Chapter Text
Prologue
From the moment Ilya Rozanov was born he was told he was destined for greatness.
With his aristocratic nose and his perfectly porcelain skin, Ilya came from a long line of people who had indeed been destined for greatness — powerful people with puissant modus vivendi — and so, naturally, he would follow in their footsteps. It was in his blood after all.
He never really understood it as a child. Never really comprehended why his father would be in meetings for days without coming home and seeing his family. Why his mother insisted on always looking impeccable, always insisted he practice his handshake because handshakes are important for a Rozanov, Ilya. He never really felt the allure of the power his family had wielded. The influence.
It wasn’t until much later, when he was out from under his father’s thumb and in the welcoming arms of a long-lost friend that he actually felt it for himself. This need inside him. This greed. This perdurable craving for more.
Ilya Rozanov was going to change the world. Ilya Rozanov was going to leave his mark on this planet. Ilya Rozanov was going to make history.
After all, Ilya Rozanov was destined for greatness.
He had just never expected it would happen like this.
The sharp, staccato sound of Ilya Rozanov’s lacquered, leather loafers echoes loud and clear as he hurries through the historical building he had somehow found himself walking through.
In any other case, during any other day, he might’ve stopped. Taken in the view. Felt the spirit of hundreds of years of change and power flowing through this place. Might have even been moved by the fact that he would now become a part of it. Be a part of the change. Of making the world a better place.
But it is not any other case and it is not any other day. It is in fact today and today is too important for him to stop and smell the proverbial flowers.
The latte in his slender hand is iced, the white button down wrinkle free, the black pants pressed and his mind is focused on one thing and one thing only: his new job.
He’d made sure to wake up extra early, had made sure to read up on each and every person in the office all weekend. Had made sure that he was ready for anything that might be thrown his way.
He’d spent hours memorising anything from coffee orders (Zane Boodram = cold brew, Elena Rygg = Oat Milk Vanilla Latte) to the office's stances on current issues (all stances he agreed with but still had notes on, if anyone asked. Nobody would probably ask.) to his boss’s schedule and the programme they’d been working on, just in case anybody asked him for something unexpectedly.
When Svetlana had caught him revising she’d rolled her eyes and said: This isn’t an exam, babe. This is the real world. Nobody’s going to be testing you.
Yeah, that was easy enough for her to say. His friend was the definition of wild and unpredictable. A disinherited former socialite turned investigative journalist? Of course nobody was quizzing her. Svetlana got by on smarts and talent and charm. Not to mention the way her beauty could ensnare anyone. It wasn’t the same for Ilya, who was about to start working an entry level job at a Senator’s office with a sordid past just an internet search of his name away, no safety net in sight to fall back on. Not anymore.
Long story short, he had come prepared and ready to make the best fucking impression any staffer has ever made in the history of this nation.
He was ready to blow Shane Hollander away.
❦
Shane Hollander is not at the office when Ilya arrives for his first day.
Ilya, who had already studied and memorised his schedule, knew that this was going to be the case but he couldn’t help but feel just a bit disappointed when he’d shown up and Zane had informed him that Shane Hollander was, in fact, not there.
He knew that this Monday morning Senator Hollander had a committee hearing for the Judiciary committee. Book Bans: Examining How Censorship Limits Liberty and Literature. That's what it was called. 10 am, Hart Senate Office Building. Room 216.
Yeah, maybe Ilya had overprepared just a little bit.
There’s no such thing as overprepared, a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father’s said. He did his best to ignore it.
Zane had greeted him at the door, a big smile on his face as he took him on a tour around the office. Ilya had of course been here before for his interview but he hadn’t met anyone other than Zane, the Chief of Staff, and Elena Rygg, the Comms Director.
They’d both been nice enough, Ilya thought. They gave off the exact kind of vibes he’d expected from people who worked in the Hollander office. Kind. Progressive. Cool. Ilya had admittedly found himself admiring Zane’s looks slightly too much to really pay attention to how he actually was personality-wise but he hadn’t felt too bad about that.
