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The calm water breaks with a violent splash as Shane Hollander steps off the dock at his lakeside cottage, feet first, plummeting into the deep. He doesn’t fight as his body goes under, and he keeps his eyes shut, feeling the water surround him, keep him cocooned.
But what goes down must come up, and soon, his body is traveling back to the surface, where he takes a deep breath as his face emerges into the brisk morning air.
Then, a series of barks, like a sentinel, followed by a string of curses in Russian that he can barely make out due to the water still clogging his ears.
“Hollander! Leaving me alone in our bed with no note of where you've gone! Have you lost your mind?”
Shane shakes his hair out, still bobbing in the water as a teasing smile plays at his lips.
“Some might say.”
“Your Papa will kill me,” Ilya mutters to Anya and Shane chuckles as he presses up on the dock to pull himself out of the water. Anya immediately runs over and begins licking the dripping water off of Shane’s chest, his neck, his face. He laughs and brushes her away gently, and she barks, but runs off into the yard to entertain herself. Shane looks up at Ilya, curls askew, wearing nothing but a pair of old basketball shorts.
This is his center of gravity.
“I didn’t mean to worry you. Was just feeling a little…buzzy this morning.”
Ilya lays down next to him on the wooden slats, points gently at Shane’s temple with one finger. “Bees in your head?”
It always makes Shane's chest vibrate with happiness when Ilya breaks his anxiety down like this. With anyone else, it might feel like they are making fun or talking down to him, but he knows Ilya would never. All Ilya ever wants is for Shane to be happy, and for a long time, he believed that was without him.
Now (most days) he knows better.
“Yeah, can you get ‘em out for me?” Shane gives him a wide grin and Ilya nods eagerly, reminiscent of Anya looking for a ball or a treat. He hops up immediately, and before Shane can realize what’s happening, he’s being hoisted over Ilya’s shoulder, his body slung so far over that he’s practically upside down and Ilya is shaking him.
“Get out, пчела!”
“Oh my god, you lunatic, put me down!” Shane is screaming, but he’s also laughing, so deep he can feel it down in his gut. Ilya shakes him for a few more seconds, and then swiftly puts him on his feet. The change in positioning has Shane wobbling for a moment, but Ilya steadies him.
Ilya is always there to steady him.
“You’re insane.” Shane murmurs, but he slides his arms around Ilya’s neck and buries his face in a spot where he can hide. Ilya hums and holds him for a moment, the two of them swaying gently as their bare feet anchor into the grass. Then he pulls back gently, encouraging Shane to meet his gaze as best he can.
“Want to take a drive?”
Shane tilts his head. “Where?”
“Anywhere.” Ilya kisses his forehead. “Just get you out of there and take you somewhere you can breathe.”
Shane’s smile is warm and spreading now as he nods. “Yeah, okay.”
Ilya makes sure Anya has enough food and water for the time they will be gone and Shane heads up to the bathroom to dry off and get changed. He strips out of his swim trunks and stands in front of the bathroom mirror for a moment, studying his reflection.
And gently, like shadows at sunset, the buzzing starts to return.
How Ilya always somehow hears it too, Shane will never know.
“Oh my, Shane Hollander, he is looking so old.”
Shane turns to him with a look that says I know what you’re doing. But keep going, please.
“How does he keep up with his impossibly youthful husband? Everyone must stop and stare.”
At this, Shane can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Oh my god, fuck you, you’re literally a month younger than me, asshole.”
But Ilya continues, hoping to turn Shane’s anxious thoughts into ridiculous tangents.
“They will say Ilya Rozanov, you used to be with young, beautiful women, and now you are with this old man! Why would you do this??”
Shane meets his gaze in the mirror, doe-eyed and unsure.
“And what will you say?”
“I will say,” Ilya steps forward. He wraps his arms around Shane’s naked torso, speaking low into his ear, never dropping their eye contact in the mirror.
“Because he saw me when no one else cared to try. Because he gave me a family when I had none. Because I love him more than anyone or anything in this whole world.”
Shane angles his head back so that his lips brush Ilya’s as he whispers through a smirk.
“I’m telling Anya.”
Ilya nuzzles past his jaw, sinks his teeth into the skin where Shane’s neck joins his shoulder.
“Brat.”
