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Was he allergic to alcohol? No, that didn’t make sense, yet his fingers felt like bricks of concrete, heavy along his thighs. He’d just had a little of Ilya’s vodka, even though it burned uncomfortably down his throat, so he wasn’t drunk. He’d felt dizzy as he laid in Ilya’s bed, the painful clutch of his chest prompting him to pick up the glass of clear alcohol and act like he liked it.
He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t–
His forehead hit the door of Ilya’s room. He hadn’t even left yet. Ilya’s goodbye echoed like a gong in his mind, thundering behind his eyes. He couldn’t– fuck, what was he doing? Ilya was done with him, they’d had their fun. Shane could already smell the musky scent of a cigarette from the connected bedroom.
He pressed his eyes closed, breaths tight in his chest. Was he breathing, actually? He wasn’t sure. Was he actually even there, standing at the door?
He licked his lips, pressing further into the polished wood. His head swirled, words jumbled and stuck behind his teeth. He needed to leave, he needed to–
His fingers found the doorknob. As the door clicked open, his chest seemed to carve in half, someplace deep under his sternum buzzing.
Shane swallowed the cotton in his mouth and forced himself into the hallway. Fuck, the hotel lights burned his eyes, piercing his foggy mind. His sock in his left shoe was messed up, the seam against his toe. He hated that, it hated–
Where was he–? His room was… his–
He swore under his breath. Where the fuck was his room? He’d come up the elevator, right?
He stumbled over to the elevator, pressing the button for down on the fourth try. He bit back a sob, eyes burning with shards of tears. What the fuck was wrong with him? He felt like he’d been driven over then flung off the side of the highway.
Did he eat something weird?
No, his normal diet was perfectly fine on his stomach.
He couldn’t seem to catch his breath; it wouldn’t go far enough into his lungs. His jaw trembled as he rubbed at his sore eyes. Where was–
He jerked back when the elevator dinged, his eyes fluttering open. He swallowed again, throat dry. The mouth of the elevator stared back menacingly, lights an off-yellow. He hated those lights, the buzzing drone that ran all night.
Spots swirled in his vision.
Why wouldn’t his feet move? Why couldn't he fucking breathe?
Before he knew it, he was on the ground, hands digging into the carpet of the hallway, nails scratching angrily at the threads. His head hung low, black hair in front of his eyes. Fuck, he was a mess, tears rolling down flushed cheeks.
Why couldn’t he–?
Why wasn’t he–?
A shiver ran through his entire body, muscles tensing painfully. The elevator doors closed quietly, the metal reflecting a distorted Shane, eyes rimmed red.
He wanted– he didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted the ache to disappear. He wanted to go back to his room and bury himself in his blankets and never speak again.
Had he done something wrong? Why wouldn’t Ilya even look at him when he came back from the shower? Did he ask the wrong stilted questions while Shane waited for a sign that Ilya wasn’t sick of him.
Ilya was tired of him. He didn’t do good enough. He wasn’t good enough. He did something wrong and Ilya was mad and nothing could fix it and they were over and what the fuck did he do wrong and he tried but he was never good enough and Ilya would never speak to him again and he was so tired and cold and what if he just stayed here all night?
His head throbbed, fingers digging tightly into the meat of his thighs. Why couldn’t he feel anything?
A sob escaped his chest, loud and wet, lips pulled wide as he cried.
He just wanted to be good, wanted Ilya to want to see him. For him to touch him and hold him and kiss him and they didn’t even kiss, that’s how bad Shane was. Ilya didn’t want to kiss him.
He wanted to throw up on this ugly carpet.
Another sob was cut short by the click of a door to his left. Shane was flooded with shame, redness spreading across his face. How pathetic he was, sitting in the hallway having a breakdown. He couldn’t even get in the elevator. He couldn’t remember his room number.
He was so fucking–
“Hollander, what is wrong? Why are you on ground?”
Ilya was in front of him, crouched so they were eye level. Shane gasped and pushed himself back until he hit the hallway wall. He shut his eyes tight, head tipped up.
“Hollander… Shane.”
Shane’s breath caught in his lungs. Another line of tears traced a path down his cheek. He was so cold, how was it so cold in here?
He couldn’t– Ilya couldn’t see him like this. Not after he’d ruined everything.
“Go…” Shane stuttered out between clenched teeth, “away, Rozanov.”
Ilya’s eyes were wide with concern, jaw set tight. “I can’t do that, Shane. Tell me what is wrong. You have been gone for hour. All the time you were here?”
