Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Hayden Pike

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - College/University, POV Shane Hollander, Jock Shane Hollander, Artist Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander is Obsessed With Ilya Rozanov, Hockey Captain Shane Hollander, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Shane Hollander is Down Bad, Not Beta Read, Explicit Sexual Content, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Feral Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Calls Ilya Rozanov "Baby", Humor, Lowkey out of character but fuck it we ball

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-26 Completed: 2026-07-12 Words: 29,093 Chapters: 3/3

drawn in

Summary

"He saw the corners of Ilya's lips curve up ever so slightly in that infuriating, tiny hint of a smile. “Goodbye, Shane Hollander.”

Shane could only ogle as Ilya walked away. Fuck. His ass was fat. This was so bad.

Shane Hollander, star athlete, D1 hockey team captain, campus heartthrob, was being completely undone by a brooding Slavic art major that he would probably crawl on his fucking knees and bark for."

--

Shane is ready for another boring semester where he has to pretend like he cares about anything other than hockey. Until he sits down next to a mysterious Russian art student who also happens to be the hottest guy Shane has ever seen.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Having to take an art history class as a business major was fucking stupid. In what situation was knowledge about some painting from 500 years ago going to be useful to his life? Shane huffed out a breath as he adjusted the backwards hat on his head, then the backpack hanging off one shoulder.

College was mostly fun. Mostly. But if Shane was being honest, he couldn't wait to be done with it all and playing hockey full time. He didn't really need the added distraction of classes and grades and professors that tried to pretend he wouldn't get any special treatment for being the school's star athlete.

College was also just so damn loud.

Sometimes, he wasn't sure if it was lucky or unlucky that popularity seemed to find him so easily. He was well liked; admired, even. He was recognized all over campus. Invited to every big party at every frat house. He had no shortage of friends.

What he did have a shortage of was a social battery, which proved to be exceptionally challenging, considering his status. Somehow, not many people seemed to notice it. He supposed that was because most of his close friends were bone-headed jocks who noticed very little outside of beer and tits.

Not that Shane wasn't also sort of a bone-headed jock. He would like to think he was at least a bit smarter than his friends. He also didn't really care for beer or tits. He tolerated beer. Tits were something he pretty much gave up on in the spring after his third failed relationship ended with his girlfriend very gently suggesting he explore his sexuality. He hadn't quite gone that far yet, but, maybe one day.

So, College had been fine so far, he guessed. He was the captain of his team, and everyone loved him, and he wasn't even going to use this stupid degree until he retired from the NHL 15 years from now. Which brought him back to the door leading him into his stupid fucking art history class.

He arrived with only about a minute to spare; the lecture hall mostly filled. He wanted to strategically place himself as far back as possible where maybe the professor couldn't see him napping, which is how he ended up scanning the back row until his eyes landed on someone he had never seen around campus before.

The guy's absurdly long legs stretched out into the space in front of him; his large body looking cramped into the narrow seat. His broad shoulders were slumped forward, and his head was pointed down. All Shane could see was a mop of curls the color of honey.

He could also see that the seat next to this guy was tucked in the furthest corner, so he shrugged his bag over his shoulder and quickly snagged up the chair before anyone else could have the same idea.

When the chair groaned beneath his weight, the guy next to him snapped his head up, and fuck. Okay. Wow.

Shane was hit full force with cool blue eyes and a face that actually looked like it belonged to art history itself. Dude looked like a fucking Greek god; with his perfect cheekbones, scattered beauty marks, sharp jaw, and plush lips that had such a pronounced cupid's bow that they looked heart shaped. Combined with the thick head of curls, he literally looked mythological. And hot. Really fucking hot.

Maybe he needed to start heeding his ex-girlfriend's advice more quickly than anticipated.

Shane realized he was probably staring, so he let his mouth form a casual smile. “Hey. What's up.”

The other man's eyes tracked his face before he offered Shane the slightest of nods and turned his head back to face the front of the room.

Fuck. His side profile was hot, too. Maybe he wouldn't be napping in this class after all.

Once the professor started talking, Shane did not pay one lick of attention to whatever the fuck was happening. He only really remembered where he was when he felt a large hand nudge at his forearm, and looked up to see his beautiful next-seat neighbor looking at him expectantly with the attendance sheet in his hand.

“Oh, my bad.” Shane straightened up as he took the sheet from between long fingers. His eyes settled on the name that had been written last on the sheet, scrawled in painfully perfect penmanship.

Ilya Rozanov.

Shane committed that to memory as he aimlessly dug around his bag for a pen. From the corner of his eye, he could see those blue eyes track over him again.

Ilya's face was set into something stoic. He leaned down and pulled a pen from his own backpack, holding it out to Shane between his fingers.

“Thanks.” Shane grinned at him, and it was not reciprocated. God, this guy was so serious.

He quickly scribbled his name on the sheet and passed the paper off to the next person, before leaning back over with the pen in hand.

“No. You keep.”

The surprisingly deep and heavily accented voice made Shane raise his eyebrows slightly. Russian.

“You sure? You don't have-”

“You keep. Is fine.”

Ilya didn't even turn to look at Shane, just stared at the front of the classroom with the cap from his own pen dangling between his teeth. Shane wondered if the pen currently in his hand had ever been inside that mouth.

What the fuck, dude. Get a grip.

By the time class ended, he barely even remembered what class it was. Just stood and stretched, tucking his new pen behind his ear.

When he turned to thank Ilya again, his brain shorted out. Because Ilya was now standing, and Christ, he was huge.

He had to be at least 3 or 4 inches taller than Shane, and his chest and shoulders were so broad that they looked like they were fighting his shirt.

He lifted a large hand to run through his messy curls, then lifted his brows questioningly at Shane.

Oh. Right. He was standing in the way like an idiot.

“Sorry, dude. I'm all over the place today.”

Ilya let out a non-committal noise; a deep, low hum that rattled straight through him. Shane stepped to the side, and Ilya moved past him, leaving his scent in his wake. Woodsy and minty with the sharp tang of cigarettes.

Just like his name, Shane committed that scent to memory. He was utterly and confusingly fascinated.

Campus on a Friday evening felt like its own miniature downtown; people lining every walkway, seas of bodies migrating toward whatever houses were throwing the biggest parties, or whatever bars would serve them the cheapest alcohol possible.

Practice left Shane sore and sweaty as he made his way back toward the townhouse he shared with several teammates. Hayden was at his elbow, yapping away about some TV show, their hockey bags bumping together every other step. JJ was at his other side, nose buried into his phone.

As they cut through an alley that ran behind the row of townhouses, Shane felt himself stumble to a stop at the sight of dark gold curls hunched over a book.

Ilya was perched on a hip-height brick wall with a cigarette between his lips; cheeks hollowed as he took a long drag. He had one leg bent up with a book sat across his knee that poked through ripped jeans. His white t-shirt seemed obscenely tight, especially around the curve of his bicep as he absently flicked ashes into the alleyway.

Hayden scrunched his brows up when Shane came to a halt, then followed his gaze.

“Oh. Hey. I sat next to that dude in Econ last semester. Never spoke a word to anyone, like not even when we had a group project. You remember, JJ? Total fucking weirdo.”

JJ looked up then. “Shit, I remember that. I ran into him in the library once, too. I asked him if he wanted to play basketball with us. I figured, you know. Tall guy. Whatever. He just looked at me like I was from another planet and walked away without saying anything.” JJ and Hayden both snorted at this.

Shane felt a sudden sharpness in his chest. A pang of something that he couldn't quite place. An urge to stick up for this guy that he didn't even know.

“Maybe he just thought you guys were annoying.”

Hayden scoffed. “I said he didn't talk to anyone. Not just us.”

Shane shrugged. “Talked to me. Gave me a pen, too.”

“Okay, whatever, prince charming.” Hayden rolled his eyes.

Shane shrugged. “I'm way more charming than you, that's for sure.”

Hayden and JJ started to continue on, but Shane found himself stuck in place. He felt stupidly giddy that the mysterious Russian had willingly spoken 4 words to him, when he apparently chose not to interact with anyone.

“Shane. You coming?”

“I'll catch up.” He waved them away, then hitched his bag up further on his shoulder as he walked across the alley.

“Hey. Ilya, right?”

Blue eyes dragged over him slowly; those plush lips parted lazily with a stream of smoke pouring from between them. He didn't respond; just looked at Shane with an unreadable expression.

“Uh. Shane. Hollander. I sat next to you in art history earlier this week?”

Another drag from the cigarette. Another once over.

“Yes.” The deep, gruff voice finally gave a very delayed response.

“You live over here?”

Ilya nodded toward the small apartment building that sat directly behind the alley from their townhouse.

“Ah. Nice. I'm right over there.” Shane jerked his thumb in the other direction, but Ilya just looked back down at his book.

Shane should just leave the poor guy alone, but he couldn't stop himself.

“We're having a big house party tonight. You should come by.”

The corner of Ilya's mouth twisted up into the slightest hint of a crooked grin, and Shane forgot how to breathe for a second.

“Mm. Do not really party with frat boys.”

It was the most Shane had heard him speak. His R's rolled and his T's were sharp and he was so god damn nonchalant in the way that he didn't even pick up his head.

“I'm not. In a fraternity, I mean.” Like that mattered. He knew what he meant. Shane and his buddies fit the bill for your stereotypical frat bros regardless.

Ilya looked up at him this time. “Hm.”

Shane could swear he saw a flicker of amusement cross his face before he turned back to his book.

“You really gonna spend your night reading? Cmon, dude. It's Friday.”

“Then you better go before you miss big party.” Ilya took one final drag of his cigarette, then stubbed it out against the brick, smoke pouring from his nostrils. “Shane Hollander.”

If Shane thought he was in danger before, he was now entering a goddamn war zone. He felt his mouth drop open slightly; watching as Ilya casually stood up, book clutched in one hand. He strode off without giving Shane another look.

Shane was not used to this. If anything, he was usually the one warding off unwanted attention. He could probably go walk into any party on campus tonight and get the undivided attention of pretty much anyone he wanted.

The problem was that he inexplicably wanted attention from this horribly serious Russian who apparently didn't speak to anyone.

Well, he spoke to Shane. At least two full sentences. He was more excited about that than he would ever admit.

As far as beer went, whatever this was that Cliff brought was bottom of the barrel for what Shane could tolerate. But he liked the way it left him feeling loose and a little buzzy, so he choked it down all the same.

Usually, being tipsy would get him to jawing off about hockey until someone shut him up. But tonight, his brain couldn't stop supplying images of a massive Russian who looked like he could probably pick Shane up and-

Relax. Control it.

He tipped his head back and swallowed down the dregs of his beer, meandering over to where Hayden and Cliff were sharing a joint on the cramped back deck.

He hoisted himself up onto the railing, legs swinging a bit as his eyes drifted across the alley toward the apartment building that Ilya disappeared into.

“So.” Shane cleared his throat. “That Ilya guy. You said he was in your class last year?”

“What?” Hayden coughed out smoke, a fist banging against his own chest dramatically. “Who's that?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “The guy we saw earlier. You said he was in your Econ class before.”

“Oh. Him. Why?”

Shane shrugged. “Just, uh. Never seen him before now.”

“Okay?” Hayden gave him a strange look. “You probably have. There's like, a million people at this school.”

“I would definitely remember seeing him.” It was far too quick and matter of fact and not at all casual like he intended it to be.

Hayden and Cliff glanced sideways at each other. Cliff's face turned up into a slow grin.

“What?” Shane crossed his arms.

“Hollzy.” Cliff’s grin only grew.

“Fuck off, Marly.”

“Am I missing something?” Hayden crossed his arms now, too.

Cliff barked out a laugh. “Our boy finally has a gay crush.”

Shane put a hand over his face.

“What?!” Hayden sputtered. “On the school shooter?”

Shane didn't even register that he shoved Hayden until he was staring up at him from the ground in shock.

“What the fuck, Shane?” Hayden gaped, pulling himself back to his feet.

“Fuck off, Hayden. That isn't funny, dude. Don't say that shit about people.”

“He means don't say that shit about his boyfriend.” Cliff smirked.

God. Shane was never going to hear the end of this. “Fuck you both. Literally all I said was that I would remember seeing him before. You both are delusional as fuck.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hollzy.” Cliff said fondly, a big hand clapping Shane on the shoulder. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

“Some big brooding dude.” Hayden snatched the joint from Cliff's hand.

“Big, huh? What, like 8 inches?”

Shane and Hayden both sputtered at the same time, incredulous.

Cliff looked between them. “What? I'm not letting our captain settle. He's been in the closet long enough, he deserves some big dick.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Shane groaned into his hands, his face heating up like a radiator. He was deeply regretting telling his friends that he was most likely gay. This was worse than torture.

“Ugh. Please stop, I don't want to picture any of that.” Hayden shivered.

“Homophobic.” Cliff muttered through an exaggerated cough.

Shane snickered from behind his hand. Marlow was such an idiot, but a loveable one.

“Don't worry, Hollzy. I'll be your wing man.” He pulled Shane into a headlock, ruffling his hair. “We'll get you dicked down in no time.”

“Fucking Christ, Marly.” Shane shoved at him, trying to break free.

From across the alley, he caught a glimpse of the glowing end of a cigarette, barely visible in the darkness. He felt his stomach swoop.

He couldn't believe he was having his first ever massive crush at 21 years old, but, here he was. Better late than never.

The early September sun was oppressive against Shane's arms as he moved to lean on the chain link cage that surrounded the basketball court. He pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face; reacting just in time to bat an errant ball away as it bounced toward him.

“Come on, cap, best 2 out of 3!” JJ was calling from across the court.

“Yeah, yeah. Give me a second. It's like, a million degrees out here, dude.”

Shane loved their Sunday morning pickup games, but he also loved being able to see without sweat dripping into his eyes.

It was great cardio, and even better team bonding. He only wished basketball could be played on the ice like hockey so he wasn't facing heat exhaustion.

He turned his head out toward the running path that surrounded the court, and caught sight of a large figure sauntering into the shade.

Shane felt his mouth go dry.

Ilya was standing with his hands on his hips, open mouth panting, with a sheen of sweat glistening over golden skin.

He was wearing running shorts and a t-shirt that had the sleeves cut off so deeply that the sides of his pecs were just barely showing. Shane honestly couldn't figure out where to let his eyes settle.

His huge, toned arms? The hint of his pecs swelling beneath his shirt? His muscular thighs where those shorts were riding up?

Basketball could wait. This was an emergency.

As casually as possible, Shane strolled off the court, water bottle in hand, as if he were going toward the water fountain that was at least 20 feet from where Ilya was standing.

“Oh. Hey, man. What's up?” Shane sidled up to him, pushing damp hair from his own forehead.

Ilya cocked his head ever so slightly as his eyes dragged a slow path from Shane's Dunks all the way up to his eyes.

“You, uh, run out here often?” God, what a fucking cliche. Flirting with girls had always been pretty easy for him, because they tended to smile and laugh easily at basically anything he said. But this was new territory, and he felt like a moron.

“Sometimes.”

“Ah. Okay. Nice.” Shane toed at the dirt beneath his shoe. “Hey, we're shooting hoops over there, we could use another person. Especially on center to combat Marlow.” He gestured toward the court where Cliff was towering over everyone else at 6 foot 5.

“Mm. You are point guard?”

Shane grinned. “Yeah. How'd you guess?”

“You seem bossy.”

Shane let out a surprised scoff. What an asshole. “Fuck you.” He laughed. Ilya simply shrugged.

“I mean, I am their captain. Well- not for basketball. We're on the hockey team.” Shane rubbed at the back of his neck to try and stop himself from rambling.

“I know.”

Shane perked up at that. “Yeah?”

Another shrug. “Everyone knows Shane Hollander.”

Even in the oppressive heat, Shane could feel his cheeks grow impossibly hotter. He knew that assessment was pretty spot on, but hearing it from Ilya made his stomach do something embarrassing.

“Well. Uh. You up to play?” He jerked his head back toward the court, eyes stuck on a bead of sweat that was dripping down the column of Ilya's throat.

“Ah, no. I have time in studio reserved soon.”

“Studio?”

“Da. Yes. For painting.”

Painting? Was he-

“You're an art major?” He felt himself gape. Art students were supposed to be lanky losers with man buns in weird patterned sweaters. Not a fucking Russian underwear model.

He saw the corners of Ilya's lips curve up ever so slightly in that infuriating, tiny hint of a smile. “Goodbye, Shane Hollander.”

Shane could only ogle as Ilya walked away. Fuck. His ass was fat. This was so bad.

Shane Hollander, star athlete, D1 hockey team captain, campus heartthrob, was being completely undone by a brooding Slavic art major that he would probably crawl on his fucking knees and bark for.

Not probably. Absolutely.

With the season not yet underway, the days seemed to blur and bleed meaninglessly in a way that left Shane bored enough to agree to do something as lame as go to the library.

At the very least, the library wasn't how it appeared in movies. People were allowed to make noise. No one would shush you for talking above a whisper. At least no one ever scolded Shane's posse, who rolled in at least 10 people deep.

A mix of his teammates and a few girls they liked to party with all flocked together with Shane at the helm, a pen hanging from his mouth as he recounted something that happened in class earlier today that made his whole group laugh.

They started to make their way to one of the large study tables that flanked the rows of bookshelves. One of the girls, Shane was fairly certain her name was Addie, was now hanging off Shane's arm, clinging on his bicep as she continued to laugh at his story. Judging by the way her fingers gripped at him, he supposed she hadn't yet gotten the memo about his official retirement from girls.

