𝔄 𝔐𝔦𝔡𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱'𝔰 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𑁍 [WINTER TDM]

[gorelord]

Welcome to the Test Drive!

The TDM is welcome to current players and anyone who wants to play in the setting and is encouraged to be used by prospective players. If you are interested in joining the game, you will need to obtain invite from the mod or through an existing member.

For information on the game premise, setting etc, please utilize the navigation pages below. Questions specific to the TDM prompts or the setting can go to the comment thread. Anything else relating to game mechanics can go in the FAQ.

Events in this TDM are considered game canon and occurs immediately after the Chapter II eclipse event between chapters II and III. Any threads in TDM are considered canon as long as both parties agree.

Please make sure to identify in your top levels as either current or new player/characters.

GAME PAGES

premise
setting
faq
rules
glossary

i.
rise:
A Dream's Beginning

(cw:nsfwl; ritual sex, mood altering substances )

It begins with a nightmare, the details of which have slipped through your fingers. Only the curling echo of its dread lingers in your chest. Something has snapped you out of a catatonic state: a gust of icy wind whistling through the crack of a window, the soft beating of drums under the melody of strings, the cold kiss of fat snowflakes catching on your eyelashes, the smell of spiced wine and evergreen.

A few things become clear: You are not where you were, and you are not alone.

Feast for Saints

Tonight is a night of celebration for the Lonely Fortress. The horrors have been set aside, replaced with the warm mirth and grace of being alive. Whether this is your first night in the Crucible or your fortieth, all are welcome to partake in this renewing fete under the silver light of a full buttery moon. Snow dances like flower petals in a lazy array, leaving a shallow blanket of white. The fire roars in the hearth of the Great Hall, spreading its warmth throughout its adjacent parlors. Despite murmurings of a recent catastrophic eclipse cleaving the castle twain, its halls and buildings show no sign of decay. The Egregore has been cleansed, balance has been restored. Spirits are high, people are at ease.

If you choose to partake, there are a few select locations where people have gathered to celebrate:

𑁍The Great Hall is open for feasting and dancing. The fortress stores have provided a wintertime feast of roasted meats & vegetables, pies, fresh and aged cheeses, dried fruits, candied nuts, and seeded cakes. The hall smells of spiced honey wine and mulled cider, both packed with a warm and buzzing inebriation that creeps on unexpectedly. A makeshift band of strings and drums plays lively music for people to dance to.

𑁍The Velvet Parlor is a smaller hall branched off of the main festivities for those looking for softer and more intimate comforts under the candlelight. Tonight, its guests pay tribute to celebrate the passion of life and to beckon the sun to rise in a ritualistic tangling of bodies. Here is the place to become a true eater of sin. All furniture has been nudged to line the walls, making way for a sea of cushions and pillows for celebrants to laze upon as they imbibe in strong, distilled spirits, as the air above them swirls with a sweet, toasty incense imbuing a mellow calm and stirs carnal appetites. A masked man plucks away a sultry tune on his lute in a corner as the night gradually gives way to passionate bodies tangled among the pillows.

𑁍The Courtyard brings a breath of fresh, brisk air as snow falls playfully overhead. Large braziers line the yard offer meager warmth from their roaring fires as exiles partake in snow fights and release wishing lanterns bearing your inner most desires into the sky. Steam rolls off the yard's central fountain, which has been fitted to disperse heated water to provide a makeshift heated pool, a perfect place to thaw chilly hands or feet (or just go all in if ye be bold enough.)

A Colder Path

If instead you choose to abstain, it becomes apparent every dream has its limits.

The castle beyond the festivities is cold, dim, and abandoned. Behind every door, a drab and empty room (if the handle isn't locked or broken). The keep's gates are closed, the sunken village beyond a frozen wasteland. The further one strays from the warmth and merriment, the colder and darker it becomes.

Isolation breeds madness, too much time spent away from others may lead to paranoia. Figures shift in the dark, a breath tickles the nape of your neck. You may see familiar faces, hear familiar voices, beckoning you to stray further from your path towards uncertain doom: a crooked nail sticking out of the floorboards, a hurried shove off the top of the stairs, a door that opens over the edge of a rocky cliff.

As determined as you may be, the only way out of this dream is through.

ii.
revel:
Trials of Merciful Holly

(cw:potential for dubcon/noncon, mood-altering.)

As the midwinter evening persists, a visitor long awaited comes knocking at the Great Hall's doors. A tall man emerges with a body molded out of braided wood, bearing thorn-tarnished armor and a tattered crimson cloak. With every step forward, thorned vines that stitch across the walls and floors, blooming with plum purple leaves and small budding flowers.