He’d been a hilltern before, he knew how offices like these worked.
“So you met Selena, Matti, Eric and Ryan from Admin,” the beautiful man was saying now. “They mostly keep to themselves, we have to force them out sometimes to hang with the rest of us. Typical admins, you know, but they’re great. You’ve met Elena in Comms, of course. Her team are Harris and Jackie, you’ll meet them in half an hour when their meeting is over. Usually we have some interns too but since it’s September and school’s just started they’re not in yet.”
They’re walking through the main part of the office and down the hallway as Zane points from door to door – the one labeled ADMIN, the one labeled COMMUNICATIONS, the one labeled MEETING ROOM. Eventually they come to a stop in front of a door that’s identical to the ones they’ve previously passed, only this one says POLICY.
Zane gestures toward it and Ilya can’t help but notice how nice the glint of his golden watch makes the dark skin of his arm look right where his button-up ends, just slightly above the jutting bone of his wrist.
He has nice hands, he notes. Big. Strong. Not very slender (which secretly is Ilya’s favourite part about a person's hands) but nice to look at anyway.
“This is where we will be, of course. As you know, I’m Chief of Staff/Legislative Director. Maria’s the legislative assistant, and you will be—”
“Legislative Correspondent,” Ilya interrupts, voice slightly breathless and filled with awe.
He’s worked so hard to get here. He’s sacrificed so much. And now it’s finally here, his chance to make a difference. To make a change. To get to be a part of history. It starts right here, right now.
Cheesy as it sounds, he feels like his future is just beyond this door.
Zane turns to him at the interruption. Ilya hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud. He clears his throat and hopes he doesn’t look as abashed as he’s currently feeling.
“Sorry,” he says, eyes firmly glued to the door in front of him but Zane just gives a hearty laugh, arms coming up to Ilya’s shoulder to shake him gently.
Ilya decidedly does not blush at the feeling of his warmth seeping through the cotton of his shirt.
“No,” Zane says, shaking his head. He’s still smiling down at Ilya as he moves his hands to open the door to what will become Ilya’s new place of work. “No, it’s good. We want enthusiasm, passion, heat. We’re all about the heat, here at the Hollander Office.”
“Oh, are we now?” a voice calls from inside the room.
It’s not big, the room. It’s like any old office, really. Ilya takes it all in anyway. He wants to remember this moment. The moment everything changes.
There’s luckily a window in the office, something he hadn’t had the privilege of having back in his hilltern days, letting in late morning sunlight and warmth for them to bask in. There’s three desks, three chairs, a small, green loveseat and a wooden coffee table littered with documents.
A couple of things decorate the walls as well; some floating shelves, a picture of three people — Zane, the girl in the room and the man Ilya is here to replace — on what looks like a campaign tour, a framed front-page of Shane Hollander from the day he won his election, a picture of what Ilya assumes is the entire office at some kind of fancy gala or event and one more of them all together, this time all sweaty and dirty as they’re seemingly playing a game of baseball. There’s a couple of books, a couple of plants. Something that vaguely resembles a vase although it looks too crooked to ever safely hold any flowers.
Unlike the office Ilya had previously interned at, there is no flag, no shrines to past presidents or pictures of the Senator with famous people. No Bible or Bible-quotes anywhere to be found either.
Ilya had never worked at a regular office but he imagined this was closer to that than most of the other congressional offices. And honestly? He was perfectly happy with that being the case.
It felt as far away from the things he had grown up with, the things he’d been indoctrinated in, as possible and it was exactly what Ilya wanted.
“Haven’t you heard, Villanueva? The H in Hollander stands for heat,” Zane replies, mirth clear in his voice.
The girl snorts. She’s sitting at one of the desks, relaxed as can be, with her feet up on the desk while she holds what looks like a dossier in her hands.
She’s not really what Ilya had expected.
Zane has always looked so… polished. Professional. Crisp, white button-downs, tailored pants, a golden watch and a golden earring that matched. He looked like the Chief of Staff that he was. Important. Demanding you to take him seriously. This girl… was something else.
