Chapter 1
Chapter Notes
Ilya being goofy to get Shane out of his head >>>>> Skip to the end notes for chapter-specific warnings! See the end of the chapter for more notes 1. When Ilya wakes up from his mid-afternoon nap, Shane is already sitting at the other end of the couch looking pensive. It is his default expression, of course, but Ilya is beginning to understand all the different flavors of pensive; “I am making serious life plans” pensive is different from “I am deciding what to cook for dinner” pensive. This expression is somewhere between the two. Ilya sits up, only to slither forward, crawl over him, and drag him down to a more pleasantly horizontal position. “Hi to you, too,” Shane says, smiling. His freckles have multiplied since they got here, with all the time they’ve been spending out in the sun. “What is happening in here?” Ilya asks, booping his forehead with one finger. “What are you thinking about?” Shane huffs out a laugh, gaze fixed on a random point on the couch, and he admits, “Sex, I guess?” “Oh!” Ilya says. He folds his hands over Shane’s chest and rests his chin on them. “In that case, you have my attention.” Shane rolls his eyes, but he slides his fingers into Ilya’s hair, combs them through, and Ilya hums appreciatively. “Remember the other day when — when I was on the phone with Hayden?” “Hmm. Can you be more specific?” “When I was sitting there,” Shane says pointedly, and jerks his chin at the back of the couch. Ilya pretends to think about it. “Remind me, what was I doing while you were on the phone?” “When you were… you know,” Shane says. He turns the prettiest shade of pink. “When you were sucking my dick?” “Oh, that time. Rings bell, yes.” “Do you remember how you… slapped me?” “Slap? Would we call that slap?” “I mean…” “Was not slap. More like pat. Patted your face while I sucked your brain out through your cock.” “Sure. Fine. Whatever.” “Do you have point?” “You could? For real, I mean. Sometime. Maybe.” “Huh,” Ilya says. “Just to be clear – this has nothing to do with Hayden, correct?” “Asshole,” Shane says. His eyes say something very different. “No. Of course not. I just meant the other thing.” “You want me to slap you,” Ilya says. “On the cheek? Or…” Shane sputters out a laugh, blushing darker now as he nods. “Or somewhere else. I don’t know. Yeah.” “How hard?” “Hard enough to… hurt? I don’t know, I’m not talking a punch, here, I just mean –” “I don’t think I want to hurt you,” Ilya says bluntly. “Not in bed, at least. Or on couch. Only on the ice, sometimes, when you are scoring goals. Or chirping.” He thinks about it for a second. “Or when you are just being very annoying.” Shane is doing that thing he does where he tries to hide his smile and completely fails to do so. “I could be annoying in bed, if I wanted to.” “This is probably true.” Ilya shifts forward for a kiss. “It’s not like we haven’t… been rough before,” Shane says shyly. “This is also true.” He nips at Shane’s earlobe, letting his voice go husky and soft. “You like it when I’m a little rough. When I fuck you hard because I know you can take it.” “Yeah,” Shane says. He shivers. “Yeah, that.” “What else?” “Hm?” “What else do you like? In bed.” “Like you don’t already know.” “I know some things. Not everything.” He kisses the corner of Shane’s smile. “Tell.” “I like… when you tell me what to do,” Shane says. “Sometimes.” “Always.” Ilya kisses the other corner of his mouth. “Yes, we know this. You like when I’m a little bit mean. Don’t you?” “Sure,” Shane says. “Except when you, like, kick me outta bed after.” His smile freezes, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “What?” Ilya asks, frowning. “Never mind.” Shane gives him a fake little laugh and avoids his eyes. “Forget about it.” “I forget nothing,” Ilya says. “Mind like steel trap.” The laugh is more genuine this time, but there’s still a shadow of discomfort on Shane’s face. “What are you talking about?” Shane rolls his eyes and huffs about it, acting exasperated, but Ilya doesn’t leave him any room to wriggle out of it. “You know,” he eventually mumbles. “Like that time in Vegas.” “Which time in Vegas?” Shane rolls his eyes again. “When you pulled that bargain-bin Christian Grey bullshit?” “Who is –” Ilya cuts himself off and frowns. “Bargain-bin?” “That’s the part of that sentence you have a problem with?” “I am never bargain bin,” Ilya says. “Very