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“You will help me with my bird paper tonight, right?” Ilya was pulling up his hockey pants and securing them at the waist.
Shane’s head escaped the hole at the top of his black compression shirt. He slid it over his torso and met Ilya’s eyes across the locker room.
“No. I have my own stuff to do,” Shane dismissed and continued putting his gear on for practice.
“We can do the paper together, share notes,” Ilya pleaded. He was working through an engineering program. His STEM coursework was reasonable as a foreign student whose first language was Russian and only began learning English as a teenager. Math and science are pretty much the same in all languages. But there proved to be exceptions over the last three and a half years. Biology, for example, with its required observational studies, was often frustrating for Ilya. Especially Biology of Birds, which turned out to be heavy in research papers.
“My paper for Biology of Birds is already done.” Shane turned away from his Captain and situated his pads over his shoulders and worked on the straps.
“Fine. Be that way. I am a struggling ESL student in need of bilingual Canadian help but sure. You go home and do your assignments weeks before they are due. No problem.”
Shane scrunched his face at the whiny sarcasm and squinted his eyes. Ilya enjoyed it very much, loved getting a reaction from his teammate and, at times reluctant, friend. If he was lucky, he might even get a huffy little eye roll– ah, there it is.
“Fine. You can have an hour. I’ll come over around 8:30.”
“Actually I am going on a date so can we do it sooner–” Shane raised his eyebrows and stared Ilya down. “Okay okay! I will cancel. 8:30 it is,” Ilya put both hands up defensively. He bit down on his lip and grinned as he turned back to his locker and continued dressing.
The Monday night practice went well. They were back in the locker room and Ilya was going to each of his teammates, enthusiastically explaining something while he shoved his phone in their face. Shane ignored it and started to strip down so he could hop in the shower.
His eyes were closed as he let the stream of water rinse his shampoo down the drain. His quiet alone time, time to think about what he would eat for dinner and what he needed to get done before meeting Rozanov, was abruptly interrupted by the loud Russian’s hand on his shoulder.
“Hollander! You will do this with us.”
“Jesus Rozanov, I’m fucking showering. Go away!”
“Is called Harlem Shake. Watch.” Shane watched the 30 second video of college students breaking out in weird dances in stupid costumes, “I am going to do one of these on Thursday.” Ilya was grinning wide, still in his compression shirt and jock.
“I don’t get it.”
“Is funny! Here, watch this one.”
“You’re getting water all over your phone, dumbass," Shane snickered.
Ilya rolled his eyes at Shane and pressed play on the next one. He giggled at the video while Shane giggled at him.
“Look at that guy,” He chuckled and pointed to someone on a unicycle in a banana costume. Shane squinted, trying to focus on the grainy banana man.
Ilya turned to Shane when it was over and frowned when he found the unamused look on his face, “Whatever. You are still going to be in the video.”
“I don’t have a banana costume,” Shane huffed a laugh at Ilya’s disgruntled expression.
“I will find something for you when you come over tonight. Not a banana, but something silly for you.”
“Mmm, sure. We’ll see,” Shane took a step away from Ilya, noticing that their hips were nearly touching and suddenly remembering he was completely naked. And wet. And soapy. “Now can you get out of my shower. Please.”
Ilya sighed and left the stall.
Shane left his apartment for Ilya’s place at 8:10 with his bag containing his laptop and a printed copy of his paper for Biology of Birds. Great Migrations: Flight Patterns of the Loon. He thought it may help Ilya work out the structure of his assignment if they could dissect it with a good old-fashioned red pen on paper.
He stopped at the gas station on the way and bought Ilya a Fudge Round and a Coke. Which disgusted Shane to his core. But he was already stopping to grab himself a drink so it would be rude not to grab Rozanov’s favorite study snack and drink of choice.
Shane met Ilya for the first time during summer training before their Freshman year at McGill. They both got scouted as Centers but over the course of their first season together, Ilya was encouraged to move to right wing. Their coach insisted that they had great chemistry on the ice and should play on the same line. It was a compliment. But Rozanov didn’t take it that way at first. “Then make Hollander move to wing!” he’d complained in his thick accent.
Ilya didn’t get over it for a while, keeping his distance from Shane for the rest of the season. Teasing him a lot. Challenging him on and off the ice. However, by Sophomore year, they had come to a sort of truce. They were still very competitive with one another. But they channeled it into something productive, dominating on the ice, becoming an unstoppable duo that gained a lot of attention in the hockey world.
During their Junior year, when Ilya was made captain, something shifted in their relationship again. Shane was an alternate captain, and consistently had the most goals of anyone on the team. He was the better stick handler and proved to be a bit faster than Ilya. But Ilya was captain material, through-and-through.
They were both doing their jobs. They were right where they should be, on equal footing. They’d become quite close over the last two seasons. They had a few classes together. Ilya would drag him to parties on occasion. They would study together in the library or at each other’s places. Ilya was the first teammate Shane had come out to, and he had encouraged Shane to tell the rest of the team. Shane was relatively comfortable in his sexuality at that point, especially when considering his tenure in hockey culture. But Ilya’s acceptance went a long way with the team. Through-and-through.
Shane really did have plenty of his own coursework to do. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy helping Ilya with his. Ilya was very intelligent, a great student. He was well on his way to becoming an engineer for god's sake. But he was a non-native English speaker at an English language University. Shane found it very entertaining when he would get sayings wrong or mistranslate a word. Sometimes he wondered if Ilya did it on purpose just to make Shane laugh.
Shane knocked on the door. Ilya rented a house with three other guys on the team. He answered the door in sweatpants and socks. No shirt, just his gold chain and crucifix he always wore.
“Why do you knock when I am expecting you? You are so weird.”
“I don’t know! You have roommates. And who knows what goes on in this house. There are some things I’d like to avoid seeing, if I can” Shane pushed Ilya out of the way, pressing a plastic grocery bag against his chest and working his way inside, out of the cold. He slipped out of his shoes and took off his black puffy coat, tossing it on the back of the couch.
Ilya opened the bag and pulled out the snack cake and soda. He started up the stairs and Shane followed him to his room.
Ilya sat the coke on his desk and began peeling the wrapper from his Fudge Round. He took a big bite and watched as Shane dropped his backpack on the bed and pulled out his laptop and a folder.
“I printed a copy of my paper for you,” he explained, “I figured we could go through what you have and then flesh out an outline. Some of the terminology from my paper could probably be used for yours, too.”
Ilya nodded at his teammate as he took another bite. “Sounds good, Hollander.” Mouth full of chocolatey pastry, he continued, “Let’s find your costume for the video first.” A little crumb dropped from his mouth to the floor.