Shane couldn’t hold back this sob as it pressed out of his chest. God, Ilya must think he was so pathetic, so weak. He should just leave him here until he withered away. He didn’t want him anyways, he didn’t–
“Hey, Shane, no.” Ilya rushed forward, cupping the back of Shane’s head where he’d been hitting it against the wall. Pain sparked behind his eyelids, but it felt good, it forced his mind back in his body.
“No, you will hurt yourself.”
Shane couldn’t look at him. He let out a whimper, tugging his head away, but Ilya held firm.
“Shane, what is wrong. You are hurt?”
“I can’t–” Shane’s breath picked up again. The second he took in air it was going out, whistling past his teeth. “I can’t–” he tried again.
“Okay, okay,” Ilya murmured. He tucked in closer, not touching Shane anywhere other than his head still cradled in his large hands. “Breathe with me, yes? We breathe together.”
A choked breath. His chest was a gaping hole, his fingers numb. Shane’s hand scrambled against the ground, seeking something to ground himself. Fingernails found the soft skin on his ankle. He pressed them into the bone until Ilya’s other hand tugged it away.
“Enough, Hollander.” Shane whimpered as Ilya’s fingers threaded with his. “Look at me.”
Shane let out a pained sound, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He couldn’t look at Ilya. He hated Shane, he was bad, worthless…
“Look at me.” Ilya’s voice dropped to a low rumble and Shane’s eyes found his, cool and blue. “Good boy, Shane. Breathe with me, da?”
He took an exaggerated breath and Shane’s chest clenched. “Not good,” he mumbled, teeth biting into tender lip. He needed to hurt, he needed to taste the copper as it leaked from his lips.
“Hollander,” Ilya murmured. Shane whined again and Ilya’s thumb brushed over his bottom lip. “Shane. Use me, yes? If you need it, use me.”
His thumb slipped into Shane’s mouth, skin salty and rough. Shane’s teeth found it immediately, nipping at the pad.
His breathing smoothed. The hand Ilya held was softly released and fell limp into his lap.
“You are so good, Shane. Look at you, listening so well.”
The praise washed over him like a balm, but his mind still fought. Shane opened his mouth to protest and Ilya pushed his thumb in further. “Don’t argue with me. I know best, yes? And if I say you are good, then you are good.”
Shane’s eyes fluttered, exhaustion hitting him like a wave. His head slumped, some spit slicked thumb slipping out between his lips.
“Such a good boy,” he muttered. “Always listen so good. Always do what I say, even if it feels hard, yes?”
Shane shivered again, breath becoming a hiccup.
Ilya watched him carefully before using his other arm to wrap around Shane’s middle, pulling him into his lap. Shane’s head tilted and rested against Ilya’s jaw. Ilya’s other hand came between his shoulder blades, a firm constant pressure.
Shane shivered, muscles trembling and Ilya’s grip tightened.
“You are okay. I’m here now. Should have not let you leave.”
Shane pressed his face against Ilya’s shoulder, all fight drained out of his body. Ilya’s touch was quieting to storm in his mind, lulling the cold in his chest to sleep.
Ilya’s fingers ran gently circles along his hip, low Russian whispered by his ear. Shane could feel the tenseness of Ilya’s jaw, pressed against his temple.
“Is my fault,” Ilya whispered, hand moving to the back of Shane’s head. “Is my fault you are like this.”
Shane made a noise in protest but Ilya just rubbed his fingers through Shane’s hair.
“I am sorry,” Ilya muttered, and Shane swore his voice cracked. “Will not happen again. Promise.”
Shane started to drift, mind foggy and numb. His limbs felt heavy, but now from exhaustion rather than whatever had happened before. His eyes fluttered shut as Ilya started rocking them back and forth slowly. The fingers in his hair switched from scratching at his scalp to gently pulling at the mussed strands.
Shane tilted his head, mouth pressed against Ilya’s neck. Skin warm, with a hint of salt on his lips. Ilya hummed, his hands shifted under Shane’s thighs.
“Come back to my room, da?”
Like a flash, Shane stiffened, head tucked under Ilya’s jaw. Did Ilya want him to–? All he wanted to do was sleep, but–
Ilya turned his face so he could catch Shane’s eye. Fingers tilted his chin up.
“No sex, Shane, but I need to take care of you, solnyshko. Then we can sleep.”