"The Briar Lord," one exile gasps. "Gregor's returned," another praises tearfully. With a bow, he treats the celebrants of the Lonely Fortress with the innocence of a festive game.

"O' eaters of sin, indulge me in this friendly Midwinter game. Ye have survived a harrowing and for that ye shall be rewarded for purging of thy wickedness. I ask thee this final offering to purge this winter and beget a new spring. Give me thy blood and affection with honor and I shall see this cold vanquished. What I am given, I will return what was given me. Then, in trust and friendship, we shall part."

Bats and Lashes

The Lord's game is a simple marital task held out in the frost covered garden: a duel of branches. Each competitor will be given handful of briar as their weapon. The aim of the game is to whip each other until the thorns of the briar's branches draw blood. The first to draw blood from the opponent is the victor and the blood price paid.

Yet, not all these branches are created equal. A fortunate competitor may be given a Bewitching Branch. Those whipped by this branch will become utterly obsessed and infatuated to whom they've been struck by for a short period of time after, beholden to their branch master until the sting of thorns wane.

Tithe of the Mistle

If you choose not to partake in the Lord's game, the Lord warns that his winter's briar will collect a tithing of affection. The vines that bloomed with his arrival grow rampant behind seeing eyes. Buds turn into flowers, petals shed as they mature into plump white mistle berries that release the sweetest scent to draw you in.

Either you have accidentally stumbled upon the mistle, or it has decidedly grown itself above you without your noticing, but you become bewitched by its scent. As the tricksy bramble coils around your ankles, giving the gentlest of biting from its thorns, it becomes clear that you will be consumed if you do not pay the mistle its tithing. For some, it only takes a kiss, for others, the mistle will demand more. Give it something meaningful. Give it something real, and you will be released.

iii.
respite:
Midwinter Mourning

All good dreams must come to an end. The following morning paints a different picture of the Lonely Fortress witnessed in the night's collective dreaming. The Crucible sits under a thick blanket of snow, the waters surrounding the keep have frozen solid. None of the warmth of the night remains; it feels as though the world has died. The whole of the Crucible feels cold, quiet, abandoned.

Every hearth has burned out, every brazier snuffed under the snow, every candle smothered. It's quiet, empty, dark. Daylight may have come, but a thick layer of storm clouds casts a foreboding shadow. If the desire remains to leave, it quickly becomes apparent there is nowhere else to go.

Warm Winter's Kiss

With luck, you have woken in a bed under a pile of old furs to keep some semblance of warmth with you. With even better luck, you've woken next to company to keep each other warm throughout a cruel cold morning. Without proper protection, the cold is biting against exposed skin. Joints and limbs become stiff and numb, making it difficult to move around without constant tending if one lacks gloves.

While hearths can be re-lit and heated baths can be drawn, the true comfort from freezing can only be found in the close company of other living creatures. Exiles on this cruel morning keep each other warm through sharing heated breaths and pressing bodies. Expressions of passion and compassion help the warmth to linger just a bit longer for those who cultivate it together, granting brief autonomy of movement before finding another's heat is needed again.

Breakfast is served, but it's nothing remotely glamorous to the feasting offered by the Midwinter dream: simple porridge that leaves a stale taste that coats the tongue, nuts and fruits that are half rancid, boiled wine that's been watered down to detract from how far along it's turned into vinegar. Its only promise is to fill an empty stomach until more food can be found.

Outside, the snow begins to fall again. An omen that this winter is here to stay. Welcome to the real Martyr's Crucible.

Comments

[coldcock]

( the hold on Shane’s shoulder loosens for a moment, until fingers tighten in his own jacket and Ilya crowds forward. not exactly
to trap but so Shane feels the familiar weight of him pressed close like there’s no point they don’t connect. like a lifeline even if right now Shane doesn’t look so pleased with him.

Ilya takes a deep breath, then another. tries not to let the sudden anger building in his chest boil over into something vicious because this is a reasonable tension. there’s women for Ilya, there’s Svetlana. there’s a sore spot that is easy to press and even in his dreams he’s managed to press it. ) In my dream I was dancing with a girl and wishing she was you, yes. And then you show up so I got my wish.

( not exactly the way he’d hoped since he’d rather be dancing with Shane, but this feels like a dream mirroring reality. somewhat. mostly not. he’s still confused about the whole thing but when Shane is upset in front of him, Ilya’s whole focus narrows. there’s a flutter in his chest, a strong desire to soothe and make it better. to take care of shane. maybe this is really what love is in the end. even in a strange dream that a dream version of his boyfriend thinks is his own nightmare.

He brings the hand from Shane’s shoulder to cup the side of his neck, then tilts his chin up if it slips to the lapels he’s trying to burn a hole into with his stare. he tries to catch Shane’s eyes, softens his own. ) I’m not with girls, I’m with you.

