BurntoutVibin

The bite of leather tightening around his stomach is what finally brings Ilya back into the present, his vision stabilizing enough to take in his surroundings.

Unfinished walls, boarded-up windows, a single light bulb hanging from a string, and a set of fold-out chairs and a table were laid out before him. An unfinished house, repurposed as their kidnappers' base of operations.

A hand tangled in his curls, pulling his head backwards as Tall’s face came into view. Ilya grit his teeth, baring them at Tall like a wild animal with a hateful glare.

“Don't even think about screaming, we're a long way away from anyone.” It was as if Tall had read his mind; of course, they were isolated from civilization. When he gave no response, Tall shook his hand in his hair, shaking his skull with the movement.

“Got it?!” Ilya nodded stiffly against his grip.

“Yes.” The sound was small and strained, but seemingly enough to satisfy his captor, the hand in his hair releasing.

Ilya closed his eyes again for a moment, willing the effects of his head being shaken to calm. He had to stay focused, he had to make himself useful… somehow.

The sound of a chair scraping in front of him pulled his eyes open once more. Tall, who seemingly was coming across more and more like the ring leader, sat down across the table from him. The two stared at each other for a moment, Tall interlacing his fingers on the table in front of him.

"Now, Mr Rozanov, I really don't appreciate the stunt you pulled downstairs." His voice carried an air of professionalism, as if this were a job interview that Ilya was unwillingly attending.

Ilya scoffed with a roll of his eyes, rewarded with a throb of pain through his forehead with the movement.

"Your man is pervert, he got what he deserves," The Russian sniffled. He could still feel a small stream of blood coming from his nose from where Creep had punched him, thankfully his nose did not feel broken.

Tall's jaw twitched minutely, his attempt to keep himself looking composed and in control wavering slightly. Ilya couldn't help but smirk as the corner of his mouth tilted up in satisfaction. He was getting under their skin, good. 

An exasperated sigh left Tall before he stood up from his chair once more, Ilya's gaze following him until the man stood behind the chair he was sitting on. Two large hands settled on each of his shoulders. Ilya's immediate reaction caused him to jerk his shoulder forward in an attempt to shake Tall's hands off. Unfortunately, this only made Tall's grip more bruising against his shoulders, the bite of his nails digging into his skin followed.

"I don't like to consider myself a cruel guy, but you have to understand, Mr Rozanov, I can't have you injuring my men like this." Ilya resisted the urge to cringe away when Tall brought his face close to his ear.

"It would be a shame if your little husband had to deal with the consequences for your actions." Ilya's entire body locked up the moment the words hit his ear, a hot, burning rage consuming him instantly at the mention of Shane being hurt.

"Oh, I touched a nerve there, didn't I?" Tall mocked with a snicker. Ilya also heard a second voice laughing at him from the other side of the room. It took every single bit of willpower he had left not to reel back and headbutt Tall as well; that certainly wouldn't be helpful to his already possible concussion. Instead, he sat there, harsh, angry breaths coming out of his nose as he glared at the tall man.

"Now, fortunately for you, I'm willing to let what happened down there not affect your husband this time. However, someone still needs to deal with the consequences." As Tall spoke, a click of someone's fingers sounded along with the words. Tall's hands finally left his shoulders as he walked back over to the table, pulling out his phone and setting it up to be pointing directly at Ilya.

"I know how you athletes are, body is a temple, eating clean and all that crap," Tall began monologuing to himself once the camera started recording. Once more, he rounded behind Ilya, thankfully this time keeping his hands to himself.

"But sometimes it's just nicer to let loose and have a little fun, right?" Before Ilya had time to react, a red piece of fabric was looped around his head and pulled tightly between his lips and teeth, gagging him. The Russian let out a sharp protest into the fabric, grunting as he felt the fabric being knotted against the back of his head.

His attention was brought away from struggling when British made an appearance, placing a black case onto the table in front of him. The latches were flipped up, allowing British to reach inside, retrieving a small vial of clear liquid and a needle.

Ilya couldn't help the sharp inhale he dragged through his nose at the sight of what he assumed was a drug within the vial. Unfortunately, British noticed the way he had stilled and brought the vial and needle closer to Ilya's face.

