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The water rippled when Nikolai raised his hands to lather foamy shampoo into Fyodor’s hair, reflecting back the anemic man’s own pale face. Steam rose and contorted in the air, and for one feverish moment, Fyodor felt as if it might be just an extension of Nikolai’s hair.
“Fedya,” the clown whispered breathlessly, considerably closer than just a moment ago. “You’re finally relaxed.”
Fyodor couldn’t bring himself to stiffen, to straighten his spine, and protest haughtily at Nikolai’s observation. The warmth of the air, the soft waves of the water, and the gentleness of Nikolai’s touch were beginning to lull him into a trance-like state.
“Astute,” he managed to rasp, with no bite. Nikolai’s hands migrated down to cup Fyodor’s small breasts, oh so carefully, a movement clearly meant to bring Fyodor back to himself. It had the opposite effect instead. The dark-haired man melted into his partner, eyes sliding shut.
“Ah— Fedya? Have you taken your iron supplements?” Nikolai asked, voice growing tense, clearly thinking that this was due to a physical weakness.
“Yes,” Fyodor replied, voice strained in self-deprecation at his own actions, as Nikolai rinsed his hair. “I am merely resting, Kolya.”
Nikolai answered in a light tone, but Fyodor didn’t catch it. The rest of the bath passed in a blur, and Fyodor was in bed before he knew it. He whined sleepily as a shirt was tucked over him, rousing him, and an amused voice murmured, “I know, I know. I just need to get you covered so that it doesn’t happen again.”
A warm body curled up beside his, an arm draping over his stomach, and warm breaths puffing against his neck. “Goodnight, Fyodor. Dream of rats and your ushanka for me.”