Shane sighed, “I only have an hour. Is that really how you want to spend it?”
Ilya took a big swig of his Coke, “Yes. Is my Shanetime. I can use it how I wish.”
“Your Shanetime?” Shane griped, frowning.
Ilya laughed and went to his closet and pulled out a large plastic tote. Shane stood and walked to Ilya, standing behind him as the man pulled out articles of clothing in various colors and textures.
____________________________________
“Ah ha!,” Ilya stood with a piece of brown leather in each hand, “you will try this.”
Shane took it from him and assessed the items, “Is this…like…a gladiator costume?”
“Yes. I wore it for a party last year. Try it.”
Shane tried to squeeze it over his jeans and hoodie. Ilya reached out to stop him.
“Will not fit over your clothes, Hollander.”
Shane narrowed his eyes at Ilya. Ilya kept his face neutral, then raised his brows and gestured in Shane’s general direction with a wave.
Shane took off his hoodie and slid out of his jeans. He was standing in front of Ilya in just his boxers. Ilya had seen him completely naked on multiple occasions. So why did his face feel so warm? And why was he suddenly so aware of the mechanics of swallowing? It must be because they were unequally clothed, alone in a room with the door closed. It was a little weird, but he could move past it.
Shane slipped the leather skirt over his hips and tied it at this lower back. He then tried to get the chestplate to stay, awkwardly maneuvering his arms through the straps. He held the armor in place with one hand and reached behind him in search of the shoulder strap.
“Bozhe moy,” Ilya huffed before standing behind Shane and tightening the straps and attaching them at the front. He noticed a cluster of freckles over his shoulder he hadn’t seen before. He covered the freckles with the widest of the straps and secured it at the chest. His skin was soft and warm against the back of Ilya’s fingers.
“All done,” Ilya returned to his place in front of Shane and took him in. Shane had a great body, forged by hours on the ice and in the weight room each week. The chestplate really complemented the impressive width of his biceps. Ilya could appreciate the beauty of the male form, of course. Shane’s muscular thighs were bursting from the open pleating of the gladiator skirt. “You would put the warriors of ancient Rome to shame, Hollander,” Ilya turned back to the tote as casually as he could manage. He rustled through it, desperate for a different costume.
“What is that?” he heard Shane behind him, then felt him brush against his back as he reached into the closet to pull something from the bottom.
Shane held up the Power Rangers sleeping bag with a smug tilt of his mouth.
“What?! Is nostalgic. From my childhood. You don’t have things from being a kid?” he demanded.
“I didn’t bring my blankie to university, no,” he giggled and folded the sleeping bag over his arm.
Ilya ignored him and continued pulling things from the tote and tossing them to the side.
“What are you looking for?” Shane still had an amused lilt to his voice.
“A costume for you,” it sounded like duh.
“I thought this is what you wanted me to wear? Does it not look good?”
“Opposite. Is too much. Too slutty.”
“Wh–wait, what?” the humor was gone from his voice, replaced by pure confusion.
Ilya stood and handed him his motorcycle helmet. “Try this. You could just wear normal clothes and helmet.”
Shane reached out with an eyeroll and grabbed the helmet, pulling it over his head before flipping up the visor. “This is so dumb.”
“Yes. Can’t see your face. That will not work.”
The tote was empty and Ilya huffed in frustration. Nothing is right. He stood and began searching through the items on the hangers when he had an idea. But where is it?
“Yes! Here,” he pulled the crumpled white toga from the top shelf of his closet and tossed it at Shane. He caught it and sat the helmet down on the floor.
“It’s all wrinkled. Is this clean?” Shane scrunched his face and it made Ilya irrationally angry.
“Yes, is clean,” he defended himself and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, “Try it on.”
“Can you…” he gestured to his back.
Ilya rushed to Shane and began detaching the straps from the faux leather armor until Shane could lift it over his head. The freckles reappeared and he bit down on his lip, too hard. He blinked away his confusing thoughts about kissing them as Shane pulled the skirt off and turned to Ilya.
Shane’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. They studied him for too long, too knowingly. It made Ilya flinch.
“You okay?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” it came out defensive and Ilya knew he sounded like a child who'd been caught.
“Okay. Whatever.” Shane slipped into the white polyester mass-produced toga and adjusted the fabric over his chest and shoulder. “This feels a little cliche, don’t you think.”
“No. Is good. We will match.”
“You have another toga?” Shane giggled.
“No, I’ll wear the gladiator thing.”
“You said it was too slutty!”
“For you, yes. I am slutty. It is good for me.”
Shane shook his head and changed back into his jeans and hoodie.
“Let’s get to work on this paper,” he tucked the costume into his backpack.
“Sure,” Ilya grabbed his laptop from his desk and plopped his ass on the bed. He slapped the mattress next to him as an invitation. Shane joined him, handing over the printed copy of his essay. Ilya felt like things were normal again. His friend sitting next to him, fully clothed, and scolding him for his terrible title and unacceptable formatting; it was familiar. And he was glad.
“I did not treat you this way when I had to help you with your Calculus,” Ilya grumbled.
“Just split this paragraph here,” he reached over Ilya to rest his finger on the screen, “and move it to the second paragraph on the next page.” Shane removed his finger but kept his posture, leaning into Ilya, thighs crushed together and arm against arm. And all of the sudden, it was very not normal again.
Ilya tried very hard not to remember the first time he felt something like this in the presence of Shane Hollander. It was last season, not long after Shane had told him he was gay. They were rooming together at an away game and Shane went to the hotel bathroom for a shower. Ilya couldn’t help the thought, it tore through him unprompted and with a vengeance. He imagined sliding into the shower with Shane, pictured what he would look like on his knees, taking Ilya into his mouth. He shut it down quickly, feeling immediately guilty.
He felt confident that it was homophobic to think that just because he was gay, he would be willing to suck Ilya off in the shower. He felt so ashamed that he paid for Shane’s breakfast that morning and let him have the aisle seat on the bus ride home.
This time was a little different, though. He was kind of wondering what it might be like to suck Shane’s dick. And that felt less homophobic, so he allowed it, for a moment.
He’d had a couple other rogue thoughts since then. Once when Shane brought him a Fudge Round to practice for the first time. And there was a showering incident from earlier that season that still flashed in his mind at inopportune times.
“You probably need to leave, right? It is 9:45,” Ilya created some distance from Shane and rubbed his nose, eyes glued to his computer screen.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks–for reminding me,” Shane scooted off the bed and stuffed his laptop in with the toga. “Let me know if you need more help. I’ll have more time tomorrow.”
“Yep. Thanks, Hollander.”