Take care of him? Why would Ilya want to take care of him? The harsh dagger that was his self hatred minutes ago had faded, but he still felt like he’d messed up somewhere that night. Why would Ilya want to take care of him after all of this? Shane had taken enough of his time with his pathetic outburst.
“Hey, hey, Shane.” His eyes had drifted in his anxiety, but Ilya’s voice tugged him back to focus on his face, the mole on his cheek.
“What are you thinking, lyubov?”
Shane swallowed thickly. “I’ll probably be okay now. You don’t need to take me back to your room and everything. You’ve got an early flight tomorrow and it’s late and–”
Ilya’s brows dipped in concern. A thumb rubbed at Shane’s cheekbone.
“What are you saying, Hollander? I come find you crying on floor and you want me to leave now? I told you, is my fault that–”
“But it’s not!” Shane protested, eyes starting to water. “I just freaked out, okay? It just snowballed.”
“Snowballed?”
“Like, got worse and worse for no reason.”
Ilya’s eyes dug into his, and Shane looked away as his chest clenched.
“You snowballed because you dropped, Shane. Because I did not take care of you. You had reason.”
“I–” Shane paused. “I what?”
Ilya licked his lips as he searched for the words. “When you get all, floaty, after we are done. I have to bring you back, make you feel safe. And I sent you away. So, your body reacted.”
“And I dropped,” Shane whispered. Fuck, it did feel like he was falling off of a cliff, so maybe Ilya was right.
“But I–” Shane tried to protest again, but Ilya put his thumb against his bottom lip.
“You did nothing wrong, Shane. I was asshole, yes? So no, I will not leave you. You stay with me tonight.”
Ilya’s forehead hit his. Fingers rubbed into the skin of his waist. “Please,” Ilya whispered. “Let me fix.”
Shane sat on the bed as Ilya puttered around him, a water bottle in one hand and a granola bar in the other. His brows hadn’t risen from their dip, and every time his eyes found Shane’s, Shane felt his concern.
“Shower or food first?”
Like a switch, Shane suddenly felt the uncomfortable stretch of dried sweat and cum on his skin. Ilya had handed him a washcloth before, but Shane hadn’t been very thorough in his fuzzy state.
“Shower,” he said and Ilya nodded, stepping into the bathroom. Shane’s eyes wandered, the empty vodka glass on the bedside table, the rumpled sheets and pillows. It sat strangely in his chest, to be back in this bedroom. Shane felt out of place.
Then Ilya’s hand was on his shoulder and he felt at home again.
“Ready?”
Steam rose in the bathroom, fogging up the mirror. Ilya had set out a towel and shampoo for Shane. Shane stood quietly, stuck in a sort of pause as the shower ran in the background.
“Shane?”
“Can you…?” Shane asked, but his words faltered. It was a stupid question anyway. Ilya wouldn’t want to be near him again after all of that. He probably thought–
“Would you like me to come with you?” Ilya asked gently. He didn’t touch Shane, hands at his sides. He was waiting, waiting for permission.
Shane wet his lips and lifted a slow hand. Ilya seemed to take a single step before he was at Shane’s side, hand firmly in his.
“Okay?” he asked, and Shane nodded.
Ilya knew how hot Shane liked his shower. It was a strange thought to have as water cascaded down his back and dripped onto his cheeks, but it flittered into Shane’s mind anyway. Ilya was in front of him, the large swath of his shoulders dotted with water.
Ilya had dropped his hand once they were in the shower, a look of worry crossing his face. Shane, still emerging from the fuzzy headspace their hallway contact had put him in, felt his chest cave in at the loss of contact. Did Ilya change his mind? Did he not want to touch him anymore? Was he too much?
“I can see gears turning, Hollander.”
“You won’t touch me,” he said, worrying his lip between his teeth. The words came out before his normal filter had caught them, and he felt his cheeks redden. “Did I mess up again?”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ilya whispered back, accent heavy. “I thought you may not trust me again.”
Water sluiced off of Shane’s fingertips as he curled them around Ilya’s waist, pulling him forward. His warm skin was like a hot drink on a cold night, easing the ache in Shane’s bones. Ilya’s hands found their way behind Shane’s back, curling into the ends of his hair.
“You didn’t know.”
Ilya let out a grunt. “I should have–”
“I should have said something.”
“Shane, do not blame yourself for this.”
“Then you can’t either.” Ilya’s hard stare met his, but this time Shane didn’t back down. “You are here now, right? You said you would fix it, so…” Shane tucked his head onto Ilya’s wet shoulder. “I need to know you still want me,” he whispered, barely above a breath. “That I didn’t fuck everything up.”
