Notes

Chapter 1.
The cold light of the small bulbs was blinding. Squinting, Yulia locked the door and sat down on the rim of the snow-white bathtub. She turned the faucet knob almost to full: water splashed into the large oval basin.

The noise was necessary. So no one would hear her, Yulia, sobbing now.

The woman felt a drumbeat, beating out somewhere in her temples a kind of military march. She wanted to cry, to get the tears out of the pressure of the pain. But the tears wouldn't come.

In the morning, Yulia was surprised to note that her husband looked pensive. Inappropriately thoughtful. Usually relaxed and serene even in really difficult situations, Alexei was in a kind of nervous tension. However, he hid it well enough. Except that Yulia knew her husband even better.
"Something wrong?" She didn't want to "wiggle" in the conversation.
That could not be said about Alexei.
"I'm worried about getting drunk tonight with the professor," he joked.

The woman did not continue her questioning. Okay, maybe she was just imagining things after all. What could Alexei be worried about on the way to visit his friend and his family? To his friend and colleague, professor Sergey Guriev, Doctor of Economics.
The evening was wonderful, but again and again, Yulia noticed her husband's melancholic expression, which had so puzzled her in the morning. On the other hand, Sergei was glowing with happiness, looking adoringly at the Navalny couple.

They spent the night in the guest room.
"Go to sleep, baby," Alexei kissed his wife on the temple. "And I still have something to discuss with Sergei..."
"The conversation will not be easy?"
"Yes," Alexei's lips for a moment painfully curved (Yulia realized that she had guessed), but then began the usual game of "I'm fine" - I saw a huge bottle of cognac at the professor's, so if you do not find me with you in the morning, you know that your husband is lying somewhere near the office of Guriev.

Yulia smiled, realizing that Alexei is not ready to be frank right now. Maybe in the morning will tell.

The woman covered herself with a blanket, trying to sleep.

'What is it? Maybe Lyosha has something to ask? About what? Money? But Sergei had already transferred large sums to the foundation more than once, so it was unlikely that he would be so worried. So what happened?'

Yulia rolled over onto her other side.

'What if something terrible happened? And Lyosha doesn't know what to do about it? Yes, and that's why he decided to consult Sergei. And he is not yet aware of what has happened... But what is it? What is it? What the hell is he hiding from me?'

Her thoughts were alternating, her mind was full of the most horrible scenarios.

'We'll have to stay in France?! And the children? And the parents? Take them out? Why didn't he say anything? Have I ever let him down? What kind of attitude?!'

Yulia finally realized that she couldn't go on, just physically couldn't stay in the guidance. Because there had been too much anxiety in her life for several years already... Rising from her bed, the woman quietly left the room.

The door to Sergei's office was closed. Ashamed of her curiosity, Yulia listened.

"Seryozha, don't do that. Why should we?" Alexei spoke, and in his voice, the woman could hear a note of apology. "I understand everything, but... Stop it, please."

In the last words, there was such a clear panic, inaudible to Yulia in her husband's tone before ('Panic?! What are they doing there?!'), that in the next second she carefully turned the doorknob. The door opened just a little, silently revealing the edge of a spacious room with a small mirror hanging on the wall.
The mirror reflected two people: Sergei was hugging Alexei from behind, whispering something quickly in his ear.

'Does he tiptoe or something?' As if that were the most natural question that could arise right now, Yulia thought.

She was totally unprepared for such a development. But the strange thing was that the thing that struck her the most was not her husband's infidelity, not even his infidelity with a man, but the reluctance to this intimacy, which was clearly visible in Alexei's whole being.
Navalny gently, but still firmly clutched Guriev's arms, preventing him from pulling up his sweater, and almost whispered to him to stop.

'Why doesn't he push him away?! Won't he go away? He's disgusted, I can see it...'

Suddenly Sergei turned Alexei to face him, squinting myopically, and pressed his forehead against his.

"I'm being molested by a Caucasian..." Navalny gave a strained smile.

Guriev laughed heartily in response.

Yulia sighed disappointedly and shut the door. Her husband's behavior struck her as vile.

'He can't say no! You can see how uncomfortable he is. What's all this for?! Connections?! The money?! Why?'

Sitting down on the bed, the woman thoughtfully hugged the blanket. She would have tried to forgive the betrayal, even tried to understand her husband's infatuation with the man, but what she saw disgusted her.

