Chapter Text
Tonight, there’s a summer rain in New York City.
Sid yowls as the rain beats against the window of their shitty two-bedroom, scrambling onto Shane’s lap.
Rose narrows her eyes at the cat.
”Fucking demon spawn,” she mumbles, as Shane runs his hand down Sid’s back in soothing patterns, “Do we really have to work tonight?”
”Better turn up the stupid thermostat now,” Shane says, “Maybe it’ll warm up the apartment by the time we get back.”
”Are you on roster?”
”Miles has me on bar duty,” Shane says.
”I’m working House tonight,” Rose says, miserably, “So at least I’ll get to see you at the bar.”
”Yeah,” Shane hums, “You know the rules. Keep your location sharing on.”
”Yessir,” Rose mock salutes, “You too. Hey, listen, Bug. I’ve got the groceries this week. Do you want anything?”
”I made a list on the fridge. Stuff we need,” Shane says, “I’ve got the bills and the train fare.”
”Go shower,” Rose says, “I’ll sort Sid’s dinner.”
He goes through the motions on autopilot: showers. Makes sure every part of him is scrubbed raw and clean. Rubs enough lotion on his skin so that the scent absorbs and his skin remains soft. Then skincare: the one thing Shane allows himself to splurge on, but keeps his routine relatively simple. His clear, gorgeous skin is the only thing he lets himself be vain about.
Then he goes to his closet, which contains the different parts of his life meticulously separated. Suspenders, belts, body chains and jewelry for nights he’s working House. Ratty, clawed T-shirts and sweats for when he’s lounging at home, and sleek, see-through black clothing for nights he’s on the bar roster. All thrifted, of course, but stylish nonetheless thanks to Rose’s impeccable eye for fashion.
He picks a black silk shirt and black slacks. The shirt has black mesh paneling throughout. The material is soft and flowing, ideal for the cool, humid weather that settles over the city after a summer rain. It’s paired with a black belt and a black pair of loafers he’d bought specifically for bar nights. He’s left the first few buttons undone, exposing his long, graceful, neck and the shirt is just fitted enough to dip around the piercings on his chest.
He pairs the outfit with the few cheap pieces of jewelry he owns: earrings, layered necklaces and bracelets, and a few rings. His father’s wedding ring is the most subtle but priceless thing on his person.
He wore it every day. It was the one thing from his old life— the one thing he owned. It had never been secondhand, never borrowed, never earned through survival—simply his.
He calls Rose in his room to help him complete the look. He loves the subtle makeup she does on him: a light shimmer on his brow bone, a light blush to enhance his natural flush, making his cheeks look full and healthy, a soft dust of muted pink eyeshadow on his lids to make his brown eyes pop, and a tinted lip balm for pretty, full, ready to be kissed lips.
She takes her blow dryer and teases his already thick hair, adding just the right amount of volume.
”Sexy,” she grins, after she’s finished, “I’d take you home for the night and ruin you, babe.”
”You couldn’t afford me, Landry,” he teases back.
”Fuck off. I don’t need money to seduce you,” she waggles her eyebrows suggestively at him and they make eye contact for a brief second before they both burst into hysterical laughter.
”I should get going. I’ll see you later?”
”Yeah,” she kisses his cheek, “Text me when you get there.”
🪩🪩🪩
Animals by Martin Garrix rattles through the club when Shane gets there. The steady bass beat vibrates through the room so hard the glasses behind the bar practically shake against each other. Some of the girls who are working tonight are already at the poles, half-naked in the purple-blue light.
The other bartender on shift is their regular, Hayden, who is another close friend of Shane’s. Hayden, however, doesn’t work House like Rose and Shane. His wife, a sweet woman named Jackie, makes enough to support their household and twins.
“Hey, buddy,” Hayden grins.
”Hayd,” Shane smiles, as he shoots off a quick text to Rose, “Good to see ya. How are the kids?”
”Good. Jacks is thinking about enrolling them for skating lessons.”
”Cool.”
”Ready for tonight’s rush?”
”God, no. Thursdays are always a fucking nightmare in this place.”