[mountreal]

[ Ilya boxes him in like a weighted blanket and even though Shane would hate it were it anyone else in the world, it's exactly what he needs right now. Ilya knows him, even dream-Ilya knows him, it would seem, and Shane sighs into the little sliver of space left between them. Breathes him in like a drug, then looks up at him with shy, hopeful eyes that betray how much he was wanting - needing - to hear him say something like that. ]

Yeah? [ He lets go of the jacket to smooth his palms down Ilya's chest instead, to let himself reach around and settle his hands on the small of his back under his dinner jacket. Another nervous glance over Ilya's shoulder, but they're still alone. ] Maybe you summoned me. But we didn't get to dance.

[ The thought of dancing with Ilya in public gives Shane goosebumps that he can't shake off. He wouldn't go back into the hall he just disgraced himself in for all the money in his 2017 contract but dancing with his boyfriend in public is a possibility -- a distant, painfully distant possibility -- that he can't shake. Suddenly it makes him a little sad, makes him hold onto him all the tighter. ]

Where the hell are we, Ilya? Why can't I wake up?

[coldcock]

Mhmmmm. ( it’s easy agreement, natural. Ilya follows Shane’s gaze around the corner, cranes his neck a little to make a show of checking if the coast is clear before turning back to quickly press their lips together. it’s chaste, gentle and doesn’t last as long as he wants it to but he doesn’t want to be pushed away when Shane’s finally melted against him.

the touch under his jacket feels like a lifeline, a connection grounding him in a moment he isn’t sure is reality. ) Maybe. But the night isn’t over and we can find somewhere private to dance.

( even in their dreams, it’s safer to hide. it’s bittersweet and Ilya wishes this dream wasn’t so—- that it didn’t feel so real, that his mind could just accept the absurdity and embrace this moment together.

Shane’s hold on him tightens and Ilya reaches up to cup the back of his head, running fingers through the shorter strands at his nape. touch is how they connect, how they know the other is there and real. and this feels too real. ) I don’t know. But it has to be a dream. I remember we went to bed. Just the two of us at the cottage.

( just the two of them, blissed out after another night of fucking like they were making up for lost time. after a day that was nothing short of emotional, draining too. he wants to open his eyes and find himself in that bed again, with Shane in his arms. he has no idea how to fix this, to stop this ridiculous dream where a version of his boyfriend built by his subconscious is just as panicked and confused as he is but hiding it worse. ) Maybe we need to try sleeping here to wake up.

[mountreal]

[ The kiss is too quick, too stolen, but Shane is so grateful for it that tears spring into the corners of his eyes immediately. He squeezes them shut to fight off the urge to cry, stubbornly refusing to, and Ilya pulls back at exactly the right time to leave Shane wanting more instead of worried he's had too much. His lips follow Ilya's retreating ones with a little pout, disappointed, but he lets his head fall back against the wall behind him with a sigh.

He opens his eyes slowly, assessing Ilya's idea with amused disbelief. ]

What? Like, in a broom closet? That's crazy.

[ Any crazier than stealing kisses in the dark corner of some dream castle? Fuck, maybe not. He feels crazier every moment that he lets it go on but Shane tilts his head into the caress even as his heart starts to beat a little faster, nervous and excited. Flustered, like Ilya always gets him. He can't resist him and that's always been Shane's problem. The problem he never wants to go away.

But what Ilya says next unsettles Shane like nothing else so far has. ]

Me too. [ He says it slowly, unformed dread creeping up on him suddenly much faster. In seconds his chest is a little tighter, his breath coming a bit shorter. ] That's the last thing I remember. I fell asleep beside you, after maybe the best couple days of my life, and then... woke up here. Tonight.

[coldcock]

( Shane’s answer gets a soft snort in return, an amused tilt of the head. ) No, Hollander, a broom closet is too… how do you say? In Russian, it’s too on the forehead?

( he lifts a hand, mimics flicking Shane’s forehead but doesn’t quite do it. this is a dream, them actually sneaking into a literal broom closet is a step too far. ilya already can’t shake the paranoia of being caught and this is a figment of his mind. ) We find a room.

( that hand then drops to Shane’s neck, thumb tracing his jawline. this can’t be mistake for anything other than what it is, this intimacy between them. no one is coming down the hall but there’s a thrill in doing this in semi-public. Ilya should step away but when he sees the panic so clearly written on Shane’s face, he cannot.

physical touch works best but so does distraction, getting Shane to think about something else. ) Hey. Breathe with your boyfriend, ok? We are here together, it’s okay. We’ll dance and then figure this out.