expensive, always.” Shane looks frustrated, which is good; means he might lose his patience enough to arrive at a point soon. “When you… told me what to do,” Shane says quietly. “Told me to touch myself.” “Oh,” Ilya says. “Yes. You mean the night I won. That night.” “Now who’s the annoying one?” Shane says, half-laughing. “Still you. Spit it out, Hollander.” Shane hesitates. “Sorry. This is dumb, it’s not even – that night was all about you, it wasn’t supposed to be about what I wanted, so. Doesn’t matter.” “Was it not what you wanted?” Ilya asks. His mouth is very dry now. “Not saying that it wasn’t hot,” Shane says hurriedly. “That was… Jesus, yeah, it was so fucking hot. But you never even kissed me, and –” Then he closes his mouth hard, like he regrets opening it at all. They stare at each other for one long, frozen moment. “I was asshole,” Ilya says. “Even more than usual, that night.” He cups a hand around Shane’s cheek, pressing their foreheads together, and shuts his eyes for a moment. “Sorry, this is so stupid,” Shane whispers. “No. I mean, yes, that night was stupid. But not your fault.” They’re both quiet for a long moment. When Ilya opens his eyes again, Shane’s have gone very soft and shiny. “Six months,” Shane says. His voice breaks, and Ilya feels sick. “You’d been ignoring me for six months.” “I am sorry, lyubimyy.” He’s trying to find the right words, but they’re all tangled up in a knot in his throat. “It was not what I wanted, trust me. I always want to kiss you.” “Then why –” “Do you remember the first time you stayed?” Ilya asks. “In Boston, at my house.” “Of course. When I panicked, because I realized – you know. That I –” Shane blinks at him. “Wait.” Ilya tries to smile. He’s probably not successful, but at least his voice doesn’t wobble too badly when he says, “Those six months – it was like that. That was me panicking.” “But. You’ve felt – since then? It’s been that long?” Ilya nods. “And then… when I saw you, I tried –” He buries his face in the side of Shane’s throat, nosing into the clean-sheets-and-citrus smell of him. He’s not sure he even understands why he was such an asshole. Except that it’s the same reason he’s always an asshole, isn’t it? To push people away. To keep them at a distance. He wanted to pretend that he was in control, just for a night. And maybe he wanted to scare Shane off a little bit, too; that was back before they really knew each other, after all. He still thought of Hollander as uptight and repressed. Thought maybe Hollander would shy away from the idea of putting himself on display for Ilya like that. Stupid. So very stupid. He knows better now. Shane always meets him halfway, and he never, ever chickens out. Instead he’d taken it a step further, fingered himself open while Ilya watched, and tore Ilya’s illusion of control to pieces. “It’s fine,” Shane mutters, pulling Ilya out of his thoughts. “Really. It was a long time ago.” Ilya kisses him again. One rogue tear trickles from the corner of his eye to splash onto Shane’s cheek. He didn’t even notice the tears gathering; his eyes are betraying him. He blinks away the rest. Shane’s mouth goes very pouty as he tries to scowl. “It was cruel,” Ilya murmurs, brushing the saltwater from Shane’s freckles with a careful thumb. “I was cruel. To both of us. And I’m sorry.” Shane breathes with him for a moment, both of them trying to pull themselves together, before he grumbles, “I don’t even remember why I brought that up.” “Because you want to be annoying in bed until I slap you,” Ilya reminds him patiently. “Oh. Right.” Shane laughs a little and wrinkles his nose, sniffing, trying to compose himself. It’s adorable. “I just meant – yeah, that time in Vegas – it was hot, but –” “You don’t want it to feel like that,” Ilya fills in. Shane exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, relieved. “Yeah. Exactly.” “Good,” Ilya says, businesslike now. “So, we are in agreement: I will always kiss you after. And maybe during. And all the other times I want to.” He thinks about how he felt after Shane left: like he’d scooped something out of his ribcage. He never wants to feel that way again. “Will need safeword. Mine is loon.” “You’re ridiculous,” Shane mutters. Ilya plants a loud kiss on his cheek, then another – trying to kiss every freckle he sees – until Shane starts to laugh and shove at him and, finally, kisses him back.