Maria Villanueva has wavy, dark hair with stripes of pink and purple in it, blunt bangs long enough to almost touch the neon pink frames of her glasses, thick enough to cover her entire forehead and eyebrows. It’s not those wispy, trendy bangs he’d seen so many of his previous classmates rock. No, this is a fully committed bang. She’s wearing a black turtleneck and matching black pants, which look fine and professional, as far as Ilya can see. But she also has a nose piercing and her eyes, behind her glasses, are heavily lined.
None of this is very acceptable in their world. None of it is acceptable at all, from Ilya’s experience on the Hill. He’d watched Fabian get sent home or asked to change several times during their time interning together for anything from leftover eyeliner around his eyes when he’d been out the night before to having pants that were “too tight”.
He was convinced that if Fabian wasn’t his father’s son and if Fabian wasn’t as smart as he was he’d have been out a long time ago.
Maria’s look was like a thousand Fabians.
Despite his shock at his new colleagues appearance, Ilya liked her instantly.
And besides, Zane seemed completely okay with it so Ilya assumed it was fine.
“More like h for heavily unhinged. We’re all mad here,” Maria responds with a raise of her eyebrow.
Zane sighs.
“Don’t scare the new kid, Maria. It’s only his first day.”
Maria rolls her eyes before she finally turns to Ilya. She tilts her head to the side, looking him up and down slowly. Her eyes are calculating, her gaze sharp.
Svetlana can say he’s not being examined all she wants but she had never worked in Congress before. Had never had to deal with the kind of scrutiny Ilya is currently experiencing. Sure, she'd had to deal with her own fair share of scrutiny but nobody had ever doubted her the way people doubted him. She had no idea what it felt like, constantly being mistrusted the way Ilya had become after—
Well. After everything.
He didn’t let it show though. He refused to. Whatever weakness Maria was looking for, whatever chink in his armour, she wouldn’t find it.
Ilya may be playing by other rules now but he was still Ilya Rozanov.
That still meant something.
Eventually, she stops at his face. Looks him straight in the eye. Raises an eyebrow.
“New kid, huh?” she says.
Ilya looks right back, gaze steady.
“Ilya,” he says, voice even. Daring.
“Hm,” she replies. “Ilya. Sorry. If I’m scaring you off before you’ve even finished your morning coffee, I mean. I’m sure once you’ve met the Admin’s team they’ll be more than happy to do it for me so I’ll let you relax for now.”
“Maria,” Zane admonishes. He turns to Ilya, smile still on his face although slightly tighter now.
“She’s just kidding, it’s like I told you. They’re just not very social creatures. And he’s met them already, actually.”
This last part is directed at Maria.
Ilya nods slowly, unsure of how to proceed here.
“It’s okay,” he says eventually. He turns back towards the girl at the desk.
“And it’s going to take more than just a quote from a children’s book to scare me away," he adds with a wink.
Maria grins sharply. Points a pen at him.
“Ah, a fellow lit lover. I see you. We’ll get along just fine, I think.”
❦
They do get along just fine, just as Maria had predicted.
Once Ilya had his stuff set up (and by “stuff” he means once he’d put his coffee down on the empty desk that was to be his) and Zane and Maria had introduced him to what they were currently working on, things had gone smoothly.
Just as Zane had promised, he’d met the Comms team after their meeting had ended. They’d all been very nice. Friendly. Chatty. A typical Comms team, as far as Ilya was concerned.
One of them had been slightly odd though, he’d noted. A bit unusual, for a Comms team person.
Usually the Comms team was where the social people ended up. The ones who knew their PR and their social media and had insane people pleasing-tendency issues. The ones who kept up with trends and seemed to know everyone, everywhere. Simply put, they were the popular kids of the adult world.
But this man — Harris, he’d introduced himself as — was very much not like that. He was social, sure. But he was also loud and talked too much and seemed more fit for the Admins team than the Comms team with his eccentric look (flannel shirts and pride pin-covered backpack included) and oddball tendencies but Elena swore up and down that there was nobody better at predictions and analysis than Harris.