[mountreal]

[ Too on the forehead. He'd been starting to feel that 'might be dying' feeling creeping into his chest again, the same one he'd had in his living room what still felt like only that morning. But the slightly different Russian saying gets a soft, adoring smile out of Shane. He's momentarily distracted by how fucking smitten he is with this man. It's too easy to be derailed by Ilya's teasing. ]

The nose. In English, it's too on the nose. Forehead makes more sense, though.

[ Like a smack in the forehead, which Shane is kind of feeling like he should do to himself right now for phrasing it that way.

But the whole 'remembering to breathe' thing helps calm him down too. In very slowly, then out along with Ilya. Shane's fingers continue to toy at the edge of Ilya's belt, hidden under his jacket. Even though nothing else about them is hidden right now it feels like another little secret when he slides his fingertips under the waistband of Ilya's slacks so he can dig up his tucked-in shirt and feel skin. ]

I'm still not used to that. Boyfriend.

[ It's so much better than 'lover', so much better than whatever they'd been doing for years before it had all come out at once and things had changed. Even in the unreality of this dream Shane can feel the change, is clutching at it even as Ilya helps him breathe through and divert the beginnings of a panic attack. ]

Who taught you how to waltz, anyway? I don't know how.

[coldcock]

I will ask you this later to make sure it is true. ( because on the nose sounds very stupid, actually. because english is a very stupid language. Ilya looks at Shane with a similar fondness, edges of his lips curled upward an eyes soft. he can feel the nervous energy still but its muted, perhaps a reflection of his own in a dream he doesn’t understand. )

It has only been three days. ( three days because the near decade is complicated, even if it’s felt like they’ve committed to something longer than just the few days they’ve had at the cabin. ) You will get used to it.

( and maybe, one day, after they retire it’ll be something else. not boyfriend but something more, something bigger that Ilya feels vibrating through his chest but can’t quite name. not yet. maybe one day but not now, even if they’re both in suits and—- he coughs, trying to come back to himself to relish in the touch to his skin. Shane’s fingers are warm and Ilya leans back into them. )

It’s part of being son of decorated government official. ( he scrunches his nose, not wanting to really think of his father in a moment like this. but then, softer. ) But my mother taught me. I can teach you.

( he holds out a hand, waiting for Shane to offer so he can lead him away from the wall and find them somewhere to disappear to so they can enjoying the moment together. so they can have something private and have the moment they both so long for without the threat of being seen. )

[mountreal]

Hey, fuck you! [ There's a flash of delighted mischief in Shane's eyes, his competitive nature flaring up when he's not really believed. He bumps Ilya with his chest a little, but since he's still holding onto him so tightly it's more of a sharp jostle. ] I'll check if you know it later. Because this is my weird-ass dream.

[ But the mention of his mother has Shane feeling all watery again instantly, putty against the wall and against him, so he's more than willing to go when Ilya holds out a hand to him. Still unsure, still healthily nervous, he takes it immediately. Ready to be led.

He doesn't say it out loud, but he has the same idea as Ilya. Shane is going to want to check if that fact about Ilya's mother is true when he wakes up. ]

Well. It looked like she did a really good job. From what I saw, I mean. [ He trails after Ilya, fingers twined but with Shane's ready to disentangle at any moment, should they come around the wrong corner. He hates that even holding hands with Ilya in public like this - in a dream - makes his heart feel like it's ready to pull an emergency exit in his throat. ] The treasury department doesn't really throw balls. Or dances. Or whatever.

[ The more he sees of the halls, the more he wonders if wandering farther into the dream is the best idea. Ilya seems almost sure of their direction, but Ilya is always sure in Shane's dreams. Always playful, flirty. Reassuring. All things he's been so far. But sometimes the dreams with Ilya in them feel dangerous too, though the danger never comes to anything. Shane always wakes up before the sense of unease becomes too bad.

Making it extra weird that he still hasn't woken up yet. ]

Where are we going? [ Because asking basic questions to fill the silence is what he does. ]

[coldcock]

Not yet. Would be even better dream. ( though dreams about fucking Shane aren’t as good as the real thing, especially when he could roll over and do just that when he wakes up. which he hopes is soon, as great as it is to be spending time with the other man in this weird dream.

he squeezes Shane’s hand on his own as they walk, doesn’t slow down as he tries not to think about the way he’d felt the bump on their chests. it didn’t hurt, not at all, but he’d felt it. and ilya’s not the smartest of men, has probably had too many concussions in his life, but he remembers you’re not supposed to feel pain in dreams. maybe that’s some inception sort of bullshit, but he’s pretty sure. now he can’t remember feeling anything, even in his wet dreams. )

