Хруст тишины

(POV Ильи)       I seemed to forget that it was still February in Петроград. The frost-patterned windowpanes of the small flat on the Петроградская сторона were the first thing my sleepy eyes discerned upon waking that morning. The dull thrumming in my temples made me close them again with a sigh – I suddenly recalled the harsh taste of the vodka from last night and instantaneously regretted all my decisions and actions.              But then a warm palm traced the line of my jaw, and I opened my eyes again. Петя was already awake (had been for hours, I venture to guess), silently observing the rhythm of my breathing as I slept. He was now twirling a lock of my hair around his finger – his dark, earnest eyes fixed softly upon mine. I stretched, attempting a yawn, but halfway through, the memories of the previous night hit me, and I almost let out an involuntary gasp. The tavern. The dancing. The flirting. All those scandalous words I had blurted out in two languages. Good God.              I felt a sudden heat rise to my neck, my skin turning a frantic crimson. I scrambled up, attempting to sit upon the mattress, clutching the rough blanket to my chest, and looking anywhere but at Петя.                     “I… Perhaps I ought to dress myself…” I stammered, yet hesitated. “Водка была ужасной идеей…“                     Петя let out a low huff of a laugh. I reached for my shirt but could not quite catch it with my trembling fingers, and I frowned. Reached out again but Петя caught my wrist, pulling me back down toward the pillows.                     „Доброе утро, ангел мой…“ his palm brushed over my disheveled hair, “Куда ты так спешишь, Илюш?“              “I… Не помню, я…“              „Уверен, что не помнишь?“              It was far better to pretend that I could recall nothing than to… I blushed anew and nodded. My heart hammered against my ribs as Петя continued kindly brushing my hair. He then leaned over me – a mischievous glint in his green-brown eyes – and softly touched the tip of my nose with his own. Then slid his lips down my cheek, leaning close to my ear, and imitated my American accent almost perfectly: “I want you to take me, right here, on this filthy floor, on the bed, on the table, everywhere…”              I groaned instinctively, burying my face in my hands.                     “Ладно. Прекрати… Stop it!”              “А разве ты об этом не просил?“ he chuckled, his hands wandering over my ribs, tickling me until I inhaled sharply and was forced to look at him. “Ну а я ведь Святой, верно? Не могу не исполнить того, чего желает мой ангел…“              “А…“ I coughed to clear my throat, trying to regain some dignity. “А ты сделал? Всё?“                     Петя grinned and shook his head, suppressing a laugh.                     “Возможно, я тоже что-то подзабыл. Можем припомнить друг другу…“                     He leaned forward again, brushing his lips against mine, but I turned my head, and his tongue touched my sensitive neck instead. Closing my eyes tight, I let out a shaky breath.                     “Не могу, Петь. Дома… Обед сегодня. С семьёй Алисы Андреевны. I had hoped we might promenade about Петроград, but I fear there won’t be time…”                     Петя froze, his lips still on my neck. I opened my eyes and saw his shoulders stiffening up.                     „У отца тоже сегодня множество дел – он должен присутствовать на закладке фундамента новой усыпальницы для лейб-гвардейцев Московского полка. Там соберутся высокопоставленные священнослужители. А я должен быть подле него.“                     I noticed the sudden twitch in his jaw, the way his eyes hardened, and his fingers curled into the bedsheets. He kept talking to me softly but sternly, deliberately avoiding my gaze.                     “Что такое, Петя? Выглядишь… irritated?”                     He stayed silent for a few seconds, staring blankly at the peeling wallpaper. Then lowered his head and let out a heavy breath.                     “Боюсь, Илюш…“ his voice barely a whisper. “Боюсь, что, как только ты переступишь этот порог и окажешься на этом обеде, всему нашему миру придёт конец. Боюсь, что я теряю тебя, но бессилен что-либо предпринять… Потому что ты возвращаешься в мир, в который у меня нет права даже заглянуть…“                     I shifted across the bed, rising onto my knees, and took his face in my hands. Forced a smile upon seeing his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.                            „Сойдёт на нет только то, что они замышляют. I shall put an end to it all, I promise. Не могу обвенчаться с ней, Петя. Не и после…“ I gulped, feeling my cheeks turn pink. He just nodded, not waiting for me to finish, and curved his lips into a tiny, bittersweet smile.              “И какова же причина, м? Как ты сможешь противиться…“              „Я не могу без любви жениться,“ I interrupted him and moved back. He shook his head.              “Мечтатель ты, Илья,“ he whispered. “Ты не можешь никогда не жениться. Особенно в твоём мире.“              „В моём? Значит, мир неправилен,“ I snapped, slowly moving toward the edge of the bed. Felt his gaze burning my back. “Я хочу только с тобой, Петя. Только с тобой, всегда. А если мы с Алисой обвенчаемся, то я и её жизнь погублю. Trapped in a house with a man who dreams of another. Я не могу так жестоко ранить её.“                     Петя sighed and pressed his chin on my shoulder, embracing me from behind. Then wetted my earlobe with his breath.                     „Постараюсь отыскать Колю позже сегодня. Хочешь ещё одну ночь провести здесь со мной?