Ilya wasn’t sure he believed her yet but he was willing to be proven wrong. He liked Harris. He seemed to possess an uncanny ability of making Ilya smile despite himself. And he provided Ilya with endless pictures of dogs, which Ilya definitely appreciated.
Once he’d met the Comms Team they’d all had lunch together.
The whole office gathered in the main office area, chairs pushed close together as they huddled around a make-shift table of different kinds of sandwiches, bags of chips and probiotic sodas.
“You better not get used to this,” Maria told him as she bit into a panini, pesto dripping from the corner of her mouth. “It is a miracle if we ever manage to get lunch at all, never mind together. This is only because we cleared our schedules for your first day. Bosses' insistence. He’s big on team work and bonding.”
Zane, who had been busy tucking into his own sandwich, sighed.
“You have got to stop trying to scare him, Maria.”
Maria had just shrugged, licking leftover pesto from her finger.
“He wanted to be here, too,” Zane had added, turning to Ilya. “But the hearing happened to be scheduled during lunch so you’ll meet him after. He’s excited to meet you.”
❦
It isn’t until way after lunch that he finally gets to meet his new boss.
They’d just been drafting a document; Ilya and Maria in the middle of a heated debate on the wording of a particular stance when a quick tap tap tap against the door interrupts them and Shane Hollander officially enters his life.
He didn’t want to admit it but he was a bit nervous.
He’d never met Shane Hollander before.
Here he was, dedicating himself and his work to this person and his policies and he’d never even met the man. What if the charming person he’d seen in so many interviews, read so many articles about, was just a facade? What if he was a terrible person in real life? What if he was a terrible boss?
It wouldn’t be the first time Ilya would’ve been tricked by a charming politician.
But Shane Hollander is luckily none of these things.
Shane Hollander is beautiful, is the first thing Ilya registers. Which is ridiculous, not only because he is his boss but because he’d seen Shane Hollander many times before. Always through his screen, but still. He knew Shane Hollander was beautiful. The whole world did. It wasn’t exactly a secret. For a second, the front page of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive issue from last year flashes through Ilya’s mind. The Senator had gotten third place on the list.
But the freckles. They hadn’t been visible through the screens or in the magazines or in the interviews. They come as a pleasant gut punch, a shock through Ilya’s system. They made Shane Hollander look ethereal.
When Shane Hollander enters his life he does so with a casual smile on his face, his dark hair wild and falling into his face. He looks like a politician should. Confident. In control. Ready to kiss some babies.
A small voice in his head wishes he’d kiss him instead. Luckily that voice sounds nothing like his father’s. He ignores it anyway.
Shane Hollander is wearing a button-up shirt, not unlike the ones Zane and Ilya are wearing. But where the shirts are crisp and sharp on them, they look… comfortable on Shane. Still pressed to perfection but… soft. The first two buttons are undone, the sleeves are pushed up to the elbows, showing off a golden tan and the hair that rests there. He looks messy but in a way that screams passion and hard work rather than carelessness. Shane Hollander is a man of the people, his whole aura seems to say.
“Ah,” Zane says as Shane leans in through the door, his upper body filling the frame. “Shane, you’re back. How was the hearing?”
The Senator grimaces.
“Terrible,” he says and Ilya realises that his voice is deeper in real life than it is when it’s coming through his headphones. “The conservatives are one step away from starting to burn books. We need to do something about it.”
Zane nods in agreement.
“We’re on it,” he says and Shane Hollander nods back in confirmation.
“I know you are, Bood. Thank you.”
“So,” Shane Hollander continues, head turning to face him. “Ilya.”
Ilya blinks.
He’s shocked at being addressed. He’s even more shocked that his boss knows his name. That he knows his name and is using it. Not “new kid”. Not “hey, you”. Not Mr. Rozanov.
Ilya.
“Yes, sir?” he says.
There’s something in Shane Hollander’s eyes, something that shines brightly at his response. Something like amusement but darker.
“First of all, none of that “sir” stuff, we all go by our first names here. Or a preferred nickname. Shane is fine.”