Shane runs his hand over where Ilya’s is still gently resting on his stomach. He starts to slowly guide them downward together, and he feels Ilya’s shallow breath on his neck, but then…it’s gone.
“Drive,” he murmurs low in Shane’s ear, “then sex.”
He kisses the side of Shane’s head, gives one of his pecs a squeeze, and then he is gone into the bedroom. Shane calls after him.
“You’re getting old too, you know! The boy I met at 17 would’ve never turned down the chance to fuck me!”
Ilya pops his head back into the bathroom before exiting just as quickly.
“Ah, but that boy didn’t know how much of a sure thing you were, Hollander.”
Shane looks at himself in the mirror, half-hard and searching for steady breath.
“Oh, I think he did.”
Their typical driving arrangements usually involve Shane in the driver’s seat controlling the temperature with Ilya next to him, deciding on the music, pointing out where they need to stop for a quick snack, and reclining with Shane's latest brand-deal acquired sunglasses.
While babysitting, Ruby and Emma had taught Ilya the term “passenger princess” and it filled him with so much joy he had told Shane he was getting it printed on a t-shirt.
(He spent half a day looking for his phone after that.)
But today, Ilya knows Shane deserves the star treatment. So he guides him out to the car and opens his door for him, gently motioning for Shane to sit as he hands him an ice cold water bottle and a pair of his own giant sunglasses.
“What is happening?” he asks warily, but Ilya just pats his head and gives him a cheeky smile.
“Today, you are passenger princess.”
“Oh god, not this again.” Shane grumbles, but Ilya catches the small, delighted grin starting to grow across his face. He shuts the door lightly and jogs over to the other side. They are taking one of Ilya’s cars, a sleek black machine that offers privacy with tinted windows from the outside, but doesn’t make Shane feel trapped like some of the other sports cars Ilya has been known to enjoy in the past.
When Ilya slides in the driver’s seat and the engine quietly hums to life, Shane is already laying back as he reaches over for Ilya’s hand.
“Ready?”
Shane’s smile is trusting as he nods, and Ilya puts the windows down just slightly as they begin to drive. He knows the roar of the wind can sometimes bother Shane, but he’s hoping that the fresh breeze will give his thoughts an escape route. Still, he makes sure Shane knows he has options.
“I can close them if you want, okay?”
Another squeeze to their joined hands. “Thank you. Feels nice right now though.”
The car rolls quietly down back roads, seemingly no destination in mind. Ilya glances over at Shane and catches an infatuated glance. They both laugh, breathless and a little embarrassed as Ilya busies himself with the stereo. Quiet instrumental starts to play and Shane looks over again.
“Tchaikovsky?”
A slight blush rises to Ilya’s cheeks, the thrill of being known. “Да, who else?”
Shane inquires warmly, “Did you listen to him a lot with your mom?”
Ilya’s left hand grips the wheel a little tighter on instinct, but not for the reason Shane begins to apologize for.
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to…”
Ilya’s hand finds Shane’s once again, for stability, for courage, as the words fight to be heard.
“I did, but…I really liked to listen to him with Alexei.”
“Oh.” Shane responds quietly, beginning to understand the hesitation. These days, Ilya doesn’t have much trouble talking about his mother unless it’s a really tough day. In fact, he usually loves to fill their lives with her memory, and Shane is all too happy to get to know his mother-in-law through the son she gave him.
But Alexei. He doesn’t have much of a place in their history, shared or individual. And Ilya knows it’s for the best, knows the things his brother called him before he knew for sure, and now that Ilya and his relationship are so public, he knows Alexei would kill him if he could get to him.
But the logic of the brain and the longing of the heart can be miles apart sometimes.
“You know Tchaikovsky, he was afraid his head would fall off?”
Shane laughs, caught off guard by the question. “What?”
Ilya nods eagerly, like he did when he first discovered this fact as a child growing up in Russia. He and Alexei had always shared a fascination with the strange and the macabre and when he learned of this from a classmate, he practically bolted home to tell his brother.
“Yes, he was, ah…always afraid he would get sick?”
“Hypochondriac,” Shane supplies and Ilya rolls his eyes and mutters "stupid English". Shane laughs and squeezes his hand again, “Go on.”
“So he would hold his head up with one hand like this,” Ilya separates their hands briefly, holding up his chin, “And conduct with other.” Both hands briefly leave the wheel as he moves his left hand with a flourish. Shane scolds “Ilya!”, but there is no panic behind it; they are moving slowly and Ilya’s hands are back on the wheel seconds later.
