Chapter 3
knew
that this pattern repeated itself every year: coming to the cabin after the season felt like falling off a cliff or slamming into a wall, and everything that they'd pushed down bubbled to the surface.
Every year, Fyodor spiraled back into depression for a few days, going quiet and looking like a ghost and moving at three-quarters speed.
Every year, Liam practically exploded with manic, nervous energy and wound up inventing projects to keep himself occupied and from asking Fyodor how he was feeling every five seconds, whether he thought his meds were still working or if he wanted to try a different one, if maybe he'd tried meditating or journalling or affirmations, or suggesting he give Dr. Volkova a call or maybe Olga, would it help to speak in Zalovnian for a while?
He knew it helped, sometimes.
Maybe phototherapy?
He'd read an article.
Fyodor was by the pool, on a double lounger in the shade, his PageTab face-down on his lap, and Liam thought he was asleep until he scooted over to make space.
"Hey," Liam said.
"Hey," Fyodor said, and he smiled a little, but he sounded distant and looked distant and Liam had to bite his lip before he offered to go
personally
bring down the moon if it would make Fyodor feel one percent better.
Instead Liam slid his arm around Fyodor's shoulders, pulling him in, and Fyodor went without protesting.
"Should I stay, or do you want to be alone again?" Liam asked, a while later, when he thought he might fall asleep.
Fyodor was quiet so long that Liam thought he
asleep, his voice slow and dreamy when he finally spoke.
"Stay," he said, and half-turned toward Liam, burrowing in a little.
"Is nice."
He was right.
A few mornings later, Liam was wearing cat-patterned pajama pants and nothing else while and loading strawberries into the blender when Fyodor walked into the kitchen in just boxers and wrapped himself around Liam, smashing his face into Liam's hair.
"Hey," Liam said, putting the knife down.
"Your hair smells good," Fyodor said, shifting until they fit together, skin on skin, the cross on his necklace pressing into the back of Liam's neck.
"Thanks.
I showered this morning," Liam explained for some reason.
"Without me?"
"I figured I'd let you sleep."
"We will have to make up for it later," Fyodor said, nuzzling Liam's ear.
"What are you making?"
"Smoothies," he said, and grabbed a strawberry, holding it over his shoulder to Fyodor's mouth.
"Want one?"
Fyodor bit it, leaving Liam holding the stem.
"They're from the farmer's market in town," he said while Fyodor chewed.
"Delicious."
"You sleep well?"
"Yes," Fyodor said, tightening his arm over Liam's chest, his other hand sliding over Liam's hips, just above the waistband of the pajama pants he was still wearing.
"So quiet and dark here."
"I'm glad," Liam said, and turned his head to kiss the underside of Fyodor's jaw, the only thing he could really reach from this angle.
"You seem better."
"Mostly.
You know how it goes."
"Yeah," Liam said, like he didn't secretly always worry that
time, Fyodor wouldn't come back out of it.
"You know what else helps?" Fyodor asked, lips against the shell of Liam's ear as he toyed with the waistband on Liam's pajama pants.
"No idea," Liam said.
"Could be anything, really."
Fyodor sighed, warm against Liam's ear.
It made him shiver.
"Why do I put up with you?" he teased, toying with the drawstring.
"I make good smoothies," Liam said, but his voice had gone rough and he was at least three-quarters hard, so he knew he wasn't fooling anyone.
"Someone has to feed you a plant once in a while."
"Hm," Fyodor said, and slid his hand into Liam's pants.
He hadn't bothered with underwear that morning, and Fyodor made a delighted noise about it as he wrapped his big hand around Liam's dick and gave it a slow, dry stroke.
"So predictable," he murmured, stroking his thumb over the tip, spreading the wetness over the head.
"You like it," Liam mumbled, leaning back and pushing his face into what he could reach of Fyodor's neck, Fyodor's bulge extremely apparent against his lower back.
"As if you're not."
Fyodor laughed against his ear and unwrapped himself from Liam for a moment to open the drawer next to them.
Then another.
Then a cabinet.
"There's no lube in the kitchen," Liam said.
"Did we run out?" Fyodor asked, thumb sliding over the head again.
Liam was pretty sure there was a wet spot on the front of his pants and didn't care.
"We didn't put any in here so we wouldn't have sex in the kitchen," he said, a little breathlessly.
Behind him, Fyodor's chest shook with quiet laughter, and Liam couldn't help but join in.
"Is it working?" Fyodor asked.
"Hasn't yet," Liam said.
"Who knows, maybe tomorrow."
Fyodor turned them so he was leaning against the counter, left arm still wrapped around Liam's chest, gently stroking Liam's dick in a way that made Liam feel all melty and weightless.
"We have olive oil," Fyodor said.
"Butter?"
"Do
put butter on my dick."
"I am offering helpful solutions." Fyodor smeared more precum around the head of Liam's dick, and Liam mindlessly rolled his hips, a noise escaping his throat.
"There's lube.
Um," Liam said started, and swallowed, voice getting frayed.
"In the den."
"Too far," Fyodor said, took his hand off Liam, and spit into his palm.
Liam wrinkled his nose and then bit his lip half a second later when Fyodor got his hand back around his dick.
It didn't take long for Fyodor to get him off in slow, sure strokes, and Liam let himself go boneless against Fyodor's chest, one arm wrapped around him until he gasped and spilled into Fyodor's fist, still in his pants.
Neither of them moved right away.
Liam felt like his brain was floating somewhere over his head, a little sex-drunk and wrapped in Fyodor, maybe the most comfortable place in the world.
Finally Fyodor pulled his hand out of Liam's pants and wiped it on Liam's thigh, which was gross, and then wrapped his still-sticky hand around Liam's waist and pulled him even closer, and Liam couldn't gather the willpower to point out that there was a sink
right there
"Sweetheart," Fyodor said, in Zalovnian, and Liam blinked.
"Mmm?"
Fyodor's arms got tighter, one thumb moving idly over Liam's ribs, a habit he had when he was thinking.
"I love you," Fyodor went on, the Zalovnian careful, for Liam.
"And I'd do anything to keep this.
I wish I didn't drift off like that sometimes.
I wish I knew how to be better."
Liam put one hand over Fyodor's, locking his fingers over his husband's while he cobbled together what he was trying to say.
"I like you as this," he managed.
"I am not—wanting you...
otherwise."
Fyodor sighed and squeezed his fingers.
"I do," Liam said in English.
"I'm not waiting for you to be different.
I love you already.
I hate that you feel miserable sometimes but I don't love you less.
I just wish I could help."
"You do," Fyodor said, still in Zalovnian.
Liam was working on it, truly; not on fixing Fyodor but on accepting that he couldn't.
His therapist Mark's second favorite thing to say to Liam was
do you think that might be a control fallacy?