Ilya nods stupidly.
He’s never called a boss by their first name. The idea of it feels… strange. Wrong, somehow. He doesn’t dare say that though.
“Good,” Shane continues. “So, Ilya, how’s the first day going so far? They treating you alright?”
He nods his head towards Maria and Zane and a single wisp of dark hair falls onto the lens of his glasses. Ilya’s fingers twitch at his side.
“Maria keeps trying to scare me off,” he lets out on a quick breath before he realises what he’s saying.
His eyes widen.
Fuck.
That was not what he’d meant to say.
“But it’s okay,” he hurries to say before Maria calls him a snitch or worse. Before Shane Hollander starts thinking badly of him.
This was not the first impression he’d wanted to make on his boss.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. There’s worse things than Lewis Carroll.”
Shane’s amusement seems to grow at this and he turns his gaze to Maria, eyebrow raised.
“You still doing the Alice in Wonderland bit, Villanueva? Isn’t it time you retired that?”
Maria rolls her eyes.
“I’ll retire it when you start leaving the office before ten o’clock at night, bossman,” she says, saluting Shane.
He watches her for a moment, face unreadable and Ilya is holding his breath.
He’s never seen anyone talk to their boss like that before. Never seen anyone talk to a Senator like that before. Maria was either incredibly bold or incredibly stupid.
Ilya really hoped it was the former.
Eventually, Shane cracks a smile.
“Touché, Villanueva.”
He turns his gaze back to Ilya, his smile softening slightly.
“Well, Ilya. If the worst you’ve experienced so far is Maria’s jokes and outdated literary references I’m sure you’ll be fine. If you ever need anything, my office is always open. We’re happy to have you here. Welcome to the team.”
Ilya nods slowly, still unsure of how to react to the man in front of him.
Shane Hollander seems to be an enigma.
He watches Ilya for a few more seconds, contemplation clear on his face.
This scrutinization feels different from the one Maria had put him through earlier though. He’s not sure how or why. He only knows that he’s close to blushing, can feel the skin on his cheeks heating as blood rushes towards them. He swallows harshly, hoping to a god he’s not sure if he believes in anymore that his pale skin and slavic genes won’t betray him for once. Russians do not blush, he tells himself.
After a moment of Shane watching him he seems to catch himself, the easy smile back on his face as he taps his fingers against the door frame. He nods once more, salutes the room at large and finally leaves.
Ilya can’t help but notice that his hands are slender.
❦
The rest of the week goes by smoothly.
He spends most of his time with Maria and Zane, who insists he calls him Bood.
Maria keeps throwing literary references his way as if she’s testing him to see how much he actually knows. Luckily, he’d spent most of his childhood tucked away in a nook at the family library in a feeble attempt to hide from his father's rage or being read to by his mother when she'd hidden with him and so he hadn’t had any difficulties understanding them yet. He wasn’t sure if she was still testing him for the sake of testing him or if she was simply bored but Ilya didn’t mind. If this was her way of bonding he was more than happy to do it.
Bood gives him more space than he’s used to. More responsibilities. He wants to hear his thoughts. He wants to read his notes. He listens to what he has to say. It takes some getting used to, the idea that Ilya’s ideas are considered important and valuable. That he is being considered at all. It’s not something that has ever happened before. He feels grateful for Bood’s pushing and prodding. It’s easier for him to talk when he’s being asked or forced to than to just come right out and say it but he’s getting there. The mindset of keep quiet and keep your head down that had permeated his entire childhood and been the only way he’d survived for years in that house and in this business was starting to ease up. Hell, Ilya was even starting to feel comfortable in his new role. Confident in his competency.
It felt thrilling, in a way. He was starting to remember who he was.
He doesn’t see much of the others outside of internal office meetings. They have those once a day or more, if something has happened and they need to act and react quickly.
The Admins, apart from Mrs. Reid (for some reason she is the only one who is called by her last name. This was yet to be explained to Ilya but he goes along with it anyway) spent most of their time in front of the computers in their own room. The Comms team would come out into the general office spaces and mingle from time to time while they got a refill of their coffees or needed to ask something about a certain policy and ended up getting sidetracked, usually in conversations with Maria.