You’ll tell me what you think after we dance, ( he says as they round a corner, the corners of his lips curled upward before he winks at the slightly older man. it’s boyish, it’s teasing. there’s no one here and Ilya leans in, steals a quick kiss to Shane’s cheek before he’s glancing about and notices a door. he doesn’t let go of one hand as he tries the door with the other, lets out a please ‘aha!’ when it opens. inside, it’s a plain room with a single bed in the corner and a nightstand. it’s plain, it’s simple. there’s nothing else but a hearth and stool, plenty of room in the middle for them to dance.

when the door closes, Ilya doesn’t waste his time in crowding Shane against the door again. where were they going? here. wherever this is. it doesn’t matter. in his wildest dreams before he’d said yes to the cabin, Ilya has thought a full day with Shane would be the greatest treasure. now he’s had days, has this day. there’ll be many more. he takes a deep breath, wonders if that too enamored look he’d been afraid to show Shane before is shining through. ) Here. We were going here.

To dance and, ( he sweeps his gaze down Shane’s body, takes in the way his clothes cling to him and then raises his gaze to the freckles he’s tried to count so many times. ) Maybe something else after?

( but not now, not yet. he steps back and holds his hand out again. ) Did you dance in school? Like in the movies… Prom?

[mountreal]

[ At first all that Shane can focus on is that he's been brought to a bedroom. That's often the direction dreams about Ilya take and he isn't surprised in the least when he's crowded back against the door the moment it's closed. Shane smirks like the cat with the cream when he's pinned and it feels so natural that it's difficult - impossible, even - for him to remember he's supposed to feel uneasy. That he should be trying to wake up.

This is just exactly where he always wants to be. Alone with him. ]

Oh? You've got something in mind?

[ From the way he's being looked at, Shane can tell that he does. His hands go to Ilya's waist easily, cling to his shirt there until suddenly there's space between them again. He doesn't like that, full bottom lip tugging into a pout before he can stop himself, but he's intrigued by the hand he's offered a moment later. ]

Prom? [ Even though he doesn't have any particularly fond memories of the night, the word gets another slow-growing, glowing smile from Shane. Has Ilya thought about him dancing at prom? He takes Ilya's hand, steps off the door, and stands in front of him trying desperately not to look as awkward as dancing always makes him feel. ]

Yeah, I went to prom. With my high school girlfriend. [ He lets that word hover in the air, knowing that Ilya will ask him more. Suddenly he's a little breathless with the urge to tell him everything. ] It wasn't very much fun. A lot of standing and swaying.

[coldcock]

( considering that Shane is his boyfriend, that Shane is gay, it's probably unreasonable that a jealous heat burns through Ilya's gut. he's never even heard mention of this high school girlfriend, though he isn't surprised Shane had one. he had Rose Landry and while Ilya never heard of him with women, he's sure that there had to be some. probably.

he decides he hates all of them in that moment. which also probably isn't fair because there's probably only a handful and Ilya himself can't even count how many women he's been with. he's never claimed he's not a hypocrite though.

the cute pout on Shane's lips does something to soothe him but not enough for that possessive animal in his chest to growl, even if Ilya keeps his expression as schooled as he can. he is sure he's failing, that the jealousy flashes in his eyes in the way it did two days ago. but Shane looks at him like Ilya's made of something special, as if he's worth something at all. even in a dream, it makes his breath catch in his throat.

i love you, i love you, i love you, he wants to scream. but surely the dream version of his boyfriend knows it even if the one he's sleeping beside needed to be told. needed to hear it, just like Ilya had needed to hear it said right back or he would have shattered into pieces that neither of them could have put back together instead of collapsing in relief.

Shane takes his hand and Ilya tugs him close, still holding Shane's hand, until they're chest to chest. he puts on hand on Shane's hip, tilts his head slightly, ) Swaying? Is that what you did instead of dancing with your girlfriend? Did you leave room between you?

[mountreal]

[ It's only because Shane has come to know him so well that he can see what mentioning Jessica, even briefly, has done to Ilya. It's immediately ridiculous, it's immediately fucking hot that even an awkward relationship from almost ten years ago is enough to make Ilya look at him like that. Like he wants to be the only person Shane has ever had.

Suddenly Shane's grin has more mischief in it than it did a second ago. ]

You can't be jealous. Ilya?

[ But Shane is fucking eating it up, feels a shiver creeping down his spine at how badly Ilya seems to want to possess him - even into his past. Shane squeezes the hand that's holding his harder, tugs at him in that strong, playful way that he knows Ilya likes to match, to immediately try and overpower. Shane's grin only widens when Ilya asks more without directly asking. Just like in Florida. ]

We left so much room. [ Shane almost croons it, leaning into the touch before he remembers they're supposed to be dancing. He's suddenly more comfortable with the idea, lets Ilya guide his movements without overthinking them. ] Well, I did. All the time. So much, even after graduation. So much that I guess I was just hoping she'd... you know. Know it was better to just drift away.