Ilya’s fingers kneaded Shane’s shoulder, his breath quiet against his temple. Water pattered around them.
“Is stupid question, Hollander. I will always want you.”
Shane sat atop the marble countertop, a granola bar in his hand while Ilya rubbed lotion into his legs, massaging the muscle. He smelled like Ilya, the musky scent of his shampoo a welcome aura. He was in Ilya’s sweats and underwear, hanging loose on his hips. He slowly took another bite, the chocolate melting against his tongue. He couldn’t remember that last time he’d had it, but Ilya had insisted he needed the sugar.
Ilya’s fingers carefully prodded at one of Shane’s ankles, twisting it and lowering his head to catch his skin in the light.
“What are you doing?” Shane asked.
“Making sure you didn’t cause wound. Your nails are not sharp but…”
“I didn’t press that hard,” he argued, but Ilya only tutted.
“What is it you Canadian’s say? For peace of mind.”
Shane rubbed at his nose. “I’m alright, Ilya, really.”
“You do that when you panic, yes?”
“What, scratch at my ankle?”
Ilya rose, placing a hand on either side of Shane’s waist so that he was the only thing Shane could see. His golden curls were slightly matted still from the water, but he hadn't gotten very wet so they had already begun to spring back.
“No, hurt yourself.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “I don’t hurt myself, Ilya. I just… got overwhelmed.”
“You tried to hit head too.”
Shane didn’t respond to that, rolling his tongue over his teeth. There were certain things he’d done since he was a kid to regulate himself, whether it was deemed healthy or not.
“And your mouth. Your beautiful mouth, yes?”
“It’s just a way to get myself back in my body.”
Ilya hummed. “When you… what is word… feel outside of yourself?”
“Dissociate, ya.”
“You do this a lot?”
Shane felt redness climb up his cheeks. “No, but when I have panic attacks or shutdowns I tend to.”
He hummed again, and Shane squirmed. This was one of those topics that he hadn’t foreseen coming up for a long time. Or, ideally, ever.
“Did I make it worse or better? When I took your hand and gave you my thumb.”
“I—” Shane’s brows furrowed. “Sometimes I don’t know I’m doing it, so ya it helped. Being distracted or having something else to channel that into.”
“And now, you feel okay?”
Shane licked his lips and nodded. “Better.” The coldness had seeped away, the pain in his chest had drifted. The exhaustion still hung onto him, but the panic was gone. He felt warm, skin slightly pink from the heat.
Ilya leaned forward and pressed his lips against Shane’s. “I didn’t kiss you tonight.”
Shane shuddered, and Ilya’s mouth slipped into his mouth. Shane’s hand found Ilya’s curls, tugging him forward. Normally, Ilya would slowly escalate their kisses until Shane was half hard and desperate, but he held back, letting Shane melt into him.
“Never again, yes?”
Shane could only nod, the tiredness in his bones spreading. Ilya kissed him once more before backing up.
“Okay,” he whispered into Ilya’s mouth.
“Bed?”
Shane murmured in assent and before he knew it, Shane was in the air, Ilya’s hands tucked under Shane’s thighs.
“I can walk,” he protested, but it was weak. Ilya only kissed his forehead before gently placing him on the duvet. Shane scooted up to the headboard, pulling himself under the covers. He rubbed his feet together, the smooth covers lovely against his warm skin. Ilya slipped in on his side, a hand coming around Shane’s waist and pulling him into Ilya’s chest.
Ilya’s breath ghosted at his ear, his nose in Shane’s hair.
“You smell like me,” he grumbled and Shane let out a soft chuckle.
“You gave me your shampoo to use, asshole.”
Ilya pressed Shane closer to him and nipped at his earlobe.
“I like it. Should give you some so you always smell like me.”
“Pervert.”
Ilya just hummed, slinging a leg over Shane’s. They were in contact everywhere, Ilya’s heavy and warm weight pressing Shane into the mattress. His very own weighted blanket.
The lights were out, the sound of traffic muffled. Ilya shifted and the sheets slid against each other.
Shane breathed into the darkness, surrounded by his lover.
“Kiss?” he whispered, and almost immediately, soft lips were behind his ear. He sighed, sinking further into the bed.
“Another?” he murmured, and Ilya was at his throat, pressing a trail up the column of his neck.
Shane let the silence fall again. His eyes drifted shut, the pulsing of his mind quiet.
“One more?” he breathed, and what could Ilya do but comply.