“                     I just nodded, and he chuckled, placing a quick kiss on my bare shoulder. I beamed, my face turning completely crimson.                     „Я обещаю, I will be sober this time. И буду помнить всё, всё, всё.“                     Петя smirked, pressing my back against his chest with one hand and ruffling my hair with the other.                     „Значит, на этот раз это я должен говорить тебе пошлости, да?“                     I laughed aloud, pushing him back onto the bed and swiftly shifting so that I sat astride his hips. His hands quickly found their way to my thighs, squeezing them tight.                     “I shall believe that when I hear it, Saint Peter,” and I leaned down for a kiss.                     ---                     Later that afternoon, the scent of roasted pheasant and heavy French perfumes suffocated my mind. After the main luncheon course, I caught Алиса’s eye and requested – with a heavy heart – the favor of a private conversation in the winter garden. When we entered, my gaze fixed onto the frosted glass that concealed the dead parterre outside, and I swallowed hard, trying to regain my strength and focus, hands trembling behind my back.                     “Алиса Андреевна… Алиса! I cannot do this. I hold you in the utmost respect, you are well aware. We have known each other since childhood, and I do hold you the highest regard, but… But not in this manner. We cannot marry, I… I do not love you – not as a husband ought, and certainly not in the way you deserve to be cherished.”                     Алиса smiled softly, letting out a long, shuddering breath of relief. I raised an eyebrow in confusion, and she reached out, taking my hands and squeezing them in her warm ones.                     “Илья… It is true, we have known each other since infancy, and thus I am profoundly grateful for your honesty. I care for you; I always have but… But you are quite right, it is not the sentiment required for the union of marriage. I have tried to force myself to feel what our families expect of us, but… I am afraid that my heart is already spoken for.”              “Is it?” I asked, even more surprised. “Someone in Washington?”                     She smiled again, but it was a bitter, jagged curve of the lips.                     “Yes. Someone I met during my last season there. My parents would never understand, let alone approve. It is… impossible.”                     She spoke quietly, almost in a secretive manner, her eyes shimmering with secret grief. I was silently observing her and realized that, unlike many young ladies both in Washington and in Петроград, she was not seeking a hero or a savior of a husband but simply looking for an escape – just like me. But while I had Петя, she seemed to possess only a distant ghost.              When we returned to the dining room a few moments later, Алиса spoke up first, her tone astonishingly clear and cold.                     “Papa, Mama… Илья and I have reached an understanding,” she turned to face my parents as well. “We have decided that our friendship is strong and pure, and shall continue, without a doubt. But it should remain just that – a “friendship”. We do not wish to proceed with the wedding.”                     I nodded firmly, reaching for her hand across the table and squeezing it, offering a silent reassurance to both of us.                     “I concur entirely,” I added loudly. “It would not be a happy union, to say the least.”                     My parents exchanged a glance. And after a few agonizing seconds, to my surprise, my father sighed and nodded.                     “We suspected as much, but only pressed the matter due to this “friendship” you mentioned – we imagined that since you two knew each other so well…”                     Алиса’s father’s cough interrupted my parent, slamming his hand onto the table, rattling the crystal.                     “Nonsense! It is not the “friendship”, and this is not a matter of romance. It is the alliance between our houses we have always been looking for and that is required. This is not a decision for school children to make – you have known each other for many years, you are good friends and fond of each other, and this is more than sufficient. The announcement is drafted, and I have set the wedding date for the first week of March.“              “And,” Алиса’s mother added, her voice rising sharply above her husband’s, “We have already spoken to the clergy. Отец Олег, if I remember correctly, he was highly recommended. He will solemnize the ceremony in the regiment’s chapel. It is settled.”                     The room went cold and dead silent. Отец Олег? Петин отец? Binding me to a woman I did not love, in a marriage I did not desire? When all I wanted was his son?              I stood up, executed a sharp, formal bow, and walked out. Did not bother staying for the tea afterwards, heading out blindly into the winter air.                            I walked through the streets of Петроград for hours – dreadful in the end of February, like a labyrinth of indifferent and oddly silent stone. The spire of the Адмиралтейство pierced the heavy gray sky like a needle driving straight through the veins of the city. Невский проспект – usually so vibrant and annoyingly loud – was now nothing of a blur of fur coats and clattering carriages. But I despised it at that moment, sharply turning at the street corners and finding myself in the quite courtyards between the buildings, drawn toward the even darker, desolate quarters. Heading straight to the canals where the water was still choked with the black ice.              