Shane's eyes snagged on the next table over. Ilya glanced up at him briefly, his hair tousled like he'd been running his hands through it, then looked back down. Shane immediately extracted himself from Addie's grasp.

“Oooooh.” Cliff teased, jostling Shane by the shoulders.

It had been a few weeks now that he had been eying up the mysterious Russian, and all his close friends knew it at this point.

“Shhh. Don't.” Shane hissed, elbowing him away. “Don't fucking embarrass me, you asshole. I swear to god I will end you. Does my hair look stupid?”

Shane fussed with the dark strands of hair spilling out from beneath his backwards hat.

Gil Comeau slid up beside them. “Hey, that's the Russian asshole in my ancient civilizations class. I asked him for a pen and he didn't even respond. He just looked at me like I was insane for even talking to him.”

Shane couldn't stop the smirk on his lips as he twirled the very pen that Ilya had willingly gifted him between his fingers.

“Probably because your breath smells like shit.” Shane shot back, and Comeau let out an indignant scoff.

Whatever. He had never really liked the guy, anyway.

But as time went on, he realized that Ilya truly didn't seem to speak to anyone. He did speak to Shane, albeit, only a few words before he stalked off like a stray cat. But it was something.

Shane shot a warning look at Cliff to behave normally as he closed the distance.

“Hey. ‘Sup.” He slid into the seat across from Ilya, leaning his elbows on the table.

Ilya looked up slowly from the book he was staring at, pulling one ear bud out. “Shane Hollander.” He pronounced carefully before looking back down.

“You studying?” Shane drank in his face; so serious and tense. He was so good looking and Shane felt that horrible swoop tug low in his belly.

Ilya only hummed in response. Shane glanced around the table before his eyes settled on what looked like a sketchbook at Ilya's elbow. Ilya seemed to catch where his gaze landed.

“You are not sitting with your friends.”

“They're loud.” Shane shrugged, eyes still lingering on the closed sketchbook.

Ilya sighed, then slid it across the table to him.

Shane felt a smile split his face in half as he grabbed at it greedily. Something sparked inside his chest, bright and warm. He gingerly opened the cover, and his lips parted in wonder.

“Wow. Ilya, holy shit, dude.” He started to card through the pages of gorgeous sketches. Faces and forms and plants and miniature landscapes. “This is…fuck. Wow.”

Shane glanced up and caught the way a soft pink color had spread across the tops of Ilya's cheeks.

“Is just sketches.” Ilya reached for the sketchbook, but Shane's reflexes were quicker. He kept flipping through the pages as Ilya glared at him.

“Well. If this is just sketches, I wanna see what your finished stuff looks like. Cause this is insane.”

He gently shut the book and slid it back across to Ilya, whose cheeks were still lightly flushed. Shane wanted to lick them.

When Ilya stayed quiet, Shane leaned forward a bit. “Will you show me sometime?”

Behind them, the table full of Shane's friends started to fill the space with raucous laughter. Someone was slapping the table. Someone else was choking on their drink through their laughs.

Shane was sure whatever was happening was very funny, but he didn't even turn to look. His world was reduced to sparkling blue eyes and a sharp jaw and beautiful, thick curls.

“Maybe.”

For as elusive as this guy was, this might as well have been a love confession. Shane felt like he could punch a hole through a brick wall right now. He didn't even try to mask his smile.

Ilya shut the book he was reading and slid the sketchbook into his bag as he stood. Shane resigned himself to the fact that this was as far as his mild flirting efforts would get him today, until Ilya was suddenly leaning down into his space, and Shane could smell his mint gum and see the flecks of color bright in his eyes.

“Come to arts building tonight. 8 o'clock. Studio is on top floor, end of hallway to the left.”

Shane felt his breath stop in his throat, and now his own cheeks felt warm. Even if he were capable of formulating a response in that moment, it wouldn't have mattered, because Ilya was already slinking off like he hadn't just handed Shane a fucking treasure map.

When he turned around, Marlow was grinning wide, smacking Hayden hard on the shoulder. “I fucking told you, bro. Hollzy has mad game.”

Shane wasn't sure he'd quite take it that far, but he did feel an embarrassing amount of pride in himself. He couldn't even pretend like he was going to study now. He had to go back home and sit in his room and smile at his ceiling until his heart jackhammered out of his chest.

Dusk had bathed the campus in a hazy purple by the time Shane finally found the fine arts building, which he was certain he previously had never even laid eyes on.

He was painfully aware of the slow once over Ilya had given him that day by the basketball court, so he decided to dress like he had just been working out, even though he definitely hadn't been. High inseam shorts that showed off his thick thighs and a cut off shirt that showed off his toned biceps. He kept his hair tucked back in his hat like usual; the long strands pushed back and tucked behind his ears. Girls always seemed to like him with the hat on.

The building was deathly quiet when he pushed his way through the heavy doors. He could only hear his own footsteps echoing off the floors and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. Having a crush was so unnerving. It almost made him glad that he had been so confused about his sexuality for so long, because he had generally avoided this feeling. But now it was hitting him full force; a goon checking him straight into the boards and off his skates.

The muffled sound of music started to grow closer as Shane approached the door to the studio. He gently pushed it open, poking his head in first, and was greeted by a sight that he wished he could somehow record with his eyeballs and save for later.

Ilya, clad in a backwards hat of his own and a paint splattered t-shirt that looked worn and soft. There were flecks and strokes of paint on his hands and forearms and one on his cheek. He was staring in intense concentration at a canvas propped up on an easel as he absent mindedly sang along to the song that was playing. The sound of his voice made a flock of birds flutter in Shane's stomach.

He was sort of frozen in the doorway; not wanting to scare the shit out of Ilya or break his concentration. But just as he was about to do something cliche like clear his throat-

“Shane Hollander.” Ilya's deep voice intonated over the music. He didn't even look up. Just cocked his head at the canvas and popped the handle of his paintbrush into his mouth as he inspected something.

Shane shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, feeling that awkward shyness that he had spent his entire life trying to push past creeping back up on him. Be normal, Shane.

Ilya looked up at him then, and Shane could swear he saw something soften momentarily in his expression. “You can come in. Is okay. I will not bite.”

Oh. He could not be fucking normal about this. Because all his brain could play on a loop was an image of Ilya leaning down and sinking those sharp looking canines right into his neck. Into the jut of his hip bone. Into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Be normal, Shane. He chided internally. Control it.

He stepped forward as Ilya turned the music down slightly on his phone, then stepped back in front of the canvas, arms crossed over his chest.

“Can I?” Shane gestured at the easel from behind it. Ilya nodded, taking a step back to make room for Shane.

Shane moved to step in front of it, and his breath caught. A beautiful vignette filled the canvas; an animal skull lit by candle light and surrounded by small, detailed items. A gold cross necklace. Dried flowers. A worn looking book. A draped piece of fabric. It was beautiful.

“Ilya. You made this? Like…from scratch? With your hands?”

“Mm. Well, with one hand. I am not ambidextrous.”

Shane snorted at that, shaking his head. “Dude. This is fucking incredible.”

Ilya shrugged and dipped his head, scratching at the side of his nose. “Is fine.”

Shane elbowed him, and the contact immediately felt like he ignited a brush fire inside his own body. He tried to ignore that.

“I can barely even manage a stick figure, so.”

Ilya's mouth curved into a small smile, and Shane's heart was going to implode.

“Well. Is finally done, I think. So.” He shrugged again.

“Sooo. That's awesome, dude. You should celebrate.” Shane pushed himself up onto the large table, shoes scuffing at the floor. “We're having a party at the house tonight. Last one before the season starts next week. You should come.”

“I have work to do.”

“Dude. Ilya. It's Friday night. Do you ever like…I don't know. Have any fun?” Shane threw his hands up. Maybe fun was illegal in Russia. He'd never met anyone so serious before.

“I am here on scholarship. Not one for playing hockey. I need to be…focused.” Ilya started to pack up his paintbrushes with deft fingers.

Shane sighed at that. “One night won't kill you. It's literally, like, 20 steps across the alley. Come on.”

Ilya turned to him. “Why do you want me to come?”

Well, it was Shane's turn to bring a little bit of mystery into this equation. He cocked his head to the side and looked up at Ilya through his lashes, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Does it matter?”

Ilya's eyes roved over his face in a slow path. Shane could feel himself blushing, but he refused to look away.

“I do not like talking to people.” Ilya's jaw tensed and flexed and Shane had to stop himself from reaching out to touch.

“You talk to me.”

Ilya hummed. “You will be busy with your hundred friends.”

“You're one of those hundred friends.”

Heartbreakingly, Ilya looked surprised at that. It made him wonder if he had any friends here at all.

Shane did consider him a friend. Or he wanted him to be one, anyway. He wasn't completely depraved. Yes, he wanted Ilya to throw him down and fuck him through his mattress. But he also just simply liked him.

When Ilya didn't respond, Shane pressed on.

“Well. At least walk home with me and think about it on the way?”

Ilya threw his bag over his shoulder, giving Shane a devastating once over. “Fine.”

Shane was 2 seconds away from high-fiving himself.

Shane was 3 beers deep and halfway to a contact high when Cliff came barreling through the backdoor with all the grace of a buffalo.

He pushed a few people out of his path to get to where Shane was sprawled out in a chair with a random girl perched on the arm, trying to talk to him about his NHL prospects.

“Hollzy!” Cliff barked out, startling the girl to her feet.

“Jesus Christ, dude. What?” Shane took another sip of his beer, brows furrowed.

“Your boy.” He urged.

Shane bolted upright so quickly that beer splashed out of his cup and onto his lap. “He's here?”

“Outside. He just walked over from the alley.” Cliff bounced his brows suggestively.

“Fuck.” Shane huffed, jumping to his feet. “Do not follow me, Marlow. I swear to fucking god if you ruin this for me I'll kill you with my bare hands.”

Cliff put his hands up defensively. Shane turned to walk toward the backdoor, but stopped dead in his tracks when Ilya ducked in through the doorway.

Shane's heart was going to fly out of his throat. Ilya was in a tight tank top and jeans that fit way too well and he had a cigarette tucked behind one ear and Shane was actually going to pass out.

His shoulders were so big, and the curve of his pecs were poking out from the sides, and his waist was perfectly tapered. Shane felt like his tongue was about to unfurl down to the floor. He felt alarmed as he was starting to unwillingly imagine all the unspeakable, debauched things he would do for this man when a sound lurched him back to reality.

“Shane! There you are.” Hayden was calling from the bottom of the steps, half jogging toward him.

“Not now, Pike. Cap is eye-fucking his crush.” Cliff started to push Hayden back.

Shane was going to murder them both. He whipped his head around and gave them a death glare that he hoped conveyed the message.

When he turned back around, Ilya was close enough that Shane could smell his cologne and see the veins running down his ample arms. He didn't speak. Just stared down at Shane with curious focus.

“You came.” Shane pulled his hat off to run a hand through his hair before settling it back on his head. Ilya kept that intent gaze on him.

“Yes.”

Cliff and Hayden were suddenly flanking him. “Hey man. Good to see you. You want a beer?” Cliff clapped Ilya on the bare shoulder. Shane's jaw clenched so hard he was scared his teeth would crack.

Ilya silently shot Cliff a look that was somewhere between annoyed and confused.

“He's talking to you, bro.” Hayden moved forward a step. This was a fucking nightmare.

“Okay, chill. Both of you. Just…go fucking find somewhere else to be, please.” Shane's tone was dripping in frustration. He grabbed Ilya by the forearm and lead him back outside, where there were luckily not many people.

He looked up at Ilya, who looked down at where Shane's hand was still wrapped around his forearm. He slowly extracted his hand and busied himself with reaching down into the cooler by his feet and pulling out a bottle of beer that he shoved into Ilya's hand.

Ilya twisted the cap off and took a long sip. Shane watched the column of his throat work around the swallow and felt like he might need to climb inside the cooler himself.

“Can I ask you something?” Shane leaned back against the deck railing, trying to keep his posture as casual as possible.

“Go ahead.”

“Why do you talk to me but I never see you talking to anyone else?”

Ilya took another long sip, then looked down at him like Shane was a problem he was trying to solve.

“Potomu chto ty samyy krasivyy v etom kampuse." (Because you are the prettiest one on this campus.)

The sound of Russian rolling off his tongue made Shane's heart tick up. Dear god, he was in so much fucking trouble. “What's that mean?”

Ilya shrugged and pulled a lighter from his pocket, then moved the cigarette from behind his ear to between his lips. “Learn Russian.” The lighter clicked to life with a spark and the flame illuminated Ilya's perfect face for a fleeting moment.

It reminded Shane of the painting; the scene bathed in candlelight. He was so talented and it was making a competency kink flare up inside of him like a blaring alarm.

He wished he knew how to just ask the fucking guy out on a date. But he didn't even really know if Ilya was even into guys, and he didn't want to scare him away after all the progress he'd already made. It took weeks of yearning to get him here. He couldn't fumble it now.

“Our first game is next week. You should come. If you like hockey.”

“Hm. And what, sit amongst your fan girls?” Ilya took a long drag, then tipped his head back to exhale the cloud of smoke.

“I don't-” Well, that wasn't true. Shane did have a pretty noticeable section of fan girls at every home game. He huffed out a small laugh. “You can sit wherever you want, asshole.”

Ilya leaned back and Shane couldn't stop his eyes from roaming. He imagined sinking his teeth into those perfect pecs. He imagined those big hands wrapped around his hips. Those long fingers-

“You are staring.” Ilya flicked his ashes into the grass.

“Well. You're right in front of me and you're huge.”

And then a miracle happened. Ilya laughed, and it was a deep and delicious sound that was coupled with a flash of teeth that seemed to brighten his whole face. The grin stayed there for a moment; the tip of his tongue coming up to run along the edge of a canine tooth.

“So I have been told.”

Oh. Oh. Shane kept his gaze steady on Ilya's, not daring to let his eyes wander where they very badly wanted to go.

And then Ilya winked.

Here lies Shane Hollander; a very inexperienced gay who happened upon the hottest man on the planet far too early in his journey and perished before he could even taste a dick.

No. He resolved to live. He could do this. He was Shane fucking Hollander.

“Are you flirting with me, Rozanov?” Shane gave him a half grin and hoped it was too dark outside to see how red his cheeks had gone.

Ilya dropped his cigarette butt into the neck of the empty beer bottle with a little smirk. “Goodnight, Shane Hollander.”

Shane's head lolled to the side, a grin on his mouth as he watched Ilya turn and disappear across the alley.

“Ah, there he is. Looking like a lovesick puppy.” JJ came up from behind him and squeezed at his shoulders. “You good, cap?”

“No. He's not. In fact, I've never seen someone so down bad in my life.” Hayden appeared beside him, leaning on the railing with a solo cup in hand. Cliff came from the other side, huffing out a laugh.

“Okay. Well. He's hot as fuck. What do you expect, dude?” Shane grabbed another beer from the cooler, eyes stuck on the direction Ilya walked off in.

“Ehhh.” Hayden scrunched up his face.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Hayden. You don't have to act like the straight dude of all time. You know he's hot.”

“He is a stud, Hollander.” JJ bumped shoulders with him playfully.

“Fuck it, I'd hit that.” Cliff shrugged, taking a drag from a joint.

“Please don't put that image in my mind.” Hayden shivered.

“No, don't put that image in my mind.” Shane grumbled. He did not want to think about Ilya with anyone else. It was embarrassing and pathetic, but what could he do?

“So, are you really trying to like, date this guy? Like, you're gonna come out for real?” Hayden turned to him, sipping at his drink.

“I mean, yeah. I'd like to date him. And I don't plan on like, making an announcement or anything. I'm cool with people knowing. I'm not trying to hide it. I just don't want to make a big deal out of it.” He shrugged.

The prospect of being out as gay had absolutely terrified him at first. He was an athlete. He was going pro. There was no one like him in the hockey world. And then over the summer, Scott fucking Hunter of all people kissed a man in the middle of celebrating a Stanley Cup win. He opened a door that most people didn't even realize existed at all, and Shane was going to walk through it. It wasn't going to be easy. But Shane had never balked at a difficult task before, and he wasn't going to start now.

There was something freeing about finally understanding what it was that he wanted. He spent too long feeling broken. Too long wondering why he didn't want in the same ways other people did. And then he stopped being stupid, and started being honest with himself, and what he wanted materialized right in front of him on the first day of classes like some kind of divine intervention.

So now, he did know what he wanted. Cool blue eyes that assessed him carefully and a toothy grin that seemed to be reserved only for rare instances. A deep voice that slowly pronounced his name in that beautiful accent. A fucking enigma of a man that Shane too desperately wanted to understand.

He wondered if the school offered a course on cracking the code for overly guarded Russian baddies.

The sound of the ice beneath his skates and the cold air biting at his face and a hockey stick in his hands made Shane feel superhuman. They were still only warming up, but the thrill of their first game was creeping into the edges of his brain, leaving him tingling with anticipation.

His hair flowed behind him as he approached the bench with his helmet in hand, reaching over the boards to grab his water bottle.

“Is that…?” Hayden's voice came from beside him. Shane turned to follow Hayden's confused expression, and the water he was about to swallow almost spilled out of his mouth.

Sitting in the stands was Ilya; hood pulled up, curls poking out, one hoodie string in his mouth, and his sketchbook laid across his knees. The pencil in his hand was moving across the page in practiced ease. He was sitting close enough that Shane could see the way his jaw worked as he chewed at the string absently.

Of course he would bring work to do. He wondered if this guy's brain ever shut off. He thought back to the way Ilya's face transformed when he laughed. How the seriousness melted away into something so incandescent that it nearly punched Shane's breath straight out of him. He wanted to see that again. He wanted to feel that smile against his own mouth.