Shane left his room. He waited, listening, until he heard the front door click shut. Then he turned his body around and slammed his head back into the pillows. He sat up just enough to reach his laptop and pulled it to his chest before returning to his horizontal position.
He typed into the search: How do I know if I’m bisexual?
In the results he found something called the Kinsey Scale, a couple of quizzes and numerous reddit posts. He read through everything and hummed as he found very relatable experiences to his own. Interesting.
____________________________________
The first thing Ilya thought about when he woke up that morning was Shane Hollander in a revealing gladiator costume. He also considered that he may be the only person in the world who would ever see it, which made him smug and happy as he did a morning stretch, from toes to fingertips, and grinned.
He needed to get to his 10:00 am Biology of Birds class so he rolled off the bed and headed for the shower. He was sudsing up and trying very hard to ignore his erection. He knew if he jerked off during his morning shower, which he did most mornings, he wouldn’t be able to stop his traitorous mind from thinking about Shane. Then he would have to go sit next to him in class and pretend like he wasn’t thinking about his shoulder freckles when he came. And that was too much work. It might feel like lying. So he let his morning wood fizzle away as he avoided eye contact with it and washed his hair.
When he made it to the lecture hall, Shane was already sitting in their usual spot. As he approached, Shane held out a coffee. It was beige and full of whipped cream and various drizzles. Ilya beamed as he sat down and took a sip.
“So fucking gross,” Shane snorted.
“Then stop getting them for me,” Ilya teased.
“You’re right. I should stop.”
Ilya’s grin fell flat and he sank into his seat. Why did he say that? It was stupid to suggest such a thing.
The 90 minute lecture concluded and Ilya stood in the aisle, waiting for Shane to exit. He walked next to him as they left the hall. Shane went straight to his next class from Biology so Ilya always walked with him before heading back home until his 3:00 pm class.
“See ya later,” Shane waved as he walked inside. Ilya watched as Shane opened the door for another student and followed them into the building.
He heard his phone buzz. He had a text from his friend Cliff, who was in the same Engineering program.
Cliff: We still doing the Harlem Shake thing on Thursday?
Ilya: Yes. Tell people. 4 pm. Shatner Building.
Cliff: Beautiful. I’ll be there.
____________________________________
Ilya arrived at practice early to help the equipment manager, Harris, with some of his checklist. Ilya grabbed a stack of pylons from the closet and took them out to the ice to set them up for some drills.
Ilya was lugging a box of pucks to the bench when Harris stopped in front of him.
“Here–let me take those,” he reached out to take the box from Ilya.
“I can carry them,” Ilya held them away from Harris.
“I am perfectly capable of doing my job,” Harris smiled brightly at him, “you go get ready for practice, Captain.”
Ilya let him take the pucks and started to walk away, toward the locker room. He paused, took a deep breath, and turned back to Harris who was tossing some pucks on the ice.
“How did you know you were gay?” Harris stopped feeding pucks over the boards and turned to Ilya with a suspicious tilt of his head.
“Uhh–well–” he began. Ilya cut him off.
“Nevermind. It is not my business. See you later–”
“Rozanov, wait.” Harris jogged to him. “It’s fine.”
Ilya waited, watching Harris examine him for a moment before he answered Ilya’s question.
“I kind of always knew on some level,” he began, “but I didn’t really know what gay meant yet. When I was a kid, and all my friends would talk about girls they had crushes on…well I didn’t feel the same way. What they described was how I felt about the boy in my sixth grade gym class who helped me get my locker open on the first day of school. And when I kissed a guy for the first time, it kind of confirmed that I would probably stick to kissing guys.”
Ilya nodded, listening intently to every word Harris spoke.
“But…some people like kissing girls and boys, Harris continued, “that’s also a thing.”
They both looked at each other, letting the unspoken understanding swirl around them.
“Yes, that is what I’ve heard also.”
Harris laughed at that, “Did that help? Do you have any other questions?”
“No, thank you. You helped me very much.”
Harris parted with a final wink and continued with his pre-practice duties.
Ilya knew his mission. He needed to find a way to kiss Shane Hollander. This would tell him everything he needed to know. Would confirm his sexuality. Because if he kissed Shane and didn’t feel anything, well then he couldn’t be bisexual. Because Shane was probably the prettiest, cutest, hottest guy he’d ever seen. So if that didn’t do it for him, he was clearly straight.
Practice was a mess. Ilya was distracted by his new assignment. He couldn’t stop looking at Hollander’s flushed pink cheeks as they finished drills. Couldn’t keep his eyes off the alternate captain’s perfect skating. Practically drooled over his perfect backhand shot into the net. He found himself looking for Shane too often, which resulted in some messy passes that got him yelled at.
“Rozanov! Is there something more interesting to you than playing hockey? Do your job!” his coach shouted from the bench.
When they went to the locker room, Ilya channeled all of his effort into not paying any attention to Shane. He was afraid someone might notice his undeniable ogling. He kept his eyes low as he quickly showered, dressed and snuck out of the locker room without a word.
When he got back to his house, to his bedroom, he saw a text. From Shane.
Hollander: You alright?
No.
Ilya: Yes
Hollander: Did you need more help with your paper?
Ilya did not need more help with his paper.
Ilya: Yes
Ilya: Come help me
____________________________________
Shane was concerned about Ilya. He had never seen him so distracted. And it was very unlike him to leave after practice without chatting with his teammates, with Shane.
He wondered if it had something to do with Ilya’s workload. It was not common for a student athlete to take on a rigorous program like engineering. And for good reason. It was a demanding major and McGill hockey was just as arduous.
He was determined to help Ilya finish up his paper and get it submitted tonight. It could be one less thing to worry about, one more thing off his list. Ilya was much more smiley and silly when he wasn’t stressed.
Shane arrived at Ilya’s house just off campus at 9:30. He decided not to knock, instead he entered slowly, checking for activity. No one was in the kitchen or living room, so he headed upstairs.
Ilya’s door was partially open. He rapped lightly against the doorframe.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Come in,” his voice was low and distracted.
Shane entered and found Ilya laying on his bed with one headphone in, plugged into his phone.
“You ready to get started?”
“Get started on what?”
“Your paper…”
“Oh. No. I submitted the final draft an hour ago.”
“What? Well then–I don’t–” his rambling confusion trailed off. Ilya was unbothered as he took out the ear bud and set everything aside. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.
“You want to watch a movie?”
Shane was glad he finished his paper. Genuinely super glad he didn’t need Shane’s help. All he wanted was for Ilya to feel light and happy, whether Shane contributed to it or not. Ilya did seem a little lighter as he changed the input to his DVD player and gestured to the shelf below.
“Pick something. Whatever you want.”
Shane quickly scanned the collection. He pulled his choice from the shelf and inserted the disc. Ilya was sitting up, back against the headboard, against his pillow. Shane scanned the room for the chair he usually sat in when they hung out in Ilya’s room. He saw it pushed against the wall under the window. He pulled it out and sat it a few feet from the bed, a few feet from Ilya who eyed him quizzically.
Shane turned his attention to the TV but felt eyes on him as he settled into his chair.
____________________________________
Why is he not sitting here with me? It is much more comfortable. He is so annoying.
Ilya pressed play on the movie and pulled his legs up and crossed them, in case someone needed more room to sit.
“The Hunger Games. Good choice.”
Ilya had seen the movie approximately twelve times so he watched something more interesting. He watched Hollander chew on his bottom lip, which was very full and pouty. He watched him pull his knees up, resting his sock-covered feet on the armchair and his stubbly chin on his knee.
Ilya stood suddenly, a fresh idea brewing. He grabbed a half-full bag of kettle corn. The other half was eaten by Shane last week when they studied for their Biology quiz together. The rest sat untouched because kettle corn is disgusting. He poured the rest in a bowl and took it with him, back to his bed.
Shane barely looked up at him, hardly registered his devious scheme, before refocusing his attention on the movie.
“You want some?” Ilya asked, then tossed a kernel in his mouth. He did his best to hide his disgust.
Shane looked over and said “sure” before stretching toward the bowl, lifting from the chair slightly. Ilya let him sit back down before he bent over, grabbed two legs of the chair with both hands, and pulled it toward him. The wooden legs squeaked and groaned against the hardwood floors and he set the chair flush with his bed frame.
He peered back at Shane and found him smirking and wide-eyed.
“Now you can reach popcorn better,” he explained indifferently.
About halfway through the movie, Ilya, still tense and overly attentive, saw Shane yawn.
“Are you tired?” he asked without looking directly at Shane.
“Maybe a little, but I’m fine. I want to finish the movie.”
“You could come lay down,” Ilya shrugged it off, as if he couldn’t care any less about whether or not Shane wanted to cozy up together on his small bed.
“No. Then I’ll accidentally fall asleep.”
“Would be okay, I think. You don’t have an early class tomorrow,” he countered cooly.
“I’m fine, really.”
Ilya became aware– so suddenly that it took his breath away– just because he was bi-curious, that did not mean Shane was necessarily Ilya-curious. He felt homophobic again and began running through some ways he could make up for it. He could buy Shane some more of his gross popcorn and maybe restock the ginger ales in the mini fridge. He decided he would do that and also donate the rest of the money he made working over Christmas break to an LGBTQ charity. He was considering his options when he saw movement from the corner of his eye.
He was drawn from his self-flagellation as Shane crawled onto the bed and plopped down beside him. Shane was lying on his back, on one of Ilya’s pillows, with his arms crossed over his chest. He was just close enough in the full-sized bed that Ilya could feel the heat from his skin.
He decided he would test the waters a little. Small gestures that left the door open for plausible deniability. He sank into the mattress a bit more, rustled around a bit with a stretch. When he brought his arm back down, he left it to rest right against Shane’s. Shane did not react, just continued watching the 32” television on Ilya’s thrift store dresser.
He let a couple minutes pass of arm-to-arm contact. When that felt safe, he started playfully tapping Shane’s foot with his. Shane retaliated with a kick of his own. They continued, letting the foot fight escalate. The game transformed into something like a thumb war as they tried to pin down each other's feet. Ilya bent his knee and leaned forward to stomp Shane’s foot into the mattress. Shane punched Ilya’s arm and cackled.
“Ouch!”
Ilya released his foot in an instant, conflicted by the exclamation of pain accompanied with laughter and a physical assault to his arm.
He was played for a fool, because Shane immediately sat up and placed both of his feet over one of Ilya’s to crush it to the mattress. Ilya avenged the assault on his foot by grabbing both of his ankles and tugging them to either side of his waist and an arm’s length behind him. The strength and speed of the haul sent Shane flying back, flush against the mattress once more.
Shane gaped at him, unblinking, mouth open slightly. A flush of pink spilled over his cheeks, decorated with a smattering of freckles that looked darker now. Ilya slid his hands up his legs and lightly smacked both of his thighs before grinning ear to ear and proclaiming himself the winner.
Shane placed a foot flat on Ilya’s chest and shoved him backwards off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud.
“You are such a sore loser,” he chuckled as he stood up and pushed Shane away from his side of the bed and laid back down.
They settled back in for the final fifteen minutes of the movie, arms touching once more. Ilya catalogued the expression on Shane’s face, the blush that covered his surprised and curious face. Ilya was pretty good at reading people. Childhood trauma will do that. And he had a suspicion that Shane may be interested in more than a chaste brush of an arm of a raucous game of footsie.
____________________________________
Ilya was in the Shatner Building by 3:30 pm on Thursday, directing people to the area where they’d film the video on the third floor. The students here for the Harlem Shake were easy to recognize. A guy with a horse mask, a stormtrooper helmet, or a mustard costume under their arm felt like a safe student to stop and inform.
Ilya had gone upstairs already and set up the DSLR he borrowed from the school. He also dropped off the two trashbags full of balloons and inflated free condoms from student health services. He would stay near the door and guide people until 4:00.
Shane walked in at 3:45 and came straight to Ilya.
“Hi. Where do you want me?”
Everywhere. All the time.
“Third floor, follow the people in chicken suits and welding helmets.”
Shane smiled and nodded before heading toward the stairwell.
Ilya convinced his friend Cliff to be the starting dancer. The pelvic thrusting Con los terroristas lead. He was in a Marty the Martlet head he borrowed from the mascot guy, very proudly practicing his opening dance moves, when Ilya stepped into the room.
“Alright, listen up!” Ilya shouted, “We will begin with everyone sitting in the theater chairs with no costume. We will film one minute of footage so we can take best part. Then everyone will have ten minutes to get into silly stuff. I will play the song from this speaker so we can keep beat. Let’s do it.”
The students whooped and cheered. Cliff stood at the front, facing the camera centered on a tripod. Ilya pressed the record button and jogged to the empty seat next to Shane before pressing play. The music began and so did Cliff’s enthusiastic thrusting and arm waves. Ilya started the song over and called to his frontman to continue.
Satisfied with Cliff’s performance and the stillness maintained by the rest of the students, he called cut and jogged back to the camera to stop recording.
“Okay, go change everyone,” he called as he checked the footage and confirmed it was captured and acceptable. He grabbed his duffle bag and headed to the bathroom to get into his costume.