Yes, okay, Ilya can admit, Shane is very good at being annoying in bed. “Is that the best you got?” Shane needles, even though he’s breathless and flushed and barely keeping it together. “You know it’s not,” Ilya growls, and shifts to fuck into Shane harder, hitting that spot that makes Shane’s eyes go unfocused. “Look at me, Hollander.” Shane very deliberately closes his eyes, so Ilya slaps him again – hard enough to sting – and Shane’s mouth forms a perfect red O as his head snaps to the side. “Are you going to ask politely?” Ilya demands, slowing again, deliberately avoiding the right angle. Shane whines and squirms under him, overwhelmed, clawing at his back. At this point, he’s teasing himself just as much as Shane, but – worth it, for how pretty Shane looks when he comes undone. He’s shaking. “Fuck,” Shane gasps, shaking his head from side to side. His cheeks are pink, but probably from the exertion and not the impact. His thighs are another story. Ilya likes the way his palm sounds when it makes contact with Shane’s thighs. (He likes everything about Shane’s thighs.) “Look at me,” Ilya purrs, and Shane finally listens, wet lashes fluttering open. “There you are. That’s better. Are you ready to behave? Do you want my hand on your cock?” “Please,” Shane groans, and it sounds more like a sob. “Please. Fuck, please, c’mon, please let me come.” “Good,” Ilya grits out. “Now look at me while you come for me.” Shane manages to meet his eyes for just a few more forceful thrusts before he throws his head back, mouth open in a silent shout, spine bowing up. “Beautiful,” Ilya tells him, and fucks into him hard enough to make his toes curl, following him over the edge with a ragged gasp. He doesn’t go anywhere, afterward. They clean up in the most perfunctory way, just enough to stop Shane from fussing about it. Ilya inspects him carefully, kissing each cheek, running his hands over the glowing pink marks on his thighs… “Was this what you wanted?” Ilya asks hoarsely. “Mmmmmm,” Shane hums, with a dreamy smile on his face. “What ‘bout you?” “Acceptable,” Ilya concedes. “Yes, I think this was acceptable. You are very talented at being annoying.” “You liked it,” Shane says confidently. “I liked it,” Ilya confirms, and peppers a few soft kisses over his cheeks again. “I think I like this part even better. I will be rough with you whenever you want as long as I get to kiss you after. Deal?” Shane grins up at him, all dopey and sweet like a little kitten, and Ilya almost wants to slap him again. He is getting – what is it called? Cuteness anger. “Deal.”
Chapter End Notes
Most of this chapter is communication; the second part, after the break, is where it gets raunchy. Feat. face slapping and bratty Shane. Comments are writer fuel! And I’d love to know if you found your way here through a rec from Twitter/reddit/wherever people rec these days — it always makes my day to know that somebody’s talking about a fic out there in the wild.
Chapter 2
Chapter Notes
Tag-related info in the end notes in case anybody wants to avoid "spoilers" going in. The incredible Sophie somehow already podded the first chapter of this!!!! She is absurdly talented at voice acting, especially spicy scenes - check it out in the "works inspired by this one" section if that's your jam! See the end of the chapter for more notes 2. Ilya sips coffee and pours himself another bowl of Lucky Charms, watching Shane drink his smoothie like he’s on autopilot. He’s not even looking at it, just typing one-handed while his arm lifts the cup at regular intervals. Like a fitness robot. Shane glances at him. “Do you want one? It’s really good.” “No, is not,” Ilya says, and scoops up a massive spoonful of sugary cereal. “You are terrible liar.” “Well, it’s really healthy. Brewer’s Yeast and spirulina.” “What is spirulina?” “It’s an algae with a bunch of health benefits.” “Okay.” “It can reduce blood pressure.” "Okay." In the exact same tone of voice, Shane asks, “Hey, have you ever choked somebody during sex before?” Ilya inhales an unpleasant amount of milk. There is a whole lot of coughing and wheezing and thumping himself on the chest before he can make words again, and even then, he doesn’t know which ones to use. “Where – how – what.” Yes, good words, Rozanov, well done. He takes a too-big gulp of coffee, makes a frustrated noise, and starts over. “Have you?” Shane chuckles. “No. God, no.” “Where is this coming from,” Ilya asks. His voice absolutely does not crack, not even a little bit. Shane could’ve at least waited until he was fully awake. “I was talking to Rose,” Shane says. Ilya huffs at that, opening his mouth to say something bitchy, before Shane continues pointedly, “She was telling me about the guy she’s been seeing. The guy who is not me, Ilya, remember?” “Obviously,” Ilya sniffs. He rolls his eyes. “Continue, then.” “Asshole,” Shane laughs. “You never answered the question. Have you? And I don’t mean just, like, a little squeeze the way you do when you’re trying to get me to shut up, I mean for real.” Ilya swallows hard and says, “No.” “Really?” Shane asks, eyebrows raised. “But –” He gestures vaguely as if to indicate Ilya’s entire sexual history. “But what? Almost all of that –” He imitates Shane’s wave. “ – was with one night stands.” One girl asked him to, once, but it didn’t sit right. He didn’t like the way his big hand looked around her skinny, delicate neck – and it was an exceptionally delicate neck; she was a model, if he’s remembering correctly. Models tend to be… brittle. Anyway. Something about the violence of it unsettled him. He doesn’t trust himself. He knows how strong he is. He took his hand away before he’d even applied any pressure, and distracted her (thoroughly and skillfully) before she could protest. “And… Svetlana?” Shane asks carefully, gaze sliding to one side, nervous now. Ilya cannot begin to explain how kinky he and Svetlana weren’t. It was always – playful, is probably the word? Easy. Relaxed. They taught each other a lot, figured things out together, but it was never particularly adventurous, or particularly rough. Svetlana would never give him control, not like that. “No,” Ilya says, and turns his attention back to his cereal for a moment. Shane is still watching him. He chews through one bite of soggy sugar-mush and says, “You are surprised by this.” “I guess I just figured you’d tried most things,” Shane says, with an oddly soft smile tugging at his pretty mouth. “Like I said. Choking out a one night stand seems like terrible idea.” Ilya shrugs. “Is start of Law & Order episode. Why are you laughing at me?” “Not laughing,” Shane promises, with a laugh. “Just thinking – I like it, I guess. Knowing that there’s stuff you haven’t done. Stuff that we could maybe… try together, for the first time.” “Oh,” Ilya says. He smiles to himself for a moment before admitting, “Everything feels different, with you. Feels new.” He leans over to kiss Shane quickly. “See, I even kiss you when you taste like pond scum. I mean algae. Must be love.” "Fuck off," Shane huffs, beaming at him. He takes another sip of his smoothie. Ilya starts delicately picking out the last marshmallows from his bowl. He takes another sip of his lukewarm coffee. The caffeine, apparently, was just what he needed to jumpstart the three remaining brain cells that have not been knocked unconscious by the last two weeks of laziness and sex, because something clicks. “Are you saying… you would like me to choke you?” he asks cautiously. “It was just a thought,” Shane says, shrugging. “I mean, I kinda started a list of stuff I’d like to try with you.” “A list,” Ilya repeats, trying very hard not to find that sexy. “Of course you did.” “But… yeah, I don’t know. Maybe. Apparently the head rush can make everything… really intense? I was reading about how to do it right, and –” “Of course you were.” “– you gotta be careful, obviously, but there’s a way to do it so you’re not in danger of crushing the windpipe. Apparently it’s not all that risky if you know where to put your fingers, and –” He keeps talking. Ilya is not listening. Shane is just as strong as he is – if slightly less brutal on the ice – and Shane has done research, because of course he has. Always the strategist. Shane would not let Ilya hurt him. Every so often, Shane chokes himself on Ilya’s cock, because he’s a stubborn fucking perfectionist who still sometimes gets upset that he can’t deep-throat. He pushes himself and pushes himself and comes up gasping, red-faced, with tears streaming down his cheeks and a blissed-out, dreamy smile on his swollen mouth, and – “Anyway, Rose said it can feel good, if you do it right,” Shane says, as Ilya tunes back in. “Do not talk about Rose Landry when I am thinking about my hands on your throat,” Ilya growls, suddenly hot all over. Shane smirks at him. “So you’d want to try? I mean, like, theoretically, of course. Not right now. In the future, at some point.” “Yes, right now,” Ilya counters, and stands up so abruptly he almost knocks his chair over.