Shane was turning into a sappy romantic in real time and he wanted to throw up.

There was just something so captivating about that cold Slavic exterior that made Shane want to burn straight through it and find what was hiding beneath.

His pathetic yearning was cut off by Hayden bumping his shoulder. “Dude. Snap out of it. What the hell has gotten into you?”

Not a big Russian dick, sadly.

“Nothing.” He vaulted himself over the boards. “You act like you didn't follow Jackie around with your tongue hanging out of your mouth for an entire semester.”

“Okay. But that was Jackie.”

“And?” Shane scoffed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That dude has probably said all of 10 fucking words to you. For all you know, he's straight and you're just wasting your energy. But you probably never will know, because he's a fucking mute.” Hayden squeezed his water bottle into his mouth, and Shane had to sit on his hand to stop himself from smacking it out of his grasp.

“You're so fucking annoying, dude.” Shane rolled his eyes. “Just don't worry about it.”

He honestly couldn't imagine a wingman worse than Hayden. He loved Hayden, truly. But he was like Shane's annoying brother who he sometimes just wanted to strangle.

Shane looked over his shoulder into the stands, and felt warmth spread in his belly when he locked eyes with Ilya. He flicked his head up in acknowledgement, and Ilya gave him a small nod in return.

By the time the game started, Shane couldn't shake Ilya Rozanov out of his head. He kept glancing into the stands to find that handsome, unreadable face. He wondered if Ilya even gave a shit about hockey. The stands were filled with people who cheered for Shane with elation, but all he wanted was the attention of a singular person. A person who was like an equation that Shane just couldn't figure out how to solve, but he would figure it out.

Shane was the captain of every team he'd ever played for. He got his choice of college with a full ride scholarship. He had his pick of any girl he wanted since the day he walked onto this campus, though that part turned out to be useless. The point was, Shane was used to being the best.

That's what he reminded himself of when scored his third goal of the night.

You are Shane fucking Hollander, and you always win in the end.

“Ay! Cap!”

The sound of JJ's voice, paired with the heavy-handed thudding against his bedroom door, yanked Shane unceremoniously from sleep.

He had, quite frankly, passed the fuck out the moment his head hit the pillow last night. All the built up adrenaline from the game had been spent and he had barely been able to drag his body up the steps after half the team insisted on staying up to play a drinking game until god knows when.

Shane groaned into his pillow. “Dude. Fuck off.”

“Fine.” JJ yelled through the door. “Guess you don't want what Ilya left at the door.”

Shane bolted straight up, knocking his pillow and his phone to the floor in the process.

“What? What do you-”

JJ opened the door and peeked his head in, a smug grin on his face. He waved a manilla envelope in front of him that had Shane's name written across the front in bold letters.

“I thought I heard someone at the door. When I opened it, this was there and someone with curly hair smoking a cigarette was walking away.”

JJ's fingers pried the envelope open, and Shane practically flew across the room.

“Don't!” He snatched it up, jaw tensed hard. JJ was laughing wildly.

“Bro. You are so fucking gone.”

“We've established this. Now fuck off.” He shoved JJ back through the door and slammed it shut in his face. If Shane didn't open the envelope in the next 3 seconds, he was going to pass out.

He pulled out a loose page and felt his heart and brain stall out in short succession. The paper was adorned with various sketches in dark ink. All of Shane.

One of his back as he sat on the bench, name stretched across his jersey. One of him mid stride on the ice. A closer view of his face, hair flowing behind him, his cheeks and nose dotted accurately with freckles. Possibly the most arresting of all was the side profile. It seemed to capture Shane in perfect detail in a way that felt too masterful to be scrawled on a sketchbook page. He could tell by the hat that Ilya must have sketched this sometime before the game. He guessed it was while they sat side by side in art history.

He couldn't stop staring at the page. He couldn't stop the way his heart was thudding so hard and so fast that he was seriously concerned he was having some sort of medical episode.

Shane realized then that there was another paper shoved deep into the envelope. He slid it out and was met with neat handwriting that he was honestly a bit jealous of.

Good game. Beautiful stickhandling. Very impressive forecheck. But you are moving too quickly for your winger to keep up with your drop pass. Will be okay to not be fastest skater on the ice for 1 second.

-IR

Shane's jaw dropped. Then he scoffed. Then he barked out one short, hysterical laugh. Then he slapped a hand over his mouth. His body didn't know what to do.

Ilya was speaking hockey and kind of being an asshole and dear god, Shane was getting hard.

He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Ilya did not say this to him in person, because he probably would have dropped to his knees immediately. The situation was becoming dire. This man was actually making him feel insane.

Shane let himself admire the sketches for a few more minutes before he laid the paper carefully on top of his dresser. He made quick work of getting himself ready for the day; brushing his teeth twice just in case because he's delusional, and slipping into his favorite hoodie that was soft and worn and helped him be less on edge.

He was cursing himself for not yet snagging Ilya's number as he set off to wander around campus, hoping to run into him somehow. Though he was hard for Shane to miss. He was sure he could spot those broad shoulders and that beautiful head of curly hair in the middle of a mosh pit with a blindfold over his eyes. Not that Shane had ever been in a mosh pit. It was just the principle.

He snaked his way around his usual morning path toward the smoothie shop, and was rewarded with the sight of one Ilya Rozanov manspreading on a bench, clad in a leather jacket perfectly fitting jeans.

Shane used to be disgusted at the way his friends would talk about girls; the vulgar ways in which they would provide detailed descriptions of what they wanted to do with them. But now here he was, short of breath at the way Ilya's muscular thighs were splayed out and how his knees were spread in invitation. Staring at his lap and thinking about how badly he wanted to be bouncing on it.

Shane's thoughts had never been so out of control in his entire life.

He ducked into the smoothie shop, deciding it would only be right to bring one to Ilya after his painfully sweet gesture of gifting Shane those sketches. He could also pretend that both of them sipping smoothies together counted as a date.

Luckily, Ilya was still in full sight through the glass doors as he waited, because he was convinced that he would dematerialize from the bench the moment Shane turned his eyes away. He tapped his foot impatiently, hands tugging down in the pocket of his hoodie, palms starting to sweat. He could play in an arena filled with people, every single pair of eyes on him, and not flinch. But talking to Ilya always made him feel like he was failing a stress test.

As he elbowed his way out of the door, a smoothie in each hand, he set a determined path back toward Ilya, mind racing over sketches and hockey plays and perfectly bowed lips.

“Shaney!”

The sound made him physically cringe. Shane snapped his head up to see the girl who tried to kiss him at a party last month. She was one of the girls in the general puck bunny gang that crashed all their parties and sat in the adoring fan girls section at every game. She was pretty. Very aggressively flirty. And very much ruining his casual approach toward the man he was actively trying to woo.

“Shaney.” She repeated, eyes bright as she flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Is one of those for me?”

Shane looked down at the smoothies in his hand, then back up to her beaming face, and forced a tight smile. Fuck, what was her name again? Whatever.

“Uh, nope. I gotta go, though. So. See you around.”

He could hear her scoff slightly as he quickly turned a heel, shaking his head. He kept his head down this time as he crossed the walking path, hoping he wouldn't get recognized again, and only picked it up when he heard that deep, gravely voice.

“Shaney.”

Shane's stomach nearly dropped out of his ass. Oh god. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or giddy by that name coming out of Ilya's mouth.

He plopped down on the bench next to him. “Shut up. I come bearing gifts.” He held the smoothie out towards Ilya, who cocked an eyebrow.

“This is gift? Is green.” His face twisted up into disgust.

“Oh my god. Shut up. It's good. It's my favorite. Just take it.”

Ilya studied him for a moment before taking it from his hand. Their fingers brushed as he pulled back, and Shane felt it rocket through his nerve endings like an engine revving to life.

Ilya's obscenely pink lips wrapped around the straw; cheeks hollowed as he took a sip. “Hm.”

Shane rolled his eyes, snorting softly. “Whatever, dude.”

“No, no. Is good. Is…interesting. Thank you.”

Shane couldn't help but smile. “You're welcome. Now.” He turned his body toward him a bit. “Two things. Number one. Those drawings. I don't even…”

He felt himself start to blush at the thought. Ilya, studying every detail of his face, using those skilled fingers to sketch him into the paper over and over again. His heartbeat was in his throat.

Ilya's cheeks went slightly pink as he waved a hand dismissively. “Ah. Is not anything.”

“Dude.” Shane shook his head. “You're fucking talented, okay? And thank you. For giving that to me. That was…it was really nice.”

Ilya took another sip of his smoothie, then shoved a hand into the pocket of his leather jacket. “You are welcome.” A pause. “Shaney.”

Shane shoved him again, throwing his head back with a laugh. “Oh my god, fuck off. You're an asshole. Which brings me to my next point.”

Shane set his smoothie down on the ground, turning his body completely to Ilya now. “Were you not gonna tell me how much you know about hockey?”

Ilya shrugged. “Is boring topic.”

“Oh is it? So boring that you came to my game and gave me notes on my performance?”

“Was very good performance.” Ilya chewed at the end of his straw. “Until drop pass. You almost had turnover, you know.”

Shane scoffed. “No I didn't.”

“Eh. You did. You will see in tape review. Your winger had to slide to reach your pass. Was sloppy.”

Shane shook his head, but couldn't help the grin on his face. “So. You a big hockey fan or something?”

Ilya hummed. “Or something.”

Shane narrowed his eyes. “Did you…you played, didn't you?”

Ilya didn't answer, just kept chewing his straw into a flattened strip of plastic.

“You're shitting me. Are you serious? What, like in high school?”

Ilya stood up, tongue wrapping around the straw in a way that made Shane feel like a blushing maiden, then inclined his head in a gesture for Shane to follow.

Like he was attached to a phantom leash, Shane hopped to his feet and fell in line at Ilya's side, as if Ilya had said ‘heel, boy.’ He was thankful for the cool October breeze that helped to bring down the temperature in his face.

They strolled down the walking path, through the dapples of light that spilled over the trees, and Shane had to shove his free hand into his hoodie pocket to stop himself from reaching out for Ilya's.

“I know you probably have very exciting frat boy party, but. If you would rather have quiet, I will be in the studio for a few hours Friday night.” He kept his gaze away from Shane. “You can come. If you want.”

Shane felt as though stars and hearts were exploding out of his eyes like a cartoon. He took a steadying breath. “I would like that.”

Ilya held a large hand out between them. “Your phone. I give you my number.”

Oh my god, this was actually happening. Shane had been sitting out a bowl of food every single night for the elusive stray cat that is Ilya Rozanov, and he was finally about to let Shane pat him on the head.

Shane pulled his phone from the pocket of his joggers and placed it into Ilya's calloused palm. Ilya's thumbs flew across the keyboard before he passed the phone back to Shane, and his fingers brushed against Shane's wrist, and Shane had to swallow back the embarrassing sound he was about to make.

“I have class now.” Ilya started to walk backwards, still facing Shane. “I will see you. Shaney.”

And then he was walking away, with that perfectly round ass straining against his denim jeans, and Shane was biting his own lip hard enough to hurt as he tried to hide his smile.

He stared down at his phone, the new contact name burning through his eyes like a beacon:

Ilya 🖤

Chapter End Notes

SHANE U OK???? 😩

jock shane and artist ilya are very important to me 😭

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Shane hadn't always been the most easily confident person, but he knew his own physique. He knew his tiny white shorts strained against his thick thighs and hugged at the curves of his ass and he hoped to any god in existence that Ilya Rozanov would take this as an open invitation to look.

Well, if he was really being honest, he hoped Ilya Rozanov would take this as an open invitation to grab two handfuls. But he would take what he could get.

His muscles were all wound up tight from a hard practice, he was bone tired, and Hayden and JJ were pissed that he wasn't partying with them tonight, but Shane wouldn't miss this for anything. Ilya had invited him to hang out. He had given Shane his number. He had put a fucking heart emoji next to his own name. He might as well have proposed, for all Shane was concerned.

His phone buzzed on the dresser, and he grabbed at it with embarrassing speed.

[6:42 PM]
Ilya 🖤
you are coming to studio still?

[6:42 PM]
Shane
Yea of course. About to leave rn

[6:44 PM]
Ilya 🖤
good

Shane smiled so hard it hurt his cheeks, then read that word at least 10 more times before shoving his phone into his pocket. He threw his hat on over his still shower damp hair and doused himself in probably an unreasonable amount of Aqua Di Gio as he gave himself a once over in the mirror. All those squats were really paying off.

Shane let his fingers trail over the piece of paper that sat atop his dresser. Ilya's sketches, that still made his breath catch when he looked at them. Shane knew fuck all about art, but he could recognize talent. Ilya seemed so humble about his work that Shane really hoped he actually understood how beautiful it was. Maybe Shane should tell him that tonight.

He wanted to see Ilya smile again. Hear that deep rumble of a laugh. He wanted to know about him and hockey. He wanted to taste the inside of his mouth. He wanted, wanted, wanted.

When Shane got to the bottom of the steps, Cliff let out a low whistle from where he was leaned up against the kitchen counter.

“Hollzy breaking out the slutty shorts. Does this mean you're going to see your guy?”

Shane picked up a half empty water bottle from the kitchen table and hurled it at him playfully. “None of your business.”

“So that's a yes.” Cliff threw the bottle back at him. Shane narrowly dodged it, which meant it hit an unsuspecting Hayden in the side of the head.

Cliff and Shane both broke out into uncontrolled laughter as Hayden gave them a death glare.

“You're already on my shit list, dude. Stop making it worse.” Hayden elbowed him.

“Christ, are you really that mad that I'm not hanging out tonight? Should I make a fucking list of every time you've ditched us for Jackie?”

“Whatever.” Hayden grumbled. “Have fun sitting in complete silence.”

“Won't be, because he actually talks to me.” Shane preened with a self-satisfied grin. “You jealous?”

“Why the fuck would I be jealous?” Hayden screwed his face up, incredulous.

“Ooooh.” Cliff teased. “Look at that smug look on Hollzy. He's so pumped to go see Daddy.”

Shane threw both hands over his face, sure that his cheeks were glowing like radioactive waste. Hayden groaned loudly. JJ was howling with laughter somewhere in the other room.

“You are never allowed to talk again.” Shane said from behind his hands. “Fuck you guys. Don't let anyone throw up on the fucking floor this time, okay? And do not let anyone into my room.”

“Yeah, that's where he keeps the Ilya shrine.” JJ called out. Shane flipped them all off over his shoulder as he kicked the front door open.

Liking someone in this way wasn't at all what Shane had anticipated. He didn't know every stupid little thing would make him think about Ilya. He didn't know that just hearing his name would make shooting stars rocket off inside his chest. He didn't know that he would be making a pit stop at Dunkin to get an absurd amount of Munchkins stuffed into a paper box just because he wanted to make Ilya smile.

But here he was, palms sweating, box of Munchkins tucked behind his back, trying to take as many deep breaths as he could before he pushed the door open.

There Ilya was, standing beneath the overhead glow of the school's fluorescent lights. His curls were poking out in unruly strands from under his backwards hat. His white shirt was ripped in multiple places and had almost every color of paint stained into it somewhere. His jeans had big rips in the knees and a splatter of white paint on one leg. His lips were pursed in concentration as he leaned forward, almost bent in half, face inches away from the canvas and paintbrush gripped skillfully in his fingers.

“Hello, Shane Hollander.”

God, that voice. It made Shane's skin prickle all over.

“Hey.” Shane walked in slowly, the box still behind his back.

“Ah. What do you have there, zaychik?”

Shane cocked his head at the Russian word. “What? What's that?”

“Learn Russian.” He set the paintbrush down, stalking toward him. “What do you have?”

Shane pulled the box out from behind his back and held it between them. “Munchkins. I figured you might like these better than the smoothie.”

A slow grin moved across Ilya's mouth, and Shane could feel his pulse jumping in his neck. Ilya reached a hand out and patted Shane twice on the cheek.

“My good boy.”

Ha. Fuck. Oh, fuck. What the fuck. Shane was going to die. Suddenly every piece of clothing he was wearing was a very terrible choice. He was overheating under this stupid sweatshirt and if he started to get hard in these stupid tiny shorts there would be no way to hide it and he was going to die. My good boy.

Apparently, he was learning many things about himself by way of being in the presence of Ilya Rozanov. He wanted to be manhandled. He wanted to be called a good boy. He wanted to be fucked.

He was one more unhinged thought away from breaking out into deranged laughter, or saying something wildly inappropriate like I woke up thinking about squeezing your biceps and I had to fuck my recently acquired dildo about it. Which would be true. But inappropriate.

“You are okay?” Ilya spoke around a mouthful of chocolate Munchkins from the box that Shane didn't even remember handing to him.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, man. I'm good.” He hoped that sounded at least somewhat convincing.

Ilya's eyes traveled slowly down to Shane's bared legs, his head cocking to the side a bit as he hummed. Those blue eyes were studying him with a focus as intense as the kind he'd seen him give the canvas. Shane was used to being looked at. He was used to getting attention. But this felt like something else. This was being seen, at its truest meaning, and Shane could feel the jagged edges of panic seizing his chest.

But mercifully, Ilya turned his head again and Shane was able to take a breath.

Ilya popped another donut hole into his mouth. He definitely had a sweet tooth. Shane jotted that down in his growing mental rolodex of Ilya knowledge. “How was your game?”

Shane felt his shoulders loosen slightly. Hockey. This much he could handle. “Fuck. It was brutal. Our second line couldn't get it together. They just couldn't read the coverage. So I had to do double shifts. We pulled it off but I was so fucking wiped.”

