(series) Thaw - Snowblind
Title: Snowblind
Pairing: Stas Chistov / Sergei Fedorov
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, it is untrue
Series: Thaw
Because despite all the pleading with yourself, despite petitioning God to make you strong, despite all your admonitions to yourself to be reasonable and accept what this is, despite repeating your personal mantra "I do not love Sergei" ten times before bed every night - you have fallen and fallen hard.
It isn't that you are stupid. Naïve, yes certainly, you can accept that. And you'd agree that you are very young, and quite inexperienced, and certainly you can confess to blinkered vision. You would own up to pretending. Which makes it worse, because as a pretender - as someone who has experienced pretending and practiced it for a lot of your sexual life - you can so call pretending in others. You can so see it in Sergei.
In the dark, with his eyes closed anyway, Sergei's hands are stalking a trail wholly unrelated to your body.
His fingers skim over your skin, flitting over the contours of a remembered man, skipping over scars you don't have, avoiding ticklish spots you don't possess. His petting hands stop short of the actual length of your hair.
This is made worse because of your devotion and hero worship. As you had long ago imagined the man lying beside you right now - well, lying beside you. Loving you, making love to you. You had played pretend on your unsuspecting lovers bodies, making them taller, and blonder, and Sergei-er.
And so you like it best now when Sergei's hands are impersonal or distracted. As all caresses and worship clearly belong to the other person in his life. You like the way Sergei will rub circles on your back if you are lying on the floor watching the ocean, or the TV, since you don't fit on the couch together. He is not one hundred per cent there, but the distracted petting is something that the two of you share with no one else.
Once you had been sitting by him at breakfast and bumped his knee. Sergei had looked surprised, but smiled his incredibly sweet shy smile that makes you melt inside and forget that he doesn't actually know you, let alone love you, and had bumped your knee back. So you know it is something only the two of you share.
And you also know that no one else had ever played footises with him before like you did, kicking off your shoe and sliding your toe up the back of his leg under the hem of his pants, dragging it lightly up his ankle, because he told you so.
So those things are yours, those little gestures are the things only the two of you share. Everything else that Sergei is, and feels and wants and needs and hasn't given up on, you rather think that other person controls that. Other person over there, in the redwhite country that Sergei used to live in.
You wake Sergei up with soft kisses that ask "why don't you love me?" and that promise "I will not fall in love with you." Of course that declaration is too late by half.
Pairing: Stas Chistov / Sergei Fedorov
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, it is untrue
Series: Thaw
Because despite all the pleading with yourself, despite petitioning God to make you strong, despite all your admonitions to yourself to be reasonable and accept what this is, despite repeating your personal mantra "I do not love Sergei" ten times before bed every night - you have fallen and fallen hard.
It isn't that you are stupid. Naïve, yes certainly, you can accept that. And you'd agree that you are very young, and quite inexperienced, and certainly you can confess to blinkered vision. You would own up to pretending. Which makes it worse, because as a pretender - as someone who has experienced pretending and practiced it for a lot of your sexual life - you can so call pretending in others. You can so see it in Sergei.
In the dark, with his eyes closed anyway, Sergei's hands are stalking a trail wholly unrelated to your body.
His fingers skim over your skin, flitting over the contours of a remembered man, skipping over scars you don't have, avoiding ticklish spots you don't possess. His petting hands stop short of the actual length of your hair.
This is made worse because of your devotion and hero worship. As you had long ago imagined the man lying beside you right now - well, lying beside you. Loving you, making love to you. You had played pretend on your unsuspecting lovers bodies, making them taller, and blonder, and Sergei-er.
And so you like it best now when Sergei's hands are impersonal or distracted. As all caresses and worship clearly belong to the other person in his life. You like the way Sergei will rub circles on your back if you are lying on the floor watching the ocean, or the TV, since you don't fit on the couch together. He is not one hundred per cent there, but the distracted petting is something that the two of you share with no one else.
Once you had been sitting by him at breakfast and bumped his knee. Sergei had looked surprised, but smiled his incredibly sweet shy smile that makes you melt inside and forget that he doesn't actually know you, let alone love you, and had bumped your knee back. So you know it is something only the two of you share.
And you also know that no one else had ever played footises with him before like you did, kicking off your shoe and sliding your toe up the back of his leg under the hem of his pants, dragging it lightly up his ankle, because he told you so.
So those things are yours, those little gestures are the things only the two of you share. Everything else that Sergei is, and feels and wants and needs and hasn't given up on, you rather think that other person controls that. Other person over there, in the redwhite country that Sergei used to live in.
You wake Sergei up with soft kisses that ask "why don't you love me?" and that promise "I will not fall in love with you." Of course that declaration is too late by half.