“And then,” Ilya pauses and sighs, “Alexei learned of Tchaikovsky’s terrible secret. And he thought that might be the reason his terrible brother liked him so much.”
“Sometimes, beautiful things are made from pain.” Ilya’s voice shakes, and Shane reaches up to brush a tear from his eye, leaning over the center console to rest on his shoulder. Shane feels the vibration when Ilya speaks again.
“But that does not make them less beautiful."
“Like us.” Shane mumbles the words into his neck, his lips curving upwards as he watches the goosebumps rise on Ilya’s skin.
“Да, мой любимый, like us.”
And then they are quiet for miles, needing only each other to keep them from slipping away as the music plays on. Finally, Ilya speaks again.
“Our children, they will know heartbreak. But they will not know heartbreak like that.”
Shane squeezes his hand and for a moment, they just sit in the silence of what has been and what is yet to come. But then he smirks.
“Our children. You gettin me pregnant, Rozanov?”
Ilya turns to look at him briefly with a salacious grin.
“I will try.”
It’s late morning by the time the car rolls to a stop. They haven’t gone too far from home, but they have spent the morning just driving, the breeze rustling their hair as the classical music worked to calm Shane’s hummingbird heartbeat. When they arrive at their destination, the location is unfamiliar to Shane, but Ilya unbuckles and motions with his head for Shane to follow him out of the car.
So of course he does. Shane would follow Ilya anywhere.
They walk a few steps through the dusty landscape and look out at the trees and city below. It’s not too high, just a small lookout, but Ilya takes a deep breath and looks over at Shane, motioning with his hands, encouraging him to follow. Shane chuckles, but breathes in the smell of the trees, the dirt beneath his shoes, the slight moisture to the air and just smiles at Ilya.
“What is this place?”
“When we were apart,” Ilya explains, “I would come here a lot. I would stand on the edge right here and say to the city, ‘Shane Hollander is my boyfriend’ just to make sure I still believed it too.”
Shane reaches over, laces their fingers together.
“And look at you now.”
He rests his head gently on Ilya’s shoulder and they stand quietly for a few moments until they hear the low rumble of another car on the ground behind them. They both turn. Before they can process the humans emerging, they hear an excited bark and Ilya shouts:
“Chiron!”
The dog runs over immediately, practically jumping into Ilya’s arms, and he coos, “I’m sorry baby, we didn’t know you were coming! Mean old Shane said we couldn’t bring Anya.”
“You’re such a fucking liar, you didn’t even ask!”
“You are pretty good at lying, Roz,” Troy taunts, poking his head out from the passenger side door. Then he offers a mocking impression of Ilya, “Shane Hollander is my best friend.”
“Was not a lie,” Ilya says softly as Chiron runs back over to Harris. He stands up and looks over at Shane, even though he is technically addressing Troy.
Shane has to clear his throat and redirect the conversation before the tinted windows get put to good use right now. Luckily, Harris is nothing if not perceptive and he instantly apologizes.
“Sorry for showing up, we assumed the spot would be free this early! Figured this would be more of a night location for you two.” He smirks and waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“The spot?” Shane asks, confused.
Troy, Harris and Ilya all look to each other, and if Hayes were here, he’d definitely make a joke about how they are basically the Spiderman meme come to life. Finally, Troy decides to be the brave one.
“Um, this is kind of the unofficial Centaurs date spot?”
Shane turns to Ilya, incredulous. “I thought you said this is where you came to think about me when you were lonely!”
They hear Harris go “aww” as Ilya tries to explain, “I told team it was beautiful place to take your partner! I am a very generous guy, Hollander!”
“Any particular reason you brought them today?” Shane asks, hoping Ilya catches his slight annoyance. But before he has a chance to speak, Harris pipes up.
“If it helps, he…didn’t know? Like we said, we kind of assumed you guys would be staying in bed after a long season, getting some rest.”
It isn't meant as anything but a statement of fact, but it sends Shane on a bit of a spiral all the same. The first season with Centaurs had been a bit of a fever dream for him. Removing the C from his chest and pulling on a brand new jersey had felt liberating and heartbreaking all at the same time. Looking up into the stands and seeing his parents, one in a Hollander jersey and one in a Rozanov jersey (always alternating), often felt like an out-of-body experience that was happening to someone else.