”At least you got the bar this time.”
Thursdays at Anora usually mean Tête-à-Tête Thursdays, which is great for the bar but less so for anyone working House. Tête-à-Tête was a promotion where couples could book a shared House appointment under one package. So everyone comes to Anora on Thursdays—heterosexual couples, gay couples, lesbian couples, friends who want to experiment, situationships—just about anybody who could find an excuse to call themselves a pair.
Shane barely gets to finish his conversation with Hayden when the neon “OPEN” sign switches on. He’s already moving on instinct by the time the first rush hits— take an order, pour, shake, garnish, serve, rinse, repeat.
Miles, the bar manager, hops in to lend a hand and soon enough, they find their rhythm.
Truthfully, Shane likes working the bar on nights like this. Routine always settles him. He takes drinks to the tables, making conversation with the guests— a simple, “Hi. Having a good time? How are the drinks?”
He spots Rose, eventually. He has to stifle his laughter. She’s already topless, on the lap of a much, much older man whose hands are currently cupping her breasts, straddling his lap with her back to him. She winks at Shane. She’s wearing a lacy black and silver set tonight that sets off her red hair, red lips, and pale skin. She looks stunning, of course.
He waves briefly after he clears a table.
The song eventually remixes, and Shane looks at the time.
Maybe he should take his break as several guests are now making their way to the available Red Rooms.
”Hi, Bug,” Rose smiles, as she takes a seat on one of the barstools. Her top is back on, and so is her silver slinky dress.
”What’s up?” Shane asks.
It’s not like Rose and him to bother each other while they’re working.
”I’m working this table…” She trails off, sounding somewhat nervous, which immediately puts Shane on edge, “And the guy at the head asked if I can send over the quote, pretty bartender.”
”Huh?” His brows furrow, “Hayden or Miles? It’s cool, I can handle the bar.”
”Uh, no, babe,” Rose laughs.
The sound is off.
”He’s asked for you. And, uh, the entire table is Russian,” she says, then continues in one breath, “But it’s totally fine, I can fib and say you went to the bathroom or something.”
”Okay, but…. Why me?”
”Fuck if I know, babe. If you’re going, bet I’ll be staying with you.”
He gestures for her to lead the way. They approach VIP, which is on the second level of the building. The bar is directly in the table’s line of view. Seven people are seated in a half-circle; six men and one woman at the other end.
“That’s the one who asked for you,” Rose whispers, nodding discreetly to the man at the middle of the table. “The one wearing vintage fucking Jean Paul Gaultier.”
There’s so much going on with the shirt that Shane feels like he can’t focus. It’s almost tacky looking. Nothing about it should work.
But Holy shit, it does.
The buttons of the shirt are tastefully undone, the gold chain around the man’s throat glinting when it catches the light. The cuffs of the shirt are rolled at the wrists, exposing an expensive looking watch.
And his face.
Gold curls glint in tandem with the chain. There’s a cigarette casually tucked behind one ear, and his eyes are bright and clear, shifting between shades of green, gold and blue under the lights. There’s a mole on his cheek and his lips are full and pink. His nose is crooked, like it’s been broken before but it suits him.
He looks like trouble.
Hot fucking trouble.
The world narrows as the stranger fixes that green-gold-blue gaze on him.
Shane inhales.
The stranger's eyes flicker downward, just briefly, before returning to his face.
Shane clears his throat.
“I heard you asked for me?”
“I did.”
His gaze holds Shane’s.
”Tell me. What is your name, krasivyy?”
Fuck. He has a very attractive accent.
Shane decides to channel House Shane for this conversation.
”You can call me whatever you like,” he breathes, coyly.
He’s never comfortable giving out his real name in the club.
”Oh?” The stranger says, smirking, “Whatever I like, ah? What about kotik?”
Shane shrugs breezily, “If that’s what you like.”
The stranger’s eyes rake over his body one more time—his gaze hot, lingering, dark with filthy, filthy promises that make Shane’s mouth go dry.
It’s different, not like the usual greasy, predatory gaze of men twice his age staring at him like he was something that belonged to them.
