It was never difficult to see that Kirill was conflicted - no, tortured - by his sexuality. I knew from the first moment I met him, so did everyone else. Not Semyon, though. He chose not to see it. He chose to ignore the way his son would come home in a drunken stupor, hanging off the shoulders of his male companions, hands exploring their bodies as he was escorted to his room for the night.
Semyon often referred to his son as a "disgrace to the family", but referred only to his love of expensive vodka, not of expensive men.
"True Russians are in control of their behaviour. Perhaps this sort of belligerence would be tolerated by peasants in shared apartments in Moscow, but not by me. Not by other families. We are more dignified than this, Nikolai." I would nod my head and agree with the old man. I'm in no position to argue.
I can't count how many nights I held Kirill in my arms, stroking his hair as he cried into my chest. "He doesn't love me," he would say. "He wishes I would die!" Some nights, Kirill would even tell me that he, too, wished himself to die.
Deep down, I was the same man as Kirill. "You are safe with me, Kirill," I would tell him. "I don't think you are a disgrace at all..."
Once, and only once, I let my feelings overpower me. Kirill was in tears, as usual, and his hands were all over me as I tried to calm him down. I am much stronger than Kirill, yet I let him force his body on top of mine, pushing his lips aggressively against my own. As much as I wanted for him to continue, I pushed him back. This facade was the only thing keeping me alive.
"Please, Nikolai," he pleaded, more desperation in his voice than I had heard before. "I can trust you, Kolya. You're the only one I can trust!" I don't know why this idea of trust felt so important to me, but when he tried again to kiss me, I didn't stop him. I admired the way he looked with no clothes on and was awestruck by how quickly his temperament had changed with the slightest amount of reassurance. I lost myself in his body, his arms, his mouth. I let myself enjoy every moment.
While I attempted to redress myself, Kirill pulled me back down onto his bed, pulled me close to him with his arms wrapped around my chest. "Just stay, please? For a little bit?" I told him I would stay. I also told him that this would never happen again, and he understood.
Then he whispered in my ear, "I love you, Nikolai." I cringed - not because he said it, but because he called me by a name that is not my own.
A/N: This is my first attempt in this fandom, and I haven't written anything aside from 10 page essays in a long time, so any constructive criticism would be great. Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed.