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It was Saturday night and Alpha Kappa was booming, which wasn’t surprising.
It was the first major party of the fall semester and it’s been circled on Shane’s calendar for almost a month now. He’d spent the majority of the past three weeks making sure every single detail was exactly where it needed to be. Most people would assume parties just simply happened; that you unlocked the doors, turned on some music, put out enough alcohol and everything else would fall into place.
Those people: idiots. Parties required planning; careful and precise planning.
For instance, the speakers needed to be tested beforehand because nobody was going to spend thirty minutes attempting to troubleshoot a damaged system while two hundred drunk college students stood around complaining. The kegs needed to be picked up from the store, cup had to be stocked, furniture had to be rearranged, the guest list had to be closely monitored and security - which was basically two other members from Alpha Kappa - had to keep their eyes peeled in case there were any trespassers.
And because Shane trusted only a handful of people to do these things correctly, he pretty much had overseen most of the operations himself.
Now, the result was currently unfolding around him.
Music pulsed throughout the house so loudly that Shane could feel the bass vibrating his bones, colored lights flashed across the crowded living room, painting the walls blue, purple, and pink in alternating waves, and the smell of beer, cheap cologne, and body spray lingered heavily in the air.
In one corner of the house, a game of beer pong had just started, a cluster of freshmen argued loudly over the rules of flip cup near the staircase, and two girls were dancing on top of a coffee table despite explicit instructions not to dance on the coffee table.
Shane made a mental note to deal with that later.
But for now, things were running exceptionally smooth. There were no fights, nothing expensive had been broken, and nobody had called campus security - yet. As far as Shane was concerned, the night was already a massive success and perhaps one of the best parties that Alpha Kappa has ever thrown.
Standing near the kitchen island with a red plastic cup in one hand, Shane quietly surveyed the area around him. He wasn’t antisocial - people always assumed that. The truth was that Shane simply liked observing things from afar. He liked knowing where everyone was, how things were functioning, and most importantly, he liked being able to spot any potential problems before they became actual problems. And so far, every piece was fitting exactly where it belonged.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
Shane turned his head. Hayden appeared right beside him carrying a drink in his hand and looking like he was already having too much fun.
“What thing?” Hayden gestured a finger circling his face. “Oh, is there something on my face?”
Hayden chuckled. “No, dude. You look like you’re fucking constipated.” Shane shoved Hayden’s chest lightly, his drink splashing a tad. “Watch it man!”
“Fuck off, Hayes.”
Hayden ruffled Shane’s hair. “Why do you look so judgy right now?”
“I’m making sure things don’t blow up,” Shane said sarcastically, taking a sip from his drink. “Someone has to keep these people in check.”
“Everything is going according to your plan, master,” Hayden jokes, earning him another shove. “You need to loosen up a little. Everyone’s having fun but you!”
Shane shook his head. “I am having fun!”
“You’ve spent the last hour standing here in this one spot watching everyone like a hawk.” Hayden took another sip from his drink before nudging Shane’s shoulder. “Seriously, man. Relax. The house hasn’t burned down. Nobody’s dying. You’ve done your job.”
Shane let his friend’s words sink in. He panned across the room once more, taking in all the sights and sounds of people dancing, chatting, and having a fun time. Hayden was right. The night was going well. Better than well, actually. After so many weeks of stress planning to make sure this party wouldn’t flop, everything was kind of perfect.
Shane let out a loud, relieving sigh. “Alright, alright,” he breathed. Despite it all, Shane felt the corner of his mouth turn upward into a half smile. While he would never admit it, there was always something deeply satisfying about watching a plan of his come together exactly the way it was supposed to.
Well, sort of.
As Shane went in to take another swig from his drink, a sudden eruption of cheering and clapping exploded from somewhere near the back patio. The people that were in the kitchen with Shane and Hayden began to scurry back there, some pulling out their phones already sliding into the camera app. Shane and Hayden looked at each other confused before they too rushed to figure out what all the commotion was for.
As the two of them got closer to the chaos, they realized that the crowd was forming a circle while they shouted out numbers and waved cash around. It didn’t take long for them to put two and two together that someone was currently taking bets. On what exactly? Well, Shane was about to find out.
“What are they betting on?” Shane wondered, looking around.
“Beats me,” Hayden replied, though his tone and the grin creeping on his face suggested he was more amused than Shane who was beginning to feel a little worried.
Of course everyone was allowed to partake or create any kind of game - for example, beer pong or spin the bottle - but those were all seemingly harmless activities, according to Shane. None of which required to place any money on. His only concern was that if anything went wrong, he’d be the one in charge of dealing with these people’s money, and that was something he had to shut down immediately.
After Shane forced his way through several layers of people, he finally reached the inner part of the circle and spotted the culprit of all this ruckus.
Ilya Rozanov.
Of-fucking-course.
Standing in the middle of the patio as if he owned the place was Delta Sigma’s president himself. Their rival fraternity had spent years competing with Alpha Kappa for everything; recruitments, charity events, campus elections, sports tournaments, you name it. If Alpha Kappa was doing something, Delta Sigma always found a way to make their lives a living hell. And right now, somehow, their president had managed to become the center of attention; so fucking typical.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shane muttered, staring down at the two men standing in the middle.
Ilya stood across a guy Shane vaguely recognized from one of his economics lectures, and the two of them stood awfully close together. So close that it looked intentional and the crowd was losing their minds over it.
Someone shouted, “Come on!”
Another yelled, “Don’t chicken out!”
The guy in front of Ilya looked increasingly nervous. His palms were visibly shaking, his entire face resembled a tomato, and large beads of sweat were trailing down the sides of his face. He looked as if he was about to blow up on the spot. One the other hand, Ilya looked… like Ilya.
Ilya had his hands folded behind him as he stared down the man with a smug smile plastered across his face. He was clearly entertained at the thought of making this man tremble. He tilted his head side to side, looking at the guy from every angle. The man in front of him stood still - or tried to due to his shakiness - watching Ilya’s every movement. It was only until Ilya began to close the gap between them, with his lips slightly parted, when the man abruptly put out his hands on Ilya’s chest and stepped backward.
Because of this, the crowd exploded into a chaotic roar, Shane jumping from the sound.
“No!”
“Chicken!”
“Loser!”
The guy threw both hands into the air. “Fuck this. I can’t do this. Nope!”
Half of the crowd was booing the man, taunting him while repeatedly calling him ‘Chicken’, and the other half was applauding and cheering for Ilya for being the winner.
Cliff Marleau - one of Ilya’s frat brothers and best friend - firmly patted him on the back with a wide grin. “You never fail to surprise me, Roz. That’s the third one tonight!”
Third? Shane could feel the irritation settle instantly in his chest. It didn’t matter to him if he was left out of a game. He was the host first and foremost, and he would rather watch than join in. What bothered him was the fact that this ‘game’ was made by none other than Ilya Rozanov, and he wasn’t going to let this slide.
“What the fuck is going on?” Shane declared, heads snapping to his direction.
Ilya and Cliff turned around and the second Ilya’s eyes found Shane’s, his grin widened.
“Ah, there you are!” Ilya exclaimed. Shane got a better look at hims now, and he was definitely down a few beers at this point. His speech was slurred, his curls were sticking out in every direction like he had been electrocuted, and his cheeks were very flushed.
Of course, he was already plastered and making a fool of himself at Shane’s party.
A low rumble of giggles were heard from the crowd watching the two interact. It wasn’t a secret that Shane and Ilya despised one another. Everyone loved seeing the two bicker and fight with each other because they would always get nasty and sarcastic and apparently it was entertaining to watch. Most thought it was always some kind of bit they were performing just for the heck of it, but Shane was never pretending.