”Can I get you something to drink?” Shane asks, willing his voice not to shake.
”What do you recommend?” the stranger hums, mouth quirking.
”Depends on what you’re looking for,” Shane plays along.
”Something sweet, I think. With a little kick.”
”I’m sure I can whip something up.”
”Please, sit,” the stranger says, the command in his voice effortlessly casual, “You and your beautiful friend. Marly will order. What can I get you?”
A tall brown haired man next to the blonde stranger rises with a nod. Shane assumes he’s Marly.
”I’m sorry, but I can’t… I’m supposed to be working,’ Shane says, “But I guess I can take my break now. I’ll just have to let the bar manager know.”
”And you, Red?”
The woman speaks for the first time. Her accent isn’t as thick as the stranger’s. She’s wearing a little black dress, skin tight. Her curls are loose, eyes dancing under the lights.
”I’m working, but I can sit,” Rose smirks, sliding into the booth as the woman slides around, “You can call me Lily.”
”Svetlana,” the Russian woman smirks, kissing Rose’s cheek.
🪩🪩🪩
”And then they had to throw him out!” Rose laughs, carelessly balancing the champagne glass in her hand.
Around her, the table bursts into laughter.
Shane smiles as he sips his own cocktail. For as long as he’s known Rose, she’s always been the one to light up the room, so unlike Shane’s natural awkward quiet. He’d always been a little envious of it, if he were being honest.
”Oh, that reminds me so much of Ilya. He’s so bad that his housekeeper has a thong protocol,” Svetlana says, and the table once again erupts into laughter.
”Sveta!” The stranger gasps, incredulously.
“Ilya, huh?” Shane says quietly, close to his ear.
He’s sitting at Ilya’s right, Svetlana next to him, and Rose is next to her, at the end of the table.
”Yes, kotik,” Ilya purrs, pleased, “Can I get you another drink?”
”I’m sorry, I really do have to get back to work now,” Shane says, apologetically, “My half hour’s up.”
”Oh?” Ilya pouts, “You do?”
”Yeah, sorry.”
”How much do you usually make from a shift at the bar?”
”Why?”
”Indulge me.”
“With tips?”
”Yes.”
”Depends. On a night like tonight, probably around four or five hundred after the bar’s deductions.”
Ilya’s eyebrows raise. Slowly, he reaches into his pocket and takes out his wallet.
He counts six crisp hundred-dollar bills and presses the bills into Shane’s hand, his fingers lingering around Shane’s wrist for a second too long, thumb resting along Shane’s jackhammering pulse.
”That should cover it. Take the rest of the night off.”
Shane stared down at the bills in his hand.
Six hundred dollars.
That’s more than he would make on a good night behind the bar. It’s more than enough to put towards the bills and the train fare. And to have a little extra breathing room.
”I—“ Shane says, speechless, “I can’t— I have to clear time off with the bar manager first.”
”Really?” Ilya asks, “Can you get him up here?”
Rose cuts in this time, “Sweetheart, come on, let’s go find Miles.”
Once Rose and Shane reach the stairwell, Rose pulls him away from the crowd.
”Bug,” Rose says, “Svetlana wants to take me to a Red Room. You can give the money back. You don’t have to go back to that table if you don’t want to.”
”Rose,” Shane breathes, “I think I kind of do.”
”And that’s fine!” Rose smiles, “But don’t let him pressure you into doing anything you’re not comfortable doing. You’re not working House tonight.”
”I know, babe.”
”Good. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t! And text me if you need anything, you know I’m ready to fake an orgasm to get you out of a sticky situation.”
”Fuck off, Rose!” Shane snorts behind her.
🪩🪩🪩
Shane takes Miles back up to Ilya’s table.
“So I understand that you want to cover the rest of his shift?” Miles asks, “You’re aware that Anora takes a ten percent commission from any tips made by the bar staff, right?”
“Ten per cent?” Ilya scoffs.
He pulls out another hundred and passes it to Miles.
“Consider him off the clock,” Ilya smirks as Miles leaves, patting the velvet couch next to him. Shane sits.
