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Ilya knew this was going to happen
He didn't want it to happen, especially not when there was nothing he could do
But he knew his husband
Of course, their current situation would inevitably lead Shane to a meltdown or a panic attack
The fact that it hadn't happened earlier was what surprised him the most.
He was still mentally kicking himself for letting this happen. How on earth did he get so lax in his awareness? Now Shane was paying the price.
They had been on their way to their hotel, having to take a side alley due to ongoing crosswalk construction. Ilya had grumbled, annoyed at the extra effort, Shane snorting at his husband's attitude before taking his hand to lead them down the detour.
It had happened too fast, too many people, not enough space. Shane's hand had been ripped from his violently, and before he even had a chance to turn around, white-hot pain exploded across the back of his head, blanking out his vision and rendering him unconscious.
That had to have been over a week ago by now; the lack of windows in their concrete prison had made it difficult to keep track of time. Thankfully, they had been given food once every what seemed like 24 hours: plain bread, dried meat that tasted like leather, and bottled water.
9 strips of leather meat
9 days
Surely someone had a lead, something
Another small whine pulled Ilya back into the present moment, his heart twinging in pain as he looked at his husband across the room from him.
Both of them had been separated, chained to pillars opposite each other so they could see but never reach, one of the many methods their captors had been using against them.
Shane had his bound legs pulled up to his chest; his dishevelled head of black hair was all Ilya could see as his husband panted against his knees, his feet attempting to rock back and forth in his trapped sitting position.
In any other situation, Ilya would be at Shane's side, helping him through his meltdown in whatever way his husband needed him. Giving him a safe space, breathing exercises, holding him until Shane's body and brain finally came back down to a regulated level.
“Shane, моя любовь, I need you to breathe for me.” Ilya tried to keep his voice both calm and soothing as he could, despite the turmoil that was storming within him.
Shane gave a moan of discomfort, which was followed by a hiccuping sob as he attempted to respond.
“I ca-can’t… Ilya, please…” If the other man's heart wasn't broken before, it certainly was now as he watched helplessly from his own bound spot.
“I know, I am sorry, you must breathe,” Ilya continued, swallowing thickly, knowing his own emotions wouldn't help Shane in this moment. Their captors had not been overly cruel to them, leaving them alone most of the time when they were not feeding them or taking pictures and videos for ransom reasons. Unfortunately, neither of them was completely unscathed. Ilya had at least 2 bruises forming on his jaw from being punched, and with every intake of breath, he could feel the bruising blossoming up his side.
Even worse, their captors were not stupid; they knew how to make Ilya tick. Whenever they needed him to comply, they would simply take their anger and frustration out on Shane. The other man tried to be stoic every time they began to wail on him, but the more he fought to stay quiet, the harder they'd torture him.
The first time they hurt Shane, Ilya had screamed at them, resulting in his bruised jaw. It had taken a few times before Ilya was able to hold back his knee-jerk reaction to them hurting his husband, instead biting his tongue and agreeing to their demands through gritted teeth.
The jingling of keys in a lock pulled Ilya's attention away from Shane, steeling himself as one of their 3 captors walked in with their daily rations. He was watching silently as the tall man dropped the plastic bag onto the floor, uncomfortable with the way he was staring at Shane with an annoyed-looking frown on his face under the black balaclava he wore.
"What's wrong with him?" Ilya hated the man's tone the moment the words left his mouth; he was obviously not concerned, rather seeming annoyed and irritated at Shane.
“He is fine”, Ilya lied, preferring that the man just leave the two of them alone. Having one of their captors in their cell was not helping the situation at all. Ilya could see the way that Shane was cringing away slightly from the man even without looking at him.
“Well, tell him to cut that shit out; it's annoying”, the man snapped, his boot kicking at Shane's leg, causing his husband to yelp and curl up tighter. Ilya saw red the moment the man's foot connected to Shane's thigh.