“How did you guys get in?” Shane questioned, looking at both of them.
“I was invited.”
Shane turned to Ilya, his eyes narrowing. “Invited? Yeah right.”
“I am not lying!” Ilya defended.
“Okay, then who invited you?”
Ilya looked around the crowd. “Uh, someone. They are here somewhere!”
More giggles ensued. Shane looked back at Cliff who immediately raised his hands in protest. “Look, man. I’m only here for the booze.”
“And you paid the cover, right?” Shane asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Ilya blew a raspberry. “You are so boring, Hollander. Let us have fun, okay?” Ilya groaned, turning his back to Shane.
“How about you have fun elsewhere?” Shane spat.
Ilya chuckled softly, slowly turning back around to face Shane. He stood there for a moment, swaying on his feet. He smiled, “But then I wouldn’t get to annoy you.”
A wave of laughter filled the air. Shane resisted the urge to reach out and wrap his hands around his neck to strangle him right there. Ilya always knew what button to push. “Annoy me tomorrow. I don’t have time for this.”
The crowd immediately broke into a chorus of “ooohs” as if Shane had challenged Ilya to a duel.
“Okay.”
Shane stood there, blinking a few times. The answer was so unexpected that even the crowd went totally silent. Shane raised an eyebrow. “Okay?
“Yes, okay. I will leave.”
No. This couldn’t be that easy. Because one thing about Ilya was that if he agreed with Shane that quickly, it usually meant there was some scheming involved. Judging by the sly smile growing on his lips, there was definitely a catch to all of this.
“You’re bluffing,” Shane pressed.
“I am not buffing,” Ilya said, saying the word incorrectly.
Shane took a glance at every feature of his, looking for any hints of his lies. “You absolutely are.”
Ilya chuckled. “Fine. I will leave,” Ilya repeated. “If you beat me.”
The crowd once again erupted with an overwhelming amount of whistling and cheering that surprisingly surpassed the volume of the music playing throughout the house. Several people in the crowd started pulling out more cash from their pockets and shouting out numbers left and right. Shane looked around, confused as to what he just got himself in.
“What?”
Ilya once again folded his arms behind his back. “Beat me.”
“At what?” Shane scoffed, noticing how Ilya began to approach him ever so slowly.
“You ask so many questions, Hollander,” Ilya teased, tiptoeing toward him.
“How am I supposed to beat you if I don’t know what you’re playing?” Shane demanded, crossing his arms over his chest where he could feel his heart violently pounding against his ribcage. With the way Ilya was moving, there was no way he could calm himself down. What was he planning to do to him? And why did he look at Shane the same way he looked at all of his hookups?
“Just don’t… Chicken out,” Ilya clarified as he took a big step closer to Shane.
The audience began to lose their minds again. “This is gonna be so good!” One person said. “You better not lose, Hollander!” Shouted another person.
Shane looked around, figuring out where the voices were coming from. “Lose how?” he asked, not realizing Ilya took another huge step toward him. Ilya was closing in on him and could smell the alcohol oozing off of him mixed with a musky cologne that could easily give anyone a headache if they inhaled too much of it.
“Oh, Hollander…”
Ilya had always been an asshole; always getting under people’s skin, taking jokes way too far, and always creating chaos wherever he went. Yet despite all of his traits, Ilya had always been irritatingly easy on the eyes. His chiseled jawline, those stupid dirty blonde curls, and the unfairly symmetrical face that somehow looked good even after several drinks.
Shane always knew he was into guys, but he wasn’t one to prance around letting everybody know that he was gay - and incredibly horny too, but that’s besides the point. At the end of the day, Shane was simply too busy being the leader of his fraternity and dealing with school assignments to bother looking into dating apps and meeting new people.
Doesn’t mean he couldn’t stare and wonder. And boy, was he staring and wondering.
“What are you thinking about, Hollander?” Ilya spoke, tearing through Shane’s train of thought.
Shane shook his head, snapping back to reality. “Nothing. Nothing. You?”
Another step forward. Ilya was now inches away from Shane, close enough that he started to feel the warmth of Ilya’s body radiating off of him. That musk from his cologne intertwined with the scent of beer was even more pungent and it made Shane’s stomach knot and twist. “Mmm, same. Nothing,” Ilya replied, staring into Shane’s big brown eyes.
“So, what now?” Shane said, his voice lowering into a whisper now that the two were so close.
Ilya shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. His gaze dropped briefly, not to Shane’s eyes, but to his lips. While the crowd was busy shouting around them, something in Shane clicked and he finally understood what was going on.
Shane had heard about Gay Chicken from a friend of a friend who’d played it at another party a while ago. From what he remembered, it consisted of two straight people getting progressively closer to one another until one of them essentially “chickened out” first. The loser was whoever backed away or decided they’d had enough.
Shane thought the game was incredibly ridiculous. Just a bunch of nonsense. However, standing face to face with Rozanov while half the campus was losing their shit around them, he was beginning to understand why people found it entertaining.
“Mm, you figured it out,” Ilya hummed in amusement. Shane furrowed his brows. The realization must’ve shown all over this face, while a slow grin spread across Ilya’s face. “Aw.”
“Don’t.”
“Maybe you are not so dumb after all,” Ilya giggled, his gaze flickering between Shane’s plush lips and back to his warm brown eyes. “Getting nervous?” Ilya asked softly.
Shane scoffed, “Nope.” The answer came out too quickly.
Ilya laughed, not loudly or mockingly, but rather in a way to let Shane know he didn’t believe him. “Sure.”
“I’m not.”
“Whatever you say.”
The fact that he sounded so unconvinced made Shane only want to win even more, which was why he stayed exactly where he was without moving a muscle. He didn’t want to give Ilya that satisfaction of it all.
Around them, people resumed their chanting and shouting.
“Don’t back out!”
“Let’s go, Hollander!”
“Don’t be a chicken!”
Shane ignored all of them. His attention remained fixed entirely on Ilya and the way his eyes sparkled with pleasure, the faint flush lingering across his cheeks, and how stupid those curls fell on his face. Snap out of it, Shane. Before he could continue pointing out any more of his captivating features, Ilya leaned in. Not by much - probably about an inch - and no one really noticed it.
Except for Shane. Shane noticed. His whole entire body noticed, actually. The space between them vanished almost completely and they were now closer than ever. Shane became aware of everything all at once; the warmth radiating from Ilya’s body, the scent of his cologne being even more intoxicating, the way his chest almost brushed Shane’s every time either of them breathed. It was… distracting. More distracting than it had any right to be.
While being this close to Ilya, Shane’s eyes wandered all over him. He had always know Ilya was built like a tank. The guy practically lived in the gym when he wasn’t busy being a pain in the ass. From a distance, he always looked solid; broad shoulders and muscle. However, standing this close made Shane realize that there was more to him than just being a gym rat.
Despite being the center of attention and having dozens of eyes watching his every move, he looked completely at ease. Shane was incredibly tensed up; his whole entire body was clenched from head to toe. Ilya, on the other hand, was cool, calm, and collected. Shane always assumed someone like his would be rigid beneath all that arrogance and cockiness. Instead, he was incredibly relaxed being this close to Shane. Either he was better at hiding how insane this game was getting, or…
Nope. Shane didn’t want to think about any other options besides that one. He didn’t want to be hit with anymore realizations tonight. He had to stop thinking of the possibility of Ilya being comfortable standing this close to him and have it not bother him one bit.
Fuck.
Judging by the knowing smile slowly spreading across Ilya’s face, he seemed fully aware of exactly where Shane’s thoughts had gone. Before Shane could stop himself from overthinking, Ilya took advantage of the moment and slithered his hands around Shane’s waist, pulling him closer into him. Shane’s breathing hitched and Ilya let out a soft laugh, mischief in his eyes as his grip tightened around him. It was as if he had been waiting all night for this, to see Shane crack under all this pressure.
“Ready to lose?” Ilya whispered.
Shane bit the inside of his cheek. This was so stupid; completely and undeniably stupid. He had spent years despising Ilya, years rolling his eyes whenever he walked into a room, years competing against him in everything imaginable, years trying not to think too hard about the fact that the guy was unfairly attractive. Now, standing here with Ilya’s arms around him, he wanted to turn into mush. His thoughts were tangled in knots, his pulse was off the charts, and his knees were close to giving out beneath him.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been craving this kind of closeness, this touch. It was everything Shane had been wanting for longer than he cared to admit, but never - not even in a million year - had he imagined it’d be the touch of Ilya Rozanov.
Shane was once again so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Ilya had been inching closer to his face. And it was so close, so close that…
Ilya’s lips brushed against his. It was the faintest touch, barely there. Like a whisper of contact that lasted less than a millisecond. It was so quick that Shane almost convinced himself he’d imagined. Almost.
His heart dropped, and it felt as if it fell out of his ass. The bliss of being alleviated from his touch starvation had evaporated and was immediately replaced with pure panic. The kind of panic that brings you back to the reality that the person in front of you was your rival and the two of you were practically on the brink of fusing with each other while everyone around you was losing their minds. It was also the kind of panic that made Shane step back.
Shane Hollander stepped away.
The moment everyone caught him stepping away, a deafening roar tore through the air from every direction. People screamed while still holding their phones in the air. Someone dropped their drink. Half the crowd doubled over laughing while the other half immediately started chanting.
“CHICKEN!”
“HOLLANDER CHICKENED OUT!”
“NO WAY!”
“I KNEW IT!”
Shane’s eyes dropped to the floor, feeling his cheeks heat up instantly. This was beyond mortifying. If the Earth decided to crack open right now beneath him and swallow him whole, he’d dive right in head first. The worst - and probably the scariest - part of it all was that he hadn’t even meant to move. It wasn’t even an idea that popped in his mind. There was no moment where he’d that, I’m backing out. It just… happened. A stupid fucking reflex. His body decided to react before his brain could catch up and, judging by the look around him, nobody gave a damn about that distinction.
To everyone else, he’d lost under his own roof at his own party while being in front of what felt like half the campus. His pride? Down the drain. Not a single bit left. However, he didn’t care about the chanting, the phones recording them, nor the inevitable teasing that he would have to endure for weeks to come. It was the fact that Shane lost to Ilya. Ilya won, and that stung more than anything else.
He continued to stand in the middle of the circle while everyone pointed and laughed at him while Ilya kept on gloating with the most cocky grin Shane had ever seen. God, if he could just yank that stupid smile off his face right now he would in a heartbeat. “Okay, okay! It was just a game, guys,” Shane called over the noise. “Show’s over. Go do… Literally anything else.”
Nobody moved a muscle, nobody listened to him. Instead, the chanting got even louder.
“CHICKEN!”
“CHICKEN!”
“CHICKEN!”
Shane groaned and lifted both hands up in defeat. There was no stopping it now. The crowd had found its joke for the night and unfortunately, Shane was the punchline. Keeping his head down, he pushed his way through the sea of people, weaving between bodies until he finally escaped the center of the circle. Behind him, the chanting gradually dissolved into laughter and new conversations as people moved on to their next source of entertainment.
Hayden caught up with him near the edge of the patio and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t let it get you, man.”
Shane shot him a deathly glare. “Easy for you to say.”
A chuckle escaped Hayden before he could stop it. “Okay, yeah. Maybe a little embarrassing.”
“A little?” Shane scoffed.
“Fine. A lot.”
Shane sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He glanced over his shoulder and sure enough, Ilya was still standing in the middle of the crowd, laughing about something he and Cliff were chatting about along with his other friends. The sight of him made Shane’s eye twitch.
Hayden noticed Shane’s attention was elsewhere and immediately looked back at what caught his eye. “He’s never letting this go, is he?”
“Nope,” Shane said, popping the ‘P’.
“On the bright side-”
Shane snapped his head back at Hayden. “There isn’t a bright side.”
“Well, there is!” Shane narrowed his eyes at him as Hayden grinned. “At least you didn’t actually kiss him.”
And for some reason, that didn’t make Shane feel any better.
—--
The party continued as though nothing had happened. The music kept bumping, drinks kept flowing, and new games broke out all over the house. Yet, no matter where Shane went, the comments followed him. Not consistently, but enough to annoy him.
Every twenty minutes there would be someone that would pass by him and mutter, “Chicken.” Another guy clucked at him while grabbing a beer from the kitchen. One girl even giggled at him and said, “Better luck next time, Hollander.” At one point, Shane seriously considered shutting down the entire party and kicking everyone out of the house so that he could rot away in his bed and not have to hear another one of those infuriating comments again.
By midnight, the embarrassment had faded into irritation and by one in the morning, it had evolved into pure stubbornness. Which is why Shane found himself pouring himself another drink and then another to take the edge off, hoping that this wouldn’t get him entirely wasted. Or at least, that had been his plan.
Shane found an empty spot on one of the couches in their living room and sunk into it, phone in one hand and a half finished drink in the other. He huffed out a painfully long sigh as his thumb mindlessly open Instagram and scrolled through his feed, checking to see what was new as he hadn’t checked it since the party started. Photos and videos began populating his feed from guests that were currently at his party. Most of them were people taking photos of their friends, dancing, drinking, or smoking.
Shane made a mental note of that as it was prohibited to smoke on the property.
He kept scrolling some more until a particular post made his thumb freeze against the screen. Shane zoomed in, studying the image with far more attention than it deserved. He swiped to the next photo. And the next. And the next. Each photo received the same level of scrutiny, taking in every detail of each passing photo.
Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov.
The photo dump was exactly what Shane would’ve expected from him; a little bit of everything. One photo showed him shirtless and flexing in front of a mirror, clearly aware of how insane he looked. Another had him leaning against a wall with a drink in one hand and a cigarette wedged between his fingers, grinning at whoever was behind the camera. Another mental note for Shane. Then there were pictures of him and Cliff throwing their arms around random girls, blurry snapshots from the party, and the occasional candid shot that somehow looked annoyingly effortless.
Shane rolled his eyes. He loathed them all, which was probably why he couldn’t pry his eyes away. He continued to swipe through the dump until he reached the last photo and paused.
The angle of this photo was a little off. The lighting was terrible and it was incredibly shaky. Most people would’ve overlooked it immediately, but not Shane. Despite its blurriness, Shane immediately recognized himself. Or rather, he recognized the back of his head. It was a photo that showed him with his back toward the camera as he stood by the kitchen island, drink in hand and completely unaware that a photo was being taken. Most would’ve never guessed that the individual in the photo was him, but Shane knew and suddenly his blood was boiling.
He stared at it for an embarrassingly long time before realizing that being annoyed probably wasn’t the only reason he hasn’t swiped away yet. He gripped onto the cup tightly as he clicked on Ilya’s profile and tapped the message button.
Shane inhaled sharply through his nose as his thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
Shane: Rematch.
Sent.