“You are very good. Probably too good to play on college level. Is why your team cannot keep up.” Ilya shrugged.

Shane huffed out a small laugh. “I don't know if I would go that far.”

“I would.” Ilya was so matter of fact about it that Shane couldn't help but laugh again. “Ah, you think I am being funny?”

“No, no. I don't know. You just fucking get me flustered, dude.” Shane didn't mean to be so honest, but sometimes his brain forgot to filter his words.

Ilya turned over his shoulder to him, and Shane was hit full force with probably the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen. It stretched wide and pulled the corners of Ilya's mouth into the most adorable creased dimples and Shane's heart felt like it had been pierced by a giant arrow.

A wave of possessiveness crashed over him so suddenly it almost knocked him off his feet. That smile is mine, he thought. This fucking man is mine. He wanted to climb him like a tree, right here, and claim him. He wanted Ilya to pin him down and claim him back. It was a primal, animalistic need, and Shane felt like his sanity was coming untethered.

My good boy. The words were winding through his veins and taking root. Yes. Yours.

“You are thinking very much.” Ilya had moved back to his canvas; squatting down slightly in front of the easel. “I fluster you this much that you cannot speak, hm?”

Shane looked down with a smile. “Kinda.”

“Hm.” Ilya picked up a paintbrush again.

“So. Are you gonna tell me about you and hockey?” Shane sat down on one of the stools, still facing the back of the easel. He got a perfect view of Ilya's concentrated face this way.

“I have not decided.”

“I brought you donuts.” Shane leaned forward on the stool. “Come on.”

Ilya sighed, eyes stuck on the canvas as he started to move his paintbrush in careful strokes. “I played.”

“How long?”

He sighed harder, looked up at Shane, then back down again. “Long time. I do not want to talk about this.”

But Shane was Shane, ever curious, and this was hockey. Ilya, the hottest guy he had ever seen, also played hockey. It was like porn made specifically for him.

“Can you at least tell me what position?”

“Whatever position you like, zaychik.”

Oh. Wildfire bursted in Shane's belly. Ilya was always so nonchalant in the way he completely made Shane come undone. He hadn't even looked up. Just rearranged Shane's brain chemistry like he was reading the label on a shampoo bottle. He needed to regain control of the situation.

“Shut up. Just tell me. Were you a center?”

“Gospodi, Shane, I do not want to talk about this, okay?” Ilya snapped, exasperated.

“I…I'm sorry. I'm annoying. We don't have to talk about it anymore.” Shane felt himself rear back on the stool slightly.

Ilya shut his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. “No sorry. Come here.”

Shane lifted his head. Ilya gestured with his hand. “Come.”

Shane gingerly slid off the stool, feeling almost shy as he walked around the easel. Ilya opened an arm to him, and Shane felt dizzy as he stepped into his side. Ilya's strong arm snaked around Shane's waist, a hand draped over his hip. He hoped Ilya couldn't feel the way he was about to start hyperventilating.

His body was so warm and solid and his scent was so close and his fingers felt like they were going to burn a hole through Shane's clothes.

He nodded toward the canvas. “What do you think?”

The painting was still partially a sketch. One hand entered from the top left of the frame; a bloodied finger pointed loosely in a way that reminded Shane of that painting in the Sistine Chapel that they learned about in art history. Only instead of another pointed finger coming to meet it, the other hand was outstretched below, entering from the bottom right of the frame, fingers slightly curved upward. Blood dripped from the fingers of the top hand down into the open palm of the one below it. Shane's skin prickled again.

“It's…beautiful. I don't understand how you make it look so…real.”

Ilya laughed softly, tightening his hand around Shane's hip. He felt another rush of dizziness.

“What does it mean? Is that a stupid question?”

“Mm. No. Not a stupid question.” Ilya's eyes roamed the canvas. “Is symbolism of passing your pain to another person.”

Shane swallowed hard. “Oh.” Pain. Was Ilya in pain? The possessiveness gripped at his chest again. He wanted to know what hurt him. Or who. There was definitely a sadness in those blue eyes. Something deep and lonely and guarded. But it felt like maybe he was letting Shane in, even if just for a peek.

“Yes, yes. Very grim.” He patted Shane's hip, then removed his arm, and Shane felt the loss immediately. Ilya leaned forward with his paintbrush, and Shane watched in pure wonder.

He moved the way Shane moved on the ice. Confident and in control. Like he could see something no one else could. Shane watched the way his forearm flexed and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Beautiful, he thought. Just so beautiful. He wanted more. He wanted to lay this sad Russian boy down and lick all the sorrows out of his beautiful mouth.

Eventually, when Ilya started to complain that his hand was cramping and all the donut holes were gone, they closed up in the studio and stepped out into the cool night, walking side by side.

“Thank you. For inviting me.” Shane shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, his arm brushing against Ilya's slightly as they walked.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, dude. I like hanging out with you.” God, he couldn't stop calling him dude. It was so natural to him, but he hoped it didn't sound too casual. Shane was most definitely not trying to friend zone Ilya Rozanov.

He was trying to see what else those hands could do; besides create startlingly accurate sketches of Shane and beautiful, tragic paintings that made him maybe understand why people would choose to spend their free time looking at art.

Shane took a deep breath, hoping to embolden himself, then moved his arm behind Ilya and hooked a finger around the belt loop that sat just below the small of his back.

He just barely caught Ilya's crooked grin before a large arm slung its way around Shane's middle and pulled him even closer. Shane could feel his heartbeat everywhere. He felt adrenaline flood his veins like he'd just nailed an overtime slapshot. Only this might have felt even more satisfying, with Ilya's solid weight leaning into him. He wished he wasn't wearing this stupid sweatshirt. He wanted to feel Ilya's fingers against his ribs.

When they reached the alley, Shane could already hear the commotion coming from inside the house.

“You better get back to very exciting frat boy party.” Ilya's hand trailed down his back, and Shane felt his breath coming in short gulps. Fingertips traced over the swell of his ass, and his breath stopped completely. Ilya turned toward him then, bringing a hand up to cup Shane's jaw, gently forcing their eyes to meet.

Shane could skate faster than anyone else in their division. He could squat more than anyone else in the weight room. But his legs felt like jelly beneath him. Unsteady as a baby deer. It wasn't lost on him the way that he allowed Ilya to maneuver him. The way that he obediently met Ilya's eyes. Jesus Christ. This was probably how people ended up in cults.

“I cannot join you tonight. But you will not let anyone else put their arm around you, yes?”

Shane felt himself nod, but he wasn't sure that he actually was in control of his movements anymore. Ilya gave his jaw a light squeeze.

“Good boy. Goodnight, Shane.”

Shane didn't return to his body until Ilya was shrinking into the distance, being swallowed by the dark. And then every feeling hit him at once like he had been fucking suplexed.

Holy shit. Shane needed to scream into a pillow. He needed to blacken the pages of the diary he didn't have. Ilya didn't want anyone else to have him. Ilya. Ilya Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov just told Shane not to let anyone else put their arm around him. He needed to get into his room before he started doing something insane like spinning around in circles.

He felt claimed and it was fucking hot and he smiled like an idiot the whole way back to the house.

Shane woke to a pounding in his head and the sour taste of stale alcohol stuck to his tongue. The light coming through the blinds made it feel like he was being flashbanged.

“Fuck.” He groaned quietly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Why the fuck was he hungover? The last thing he remembered was Ilya's hand on his jaw. Telling him not to let anyone else put their arm around him. Calling him a good boy. Even though he felt like he'd been dragged along the highway by an 18-wheeler, that thought at least made him smile.

But the fact that he could remember nothing else meant that somewhere between there and here, he got way drunker than he intended.

Shane reached blindly for his phone, sliding it off the nightstand and squinting hard when it came to life in his hand. It was already opened to a text thread.

[1:12 AM]
Shane
Ilaayyaaaa

[1:17 AM]
Shane
Illyaaaaaaaa aaaa a

[1:21 AM]
Ilya 🖤
yes my Shane

[1:22 AM]
Shane
Yeeeaa sss yor Shane i sware I dont let anyone put their arm onmme

[1:23 AM]
Shane
I promise promise promise in dont let anyone ilya

[1:26 AM]
Ilya 🖤
very good

[1:28 AM]
Shane
Yessssnin I am i am a goodboy im sweaar your good boy ok

[1:29 AM]
Ilya 🖤
ok зайчик

[1:29 AM]
Shane
Whaatb is rhat did annalien type that 👽👽👽👽ilyaa dont get taken by aliens yourm sooo fuckign hot

[1:30 AM]
Ilya 🖤
I will not, good night Shane

[1:30 AM]
Shane
Nnnooo wait wait I have a queation ilya

[1:31 AM]
Shane
Arenyou gay

[1:32 AM]
Ilya 🖤
no

[1:33 AM]
Shane
Waitb wtf???? Why did you touch myass ar you serious dude I thoughtt you like me ilya wtf

[1:33 AM]
Shane
Wtf bro imm ggo9ngn to cry ilya

[1:34 AM]
Ilya 🖤
I am bisexual зайчик do not cry

[1:34 AM]
Shane
OOOOOOHHhh

[1:36 AM]
Shane
Ooh ny god ok yay 🥳🥳🥳🥳 im gay btw imm mot crying anymore

[1:37 AM]
Ilya 🖤
that is good. I need to go to sleep now. good night Shane

[1:37 AM]
Shane
Goodnight illyaaa 😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋

Oh. Oh wow. Shane slammed the phone face down onto the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. How fucking embarrassing. He wasn't sure if he should text Ilya to apologize, or just throw his whole phone away and start a new life.

To make matters even worse, he had to get up and get ready for practice. “Fuck my life, dude.” He groaned into his arm. He was never going to drink again. And because he loved torture, he decided to read through the messages one more time.

My Shane.

His stomach swooped, and not from the hangover. A smile crept over his face. My Shane. If only he knew that Shane had been ready to eat out of the palm of his hand weeks ago.

He squinted at the Russian word in Ilya's other messages, and then remembered technology, and copied and pasted the word into Google translate.

Bunny.

Shane threw his phone like it burned him. He would not admit with a gun to his head that he squealed. Hangover be damned, he was going to ride this high. Ilya put his arm around him twice. He touched his ass. He was using pet names. Sure, Shane embarrassed the fuck out of himself with those texts. But a win is a win.

He let good boy and bunny and my Shane carry him all the way to the arena; fighting off the nauseating fog of too much cheap beer and replacing it with a renewed fervor. Shane flew through practice like a man possessed. He found himself commanding drills so ardently that Coach stepped back and gave him the lead. Skating so hard with the puck that he had their defensemen jumping out of the way to avoid getting knocked off their skates.

After, in the weight room, Shane went for his new PR on the bench press because he knew he could. He felt like he could bench a mack truck. My Shane.

“What's with you today, dude? You're a fucking monster.” Hayden clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.

“He's still giddy over his date.” Cliff called over his shoulder. “Imagine how he'll be once he finally gets the cookie. He'll probably turn into the hulk.”

He flipped Cliff off with both hands, but smiled anyway, because he was right. Shane was going to become insufferable over that dick and he knew it. If anyone in this world had Big Dick Energy, it was Ilya fucking Rozanov. It honestly shocked him that people weren't throwing themselves at the guy left and right. Or maybe they were, and Shane just didn't know about it. The word mine stretched through his brain again as he pushed himself up from the weight bench with a huff and made for the showers.

The path from the arena took him straight past the building that housed the open gym for students. Shane had his head pointed in the opposite direction, completely zoned out, when a very warm hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped slightly as he turned, embarrassingly startled, before his eyes went wide and his jaw slack.

Ilya was half smirking; skin glistening in a layer of sweat. That damn cut off t-shirt was going to be Shane's demise. He could see the muscles of Ilya's arms were still worked up from the gym, just like Shane's. Ilya's hand trailed down Shane's bare arm as he let his arm fall from his shoulder. “Hello, Shane.”

Heat flooded Shane's face immediately as he remembered the cascade of drunk texts he'd sent the night before. “Dude. I can't even look at you, I'm so embarrassed.” He ducked his head down, laughing a bit.

Ilya tutted and placed a finger under Shane's chin, tilting his head back up. Shane let his eyes roam; over Ilya's still slightly flushed cheeks, his ocean water eyes, the column of his throat. The way his damp curls were pushed away from his face. The way his tongue wet his bottom lip. He was staring. He could never stop staring at this man.

“Ah. You cannot look at me? I know this was a lie. You are always looking at me, Shane Hollander.”

Shane swallowed, unable to form a thought that he could say out loud. All he could think was how he wanted to lick the sweat gathered at the base of Ilya's throat. It didn't seem like the right time to announce this.

“Now you are shy? What happened to my big, excited puppy?”

Oh god. Shane's dick twitched. His stomach swooped like he was free falling. Puppy. He could never look his mother in the eyes again. What kind of depraved, kinky freak had he become? He had long ago resigned himself to being a very vanilla type of guy, and then this bisexual Russian wet dream ensnared him with his pretty eyes and golden curls and broad shoulders and Shane was descending toward freakdom at alarming rates. Ilya Rozanov was a fucking incubus, as far as Shane was concerned.

“Shane!” Hayden called between cupped hands from the next building down. “Shane, come on dude!”

Shane snapped his head up to Hayden's direction, still not answering anything Ilya had said.

Ilya gave him a small parting nod. “Well. See you, then.”

But as he turned to walk away, Shane grabbed him by the wrist. “Ilya.”

Ilya turned, looked down at Shane's hand, then back up at him.

“We're having a big Halloween party next weekend. I want you to come, okay? Please.”

Ilya studied him for a moment. “Do I have to wear costume?”

Shane tugged at his wrist playfully. “Yes. Come on. It'll be fun.”

“You are wearing costume?”

“Yeah. Me and the guys usually do a group costume. Marlow convinced us to do Baywatch this year.”

“What is that?” Ilya furrowed his brows.

“Baywatch? It's like, uh. Lifeguards.”

“Ah. So you will be in swimsuit?” Ilya cocked his head.

“Yeah.” Shane felt the corners of his own lips curve into a smirk.

“Hm. I suppose I must be there, then.” Ilya's eyes tracked over Shane's face, and their hands slowly brushed together as he extracted himself from Shane's grasp. “Bye, Shane.”

The small smile Ilya gave him from over his shoulder made Shane's heart leap into his throat. Maybe he was an incubus, but he was such an endearing one. Shane was so hopelessly charmed.

Mine.

The hem of the tiny swim red swim trunks felt like it might split in two against Shane's thighs every time he moved. The barely there tank top did very little to cover much of anything. Shane gave himself a somewhat approving look in the mirror as he slid the whistle over his neck that Cliff insisted was part of the costume and that they all wear them.

He admittedly felt a little silly, but a lot of his body was showing, and wasn't that what Halloween was for? Shane felt anticipation buzzing under his skin as he imagined what Ilya would show up in. The anticipation quickly turned to panic when he realized his dick, which was extremely responsive to Ilya wearing just his street clothes, would be trapped in these little red shorts. He tested to see if the tanktop was long enough to pull down over himself. Of course not. This already felt like a very bad idea.

Shane could feel the bass reverberating through the floorboards and voices carrying through the house as he stomped down the steps; Hayden already waiting at the bottom in his matching costume and a drink in each hand. He passed one off to Shane and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Jackie's bringing a couple friends with her. One is this guy from her anatomy class. She says she thinks you'd really like him.” Hayden nudged him with a grin.

Shane practically scowled. “What fucking rock do you live under, Hayden?”

Hayden threw his hands up defensively. “Sorry for trying to help you get laid, dude.”

“I don't need your help. Ilya is coming.”

“Oh, he'll be coming alright.” Cliff wedged himself between them, throwing an arm around them both. “Hollzy's gonna ride that Russian stallion. Fuck, we should have been cowboys!”

Shane closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. These idiots were going to make him go drown himself in the bathtub. “I'm begging. Begging you guys to leave Ilya alone, okay? Like please. He already hates people enough as it is and I need him here. I need this. If you love me at all, you won't fucking bother him.”

“Aww. Of course we love you, Hollzy.” Cliff kissed the top of his head. “We'll be perfect angels. Right, Pike?”

Hayden rolled his eyes. “You don't have to worry about me. I don't have anything to say to the guy.”

“Whatever.” Shane extracted himself from between them and started to make his rounds. There were more people here than he realized; bodies shoved into corners and spilling out both doors into the front and back yards. It was loud enough that he could barely even hear himself think, and he suddenly and very badly wished he could just go somewhere to be alone with Ilya.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Shane picked his head up to see something that actually created a record scratch in his brain. Everything around him stopped moving. His blood stopped pumping in his veins. His brain produced an error code.

Ilya was standing across the room, wearing a red backwards hat and a red and black Russian hockey jersey that had been cropped just above his navel. If Shane thought his own shorts were short, he wasn't sure how to describe what Ilya was wearing. They were an approximation of hockey shorts; black with white crossed laces to tie up the front. But they were sinful. Small and tight with half the fucking laces undone at the top. His Adonis belt was obscene, and there was a dark trail of hair leading down his abs and disappearing into his shorts.

Yeah. Everyone else in this house was going to have to fucking die. No one on this earth should be allowed to have this image of his man in their mind.

Shane wanted to fall to his knees and rub his nose against that thick patch of hair on Ilya's belly. He wanted to trace the cut lines of Ilya's pelvis with his tongue. He wanted to sink his hands into that perfect ass while Ilya fu-

“Oh, damn!” Cliff's sudden booming voice made Shane's body take a screenshot. “Holy fuck. Hollzy. You sure you know how to handle all that?!”