[ He squeezes Ilya's hand again, runs his other over his chest before settling it on his shoulder. The look he gives him is nothing short of adoring. ]

Then I met you.

[coldcock]

I am not, ( he dismisses, trying to sound aloof but aware he's failing. but then he sees the glint in Shane's eyes, the way he seems to light up in the same way that Ilya does when he thinks Shane is jealous. ) But you like it.

( and that comes with a lilt, a teasing sound even though it won't last long because Shane keeps talking about her. his hand slides to Shane's hip, squeezing rougher than he should if they were just dancing. but he does want to posses, wants there to be no question that Shane is his. not that he doubts, not anymore. ) And did she? Drift away?

( was she stupid enough to just let Shane Hollander go? was there someone out there that could accomplish the very thing Ilya couldn't no matter how many times he tried to, like something in his soul had known it was impossible before he realised how deep he'd fallen? he's not sure how she could have, when it baffles him that more people aren't wholeheartedly in love with Shane.

after he reels that hand on his shoulder, he starts to move them. ) When I step back with my left, you step forward with your right. And reverse. Like backwards stride.

( he does want to dance, he does, because he likes the idea of replacing a memory of Shane dancing at prom with this but-- but-- ) You met me and then what?

[mountreal]

[ He does like it. A lot. That's why he shakes his head when Ilya asks if she moved on, because it's the truth, and she didn't. And Shane wants to tell him so. Maybe she didn't because she'd gotten used to his disconnection, maybe there was a reason Shane can't understand that she kept calling when he didn't, texting when she got so little back from him.

Then again, he'd thought it was just supposed to be that way, too. Like it was all there was for him and he wasn't doing anything wrong, exactly. He'd just thought he'd liked hockey a lot more than girls.

But that had never been the problem. He knows that now. A part of him had known it immediately after meeting him. ]

And then I broke up with her. [ Matter-of-fact, he isn't even looking up at Ilya when he says it. Shane follows the steps, looking down at his and Ilya's feet, trying to copy the movements. He isn't exactly smooth. ] Because I'd never felt... that way. About her.

[ Once he's got the little square they're stepping in down, he can finally look back up at Ilya. Take in his face, what he's hearing. What he thinks about the fact that he'd been stuck in Shane's head since the very beginning. Since the very first touch. ]

The way I felt right away about you.

[coldcock]

And how did I make you feel right away, Hollander? ( he asks, voice lower and deeper because the admission makes that possessive beast in his chest croon with a pleased sort of purr. Shane dumped his girlfriend thinking of him. even back then, when he hadn't wanted it to be serious at all, Ilya would have been as smug as he feels now.

he doesn't mind that Shane isn't moving fluidly. he doesn't expect it when it's their first time dancing, when Shane isn't on the ice. but he gets it quick enough even if it's still a little stilted. ) Did I turn you on before our commercial shoot? Did you go back to your room that night after the draft? Did you get yourself off thinking of me?

I did. ( he admits. for all the casualness of his tone, he remembers how deeply he'd wanted Shane from the moment he'd seen him. but that night-- that night after they'd been drafted, after they both hadn't been able to sleep and had gone to the gym. Ilya had left that dingy hotel gym that night thinking of how easily Shane had listened to him when he'd told him to drink more, how flushed he'd looked. he'd imagined Shane's lips around his cock instead of the water bottle, had wanted it more than anything else. )

[mountreal]

[ It still sends a tremor down his spine but, no. No, that name isn't right. It is almost always what Ilya calls Shane in his dreams but he doesn't want that now, doesn't want this Ilya to take him back to a time before they were whispering each others first names in the dark. Throwing them sarcastically at each other. Crying them between promises. ]

Don't call me that.

[ He holds into Ilya more tightly, even readjusts the hand in his as he remembers both of those days. Ilya telling him that the shoot had been his idea, the way that knowledge had shot through Shane like a bullet. How he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of him the rest of the day. Until the showers.

But the draft... Shane looks at Ilya with clear heat in his eyes, startled by the admission. ]

You did? [ Holy shit. He hadn't been sure, could never actually figure out what Ilya was thinking in those early days. The thought makes his groin wake up in a way he's completely unfamiliar with in dreams. He feels impossibly present in his body right now, despite the dream castle. ] I did, too. Of course I fucking did.

Twice.

[coldcock]

Okay, ( he says and it's easy. because there's no reasn to hide behind last names now, not between them. maybe if they want to tease, sure, but not right now when they're dancing in a room and the world is theirs.

Ilya squeezes Shane's hand back, tempted to spin him.

but that admission throws him off, even though he'd asked. the smile that grows on his lips is delighted, like he's learned the best thing ever. the best secret. and he has. his next words are a delighted rumble in chest, eyes ablaze with want as he takes Shane in.) Мой маленький, распутный зайчик.