God, Shane wanted to hurl his phone across the room so bad right now. This was so beyond pathetic of him. Any crumb of dignity he had left in him had been flushed down the toilet at this point. This was definitely a new low for him and it was embarrassing. And, on top of it all, Shane knew this was beyond silly. Doing all of this for a stupid game of Gay Chicken, for fucks sake.
Shane was a sore loser, and when it had anything to do with losing against Ilya, all rationality went out the window. What was he even expecting for him to say anyway? Ilya might not answer at all. In fact, that was probably the most likely outcome.
His phone vibrated almost instantly.
Ilya: What?
Shane blinked a few times, his thumbs frozen but trembling ever so slightly above the keyboard. He blinked once more, looking at the screen. The message had appeared so quickly that for a second he genuinely thought he was hallucinating. He rubbed his eyes and checked the chat again.
Yup. Still there. No delay. No waiting. No leaving him on read. Just a simple response within seconds from Shane’s.
Shane found himself glancing around the room as though Ilya might somehow be watching him from somewhere nearby, as if this were some kind of prank he was pulling on him. The idea was ridiculous, but so was the fact that he had answered that quickly.
His thumbs regained their ability to move again.
Shane: I'm not a chicken.
Ilya responded again right away.
Ilya: You want rematch of Gay Chicken?
Shane: … Yes
Ilya: Hollander, it was a stupid game
Ilya: Just get over it.
There it was. The confirmation that he had officially lost his God damn mind. Shane groaned and dropped his head back against the couch. Not only had he messaged Ilya first, but now Ilya knew he was pathetic enough to ask for a rematch over something so miniscule. Shane dragged a hand down his face and locked his phone, seriously hoping and praying for the couch cushions to swallow him whole.
His phone vibrated again. Then again. And then one more time before it came to a halt. Frowning - and already knowing what was to come - Shane unlocked his phone.
Ilya: Meet me upstairs.
Ilya: Third door on the left.
Ilya: 15 minutes.
Shane stared at the screen in disbelief. Was this actually happening? For a second, he was convinced that the alcohol was finally hitting him. Maybe he’d imagined the entire conversation. Maybe he’d accidentally fallen asleep on the couch and this was so bizarre and very fucked up dream his subconscious had cooked up.
Another notification appeared.
Ilya: Unless you are going to chicken out again.
Shane's jaw clenched as he read those eight words. The absolute fucking nerve of this guy. Not to mention that this entire mess was Ilya’s fault to begin with, and somehow he still managed to sound conceited as hell through text messages. Frankly, it was kind of impressive.
Without letting a millisecond go by, Shane shot back a response.
Shane: I'll be there.
The message sent before he had any chance to undo it. He locked his phone afterwards and threw his head back against the couch again, staring up at the ceiling. This was such a terrible idea. An unbelievably terrible and stupid idea. What good would come in redoing a whole game of Gay Chicken with Ilya, especially doing it alone away from the party? Anyone else would see right through this and simply just accept that they had lost. However, Shane couldn’t let this slide, and fifteen minutes later, he found himself marching up the stairs ready to get this over with. His brain was still trying to come up with reasons to turn around and find Hayden, but his legs had made the decision for him.
—
As Shane reached the second floor, he was recounting all the idiotic decisions he had made in the past. He had done some dumb shit in his life, but none of them compared to this one that he was about to make.
The hallway was quieter than the rest of the house. The music from downstairs reached him only as a distant thump through the floorboards, and most of the guests were still occupied with the party below. The upper floor remained most empty, exactly as Shane intended. He made a point of keeping people out of the bedrooms during the party as he didn’t want any strangers treating someone’s room like a hotel suite or climbing into beds while still wearing the same clothes they’d been sweating, drinking, and spilling beer in all night. A couple of people lingered near the spare bathroom waiting for their turn, but otherwise the hallway was deserted.
Shane made his way down the hallway, counting doors as he went. The farther he walked, the more convinced he became that he had rocks for brains. When he finally found the third door on the left, he stopped dead in his tracks and let out the longest most exasperated sigh.
The third door on the left was none other than Shane’s own room. Why wouldn’t it be? Out of every room in the entire house, Ilya had managed to pick the one room guaranteed to make this whole situation infinitely more awkward.
“Asshole,” Shane muttered under his breath.
He stared at the door for a little longer, reminding himself what stupidity he was about to do. Less than an hour ago, he’d been trying to throw Ilya out of the party. Now, he was standing out his own room because he couldn’t just let it go and let Ilya win a game that should’ve been forgotten the second it ended.
Taking a steadying breath, Shane tightened his grip on the doorknob and twisted it open. As he stepped inside, Ilya was there sitting on the edge of his bed, as if somehow had the permission to do so. His legs was stretched out lazily while his hands were planted behind him on the mattress. The second Shane walked in, Ilya lifted his head and Shane was met with that infuriatingly arrogant grin of his. Just the mere sight of it made Shane's eye twitch.
"There he is," Ilya said, sounding far too pleased with himself.
"Don't start."
Ilya tilted his head to a side, attempting to look innocent. "What?"
"Look, can we just get this over with?"
Ilya chuckled. "You are the one that wanted this."
Shane opened his mouth ready to argue, but nothing came out. Unfortunately, the asshole had a point. With a groan, Shane shut the door behind him along with locking it behind him, just in case anyone forgot where the bathroom was. Suddenly, the room felt smaller than usual. A little warmer, too. Or maybe that was because Ilya was sitting on his bed wearing his outside clothes. Definitely.
“You know,” Ilya spoke. “I don’t actually think you are a chicken.”
Shane snorted. “Really? You seemed pretty happy about it downstairs.”
“Well,” Ilya shrugged his shoulders, leaning back on his hands as he got more comfortable on Shane’s bed. “You did pull away.”
“Yeah, it was just a reflex.”
Ilya raised a brow up, bewildered. “Reflex? What does that mean?”
“It’s something like, when your body reacts first before you think about it. That’s a reflex,” Shane explained, pacing slowly in front of him.
Ilya stared at him, speechless. Shane didn’t know which was worse: his quietness or his cockiness. But right now, as Shane watched him closely, he could practically see the cobwebbed infested gears in his heads turn for once, realizing the mistake Shane had just made.
“So,” Ilya said, clearing his throat. “If it wasn’t a reflex…”
“Stop.”
“If I had-”
“I know what you’re asking.”
“...And?”
Shane looked away. He looked at his desk, the floor, the poster crookedly taped to the wall. Literally anything that wasn’t Ilya sitting on his bed, looking at Shane like he had just cracked the code to a safe.
Shane shrugged. “Maybe…”
The room went still. The bass from downstairs still pulsed faintly through the floor, muffled laughter still drifted from somewhere outside the door. However, inside Shane’s room, even the floating dust particles froze in mid air. When Shane finally took a peek at Ilya, he was staring at him in a way that made his stomach do twenty somersaults.
“Oh.”
The two of them held each other’s gaze for a moment and something silently clicked between them, yet neither of them had the nerve to say the quiet part out loud. Ilya continued to study Shane standing in front of him and he wished he’d just stop before his brain turned into mush again, the same way it did downstairs. The corner of Ilya’s mouth twitched, but not into his typical cocky grin. His entire demeanor shifted into something more… gently. There even was a glimmer in his eyes that twinkled a little bit brighter than before, and that was scaring the living hell out of Shane.
Shane had never seen Ilya in any other way that wasn’t him being pretentious or a complete douche-bag. He always knew how to deal with him and their arguments and his attitude. But this? It was like being lost at sea.
Shane studied this sudden change in Ilya some more, but just as quickly as it had changed, it was gone in a blink of an eye. It was as if he had been caught flying too close to the sun and had to back track immediately.