Yup, everyone needed to die. Several people snapped their heads in the direction of Cliff and Shane, including Ilya. But Ilya's gaze raked over Shane in a way that made him shiver and almost forget to be mortified.

He stalked toward Shane like no one else was in the room at all until he was close enough that Shane had to tilt his head up to look at him. His facial hair had started to grow in, and his eyes were a steel blue in the low light, and desire made Shane's mouth flood with saliva.

“You make very pretty lifeguard.” Ilya leaned into his ear to talk over the thumping music. He hooked a finger onto the lanyard holding the whistle around Shane's neck. Shane had to close his eyes for a few seconds to regain his composure.

“Ilya.” He stepped back a bit to get a better look. “I mean. Dude. Come on.” He let out a short laugh of disbelief.

“You are obsessed with me playing hockey, so. I show you.” Ilya turned around, and oh god. ROZANOV was in bold letters across his back; the number 81 slightly cropped off below it. It was his actual jersey. Desecrated into a slutty costume that was scientifically engineered to make all the blood in Shane's body shoot straight to his crotch.

When he turned back around, Shane's eyes dropped immediately to Ilya's exposed abdomen. This was insane, actually. Where did Ilya Rozanov even come from? This quiet, sullen artist who was always sitting with his nose buried in a sketchbook, but somehow also looked like that.

“You look…” Shane blew out a breath, then decided he could no longer stand it. He ran the back of his finger slowly down the warm bare skin of Ilya's stomach. The action made Ilya's abs contract and Shane had to bite his own bottom lip to keep his tongue in his mouth. “Mm.”

Ilya caught Shane's wrist as his hand was just about to meet Ilya's waist band. He leaned in close to Shane's ear again.

“Careful, zaychik.”

Shane came dangerously close to moaning. Ilya was so close and his voice was so deep and teasing and his hand was around Shane's wrist and this room was turning into an inferno. Shane wrapped his hand around Ilya's hip, then turned close to him.

“You want something to drink?” He allowed his lips to brush Ilya's ear as he spoke, and it was intoxicating. The feeling of warm skin and the deep, ambery scent of his cologne. He allowed his hand to grip at Ilya's hip, a gentle squeeze that was so horribly restrained in comparison to what he was thinking about doing to the other man.

“Hm. You have vodka?”

Shane would crawl on his hands and knees through broken glass all the way to the liquor store to get this man what he wanted. Luckily, he had the foresight to stop there earlier in the day after putting more effort into researching what Russians like to drink than he had in his schoolwork all semester.

“For you? Of course.” Shane grinned, patting Ilya's hip before walking toward the kitchen. He pulled the bottle from where he'd hidden it in the back of the freezer, grabbing a solo cup from the counter. When he turned back around, Ilya was leaning in the doorway, watching.

Fucking christ, he was so massive. The way his broad, tall frame filled out the doorway made heat creep up Shane's chest. When Ilya started to walk forward, Shane could see through the doorway that several people were ogling his backside. It made his jaw tense. They could find their own perfect Russian ass to stare at. This one belonged to him.

Shane held the frosty bottle up to him, watching Ilya's eyes narrow.

“You get Russkiy Standart?” He reached out to grab the bottle. Shane figured that meant Russian Standard, which was what the bottle was labeled beneath the cyrillic name, so he nodded.

Ilya reached a hand out to palm Shane's cheek roughly. “Good fucking boy.”

Shane nearly dropped the plastic cup that was still gripped in his hand. He wondered what all his teammates, everyone at this party, would think if they saw this. The unflappable captain Shane Hollander becoming wholly entranced by this man looking him in the eyes and calling him a good fucking boy. The guy who just scored a Gordie Howe hat trick 2 days ago, knuckles still slightly bruised, ready to be willingly dogwalked.

Ilya took the cup from Shane's hand and gave himself a generous pour. “I thought since you are hockey player, maybe you are just big, dumb, and pretty. But you must have brain after all.”

Shane scoffed. “Wow, dude. Harsh.”

Ilya shrugged. “I grow up around hockey players. Usually they are not so smart. But, I think maybe you are full of surprises, Shane Hollander.”

Shane barely had time to breathe out his little contented sigh at that before he heard several voices shouting his name at once. He furrowed his brows, stepping around Ilya to see the folding table had made its way into the living room.

“Hollander!” Hayden was already unsteady on his feet. “Beer pong! You're on my team, come on!”

Shane looked back over his shoulder at Ilya “Wanna play?”

“Ah, no. But you go.” Shane felt Ilya step in close behind him, an arm coming around him before Ilya's hand was pressed flat against Shane's stomach. “Have fun.”

Shane leaned back into him, and suddenly beer pong was actually the stupidest game that had ever existed and he wanted nothing to do with it. He only wanted this feeling; Ilya around him and his ass pressing back into the other man's hips. But Ilya gave him a pat on the abs and slinked off between the bodies littering the living room, so Shane decided to be a good host and join the game after all.

His team destroyed the competition, as they always did, and Shane left the table with a buzzed smile, his whistle missing, and beer splashed against his white tank top. A half naked girl with cat ears on her head was trying to hang off his arm, but Shane was very gay and very much looking for a particular 6 foot 3 man with biceps that he wanted to bite bruises into. “Sorry, sorry.” He muttered as he gently extracted himself from her grasp, head on a swivel.

He figured Ilya would be off brooding in a dark corner alone. Maybe out in the alley smoking a cigarette. But what he saw instead made him still.

Ilya was huddled up with a girl; leaning down to be closer to her as she talked to him and he nodded along. They were very close together, and she was very hot, and Ilya was actually having a conversation with her.

Something went sour on Shane's insides. He had never seen Ilya have a conversation with anyone else. Ever. Maybe a few words in passing. But Shane had always seemed to get a special treatment. An undivided attention that he thought Ilya afforded to no one else. He was wrong, apparently.

Shane watched with a horrible taste clawing up his throat as the girl laughed and placed a hand on his arm. Ilya did not shy away. He smiled at whatever she said. Shane was going to be sick. Or fucking laser beams were going to start shooting from his eyes. Maybe both. He was Ilya's good boy. What the hell did this girl know about anything?

Ilya was quiet, but Shane could tell there was something wild and unrestrained looming under that stoic exterior. He'd bet anything she couldn't handle him. Not like Shane could. Jealousy was a hot and ugly thing that Shane hadn't felt with such intensity before. His chest was heaving. He wanted to go over there and tug Ilya away by the curls spilling from under his hat.

But then a hand brushed his arm, and he jumped sideways, realizing he was now under the very intense gaze of a man who was standing rather close to him.

“Hey. Shane, right?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Shane looked him up and down. He was tall; sort of lanky. He was handsome, in a very conventional sort of way. Clean cut with brown hair and brown eyes and an easy smile.

“I'm Nathan. Jackie's friend?”

Ah. The guy Hayden was trying to set him up with. He didn't have fucking time for this. He needed Ilya. He needed-

An idea flashed through him. Not his proudest, maybe. But in that moment, it felt like he could become the sole proctor of some sort of sick test.

“Right.” Shane turned to face him with a smile. It struck him how much he didn't want this man at all. How he felt not one ounce of the desire that would flood his gut whenever Ilya looked his way.

“You look great, by the way. Like, really hot.” Nathan grinned and leaned in closer. God, Shane hoped Ilya was seeing this. It was childish, but he didn't care. Shane batted his eyes at the other man. He tensed slightly when Nathan's hand came to rest on his bicep, but he didn't move a muscle. Just tried to maintain eye contact. Tried to imagine that girl with her hand on Ilya's arm.

Nathan gave his arm a slight squeeze, and then he was leaning into Shane's ear, and Shane heard himself attempt to swallow his own discomfort. “You wanna go somewhere? We-”

The rest of the sentence was cut off abruptly when Nathan's body was forcibly yanked backwards. The man stumbled in shock; Ilya's hand still fisted into the back of his shirt. “Move.” Ilya grunted before he dropped his grip.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Nathan protested. But Ilya's eyes were on Shane like a predator. Shane felt his own heartbeat turn wild. Ilya grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Upstairs.” He growled into Shane's ear. “Now.”

Shane's breath hitched. Ilya got behind him and nudged him forward, staying close. Shane's mouth went dry as he navigated through people and toward the stairs. Ilya was barely a half step behind him the entire way; his presence a dominant, looming force.

The second Shane opened his bedroom door, Ilya pushed him back into the wall and kicked the door shut hard with his foot.

“What the fuck was that, Shane?” Ilya had a hand gripped tight into the front of Shane's tank top. There he was. Wild and unrestrained, like Shane knew. He should maybe be worried that Ilya had him angrily pressed into a wall, but he wasn't. He was turned the fuck on. Saliva flooded his mouth again. He licked his lips slowly.

“Well? What? You wanted to make me jealous or something? Was that it?” Ilya was practically panting.

“Maybe.”

Ilya pressed him harder into the wall. “Why?”

“I- you were with that girl. You were talking to her and she was touching you.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “You mean girl who is in my program? Who was talking to me about our assignment in drawing class? Who is a lesbian?”

Shane swallowed. “I just…I thought…”

“Oh, Shane. You thought what? That I am only allowed to talk to you? Is that it?” Ilya's eyes moved down to Shane's mouth, then back to his eyes. Shane felt like he was about to start fucking drooling.

“I just-”

“No. You were jealous, zaychik. So you try to make me jealous, yes?”

Shane was starting to pant now, too. “Yes.”

“And what were you going to do, Shane? Hm? You were going to let him touch you?” Ilya's face was so close now that their noses brushed together. “You were going to bring him up here instead of me?”

“I-”

But before Shane could protest, Ilya was biting down hard on Shane's bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth. Shane gasped into it; pain and pleasure shooting off in tandem in a way that made Shane's heart stutter. He clutched into the back of Ilya's shirt to keep himself steady.

When Ilya pulled back, his eyes were almost black. Flooded with an intensity that made Shane's dick strain painfully against his shorts. “I thought you want to be good for me, Shane.”

“I do.” Shane said quickly. “I want that. Fuck.” He grasped at the curls on the nape of Ilya's neck. “Do you?”

Ilya grasped him by the jaw. “You follow me around this whole campus with those fucking Bambi eyes and you ask me if I want?” He put his lips close to Shane's, teasing. “My Shane. I fucking want.”

Shane crashed their mouths together. Ilya's lips were so hot and soft against his own, and he felt his mouth immediately drop open to let Ilya's tongue inside. He had never in his life moaned while kissing. The moan that pushed up from the back of his throat was completely uncontrolled. Ilya was everywhere. Sucking and biting at Shane's bottom lip; at his tongue. Shane felt drool slide onto his chin. He pushed the hat off of Ilya's head and sunk his fingers deep into those thick curls and moaned again.

Ilya was making deep, needy noises into Shane's mouth and Shane was so hard he felt like his shorts were going to rip right off his body. Ilya rolled his hips forward, and Shane's head thunked back against the wall. Ilya was rock fucking hard and he was huge and he pressed right up against Shane and Shane was going to pass out from lack of oxygen to his brain.

Ilya put one muscular thigh between Shane's legs. Knife to Shane's throat, he would not have been able to stop himself from rocking against it.

“That's it.” Ilya's voice was deep and low and coaxing and Shane moaned softly, hands digging into strong shoulders for leverage as he grinded. “Good boy. Does that feel good?”

“F-fuck.” Shane gritted out. He needed to stop. He was going to come in his shorts like a teenager.

“Tell me, zaychik.” Ilya said into his ear. Shane shuddered out another moan.

“Feels fucking good, fuck.”

He felt Ilya mouthing at his neck; tongue and lips all over it before he latched onto the flesh and started to suck in a bruise. Shane tilted his head to the side, baring more of his neck for Ilya to claim. Fuck, he wanted this. He wanted Ilya Rozanov's proof all over him.

“Tell me who you are good for.” Ilya's voice sounded raw.

“For you.” Shane tugged at his curls again. “Fuck, Ilya. Just for you.”

Ilya put his lips to Shane's ear. “Show me.”

He moved to lean back against the door, and Shane dropped to his knees so hard he was sure they would bruise. He immediately sunk both hands into the meat of Ilya's ass as he started to nose against the hair on his lower belly. He took in the scent of him, pulse jumping at the feeling of the coarse hair against the soft skin on his face. He moved down to nuzzle his cheek against Ilya's hard length as he looked up at him through his lashes. He felt himself leak into his own shorts as Ilya looked back down at him; eyes half lidded and face flushed. Both hands laced through Shane's hair.

Shane started to mouth at him, sucking and licking through the fabric of his shorts.

“Oh, fuck, Shane. You fucking love it.”

Oh, he fucking loved it. He wanted to live here. Right here, with his face shoved against Ilya's hard dick that was big enough to earn its own zip code. Shane started to undo the rest of the laces on the shorts, breath coming quicker when he moved to yank the shorts down. They got caught on the swell of Ilya's ass, and Shane had to close his eyes to calm himself down. He yanked harder, and Ilya's cock sprang free, and Shane audibly gasped.

It was massive, and Shane couldn't filter himself. “Holy fuck, Rozanov.”

Ilya palmed Shane's cheek sort of sweetly, and Shane melted into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. His thumb stroked Shane's cheekbone, back and forth gently. “Show me, zaychik.” He cooed.

Shane wet his lips before he wrapped them around the tip, letting the first few inches slide back against his tongue. He heard Ilya exhale hard through his nose, one hand still laced in the top of Shane's hair. Shane did his best to relax his jaw, like he was a python devouring his meal, and slid as much into his mouth as he could. He was drooling so much that it was dripping from the corners of his mouth; droplets falling to the floor in front of his knees.

“Fuck, Shane. Good boy. Your mouth is-” Ilya's head fell back against the door as he let out a low moan. Shane moaned around him, trying desperately to shift in a way that would relieve the pressure against his trapped cock. He had never been so turned on in his entire fucking life. He was throbbing against the seam of his shorts and he seriously felt like he might actually come just from this. The feeling of Ilya hitting the back of his throat. The sounds he was making. He started to move faster, and Ilya started to rock his hips into Shane's mouth, and Shane couldn't stand it anymore. He reached down to palm himself, groaning hard.

It was good. Everything felt so good. How did sucking someone else's dick feel so fucking good? He couldn't stop himself from moaning around Ilya again, low and deep, and then he was suddenly being pulled to his feet.

Ilya laced his fingers in the back of Shane's hair and pulled him in close. “You keep doing that, I am going to come.”

Shane wanted that. He wanted that very much. He needed to see what Ilya looked like when his orgasm hit. Needed to hear it. Needed to taste it. “I want-”

“Shh.” Ilya sucked Shane's bottom lip into his mouth. “Not yet.” Ilya's hand came down to rub at him through his shorts, and every muscle in his stomach jumped.

“Fuck, fuck.” He started to grind into Ilya's palm.

“You cannot stop yourself, hm?” Ilya's thumb pressed over the growing wet spot in the fabric. “Fuck, Shane. Take these off. All of it.”

Shane stepped back, stumbling a bit over himself, feeling dazed. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. He threw his shirt off and carefully stepped out of his shorts. He watched as Ilya yanked the jersey off over his head.

Shane immediately closed the distance again, grabbing greedily at Ilya's chest. Fuck, he'd been dreaming about this. His hips bucked forward, seeking friction, and found Ilya's cock; hot and hard and still slick with Shane's spit. Ilya sucked in a breath, and Shane threw his head back. This was crazy. Why had he waited so fucking long to be gay?

“Enough.” Ilya pushed him back. Shane actually whined. “Shh. Is okay” Ilya petted the back of his head. “Against the wall.”

Shane backed up until he hit the wall, his heart hammering wildly. Ilya kissed him, tongue first and filthy, before sinking to his knees. That mop of golden hair was shining like a halo. Those plush, pink lips were kiss swollen and so wet when Ilya leaned in and nearly swallowed Shane completely in one go.

“Oh, fuck. Holy fuck.” Shane's hands gripped into Ilya's curls as he tried to get ahold of himself. “Ilya, dude, oh my god, how the fuck are you doing that?”

Clearly, this man was not real. Shane had created him in his own fantastical mind. He was the hottest thing Shane had ever laid his eyes on, he was hung like a fucking horse, and he currently had Shane's very much above average sized dick halfway down his throat. Shane moaned, and Ilya grabbed him by the hips, squeezing. He worked his mouth around Shane for a few more seconds before he suddenly pulled off, a trail of saliva hanging from his mouth. He tightened his grip on Shane's hips, pulling at them. “Turn. Turn around. Face the wall.”

Shane furrowed his brows, but turned immediately, because he would literally do anything this fantasy man told him to do. He stared at the wall, still feeling slightly confused, until he felt two hands grab at his ass and spread him apart, and he wasn't confused anymore.

“So fucking perfect, zaychik. Look at you.” Was the last thing Shane heard before he ascended to another astral plane.

Ilya's tongue licked a wet stripe all the way up, and Shane gasped. His forehead fell forward to hit the wall with a quiet thud. Ilya started to tongue and mouth at his hole like he was a starving man, and Shane's knees went weak. Ilya's beard was scratching harshly against him, and his mouth was so good, and Shane was clawing at the wall like a cat. He moaned loudly, unable to stop himself from pushing back against Ilya's face.

The way Ilya moaned against him made a match strike straight up his spine. He started to grind back against Ilya's mouth, his panting and moaning sounding as wild as he felt.

“God, Ilya, fuck that's good.” He babbled. Ilya hummed appreciatively, and suddenly, his tongue breached the muscle and started to fuck its way inside.