"What's wrong? Scared of a little trip?" British mocked as he stabbed the needle into the rubber stopper at the top of the vial, Ilya swallowed thickly as he watched the clear liquid being sucked into the needle's barrel.

Ilya was no stranger to drugs, his brother obviously having a crippling cocaine addiction and people from his past taking all kinds of party drugs. He smoked the occasional cigarette, much to Shane's distaste, but hard drugs? Absolutely not, he had too much riding on his body being in proper condition at all times.

So when the filled needle was handed to Tall, who was still behind him, Ilya began to struggle against the leather belt securing him to his seat once more. He would not beg, but that did not stop him from shaking his head pleadingly as he leaned as far from the needle as he could.

"Don't worry, this won't hurt too much," Tall mocked. One of his hands grabbed his jaw tightly and pulled his head backwards, exposing his jugular vein.

Ilya let out a muffled cry against the fabric in his mouth, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as he fought against the hold on his jaw.

"Quit your fucking squirming!" British suddenly appeared again, one of his rough hands pushed Ilya's forehead back against Tall's torso, trapping him even further.

A sharp prick at the side of his neck made Ilya cry out, eyes squeezing shut in panic as an icy coldness began to flood into his veins.

"There. See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Tall laughed, letting go of his jaw with a push before backing up to be behind the camera, British following suit.

Ilya sat rigid in the chair as the freezing cold feeling continued to spread now down his arm and into his chest, terrified that moving would cause some adverse reaction from the unknown drug beginning to pump through his system.

Suddenly, the frigid cold that felt like it was wrapping itself in his nervous system began to fade into a blooming warmth. A confused sound left him as his limbs began to feel lighter with every passing moment, his head feeling as if it was beginning to fill with helium.

"Oh, he's starting to feel it alright," a voice said to his left... or was it to his right? Ilya squeezed his eyes shut once again and shook his head, trying to orient himself. Upon opening his eyes, the camera... cameras sitting in front of him began to tilt and swirl... cameras don't do that.

The chair beneath him slowly began to rock back and forth rhythmically, almost as if he was on a boat, maybe he was on a boat, how did they manage to move him so quickly?

His head suddenly felt like it weighed a ton despite feeling lighter than air just a moment ago; he couldn't help as his neck went slack, bringing his head down to his chest.

"Ilya?" a distant voice echoed, sounding as if they were on the other side of a tunnel. Okay, first he was on a boat and now in a tunnel, what kind of witchcraft were these men pulling?

"-think we'd have to-" another echoed voice "-good ransom at least"

A whining sound cut through the echoes in his head, high-pitched and needy. Where was it coming from? Was that coming from him? Surely not... right?

Ilya tried to open his heavy eyelids once more, only managing to barely get his eyelashes to flutter as his vision tunneled even further down... fucking tunnels.

"-eyes! Please!" Shane? When did Shane get on the tunnel boat?

"Шейн? Шейн, пожалуйста, помоги мне." Ilya whimpered, his own voice echoing back at him as he spoke into the tunnel.

Shane's voice did not answer, making Ilya's eyes flood with more tears. Where was his husband? Why wasn't he here? All he wanted was Shane to hold him right now, to tell him that everything would be okay.

But he was alone, trapped in an echoing void that seemingly no one could hear him from.

No one was coming to help him.

Maybe he didn't deserve help anyway.

Maybe it was best if he was left here for-

"Yeah... yeah, I'm alright. You?" His tone conveyed otherwise, but Ilya decided not to push it as there wasn't much he could do to help.

"Fine. What happened? How are we here?" Ilya questioned, taking a second to look at their surroundings once again. It truly was ironic how cliché their situation was, almost out of one of the poorly produced kidnapping dramas the two of them had watched together.

A dank, decrepit basement full of rusting metal support poles. Three balaclava-sporting kidnappers ransoming them for far too much money that Ilya doubted anyone could or would be able to pay for their return. All that was left was someone to swoop in and perform a daring rescue, whisking the two of them away to safety.

Expect this was not a movie; this was their reality, their dangerous reality.

