on the ground with him. Holding her for a while, squeezing her so tight she could barely breathe. And when she pulled away and saw that bright eyed look again, she pulled him close, her lips touching his. It took a while, her tongue exploring his mouth, until her lips went down and onto his neck. So pleased, he seemed, making a soft sound that indicated only contempt. Glowing in the sunlight, so sweet, so lovely. She breathed in the scent that radiated from his body. Ah, that day, she had missed him, as bad as he was.
Natalya pushed him away — That was wrong. He just looked at her, confused. Her poor brother. Yet he was the one who allowed her. And he liked it, did he not? So he was just as guilty as her. And it would die with her, that secret. For she would not say it, and Ivan lacked the ability to do so at all. She pulled him hard by the arm and took him back, leaving the small crescent shapes of her nails bloodied in his skin.
She remembered, yet he did not. To him, it was meaningless, she knew. It gave him nothing more than the excitement of his sister’s attention. She did not hold him or coddle him as did Irochka, so perhaps, to him, it was unusual to receive such an interaction from her.
Ivan seemed to have noticed her deep in thought, as he touched her shoulder in an attempt to call her attention. But he said nothing, only looked at her face with expectant eyes. She did not understand him, sometimes. Perhaps his motives were too different to make sense to her. Perhaps, he truly had none at all.
Though there was an urge to push him away at first, she rather pulled him in, wrapping her slim fingers around his shoulders, more roughly than she would expect from her own hands. He did nothing, allowed her to touch and move him as she would. Ivan, always warm, though his hands felt slightly cold, sleeves damp from his childish enjoyment of splashing the water. This time, at least, he did not complain of cold. Natalya shifted on the ground, ripping a few thin blades of grass below her with the tugging of her bare skin on the dirt. Ivan still seemed positioned awkwardly, but she put her arms around him. Rolling him to the side, away from the water. He whined, soft voice of his lightly vibrating his chest. But he seemed so cheerful. A smile across his face. How she missed it, seeing her brother, although useless and conflicting. He could not call her on the phone, could not send her photos, letters. He was there only in his physical presence — exclusive experience to those who saw him in person.
Natalya brought her face against his neck, breathing in the scent of the soap he’d been washed with. That musk he had in his skin, she did not know where it came from. Maybe it was just the scent of his body. Not bad, not at all. She rather enjoyed it. Down his chest, she brought her soft fingers, caressing the skin as she pulled open the collar of his shirt. Just an old shirt, a few buttons down the neckline. Once opened, it let on just a sight of his pale, softly spotted, scar covered orso. Marks of old sunburn, she could still so faintly tell. He shivered at the touch, while she traced every mark and scar on the skin her eyes could see. The old cuts remained raised, she touched them like braille. Lost, the stories of their origin. Ivan could not remember. If he did, he was unable to tell anyone at all. His memories, they died with Russia. Just the same as none at all.
Closer, her lips met his — Natalya went softly, fine skin of her mouth against the layer of saliva on his face. Somehow, his lips still felt dry. But she did not mind. They were his, were they not? They had always been. Although rather repulsive, it was what made Ivan who he was. Light licks of the tongue, not further than his teeth. He still did not seem to realize where they were. But he welcomed it. Alone in such a place, there was nowhere better. Spring brought with its life and warmth, a fresh desire. She could push him away. She could leave and run off, Ivan would be alone. But if it were that bad, Ivan would not allow her. Somewhere, she had heard that man is born with his sense of right and wrong. And so, Ivan would find it wrong, had it been such an intrinsic ability. But he only threw his arms around her, pulling her into a strong embrace before relaxing into the dirt again.
“Ah, Vanya…”
Her thumb running down his stomach, he shivered at the touch. But on his face was only a look of pleasure. Not the way she felt, no. Purely platonic. Ivan made some sound, a low whine, she could not understand what he wanted to say. Her hands stopped for a second, resting just over the zipper of his jeans. For a moment, she just looked into his eyes. Unfocused, pupils dilated.
“Why?”
What would she even say? He did not seem displeased. Just had a habit of asking questions, despite the answers remaining incomprehensible to himself. It went straight through.
“You won’t know, Ivan.”
He seemed thoughtful for a moment, before closing his eyes, perhaps accepting the reply. Somehow aware of his own condition or inability to grasp it. Natalya imagined, sometimes, that her brother only asked questions to hear her voice. Why?
With gentle movements of the hand, she undid the button, pulling down his zipper soit opened the front of his jeans. Her knee between his legs, spreading them just slightly. Ivan’s body tensed a little into an odd position, legs bent, trying to squeeze into each other. Though his face remained pleased, eyebrows slightly raised, eyelids half shut. It was probably involuntary. No desire to push her away. Only his body, acting as it did. She could not blame him for it. Her hands wrapped around strong shoulders, fingers squeezing them slightly in rhythmic motions. Her heart pounded in her chest, bringing a thin film of sweat to her skin, leaving her somewhat cold in the wind. Ivan’s chest rose and fell in sharp, heavy breaths. Maybe she had managed to excite him, to share just a part of what she felt for him in that moment. So it inflicted something in the man, after all.