“Don't fucking touch him!” Ilya barked, attempting to lunge forward unsuccessfully as the chains around his wrists, of course, held firm.
The man scoffed at Ilya’s outburst, watching the Russian man's chest heave in anger as he was helplessly across the room with no way to free himself.
“Naw, poor little faggot needs his husband to get him to stop acting like such a retard.” Suddenly, the man grabbed a handful of Shane's hair and wrenched his head away from his knees. The painful and anguish-filled cry that left Shane's mouth made a part of Ilya die inside
“Maybe I just need to gag you again; that should help”, the man mocked, shaking Shane's head back and forth, causing him to sob harder. Ilya's eyes widened at the statement.
“No! No, please, I can stop. Please, I will make him stop,” Ilya interjected quickly, panic surging to the surface. Shane could barely breathe as he was right now; blocking his airway would only make things worse. He could even suffocate if they were too rough.
The man turned his attention back over to Ilya, his grip still tight in Shane's hair as he seemed to consider Ilya's words.
"Please... no more trouble, I do whatever you want", his father would be rolling in his grave seeing his son begging on the dirty concrete floor over another man, but to hell with him, Shane was all that mattered.
The man grumbled with a roll of his eyes, shoving Shane's head as he let go, his husband whimpering at the action as his head quickly returned to its spot at his knees. Balaclava took his sweet time sauntering over to Ilya, kneeling in front of the russian man with only a few inches between their faces.
"Do anything stupid, I put a bullet in your faggot's gut, and you get to watch him bleed out. Got it?" His breath reeked of cheap booze and cigarettes. Ilya could understand where Shane was coming from when he complained about the cigarette on his breath when he managed to sneak one.
"Crystal", Ilya seethed through gritted teeth, wanting nothing more than to headbutt his stupid face.
Seemingly satisfied, the man stood from his crouch and went back over to Shane. Ilya watched impatiently as the man unlocked the chains from around Shane's wrists, his poor husband seemingly completely unaware as to what was going on due to his distress.
Balaclava grabbed both of Shane's arms roughly, wrenching them together in front of his body, securing them together with a zip-tie, far too tightly for Ilya's liking, upon hearing another moan of distress tremble from his husband. The tape around his feet was also cut, yet, unsurprisingly, Shane made no effort to move.
"You wait until I've left this room before making any moves, don't do anything stupid", the man ordered in a low voice as he repeated the same process on Ilya. The black zip-tie bit into his skin, but he was grateful to at least have semi-use of his hands.
Ilya glared at the man as he exited the room, the door sliding shut before once again being locked. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, Ilya waited until the anger boiling in his chest dissipated before looking over to his Shane. Now that his hands were no longer behind him, Shane had placed his bound wrists over his head, pushing his face further down into his thighs. He continued to hyperventilate shakily with a mournful whine following each breath.
Slowly, Ilya shuffled on his knees over to Shane, keeping his movements slow and predictable, not wanting to cause Shane any further distress.
“Малыш, I am here now; let me help”, Ilya cooed gently at his husband.
“I wa-want… Il… Ilya please” Shane's voice shook between his panting breaths; his whole body was shaking in a mix of fear and overstimulation.
“I know, it is okay. Do you need me to hold you?” Ilya offered. Touch could be too much for Shane right now, but asking him what he needed from him specifically was probably even worse.
Thankfully, Shane nodded strongly and quickly reached out toward Ilya. It was an awkward shuffle to get into a comfortable position with both of them having their hands bound together in the front. But eventually, Ilya managed to settle Shane in his lap, his bound arms around Shane’s body as he hid his face in the crook of the other's neck.
“Shh, shh, shhh, is okay now; I have you”, Ilya mumbled gently into Shane's hair, ignoring how greasy it had become over their time in captivity.
Shane attempted a response but choked on his words as he continued to hyperventilate.