Chapter End Notes
This chapter features a lot of talking about sex (with a focus on choking) but zero actual sex. Also featured: the autistic urge to jump into conversations unprompted without considering that the other party maybe hasn't spent the last two days researching this topic and mentally rehearsing lines. Shane is me, I am Shane.
Chapter 3
Chapter Notes
Chapter-specific warnings in the end notes! The last one was almost entirely communication; this one is almost entirely smut of the soft variety. ETA: the first two chapters took place directly post-canon, during that first cottage stay when they initially get together; this one and the next are set very vaguely over the course of the next year where they're essentially long-distance. Because reunion sex. See the end of the chapter for more notes 3. Shane left the front light on for him, and Ilya smiles at the warm glow of it as he trudges through the slush and rain up the path to his front door. He was supposed to be here hours ago, was supposed to be here before Shane, but his flight was delayed, so now it’s after midnight, and he’s exhausted in a way that has very little to do with lack of sleep. They were supposed to have almost forty-eight hours together before Shane has to go back to Montreal; at this point it’s more like forty-three, and Shane is already asleep. But at least he’s asleep here. He’s asleep in Ilya’s bed, and Ilya’s entire body feels lit-up and alive with anticipation, knowing he gets to hold him soon. He closes the door carefully behind himself, leaves his bag right there in the entryway, and kicks off his shoes before tiptoeing toward the bedroom, shedding layers as he goes. He can hear a soft snore as he cracks open the door, and it makes his heart beat like it’s trying to break through his chest. He has no fucking idea how he let this happen — how he allowed himself to fall so hard that a fucking snore sets off butterflies in his stomach. He is swooning like a Disney princess. This is disgusting. (Disgusting. Wonderful. Whatever.) He lets his eyes adjust for a moment before padding over to the bed, where there’s just enough light that he can make out the pale slope of Shane’s shoulder and arm curved around a pillow. Ilya absolutely does not watch him sleep for a minute, because that would be creepy. He strips down to boxers and slides into the bed slowly, scooting closer, until he can spoon up behind Shane and curl an arm around his waist, and it’s like something just settles inside him. He inhales shakily, fighting the urge to wrap both arms around Shane and squeeze as hard as he can. As if he could squeeze hard enough to fuse them together. Shane stirs, shifting closer automatically, melting into the shape of Ilya’s body, and turns to smile at Ilya over his shoulder. His voice is dreamy and sleep-slurred when he says, “You’re here.” “I am here,” Ilya murmurs, kissing the nape of his neck, nuzzling the soft, fine hairs there. “Mmm,” Shane hums. “I’m sorry I’m so late. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” “Thought you were gonna fuck me?” Shane asks, and there’s a petulant little whine in his voice that Ilya kind of loves. “It can wait. I didn’t mean to wake you.” “Don’ wanna wait. Got myself ready for you.” “You… what?” Ilya says, dick twitching almost painfully, and he fights the urge to rut against Shane. But Shane arches his back a little in response, pressing his ass pointedly against Ilya. Ilya puts just enough distance between their bodies that he can slide a hand under the elastic of Shane’s black boxer-briefs, tracing his way down until – “See?” Shane murmurs. “Fuck,” Ilya sighs, low and reverent, and slides two fingers inside like it’s nothing, stroking slick, hot skin, feeling the familiar give of Shane’s body. His breath catches, and it sounds loud in the dark, quiet room. “Did you use a toy, or your fingers?” “Toy.” Shane squirms, trying to press back and fuck himself on Ilya’s hand. Well, Ilya would’ve been perfectly fine waiting til morning, but… at least an orgasm will put Shane back to sleep right away. Always does. “Get these off,” Ilya whispers, tugging at the elastic of Shane’s boxer-briefs, and then he rolls over to track down lube and a condom. “Why