"I don't remember... we were walking to the hotel?" Shane mumbled, his eyebrows furrowing as he attempted to think back.

"We went down an alley, ёбаный building," Ilya remembered now. The path leading to their hotel for their away game was blocked; they had to go down a side alley. He had complained under his breath in colorful Russian, Shane laughed before grabbing his hand to lead him down the alley, yet another cliche.

"Someone had to have seen, right? It wasn't that late... and and there would have been cameras-"

"Малыш, breathe." Ilya knocked his shoulder gently into Shane's. Spiraling wouldn't help either of them right now. Shane took a shaky inhale before looking over to Ilya once again.

"Do you think the blocked sidewalk was-"

"Trap? Possibly. Stupid trick"

"And yet it worked on us"

Ilya hummed lowly, but there was no time to waste on past failures.

"Turn around," Ilya said firmly, causing a frown to form on Shane's face.

"What? Ilya, what are you-"

"Turn around so I can get tape." Shane's frown deepened when he realized what Ilya was trying to do.

"Ilya, no, it's too dangerous," Shane exclaimed

"More dangerous than sitting here waiting?" Ilya snapped

"Yes! The door is locked, and we don't know what they're capable of!" Ilya's face had morphed into a tight frown, his jaw twitching as Shane spoke.

"They could have weapons or worse and, and we don't even know where we are! We could be in fucking Alaska for all we know." He didn't mean for his voice to come across so harshly, blaming their current situation for his reasonable added tension.

Ilya barked out a frustrated noise, swearing in Russian under his breath as he conceded to Shane's reasoning. Shane watched as Ilya's chest heaved in frustration. His husband hated feeling useless; this was surely his worst nightmare.

"Hey," This time, Shane knocked his shoulder into Ilya's. His heart clenched when Ilya's eyes finally met his. Tears were swimming at his waterlines, and his frown was shaky as he tried to keep up his angry front.

"We just... just have to wait, okay? I don't like it either, but... I don't want you to get hurt." Softly, Shane brought his forehead to rest against his husband's, feeling Ilya slightly shaking under the touch. Ilya sniffled, giving a shaky nod as he leaned into Shane's touch.

"Okay."

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They didn't have to wait long before one of their kidnappers, Creep, as Ilya deemed him, unlocked the door and came into their prison. He was holding a white plastic bag in his right hand, approaching the two of them slowly like a cat cornering its prey.

Ilya straightened his spine, squaring his shoulders with a glare at the man, refusing to give him the satisfaction of showing any fear. Shane attempted to do the same next to him; however, out of the corner of his eye, Ilya could see Shane swallow nervously, his eyes trained anxiously on the approaching man.

"Dinner time boys, hope you're hungry" Ilya could only describe the man's voice as slimy, each of his words made his skin crawl as he sneered at them. The bag in his hand was tossed across the room, and at their feet, a bottle of water rolled out of it and struck Shane's shoe.

"We can not use our hands, мудак." Creep seemingly found this quite humorous as he continued his approach, eventually sitting in front of Shane, who pulled his knees up to his chest, attempting to put as much distance between himself and his kidnapper as possible.

"Well, aren't you lucky that I happen to be willing to feed you." The man reached into the tipped-over bag, pulling out what looked like beef jerky, some pieces of white bread, and two bottles of water. Creep took a piece of beef jerky into his hand before bringing it close to Shane's face, causing him to cringe his head away from the offending piece of meat.

"You know it ain't very nice to refuse food when it's offered to you," Creep jeered, poking at Shane's cheek with the stick of jerky mockingly.

"How do we know you have not poisoned?" Ilya stated firmly. It was entirely possible that the food had been tampered with. Poisoning their food would be pointless, rendering their ransom void if they were dead, but drugging their meals? That was entirely in the realm of possibilities.

Creep let out an exaggerated gasp at the accusation, his free hand dramatically resting over his heart in offense.

"You wound me, Mr Rozanov! I am a trustworthy man, I assure you"

Sure, a very trustworthy man who had kidnapped both him and his husband and was now holding them against their will.