Ilya cleared his throat and proceeded to pat the mattress beside him. “Rematch?”
Shane rolled his eyes, acting as if this was the most annoying thing anyone had ever asked of him, even though he was already walking toward the bed. “Asshole,” Shane mumbled.
“I’ve been told,” Ilya said, watching Shane as he sat down next to him. “So, what are you going to do?”
Shane hesitated. He hadn’t thought this far of what he was meant to do with their supposed rematch. To be fair, he didn’t think Ilya would agree to it anyway. He was expecting to be left on read, perhaps mocked, and maybe have his messages screenshotted and sent to Cliff and the rest of Delta Sigma. None of that happened, fortunately. But now here Shane was, sitting right next to Ilya on his bed in his room with no clue on what to do.
“I, uh…”
Ilya groaned. “God, Hollander, you are so boring.” With one swift motion, Ilya reached out for one of Shane’s hands and pulled it over toward him, placing it firmly onto his thigh. Not too high up, but enough to make every single brain cell in Shane to combust all at once.
Shane could feel his face flare up instantaneously. His eyes met where his hand rested against Ilya’s thigh, then snapped back up to him as he was watching him with that infuriating little grin of his. Ilya continued the game by also placing his own hand on Shane’s thigh, placing it in the exact same spot as Shane’s.
“See?” Ilya said, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of Shane’s jeans. “Not so hard.”
Shane swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in his throat. He didn’t mind too much of the hand placement, but more so the gentle strokes Ilya was doing with his thumb against his thigh. The sensation was equivalent to a jolt of electricity being sent throughout his entire body, so quick and sharp that his dick couldn’t help but twitch in his jeans.
Ilya’s thumb kept moving in slow circular motions, and with each stroke it was quickly driving Shane insane. Ilya knew exactly what he was doing to him. He never did anything by accident, and with the way he was staring at Shane, he knew the kind of effect it was having on him. With that, he began to caress the rest of Shane’s thigh with his palm, and fuck did it feel amazing.
Shane would be lying if he thought this wasn’t the best fucking feeling in the world. It was exhilarating, and it was everything Shane had been craving. He had been so touch starved that the gentle touches made his whole body tense up and his dick ache terribly. If only the person doing all of this and making him feel this good was anyone but Ilya Rozanov.
There were a lot of ‘What If’s’ in this situation. What if he went back to Cliff and exposed Shane? What if he told his that Shane was practically melting under his touch? What if the precious leader of Alpha Kappa was wrapped around Delta Sigma’s leader’s thumb? All these scenarios would be even more humiliating than actually losing to him downstairs for backing away from an almost kiss.
As Ilya continued to rub Shane’s thigh, Shane could feel a dampness around his crotch area - and no, it wasn’t pee. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going down below the equator. Fuck, was he already leaking? To Ilya of all people? Forget those scenarios he made up in his head because this was the most humiliating one of them all. If he had to choose a word to describe himself at this moment, pathetic would be the best fit; completely and utterly pathetic.
He bit the inside of his cheek, attempting to push away the tightness he felt on his balls and the agonizing soreness his dick was going through. Shane had to get his head back into the game. As much as he’d love to give into the pleasure of it all and let his head fall back and let Ilya’s hands roam around him some more and-
No, no, no. This was Ilya Rozanov. This was his rival. This wasn't what he was here for. Shane was here to win, and he had to beat him to prove to himself that he can win at anything, especially anything against Ilya.
“What are you thinking of now?” Ilya spoke, pulling Shane back to reality. Shane was mentally shooting daggers into Ilya’s eyeballs, because the way he was staring at him could easily send someone into cardiac arrest. How unfair for someone as despicable as Ilya to be so insanely handsome because it was making everything so much harder to endure.
Shane shook his head. “Nothing. Just trying to win, you?” Shane could feel his tone faltering, and of course Ilya noticed it too.
The corner of Ilya's mouth curled up slightly, looking more intrigued than ever. His eyes darted between Shane's eyes down to his plump pink lips. Shane wished he could evaporate right this second. Ilya looked at him with so much hunger in his eyes and it was making him want to pull his hair out.
Shane couldn't let Ilya have the upper hand, so he began to mimic Ilya's movements by rubbing his hand on Ilya's thigh as well. This was either a good idea or a terrible one, because the feeling of how muscular Ilya's thighs felt under his touch was not helping him at all.
Shane noticed how Ilya's eyebrows twitched slightly at his sudden movement and decided to use that to his advantage. If Ilya thought he would be winning this time, he was incredibly mistaken. Without warning, Shane's hand slid higher up Ilya's thigh, stopping just short of where there was a sudden change in elevation. The realization hit him all at once, and for a second he almost pulled away.
Ilya… was hard? For Shane? For Shane Hollander? Shane's brain struggled to make sense of any of this because this was Ilya Rozanov; the campus flirt, the guy who always seemed to have someone hanging off his arm, the guy who moved through parties like the attention whore he was. But now he was sitting here on Shane's bed in Shane's room breathing hard and looking at him like this wasn't a game anymore.
Shane kept his hand there, testing the waters instead of retreating and watched the smugness on Ilya's face wither away.
"I see you are having fun with this," Ilya teased, though his voice had gone a little hoarser than before, like the words had caught somewhere in his throat.
He mirrored Shane's boldness before letting his hand settle against his erection and made every muscle in Shane's body tense at once. He began stroking the outline of it agonizingly slow and it took everything in Shane to not let out the moan that he had been suppressing. Ilya kept watching him, studying every tiny reaction as if he wanted to memorize how Shane was affected by all of this.
"You are so hard for me, Hollander," Ilya teased.
Shane scoffed as his breath hitched against his will. "I could say the same thing to you, Rozanov."
For a moment, the two just stared at each other, their breathing deep and erratic, both too stubborn to admit how this game had stopped being a game. Ilya's hand stayed where it was, Shane's still pressed against him as the air between them grew thicker with each passing second.
"You look like you want to back out," Ilya snickered, his grip tightening over Shane's erection.
"I-fuck-I'm not backing down, Rozanov," Shane huffed. His jeans were too fucking tight, the room too fucking warm and Ilya? Too fucking close.
Every touch was making it harder to think, harder to breathe, harder to remember that this had started as some stupid game downstairs and not whatever the hell it had turned into now. Shane didn't just want to win anymore. He wanted Ilya and admitting that hit him so hard he almost hated him for it.
Ilya let out a quiet chuckle, as if he could read every thought crossing Shane's face. "I'm going to win," he murmured, leaning closer until his mouth nearly brushed Shane's ear. "And then I will tell everyone how their sweet Shaney is the gayest chicken."
Shane's jaw clenched.
The nickname. The teasing. The way Ilya said it was like he already had won the game, and it only made something snap inside him.
"Fuck you."
Shane grabbed a fistful of Ilya's shirt, dragging him into him and slamming his lips on his, hard enough to finally shut him up.
Shane barely had time to process the fact that he was kissing Ilya before he was kissing him back just as desperately. Their hands were everywhere all at once, gripping and pulling at each others shirts, clinging onto their shoulders, wrapping around their waists, and wherever they could reach. They pulled and pushed and dragged each other closer like there was still too much space between them even when there wasn't.
From the outside looking in, they probably looked insane, trying to crawl into each other's skin out of pure spite or like the game downstairs had been a joke. But this - whatever the fuck this was - had been waiting under the surface for way longer than either of them wanted, and it was now breaking free.
Shane hated that thought. He hated it so much that he kissed Ilya even harder than he was already. Then suddenly, Ilya pulled back and froze.