'...And then he'll tell the kids how important it is to always be yourself. After this humiliating begging. What is there to be afraid of? Sergei should understand. By the way, he's good, too. In a house where his wife and son are... This is despicable. Smiled all evening, playing the model family man.'

Yulia imagined how tomorrow morning Sergei would still be smiling calmly at her and his wife, whom he was so brazenly cheating on now.

'Doesn't he see how much Lyosha doesn't like it? That's rape. But how stupid that sounds! Lyosha is not a boy and in no way weaker. What if Sergei is blackmailing him... With what? I don't know.'

Yulia suddenly felt sorry for her husband: maybe there really is a good reason for his behavior? But then we have to save him. Probably.

'I'll go to them. I'll knock on the door and tell them that Lyosha from Moscow called. Oleg needs something. In the night. But at least this way.'

Yulia went out into the corridor again. The door was still unlocked, but the reflection in the mirror was gone. Gathering her courage, the woman looked into the room.

Yulia saw only a pile of clothes on the floor and two fully naked bodies on the sofa. She was suddenly seized by such intense disgust that she almost jumped back into the hallway, holding back from slamming the door at the last second.

'It's like a bad dream! Are they both crazy?'

The tears finally flowed. Resentment, resentment, even jealousy-all emotions turned to sobbing. The woman covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling. It went on like that for several minutes. Finally, Julia got up resolutely and, after washing her face with cold water, turned off the faucet.

'We must go to sleep. Lyosha will be back now. I don't want a scandal, and now I won't hold back. I'd rather we talk sometime later.'

Back in the bedroom, she wrapped herself in a blanket. Fatigue set in and sleep swiftly overtook the woman.


Chapter 2

The cold light of the small lamps was blinding. Squinting, Alexei locked the door.

The shower cubicle turned out to be pleasantly spacious; Navalny gladly put his face under the scalding jets of water.

'It's good that Yulia is already asleep. The main thing now is not to wake her up.'

Yes, the main thing is not to wake her up and avoid logical questions like, "Why, after talking about politics and economics, do you look like you ran the 'hundred-meter race'?"

"We had a discussion. A heated discussion with penetrating... heartfelt conversations."

Perhaps never before had Alexei been so ashamed of himself in front of his wife. He did not know how he would look her in the eye tomorrow. And in the eyes of Sergei's wife. And in Sergei's eyes.

Alexei had long suspected that there was more to Guriev's loyalty to him than respect for his political views. Not just support for the future president of Navalny.

The day before the trip, in their Telegram correspondence, Sergei indicated a desire to discuss the "relationship" in the evening in private. "Are you not satisfied with something in it? :)" - wrote Navalny, instantly understanding the true desire of his interlocutor. "I would like to improve them," a cold, laconic answer plunged Alexei into thoughtfulness.. "Okay, let's talk," the man rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Guriev appealed to him, yes, perhaps even liked him. As a person. But as a man?

'He's good-looking, of course, but, as they say, not my type...'

There were connections with men in Alexei's life, but they remained just "connections" - so, dabbling. He really loved his wife, and in recent years this love has only intensified.

Navalny wanted to write something like "Sergei, you're great, but only business," but he told himself not to. Guriev with his connections is just necessary now, and who knows how he will behave in case of such a sharp rejection?

'But sleeping with him because of the profits... I'm not Nastya Rybka, am I?!'

Navalny found it humiliating to agree to a relationship he didn't want. He decided to try to convince Sergei that he didn't want that relationship either.

"We're not teenagers whose first priority is sex. Isn't it better to restrain ourselves for the cause? I'll say so, yes. After all, he can find himself another man. At least ten."

But still, Alexei was worried: it was necessary to conduct the conversation extremely tactfully. He did not want to lose a comrade-in-arms because of a stupid thing he had said.

"I'm so glad that you and Yulia have come," Guriev smiled, shaking Navalny's hand. Then lowered his voice: "after dinner, we'll talk, right?"

"Let's talk," Alexei nodded.

He realized that it would not be easy to persuade Sergei. So he decided to refuse.

Wishing his wife good night, Navalny went to the office Guriev.