It hadn’t all been sunshine and rainbows (although Shane thinks he's seen more rainbows this year than the rest of his life combined). The games in Montreal had been brutal, both on the ice and due to the cacophony from the fans, many of them feeling betrayed and left behind. He was still learning how to cope with everything all at once.
But he was still Shane fucking Hollander (as Ilya had happily reminded him many times) and he wanted to win no matter what how ugly the logo on his chest was. So when the Centaurs had been knocked out in the first round of the playoffs, Shane couldn’t help but take it personally. What if he had ruined the team chemistry that Ilya had worked so hard to build? What if the team felt uncomfortable with them together and was retaliating by not playing to their full potential?
He hadn’t said it aloud, but the fear that he had poisoned one locker room always sat heavy in his chest. What if he was doing it to another one?
He feels Ilya step closer, smoothing a hand along his lower back as they talk to Harris together.
“Ah, Shane is feeling a bit anxious about that today.”
Shane goes rigid for a moment, but Ilya’s hand never falters, a continual calming presence. He turns to look up at his husband, stunned, but not upset.
“How did you know that?”
Ilya returns his gaze. “I spent so many years wishing I could know everything about you, Shane Hollander. I do not take it for granted now that I have been given the privilege.”
Shane feels like all the air is being sucked from his body, and instead of inciting panic, it feels like heaven. Harris smiles at them and walks back over to help Troy pull some of their things out of the trunk of their car. Shane turns so he is more directly facing Ilya, holding his hand and resting his head on his shoulder, murmuring:
“Fuck, Ilya, you can’t just say things like that when I can’t do anything about it.”
“Later.” Ilya winks and walks over to the cooler Harris has just pulled out to grab a cider for himself and for Shane when they all hear another engine rumbling toward them.
They all look over at the obnoxious country music playing from the truck pulling up and Evan Dykstra is sticking his head out of his window.
“Dudes!” He honks twice before cutting the engine and if looks could kill, Ilya’s gaze would have him pronounced dead on the spot.
“Dykstra, if you do not shut the fuck up…”
Shane knows that Ilya hates Evan's music, but after the discussion they've just had, that's not why his husband is threatening him. Ilya wants to keep the area peaceful and serene for Shane and the jarring noises coming from the Dykstras' truck aren't exactly helping.
“Sorry, Cap!” His wife, Caitlin, calls apologetically as she exits the passenger seat. “He goes full golden retriever when he sees you guys.” Ilya rolls his eyes, but it's clear that it is playful now as he hugs the both of them, moving out of the way as Troy approaches.
“Especially now that the season’s over! No pressure, just chill time.” Troy offers Evan a cider and he takes two, passing one over to Caitlin, giving Troy a fist bump in thanks. Ilya looks over to Shane as he hands his drink over. He sees Shane trying to smile, but notices the slight hint of confusion behind the eyes.
They step off to the side, the two of them in their own world, and the rest of their friends have the good sense to leave them be.
“I didn’t know it could be like this,” Shane admits quietly.
“Winning is nice,” Ilya concedes, his arm around Shane's shoulder, the cool of his cider bottle sending a trail of condensation down Shane's bicep and making him shiver, “but if playing with this team has taught me anything, it's that some things are bigger.”
“Like us,” Shane murmurs, tucking into Ilya’s side. Ilya leans down to kiss the top of his head, and he feels the vibration of Ilya’s hum in his skull.
Like the bees in his head finding their home.
Before they know it, the universe brings them Bood and Hayes and there are picnic blankets spread out on the ground. Chiron is up in the back of the Dykstras’ truck, and Shane is laying down on the hood of Ilya’s car, staring up at the sky with Ilya's sunglasses on.
“You are showing off, Hollander.”
Shane lifts his head and cocks it at Ilya, head light from 3 (no, maybe 4 ciders?), and asks innocently, “Hm?”
“Roz would kill us before any of us even looked at that car as casually as you’re laying on it.” Wyatt says matter-of-factly, running past, chasing after a frisbee before Chiron can grab it from him.
“Well, none of you are Shane fucking Hollander, so.” Ilya smacks a big, wet kiss on the side of his temple and Shane looks up at him with a loopy smile, but one that hides the worries of a decade and more.
But Ilya sees them. He always does.