And what did you think about? Both times? ( the dancing slows but Ilya's hold on Shane's hip tightens before his hand goes up to Shane's neck, mirroring how he presses opened mouthed kisses to the opposite side. )

[mountreal]

[ That smile makes Shane want to punch him, want to kiss him, but all he ends up doing is blushing. His freckles stand out more than ever and he has to look away, scoffing even though he can't stop smiling himself now. He can't look at the heat in Ilya's eyes and not drop to his knees right now in the middle of the room. Shane isn't strong enough to resist him.

The Russian murmur makes him shiver, he doesn't know enough words yet to catch the meaning but he would have struggled even if he did because shortly after is when Ilya traps Shane's throat between hand and mouth, making his breath come shorter and his brain short circuit. The admissions come out of him shockingly easy after that.

It's only a dream, after all. Shane can tell him the truth without a second thought. ]

Sucking your cock. The first time. Like what if I had just... crawled over to you on the gym floor. And you let me.

[ He's hard thinking about it now, he realizes it with a hot pulse when Ilya holds onto him harder. Shane whines to encourage those open mouthed kisses and still, because he hasn't been told to stop, tries to keep up with the dance steps. ]

Then you sucking mine. [ He breathes it out just as he hiccups out a moan and that's when Shane missteps and stands hard on Ilya's foot. The stumble and stab of embarrassment are immediate and Shane grabs hold of Ilya's jacket to steady himself, already cringing-- ]

Shit, shit-- I'm sorry, oh-- my god... I'm sorry...

[coldcock]

( it's a pretty picture, honestly. Ilya had thought about that too, at the time. he'd wanted Shane to crawl over and give in, had been throwing out desperate signals to get the Canadian to do more than look at him with doe eyes and a spark of want.

he'd known later it had been too much and not enough all at once. what it had taken was the showers in toronto, after the photoshoot. it had taken Shane growing hard and Ilya wrapping his own hand around his cock.

now it's so much easier, so much simpler. ) It would have been hot. In the open like that.

( neither of them want to get caught, sure, but the thought of it does something to heat his blood. at least until Shane slams his foot down on top of Ilya's and he hisses, jerks back a little because he's not expect it to hurt in the dream. what happens next is them trying to catch each other and Ilya freezes balancing on one foot, both hands on Shane's shoulders as they wobble and somehow don't fall. ) -- Shit.

Fuck. ( he hisses again, then shakes his head. ) Is okay. Is fine. It's my fault.

( he'd distracted Shane after all. then, after he takes a deep breath. he looks at Shane with the a new wariness in his eyes as he swallows down the pain. ) In dreams--- do you ever feel it hurting?

( maybe it's just Ilya that doesn't? maybe it's just Leonardo DiCaprio and his bullshit in Inception? )

[mountreal]

No, it's mine. [ He'd been the one that fucked up, had actually accidentally hurt him, it seems like, and how is that possible? Why is he such a loser even in his dreams? The sheer humiliation is what keeps Shane from thinking of any implications other than this version of Ilya considering him clumsy and stupid but once he can look the Russian in the face again, the expression there makes Shane's blood cool considerably.

He was expecting to find pity there, even regret, not something bordering on fear. He definitely isn't fucking hard anymore, that's for sure. ]

I... no? You mean pain? [ Shane very distinctly does not like that question coming from dream-Ilya, something he's sure a figment of his imagination would not ask. ] You... felt that? Like, for real? You're... you?

[ Shane has let go of him now but he reaches out to give him a tentative shove. As if they hadn't just been dancing, kissing... ]

Hurt me back, then. Or something. Hit me.

[coldcock]

Shane, ( not Hollander, but in that same tone of fond exasperation. Ilya still feels the sting of pain throbbing through his foot, settling through his skin.

the fear is still there in his eyes but it's pretty quick that Shane replaces it with something else, with that fondness Ilya always carries for him. he opens his mouth to answer the questions, because it seems pretty important, before he's shoved.

which-- ) What the fuck?

( he doesn't actually stumble back because it was kittenish, at best. he looks down at Shane's hands, then back up at him with brows furrowed. ) I'm not hurting you back or hitting you. That is a stupid idea.

( actually, it's a decent idea but he's not hitting or hurting Shane on purpose either way. )

[mountreal]

[ The refusal just makes Shane's expression tighten further, gets him more frustrated, because how are they going to figure out what this is if Ilya won't play along? Ilya almost always does want Shane wants him to do in his dreams. He usually doesn't even have to say it out loud.

It doesn't occur to him in his growing panic that this time he hadn't said please. ]

What, you afraid I'd win in a fight?

