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Call You Mine

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Kirenenko abruptly sat up in bed after he heard a loud noise come from the kitchen; glancing over at his alarm clock, he saw that it wasn’t even ten yet, and he could tell this was a bad sign as to how his day was going to go.

Begrudgingly, he pulled himself out of bed and walked down the hallway to see what the commotion was. The sight that met him in his living room made his blood boil even more than waking up before noon.

Putin and Killnenko were on the floor in front of the couch, Killnenko on top pinning the yellow rabbit down, and Putin looking quite terrified.

They both froze and stared at Kirenenko, who dropped the sneaker he had been carrying with him to polish.

Putin’s face went from blue to stark white, and Killnenko kept staring at his brother as though nothing was amiss.

The second the sneaker hit the floor, Kirenenko snapped. In a flash, he was fist to fist with his twin, and Putin was rubbing the back of his head, wearing a worried look as he saw the skirmish happening before his eyes.

“What’s your problem?” Killnenko spat, snapping his arm back and taking a step closer to Putin, causing Kirenenko’s left eye to twitch.

“That’s my line,” Kirenenko said in a low voice, his gaze shifting to Putin, who’s eyes widened in response.

“Come here,” Kirenenko continued, stamping his foot for emphasis on their carpet. Putin scrambled to his feet and stepped behind his former cellmate, peeking over his shoulder anxiously.

“What is he, your pet?” Killnenko said while sneering, plopping onto the couch behind him and pulling a cigar and lighter out of his vest pocket.

“I want you gone by tonight,” the dark-pink rabbit hissed, gripping Putin’s wrist and turning to head back to their bedroom.

“Putinushka said I could stay as long as I wanted,” Killnenko responded, taking a drag from his cigar.

Kirenenko could feel Putin’s body trembling behind him as he slowly turned to fix his irate gaze on the shorter rabbit.

“I thought since you two were brothers, it would be fine,” he squeaked, shrinking back from the pink rabbit’s glare.

Putinushka, huh?” was all Kirenenko could say before he relinquished his grip on Putin’s arm and stormed back to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Putin could feel tears beginning to well up in his eyes; what was wrong with Kirenenko? Him and his twin usually got along so well.

“You want a hit?” Killnenko offered, holding his cigar out to Putin and motioning for him to sit on the couch beside him.

Putin shook his head and sat down, his hands balled into fists in his lap as he stared at the floor.

“You know, my brother gets angry pretty easily,” Killnenko began, putting out his cigar on his pants leg. “Heck, so do I. He always has a reason for his rage, though.”

Putin cocked his head to one side. “He didn’t seem to have a reason just now,” he said quietly, staring blankly at the closed bedroom door down the hallway, which he knew Kirenenko was behind doing who knows what.

“He had a reason,” Killnenko continued, abruptly standing up and grabbing his coat off of the kitchen chair. “I think he doesn’t want anyone to know that reason, though.”

“Are you leaving? I don’t think he really meant what he said,” Putin said in a hurry, following Killnenko to the door as he slipped on his signature sneakers.

“I’ll be back, I just have some business to attend to,” the pink rabbit replied, opening the front door; the two were met with a blast of Russian winter wind. “I suggest you go in there and try to talk to him.”

Putin gulped. Talk to Kirenenko? While was in super-rage mode? That seemed almost an impossible task.

Killnenko saw Putin’s horrified expression and gave him an exhausted look. “Just do it. Please?”

Putin nodded tentatively and waved goodbye to Killnenko as he left the apartment they were currently renting in a remote part of the country, away from the Militsiya.

Now, Putin was faced with quite a daunting task. He slowly paced to the bedroom door at the end of the hall and hesitated in front of it. He heard Leningrad’s croaking from the kitchen and it gave him hope; he patted his cheeks a few times to steel himself and took a deep breath.

Nervously, Putin knocked on the door. He waited a few seconds, but got no response.

He knocked again and called in a small voice, “Kirenenko, it’s me. Can I come in?”

Putin heard a barely audible grunt from inside the room, and creaked open the door before tip-toeing inside.

Kirenenko was laying on his bed reading one of his many sneaker magazines, and seemed to pay no mind to Putin.

Putin walked over to the bed and rocked back and forth on his feet anxiously.

“Can I sit down here?” he asked, pointing to Kirenenko’s bed. Kirenenko just glared back andflipped to his next page, not moving.

The color was beginning to drain from Putin’s face. Taking Killnenko’s advice didn’t seem to be going as planned, and Putin was starting to question why he didn’t just run from the room while he had the chance.

Suddenly, Kirenenko’s hand found Putin’s wrist again, and he was pulled on top of his cellmate, face to face with a very frustrated looking Kirenenko.

“What are you doing?” Putin sputtered, the colors back in his face at full flush.

“This is what you did with my brother, isn’t it?” the pink rabbit asked, his tone icy. Putin’s eyes widened.

“N-No! I dropped a pot, and then he tripped over it, and-”

“And why is he calling you Putinushka?”


Putin blinked. “Huh?” he asked.


“The nickname. You’re letting him call you by a nickname,” Kirenenko said in an oddly bitter tone. “Why is that? You two just met.”

“Well, that’s because he’s your brother,” the yellow rabbit answered meekly, averting his gaze from his cellmate’s. Kirenenko’s eyes widened in turn.

“You can call me by something, if you like,” Putin continued, a look of relief on his face at how much more calm Kirenenko looked. “Like Putya or-”

“How about I call you mine?” the pink rabbit interrupted, rolling over so that he was now on top of Putin, their faces unusually close.

Putin’s face was a prominent pink shade now, almost rivaling Kirenenko’s, which was more flushed than usual.

“I… That…,” the shy rabbit began, trailing off. Kirenenko caught himself and propped himself up, distancing himself from Putin.

“Sorry,” he said simply, grabbing for his magazine; Putin held onto his arm and pulled him back around, grabbing his attention once again.

Putin pressed his lips against Kirenenko’s, his eyes screwed shut just in case his common sense got the better of him, and they shared their first kiss together.

Much to Putin’s surprise, Kirenenko didn’t hit him, but rather pulled him in closer and deepened the kiss, kicking off his shoes and pulling the covers over the two.

In the darkness underneath blanket, Putin could just barely make out the shine of Kirenenko’s eyes, but they no longer looked angry. 

“You didn’t answered my question,” the pink rabbit asked, his thumb absent-mindedly stroking the blush on Putin’s cheek.

“You can call me yours,” Putin replied in an embarrassed tone, shying away from his friend’s touch. “But I have a question for you, first.”

Kirenenko seemed slightly irritated once again, but remained silent, waiting.

“Were you jealous earlier?” Putin asked, referring to the incident in the kitchen with Killnenko. Kirenenko hesitated, obviously annoyed now.

“I wasn’t happy with the situation,” he replied, squishing Putin’s cheeks together gently. “You should have realized that from the beginning.”

He placed a chaste kiss to Putin’s lips one more time, and then starting nudging Putin’s shoulder impatiently.

“What is it?” Putin asked, confused as to why Kirenenko was seemingly trying to push him away.

“Roll over,” Kirenenko ordered, snuggling up closer to Putin as he turned his back to the pink rabbit in compliance. “I want to hold you.”

Putin was secretly glad Kirenenko couldn’t see his face in this position, because he was both elated and flushed as could be with Kirenenko’s body pressed up against his, spooning him.

Putin chuckled. “What am I, your pet?” he said, mocking Killnenko from earlier.

“Naw,” Kirenenko replied, burying his face in the crook of Putin’s neck. “Just mine.”