Shane spent most of the day away. Usually, in the mornings he’d have hearings. These would stretch into the early afternoon. Once he’d cast his votes for the day he’d either have interviews or would come back to the office and head the internal meetings, which they scheduled around his schedule. This was also usually when Bood pestered him to eat something.
Ilya had quickly learned that Shane Hollander very rarely had time for eating or sleeping or acting like a mere mortal with human needs. He wasn’t sure how he managed to function like that and still look so good but that was besides the point.
After their meetings were over Shane was either meeting with constituents, prepping and doing research on upcoming hearings or workshopping legislation that they were trying to roll out. Either way, he wouldn’t really be present in the office. At least not anywhere where Ilya got to see much of him.
So Ilya only really saw his two closest colleagues most of the time. Which he was completely fine with. He’d always been a fairly social person but he was too busy focusing on his work for now anyway to spend too much time socialising.
It is on the Friday that things get interesting.
It’s evening and almost everyone has left for the day already.
Ilya has preferred staying late the entire week, not just because he had a tendency to overwork himself and forget about the time but because he’d had it drilled into him to always be the last one at the office.
This will show them that you’re a hard worker, his father had said once upon a time.
It was a hard idea to let go of, even in an office that obviously didn’t think or operate that way. Plus, he was new. He had something to prove.
Besides. He might've changed a lot in the past few years but he still had a competitive streak and was willing to put in the work to be the best at what he did. He had a plan, after all. And that plan included climbing the ranks as fast as he could.
So Ilya finds himself at the office on a Friday evening and it’s only him, Bood and Shane left. Bood’s sitting in the meeting room, stuck in a video call that had gone overtime while Ilya works on something for the hearing Shane has on Monday.
Shane is locked away in his own office, a place Ilya has yet to see, getting ready for an event that was taking place in a few hours. A charity gala for education in rural areas, Ilya remembers. He’s busy transferring some notes from one document to another when there’s a knock on the door and Shane enters the room.
He’s wearing a suit. It’s beautiful – sleek and black and absolutely perfect on him. His button-up is ironed and buttoned all the way up and there’s a tie draped loosely around his neck. His hair looks slightly more tamed than usual, the few streaks of silver in it more visible now that it’s slicked back a bit.
Ilya swallows hard.
It’s not like he hasn’t noticed. Of course he’s noticed. In fact, the first thing he ever noticed about Shane Hollander was his beauty. But it was one thing to think rather abstractly that your boss is hot — something the entire world seemed to agree with anyway — and to actually feel attraction towards him. So yeah, of course he had noticed.
But having Shane Hollander standing in a suit before him was just cruel.
Whoever was in charge of his fate must be a wicked, unmerciful being.
“Hey,” Shane says by way of greeting. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to tie a tie, would you? Usually Mrs. Reid or Bood will do it for me but Mrs. Reid’s already left and Bood’s still stuck in that meeting.”
Cruel, cruel, cruel.
Ilya swallows.
“You don’t know how to tie a tie?” he replies, hoping there’s a way for him to get out of this.
The answer is yes, of course. Ilya does know how to tie a tie. It came with his upbringing, this encyclopedia of knowledge that most people in modern times did, in fact, not find particularly useful.
Except, of course, when they did.
Shane gives him a sheepish smile.
“My mom used to always do it for me. And then there was always someone else willing to help out – a friend, a partner. And once I hired Mrs. Reid she kind of just… took over.”
His Canadian accent isn’t very obvious, which makes sense. He has spent most of his life in the US. But then he says a singular word, a word like out, and Ilya feels heat pool low in his stomach. He can’t help it. He’s always been a sucker for an accent.
He’s not sure how to get out of this. Isn’t sure why it’s so important for him to get out of it in the first place. It’s just tying a tie. It’s not a big deal at all. But somehow this feels important. Intimate. This is the first time they’ve ever been alone together and tying someone’s tie… that was something special.