Not far. Just enough to put a few inches between them so that Shane could see his face instead of only feeling his tongue and his hands and the heat of him pressed onto him.
His lips were glossy and swollen, his curls were an even bigger disaster than before, and his chest rose and fell beneath Shane's hands as he tried to catch his breath. But it wasn't just that. It was his current expression. That smugness he was so used to seeing was gone, the never-ending teasing disappeared, and that infuriating, self-satisfied look Shane despised seeing on him had completely vanished leaving behind something raw and petrified.
It was almost as if Ilya had kissed him back so hard he'd forgotten what they were doing and had only just remembered.
For a second, Shane wondered if he had done something wrong. Ilya sat there breathing heaving and speechless, lips swollen, faces still close enough that their noses almost brushed, both of them looking at each other with no idea what the hell they were supposed to do now. But one thing that was certain was that Ilya's hands were still wrapped around him. Still gripping him. Still holding on like pulling away had been an accident his body hadn't fully committed to; a reflex. And that thought made Shane's chest tighten.
Shane was scrambling in his thoughts, figuring out what to do next. Then, against all odds, Shane's brain managed to produce one idea.
"You backed away," he whispered, the corner of his mouth curling into a half smile. Shane took it all in, basking in the glory of winning against Ilya Rozanov. His eyes roamed all over Ilya's features and how it
He rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."
Before Shane could continue gloating, Ilya shoved him back onto the bed with a dull thud. He crawled over him, straddling Shane's hips with his knees as he leaned down to kiss him again with absolutely zero patience. Shane barely had time to suck in a breath before Ilya's mouth was on his again, hot and insistent, shutting him up in the hottest and most effective way possible.
Naturally, Shane let him; humiliating.
Even more humiliating was the way his hands immediately flew to Ilya's face, fingers pressing against the sharp line of his jaw as he pulled him deeper into the kiss instead of pushing him away like any person with dignity might have done. Ilya made a small sound against his mouth and Shane hated how quickly it went through him. He hates the way his body reacted before his brain had a chance to form a single intelligent thought.
Then Ilya's tongue brushed against his lower lip, and Shane's brain combusted into a million pieces.
He parted his lips before he could overthink it, and Ilya took the invitation immediately, kissing him deeper, messier, trying to prove that backing away earlier had been nothing more than a technicality. He tasted like beer and the faintest hint of tobacco. It should have been disgusting, but all it did was make him want more, which was rude, honestly. Inconsiderate and overall just deeply inconvenient for everyone involved, especially for Shane.
He tightened his grip on Ilya's face and kissed him harder, chasing the taste of him. Then, because apparently he had lost all sense of shame somewhere between the patio and his bedroom, Shane caught Ilya's tongue with his own and sucked on it gently.
When Shane thought it couldn't get any worse than that, Ilya moaned. A low and rough moan. Right into Shane's mouth. Heat rushed through him so fast he nearly forgot how to breathe because all he could think was that this was exactly what he needed tonight. Not a drink. Not a distraction. Not even this stupid rematch. Apparently, what Shane needed was a full mental breakdown caused by Ilya fucking Rozanov making that sound because Shane had sucked on his tongue.
Ilya pushed himself off Shane for a moment to grab the hem of his own shirt and yank it over his head before tossing it somewhere onto the floor. Shane couldn't process Ilya's bare and tones chest before Ilya was reaching for him, helping drag Shane's shirt off with the same impatience, throwing it aside and onto the floor. Under different circumstances, Shane might have protested but unfortunately, he was a little too preoccupied with the fact that he had a Russian man currently shirtless and pinning him to his own bed.
Ilya took a second to look down upon Shane, and that was somehow worse than the kissing.
There was a different kind of intensity in his eyes now, even in the low light of Shane's bedroom. Something that made Shane feel like every inch of him was being noticed and devoured. Ilya's hands roamed over him slowly, trailing across his chest, his stomach, and lastly his nipples. The feeling was like no other, sending those little shocks again through his entire body that made his dick want to explode just from this alone.
Shane tried to swallow down the sound that rose in his throat, but it wasn't enough as Ilya caught it immediately. His mouth curved into that familiar, infuriating smile, and Shane wanted to wipe it off his face. Preferably with his own mouth, which was a deeply inconvenient thought to have while already beneath him.
"Too much?" Ilya asked, though he obviously knew the answer already and just wanted to hear Shane say it.
Shane glared up at him, though it probably didn't have the intended effect considering he was breathing like he'd just sprinted across campus.
"Don't flatter yourself."
Ilya's smile widened. Then he leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed Shane's ear. "Want to back out?"
There it was again. The challenge of it all. Shane stared up at him, heart pounding, pride bruised, thoughts scattered everywhere, and hated Ilya for looking so pleased with himself. Shane grabbed his face and pulled him back down.
"Not a chance."
The two went back to inhaling one another. Their kisses became deeper and chaotic and insanely hot. It felt like they would fuse together at some point. Ilya broke away from Shane's mouth only to drag his lips across his cheek, then lower, along his jaw. His breath was warm against Shane's skin, and when his tongue followed the edge of it, a soft whimper escaped from Shane's lips.
Ilya continued his journey downward, pressing his lips along his neck. His teeth grazed a sensitive spot beneath Shane's jaw, and Shane's hands immediately flew back into his hair, fingers tangling in his curls and tugging at them to make Ilya hum against him as he continued to suck and bite.
Fuck, this was going to leave a mark. Shane could've easily pushed him off or told him to stop - though his brain was definitely not working at the moment to form words - but the thought of being marked, especially by Ilya, made the room tilt dangerously around him.
Ilya lowered himself more, leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses all over his collarbones and down his chest. He made sure not to skip his nipples, flicking his tongue around them and taking them in his mouth.
"Fuck, Rozanov," Shane rasped from above. He took a peek below, watching Ilya and his tongue play with the sensitive area of nipples. The sensation was fucking insane. It was as if Shane had ingested every kind of drug known to mankind all at once. It was euphoric, and all Ilya was doing was twisting and slobbering on his nipples.
Shane felt Ilya smile against his skin, the curve of it pressing just beneath his ribs before he continued lower, leaving a slow trail of kisses down his stomach. Ilya was taking his time with this just because he knew it was driving Shane insane. He stopped right above the waistband of Shane's jeans, close enough to make Shane's breath catch, close enough that every muscle in his body went tight with anticipation. Then Ilya tilted his head up and met Shane's gaze.
That was somehow the worst part.
Not the kissing. Not the heat of his mouth. Not even the way Shane's entire body seemed to be betraying him. It was the eye contact. Ilya dragged his tongue slowly across the lower part of Shane's stomach without looking away once. Shane's eyes rolled into the back of his head, a long, helpless groan slipping out of him as another warm wave spread through his whole body. His cheeks burned. Goosebumps broke out across his skin almost instantly, making him shiver beneath Ilya's mouth, and some awful, useless part of his brain wondered if Ilya could feel them. If he could feel every little bump Shane failed to hide.
Judging by the way Ilya's smile widened against him, he absolutely could. "Ready to chicken out?"
Before Ilya could say anything else, Shane shoved him off and flipped their positions, pushing him down against the mattress with enough force that knocked a startled breath out of him. One second ago Ilya had been hovering over him as if he , and the next, Shane was the one above him, straddling his hips and staring down at him while Ilya blinked up in surprise.
Ilya Rozanov was at a loss of words and Shane treasured it. He stared down at him, breathing heavy, hands planted on either side of Ilya's body to keep himself from falling onto him. Ilya looked different like this, flat on his back beneath him, hair wild against Shane's pillows, lips swollen, chest rising and falling a little too quickly for someone who always acted like nothing ever got to him. This sight tingled a part of Shane's brain and he wanted more of it.