Ilya tugs him gently off the hood of the car, pulling Shane to his feet and snug into Ilya’s side. Ilya tilts Shane’s chin up to face him and Shane has to squint a little in the sunlight, even with Ilya's gigantic sunglasses on, but he still stays glued to the crystal blue of Ilya’s eyes.
“Your family is here. Your husband is here.” Ilya gives him a light peck and keeps eye contact (a gift Shane rarely grants to others) as Ilya assures him.
“We are good here.”
Shane practically grins, and kisses Ilya deeper, his tongue lightly brushing over his bottom lip before pulling away.
"Think I've earned the right to lay across the hood of your car, don't you, Rozanov?" Shane says it loud enough for the rest of the team to hear. The guys whistle and cheer and Bood responds, "Hell yeah, Hollzy! You look like a fuckin 80s video vixen on that thing!"
Ilya whips his head around and narrows his eyes. "Bood, you are showing your age and sexualizing my husband. Knock it off."
"I'm younger than you…" he mutters, while Evan calls out, "Sexualizing! Nice word, Cap!"
"Dykstra, I know the most common words in your music are 'beer' and 'truck', but please give me more credit than that."
When Ilya turns around, Shane is back on the car, his arms propping him up, holding his empty bottle out
"Any chance you'd want to get me another?"
"Shane Hollander letting loose, eh?" Ilya has a devilish grin as he takes the bottle and grips Shane's waist loosely, running his eyes over Shane's entire frame from his standing position.
The things Ilya would be doing right now if half the fucking team wasn't here.
"Yeah." Shane's eyes are fuzzy, but it's clear that he is still aware of his surroundings. He vocalizes how Ilya knows he feels.
"I feel good here."
"Then I will bring you the whole fucking cooler."
Shane snorts a laugh and lays back down on the hood, closing his eyes. "Just one more is fine, please. If I throw up in your car before Anya does, you'll never let me live it down."
"Well Anya will never do such a thing because she is perfect."
"Go get my drink, asshole." Shane swats at Ilya's ass as he walks away and he yelps in surprise. Troy makes a teasing whip sound as Ilya gets closer, and he just smiles, grabbing one more cider for Shane.
"Happily, Barrett."
"I know, I know." Troy smiles and raises his bottle and they clink the two drinks together before Ilya takes Shane's back to him. When he gets back to the car, he finds Harris pitching Shane theme nights for the next season and almost tells him to quit bothering Shane now that he has finally started to relax.
And then he realizes he's got it all wrong.
"Have we ever done like an Asian Heritage Night? I think that could be really special. I'd love to do some stuff with kids in the community, and I'm sure my mom would be happy to get involved."
Harris looks up and makes eye contact with Ilya, giving him the smallest of nods and letting him know that he's hanging on Shane's every word.
And what Shane Hollander wants, Shane Hollander will get.
When Shane notices Ilya standing there, his eyes light up and he exclaims "Ilya!" and it reminds Ilya of a time he thought he could walk away from all of this.
What a fool he had been.
What a fool he still is.
"Taking Harris' job? Is good idea, will give him more time to bring more puppies to the arena."
Shane's eyes light up even more as he takes a swig of the fresh cider. "Oh my god. What if we did like a Puppy Bowl, but on the ice?"
"You see! Everyone says, bring Shane Hollander, he will bring more goals, more Cups, more skill!" Ilya is practically shouting, matching his husband's enthusiasm on ¼ of the drinks. "But no one tells you he will have genius ideas like…"
Shane and Ilya stare at each other, eyes wide, and it feels like time stops. Troy worries he may have to explain gay sex to a lot of people a lot sooner than anticipated.
But instead they just shout at the same time, as if sharing the same brain:
"The Stanley Pup!"
Shane dissolves into a fit of giggles and Ilya smiles so wide his cheeks start to hurt. The rest of the guys shake their heads and laugh, resuming their activities, but Shane and Ilya don't pay them much attention anyway.
They've always only had eyes for each other.
The afternoon sun has already started its descent by the time they walk through the door, and Ilya is fully sober, but Shane is tipsy and clingy. His arms are wrapped around Ilya's waist as they kick their shoes off virtually in sync and Ilya turns to press his nose to Shane's.
"How are the bees?" he asks, lightly bopping Shane on the side of the head a few times.