Ivan let out a breathy sound, his body finally relaxing under her. Though he still moved his limbs in a slight shaky motion, it was not long before they stopped at all. She landed another soft kiss on his lips, inhaling a bit of the scent of his breath. Slightly sweet, though dominated mostly by the scent of tobacco smoke. Rather pleasant, somehow. On her thigh, she felt a growing warmth. Ivan closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowed slightly, lips parted. A faint hiss. She knew what was happening. Over his lower stomach, she placed a hand, pushing down slightly as his bladder released in an attempt to hurry it. He did not seem to mind. She did not, either. She only wanted it out of the way, but there was no blame on him, another involuntary reaction. Though sometimes, she could not help but be frustrated or bothered. At that moment, though, there was none of it. She cared only that she was with him.
After a moment, Ivan’s head rolled to the side, as he looked hazy into the trees. The soft sunlight still enveloped them both, and Natalya took to what she did again. Slightly pulling down his jeans, still dry. At least. Humid only slightly from the moisture of the ground. Though a faint smell of urine would hit her nostrils, whoever cared for him in those times at least bothered enough to diaper him. It was no issue, but to pull away the thick plastic was more work than she enjoyed to do. He shifted on the ground, perhaps in an attempt to change position. Her hand on his still soft organ, she stroked in a steady, rhythmic motion. So miserably deprived, he was, that it took not long for the foreskin to pull back, exposing the dark pink tip. Filled with blood, she could almost feel it pulsate in her fingers. Thick, too. Though from a man that size, she would expect not much less. He let out soft moans, forehead glistening slightly with sweat. His eyelids opened and closed, though his eyes only looked up, almost into his head.
With a quick turn of the head she confirmed their isolation — Just the two of them there. No one else. Throwing the light fabric of her skirt over them, she pulled away her underwear, leaning forward on him. She allowed him to go in. Almost immediately, he thrust inside her wet insides, eyebrows close together as he whined and moaned. She tried to not make noise, only the labored breaths she took echoed in her skull. It hurt, almost, when he went inside, his member struggling to get through her tight hole, the tip hitting her cervix once in a while. Though his sounds were not so pleasant, she cared not for them — Closing her eyes, her legs beginning to ache as she bounced herself up and down om him. Steady, steady pace. Though she let out a few small yelps of pain when it hurt. Too large. But it was Ivan, after all. Her brother. Brother, was he? She came to be several miles away from his birthplace, centuries apart. They shared nothing, beyond the border in land, a closely related language. She was as much his sister as she was one of Feliks, was she not? Yet they had that closeness, all their lives.
Ivan put his hands around her waist, so large they wrapped almost completely around. Painful, as were his strong, clumsy thrusts into her body. But they brought her pleasure, as came a current of heat up her spine and down her limbs, shaking. She bit her lip to keep from making noise, breathing heavily through her teeth, but Vanya obviously did not share the same concern. How he lasted, while she trembled and shook, gripping onto his upper arms. Until she had relaxed once again, her own motions becoming soft, letting him do it and get whatever he needed for his pleasure. She could see the drool glistening on his chin, running down his neck. His face such a mess, wet and sweaty. He almost sobbed in pleasure, once she finally felt him release. Hot, sticky fluid inside her, smacking as their skin made contact. Only then did he tire out, the thrusting of his hips coming to a slow halt.
Finally, she pulled off, unsteady legs throwing her straight back onto the ground. Natalya straightened up her clothes, wiping the sweat off her forehead, the tips of her fingers already beginning to feel slightly cold. Ivan seemed so pathetic on the ground, turning to the side before she dressed him back up. A certain guilt for leaving him wet, though there was nothing she could do, was there? She pulled the worn, dirty jeans back up, he did not help at all. He only waited for her to finish, looking at her face every few seconds. Natalya got the zipper closed, pulling down his shirt on top of it. Maybe he needed better clothes. She knew he had them, really. Again, it was not her issue
He lay his head on her lap, as she sat close to the stream again. Breath still heavy, eyes half shut. She would take it with her, until her existence faded from the earth. The earth which she came from, and to which she would return someday, even if only due to the complete extinction of her people. Now, the sky went almost dark, streaked in different tones of red and orange. Cool breeze dried her skin already, as she rubbed Ivan’s head softly. She dug her hands into the back of his neck — Perhaps to see what he would do. Only a whine, she got as a reaction, despite the deep red marks it left in his scarred skin. It had tired him out, she could see. It was not the best to think of. That was disgusting, depraved. But he needed it, did he not? And they were no closer than anyone. He was not her problem or responsibility, only a face she liked to see every so often. A face she would miss, had she not seen him for a while, despite the anger he could bring her with such a lack of ability. Sometimes, she wondered if he was even aware, despite looking at things unknown with bright, searching eyes.
She would remember that, as she remembered every one of those moments with him, close and bittersweet. Regretful, as she already began to feel, seeing the man she had made love to only minutes before. But he did not keep such things. He looked at every experience as if it were new. At least, he could not speak of those things. These moments would remain just for them. For her. These were the moments in which she felt only tenderness towards him. No desire to hit him, to scream. Where he was nice, cooperative, sweet. When he did not irritate her with purposeless cries.
Looking down at him, she smiled. Asleep, he was now, his chest rising and falling slowly. Saliva pooled on her skirt. It grossed her out, somewhat, the liquid cool and slippery. But she would let him sleep there, for a while. Her index finger traced the curve of his spine. Horrible, yet he was strangely lovely. She could not care for him as did Iryna. There was no will, no desire. But he could bring her something, in the end. It could not be wrong if he liked it too. But she knew. She knew what she had done. And she would take it with her, a secret never to be told.