He struggled with the straps a bit but used the large mirror to his advantage. He turned and snagged the straps, attaching them in a criss-cross over his back. He took a final look and came to the conclusion that it didn’t look as good on him as he remembered.
When he returned, he found Shane in his freshly washed and steamed toga. He looked perfect. One shoulder and his muscular arms exposed. The skirt strained over his massive thighs. He was a vision in cheap white polyester.
____________________________________
Shane was breathless and stupid, staring at his teammate, friend, captain.
Ilya was beautiful, Shane recognized that from the moment he met him all those years ago at summer training. But Shane kept Ilya in an off-limits compartment in his mind. The boundary was fairly easy to maintain when they actively disliked each other. When Ilya was a raging asshole to him that first season. Since becoming closer, the separation became a little trickier. But Shane always met a challenge head on. No matter how much Ilya sauntered around shirtless and smiling at him, no matter how often he stocked his fridge with ginger ale or brought Shane’s preferred beer to parties, Shane was able to avoid sexy thoughts. Mostly.
The thoughts nagged him harder lately, especially since they'd returned from the holiday break. Ilya seemed very attentive to Shane. Sometimes it felt like more than friendship. But he continued with the narrative in his head that he was projecting, spinning, lying to himself.
When Ilya pulled him to his back during the movie a couple nights ago, he could have sworn he saw something new in him. He genuinely considered what he might do if Ilya bent down to kiss him at that moment. It seemed like a real possibility. And it excited him, unfortunately.
“You were right. It’s very slutty,” it came out as a shaky exhale, “it looks good.” Understatement of the century.
Ilya gave him him a big white smile. He reached out to run the bunched fabric at Shane’s chest between his fingers.
“It looked better on you,” his voice was low and made Shane shudder, “I better get started.”
Shane enjoyed the view as Ilya swayed to the front of the theater. His mostly bare back was muscular and smooth and he wished to feel it beneath his palms. Fuck.
“Okay, I will play the song all the way through. You know when to dance. Here are some balloons,” Ilya began dumping them out and tossing them in the crowd, “to bounce around.”
The seats hummed with excitement. Students reached out to catch the balloons and condoms and pass them along. When the bags were empty, Ilya returned to the camera and pressed the record button once more. He returned to his spot next to Shane, jumping over people’s laps and shimmying between bodies. He got to the fourth row, stage left, and settled. Shane handed him the speaker. Ilya was looking at him very seriously. Shane startled under his gaze at first, then found himself lost in it, unable to investigate like he usually would.
“You should kiss me,” Ilya blurted. Shane wondered if he heard him right, over the clamouring student body.
“Wh–sorry, what?”
“Would be funny for the video. Do it for the meme, Hollander.”
“Uh no. I don’t think that’s funny at all.” Kissing you would be a lot of things, but funny was not one of them.
“Okay sorry, not funny. Would be…fun. And rememberble"
“Memorable.”
“Right, yes. Memorable,” Ilya took his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes lit up.
“Yo are we doing this or what!?” he heard someone shout from the back.
Ilya rolled his eyes and pressed play. They had about fifteen seconds of intro before the commotion should begin.
“So…” Ilya pushed.
“So what?”
“You will kiss me? Please?” It sounded a lot like begging, which Shane was surprised to discover he enjoyed.
“I–um–,” he tried to buy some time while his brain rebooted.
It’s not like Shane didn’t want to. But what if he didn’t want to stop. It was so dangerous and stupid. He would put an end to this, immediately.
“Okay, sure.” Fuck. Well he put up a good fight.
-tas, -tas, -tas, -tas, -tas
Shane leaned in and wrapped his hand around the back of Ilya’s neck. Ilya took Shane’s waist in one hand, his other gently cradled the side of his face.
Then do the Harlem Shake.
____________________________________
Ilya paused at the halfway point. It was important to him that Shane met him there, kissed him first. As students began jumping and dancing, Shane crushed his mouth against Ilya’s. Ilya sighed and let loose some of the tension from his shoulders. His lips were so soft and full. Just as kissable and delicious as he imagined, more maybe. Shane’s hand slid from his neck to his back. It sent a shiver down his spine.
Ilya deepened the kiss with a hand on Shane’s jaw, sliding his tongue deep into the man’s mouth. It was a little presumptious but Ilya was going with his gut here. The hand on Shane's waist slid down to his hip and squeezed. He felt the rumble in his mouth of a noise he couldn’t hear over the music and loud participants.
The music stopped and Shane pulled away first. Ilya could barely make him out through his hazy, barely open eyes. Definitely bisexual.
He was irritated at the abrupt end of the music. He wanted to keep kissing Shane. And he really really hoped Shane wanted to kiss him some more too. Like immediately.
Ilya shook his hands out and refocused on the video, the reason they were here. He made his way through the crowd to get to the camera and stop the recording.
He watched it back on the small digital screen, making sure everyone was enthusiastic and silly enough to go viral or end up in a compilation. He could barely see himself and Shane on the tiny display. But he thought they looked really good. Everyone did a great job.
“It’s perfect!” he proclaimed. The room erupted with cheers and high-fives. He chuckled at his fellow students and their passion. “Thank you all so much. I will get it posted on YouTube this weekend with the music and everything. Great job.”
He found Shane’s eyes in the crowd and nodded toward the door on his right. Not the exit, but a room where costumes and props were housed. Shane seemed to understand, nodding his head back at Ilya.
Ilya made himself busy, collecting balloons and miscellaneous pieces of costumes that were left behind. He placed them in a trash bag and watched until the last student left.
He practically ran to the storage room. He walked in and tossed the junk in his hand to the floor. He found Shane leaning against the wall. He looked so perfect and edible.
Ilya reached him in three long strides and took his mouth with force. Shane wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed his hips against Ilya. Ilya couldn’t stop the groan that escaped, echoing against Shane’s open mouth.
“This is okay?” Ilya asked as he wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist.
Shane looked into Ilya’s eyes and nodded, “Yes. Very stupid but so okay.”
Ilya quietly laughed and kissed along Shane’s jaw, up to his ear, before returning to his mouth. Hungrier and harder. He pulled away to get another glimpse of dark eyes then rested his forehead on Shane’s.
“I really like kissing you,” he panted.
“Me too."
“I think I want to do more,” he hurried, ready to just but it all out there because Shane was making him insane.
“You think?”
“I know,” Ilya planted a quick kiss on Shane’s pliant mouth, “Come back to my house with me.” He wondered how desperate he sounded to Shane.
“Oh–uhh–”
Ilya schooled his face to hide the rising panic. He misread the situation. He doesn’t want to do anything more.