Shane gasped, bending and essentially shoving his ass into Ilya's face, but Ilya apparently really fucking loved eating ass, because he moaned and squeezed Shane's cheeks possessively.

“Ilya, I'm close, I'm fucking- holy shit. You-” He didn't even know what he was trying to say. Ilya was tongue fucking him like Shane was the best thing he'd ever tasted, and Shane's stomach was clenching tight as his orgasm built. Ilya's hand reached around and started to stroke him in time with the rhythm of his tongue, and Shane whited out.

His orgasm rocketed through him in a way that made his entire body shake. His legs were trembling and his head was thrown back and he was coating Ilya's fist with more cum than he'd ever produced in his entire life. When Ilya pulled back, Shane nearly collapsed, but Ilya put an arm around his middle.

“On your knees, okay?”

His voice was surprisingly gentle, but he looked fucking wrecked. The entire lower half of his face was wet, and he was panting, chest sweaty and heaving. He was beautiful.

Shane sank to his knees in front of him and watched in awe as Ilya used Shane's cum on his hand to coat his hard dick as he stroked it. “Open.”

Oh, fuck.

Shane's mouth dropped open, his tongue poking out.

“Mm. That's it. Just like that, my pretty boy.”

Shane impossibly felt his dick twitch. Ilya started to grunt out his moans, and Shane felt like he was watching art be created right before his eyes. Ilya was sweating and flushed and his moans were a low growl and then suddenly, he was coming. All over Shane's tongue and lips and chin. Shane couldn't stop himself from licking at the tip before swiping his tongue over his lips to try and lick up as much as he could. God, had he always been such a slut? What the hell version of Shane had Ilya Rozanov unlocked?

Shane grabbed Ilya's wrist and started to lick his hand clean, and Ilya stared down at him, jaw slack. “Come here, zaychik.”

He helped to pull Shane up and into a bruising kiss. Shane didn't care where Ilya's tongue had been. He sucked it into his mouth and swallowed Ilya's sighs because he was Shane fucking Hollander and this was what he'd been wanting since that first day of class.

When they eventually pulled apart, Shane led Ilya by the wrist into the bathroom. He tossed him a washcloth and they both wiped themselves clean before Shane walked back into the bedroom and collapsed onto his bed with a contented sigh. Everything felt warm and his muscles were loose and he couldn't wipe the smile off his lips.

Ilya sat down on the far edge of the bed, reaching down for his shorts. He had gone very quiet.

“What are you doing? Why are you all the way over there?”

Ilya sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Shane wanted to bury both his hands back into it.

“I do not…” He let out a small, frustrated huff. “I do not understand what you want with me.”

Shane laughed. He didn't mean to laugh, and it was kind of fucking rude, and he slapped a hand over his mouth after he did it, as if that would make it better. Ilya shot him a look that Shane couldn't quite decipher.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. Was it not obvious by the way Shane had just slobbered all over his dick and ate cum out of his hand? Because Shane felt like that was pretty obvious. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He rubbed at the side of his nose, looking agitated. “Obviously, I know you wanted to hookup. This has been very obvious for long time. But you…you are not hooking up with anyone else?”

Shane shook his head, sitting up a bit now.

“And you follow me around like you are puppy waiting for me to pet you. You skip parties to sit around and watch me paint. I do not understand.”

“What don't you understand?” Shane felt just as confused as Ilya looked.

“You can have anyone. People are tripping over themselves to look at you. You could fuck anyone on this campus. Why you are chasing me around for weeks and weeks and being with no one else? You are…you.”

Shane pushed himself to the edge of the bed. His chest started to ache. This beautiful fucking man felt like…what? He wasn't worth being chased?

“Dude. Ilya. You know you're hot as fuck, right? Like…you own a mirror.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Plenty of people are hot.”

“Uhh.” Shane huffed out a laugh. “Not this fucking hot, dude. You're, like, unbelievable, actually. And it's not even just that. You're interesting. You're cool to talk to, even if you don't talk much. I don't mind it. I'm around loud fucking people all day long. Being with you is…it's nice, okay? You're funny and you're smart and you're fucking interesting. I don't know anyone like you.”

Ilya turned to look at him then; his face a mask of uncertainty.

“What are you thinking?” Shane asked quietly.

He looked down again. “I do not know. Maybe that this is just for fun for you. I should maybe leave before you can tell me it's over, because that will hurt.”

Well, that broke Shane's heart clean in half.

“Ilya. I don't want you to leave. I don't want it to be over. I like you. Okay? I like you a lot. If I haven't made that very obvious by now.”

Ilya chewed his lip, looking up at him. “Is not just for…this?” He gestured at his body. “Because you want me to fuck you?”

“Well, I do want that. Like, I really fucking want that. But no. It's not just for that.” Shane laid back down. “Come here. Please.”

Ilya hesitated, but crawled to lay down next to him.

“I fucking like you. I don't want anyone else to put their arm around me. I don't want you to put your arm around anyone else. Okay?”

Ilya leaned forward and kissed him, and it was so sweet and tender that Shane's heart fluttered like a caged bird.

“I'm your Shane. You said it yourself.” He pet the curls at the nape of Ilya's neck.

Ilya put a hand on Shane's chest. “You are not what I expect, Shane Hollander.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Shane leaned forward and kissed him again, because he could, and it felt like he was flying. Ilya Rozanov. In his bed. Kissing him. He was giddy with it.

“You are not going back to party?”

Shane scoffed. “Fuck that. I have the hottest guy at the party naked in my bed. Why would I leave?”

Ilya gave him a genuine grin, and Shane wanted to frame it and carry it around in his pocket.

Shane dug around in the blankets for the remote and flipped the TV on to the NHL game. Ilya rolled his eyes, but pulled Shane down into him.

Shane wasn't really sure what he believed in, but his prayers had been answered, because he fell asleep face first in Ilya Rozanov's naked chest.

Chapter End Notes

Zaychik/зайчик: Bunny

Can we get a little commotion in the chat for world champion 🍑 eater, possessive af ilya in a slutty hockey player costume

Actually manufactured in a lab to torture Shane in the best way possible 🙂‍↕️

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Shane was dreaming. He had to be dreaming, or maybe he died and this was his heaven, because he could feel the solid weight of a very large and very naked Russian plastered to his back.

Ilya had an arm wound tight around Shane's middle, a leg hitched up over one of Shane's thighs, and his face pressed into Shane's shoulder.

It struck him then, how sweet this guy actually was. Drawing Shane pictures. Inviting him to the studio, despite seeming like a deeply private person. Coming to these huge parties, which he did not seem to enjoy at all, just because Shane asked him to. And now here he was; cuddled up to Shane, curled around him so close. Such a sweet thing.

Well, except for when he got jealous and horny. That seemed to flip a switch that turned him into a hungry predator. Shane could feel the bruise forming just below his lower lip where Ilya's teeth had sunk into him. And he fucking loved it. He loved the way Ilya took control. He wanted this sweet boy to tear him the fuck apart.

Maybe Ilya was absorbing Shane's thoughts through his skin, because he suddenly started to feel something hot and hard pressing into the cleft of his ass. Right. Ilya Rozanov's mouth wateringly massive dick. Shane knew it was still the middle of the night and that they both already came a couple of hours ago, but he wanted more. He needed more. He was a dog and Ilya was a bone and he was not done chewing.

Shane shamelessly rolled his hips back, grinding his ass slowly against Ilya. His own cock was rigid and throbbing with need against his hip. Maybe it was apt that Ilya kept calling him bunny, because all he wanted to do right now was hop on top of him and bounce on it until his legs gave out.

He kept up in his movements; rolling the soft flesh of his ass against Ilya rhythmically. He felt Ilya stir a bit, then heard that deep, delicious voice start to murmur in Russian against his neck.

He must not know that Shane is fucking insane for it. That just the sound of his voice would undo him. He tried to bite back his needy whine, but failed. Ilya hummed against his skin, then started to lay soft kisses and bites along the side of his neck, his hand trailing down Shane's stomach before it wrapped around his hard length and gave it a few lazy strokes.

Shane was so close to busting right then and there, which would be embarrassing, but he couldn't help it. His back arched as he exhaled a breathy moan. Ilya put his lips to Shane's ear.

“Povernis, zaychik.” He moved his hand to Shane's hip. “Povernis.” He repeated, patting at Shane's hip expectantly.

“I don't…”

“Sorry. I mean turn. I want to see you, zaychik.” His voice was still hoarse with sleep, and Shane felt himself start to leak a bit, because this man literally sounded like he should be narrating one of those porn novels that girls like to read.

Shane flipped onto his back and was immediately met with Ilya hovering over him. His curls were tousled and his face was still soft with sleep and Shane wanted to scream into his pillow. Was this for real?

Ilya rubbed the pad of his thumb across Shane's cheek bones. Down the bridge of his nose. Over his bottom lip. He leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, and Shane felt like he was floating outside of his body.

When Ilya pulled back, he straddled him, hands roaming over Shane's arms and chest and stomach. “Everyone wants this, don't they? Such a big boy. So pretty.”

Shane's breathing was already going ragged. He felt himself flush from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest. He was suddenly glad that Ilya was usually so quiet, because apparently he chose to use his few words as a weapon of mass destruction.

Ilya put a hand on each of his pecs, thumbing his nipples slowly. Shane arched into the touch, moaning softly. “They want, but they never know how to please you.”

Jesus christ. Maybe Cliff was right. Maybe Shane didn't know how to handle this man. He was staring at Shane like he was something to be revered. He ran his hands down his abs and to his hips, holding them in a possessive grip.

“Beautiful boy. I want to make you feel so good, Shane.”

“Yes, fuck, fuck, I want that-” Shane nearly exploded, but Ilya's hand came to cradle the side of his face.

“Shh. Calm, zaychik. Always so eager.” He ran his hand through Shane's hair.
“Always following me around. So excited, like a puppy.” He leaned into Shane's ear. “Tell me what you want, puppy.”

Shane blacked out. Like, he was pretty sure he actually blacked out. He sent a silent apology to his roommates and whoever else was crashing here from the party, because Shane was going to make sure this bed was broken by the time they were done.

He shoved Ilya over and climbed on top of him in one swift motion. He straddled Ilya's slim hips and started to let his hands explore that big body, just as he had explored Shane's. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Ilya Rozanov? Fuck, dude. I've never-”

He ran a hand through the hair below Ilya's navel, mouth slack, and heard himself let out an embarrassing little whine. “I want you. Fuck, I want you.” He leaned forward and laved his tongue over the strong muscle of his pelvis. “Oh god.” He whined again, mouth still against Ilya's skin.

Yeah, Shane had lost his fucking mind. He was whining as he kissed and licked his way back up to Ilya's chest, desperate beyond control. When he chanced to look up at Ilya, he looked totally in awe.

“I want you, Ilya, fuck-” He cut himself off by biting hard into the meat of Ilya's pec. Ilya gasped beneath him.

“Fuck, Shane.”

“You're so hot. You're so hot, Ilya. Fuck you make me insane.” He dug both hands into Ilya's hair and claimed his mouth in a messy kiss, their tongues fighting for dominance. Shane's whole body was burning hot. He pulled back, staring down at that devastatingly handsome face. “I need it, Ilya. I need-”

Shane's insane babbling was cut short when Ilya lunged forward and practically tackled him down to the other side of the bed, pinning him there. Wild boy. Shane changed his mind. He would find a way to handle him. Shane was 200 pounds and fucking solid. Sure, he was sort of terrified that his dildo looked like a pinky finger in comparison to the Russian cock he was about to be impaled with, but he could take it.

Shane bit his lip with a smile as Ilya tightened his grip around Shane's wrists where he held them down above his head. He was seconds away from starting to purr.

Ilya started to cover his neck in wet kisses. “You want me to fuck you, zaychik?”

Shane writhed beneath him. “Yes, Ilya, yes, fuck.” He was being loud and he didn't care. He would scream it louder.

Ilya started to kiss and lick his way down Shane's chest, his stomach, nipping at his hip before giving a slow lick to the underside of Shane's cock where it was hard against his stomach. He lapped up the stickiness that had gathered at the tip, and Shane trembled. This man was a fucking artist, and his tongue was his paintbrush. Shane was going to lock him up in this room and never let him paint anyone else ever again.

Ilya swallowed him down slowly, taking more and more of him until his nose was brushing against Shane's pelvis. He could feel the way his throat worked around him in time with his lips and tongue and Shane suddenly understood why his friends all loved head so much. JJ had deemed his current situationship the “throat GOAT”, but JJ clearly had never been bewitched by Ilya Rozanov's throat, because there was no way that girl was better than this.

“Dude. Holy fu-” Shane dissolved into a moan, hands buried into Ilya's hair. He'd never been so obsessed with someone's fucking hair before. Was it normal to be turned on by hair? Seeing the honey colored curls bounce softly as Ilya bobbed his head was making him lose his mind. “God, Ilya you have to- I don't wanna come yet-”

Ilya pulled off, mouth dripping and lips swollen as he panted softly. He pressed a few kisses to Shane's hip.

“On your stomach.”

Shane didn't even care to fight back his excited grin as he flipped over, practically vibrating with need. Hands came to grope his ass, squeezing at it lightly.

“You have done this before?”

Even if he had, he was sure it wouldn't have mattered, because he'd never done it with Ilya before. His sweet, wild Ilya who was rubbing his hands up and down Shane's back as if he were mapping him out.

“No. Not with another person.”

Ilya trailed a finger down to his hole, teasing it with a feather light touch. “You touch yourself here?”

Shane nodded, biting down on his lip as he looked over his shoulder at the large man positioned behind him. “I have…a toy.”

He blushed a bit at the admission, but Ilya had his tongue up Shane's ass a couple hours ago, so he figured they were probably past the point of being shy.

“Ah. Is big?” Ilya cocked an eyebrow.

Shane laughed, burying his face into the blankets for a moment before looking over his shoulder again. “I don't know, dude. It's normal. Not as big as you, that's for fucking sure.”

Ilya hummed at that, and Shane could swear he saw him blush a bit. God, he was so cute.

“We will go slow.” He massaged at the backs of Shane's thighs, then planted a kiss on his ass cheek. “Lube?”

Shane scrambled to the nightstand and grabbed it from the drawer, quick and uncoordinated. He tossed the lube over his shoulder, and Ilya caught it mid air with one hand as the other continued to grope at Shane's ass. Oh. Shane was going to marry this man.

He was completely transfixed as Ilya popped the cap open with his teeth and drizzled a generous amount until his fingers were coated. “Relax for me, okay?” Ilya's free hand rubbed soothing circles across Shane's lower back.

Shane laid his cheek to the mattress and took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut when he felt Ilya's finger circle his entrance slowly. At the first push in, Shane blew out a breath of relief at the feeling. His fingers were much longer than Shane's and the angle was so much better than anything he could do himself. Ilya's free hand rubbed up down his thigh as he added a second finger, pushing them in and out at a slow pace that had Shane rocking his hips slightly.

When Ilya's fingers suddenly curled in and pressed, Shane gasped and grabbed at the sheet. “Oh shit.”

Ilya made a satisfied sound, then repeated the motion. Shane gasped out another moan, the pleasure rocketing up his spine. “Dude, Ilya, what the fuck. That feels- hnnnngh.” His eyes rolled back when Ilya stroked at the spot again. He knew, in theory, about the male G-spot; but he'd never actually been able to figure it out himself. Shane unconsciously started to push back against Ilya's fingers, chasing the feeling.

“Good boy. Look at you.” Ilya cooed softly. The praise made Shane leak onto the sheet beneath him. He rolled his hips forward, then back again, groaning loudly when he was met with a third finger. Ilya was murmuring contently, deep and low, like he was enjoying this just as much as Shane was.

When Shane became a whining mess against Ilya's hand, he gently pulled his fingers out and pressed a kiss to the small of Shane's back.

Shane instinctively turned onto his side to watch Ilya as he reached into the drawer to grab a condom; not wanting him out of his sight. But when Shane went to roll onto his stomach again, Ilya grabbed his arm. “No. On your back.”

Shane's breathing picked up as reality started to set in. Ilya was crawling between his legs, the condom between his teeth. He tore the wrapper open, eyes on Shane as he rolled it down onto himself. Fuck. Okay. It was still as big as Shane remembered.

Ilya drizzled lube onto himself, eyes catching Shane's again. “Do not worry, zaychik. It will fit.”

Shane huffed out a laugh, but it quickly faded when Ilya pushed his legs up. He could feel his heartbeat kick wildly in his throat. This was happening. Ilya lined up against him, leaning down over Shane to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Yes?”

He nodded in response, unable to find his voice.

“Relax.” Ilya whispered.

At the first push in, Shane threw his head back, gasping at the stretch. He dug his fingers into Ilya's back as he inched his way in slowly. “Oh fuck-”

Shane's neck was arching now. He felt impossibly full. And he fucking loved it. When Ilya finally bottomed out, he cradled Shane's face. “You are okay?”

“Yeah. I'm okay. Fuck. You're so…christ you're fucking big.” Shane let out a breathy laugh. “It feels…fuck.”

“You tell me if we need to stop, okay?” Ilya started to rock into him slowly. Shane was never going to ask him to stop. His whole body felt hot as he reached down and grabbed at Ilya's ass, coaxing him into going harder.

The pace started to pick up, and when Ilya threw one of Shane's legs over his shoulder and drove in at a sharper angle, he practically screamed.

“Oh, fuck, shit, fuck fuck, that's- don't stop, Ilya, oh my god. Ilya-” He was yelling, and he knew he was. He hoped people were still awake. He wanted them all to know exactly who was fucking him into another dimension right now. He was contemplating adding Ilya's last name into his moans too, just so there was absolutely no confusion.