Петроград красивый.              Quite possibly, the most beautiful and magnificent city in the world, even in its winter ugliness. Resembling a dying beast, breathing frost onto my neck, it felt terrifyingly alive. Every golden dome, every stone wall felt like a heavy chain. „Ты здесь – the city was whispering in my freezing ear, – здесь и останешься, выхода нет.“              By the evening, when my legs began to ache – not so much from the walking but from the constant strain of keeping my balance on the slippery ice – I finally reached yesterday’s building. I looked up and saw a faint, warm amber glow from the window of Колиной квартиры. I exhaled, my breath clouding the frosty air, and my heart leapt. Pushed the already half-opened парадная дверь – the smell of dust and dog pee hitting my nostrils but not making me turn away in disgust. Rushed up the stairs, skipping steps along the way, and – breathless – raised my hand to knock on the door. Noticing it slightly ajar, though, I pushed it gently, entering almost on tiptoe, trying to steady my breathing.              It felt as if I had stepped out of the freezing city and into some fairytale-like, unknown realm. Candles everywhere – their flames dancing against the shadows on the peeling wallpaper. On the small table, a modest spread was laid out – black bread, salted sturgeon, and a bottle of fairly expensive wine. Петя was standing right next to it, dressed in a crisp white shirt, his long-long hair combed back neatly. I instinctively bit my lower lip.                     “Ты выглядишь… Breathtaking,” I whispered. He smirked and stepped forward, his dark eyes flickering in the candlelight. Then bowed slightly, caught my hand, turned it over in his cool palm, and softly kissed it.              “Я же обещал. Сюрприз. Без водки.“                     He chuckled, then slowly straightened up and leaned forward, almost burying his face into the curve of my neck when taking off my coat.                     „Ты и другое обещал, а теперь такой… gentleman,” I laughed as he pulled out a chair for me. As he gently hung up my coat by the door, I felt his hands on the back of my chair. His voice vibrated in my very marrow:              “Ты о пошлых вещечках, да, Илюш?“ he smirked when I swallowed hard. He moved swiftly to sit across the table. Silently poured wine for both of us, took two loud gulps, then licked his lips, and set the glass down. I was blatantly staring at his neck and lips and nose and eyes… Felt blushing and immediately looked away.              „Я сегодня в церковь сходил,“ he continued. I just nodded. “И знаешь, о чём я думал во время литургии?“              „О…“ I coughed to clear my throat, then shrugged. “О математике? Об учении?“              „О том, как красиво звучат колокола в церкви. И как красиво звучит моё имя, когда ты выкрикиваешь его между стонами.“                     I felt the blush cover my entire body. He – the Saint – did not just… I stared immediately at him, in utter disbelief and shock, my lips parted, but I could not make a single sound.                     “Какие у тебя нежные губы, Илюш, знаешь? Как же мне повезло: и во сне, и наяву их вижу. Мечтаю постоянно целовать и кусать их, видеть как они ломаются, когда ты стараешься правильно говорить по-русски.”                     I reached out for the glass and gulped down nearly all the wine in one turn. But Петя just continued smirking. A Saint? Forget it – it was the Devil himself sitting right across from me.                     “Петь…“                     He found my hand on the table, covering it with his own, then tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in a question.                     “I have to tell you…”                     And I did. Everything. About my discussion with Алиса, about my parents, about her father. About… the wedding being set in a matter of days. And the final blow:                     “Твой отец… He is the one supposed to marry us.”                     I grabbed his hands, my voice breaking down. He leaned down and kissed me, lingering his lips longer on mine.                     “We must leave, Петя. Сбежим, а? Сегодня, завтра – когда скажешь, but we cannot remain here.”                     Петя’s face turned completely stone as he stood up, still holding my hands. He stood rigidly by the table, so I slowly rose as well, and he immediately pulled me closer against his chest.                     „Ты же говорил, что не женишься, что откажешь?“                     He did not sound angry or disappointed, though – more like he was merely stating a fact. Then leaned in, finally letting my hands go, so as to ruffle my hair, and cupped my face between his palms. Brushed his nose against mine and slowly started covering my forehead, cheeks, and chin with feathery kisses.                     “That’s… That’s why we need to flee,” I felt almost crying against his warmth.                     But he did not answer – he simply pressed his lips against mine, his hands moving down from my face, frantically stripping away my clothes. Then – in less than a minute – when I stood completely naked before him, he stepped back, raising his hands in the air.              He let me take the lead, allowing me to dismantle his garments as hungrily as he had done with mine, before he lay back on the thin mattress, pulling me down over him. It was not an invitation; it was a complete surrender – and I leaned down for a long, devouring kiss.              