"Ow, quit it." Shane swats him away and softly slurs, "They're good. 's like they've made honey in there now."
Ilya pulls back a little and really studies Shane's face, his eyes moving slower than usual thanks to the alcohol and the relaxing afternoon. He brings a hand up to Shane's cheek, thumb brushing where his freckles lie and breathes out.
"You are so beautiful."
Shane's eyes start to shut, and he leans his face in toward Ilya's until their lips are practically touching. "You know, you told me later."
"I did." Ilya smiles, practically going cross-eyed to keep looking at Shane.
"Well," Shane's hand begins to travel up the back of his shirt and Ilya can't figure out how he used to live months without Shane's touch. Especially when Shane flicks his eyes open like a temptress and states simply.
"It's later."
Ilya wants. He spent years wanting and not being able to have, so not taking now seems foolish.
But he isn't a kid in a hotel room looking for the exit to preserve his dignity anymore. He's a husband, a provider, and what he wants more than anything is to provide.
"Soon," he says with a groan and gets a matching one from Shane in return. "Come on, I want to get you clean from being outside all day."
"Oh. Well that doesn't sound so bad," Shane admits, but he still practically glues himself to Ilya's back as they head up the stairs. They almost trip over each other's feet a couple of times, but both of them would take this time in each other's atmosphere over the years they spent orbiting, never coming close enough.
They get into their bathroom, and Ilya shuts the door to trap the steam as he turns on the shower. He lets the water run, and nods at Shane.
"Take off your clothes," he commands.
"Hmm. Where have I heard that before?" Ilya wants to keep an air of dominance about him, but this easy, alluring Shane has him practically falling to his knees.
But not yet.
"Get in the shower, Hollander, you are filthy," Ilya growls. But Shane just smiles sweetly, lifting his shirt over his head and letting his shorts and briefs fall to the floor. He glances sideways at Ilya before stepping in.
"Oui, Capitaine."
The water cascades over Shane's shoulder blades, and Ilya thinks this must be what it feels like to die. His brain short circuits, his mouth goes dry, he feels like his hands are numb.
He only comes back online when Shane throws him another glance, shower droplets collecting at his hairline, falling from his eyelashes as he looks Ilya up and down. Years ago, an intriguing beautiful boy told Ilya not here but tonight, that same man, his husband, asks him in a husky voice:
"Tu viens?"
And Ilya doesn't think he's ever moved faster.
Shane laughs, warm and hearty, but as soon as Ilya has his arms around him, his breath shallows. Shane feels a warm hand slide down his abs, and another softly settle around his neck.
"More." Ilya's plush thick lips settle at the shell of his ear. "I want to feel the French in your throat."
"Je veux te sentir dans ma gorge," Shane practically purrs. He feels Ilya's cock swell behind him and he gasps as Ilya presses against him.
"Fuck, Shane." Ilya hasn't been as diligent a student for French as Shane has for Russian, so Shane knows he has the advantage here. As long as he keeps talking, he can get anything he wants.
"Touche-moi," Shane breathes out, his hand covering Ilya's on his stomach, pressing lightly to slide their joined hands through the damp, coarse hair resting right above his straining cock.
"Oh, is this what you like?" Ilya teases, stroking slowly, Shane's hand still wrapped around his as the water envelopes them both. Shane leans back, mouthing at whatever he can reach, biting at Ilya's chin, jaw, the corner of his mouth. Ilya feels Shane murmur against his lips, "Tu sais ce que j'aime."
Ilya groans, applying more pressure to their movements until Shane eventually can't follow. He lets Ilya take the lead, pressing his hands flat against the wall of the shower and feeling Ilya's increasing arousal against his ass.
"Fuck." The moan is drawn out, and Shane answers with a sound of his own, a lilted "Ilya", the end of his name emphasized with Shane's exquisite enamored accent. Ilya pumps Shane's cock once, twice more and then watches as his release swirls down the drain, feels as his own knees almost buckle beneath him.
"You can…you can fuck me if you want." Shane is too exhausted to rile Ilya up any longer, but he can feel how painfully hard Ilya still is behind him. Ilya chuckles, and Shane feels him smile against his skin.
"Oh, can I?"
Shane turns around and snakes his arms around Ilya's neck, instantly confronted with that tantalizing grin. He kisses Ilya, his fingers sinking deep into his soaking wet curls, tongue exploring every crevice until he pulls away, satisfied.
