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Try Harder

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"Is- is this yours?" Anatoly spluttered, freezing as he pulled the offending garment out from under the bed. Freddie glanced up in annoyance and froze.

"Um- no. It's Florence's…" There was an awkward pause.

"Florence has smaller breasts than you."

"Bigger than yours."

"I'm a man, Freddie."

"Well so am I!" he seethed, and Anatoly cringed, nodding meekly. He knew better than to broach this particular subject with his lover by now.


It had taken some getting used to, that was for sure. A few months ago Freddie had simply been his opponent. Now, he was something much more complicated- which, of course, wasn't helped by Anatoly's discovery that he did in fact have a vagina. It had been disconcerting to say the least the first time he had walked in on Freddie changing and gotten a full frontal view of breasts he could never have imagined himself onto his new "roommate".

Lucky for him and his lacking imagination, he no longer had to fantasize because he had them in his bed every night.

Of course, Freddie insisted most of the time that he keep his binder on. This usually resulted in him rapidly overheating or becoming unable to breathe, and then Anatoly was left hard and aching and frustrated while he went to calm down and maybe take a shower.

Why can't you just accept it? You're a woman. It's your own goddamn body.

The first time he had said THAT Florence had to stop Freddie before he literally stabbed him with the knife he'd been eating with. Perhaps it hadn't been something he should have brought up over a steak dinner- but could anyone really blame him?

Of course he was frustrated! Freddie had a fantastic body, and he really ought to show it off more, at least in Anatoly's opinion. Not hide it away like he was doing.

Not mutilate it like he was planning with that awful surgery next May.

But it really couldn't be helped. Freddie was headstrong. Freddie could be an absolute idiot but he was going to do what he wanted whether or not Anatoly approved- and heaven forbid he ever say a word against the surgery Freddie had been looking forward to all his life.

"… I'm sorry," he finally sighed, averting his eyes. "I'm trying."

"Not hard enough, apparently."

The Russian rubbed his temples as the other man got up and stormed out of the room, leaving a chessboard only half set-up in his wake. God, but Freddie was vexing. And to make matters worse, he made Anatoly doubt himself. He was a logical person, wasn't he? He was intelligent.

But somehow, Freddie had picked the only thing in the world that he would never for the life of him be able to see the point of. If he didn't get it soon, Freddie might just pack his bags and leave.

Why couldn't he just understand?

And across the room, he hears the sentiment angrily, tearfully echoed in the strained silence.