The man Shane speculates to be Marly then says, “Gabrielle is here. I’m going to go downstairs for a bit.”
The table had started off with seven people. There are now two people left— Shane and Ilya.
Shane moves closer to him almost instinctively. Ilya presses a cool glass of water into his hand.
“Drink,” he says, “The hangover isn’t worth it.”
Shane nods, lowering his lashes. Ilya’s eyes flicker downward as he swallows the water, watching briefly as Shane’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“Good,” Ilya nods, “Drink a little more for me.”
Shane drinks again, the praise making every nerve in his body stand on edge.
Rush plays loudly downstairs, the fast-paced beat vibrating the walls.
“You’re quiet, kotik,” Ilya observes, “Are you always this quiet?”
“Not when I have something to say.”
That shocks a warm laugh out of Ilya.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Ilya reaches over and pushes an idle strand of hair behind his ear, before brushing his thumb over Shane’s freckles.
“You haven’t stopped looking at me since I came to the table,” Shane murmurs.
“I’ve been looking at you since I came to the club. I would have come sooner, had I known the most stunning man in New York was working here.”
Shane feels his cheeks warm. Ilya leans forward slowly, giving Shane enough time to put space between them if he wants to.
“Are you curious?” Ilya whispers, “Do I make you curious?”
Shane’s breath hitches. Ilya’s lips hover over his as he speaks, not quite kissing yet.
“Do you want this?”
That breaks the dam between them. Shane surges forward, slotting his lips against Ilya’s. The kiss is electric. It feels good, the way Ilya claims his mouth with easy dominance. The way he bites gently on Shane’s lower lip, asking for entrance. The way Shane’s mouth fits against his.
Suddenly, their hands are all over each other, Shane’s hands under that atrocious shirt, feeling smooth, hard abs beneath them, and Ilya’s hand is skimming the inside of his thigh, just stopping at the seam of his pants. Shane moans, hips rolling on reflex.
“Hey, wait,” Shane pants, pulling away gently before they lose control of the situation, “I’m not working House tonight.”
Ilya stops touching him immediately.
“Sorry. I can’t touch you if you’re not working House? Those are the rules?”
“Yeah, no, it’s…” Shane closes his eyes a moment, “You can touch me, but I can’t let you pay me for anything tonight. I’m not rostered for the House.”
“If you do not want this, that is no problem,” Ilya nods. “But you do not have to be working House for me to want you.”
“You just dropped seven hundred to get me out of a shift,” Shane points out.
“So?” Ilya shrugs. “I paid you to stop working. That’s different.”
Shane blinks.
“I’m not working House tonight,” he clarifies, quieter this time. “The money was to cover my shift. If I do anything with you now, I’m doing it for free.”
Ilya looks genuinely confused.
“Kotik,” he says, “You think you have to give it back?”
Shane doesn't answer.
“You don’t,” Ilya says, “I paid you to stop working. That money is yours. You do not owe me anything for it. If you want me, then you want me. If you want to sit here and get drunk, then we sit here and get drunk. That is all.”
Shane doesn’t know what to say.
Because there’s supposed to be a catch.
There always is.
Money like that always comes with conditions.
“But that’s seven hundred dollars—“
“So? Payment does not equal consent. If men cannot understand that, they should not be visiting these clubs. And their dicks should be cut off.”
“Fuck,” Shane whispers, “Kiss me again. Please.”
“Good, kotik,” Ilya grabs Shane’s jaw in one large palm, “Is good when you ask for what you want.”
Ilya kisses him against the thumping of the club’s music. Pulls him into his lap as Shane murmurs, “Touch me. Please. Anywhere.”
Shane arches his back sharply when Ilya’s hands find his chest, pulling on the little barbells pierced through his nipples.
“Wow,” Ilya breathes, glancing down at his fingers pinching the protrusions in Shane’s shirt, “I didn’t expect this from you.”
Shane responds by moaning, grinding himself into Ilya’s knee. He’s embarrassingly hard and the table is discreet enough that no one can see.
“Krasivyy,” Ilya breathes, pressing kisses to the column of his throat, “Neveroyatno krasivyy, bozhe moy.”
Shane moans, like he’s absolutely gone under the sensation of Ilya’s touch, his hands against his chest, lips on his neck.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now, kotik,” Ilya presses his lips to Shane’s skin, voice soft, “You are so beautiful.”
His eyes roll back into his head as he bounces on Ilya’s knee. The friction is the best thing he’s felt in a while.
“Good. That’s it. Let go, malysh. Make an absolute mess of yourself for me.”
He knows he will— he knows he’s going to come in his pants like a teenager and he couldn’t be bothered to stop. Not when it feels this good.
“What would you do if anyone saw you, ah? If they saw us, if they saw you humping my knee like an animal in the corner? I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Ilya is rock hard beneath him.
Usually, this was the part where Shane disconnects.
Where he focuses on what the other person wanted. Where he became whatever version of himself they want.
But this time, he’s fully present.
Shane whimpers, lifting a shaking hand to reach for Ilya’s cock, but Ilya grabs his hand.
“Let me make you feel good, yes?” he whispers, holding Shane’s wrists in a vice-like grip, “Take what you need. This is all for you, kotik.”
“Ilya,” he moans, “Ilya, Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. I’m gonna— I’m close—“
Ilya smirks at Shane, sweaty and writhing in his lap. He uses a free hand to stroke Shane’s clothed dick between them.
He doesn’t seem like the type to assume that because they’re doing what they’re doing, he can slip his hand into Shane’s pants.
But sometimes, it’s okay to get creative.
“Yes? Go on then, come for me.”
It strikes Shane with startling clarity that he wants this. Whether it’s because he’s not working and can enjoy himself for once, or because the hottest man he’s ever seen is talking him through it, intensely focused on him and his needs, doing everything to get him to that point of pleasure—Shane wants this.
He wants to be good for Ilya.
After a few strokes and a tight squeeze, his body tips over the edge with a loud sound that he will deny ever leaving his mouth, as he grinds against Ilya with reckless abandon. Ilya’s watching him with those pretty eyes so dark the irises are almost black.
He is so thankful for the loud music inside the club that prevents anybody from hearing him over it.
When he comes back to himself, he realizes he’s still in the VIP booth.
The club is still loud around them. The bass still vibrates through the floor. People are still laughing downstairs.
Sitting in Ilya’s lap, with one arm wrapped around him, it feels like the rest of the room has disappeared. His pants and boxers are wet and sticky but he feels fucked out and vulnerable in a way he hasn’t for a long time.
Shane wasn't used to this part— clients didn’t always indulge in the aftercare he needed.
It feels nice to be out of his head for once. To have steady arms holding him. Ilya presses light kisses to the crown of his head.
“Are you back, malysh?” Ilya asks, stroking his hand through Shane’s hair, “You did so well for me.”
Ilya doesn't seem embarrassed or impatient, or like he’s about to leave Shane alone in the booth. His words seem sincere, and Shane believes him.
“Time is it?” Shane hums, letting himself be taken care of.
“It’s almost two. Drink some of this Gatorade and then we can get a cab to take you home.”
Ilya places a straw between his lips and Shane pulls sip after sip of the Gatorade, his energy returning easily.
He grabs his phone from the table. Checks his notifications.
Rose 🌹: Had such a good time with Svetlana in the Lily Room. Heading home now ❤️
Rose 🌹: You aren’t home yet? Omg you slut. Looking out for a walk of shame 👀. The townspeople await your return with their tomatoes.
Rose 🌹: Babe, one check in needed please. fmf says you’re still at Anora?
Rose 🌹: Shane, I’m not fucking around. Check in.
The last text was sent ten minutes ago. Shane huffs, trying to get his body to cooperate so that he can send a text to her before she starts to get really worried and does something like call the police.
And then there’s the matter of getting home in wet pants that are going to be deeply fucking uncomfortable by the time he gets there.
Me: Hey, please don’t worry. Yes, I’m still at Anora. Going to find a cab in a bit.
Rose 🌹: Okay. Please be careful. Ily Bug, see you soon❤️