“I need to get home and take care of some stuff. How about you come over to my apartment later?”
“You sure is what you want?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Shane leaned in and took Ilya’s top lip between his. It was so soft and sweet. All Ilya could do not to fall over was close his eyes and strengthen his hold on Shane. He ground his achingly hard dick against Shane’s hip, crushing him against the wall. Shane moaned against his lips. Encouraged and desperate for some relief, he continued rolling his hips. He wanted to be very clear about how attracted to Shane he was. There would be zero confusion about what he needed. Ilya reached down and was pleased to find Shane’s arousal on display beneath the toga skirt and his boxers. He gave the bulge a squeeze and firmly ran his hand over the length of it. Shane whimpered against Ilya’s lips and it set his mind ablaze with a heated desperation.
“Okay. I will come over. What time?” he promised against Shane’s temple.
“How about 9:00?”
“Okay.”
“Is this really happening?” Shane whispered, almost like he was talking to himself.
Ilya answered with a final press of his mouth over Shane’s parted lips.
____________________________________
Shane wasn’t completely sure how the night would go, what he and Ilya might decide to do together. So he prepped for anything and everything. It was 8:30 and he was trying to find something to wear. He wanted something casual and comfortable. But also nice, maybe. He opted for a clean, newer pair of grey sweatpants and a dusty blue hoodie his mom just bought him for Christmas. He fixed his hair in the mirror, still a little damp from a long shower, fluffing some texture in the top where it was longer.
He’d cleaned up the apartment a bit, made his bed and lit a candle in the living room. He did another walk through, knowing he’d find nothing else to do. The dishes were washed and put away, throw pillows fluffed, laundry folded. He paced the apartment and willed away the partial erection he’d been dealing with since he left the Shatner Building.
Ilya Rozanov wanted to come over. It was very stupid and irresponsible. And also really hot and irresistible. Ilya was probably the hottest guy he’d ever seen. But they were friends and teammates. That line had never been crossed, not for nearly four seasons of hockey together. Something shifted that evening in the theater. Well, before that, if he was being honest. But the kiss threatened to pull them deeper into the unknown.
Shane began to spiral when he thought about them showing up for practice the next morning, playing hockey with Ilya after everything they’d already done and might do very soon. He tried to take a deep breath but the oxygen didn’t quite fill his lungs in that satisfying, complete way. What was he thinking?
He continued processing his more anxious thoughts. This was their last season together. They were graduating soon. If it got awkward or tense, it would only be for a couple more months. He could manage that. Although, he was horrified to think that something could destroy their friendship. He couldn't really imagine a world in which he wasn't thinking about Ilya, bringing him snacks or coffee, being there for him and getting his companioship in return.
He didn’t get a chance to think much longer because a knock came at 8:57 and pulled him out of his head. He made his way to the door and took another deep-ish breath when he got there. He reminded himself that Ilya was a great person and they didn’t have to take this further, he would understand. Feeling more confident, Shane opened the door. He held it open and invited Ilya inside. Ilya took a few steps before turning to find Shane. Shane thought he looked ravenous and beautiful and confident. He looked like he wanted to eat Shane, or fuck him, so he swallowed hard to drown the fluttering in his stomach. Who was kidding, of course the would take this further.
____________________________________
Shane looked so tasty and adorable. It took a high level of discipline not to shove him against the wall in the foyer, or pull him down to the carpet right here and kiss him senseless. He was determined to take his time, to savor Shane and this night.
They grinned stupidly at each for a moment until Shane spoke first.
“Are you hungry or anything? I have some Fudge Rounds. And Cheetos. I got some cokes too.”
“No, not hungry.” Well not for cheetos, anyways.
He closed the space between them and brushed his fingers over Shane’s cheek, his freckles. Shane tilted his head to lean into the touch, which gave Ilya a great angle to take his mouth. It had only been a few hours but he forgot how good Shane tasted, how warm and sweet his mouth was. There was a conflict raging inside him, a tug of more of this and just more.
Shane pulled away and found his eyes, “Follow me.”
Try and stop me.
Ilya took a step back and let Shane walk away. He followed close behind, reaching out to pinch the fabric at the small of his back and hold on.
Shane headed straight for his queen-sized bed and took a seat at the edge.
“Maybe we should talk a little…first,” Shane suggested.
“Yes, I think so too, probably.”
Shane slid the office chair from his desk and placed it in front of him. Ilya took a seat, facing Shane.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Yes, of course. Anything.”
“Have you ever been with a guy before?”
“Uhh no,” Ilya shook his head.
“Okay. When did it change? Why me? Have you always–Have you wondered–” Shane tried, “Sorry, I’m just surprised I guess. I don’t know what I am asking.”
Ilya took Shane’s hand, which had been rubbing his own thigh previously.
“I think I understand. Let me try to answer,”
“I never really had many desires for men. None that made me have questions anyways. But lately…you…I have been thinking of you different. So I think maybe I am bisexual.”
“Bisexual,” Shane repeated to himself, testing it maybe.
“Yes. I like women. But I also like you. Very much. And not just like to watch movies or like to play hockey. Although it is that too. But also like to kiss you and would like to fuck you,” Ilya wasn’t particularly coy and didn’t see the point in changing now. Especially since he suspected Shane enjoyed how direct he could be. “Does not have to be tonight. But I wanted you to know that is what I want.”
“Oh,” Shane bit down on his lip and looked down at their joined hand.
“Would you– Is that something you like to do?” Ilya wanted to be sure and hoped he didn’t sound overly needy.
“Yeah. Definitely.”
Ilya peered down at the carpet and rubbed his damp hands against his knees to steady himself.
“And to answer when. Maybe years, I don’t know. But I didn’t really understand until I put you in that Gladiator costume,” Ilya huffed and smiled at the memory, “And then you kissed me and I knew for sure. Knew I wanted you very much.”
Ilya met Shane’s gorgeous brown eyes again and found them warm and adoring. He looked so cuddly and sexy in his sweats. He smelled delicious and clean. It was almost too much.
“Years?” Shane looked far too happy.
“Stop,” Ilya pushed against Shane’s chest, “you know what I mean.”
“I really don’t,” Shane giggled, “Have you been pining for me, Rozanov?”
“No” he declared before thinking better of it, “Maybe a little. Sometimes I would accidentally think about you sucking my dick, maybe,”
“So…you were jerking off thinking about me?” Shane challenged smugly.
“Would you like that? Would it make you happy to know that I saw your face when I came in my hand?” Ilya’s hands were firmly gripping Shane’s thighs now. He heard the hitch in Shane’s breath when his smug smile turned softer and his lips fell apart.