“You must breathe for me, моя любовь, like we practice, in and hold”, Ilya instructed as he took a deep inhale himself, proud to see Shane attempting to follow his example.
“Out through your mouth. Again.” Together, they breathed slowly and purposefully. It took a while, but Shane's breathing finally calmed into a normal pattern, small sniffles and whimpers still escaping him. Shane's voice was wobbly and hoarse when he spoke.
“I wanna go home…” Ilya swallowed thickly once more, the sting of tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, hearing his husband sound so completely and utterly defeated.
“I know. I know Shane, me too,” he responded, resting his cheek against the top of Shane's head as he continued his gentle rocking. He told himself it was for Shane's benefit, but he couldn't help but feel soothed, holding his husband in his arms again, properly, after 9 days, even under the circumstances.
“I miss my parents and… and Anya. I miss our bed and being able to… to” Shane's voice trailed off into a sob, which Ilya responded to with another gentle shushing.
“Is okay, мы увидим их снова, promise,” Ilya hushed, attempting to scratch at Shane's scalp gently.
He wanted his words to be true, more than anything, but he had absolutely no way to guarantee their release. Their captors wanted money, of course, 10 million for each of them.
They had that money, but not in cash as their captors demanded, meaning their release would be a lot more complicated than just wiring money to an account.
So for the meantime, they just had to wait. Wait and hope that their captors were patient men.
"I'm sorry, Ilya"
"You do not apologize for-"
"No... no, I have to... it's all my fault," Shane hiccupped, yet Ilya shook his head, refusing to let Shane blame himself.
"No. You will not take blame for this." Ilya attempted to squeeze Shane tighter to his chest, knowing his husband liked the pressure of a tight hug after a meltdown. The two sat in silence for a little while longer before Shane's small voice broke through the
quiet.
"I stink," Ilya couldn't help the small smile that came to his face.
"When we are home, we take longest bath together." Feeling Shane smile against his throat gave Ilya some comfort. Their situation was awful, but the fact that Shane was still able to smile even just a little bit gave him hope.
"We still have those bath bombs we were sent for PR." Shane's voice was slurring slightly. Ilya assumed he was slipping towards sleep as he usually did after a meltdown or panic attack. Having both would have taken it out of him much worse than normal.
"Last time bath stunk like rotten fruit, I do not trust these 'bath bombs.'" Shane huffed a gentle laugh; his fingers were growing lax against Ilya's mostly ruined shirt.
"Lavender s'nice..." A long sigh left Shane's nose as he seemingly gave in to sleep. Ilya continued his gentle rocking motion, helping Shane drift off. Neither of them had slept well whilst being held here for many obvious reasons. Not being able to fall asleep next to each other being their biggest hurdle.
Observing the darkening bruises on Shane's face whilst he slept made Ilya's heart crack even further, unable to stop the tears that finally spilled out of his eyes.
His voice wavered as he spoke to Shane, trying to stay quiet to prolong his husband's precious rest. Their captors could come in at any minute and force them apart once more; the thought alone made Ilya want to kill every single one of them.
"Мне так жаль, любовь моя, я должен был защитить тебя, я должен был сделать больше" Ilya whispered, placing his forehead against Shane’s. Sniffles followed his words as he spoke, a bone-deep exhaustion settling in him.
Ilya Rozanov is tough.
Anyone who thought they knew him would tell you that.
A beast on the ice, playing with 0 mercy and not taking any shit.
And yet, here he was.
Locked away in a freezing concrete cell, holding his beaten and bruised husband in his lap, sobbing at the helplessness he felt, wanting nothing more than to wrap his husband up in cotton wool and protect him from the world.
A world that was cruel and corrupted, evidently.
Ilya had plenty of evidence before this to believe such a statement, but this? He wasn't sure he could forgive the universe for this.
But for right now, all he could do was sit there and hold Shane as close as he could manage.
Hoping that more than anything
They'd survive this
Together.