[ But he sounds shaky, even less confident than he usually does when he's trying to talk shit. The room they're in feels so much smaller than it had a minute ago, before Shane had stepped on Ilya's foot and ruined everything. Embarrassed himself, just like he had in the ballroom.

The ballroom. Spilling the tray, leaving his jacket behind. Shane's hands fly up to the front of his shirt. It's still damp from whatever was spilled on him. The logical connection is distinctly un-dreamlike.

When he looks back up at Ilya, there's real fear in his face. ]

If we go back and find my jacket... this isn't a dream. [ He says it like he's as sure of it as a math equation. Somehow he just fucking knows. His shirt should be dry and the hall should be empty. ] Ilya, what the fuck is going on...?

[coldcock]

Would you? ( Ilya doesn't roll his eyes, just gives that same sort of dry sort of sarcasm that paints some of his quips. It snaps him out of the fear. Between them, Ilya spends more of his time fighting and fighting dirty on the ice.

Ilya's the one with blood on his hands, known for goading and cackling at the face of an angry defenseman who's thrown his gloves on the ground. Shane's a top athlete but it's different. He knows that Shane can throw a punch, but between them there's an advantage and it goes to him in size and experience. )

That is-- Okay, we find jacket. Is good idea, actually. Your jacket, we go back to see if ball is still happening? ( If it were a dream, he'd have come up with something else while he was with Shane. Not something so random as a ball filled with boring people trying to outshine the perfection before him.

He frowns, takes a moment with his hands hovering out in front of him so that Shane can see them before Ilya touches him. It's a hand running down his chest, his best attempt at soothing. But not before pinching his nipple, punishment for that challenge and to test if maybe it's still all in his head. )

[mountreal]

[ No. Shane knows he wouldn't, hasn't even really thought about it before because even on the tensest ice, in the nastiest games, they've never gone at it like that. Never. Shane doesn't even like to fight players he hates (or dislikes enough to claim to hate). Hayden or someone else with heavier fists always takes care of that when the need arises.

But the idea of needing to fight someone for real is getting more and more relevant by the second. Because if they're not asleep, if they've been fucking kidnapped... ]

Yeah. Of course it's a good idea.

[ It feels a little steadying just to shoot back at Ilya a little, something like their routine, even though Shane has no idea if it's a good idea or just the last grasp of a desperate man. Maybe it's both. Time to find out.

He sees Ilya coming and has time to ready himself to be touched so he melts into it instead of braces for it. Then he fucking squeaks and flinches away from the pinch, betrayed, shooting Ilya an open-mouthed look of shock. ]

You're unbelievable! [ But a second later Shane surges at him for another kiss, one last one before they leave the room. Like he's taking strength from him, from the kiss itself. Then he tears himself away, pained look on his face as though he's going to his own execution, and turns to open the door. The hallway is still empty outside, the sound of the ball in the far distance down the winding passage they came down. Shane remembers the way back.

And there, once they get to it, is his suit jacket. Crumpled embarrassingly on the floor, exactly where he left it instead of taking care of it like any other article of clothing he owns. Shane doesn't pick it up. He just stands next to it and stares. ]

🎀

[coldcock]

You like that I am like this and you would lose in that fight. ( Ilya sing-songs, a little amused because the squeak is probably also the cutest thing he’s heard in a while. The expression he’s wearing is really far too fond for a man who’s committed a crime of such proportions. He makes note of it, tries to push the dread away because if Shane is also in pain then the two do them are really fucked.

He’s kissed and he grins into it instead of letting the thought linger, lifts a hand into Shane’s hair and enjoys the closeness before the slightly shorter man pulls away. The warmth between them is a blessing, a comfort. He never wants to lose it but they must.

Outside of the room, it feels like the air changes. It feels heavier and Ilya hates the tension in Shane’s shoulders, wants to soothe it away. Now that they don’t think they’re dreaming, he stays beside him but a step behind until they’re both standing over the jacket. Shane stares, Ilya glares.

Then he bends down, picks up the jacket and dusts it off. Then he throws it over his shoulder, not saying anything. His brows are furrowed, jaw set. This isn’t good, but it’s real. Ilya can suppress his own panic. He can. He can not feel, he can do. He can be useful and prove he’s good in this particular crisis, that Shane can depend on him.

He places a hand on Shane’s lower back. When he speaks, his accent is the thickest it’s been in a long time. ) Okay.

We need to go outside. Leave. ( It’s not a question, it’s a plan. That’s what they’ll do and where he leads them, away from the spot with the jacket and the echo of the ball beyond the walls. They’ll find a way out. They’ll go back to the cottage and away from this nightmare. Ilya will make sure of it. ) Shane, come on.

( a beat, a pause: ) We will find way home.