Ilya was beautiful. Annoyingly beautiful. Disgustingly beautiful, actually. His body was just harsh lines and smooth skin, broad shoulders tapering down to a very narrow waist, stomach tense beneath Shane's gaze like even now he was trying not to react too much. Shane hated that he noticed all these little details. He hated it so much that he wanted to keep finding more.
His eyes drifted lower, catching on the small moles scattered across Ilya's skin. There were more of them than Shane expected, tiny dark marks dusted over his chest and ribs and stomach like constellations. For some reason, that was what broke him most. It was proof that Ilya wasn't just some loud, untouchable ball of chaos sent specifically to ruin Shane's life.
He was real. And he was now underneath Shane.
Shane lifted one hand before he could think better of it and traced a slow path across Ilya's chest with his fingertips, connecting one mark to another like he was mapping stars. Ilya's breath caught, barely, but Shane heard it. Of course he heard it. His attention had narrowed down to every tiny motion Ilya made; every twitch, shift, and quiet inhale that gave him away.
Ilya swallowed. "What are you doing?"
Shane didn't look up. "Thinking."
"Stop thinking. Starting doing."
"Shut up."
The corner of Ilya's mouth quivered, but he didn't say anything else, which was almost concerning. Shane continued downward, fingers drifting over the firm plane of his stomach, following the scattered moles there before pausing at the faint trail of hair that started beneath his belly button and disappeared beneath his waistband.
Shane leaned down before Ilya could make any more comments and pressed a kiss to the center of Ilya's stomach, then another just beneath it just to make Ilya's muscles jump under his mouth. The reaction sent a rush of satisfaction through him that it almost made him dizzy.
"Wow," Shane murmured against his skin. "You actually listened for once."
Ilya let out a breathless little laugh. "You are very snarky for someone who lost."
Shane lifted his eyes.
Ilya was looking down at him, his expression a mixture of somewhere between teasing and completely wrecked, and Shane felt something inside him twist with triumph.
"But who won the rematch?"
Then he kissed him again, lower this time, right above the waistband of his jeans, letting his lips linger just long enough to feel Ilya tense beneath him.
For once, Shane was the one watching him come apart. And honestly? It was a spectacular sight.
Shane's fingers fidgeted with Ilya's waistband, fumbling with the buckle hurriedly. He tugged at it impatiently, frustration building up when it didn't come undone fast enough. Whoever designed this atrocious belt buckle was going to receive a strongly worded e-mail from Shane later. Meanwhile, Ilya let out a breathless laugh beneath him.
"Having trouble?"
"Quiet."
After a few tugs, the buckle finally came loose, and Shane tossed it aside without looking to see where it landed. His hands moved quickly after that, undoing the button and dragging the zipper down urgently. Ilya lifted his hips to help Shane remove them off of him, still watching him with that disheveled and amused look that made Shane want to kiss him and strangle him at the same time.
Within seconds, Shane had pulled the denim down and off, leaving Ilya beneath him in nothing but his underwear and that stupid fucking smirk. Shane stared. Just for a second, or maybe two. Long enough for Ilya's grin to reappear.
"You are staring, Hollander."
Shane's eyes flicked back up to his face. "I know."
His underwear was a pair of grey boxer briefs that perfectly outlined his twitching cock underneath, and of course, a small to medium sized wet spot of his pre-cum already leaking out. Ilya was… big. Like stupid huge. There was truly no other way to describe it, but when he heard rumors going around about how he was packing nine inches, Shane didn't want to believe it because that just sounded ridiculous. Nine? That was just impossible. However, here he was under Shane and his nine inch dick reacted with every one of Shane’s touches.
Shane could feel his mouth water at the sight. God, was it going to fit? In his mouth? And, well, other places? Pushing the thought back, Shane lowered himself again and continued planting wet kisses around the waistband of Ilya's briefs. Shane reached for one side, pulling it down slightly to carry on with his trail of kisses by licking his hip bone.
Above, he could feel Ilya shift and jolt his hips upwards, pressing his cock closer to Shane's face. "Hollander," Ilya moaned. "Please."
Shane was enjoying this a little too much. The control. The rush. Having this kind of effect on Ilya. He was such a mess underneath him, desperate for Shane to finally touch him. "Don't want to back out, Rozanov?" Shane teased, inserting a finger in his briefs and slowly playing with the waistband. He pulled the elastic and let go, the snap rippling visibly through Ilya's body with his cock twitching even more impatiently.
"Just touch me, Hollander," Ilya pleaded shakily. "Fuck, it hurts."
Ilya Rozanov. The big bad wolf. The leader of Delta Sigma. Mr. Nothing-Can-Phase-Me. Here he was, trembling like a leaf underneath Shane as he came apart without even being fully touched. Shane loved seeing this version of him. He was sure not many ever had the opportunity to witness him in this state. It made Shane lose his mind even more knowing that this was all to himself.
Shane gripped the waistband of his briefs and slid them down cautiously, Ilya's groans growing noisier and desperate. Thank God the music outside was loud enough to hide all the ruckus happening within Shane's room. Ilya's cock bobbed out freely after being held captive by his briefs, his length pulsating as the slit of the head was slick with pre-cum.
"Fuck," Shane breathed, captivated by the sight of how gritty he was. Ilya's cock stood straight up, the tip resting against his lower abdomen and coating it with his slick. It was magnificent, truly. Getting to see him flustered, his cheeks turning bright pink, and how everything Shane did made him quiver and shake.
He finally reached down, his fingers gently grazing Ilya's cock. Just the slightest touch made Ilya groan out loud. "So impatient."
Shane closed his hand around Ilya's cock, a deep sigh of relief escaping from Ilya above. Sinking down, he began a slow, steady rhythm, his thumb sweeping over the tip - sticky with precum - while his other hand was preoccupied giving attention to his balls. He nuzzled his face closer to Ilya's balls, and with a sharp flick of Shane's tongue on them, Ilya's hips jolted straight up. Shane peeked around and up at Ilya; his head was thrown back, biting his lip while his eyes were closed. Just the mere sight of him losing himself from Shane's touch made his own dick ache even more.
Ilya began thrusting into Shane's hand as if what he was doing already wasn't enough. Perhaps it was the right time to give Ilya what he really wanted. Shane continued alternating from wet kisses to sucking in his balls, trailing up and up, leaving faint kisses as he made his way up his shaft. As he reached Ilya's plateau, he noticed Ilya was watching him, observing his every move. With a smirk, Shane lightly brushed the tip of his tongue on Ilya's slit, earning an even deeper moan from within Ilya's throat.
"Enough, Hollander," Ilya whined. "I want to fuck your mouth!"
Shane chuckled lightly, still pumping Ilya as he licked and kissed his leaking slit. "I'm trying to enjoy my prize," Shane said, opening his mouth fully and taking in Ilya carefully. Ilya's entire body shuddered above, a deep breath breaking out of his chest as Shane took in more.
Again, Ilya was fucking huge and also thick - very thick. Shane hadn't even reached the base of his cock and he already could feel himself gagging. He then felt a hand tangling in his hair, lightly pushing his head down so he could take in more.
"Da, Hollander. Yes, yes," Ilya said shakily, his fingers playing with the softness of Shane's hair as he helped him take him in entirely. "Don't chicken out now."
Shane groaned around Ilya's cock. Leave it to him to bring up that stupid game again. Shane gripped Ilya's thighs a bit tighter, holding himself steady as he leaned into the challenge. He swallowed hard, trying not to choke, and started bobbing his head in a slow and steady rhythm. The friction of Shane's tongue against Ilya's shaft erupted a sudden gasp from Ilya, his hips involuntarily jerking upward.