"Guess I'll have to do the work then."
And then Shane is on his knees, his hands gliding up the back of Ilya's thighs, leaning forward and humming softly as he takes him in his mouth. Ilya instantly steadies himself with one hand on the wall behind him, and the other grasps Shane's ink black hair, sending drops to the floor like rain as he bobs back and forth.
"You want me to fuck all those bad thoughts out of your head, pretty boy?"
Shane hums and nods slowly, his eyes flicking upward for just a moment until the water starts to flood his gaze and he has to close them again. Ilya loosens his grip, petting softly as he continues.
"You are so good, Shane, so perfect. Wanted to fuck you on the hood of my car, right in front of everyone. Show them you are mine."
Shane groans, pulling off momentarily to readjust, sucking lightly at the head of Ilya's cock, pressing his tongue flat to the slit. It makes a bolt of lightning shoot up Ilya's spine, and as he looks down at Shane's smug smile, he stops holding back and lets himself go.
For what feels like forever, all he can feel is heightened sensations: the water running down his arms, Shane's throat relaxing and contracting around his cock, the shock of the cold parts of the shower wall that his burning skin is not pressed against. And then Shane stands, and Ilya hears "fuck, my knees" over the ringing in his ears and he pulls Shane close, reaching over to turn the shower off.
Shane hums into his neck and laughs into a yawn. "We didn't even get clean."
"Mm no, we got dirty. Is much better." Ilya is grinning as he throws an arm around Shane's shoulders, tries his best to keep him warm. Shane does his part too, snakes his arm around Ilya's waist and grips so hard their skin is definitely going to stick together.
Shane burrows deeper into the curve of Ilya's neck and mutters, "I would've, you know." Ilya pulls back to study his face, and lucky him, sees Shane's freckles making an appearance on his warmed up, pinkish face as he clarifies.
"Let you fuck me on the hood of your car, I mean. I don't care who sees us anymore, Ilya. I'm so fucking proud to be yours."
Ilya kisses him, soft and slow, pressing him against the other side of the shower wall as Shane wraps his leg around Ilya's calf to pull him closer. They make out lazily until Ilya feels Shane start to shiver beneath him and he smiles against his lips, leaving one last feather light peck before they pull apart.
"Let's get you in bed, mon chaton." And just as he suspected, in response to surprising pet name, Shane scrunches up his face and glares at Ilya.
"How long have you been waiting to pull that one out?"
"Longer than you know," Ilya admits, and he thinks of a boy who knocked on his door, made the same scrunchy face and said Scott Hunter is right next door.
And changed Ilya's world forever.
Shane practically falls into bed once they get into the bedroom, sated and exhausted after the long, but wonderful day. Ilya kisses his temple, and a glass of water miraculously appears on his nightstand when he next opens his eyes. The lamp on Ilya's bedside table is on its lowest setting, but no other lights are on, and Shane hears the low hum of the air conditioner practically hypnotizing him to sleep.
Downstairs, clad in only a pair of boxers he had quickly thrown on after the shower, Ilya refills Anya's bowls and gives her a few minutes of attention. He kisses her on the head and watches as she trots back over to one of her beds to play with a stuffed Centaurs beaver mascot.
He grabs a banana and a protein bar in case Shane needs a snack before bed, but when he heads back upstairs, the room is quiet. Shane is curled under the duvet, but Ilya can see the strong muscles of his upper back peeking out under the blanket from where he lays on his stomach, gripping one of Ilya's pillows like he's been gone for weeks instead of only a few minutes.
Ilya crawls across the bed gently, reaching over to turn off the light, leaving the room in only a moon drenched glow. He lays on his side, running a hand through Shane's still slightly damp hair and whispers, "Tu es si beau."
"Cheater," Shane grumbles, his cheek still smushed against the pillow, leaving Ilya with only one. (He would give them all to Shane if he wanted them.) "You probably looked that up while I was in here."
"Mm no." Ilya lays on his back, allows Shane to drape his arm across his bare chest, snuggle closer.
Shane hums. "Wheredyougothen"
Ilya feels his insides practically liquify at the monosyllabic mush that barely leaves Shane's mouth. He kisses the top of Shane's head as he closes his own eyes and whispers, "To make things good for us."
And Shane's lips tickle his skin as he murmurs in his sleep.
"You always do."