Shane eventually seems to understand that there’s a heaviness to his silence, something keeping him from readily agreeing.
“I mean, if you’re uncomfortable that’s totally okay, I didn’t meant to—”
“No,” Ilya interrupts. He isn’t uncomfortable. He isn’t unwilling. The problem is, he thinks, that he is slightly too willing.
“No, it’s okay. I can tie a tie.”
Shane looks at him for a moment, eyebrows drawn together as he thinks.
“Are you sure? I really don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, Ilya.”
But Ilya just shakes his head.
“I’m not,” he promises. “Um. Can I just—”
He stands up from his chair abruptly, the thing scraping slightly against the floor as it goes.
Steps closer.
Closer.
Steps close enough that he can feel Shane’s breath against his cheek.
He smells like rolled peppermint leaves and musk, a heady combination that leaves Ilya wanting more. When Ilya looks down the first thing he notices is that Shane has a little scar at the top right of his upper lip.
Just a tiny thing, barely noticeable. Ilya notices anyway.
“Oh,” Shane says before relaxing slightly, his head bending forward a bit so that Ilya can reach around his neck.
“Yeah, um. Go ahead.”
His voice sounds breathy and almost uncertain, something Ilya isn’t used to hearing from the otherwise so confident man. He’s probably just surprised, he thinks. Didn’t expect Ilya to actually do it.
Let’s just get through this, he thinks.
Ilya threads careful fingers around the fabric at the nape of Shane’s neck, pulling it up so that he can fit the tie under the collar. He pulls the wider side down, hand sliding against Shane’s torso as he does his best not to wrinkle the shirt.
He tries not to think about the way he can feel Shane’s muscles under his fingertips.
Once he has a proper hold of the fabric Shane straightens up again, peering up at him through lidded eyes.
When the tie is lined properly he reaches for the narrow side, the one resting just above Shane’s heart, and crosses the two sides. He works quickly, his nimble fingers used to the motion. He doesn’t even have to think about it, it’s second nature.
The air between them grows warmer as they share body heat in the tiny space that separates Shane’s body and his own.
Ilya works faster, bending down a bit to get a better look at what he's doing.
He tries not to notice how hard Shane’s heart is beating under his palm when his hand slides down again to reach for the wider side before he’s looping it under the cross he’s made. He wraps the fabric around, switches his hands the way he was taught and threads it through again until it starts resembling the shape of a tie. He presses his index finger against the knot and wraps the fabric around his finger, his whole hand now coming to rest against Shane’s chest as he does the final parts.
Shane stops breathing for a second.
“Sorry,” Ilya mutters as he hopes that the light in the room isn’t bright enough to show his boss his treacherous cheeks reddening. He eases up on the pressure so that he doesn’t accidentally push too hard again.
“No, it’s okay. You’re fine,” Shane says and he swears he feels Shane's lips against the shell of his ear but when he looks up for a second Shane is keeping as much of a respectable distance between them as he can, his lips nowhere near any part of Ilya.
He peers up at him through his lashes but Shane’s face gives nothing away as he blinks slowly and so he turns back to tying the tie.
“Almost done,” he says under his breath. “Just need to put it in the hole with my finger.”
Shane’s breath hitches. He doesn’t realise what he’s said, what it might sound like, before it’s too late.
“Um,” he says, eyes refusing to meet Shane’s.
“The fabric. The fabric needs to be threaded through.” he amends.
He can feel Shane nodding above him but he’s too embarrassed to look up.
His face is on fire, he can feel it. It’s too hot in here and he can’t breathe.
His blush. Shane’s body heat. It’s all too much.
Shit.
“Yeah, no. Got it,” he hears from above him.
Shane’s voice is strained, faint. Thin. He’s uncomfortable. He’s managed to make his boss uncomfortable. Shane Hollander, the most comfortable and confident man he’s possibly ever met, rendered speechless by Ilya Rozanov’s awkwardness.
He was going to kill himself.
But there’s no going back now so he threads the wide end back through the hole, pulling and shaping it, hand sliding up and down as it twists the fabric into place. He keeps going for longer than necessary, hoping the awkwardness of the moment might ease up.