I do not remember all the words we exchanged – I only know that I praised him endlessly as I moved above him. Whispered how perfect he was, how his body was my cathedral – the only one I ever wanted to pray in. And I did. I worshipped the line of his throat, the strength of his thighs, the way he groaned when I found the right angle and rhythm.                     “Ты моё всё, Петя…“ I whispered into the hollow of his shoulder. “Моё единственное.“                     The silence that followed my whisper met Петя’s sudden stillness beneath me. His chest was rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths; his fingers still white-knuckled where they had dug into my hips. He then shifted slightly, biting his lower lip to suppress a groan. He did not push me off but just rolled us over in one swift motion until I was pinned beneath him. The thin mattress echoed against the floorboards.                     „Повтори,” he commanded with not a gentle murmur but darkly, demandingly, fiercefully. “Давай, Илюша, скажи это ещё раз.“              „Ты…“ I gasped, my hands immediately finding their way to his naked shoulders, squeezing them. “Ты моё единственное, Петя. Пожалуйста…“                     He did not let me finish. Took my mouth again, but there was no desperation this time – helplessly, bruisingly slow. Then he rolled back, switching our roles again, him laying beneath me once more. His body was reacting to every single kiss, touch, even breath – shivering, tensing, then relaxing. And when he curved his spine, letting out an almost feral groan, I took the liberty of digging my teeth into his neck – almost like a vampire seeking the very vein that held his life.              The night dissolved into a blur. Outside, петроградский ветер howled against the glass, threatening to shatter the frost-rimed panes, but inside that cramped room, it was warm, breathless, fairytale-like.              I kept tracing every inch of Петя’s body with my hands and lips – across the sharp curve of his collarbone, down to the trembling skin of his stomach. When my fingers tangled in his, pressing our palms together against the pillow, I saw the stark contrast in the dim light – my hands, smooth and pale, utterly swallowed by his rough, calloused grip.                     "Посмотри на меня," I whispered and his dark eyes glittered with strange, unholy madness as he leaned beneath me.                     His long hair had fallen completely out of its neat parting, tumbling over his forehead and the rough pillow in damp, dark waves. There was a faint smear of blood on his lower lip where I had bitten him earlier, and his chest was flushed into a deep, feverish ruin.              When I slid back into him, it was a slow, agonizingly deep alignment that made my vision blur. He almost immediately arched up – his already sensitive body reacting straight away – and his heels dug into the mattress, a choked sob tearing from his throat.                            "Петя... Oh God, Петя..." I chanted, the English and Russian tangling in my mind and on my tongue until I did not even know which language I also started weeping in.                     Петя did not speak – groaning and shivering under me. He answered only with his body to each thrust of mine: a silent, heavy rhythm, even without a breath. The sound of a nail being driven into our shared coffin. Ironical. Everlasting. It was me breaking him or him breaking me – we could not tell, but we accepted it, voluntarily walking toward our mutual destruction. Every time I pulled back, my skin slid against his slick, feverish heat, and every time I came down, I kept nesting my face in the crook of his neck, my breath scalding his skin and inhaling the intoxicating drug of his scent.              The next morning, the candles had already burned down to stubs of wax. The room was once again freezing; the world was moving in an agonizingly feverish motion. Петя, groaning quietly, sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me.                     "Илья, нет пути назад," he said, his voice flat and hard.                     I sat up, shivering. Hugging him from behind, I rested my forehead against his spine.                     "Ты о чём?“                     He turned to look at mе and smiled, taking my hands to his lips and kissing their palms. Then blew some hot air against them and started rubbing my wrists and fingers in a desperate attempt to warm them up.                     "Мы либо бежим, ангел мой – куда глаза глядят – либо прощаемся здесь, прямо сейчас, и всё. Я не могу стоять у того алтаря и смотреть, как мой отец отдаёт тебя ей.“                     I stared at him, turning him slightly so that I could fully face him. His dark eyes – terrifyingly bright – stared directly into mine. My heart stopped, then suddenly began to batter fiercely against my ribs.                     "You... You are serious? Ты всё оставишь? Учение? Семью? Господа своего?“              „Сколько…“ he leaned down for a kiss on the tip of my nose.               “…раз…”                     Another kiss – on my left cheek.                     „…мне…“                     A kiss on my right cheek.                     „…нужно…“                     A kiss on my chin.                     “…повторять...“                     He caught my face between his hands and smiled widely – almost like a shining grin.                     “Это Господь тебя отдал мне. Я не буду противиться.“              „А хочешь?“                     I felt the mischievous smile curvе my lips. He chuckled, shook his head, and left a quick, tender peck on my mouth.                     „Сбежим, Илюш?“              „Сбежим, Петь.“                     And I finally collapsed in his embrace.