He keeps pulling his hair, keeps scratching him, keeps rubbing his clit, keeps fucking him slow and steady and deep, keeps murmuring about how much he loves him.

He starts to lose the rhythm they've established and just press his hips forward, beg without words for more. 

Lev notices and starts to fuck him harder and faster, his hands pulling at Sasha's hair as hard as he can.

Oh god oh god oh god it's — he jerks forward and his head falls back and he can't keep his eyes open, it's perfect Lev's perfect — "I love you," he gasps, can't say anything else. 

"I love you too," Lev says, going harder and faster and moving his hand so hard that it cramps.

His eyes roll back and and his thighs squeeze together and he bites Lev's lip when he finishes. 

Lev collapses on top of him after he comes, bites his shoulder, his neck, his ear. Lev fucks him hard and carelessly, without regard for Sasha's feelings, using him for Lev's own pleasure. 

(He made Sasha come-- even though Sasha doesn't want him-- maybe Sasha faked it and that's even better, hotter--)

"I love you-- I love you--"

He kisses Lev, twitches a little around him. He's so warm. 

Lev kisses him and thinks about how Sasha doesn't want this and he has to do it anyway and he has to pretend to like it and bites him one last time and finishes. 

He's so good. Sasha loves him so much. If words were a thing that was happening right now he'd say so; as it is he just relaxes under him and holds his (his boyfriend? his fiancé?) his Lev. 

For a moment Lev is warm and happy and afterglow-y. 

And then he replays the previous fifteen minutes in his head, this time without a boner. 

"Sorry, I-- I have to go," he says, yanking on his shirt and pants.

"Lev —" 

But he's already gone. 

Sasha doesn't follow. If Lev needs to — process, or whatever it is he needs to do — he should have space to do that. He takes Lev's pillow and curls up around it. 

Lev goes into his bedroom and locks the door and curls up around a pillow and cries and hates himself. 

He buries his face in Lev's pillow. 

He doesn't cry. 

It's a lot harder to fall asleep alone, though. 

He doesn't sleep at all.

He wakes up and reaches out for Lev and then remembers three times before he gives up on sleeping and gets up and puts clothes on and goes looking for him. 

For the first time in their relationship, his bedroom door is locked.

He knocks. 

"I'd rather be alone actually." His voice is shaky.

Oh. 

Okay. 

"I'm sorry for pushing," he says, quietly, and then he leaves and goes back to his own room and then he cries. 

He sleeps fitfully for the entire morning and most of the afternoon. Thinking about Sasha blends into dreams about Sasha. Dreams where Sasha yells at him and calls him a rapist, worse than Malcolm, and Lev can't object to it because it's right. Dreams where Sasha hits him and he takes it because he deserves it. Dreams where Sasha cries and asks him why he did it if he thought he loved Sasha. Dreams where they are married and they have been for years and they're talking about everyday things while Sasha bakes or studies for an art history final and Sasha is smiling and happy and loves him. 

He cries himself out and then tries to fall asleep again. It works, for an hour or so. He tries reading and can't concentrate. He tries drawing and can't concentrate. He takes his laptop and finds some stupid mindless game and does that to keep his hands busy while his mind is trying to work out what he'd done wrong — except it's obvious what he'd done wrong, Lev is terrified of sex, he knew that, why did he — 

In the evening he sends Sasha an email:

you should go

when we first got together I put ten million dollars in an account for you. this is my broker's email, he can talk you through things. 

He types "I love you" and then he deletes it.

Lev —

He fucked up so badly that — 

He types "I'm sorry. I'll go." and deletes it and types it again and cuts it and then pauses and pastes and sends before he can talk himself out of it. 

He stares at the screen. 

Abruptly, he stands up and starts packing.