Finally, he can’t delay it any long. He looks up from his hunched position, bent over the tie.
The tie is just about finished and it looks good but he needs to check with Shane that it’s comfortable too.
“Too tight?” he asks.
Shane swallows hard, tongue reaching out to lick at his lips.
Ilya refuses to let his gaze waver from Shane’s own eyes.
He’s not following the motion of his tongue out of the corner of his eyes.
He’s not.
“No,” Shane says.
His eyes are dark. Darker than usual but Ilya isn’t sure if he’s just imagining it. There's a distinct lack of light in the office and Ilya is dizzy from all the heat and the blood in his body deciding if it should rush up to paint his face or down because this proximity is doing it for him. Surely, he’s imagining Shane's reaction.
“More?” he asks. Shane nods slowly, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s.
“More,” he says and his voice makes goosebumps raise on his arms. Sends shivers down his spine. Makes the heat in his stomach grow tenfold.
He nods, eyes pulling the tie tighter as he keeps eyes on Shane’s the entire time.
They stand there for just a moment in complete silence, Ilya’s hands resting at Shane’s throat. Neither of them say anything. He can feel Shane breathing heavier than normal under his palms, can see the subtle glimmer of gold in his eyes from this close.
He’s not sure what’s happening. Not sure if anything is happening at all. He should back away. He’s going to back away. This isn't who he is anymore and he shouldn’t be doing it and he’s going to get fired on his first week of the job. He’s not even sure what it is but it’s bad. Whatever it is, it’s bad.
He promised himself a long time ago to stop being bad. He couldn’t afford it. Not anymore.
Back away, Ilya.
He backs away.
After another awkward moment of silence Shane clears his throat, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck in a surprisingly boyish gesture. It makes him look younger. Less of a confident politician, more… sweet. Almost unsure of himself.
Ilya feels a rush of something. Something that feels an awful lot like power at the thought of being the cause of Shane Hollander's mask slipping. He did that. Ilya.
“Thank you,” Shane says.
Ilya nods quietly, turning towards his desk again. He’s just about to sit down when Shane continues.
“What are you still doing here? It’s a Friday night, Ilya. What are you, 28? You should be out partying. Or, like, going on a date with your partner. Whatever, just not be in the office pouring over legislative work. Go live your life!”
Ilya turns back around.
Shane seems perfectly normal now. As if the awkward moment they’d just shared hadn’t happened.
Well. If he could pretend Ilya could, too.
“25,” he says.
“What?” Shane says.
“I’m 25,” he shrugs.
“Oh,” Shane says weakly. He seems to take this in, brows furrowed. He recovers quickly though.
“Still, you shouldn’t be here.”
Ilya shrugs again.
“I’m not much of a party person these days. And, um, no partner. Just a dog. So I don’t mind, really.”
Shane looks at him quietly for a moment.
“You still deserve time to rest, Ilya. To do something other than work. Go spend time with your dog.”
“Hypocrite,” Ilya shoots back and it’s out before he has time to think about it and if that awkward moment they just had wasn’t enough to get him fired this surely would be.
He wasn’t Maria, who’d worked here for years and could joke around with their boss. He wasn’t Mrs. Reid, who was so old nobody could talk back to her anyway. He was just the new kid. And he wasn’t even going to last until the end of the week.
Fuck.
“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” Shane laughs and Ilya’s heart skips a beat at the sound.
Oh, thank god.
Before Ilya gets a chance to reply he hears the sound of Bood’s footsteps down the hall.
“Well,” Shane says, waving to Bood as he enters the room. “Guess that’s my cue to get going. Thank you, again. For the help.”
Ilya nods.
“No worries. Have fun at the charity.”
Shane laughs.
“Thank you. Have a nice weekend, you two. Please leave the office before nine.”
“Will do, boss!” Bood says, saluting him as Shane turns to leave.
He doesn’t look back.
When Ilya gets home that night and curls up in bed with his dog he thanks his lucky stars that he’s made it through the first week.