“It gives a whole new meaning to Shanetime, that’s for sure,” he said with a smirk.
Ilya laughed, a big surprised laugh. It seemed to please Shane.
“Okay. I am being so honest. Now you tell me what you are thinking.”
“I am thinking you are really fucking hot. And that I always tried very hard not to think of you…that way. It’s not simple, being a gay athlete. There are a lot of stereotypes. I feel like I have a duty to hold a lot of boundaries. I’m not sure if that’s fair, or even my responsibility, but it’s how I chose to deal with it.” Shane shrugged.
“And I just destroyed those boundaries, yes?”
“No. Well–yes, I guess. Kind of," Shane smiled.
“Tell me more about how hot I am,” Ilya patted his thighs, encouraging him to continue.
“You know you’re hot and charming. You wield it like a weapon,” Shane rolled his eyes at Ilya and it went straight to his dick.
“Hey! Is not true,” Ilya exaggerated his fake dejection.
“Hmm. Sure. I bring snacks and coffee and soda to all my friends,” Shane sighed and locked eyes with Ilya.
Unable to stop himself, Ilya leaned forward and slowly, gently pressed Shane to the mattress. He savored Shane’s expression of desire as he lowered himself and rested on his forearms on each side of Shane’s head. He waited, watched Shane’s eyes ignite. Shane slid his hands under the front of Ilya’s t-shirt, stopping at his chest. The gentle exploration of his body set him off. He took Shane’s mouth, hard and eager. Shane’s hands squeezed his pecs in response. Ilya didn’t think he’d ever been kissed better. He couldn’t believe what he’d been missing out on all these years. He should have kissed him on the ice that summer in 2009 and never stopped.
They continued exploring each other's mouths, touching and grinding their hips against each other for a few minutes. It was exquisite. Ilya was becoming desperate for more. All of the things they could do together spun in a jumbled mess in his head.
He’d decided to do some research when he got home from the Harlem Shake recording. He felt confident that he could manage to give good head, he had a dick of his own afterall. But he was happy to read some tips. Then he shifted his curiosity to anal sex, which he was very very interested in. He switched between Reddit posts, men’s health articles, and blog posts before exploring gay porn. He learned a lot about prepping for anal sex, the nerve endings that made it pleasurable, the power of the prostate. He felt great about his new knowledge. He also ended his study session with a sizable erection and a mental list of things he needed to explore expeditiously.
Shane slid his hands up further and tugged at Ilya’s shirt. Ilya leaned back just enough to pull it over his head and toss it on the bed before he was back on Shane, running his hands all over his perfect body under the thick hoodie. He needed these clothes off, needed to feel Shane’s soft, warm skin against his. He wrapped his arms around Shane and pulled him along into a standing position. He held him up, letting him adjust to the sudden change in altitude, before parting with a quick peck.
“Take your clothes off. Let me see you.”
“You’ve seen me naked hundreds of times,” Shane reminded him.
“Yes but never when I was allowed to look. I want to look at you.”
Shane closed his eyes, hummed something unintelligle, and squeezed Ilya's shoulders.
Ilya positioned Shane in front of the bed before sitting down on the edge, getting comfortable for his show.
Shane started with his hoodie. He pulled it over his head and revealed his full, muscular chest. His toned core. His full arms. Ilya licked his bottom lip and feasted. Shane started to walk away slowly, resulting in a frown from Ilya. He watched as Shane opened the door to his closet and pulled out a hanger, slid it inside the sweatshirt and hung it. Shane straightened it, adjusted the spacing, before finally closing the door and walking slowly back to Ilya. His face was unreadable as he proceeded to slide the sweatpants down and off. He stood and looked into Ilya’s eyes as he expertly folded them, in half first, then into thirds horizontally. He chewed on his cheek and Ilya recognized the smirk he was trying so hard to hide from him. Shane took his time trekking to the dresser, where he neatly tucked away the sweatpants.
Ahh. A striptease designed to torture him. His hard dick pulsed and swelled.
Shane came back and stood directly in front of Ilya once more before sliding down his boxers. He held them in his hand for a moment, watching Ilya intently.
“Well?” he asked as he turned and tossed the underwear into the hamper. He faced Ilya again with a hot spark in his eyes and humor on his lips.
Ilya hummed his approval and reached for Shane’s waist. He was careful to avoid the hard length pointing at his belly as he began running his hands over Shane, starting with his stomach. His hands glided over his chest, shoulders, down his arms. Shane closed his eyes and breathed hard while Ilya learned his body in this new way. He continued to intentionally ignore Shane’s impressive and tempting cock as he let his fingertips skate down his back. He felt the shiver, saw the goosebumps scatter across his sensitive skin. He kept going down his back, then flattened his palms against the flesh as he reached Shane’s ass. He swept his large hands over the cheeks and squeezed. Shane grunted, eyes still closed, and exhaled from his nose.
Ilya needed Shane in his mouth and needed it now. He slid down to his knees and took Shane into his hand. Shane’s hand flew to his head, twisting into his curls. He peered up at Shane as he wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. He was giving his first ever blowjob and he wanted it to be good. So he listened intently for Shane’s moans, stutters in his breath. He paid close attention to the language of Shane’s hands in his hair and on his face.
He flattened his tongue and dragged it down, letting his saliva pool and wet the shaft. It tasted like clean skin, like Shane. He sealed his lips tightly and created suction as he slid from base to tip and back again. Every once in a while, he would flick his tongue at various sensitive places or press the tip of it along the ridge of the head. Before long, Shane was pulling at his hair and whimpering. And when Ilya began to swallow and tighten his throat, Shane was suddenly pulling back.
“Wait, wait, wait. You gotta stop,” he whined.
“Is okay? Is something wrong?”
“No, no. I just don’t want to come yet,” Shane explained, “You’re not supposed to be good at sucking dick your first time. You’re so annoying,” Shane was smiling now and looked a little messy, loose and fucked.
“Sorry,” Ilya smiled big and bright, flashing Shane his teeth.
“No you’re not,” Shane huffed.
Ilya stood and gave Shane a taste of himself before Ilya was being guided back down to the bed. Shane continued sucking at his tongue, nipping at his lips, as he undid the button on Ilya’s jeans and tugged at the waistband. Ilya eagerly lifted his hips as Shane released his exceedingly needy cock. Shane removed them completely and returned, kneeling and gazing wishfully between Ilya’s parted thighs.
“Jesus Christ,” it was hardly audible, not meant for Ilya. But he grinned like a villain anyways. It was less funny when Shane took Ilya’s dick in his hand and provided a few gentle tugs. Ilya’s wicked smirk disappeared completely when he licked the droplet of precome from the tip.