Sergei still had a broad smile on his face.
"Drink to the beautiful Russia of the future?" He handed a glass to Navalny.
"To beautiful Russia," Alexei took a sip of cognac, waiting for the difficult conversation to begin.

He watched as Sergei followed his example (the sip was unexpectedly large), as he took off his glasses.

"Lyosha..." Guriev grinned softly. "For the first time in my life, I do not know what to say. Ah, no - I do. Thank you!"
"For what?"
"For the opportunity to help. For being a part of all this. You give me hope for the best," Sergey suddenly hugged Alexei impetuously, snuggling up behind him.
"Sergey, don't do this. Why should we?" Navalny's first urge was to push Guriev away, but he held back. "I understand everything, but... Stop it, please."
"Lyosha, listen to me," Sergey whispered hotly in Alexei's ear. "It's certainly impudent of me to demand your love. But I do demand. Lyosha, you know I do a lot for you, and I'm ready to do more. Anything you want. But I can no longer just be there. I really did not want to impose on you, but it does not work. I love you. I've loved you for years. And now that love has become unbearable."
"Sergei, let's talk calmly," inwardly Alexei panicked, not knowing how to cut this conversation short. Strange thing: it was not the insolent advances that frightened him (they were, in principle, even pleasant), but the despair in the tone of the usually reserved and positive Sergei. It was felt that he really felt bad, and more importantly, that he needed more than sex: he needed love. Passionate, painful love, like his own. Navalny has never experienced anything like that. 'I'm honestly not ready for that kind of... hot discussion. Yes, and why so emotional?'

Sergey's fingers grasped the soft fabric of his sweater and pulled it up - Alexei barely had time to cover his palms with his own, not allowing him to undress himself.

"Sergei, stop," Navalny felt the hot kisses ('I hope that leaves no hickeys!') on the back of his neck. "Tomorrow we'll both be ashamed. Our wives are here... And your son, by the way."

Sergei suddenly turned Alexei to face him and, squinting myopically, pressed his forehead against his forehead.

"I'm being molested by a Caucasian..." Alexei blurted out ("What am I saying?"). He smiled for a strained moment.

Guriev laughed sincerely in response. But then suddenly grew darker.

"That's the thing, Lyosh, isn't it? I remember... reading those statements you made. Am I "churka" or "khachik" to you? Or just "nigger"..."
"No, no!" Alexei had never been so ashamed of his words. Stupid, dirty words that he had said ("And wrote in ZHG!") "on emotion," without thinking at all about the consequences. He wanted to be "his own" back then for a certain audience. And now it's payback time. Sergei will now say that he is ending his support. Perhaps, he will also warn about a public "renunciation" of the politician who disappointed him.
But it was not these consequences that upset Alexei; they would be a logical continuation of his own stupidity. It hurt him to hear Sergei utter disgusting swear words in his steady, calm voice; it hurt to look at him at that moment. He understood what this cultured, intelligent man must have felt when he first read the materials about the "Navalny-nationalist" statements.

"You know, I really stepped over myself at the time, having decided to help you. I never told anyone about it, but I thought, 'You support him, but he doesn't consider you a human being.'"

Now Navalny hugged Guriev, pressing his sweaty forehead to his forehead.

"Seryozh, forgive me... If you can. I have nothing to say in my defense. I am just a fool. A fool who's talking some kind of nonsense. And you have every right to tell me off. Even in public. And you'll be right."

Guriev looked into Navalny's eyes with his dark eyes, in which there was such trust, that the usually sneering Alexei's heart sinks.

"But if you forgive me... I promise I'll never even think like that again. Only sometimes I will call you "caucasian", may I?"

Sergei laughed.

"May I..." His palms slid down Alexei's back, going lower and lower.
"Seryozh, I can't," said Navalny, but he put his hands on Guriev's shoulders. "I'm sorry. It's not right..."
"You've never had a man before?" Sergey was genuinely surprised.
"I have, but..." Alexei hesitated. "We just... fucked. Without commitment. And no love."
"So what's "wrong" now?"
"You love me. I can see that. It's too much. We can't get attached to each other, Seryozh. Don't..."
"Just sex, then? No strings attached, okay?" Guriev asked quickly. "And I won't even remind you of that anymore. Please, unfold the couch."
Sergey let Alexei out of his embrace and went to the nightstand.
"Do you like it with a condom or is lube enough?"
"Did I kind of say yes?!" Alexei was stunned by such impudence of the most tactful man he knew. "Lubricant is enough. I hope you have time to take it out." ('What am I saying again?!')