Ilya's continued glare seemed to get the message across as Creep rolled his eyes, pulling the beef jerky away from Shane's face. Surprisingly, Creep brought the beef jerky to his mouth and took a bite of it, making a show of chewing openly and swallowing the food before looking back at the two of them.

"There, does that make you feel better?" Neither of them wanted to admit the repulsive act had indeed brought some level of comfort, knowing at least the jerky was not tampered with.

"Нам понадобится энергия," Ilya said lowly, meeting Shane's gaze out of the corner of his eye. Shane huffed in frustration, knowing Ilya was right. If they wanted any sort of a fighting chance to get out of here alive, they needed food.

"Aye, English only russky," Creep snapped at Ilya

Shane could see Ilya was about to blow, his jaw clenching and his lips pursed in a tight line as he glared daggers at the man.

"Can we just get this over with? Please?" Shane intervened; the sooner Creep left them alone, the better.

Thankfully, Creep grumbled before looking away from Ilya and back to him, that same skin-crawling grin appearing on his face once more as he brought the jerky back to Shane's mouth.

Humiliation coiled deep and heavy in Shane's stomach, his instincts screaming at him to refuse the food held in front of him. But Ilya was right, they needed to eat something to survive.

Scrunching his eyes closed, Shane quickly took the jerky between his teeth and tore off a piece of the tough and salty meat. His stomach rolled at the overly salty taste; something like this was a rarity in his diet, considering the amount of sodium in such a small meat stick.

A gentle but unfamiliar hand on his hair made him wrench his eyes open, and he saw Creep leaning forward, his smile growing even more unnerving.

"Good boy"

Chaos was unleashed the moment the words left Creep's mouth. Shane had no time to react before Ilya suddenly charged forward, pushing off his knees with a furious shout.

"Ублюдок!"

An audible, sickening thud sounded as Ilya slammed his skull into Creep's face, causing the man's head to fling backwards. Ilya quickly took advantage of Creep's temporary confusion, getting on top of his chest before bringing down an elbow into his stomach.

Creep let out a guttural yell before his fist swung upwards, colliding with Ilya's nose with a crack that sent his husband tumbling off onto his side.

"You fucking cocksucker!" Creep shouted, reversing their positions as he harshly straddled Ilya's waist before bringing his fist back down once again on his husband's face.

"Get the fuck off him!" Shane all but screamed, attempting to get his legs underneath himself. Creep grabbed the front of Ilya's shirt, lifting the Russian's torso from the ground before his head snapped over to Shane.

"You stay the fuck over there," He hissed through gritted teeth. A line of dark blood was trailing down the side of his face from where Ilya's head had met his eyebrow. Shane looked to Ilya, seeing his husband had a dazed yet satisfied smirk on his face as he lay beneath Creep.

The sound of thundering footsteps down the stairs before the door screeched open again revealed the other two men who had kidnapped them. The two of them looked confused and disheveled as they took in the scene before them.

"What the fuck happened?" Tall questioned, walking over to the situation in front of him. A mixed look of confusion and frustration was visible under his black balaclava

Creep grunted as he wiped at the blood now spilling over his eyelashes, looking to his comrades before he exclaimed in a pissed-off voice.

"Fucker headbutted me-"

"Slow old man reflexes," Ilya sneered, his smirk widening as Creep's anger seemingly boiled even higher. Shane could see a pink film on his husband's teeth, which he assumed was from blood from within his mouth.

His point was proven as Creep's rageful eyes met Ilya once again, his free hand that wasn't holding Ilya's shirt reeling back and slapping Ilya across the face.

"Stop it!" Shane shouted, his cry getting no reaction from either of the three men; only Ilya's head lolled towards him, where it was hanging above the concrete ground.

"Со мной всё в порядке, малыш." Fear struck into Shane's heart hearing Ilya's words slur together, his injury to his head may be worse than it appeared to be.

"What did I fucking say about- agh forget it!" Creep growled, shoving Ilya back down into the concrete before getting off of him. Ilya groaned quietly as his head hit the floor.

"Jesus christ, go clean your fucking face," Tall ordered Creep, who marched past them towards the door. Tall looked to Shane, his intense gaze causing Shane to shrink into himself slightly.

