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protect me

Summary:

Kirill is asking something strange of Quinn.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

"Hi," says Kirill. "You can take care of me?" He points on himself and then on Quinn.

The dark haired stares confused at the russian. "What?"

Kirill sighs. "You can protect me, huh?"

Quinn blushes. He is still confused as hell but also it's kinda nice? Like Kirill isn't a big guy by himself and he still thinks Quinn could protect him? Quinn, who actually has rarely fights?

"Well, if you say so, I guess yeah sure. I can protect you.", Quinn says shyly, fidgeting his fingers. His redness intensifies.

"Good.", the Russian nods. "Come."

Quinn tilts his head. "What? Where?" Kirill sighs impatiently. "Protect me. You protect me you said."

Quinn blinks. Does Kirill really expect him to protect him in an emergency? Is this an emergency?

He stands up. His knees feel quite weak. "What am I supposed to protect you from?" he asks.

Kirill simply gestures for him to follow. Fine, then Quinn will just come along. Unprepared.

He wonders who would even start a fight with Kirill? The blond man is one of the most amiable and kindest people Quinn has ever met. Anyone who started an argument with him would probably kick puppies and take toys away from small children.

Quinn subtly clenches his hands into fists and then relaxes them again. He feverishly tries to remember everything he has ever learned about self-defense.

Oh my god, this will be the first real fight of his life. Unless you count the fight when Jack was 7 years old and he and his best friend Trevor Zegras were bullied by a group of older children in the playground. And even then, Quinn hadn't really fought,Trevor, that little shit, had given him a little shove, causing Quinn to stumble into one of the guys and while Quinn was trying to catch himself, he accidentally send the other guy on the ground.

At least he'd somehow earned some respect on the playground that day.

But that probably wouldn't work here.

"How many are there?" Quinn asks.

Kirill grins cheerfully at him. "330."

Quinn feels the blood leaving his face. 330? This is a fucking massacre.

"Do you mean 3?" he asks, hoping that Kirill is simply messing up some english numbers. But the russian shakes his head. "No, no. 330," he says emphatically, looking at Quinn as if he were stupid.

"Kirill, maybe we should get some help," Quinn suggests, pulling Kirill back by the shoulder. The blond boy curls his lip. "You are help."

"Oh no, dude, no, not against 330! Seriously, why are there so many?" Quinn's voice almost cracks.

Kirill shrugs. "Me strong. You strong, huh?"

"No, that's just insane!"

"Yeah, insane," Kirill agrees, sounding far too enthusiastic. As if he weren't trying to lure his teammate into a mass brawl.

Kirill puts his arm around Quinn's shoulder and pulls him along. Quinn lets himself be dragged along, almost numb, until they finally stop in front of the gym door.

There's no way 330 people could fit in here, Quinn thinks, bewildered.

Under his armpits, sweat stains the size of lake michigan had already formed. Kirill opens the door and the room is empty.

"So, what am I supposed to protect you from?" Quinn asks, puzzled and looks around. Not that he was complaining, he was quite glad not to be caught in a mass brawl with 330 people.

Kirill stops in front of a weight bench and points to it. "You protect me, yeah?"

Now Quinn is completely confused. "Wait, you want me spotting you while you work out?"

Kirill looks up at him curiously. "Is this spotting?" Quinn nods with relief. "Yeah, that's spotting."

•○●○•°○●○•

A little less than half an hour later, Kirill is no longer wearing a shirt and Quinn watches greedily as drops of sweat run down his toned chest.

"One more rep," Kirill groans, lifting the barbell again.

Quinn nods, his gaze still fixed on the beads of sweat. One of them is running down Kirill's nipple. He wants to lick it, taste the salty sweat.

"Thank you for protecting me. Spotting," Kirill says after tidying up the barbell with Quinn's help. "No problem," the dark-haired man replys. "Anytime."

Kirill grins crookedly. "I take that offer very often."

Quinn feels the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Good," he says.

Notes:

I got the idea from a meme my friend sent me. For the plot, Kirill's english is worse.

feel free to leave your opinions and kudos. 💕