Ilya's hand tightened in Shane's hair, not pulling hard, but guiding him with a desperate kind of pressure. "Bozhe," Ilya muttered, his accent getting way thicker as he started to lose his composure.
Shane didn't slow down at all. He used the rhythm to his advantage, using his hands to stroke the rest of the length his mouth couldn't reach so Ilya could feel every bit of the strain. He kept his eyes locked upward, watching the way Ilya's jaw clenched and how his head tilted back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to keep it together.
"Shane..." Ilya breathed out.
Shane. Shane. Shane.
Using his first name felt like a physical jolt. Hearing that and not "Hollander" or some other sarcastic nickname completely threw him off balance for a split second. It sounded so different coming from this version of Ilya, stripped of all the confidence and ego that he always threw at Shane. And it was weird. Very weird. He realized he had actually managed to strip away Ilya's walls, forcing him to completely lose character and just feel everything.
The sound of his name made Shane want to push even further. He wanted to see what other kinds of sounds he could drag out of Ilya if he kept going. His heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden spike of adrenaline making his hands tremble against Ilya's thighs. Hearing Ilya call for him like that made Shane feel powerful and entirely desperate to give Ilya exactly what he was asking for.
Just as Shane was about to lean into it even more, Ilya's grip in his hair tightened, but this time he was pulling Shane up and away. Ilya let out a rough groan as Shane detached himself from his cock with a loud Pop. He clearly didn't want to cum in Shane's mouth, and he was already right on the edge.
Ilya hauled him up by his shoulders, bringing him face-to-face as he kissed him frantically, their lips clashing in a messy and breathless rush of heat and teeth. During their kiss, Ilya shifted his weight and pushed Shane flat onto his back against the mattress.
Ilya was now hovering over him, shadows framing his broad shoulders. He didn't waste a single second. Ilya reached down and frantically tugged at Shane's pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. The moment the fabric cleared his hips, Shane's cock bounced out, already leaking and completely hard.
"Lube. Condoms," Ilya panted, his chest heaving as he looked down at Shane's quivering cock. "Where?"
Shane pointed a shaky hand toward the nightstand. Ilya reached over and opened the drawer, grabbing the bottle and a long strip of condoms from within, squirting a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. He moved back between Shane's thighs, his eyes dark and completely focused.
Instead of rushing in, Ilya paused at Shane's entrance. He circled his slick fingertips around Shane's rim, lightly teasing the sensitive skin and coating it in lube. Shane couldn't keep his legs from trembling at the cool sensation. His mind was going a million miles an hour as he could feel Ilya's fingers dragging over the opening before finally pressing one finger inside.
Shane let out a gasp, his hands instantly clutching at the bedsheets. Ilya didn't move it right away; he just let Shane get used to the feeling, waiting until Shane's tense muscles started to relax. Only then did Ilya begin to move his finger in, finding the exact spots that made Shane whimper.
Before Shane could even catch his breath, Ilya added a second finger. The sudden stretch made Shane's eyes squeeze shut with a low groan vibrating in his throat. Shane was completely breathless, his hips unconsciously rolling against Ilya's hand as those two fingers kept working inside him, stretching him out until it was almost too much to bear. The teasing was driving him crazy. He needed the real thing and he needed it now.
"Ilya," Shane gasped out, his voice cracked and completely stripped of any attitude. "Please. Fuck me, please."
The moment his name left Shane's lips, Shane saw a sudden and intense shift flash across Ilya's face. Ilya's pupils dilated until his eyes looked almost entirely black, and his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. It was like a switch had been flipped, transforming his playful dominance into something raw, fierce, and totally consumed by desire.
Once Shane was loose enough, Ilya retrieved the condom and tore at the packaging with his teeth, spitting the plastic bit he had in his mouth away as he slid the condom onto his erect cock. He grabbed Shane's legs, pushing his knees up toward his chest to perfectly align his dick with Shane's hole. Ilya guided himself to the opening and pushed forward, sliding all the way in with one heavy thrust. Fucking finally. Shane's eyes widened, a loud cry tearing from his throat as his body stretched to take all of him in.
Ilya started moving. The slow thrusts were completely gone; Ilya was slamming into Shane with relentless strokes, his hips crashing against Shane's with every single push. The bed creaked loudly beneath them, and Shane could barely catch his breath.
Every time Ilya thrusted deep inside him, Shane felt the wind get knocked right out of his lungs. He wrapped his arms tightly around Ilya's neck, clinging to him like an anchor. Ilya was sweating and panting heavily while his eyes locked onto Shane's face to watch every single expression of pleasure ripple across it.
Even through the haze of heavy breathing and sweat, Shane couldn't help but want to push Ilya right over the edge. He arched his back, meeting Ilya's thrusts halfway, and squeezed his muscles tightly around him. He let out a shaky laugh right against Ilya's ear.
"Are you gonna cum for me, Ilya?" Shane teased, his voice a low whisper as he tightened around him even more. "Or are you gonna chicken out?"
The taunt hit Ilya like he was punched in the stomach. A low and dangerous growl rumbled in Ilya's throat and his grip on Shane's hips tightened so hard it was definitely going to leave marks.
"Shut up," Ilya gasped out, his accent thick and completely wrecked as he picked up the pace even more, slamming into Shane with even more desperation that made Shane's head spin.
The sensation was too much, and within just a few minutes, Shane's body reached its limit. With a loud moan, Shane let out a cry and came all over his own stomach, his muscles tightening like crazy around Ilya's length.
That final tight squeeze completely broke Ilya as well. He let out a guttural growl, burying his face into the crook of Shane's neck as he delivered a few final thrusts. Ilya shuddered violently, holding himself deep inside Shane as he finally came, filling him completely.
For a moment, neither of them moved and the only sound in the room was their rough and synchronized breathing. Ilya remained buried deep inside Shane, his forehead resting against his shoulder as his body slowly stopped shuddering. Shane's fingers were still loosely tangled in Ilya's hair, completely drained while the cooling heat of his own release pooled on his stomach.
Eventually, Ilya let out a long sigh and carefully pulled out, the emptiness making Shane shiver. Ilya rolled over onto his back right next to Shane, throwing an arm over his eyes as his chest heaved. Shane wasted no time turning his head, a weak but smug grin spreading across his face despite how exhausted he was.
"So," Shane panted, his voice still incredibly rough. "I clearly won this rematch, didn't I?"
Ilya dropped his arm, turning his head to glare at Shane. "Are you serious, Hollander?" Ilya scoffed, his Russian accent still thick and lazy from the afterglow. "That does not count. Nobody was here to witness it, so I won."
"Oh, so you're a coward and a cheater?" Shane countered, nudging Ilya's shoulder with his own. "I don't need a live studio audience to know I made you break, Ilya."
Ilya let out a low chuckle, reaching over to brutally ruffle Shane's hair. "Keep telling yourself that, Shane," he mocked softly, saying his name with a soft and sensual smirk just to see Shane's ears turn a little pink. "We both know you are just a sore loser."
Shane rolled his eyes, shifting closer until his side was pressed against Ilya's warmth, completely giving up on trying to move to clean up just yet. "Whatever. It was a tie."
"Nyet. I won," Ilya muttered, closing his eyes with a satisfied, exhausted grin as he wrapped an arm around Shane, pulling him closer.
Shane didn't even bother arguing back this time. He just smiled against Ilya's chest, letting the comfortable silence settle over them as they drifted off.