The couch was unfolded, the clothes went straight to the floor. Alexei lay on his back, thinking that he had prepared for sex for a reason ('I had a feeling that my 'caucasian' wouldn't just let me go').
Sergey undressed, too, and sat on the edge of the couch, dealing with the tube. Alexei spread his legs wider, looking at his five-minute lover with interest.

"Seryozh, last chance to stop... As they say, "think about it"!"

Guriev squeezed some lube on his fingers and began to stretch Navalny.

"Well, okay," Alexei pursed his lips in a playful way. "I did everything I could."

Alexei was still fondling himself leisurely. He was sure that he and Sergei would regret what had happened, but that certainty worried him less and less.

Guriev lay down in Alexei's arms, kissing him greedily on the lips. He responded to the kiss with his tongue penetrating Sergei's mouth. The pulse of both men became faster. Navalny playfully bit the tip of his partner's tongue.

Sergey interrupted the kiss and stood up, looking at Navalny with delight.
"Well, take me already," Alexei was still embarrassed by Sergey's admiration. He grinned. "I'm all fired up..."

'If he looks at me like that in public later, everyone will understand everything at once. Kopets.'

Guriev took Navalny roughly, immediately penetrating deeply. Alexei groaned, biting his lip.

"Come here..." Putting his arms around the man's shoulders, Alexei tried to lift his legs. It didn't work very well, but the sensations became brighter nonetheless. He grasped his hands on his lover's back, risking leaving bruises. "Yes, that's it... Ah..."

The discomfort was going away, it was getting hot. Alexei sagged against the sharp thrusts, sobbing softly.

'Why did I break down? I should have... I should have offered myself.'

Navalny gently pressed forward, brushing his lips against Guriev's, reddish lips.

"Lyosha..." Sergey exhaled, and began to cover his partner's face with kisses. "What you are..."
"Now I'll show you what I'm like..." Alexei couldn't wait to continue. "Lie on your back."

Sitting on his thighs Alexei gently slid his cock into himself. The pleasure became sharper. Deeper penetration, a richer feeling of fullness.
Guriev helped his lover move, holding his hips.
Navalny put his palms on Sergey's shoulders, rising and falling, thrusting again and again. Admiring his confused, happy expression on his partner's face.

"Oh! Yes... Faster, please," Sergey whispered, breathing heavily. "Lyosha, you're the best... Ah!"

Alexei threw his head back, rapidly running his palm over his long-erect cock. The orgasm came so powerfully that my ears were obstructed. Navalny cried out, feeling himself jump into the abyss - the sensations were breathtaking.

Falling down beside Guriev, Navalny began to caress him with his palm - he was impatient to share his pleasure with his partner.
Finally, his sperm splashed on Sergey's belly, mixing with Alexei's sperm.

The men froze, trying to catch their breath. Alexei suddenly ducked into his lover's neck.

"Thank you..."

The relaxation brought a realization: he wanted to be with this man. Such sincerity, such trust and mutual adoration with a man Navalny had not yet known. He kissed Sergei, unable to find the words to explain his sudden feelings...

Coming out of the bathroom, Alexei immediately dove under the blanket, covering his head. He felt guilty before Julia, but not for the sex in the next room, but for the tender love for Sergei, which now seized his whole being. He had not, of course, ceased to love his wife, but he could no longer call his relationship with Guriev a mere "connection".


Chapter 3

Sergei was still lying on the couch in his office, smiling blissfully. He felt dirty, but now the feeling was even pleasant. He had no intention of going to his wife.

'I'll tell her in the morning that I worked too hard, I was afraid I'd wake her up... So on and so forth.'

He did not want to think about anything - an extremely atypical state for Guriev. But now he was happy. Feeling neither ashamed of cheating ('This is another, "non-competitive" relationship') nor guilty for actually forcing Navalny to have sex ('He obviously enjoyed it'), Sergei was enjoying the fatigue.

He was also happy about the conversation about the nationalist insults that had taken place - he had wanted to speak out for a long time. And Lyosha seemed to understand everything.

'I love him. And I was sincere with him. Well, except for the phrase "I won't even remind you of that anymore"... I want more.'