“Holy shit–Shane–” Ilya clenched his teeth together and leaned his head back. He knew he was doomed. He had a strong suspicion that Shane was about to change him forever, ruin him with his skillful hands and devious tongue. He’d pictured Shane here before, on his knees, worshipping his cock. The real thing was a masterpiece, something he could have never managed to conjure.
Shane worked him over in a way that had him questioning whether he'd actually ever had his dick sucked before now. It was art, the way he worked his hand and mouth in harmony. He was getting too close too fast and was about to say as much, when Shane stopped and pulled away with a wet pop.
Ilya wondered if his needy groans and shallow thrusts had tipped Shane off to his impending release.
“Not yet,” Shane kissed up his stomach and chest then crawled onto Ilya’s lap and placed his open mouth against Ilya’s, “You should probably fuck me now.”
Wow. Ilya wasn’t sure if it was on the table tonight but he was thrilled to hear it from Shane’s mouth. He nodded against Shane’s forehead then kissed him slowly and luxuriously, running his hands up his muscular back.
“You are sure?” Ilya worried slightly that Shane was making decisions in the heat of the moment.
Shane just licked his bottom lip and said “yes.”
Ilya held him tight before he rolled Shane over to his back. Shane pointed at the drawer of his nightstand. Ilya reached over and pulled out a condom and a half-empty bottle of lube. He was about to close the drawer when he saw something interesting tucked away in the back. He pulled it out and held it over Shane’s face.
“Is this what I am competing with,” he said in mock frustration.
Shane opened his eyes and looked for the subject of Ilya's outburst. “You're literally bigger, what are you talking about,” Shane chuckled and looked relatively uninterested.
Ilya held the black silicone dildo next to his own dick. That made Shane laugh a little harder and smile wider. “But he gets to be here with you all the time, in your drawer. I am jealous of him. What is his name?”
Shane ripped the 7” faux cock from his hand and held it away from Ilya, “it doesn’t have a name you fucking weirdo. Now can you please fuck me. Or I’m going to kick you out and use this instead.” Shane’s threat, however weak, made Ilya’s cock twitch. He took the dildo back from Shane and tossed it in the drawer.
Ilya was prepared to put his hour of studying to use. He leaned over Shane, settling between his legs and continued kissing him. He reached down between his legs, prepared to use his fingers to open Shane up. His finger tips met something hard and silky where he expected to find a soft, warm furl. He investigated a little more and realized that Shane had his own mission after all. It nearly drove Ilya to madness. He wasn’t sure how much hornier he could get.
He sat back against his calves and explored the purple base of Shane Hollander’s butt plug.
“You planned for this,” he tapped against the plug.
“I mean I kind of have to,” Shane explained.
“Yes, I know! I did my research,” Ilya grumbled. He didn’t like the idea of Shane having to talk him through it.
“Your research?” Shane raised his eyebrows, “You mean you watched some porn?”
“No! Well yes, but also read many articles. I did not want you to think I was bad at sex,” Ilya reached down and slid the toy out a bit before reinserting, out of curiosity. Shane wriggled and grunted at the sudden movement.
“I don’t think that concept ever crossed my mind,” Shane ground out as Ilya slid the plug out and back in once more, eyes locked on each other now.
Ilya crawled back to Shane, desperate to feel his body beneath him. The quick transitions from silly banter and mind-melting lust felt so good. It felt so specific to Shane, like the dynamic only existed between the two of them. He bit down on Shane’s bottom lip and tugged before sliding his tongue back into the man’s mouth. He reached down and carefully removed the plug, replacing it with his fingers. He explored the area with two fingers, stretching and searching. Shane whimpered emphatically beneath him, lifting his hips and back, rubbing against Ilya as he fingered him.
“Ilya, please. Need you.”
Ilya took Shane’s request very seriously. Shane’s desires were beginning to sound like commandments. He grabbed the condom and slid it on before slathering himself in lube and settling between Shane’s legs.
“Is this position good for you?”
“Yes, it’s perfect,” Shane looked like he was floating between multiple planes of existence.
Ilya pushed Shane’s thighs forward and Shane wrapped his hands around the back of his knees so Ilya could line himself up. He nudged at the opening and pressed. Ilya watched as Shane welcomed his length inch after inch. He groaned at the sensation of the tight heat enveloping him. He glanced up at Shane to find him watching Ilya right back. Once he was fully inside, he returned to Shane. Shane wrapped his legs around Ilya’s back as he settled and attempted to steady his breathing. Ilya took the opportunity to seek out the cluster of freckles on his shoulder, brushing his lips over them and leaving an open mouthed kiss behind.
“Holy shit, you feel so good Shane,” Ilya forced as he pulled out and drove back into him.
“You too,” he moaned quietly, “Fuck, it’s so much.”
“Too much?”
“No, no. It’s amazing. Keep going,”
Ilya increased the rhythm, thrusting into Shane with more vigor while he panted into his open mouth and kissed along his jaw, behind his ear, at the pulse of his throat. It felt too good, Shane sounded too good.
"I don't think I will last much longer like this," he admitted softly against Shane's neck.
"It's okay," Shane took Ilya's face between his palms and held him close, "Want you to come. Want you to feel so good." It came out broken, interrupted by Ilya's deep thrusts and Shane's accompanying rapid breaths.
Shane reached down to get a firm hold and Ilya shifted to give him some room.
"Don't stop, please. Show me how good you feel. Come for me, please."
"Mmm Fuuuuuuck, Shane." The combination of flushed freckled cheeks, Shane's relentless strokes over his cock, and him practically begging Ilya to come was the formula, apparently. He couldn't stop his orgasm as it ripped through his body and forced his eyes closed. He wriggled and pressed his pelvis against Shane's ass through his release and watched as Shane came. He observed with great interest as cum dripped down Shane's knuckes and pooled at his stomach. He documented Shane's perfect face, contorted in pleasure. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever witnessed.
"Holy shit, Hollander," Ilya pulled out gently and planted a kiss over his mouth. He stood and grabbed a towel from the hamper and wiped Shane's stomach clean before sidling up next to him on the bed.
Ilya felt Shane shift before resting his head on his bicep. Shane turned to find Ilya's face and grinned. He felt like kissing his forehead, so he did.
"Nice work, Rozanov. That was hot."
"Very," Ilya turned to his side and pulled Shane closer so they were facing each other.
"So…you would want to do it again, yes?" Ilya needed to hear it, needed a promise that he could have this again.
"Duh," Shane huffed, "I couldn't deprive you of your Shanetime."