Series: Crime and Punishment
Pairing: Razumikhin x Raskolnikov (Yes, in that way. Don't like? Don't read.)
"Why are you still here?"
Razumikhin's head snapped up at the unexpected question. "What?" He asked dumbly.
Raskolnikov frowned at his obliviousness. "I asked you why you are still here. I've done nothing for you. It would be better if you left me here." In truth he had been meaning to discuss this with him for some time. He couldn't bear being treated like an invalid and madman, being cared for as if he were a babe. His very company was torture and he longed for the relief of solitude.
Unsurprisingly this sparked one of Razumikhin's long speeches, "Say nothing of that sort, I beg you! You are a dear friend to me and I could not look myself in the eye if I so much as considered abandoning you in your time of need…" He continued on that thought for some time but Raskolnikov's attention drifted elsewhere.
What he wouldn't give for him to be silent a moment! Every word he spoke seemed to crowd the air, pressing in on him until he felt he could barely draw breath into his lungs. As if given some cue he suddenly began to feel light-headed. The world spun dizzily and his body went slack.
The last thing he remembered before blackness overtook his vision was Razumikhin catching him as he fell from the couch, just before he hit the ground.
When he awoke, the first thing he saw was Razumikhin's worried face leaning over him. It broke into a relieved smile as soon as he saw him open his eyes. "Thank God, you gave me a fright there. How do you feel?" He asked, hovering over him, ready to run for a drink or food or anything at a single word.
"I'm fine." He snapped, although he didn't feel fine. His head felt like it had been stuffed with wool and there was exhaustion in his bones. He was sure though that he would feel much better as soon as Razumikhin left. He knew without a doubt that he was the cause of this misery. He should feel much better if only given a moment's peace! Like this he felt that he would go mad if they were together much longer. Just the knowledge that he was there, poised to catch him any time he fell, was intolerable.
How could he rid himself of him then? Nothing had worked. Scowls, insults, the basest ingratitude; Razumikhin brushed them off as if they were nothing. His patience was almost masochistic, not to mention pathetic. He wondered despairingly if there was anything he wouldn't stand.
Suddenly, like a candle illuminating a dark room, an idea occurred to him.
He would steal a kiss from him. Surely having a kiss taken from him by another man was an insult that not even he could stomach! His mouth twisted into a small smile now that his salvation was in sight.
"Razumikhin." He beckoned to him.
It was not a subtle plan but luckily Razumikhin was simple enough to do as he was asked without questioning why. As soon as he was close enough, Raskolnikov placed a hand on his shoulder to steady himself with and before he could react, leaned in and pressed their lips together.
He had been unsure what to expect but Razumikhin's lips were dry, very warm, and chapped. More importantly, his plan was working. He could feel Razumikhin stiffen in shock. Any second now he would come to his senses and leave, hopefully to never be seen again.
But then something happened. Something he hadn't expected.
As soon as the shock faded, Razumikhin began to kiss him in return more enthusiastically than he would have thought possible. With this reciprocation his warmth turned into a burning heat, like kissing the sun at full noon. He felt as though he would die from it. Or for it. He barely registered it as he was pushed down on the couch with Razumikhin above him, so overwhelmed was he by the waves of heat crashing through him.
Just then he felt a hand sliding slowly up the inside of his shirt and his surprise turned to terror. He felt as though he was teetering on the edge of a high peak, moments from falling. He shoved Razumikhin away from him violently.
For a moment they stared at each other, both red-faced and panting. Then Razumikhin broke into a stammering apology. "F-forgive me, I, I mean, I thought that you, and I… I have always admired you, you know as much, and in my studies I read about the Greeks… Forgive me, please, I never meant to do such a thing, but you…me…I…" he trailed off, overcome by embarrassment.
Raskolnikov refused to look him in the eyes. He didn't want to know what he would see in them. Or worse yet, what Razumikhin could see in his. "Get out." He said in a flat voice, not daring to betray a hint of emotion.
"I said get out!" He yelled, his voice cracking and breaking under the strain of his emotions. The room seemed to spin around him.
For just a second he thought that he had really done it. For the first time Razumikhin's face betrayed pain. Then he smiled. "If that's what you need. I'll send Zossimov to check on you later tonight." His gentle voice cut like a dagger.
Without another word Raskolnikov lay down, turned his back to him and feigned sleep. He heard Razumikhin get up. He stood over him a moment then bent down, pressed a kiss to his ear, and silently left.
For many hours Raskolnikov didn't move. The places where Razumikhin had touched burned with the slow heat of embers. His mind was a jumble of agonies. No matter what, he knew that this could never happen again. And somehow, that was the sharpest torment of them all.
I can't be the only one who felt some tension between these two. It's the only way I got through the book. Feel free to flame, I could use a laugh.