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Summary
Shane’s head swiveled on the pillow, and he wriggled his hips down on a particularly tight squeeze. Something tightened in his back, and suddenly, he was clutching Rozanov for a different reason. “Ah—”
Rozanov went still. His grip slackened, and the hold he had on Shane’s waist became more steadying than anything. “Hollander?”
All he had to do was breathe, and the pain would pass. He pinched his eyes shut and dug his fingers into Rozanov’s shoulder hard enough to bruise.
“Hollander,” he called, worry seeping into his tone. He touched Shane’s face with his clean hand. “Talk to me.”
Shane grabbed hold of his wrist like a lifeline. “I’m fine,” he ground out. What could he say to play it off? How could he not worry Rozanov? “I… um… almost came?”
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Or, Shane ignores every warning sign from his body because he doesn't want Rozanov to leave. If he admits to Rozanov that he's in pain, he'll call it off and go back to his hotel room. What other choice is there but to endure?
Rozanov finds out and stays anyway.
Series
- Part 8 of Chronic Pain Fics