"Secure him, I'm taking this one upstairs." Shane's eyes widened at the words. British began to walk over to his spot against the wall whilst Tall knelt next to Ilya, grabbing his husband before throwing him over his shoulder. Ilya grunted at the impact but seemingly did not fight, making Shane's panic sink deeper into his bones.

British grabbed his shirt as Shane began to struggle, watching helplessly as Tall began to walk out of the room with Ilya thrown over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

"No! No! Get the fuck off me! Ilya!" Shane protested loudly, fighting his hardest against where British's hands had grabbed onto him. Panic clawed Shane's entire system as Tall turned and began to head up the stairs, taking his injured Ilya out of sight and into what could be more danger.

"ILYA!" Shane's scream rang throughout the room as he began to sob, heaving and guttural cries leaving his body as he continued to thrash against the hold on him.

British had seemingly had enough as a boot met his stomach, forcing the small bit of air out of him as he doubled over with a wet gasp. Shane coughed against the pain in his stomach as he felt his arms being pulled behind him and around something sturdy. When had his arms been unbound?

Cold and harsh metal closed around his wrists with a click, British's hold on him finally relenting as he was secured.

"Fucking hell, you're stronger than you look, kid." British's words barely registered in his panicked and overwhelmed brain, sobs still leaving him in pained and small gasps. Footsteps walked away from him before the metal door screeched once more, feeling like a knife to his eardrums

Hunched over in both pain and misery, Shane wailed loudly, his weight only being held up by his arms secured around the cold and solid structure British had tied him to. Tears poured down his cheeks as he hyperventilated, endless possibilities running through his head as to what these men planned to do with Ilya.

But all he could do was wait, tied to a pole, completely useless whilst his husband was in grave danger.

Finally winning the battle against his eyelids that much preferred to stay closed, Ilya opened his eyes. It took a few blinks for the room to come into focus, but when it did, he was only left with even more questions.

Concrete walls and floors greeted him, not a window in sight, and old metal pillars were scattered around the room. When his eyes landed on his legs, that's when the panic started to settle in.

His legs were stretched out in front of him, but his ankles were bound together with what looked like silver tape. Testing his arms once again, he could feel what he assumed was tape also encircling his wrists.

Finally, the dryness of his mouth occurred to him. Feeling something fabric pressing down on his tongue and against the inside of his cheeks. Attempting to open his mouth to push out whatever was inside failed; That same silver tape was tightly wrapped around his head, sealing his mouth shut.

Before he allowed himself to panic further, Ilya closed his eyes and attempted to think back to the last thing he remembered.

It was late; their flight had a delayed landing, meaning they got to the hotel in the dark. Something about taking a detour, and Shane found it funny.

Shane…

Shane!

Ilya craned his neck as far as he could over his shoulder, both hoping and dreading to see his husband leaning against his back. Shane's head was lolled forward, dark hair a mess and oddly angled against the tape also wrapped around his head.

With a grunt, Ilya jammed his elbow into Shane's side a few times, hoping to get a reaction from the still unconscious Canadian. After the fourth jab landed, a groan tumbled from Shane's covered mouth as his head slowly raised.

Ilya felt Shane's head move back and forth as he took in their surroundings, and he also felt the same struggle of wrists against tape. When Shane's breathing began to pick up, coming out rushed and panicked through his nose, Ilya shoved against him once more, attempting to convey the message, "I'm here." Shane attempted to make a sound that Ilya assumed was his name, to which he made an affirming noise in response.

Shane's breathing came in and out of his nose rapidly, panicked and unsteady as he took in the situation around them. Ilya didn't blame his husband for his fear, but having a panic attack with tape wrapped around his head sounded like a recipe for disaster.

With a gentle nudge and another muffled noise, Ilya gathered one of Shane's hands into his own and took a long and purposeful inhale through his nose, hoping that Shane would understand what he was doing. Thankfully, Shane quickly caught on and began to follow Ilya's slow and purposeful breathing until his breath slowly returned to a mostly calm normal.

