Work Text:
Sergei rolled, then stilled again, and again, restless. The building around him-
A gentle hand slid over his shoulder, and he finally settled, easy, almost before the touch had even registered in his conscious mind. He sighed, relaxing onto his belly on his brother’s bed, a deep purr building in his throat as Dmitri stroked him, trailing down his back, fingers splaying.
It was the first time in weeks Sergei had truly felt even verging upon relaxation, and it now settled into his bones. His brother’s bed, his home . . . even the faintest scents of his blood and panic had faded now, save from Sergei’s memory.
Those troubled him for a moment, but. . .
Dmitri rubbed up near the nape of his neck, a feathery touch though not truly hesitant, and he wriggled just enough to really feel Dmitri’s touch, to encourage it. Dmitri gave a soft laugh, knuckles rubbing along Sergei’s shoulder blade before he stroked again, following Sergei’s spine, the curve of his rib cage.
Sergei had almost fallen asleep, the noise of the modern city around them be damned, when-
‟. . .Seryozha?”
Sergei stretched a little beneath him, rolling, tilting his head up to look at Dmitri with a wordless rumble of acknowledgement. A little deeper and rougher than the soft rumbles he’d begun to make beneath Dmitri’s hands as every muscle flexed and went lax.
‟Would- Would you do something for me?” Dmitri asked, drawing his hand back and curling a little in on himself.
Sergei flipped fully onto his back, sitting up. ‟Anything.” He cupped Dmitri’s face with one hand, leaning close, nuzzling his cheek and then his shoulder. He took a shaky breath, though it wasn’t voicing the request that had made him falter; his brother had always loved him, cared for him, indulged him. Even when no one else would, could.
‟What is it, Dimochka?” Sergei asked, gentler still, speaking the way even his brother - brash and uncaring of any norms or opinions - kept only for moments like this.
Or perhaps there were no moments like this, had never been before.
But quiet ones, gentle, just the two of them - when even their father could not intrude.
Those moment they had shared, always.
But perhaps it wasn’t . . . enough. It never had been, but Dmitri had always been good at swallowing the lack of what he needed and continuing on with an empty smile. No one but Sergei ever noticed the hollowness behind his face, and even Sergei missed it, sometimes.
‟Dimochka?” Sergei repeated, nuzzling him, eyes gleaming gold, fingers tightening on his hip. A thread of alarm winding visibly through him, when he’d been all but melting with contentment before.
Dmitri leaned into him, just . . . breathing, for just a moment.
‟I want to go home.” Dmitri said without thinking any further, and Sergei made a little questioning noise. Dmitri winced, straightening, and Sergei stroked his jaw, fingertips dragging up beneath it, searching his face even as he lowered his head.
With less concern than would, really, have been reasonable, considering they were in Dmitri’s bed, in his penthouse, right now.
‟I want to go to- to your home.” Dmitri lifted his gaze, meeting his brother’s again.
Sergei’s eyes were wide, his fingers gone still where they rested on Dmitri’s throat.
‟If you- That-” Dmitri broke off, squeezing his eyes shut, and rubbed his face with both hands. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, his father’s disdain - not even disappointment, for he expected nothing-
Sergei’s arms wrapped around him, powerful - stronger than their father had ever been, Dmitri thought faintly - and just a little rough. Just enough to ground Dmitri. He let his fingers curl through Sergei’s belt loops and nudged into him.
Sergei had never disdained him or thought him weak, he reminded himself; never thought he was-
‟I don’t feel safe here. Not any more.” Dmitri admitted into his brother’s collarbone, and Sergei only . . . held him. Leaving him feeling tiny and slightly crushed. ‟I mean, I do, I do here here, with you. . . But. . .” He shook his head even as Sergei rubbed his back with one hand, rocking him. ‟And you’re gonna go back and. . .”
‟I won’t leave you alone.” Sergei said, and he was so confident and sure, but really.
He might mean it, even, Dmitri thought with wry fondness.
‟You can barely make it a week here, it drives you crazy.” Dmitri pointed out, shifting a little, propping his chin on his brother’s shoulder. It was . . . comfortable. More than that it was comforting.
No one was going to snatch him away from his brother like this; no one could.
It was the only place he did feel safe, wrapped up in Sergei’s arms; he wasn’t sure if his brother’s home, Anna’s remote cabin, would be any better - he had been hunted and chased through the woods there - but it was Sergei’s home. He would be more comfortable there, would be chafing to return if he tried to stay, even for Dmitri’s sake - and Dmitri trusted he knew everything that happened there.
It . . . soothed something deep in his chest, just a little, though, that Sergei. . .
‟Would you really?” Dmitri asked, nestling in against Sergei’s throat, then pulling away so he could watch his brother’s face. ‟Stay with me, I mean.”
Sergei promised, and Dmitri felt a years-old hurt healing over as he saw the truth of it in Sergei’s face, his uncanny eyes. Dmitri had only been offering the truth when he told Sergei he forgave him for leaving - for everything - but the old wound had lingered.
Their father’s continual ripping at him had certainly not helped, and now . . . now that was over as well.
Dmitri wished vaguely that he could be sorry, or grieve, but less for their father and more for the idea of what a father should be, could be. Knowing that he had set men hunting Sergei intentionally, and Dmitri as well if only by proxy, did not aid that.
‟Take me back with you.” Dmitri said, half bold and half faltering.
‟Of course, baby brother.” Sergei grinned as though it was a gift, his request, and dragged Dmitri into his lap with a tight hug, laughing as he squirmed, not really trying to get free - and well aware that he couldn’t have, not if Sergei was determined to hold him. And that was comforting, too.
This time Sergei didn’t let him go at all, even as he settled against the headboard; he kept Dmitri snug in his arms, head tucked against his hair, and Dmitri sighed, relaxing as he only could here.
‟I. . . Thanks, Seryozha.” Dmitri said softly, one arm curling around Sergei in turn.
‟I’ll keep you safe, Dimochka.” Sergei promised, fingers running through his hair, a low rumble building in his chest again, thrumming through Dmitri’s body, and he laughed softly as he recognised the purr.