He lifted his hips, trying to meet Ilya for every thrust. Ilya's mouth was hanging open and his face was flushed and slick with sweat.

“Fuck, Shane. You take it so good. Look at you.” He threw his head back with a moan that made Shane's back arch. “You are…fuck. So tight.”

Shane felt feral. He could tell Ilya was trying to be gentle with him. He was so, so sweet. But Shane needed more. He needed to feel it, full force, like they were wild fucking animals, because that's how he felt.

“Ilya.” He tugged a hand through the top of Ilya's hair. “Harder. I need it harder. Fuck, please.”

“I do not want to hurt you, zaychik. You-”

“Ilya.” Shane snapped, putting both hands on his face now. “Look at me. You won't-” he moaned loudly at a particularly good roll of Ilya's hips, but tried to keep his composure. “You won't hurt me. I promise. I need it. You don't understand how bad I need it. I want to fucking feel it, Ilya. Please.”

He was starting to whine, and he could see Ilya's face start to change above him. Something darkened in his expression. He crashed their mouths together, sucking hard at Shane's tongue in a way that made him gasp before pulling out and flipping Shane onto his stomach. He felt Ilya step off the end of the bed, then felt a hand grab each of his calves and yank him hard toward the edge. Oh. Oh shit.

Now standing on the floor, Ilya lifted Shane's hips up, hands holding them tightly. “If is too much, you tell me, okay?”

Shane was panting in anticipation now. He felt his knees tremble.

“Shane?”

“Yeah, yes. I will. I promise.”

Ilya leaned down and bit him hard on one ass cheek, his hand squeezing bruisingly into a thigh. “Yes, fuck.” Shane moaned out, forehead falling forward onto the mattress.

He braced himself on his forearms when he felt both hands grip his ass. He was wondering why Ilya was hesitating, but then heard the unmistakable sound of saliva being gathered in one's mouth. Was he about to-

Ilya spit directly onto his hole, and Shane's mouth fell open. God, he so badly wished it had been into his mouth, but this would have to do. He arched his back, pushing his ass closer to Ilya.

“Fucking needy.” Ilya grunted out, and Shane barely was able to take another breath before Ilya well and truly started to rearrange his fucking guts.

He was fucking into Shane so hard that he was sure there would be bruises on his ass from Ilya's hip bones. Fuck, he had some strong hips. Probably from hockey. Oh god. Shane couldn't think about that right now if he wanted to last longer than 30 seconds.

Ilya was so deep he could feel him in his stomach. It was a sensation he'd never experienced, and it lit up all his senses like a Christmas tree. He wasn't sure what was louder; Ilya grunting, his own wailing, the slap of skin, or the headboard slamming violently into the wall.

Ilya reached down and grabbed a handful of Shane's hair. “This is what you wanted?” He grunted out.

“Y-yes…oh fuck…” He wasn't even sure how he was still talking at this point. He could feel his pulse everywhere.

“My good fucking boy. This is all mine. Say it, Shane.” Ilya grunted out.

“Yes, yours, it's all yours Ilya, oh my god. Oh FUCK-” Shane had clawed the sheets off the bed and had them balled between his fists. Holy shit. He was going to come. Nothing was even touching his dick, and he was absolutely about to come his fucking brains out. He was drooling, and tears were spilling from the corners of his eyes, and he was making punched out sounds on every thrust, and he was flying the fuck apart.

“Ilya, oh my god, Ilya, I'm- fuck, I'm gonna come. Fuck-” He wailed out, and Ilya drove into him hard, moaning loudly behind him. Shane heard the wood from the head board splinter and crack.

“Fuck, Shane. Fucking come for me, zaychik, let me fucking feel it.” He gritted out, and Shane came untethered from the earth.

He was shooting out rope after rope, stomach clenching and contracting, thighs shaking and eyes rolling back in his head. He was vaguely aware of Ilya's motions stuttering behind him as he cursed out in Russian, flooding the condom before he collapsed on top of Shane.

For a few moments, they both just laid silently, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath.

“Shane.” Ilya petted the back of his head. “You are okay?”

He nodded weakly. “Mm okay.” He croaked out. He felt gentle kisses across his shoulder blades; Ilya's massive body a nice solid weight against his back. “So good, Ilya.” He murmured. “You're so good.”

He needed to get up and clean himself off, but Ilya felt so nice on top of him, and his whole body was so warm and floaty. He closed his eyes, a tiny smile playing at his lips.

When Shane woke for the second time that morning, it was to golden sunlight shining through the gaps in the blinds, and golden curls tucked under his chin.

He realized that Ilya was sound asleep with a cheek to Shane's chest and one hand wrapped around Shane's forearm. He definitely hadn't imagined Ilya would be so cuddly, but it filled him with an overwhelming sense of giddiness. He wanted Ilya to be clingy and possessive. He wanted it to be borderline unhealthy, like those disgusting couples who grope each other in line for amusement park rides.

He tried to stretch his legs, and immediately felt the soreness between them. Playing hockey meant he was no stranger to aches and pains, but this was something different. A reminder that he had taken it like a fucking champ. He had taken it like a champ and came just from Ilya's dick because he was Shane fucking Hollander and he never did anything halfway.

His stirring must have woken Ilya, because he felt warm, soft kisses start to be laid over his chest. His insides melted. His eyes turned to hearts. He was about to look up flights to Vegas and reservations at the Little White Chapel because Ilya Rozanov was simultaneously the hottest and most adorable person he'd ever encountered and he was going to lock him the fuck down.

“Hey.” He ran his hand through Ilya's hair. “I'm gonna go get us some water, okay? You stay here.”

Ilya rolled off of him with a groan. Shane slid off the bed, picking up a pair of discarded joggers from the floor. He pulled them on and started for his bedroom door and- fuck. He was limping. Not just from the soreness, but in between his ass cheeks felt raw and chafing. It must have been from Ilya's beard when he went at him like his ass was the main course in a competitive eating contest. He turned around to make sure Ilya hadn't seen, not wanting to worry him, and instead honed in on the huge crack in the headboard. Shane slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh. Hell yeah.

He was glad to see Hayden and JJ's bedroom doors were still closed as he started his pathetic advance downstairs and to the kitchen. He grimaced a bit with each step, trying to move gingerly.

“Noooo fucking way.”

Shane's head snapped up at the sound of Cliff's voice where he appeared in the doorway. He must have slept on the couch. Great.

“Hollzy. No way you got dicked down so hard that you're limping. Tell me you're fucking lying.” Cliff's face was one of pure amusement. “Well, actually, I know you aren't lying because it sounded like a fucking porno was being filmed in your room. Or a crime was being committed. Dude. Fuck yes”. He held out his fist, and Shane bumped it as he rolled his eyes.

“It was really that good?” Cliff raised his eyebrows.

Shane smirked. “Better.”

Cliff let out a low whistle. “No shit. He's packing?”

“Uhhh, yeah. Can you not tell by the way I can't fucking walk right now?”

“Well god damn.” Cliff clapped him on the shoulder. “You're glowing, Hollzy. I need the full review.”

Shane considered for a moment. He wasn't really much for sharing his sexual encounters with his friends, usually because there wasn't much to tell. But maybe it was his turn to brag. “I mean. His mouth is fucking legendary. Like, mind blowing, dude. And he fucked me so hard I came without touching my dick. So, like. 100 out of 10.”

Cliff beamed. “Awww, shit, man. You got me curious now. Think he has another round in him?”

Shane shoved him. “Fucking ew, dude. That's my husband. Go the fuck away.”

“Husband already?” Cliff raised his brows nearly to his hairline, delighted.

“Well I'm not letting anyone else take him, that's for fucking sure. I seriously don't understand how he's single.”

“One, he doesn't fucking talk. Two, I don't think he's single anymore.” Cliff gave him an exaggerated wink.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Shane grinned smugly.

He tried to sneak back into the room quietly, a cold water bottle in each hand. He got half way to the bed when he realized the lump of blankets in the center was not Ilya, and the real Ilya was staring at him from the doorway of the bathroom, still stark naked. What a vision.

“Shane. You are limping.” Ilya's face twisted with concern. Fuck.

He tried to be as casual as possible as he set the water bottles down. “I'm good, dude. It's fine-”

“Nyet. No.” Ilya crossed the room with long strides and took Shane's face in his hands, eyes searching. “Shane-”

“Ilya. I'm really fine. I swear to god. I'm just a little sore and you gave me fucking beard burn between my ass cheeks, which isn't helping.” He laughed, putting his hands on Ilya's waist. The beard burn really was the most uncomfortable part. He felt like he had a fucking diaper rash.

To Shane's disbelief, Ilya almost looked like he was about to start crying. He looked so guilty that Shane had to remind himself that this angel boy was indeed also the wild one who bit a bruise into his lip and spit directly onto his asshole last night. Apparently, Ilya Rozanov contained multitudes.

“I should not have gone so hard. Fuck, Shane. I'm sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”

“You didn't even hurt me.” Shane insisted, and he meant it. “It's like…when you do a really intense workout. You just get a little sore after. It's really fine.” He reached up to pull Ilya's head down so he could talk into his ear. “And it was really fucking hot. I loved it. Okay?”

Ilya wrapped his arms around him, a hand protectively cradling the back of Shane's head. “Was very hot, zaychik. Just promise me you are okay.”

Shane was better than okay. He got his back blown out by a Russian sweetheart who angrily dragged him to bed the second he sensed another man flirting with him. It might have been the best thing that ever happened to him, actually.

“Promise.”

He let Ilya pull him back into the bed and tangle all his limbs around him. He needed to shower, but that didn't matter. His future husband was very cuddly, which took clear priority.

He wondered if anything had ever felt as good as a man the size of a refrigerator slowly suffocating him with his entire body weight.

It was begrudgingly that Shane finally let Ilya out of his room. Wearing Shane's basketball shorts and one of his team issued hoodies, of course, because he was never letting Ilya wear that damned Halloween costume in front of anyone else ever again.

It was also really hot to see Ilya in his clothes. The hoodie strained at his shoulders a bit and the sleeves fell slightly too short and he knew his own cologne was all over it. He could smell it when Ilya leaned down to give him a searing parting kiss that left Shane's whole mouth tingling.

They had honestly kissed an alarming amount that whole day; far more than Shane had ever kissed anyone else combined. But he couldn't stop. Ilya's tongue felt good against his own. Against the roof of his mouth. The backs of his teeth. He kissed Shane like he wanted to snatch his soul out through his mouth. It was fucking awesome.

He didn't think he could possibly be more obsessed with Ilya Rozanov; but then he tasted him. Had his hands all over him. Had him asleep on his chest. Saw the genuine concern in his eyes when he thought he hurt Shane. Saw the genuine fire in his eyes when he was 9 inches deep. There was absolutely no turning back now. If Ilya didn't want this, he would probably just have to kill them both at this point, because he had truly lost his mind over this boy.

But Shane figured Ilya maybe did want this, considering they had been texting almost non stop for the past few days, from the moment he left Shane's room. Also considering when he happened to peek over Ilya's shoulder while he was on his phone, not that he was trying to snoop, he saw their text thread right at the top of the screen under “my Shane 😍”. His heart had nearly exploded.

He had been wishing all night that Ilya was here. He knew being stuffed into the rowdy bar with most of the hockey team and half of the football team was probably not Ilya's scene, but everyone always brought their girlfriends and dates, so Shane had invited him anyway. Ilya politely declined in favor of catching up on his schoolwork, which didn't surprise Shane at all. But he still wished Ilya was there. He wanted to show him off. So many guys had pretty girls half in their laps and looked way too pleased with themselves over it. He wanted to see their faces when the Shane Hollander was crawling into the lap of a big, strong man of his own.

Shane didn't care anymore what anyone thought. Ilya was, objectively, hot as fuck. He was also a good fucking person. If someone had a problem with seeing them together, he would love to have them say it to his face. He had the best right hook on the team and he would gladly give a demonstration.

It was almost 11 by the time his large group spilled out of the bar and into the direction of the townhouse. Shane had just been about to fish his phone out of his back pocket to text Ilya back and try to coax him into coming over when the smell of cigarette smoke hit his nose. Before he could even lift his head to look, stupid ass Gil Comeau's voice assaulted his ears.

“Woah! Jump scare!” He yelled out obnoxiously. Several people in the group stopped in their tracks.

Ilya was standing at the corner, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other flicking a cigarette butt into a nearby trashcan. He was wearing Shane's hoodie, paired with a denim jacket and his ripped and paint splattered jeans. Curls poked out from the black beanie on his head. His face was set in that ice cold Slavic stare. He looked fucking delicious.

But to Comeau, he was apparently a jump scare. The weird art student standing alone in the dark. Shane scoffed. “Jump scare? That's funny, Comeau. I don't see a mirror.”

Laughs rang out, and Comeau turned to him, face tense with annoyance. Fuck his ugly ass. He shouldered him out of the way to get to Ilya, who gave him a tiny approximation of a smile.

“What are you doing here?” Shane smiled as he stepped closer.

“Looking for someone.”

“Did you find him?”

Ilya tilted his head from side to side, considering. “Maybe.”

They were both sporting soft grins now. Shane slid his fingers into Ilya's belt loops on each side of his waist. He didn't care that they had an audience of probably 20 standing directly behind him. Though he had noticed everything had gone suspiciously quiet.

He watched as Ilya looked over Shane's shoulder to the group of people, eyes scanning with icy focus, before he settled a hand on the back of Shane's neck. Shane's eyes fluttered shut the second their lips met. He happily opened his lips for Ilya's tongue; a warm and welcomed intrusion that explored his mouth in slow swipes.

He heard the unmistakable hooting of Cliff and JJ, who were clearly thrilled by the sight. But as Ilya slowly pulled away, he heard some indignant sounds from the crowd.

“Bro. Cap. What the fuck?”

“Did someone just dare him to do that?”

“Is he fucking gay?”

Ilya tightened his grip on the scruff of Shane's neck, pulling him closer, an instinct to protect. But Shane carefully extracted himself and turned around to face them all. “Yes I'm fucking gay. Anything else?”

Ilya wrapped a hand around Shane's hip from behind and pulled him close again. Shane could feel how tense he was. His whole team was gaping at them; seemingly stunned into silence, or maybe Ilya was right and hockey players are all just big, dumb idiots.

“Good. If you have something to say, you better say it to my face. I'm not fucking around. None of this is a fucking joke and I will smack the dog shit out of everyone if I have to.”

That earned a small laugh from Ilya, who dug those long fingers into Shane's hip. He wanted them in his hair. In his mouth. In other places he wouldn't think about in public because he would definitely start to get hard.

Ilya leaned down into his ear. “Come home with me, zaychik.” He whispered, and Shane melted back into him, and he started to get hard. Ilya was really good at doing that.

He said his goodbyes, tangled their fingers together, and let Ilya lead the way.

He realized that he'd never been inside Ilya's apartment before, and suddenly a burst of warmth filled his chest as they approached the small brick building. Ilya slid his key into the lock and jostled the handle until the door popped open. He extended an arm, gesturing for Shane to walk in first. What a gentleman. Shane grinned softly.

The tiny studio was unfairly tidy and lit only by a single salt lamp that cast the room in a soft orange glow. It smelled like incense and the faint hint of Ilya's cologne. The walls were covered in pinned up sketches and various posters. The bed was neatly made, and Shane imagined a sweet, sleepy Ilya making it each morning. His heart swelled.

“I can tell your teammates are very…” Ilya looked up, as if the word he was searching for would appear in the air above him. Shane had never understood cuteness aggression before, but he got it now. He wanted to bite. “...intimidated by you.”

Shane huffed. “Intimidated? You think so?”

“Oh, I know so. They do not wish to anger you.”

“Yeah, well. They shouldn't. I'm their fucking captain.” Shane let his eyes wander around the sketches on the walls until they landed on one that made his heart stop. A perfect recreation of his student athlete poster that hung amongst all the others outside the arena. He stepped forward and touched his fingertips to it. “Ilya Rozanov. Did you really…” He huffed out a laugh of disbelief, unable to finish the thought.

Ilya shrugged a bit, then captured Shane by the jaw. “Had to remind myself it was really the Shane Hollander following me around campus to make pretty eyes at me.”

Shane melted into the touch. He loved the way Ilya's hand felt, holding his face like this. Holding him in place. It made him want to be good. To be obedient. If Ilya was some kind of Russian agent sent to corrupt him, he had excelled, because Shane was putty beneath his hands.

“Big jock with your big arms and your big dick. Girls always hanging off of you everywhere you go. But you must have known I had what you needed, hm?”

Shane's eyes fluttered shut. Ilya had way more than what Shane ever anticipated that he needed. He was sure some distant part of him was aware that he was destined to be a bottom. Written somewhere in his genetic code was the desperate need to be fucked. But he could not have anticipated happening upon this fucking Slavic sex god who apparently was writing Shane's wildest fantasies as he went along.

“Yes.” Shane agreed, and it was barely even a whisper because he sort of forgot how to breathe. Ilya smirked at that, then kissed the tip of his nose and let his hand drop. Shane was about to chase Ilya's lips, always so desperate for more, but something caught his eye over Ilya's shoulder.

A drawing laid on top of the small desk in the corner. A nude sketch of a man. Shane felt a sharp stab of irrational jealousy. “Who's that?” He crossed his arms, petulant.

Ilya turned to look, and his whole face broke into a satisfied grin. “Shane. You cannot be serious. You are jealous of nude model?”

“Well.” Shane grumbled, trying not to let himself think too much about the great detail Ilya gave to the man's pubic hair.