A momentary calm gave Ilya time to start cataloguing their situation properly, firstly seeing if there was anything he could do about their bonds. With his hand that wasn't holding Shane's, Ilya began to fiddle with the tape encircling his husband's wrists, hoping to find an end to the tape or a weak spot.

Right as his fingernail caught on the edge of something, the jingling of keys coming from across the room caused both of their heads to snap towards the sound. The small whine that left Shane made Ilya grip his hand tighter.

The large metal door across the other side of the room slid open with a loud screech, revealing three figures each wearing black balaclavas.

How cliche, Ilya thought as they shut the door behind them and began to walk over to Shane and his bound spot on the floor.

“Hollander and Rozanov, the NHL’s biggest players and faggots in history” The tallest of the three mocked, a look of disgust in his eyes as he stared down at the pair of them. Ilya glared back, conveying as much venom and malice as he could.

Another one of the men scoffed, crouching next to Ilya.

“Why so grumpy, boy? I thought you homos enjoyed this kind of freaky stuff” The second man’s voice was thick with a British accent, his hand coming to pat at Ilya’s taped cheek. Ilya yanked his head away from the touch violently, cursing angrily in Russian at the man, only for more incoherent sounds to leave his gagged lips.

"Oh shut up, tough guy", the man scoffed as he raised back up, kicking at Ilya's thigh for good measure. Thankfully, the kick was not hard, meaning Ilya did not have to hold back a reaction, continuing to glare at the three men chuckling between themselves. A squeeze to his hand calmed some of the anger simmering in his chest.

Tall clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms as he began to speak.

"Doubt I need to explain what's going on here. We want cash; you two are worth quite a pretty penny. I'm sure you have many people who would be willing to pay for your safe return," Ilya rolled his eyes at the statement from the man.

If he were alive, Ilya's father would rather be skinned alive than give these men a single cent for his son's safe return. His brother would also not care, not that he could afford any type of ransom. What little amount of love and care his family had for him had died along with his mother when he was 12 years old.

Yet despite all of that, when Shane had come barreling into his life, so had his parents. Yuna and David had quickly accepted him as their own, treating him as much of a son to them as Shane. Sometimes, his husband would even complain that Ilya was her mother's favourite son.

There was no doubt in his mind that once Yuna and David were made aware of the pair's kidnapping, the two of them would not rest until both boys were back home safe.

"Enough of the monologuing, get the damn camera out, I want to see them squirm" The final of the three spoke, his tone making Ilya's skin crawl.

Tall pulled an iPhone out of his pocket before pointing at the bound pair, the sound of a recording starting played before he began to speak once more.

"Good evening, to whom it may concern, we have some special guests staying with us today!" Ilya felt as if his eyes were about to roll out of his head with the performative tone of Tall's voice.

"Now I'll keep it simple as I am a simple man, 10 million per boy, cash, should suffice." It felt like a rock dropped in Ilya's stomach when he heard the price on their heads. Each of them had earned around that amount in their careers, but such a large sum was not something either of them had just lying around.

Apparently, Shane had the same thought as he attempted to protest behind the tape.

"Got something to say, pretty boy?" British sneered; the sound of a switchblade flicking open had Ilya's spine straightening as he attempted to look over his shoulder to locate the weapon. Thankfully, the man only used the blade to cut the tape encircling Shane's head, allowing his husband to spit out a saliva-soaked rag. After a few deep inhales, Shane looked up at the man holding the camera with a concerned frown.

"We don't have 20 million in cash just lying around! We'd... we'd have to liquidate assets and-" Shane's voice cut off by a sharp slapping sound, Ilya felt his husband's head jerk to the side.

"That doesn't sound like my fucking problem, does it?" British shouted inches away from Shane's face, and Ilya felt his husband cringe into him. Ilya squeezed Shane's hand that remained in his, there was little comfort he could provide his husband in their current predicament, but that wasn't going to stop him.

"Now I don't consider myself a violent man, however." The man holding the iPhone came down to Shane's level, grabbing his chin roughly. "The sooner we get our money, the better, if you get what I mean" The sound of the recording ending played as Tall let go of Shane's face. He let out a satisfied hum as he stood up once again to his full height