“Is a class assignment, Shane. He was naked for everyone. Whole class had to draw his dick.” He put both hands on Shane's ass and squeezed in a way that made Shane's hips tilt into the touch. “And it was not pretty like yours.”

The compliment made Shane preen. That dude probably got paid 20 bucks to sit his bare ass on a metal stool and let a room full of art students draw his mediocre dick. How embarrassing.

Ilya stared down at him intently, eyes half lidded. “Would you let me draw you like this?”

Shane's dick immediately started to stiffen. Thank fuck he wasn't modeling for the class, because he'd probably have his boner pointed directly at Ilya like he was a compass and Ilya was north. “Maybe.”

Ilya moved a hand down to cup Shane through his jeans. “I think this is a yes.”

Of course it was a yes. Shane would never say no to this man. Whatever you say, gorgeous. He kept his eyes steady on Ilya's as he pushed his hat off, then pulled his hoodie and t-shirt off over his head. Ilya took a few steps back to watch as Shane continued to strip until he was in nothing but his white Nike socks pulled over his calves. When he went to take one off, Ilya grabbed his arm.

“Ah, no. Keep these on.” He grabbed Shane's hat and put it on his head again, backwards, just as it had been before. “This too. Captain.”

Shane felt his dick jump at that. He wondered if once they had been married for years, which was absolutely happening, he would be less reactive to the things Ilya said. He couldn't imagine that would be the case.

Ilya kissed each of his cheekbones softly, then planted a firm kiss to his lips. “On the bed.”

Shane crawled on top of the navy blue comforter, already getting even harder as he imagined Ilya sleeping naked beneath it every night. His massive body probably took up this entire bed. God, why was that thought so hot? There was no headboard, which was probably a good thing since they already broke Shane's, so he sat with his back against the wall.

Ilya pushed the desk in front of the bed and switched on a lamp as he settled into the chair; paper and pencils and charcoal laid out in front of him.

Shane had never sent nudes to anyone. He knew how risky it was, especially with his aspirations of going pro, but he supposed this wasn't the same thing. Though, he couldn't help but wonder if this was how they did it back in the olden times.

He let his legs drop open a bit, allowing himself to be fully on display. There was something intoxicating about it. Ilya's eyes roamed his body carefully as his hand started to move across the paper. “You are very beautiful. I like you in my bed.”

Shane felt his cheeks heat. “I like me in your bed, too.”

Ilya smiled at that, biting down on his perfect, pink lower lip. “Will be difficult to finish this drawing.”

“Why's that?”

“Mm, blood is no longer in my brain, I think. Not with you looking like this.” Ilya's eyes flicked up to him again.

Shane's dick had literally started drooling against his stomach; the wetness glistening in the low light. He wondered if that would make it into the drawing. Artistic evidence that Ilya reduced Shane to a leaking mess by simply existing in the same vicinity as him. He was sure Ilya would capture it in obscene, realistic detail.

A realization dawned on him then. Was Ilya making this drawing just to make it? He wasn't going to, like, turn this in for a grade, was he? Or submit it to the student gallery? Oh, fuck. He could see it now. His perfect likeness hanging on the wall above a little placard labeled ‘Captain Shane Hollander's slutty precum’.

“Ilya? You aren't gonna…show this to anyone, right?”

“Shane.” Ilya set his pencil down. “Zaychik. You think I want anyone else to see you like this? Even as drawing?”

Oh, Shane was going to start purring. Ilya had that glint in his eye. That spark of possessiveness. Shane felt himself throb against his stomach. “I don't know.” He baited.

Ilya stood from the desk, already unzipping his jeans and shimmying them down his hips. He was hard, and now Shane's dick and mouth were drooling.

Ilya pulled the sweatshirt off over his head and crawled from the bottom of the bed like a prowling predator. “I think you do know.” His voice was low and his accent was thick and Shane was so hard it was bordering on painful. “I think you know that you are mine. And I do not share.”

His eyes stayed on Shane as he crawled between his legs, lowered his head, and licked Shane's stomach just above the head of his cock. The tip of Ilya's tongue collected the liquid pooling there. He wasn't even touching Shane's cock, but Shane moaned softly, back arching a bit as he laid back.

He crawled back up and put a hand on Shane's jaw, using his thumb on Shane's chin to coax his mouth open. Shane's heart thundered in his ears when he understood what was happening. He stuck his tongue out slightly as he held his mouth open. Ilya stared down at him and let a long trail of saliva drip from his mouth directly into Shane's. Shane swallowed it all like it was the nectar of the gods. To him, it kind of was.

“Good boy.” Ilya wrapped his hand around Shane, thumb gliding over the wet tip. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes.” Shane breathed out. “Fuck, yes. Ilya, you make me crazy. It's never felt like this before. You have no idea what you fucking do to me.” He moaned as Ilya stroked him slowly, relieving the pressure in his aching dick. “Fuck. Let me show you.”

Shane sat up straighter. “Lay down. Please. Let me fucking show you.” He grabbed Ilya's face hard, feeling completely unmoored. This was probably what a werewolf felt like when it was about to rip from its clothes and dramatically transform under the moon.

Ilya's eyes had gone hazy with desire as he moved to lay down. Shane immediately was tugging his boxer briefs off, needing to see all of him. In a moment driven purely by his own wild lust, Shane brought the underwear to his face and inhaled deeply. They were warm and the scent was musky and it gave him a head rush. He wanted to keep them forever and use them as a fucking pillowcase.

He filed that thought away as he remembered the Russian meal laid out before him. He stared down at Ilya, feeling in awe that he got to have this. He straddled him, hands grabbing at that perfect chest before he leaned down to take his mouth. “You're fucking mine, too.” He gasped out between swipes of his tongue and biting at Ilya's lip. “This is mine.”

Ilya rolled his hips upward until their cocks rubbed together. “Yes, zaychik. Yours.” He breathed out, and Shane moaned loudly, tugging into Ilya's hair. He had been so pliant for Ilya their first time, and he loved it that way. But he needed to show him just how insane he was for it. How all thoughts of Ilya had turned him completely wild.

Shane ducked his head and started to bite his way down Ilya's neck. The deep sounds coming from the back of Ilya's throat made Shane leak again where he was still pressed up against Ilya, their hips rolling together. Shane slid down a bit and started to trail his mouth across one shoulder, kissing down his arm, until his mouth was at Ilya's bicep. He sunk his teeth into the muscle, moaning into it as Ilya bucked up beneath him.

Ilya murmured something in Russian, and Shane sunk his teeth in again, harder this time, holding the bite there. He could feel his teeth imprint into the skin. Mine mine mine.

Ilya was groaning, hands holding tight on Shane's waist. Shane moved to mouth at his chest, sucking into the muscle, teeth scraping harshly as he went. Ilya was panting beneath him now, hands gripped hard. “Da. Fuck, Shane.”

His gravelly voice made Shane's back arch as the sound shot straight through his spine. He started to kiss down Ilya's stomach, tongue tracing his abs as he went until the patch of hair on his belly was soaked.

When he finally got his mouth around the head of Ilya's cock, he couldn't stop himself from straddling Ilya's leg, humping against his calf like an animal. He loved the way Ilya tasted. The way he felt in his mouth. He swallowed down more, and Ilya's low moans were so hot that Shane could barely stand it. He moaned around Ilya, rutting against his leg until he had to physically jump up like he'd been slapped.

“Fuck. Shit. Sorry, dude. I was about fucking come. I don't want to yet. Wanna come on your cock.” He panted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He loved how big Ilya was, but he also hated knowing it meant he needed to be carefully opened up before taking him, because he needed to be on him right now. He needed to bounce on it like he was fucking possessed.

Ilya made quick work of grabbing a small bottle of lube from his nightstand, and Shane crawled up him quickly, groaning when Ilya's slicked fingers finally reached back behind him and started to stretch him open.

“Wanna fucking ride you.” Shane moaned once Ilya was three fingers deep, pushing back against his hand. Ilya bit gently at his lip.

“I have not been with anyone else since I was tested at beginning of this semester. If you are good…I want to feel you, zaychik.”

Shane saw the heavens part. He heard the angels singing. He felt a ray of golden sun shine directly onto his face. Ilya Rozanov wanted to fuck him raw. He just couldn't stop fucking winning.

“Fuck. Yes, I'm good. I want that. Wanna feel you.” He said, practically into Ilya's mouth. Ilya carefully extracted his fingers, and Shane moved to straddle him again, slicking him up slowly.

Shane had thighs that could crush a man's head. He knew he had the strength to take Ilya like he was a bucking bronco. He carefully lined him up, eyes stuck on Ilya before he started to sink down. The way Ilya's eyes rolled back and his strong neck arched was an image that he wanted etched onto his grave.

Once Shane was fully seated, he took a moment to regulate his breathing. God, he was so big Shane could feel him in his fucking kidneys. He braced himself with his hands on Ilya's chest as he started to lift up again.

“Ah, fucking…fuck, Shane. You are tight. Feels…fuck.” Ilya already sounded like he was falling apart. Shane set a slow pace, hips rolling and hands kneading. He could feel all of Ilya's muscles contracting beneath him, moans stuttering out as he gripped hard at Shane's hips.

“Shit. I have never…” Ilya's words got cut off with another moan.

“Never?” Shane coaxed around his own moans. The drag and stretch felt incredible as he started to move faster.

“Never done it without…fuck, you feel so…fuck, Shane-” Ilya's back was arching and Shane had to take a second to process.

“You've never fucked anyone without a condom before? Ever?”

“Nyet. No.” Ilya gritted out.

Shane saw stars. He leaned forward, hands flying into Ilya's hair as he gripped hard and started to bounce relentlessly. “Fuck, Ilya. You're fucking mine. You're mine.” He moaned, and he was right about his earlier thought: he had become utterly possessed.

He was the first one to have Ilya like this. And he would be the last. Mark his fucking words. He was claiming his territory now. Anyone who wanted to try could pry Ilya Rozanov from his cold, dead hands.

“Yes. Yours. Yours, Shane. Fuck.” Ilya was moaning, hips lifting now to meet Shane's every thrust.

That word made Shane's balls draw up tight as his orgasm built rapidly. Yours. The bed was groaning and squeaking beneath them as Shane slammed down into him. His thighs were trembling and his whole body was hot and electrified like a live wire. “God, Ilya, I-”

Ilya's hand came to wrap around him, stroking him with every thrust. “Fucking come for me, Shane.” He grunted out.

“Ilya, baby, fuck-” Shane threw his head back with a loud moan as he came so hard that he may have actually passed out for a second. He was still gasping through it when he heard Ilya groan out and felt his hot release fill him; Ilya's body shuddering.

Shane fell on top of him, face pressed into Ilya's neck as they both just breathed.

When he eventually started to come down, his mind rebooting, it came to him.

Oh, fuck.

Did he call Ilya baby out loud? Was that weird? Ilya was his fucking baby. He wanted to stroke his hair and hold him and kiss his face and take him on dates and bring him home for Christmas. He wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and kiss away the sad look he wore on his pretty face.

So he decided to test the waters.

“You okay, baby?” He asked softly into Ilya's skin.

Ilya put a hand in Shane's hair. “Very okay.”

Shane smiled and had to physically restrain himself from kicking his feet. He couldn't believe he was here. In Ilya Rozanov's bed. Calling him baby. Maybe he should become an Etsy witch, because whatever call he had put out into the universe had been answered far better than he could have imagined. Or maybe Ilya was an Etsy witch, and he had been the one to put this spell on Shane in the first place to make him go feral and insane and embarrassingly lovesick. Whatever. The details didn't really matter.

What mattered was that Ilya was dozing off beneath him, and he was so warm, and Shane was so fucking happy. He didn't ever imagine he could have something like this, and now he did, and he was happy.

After they'd cleaned up, somehow able to both squeeze themselves into Ilya's tiny shower, Shane laid pressed into his side. He idly twisted a damp curl around one finger as Spirited Away played quietly on the TV that was propped up on Ilya's dresser. Ilya turned a bit to him with those ocean blue eyes that always made Shane lose himself for a moment.

“I like you, Shane.” He said softly, and Shane's heart took a stutter step. Before he could get himself together enough to say something back, Ilya closed a hand around his and continued.

“I do not like many people. Hardly anyone. Has always been difficult for me to make friends, because is just easier to be alone. And because I am not easy to get to know, I suppose. I am not good with talking to people. Is even worse to do in English. But with you…was never hard. You always came back. You always keep trying to get to know me. At first I think…I think maybe is a joke, or something. You are pranking me by following me around so you can laugh with all your friends.”

Shane drew in a breath and moved his hand to Ilya's jaw. Oh, his sweet, sweet Ilya. Had people done that to him before? Because Shane would find them. He would find them and burn them all for hurting this precious boy.

“But you are real. And you are patient. And you are kind. You are nothing like the boys I grow up with in the locker room. And I am glad. I like you. Very much.”

Shane's heart was galloping wildly. It was the most he'd ever heard Ilya say, and he used those words to tell Shane how much he liked him. He stroked Ilya's cheek with his thumb, looking at him in wonder.

“Are you even fucking real?” He murmured, though he didn't quite mean to say it out loud.

Ilya smiled that beautiful smile, and Shane kissed him right on the teeth.

“I like you too. Like, a lot. I would have followed you around for years if I had to. Embarrassing, but true.”

“Hm. I over hear your friend say you are down bad.” Ilya grinned.

“So fucking down bad, dude.” Shane shook his head with a laugh.

“Is funny to me that my dick has been up your ass more than once and you still call me dude.” Ilya was laughing now, too.

“It's a fucking habit, okay?” Shane shoved his shoulder. “But don't worry. I won't call anyone else baby.”

Ilya kissed the corner of his mouth. “Good. This is reserved for boyfriend, yes?”

Shane was going to bust through this fucking wall like the kool-aid man. If he had been standing, he would have fallen to his knees. He felt like a lightning bolt just hit him directly in the heart.

“Holy shit. Yes.” He agreed, and he pressed their mouths together, and nothing had ever tasted as sweet as his boyfriend's tongue.

It was the last game before Thanksgiving break, and Shane was on fucking fire.

The flames were being fed by the warmth that had settled deep in his bones from the past few weeks. He had woken up beside Ilya more times than not. They walked together to get coffee almost every morning, always hand in hand. They would pass stupid notes back and forth in art history class until they had to hide their faces and stifle their laughter. He had somehow convinced Ilya to join them at the bar one night, and got to spend it in his lap, earning them some very incredulous looks that Shane found almost amusing.

Ilya had come to watch a few of his practices, and even started to talk to some of his team. Mostly to chirp them and let them know what they needed to improve on. And he was always frustratingly accurate. Shane would accompany him to the studio, and laugh as the art students would do a double take to see if Shane Hollander was really standing there amongst the cluster of easels.

Just the previous night he had attended the student gallery opening where Ilya was showcasing a few of his pieces. He stayed at Ilya's side, their fingers tangled, and watched proudly as his boyfriend would quietly discuss his art with the other students. He was so proud, in fact, that it made him incredibly turned on and they had to find an empty hallway to make out in.

It was something that he never could have fathomed before. Not only being out, but having a whole ass boyfriend that he got to show off all around campus. A fucking hot one, too. Like they were magnetized, his eyes stopped on Ilya in the stands as he got ready for the final face off of the game. Ilya gave him a little nod, and Shane smirked behind his mouth guard.

He was determined to get another hat trick. He had been unstoppable all night, and he could tell by the look in Ilya's eyes that he was going to get fucked good for it tonight.

Shane carried that thought with him as he won the puck drop and rocketed the pass off to Hayden, then flew across the lane to get in position. Hayden's pass back hit his stick just right, and he slapped it to the corner of the net before the goalie even had time to react.

A shutout win. Even through the dog pile of his teammates, Shane could see Ilya on his feet, wearing that smug grin. He wrenched his helmet off as they all started to skate back to the bench, finding Ilya's eyes again. He pulled off a glove and beckoned him with his hand.

“Rozanov! Get your ass down here!” He called, leaning against the boards. Ilya shook his head with a smile, a soft blush on his cheeks, but he started to climb through the stands anyway. He looked so fucking perfect, with his curls falling over his forehead and his hands shoved into the pockets of Shane's hoodie and a sizeable hickey on the side of his neck.

He knew he would see Ilya immediately after the game. That they would be grabbing their bags and heading to the airport to spend the whole break together at his parent's house. But he needed to kiss him now.

When Ilya finally reached the gate, Shane immediately put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him into a firm kiss.

Ilya pushed Shane's sweaty hair off his forehead when he pulled back. “You were perfect, zaychik. No notes.”

“There's always notes.”

“Mm, no. Not tonight.” Ilya smiled softly, and Shane could see his whole future in those beautiful blue eyes. He pulled Ilya in again, kissing him deeper this time, grabbing at the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Get a fucking room!” Hayden yelled from behind him. Shane held his middle finger up behind his back. As far as he was concerned, Hayden should be thanking him for his incredible show of restraint, because he really wanted to pull his boyfriend onto the ice and suck his soul out through his dick.

He pulled back to catch his breath instead, sporting the same lovesick grin he always had when he looked at Ilya. “I'll see you outside, baby.”

Ilya gave him one more quick peck on the lips before disappearing back into the exiting crowd.

Shane couldn't wait for this to be them at NHL games. To have his Ilya wearing a Hollander jersey and being the hottest fucking WAG on the team while running his own gallery.

He sent up a silent thanks to stupid fucking art history, now his favorite class of all time, licked Ilya's spit from his bottom lip, and wore his lovesick grin all the way to the locker room.

Chapter End Notes

Thank u for coming along on this silly little journey with me 🥰 feral jock Shane Hollander, you will always be famous