are you even wearing those? Did you put them back on when you were done fucking yourself?” “Shut up. I had to go get a glass of water, I dunno.” He rolls onto his stomach, and he lets out a breathy little moan when Ilya curls two fingers into him again. “So you wanted to protect my poor innocent fridge from the sight of your dick, is that it?” “Ilya, I swear to god.” He’s trying to sound angry, but he’s still half-asleep, voice hoarse and thin, and it comes out more petulant than anything. “Yes, I know, you have been very patient,” Ilya says. “You waited for me? You didn’t let yourself come?” “No.” “Oh, good boy,” Ilya tells him, and crooks his fingers until Shane whimpers, rocking his hips down against the mattress. “Are you hard for me already, sweetheart?” “More like I’m still hard,” Shane says. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” “Were you close?” “So close,” Shane sighs. “So close, fuck. M’not gonna last, you gotta –” “Do you ever?” Ilya teases. Shane draws a breath to retort just as Ilya adds a third finger, and he chokes on whatever he was going to say; all that comes out is a broken moan. Ilya leans over to kiss his way up Shane’s spine and murmur against his ear, “I love how worked up you get for me. So eager.” Shane tilts his hips even further, like he’s trying to pick them up off the mattress, but when Ilya teases at his sweet spot again he gives in, grinding against the bed with a breathless, “Fuck! Ilya, I can’t – please? Please. Quit teasing and get your fucking cock in me before I lose my mind.” “Stay just like this,” Ilya tells him, and gives his ass an appreciative grope before pulling away to kick off his boxers and grab the condom. He’s acutely aware of the way Shane’s hips keep moving, rutting down against the mattress as he waits… and even more aware of his own cock, which is hard enough that slicking himself up feels maddeningly good. Ilya blankets Shane’s body with his, trying to get as much contact as he can without crushing him. Shane’s skin is so soft and warm, but it’s nothing compared to the way he feels inside, the living heat that pulses around Ilya’s cock as he starts to push in. Shane chokes out a curse, shoulders flexing, and he grabs at the pillow over his head like he needs an anchor. There’s an intimacy to this position; Ilya can feel Shane’s entire body, with the way they’re pressed together as close as they can possibly be, and he can feel every shiver, every twitch, every moan that vibrates through his chest. He can feel the way Shane trembles when he bottoms out, and the way his hips hitch clumsily, seeking friction. “Is good?” Ilya asks, with a grinding roll of a thrust. Shane whines, soft and sweet, and turns his face into the pillow, trying to stifle his desperate noises. “No, let me hear you,” Ilya demands, grabbing his chin to turn his face to the side. He cranes his neck awkwardly, leaning over Shane’s shoulder to kiss his next whimper from his lips. Then he braces himself, shifts his weight, looking for the right angle. This time Shane lets out a near-tortured groan, shuddering down to his toes. “That’s better. Don’t need to do anything else, sweetheart, just lay there and moan for it.” “Oh,” Shane chokes out. “Fuck,” Ilya bites out, with another syrupy-slow swivel. “Missed this. Missed you. So perfect for me, lyubimyy, like you were made for this. Like you were made to take my cock.” “Ilya, I’m—” Shane lets out a strangled sound and bucks, gasping as if it was shocked out of him. It’s an abrupt full-body spasm of an orgasm, the way his muscles all tense and release, squeezing almost painfully tight around Ilya. Ilya stifles his moan against Shane’s shoulder, panting, giving him a moment to recover as he presses mindless kisses to every bit of skin he can reach. “I missed you.” “Mmmm,” Shane agrees, shivering. Then he makes a less-pleasant sound and shifts. “Ugh, wet spot, just — ” He’s barely coordinated enough to roll them onto their sides and inch away from the mess; he’s already starting to lose consciousness again. Ilya is about to pull away when Shane grabs his wrist, holding on tight to keep him where he is. “Don’ stop,” he slurs. “You are half-asleep,” Ilya points out softly. “Mostly asleep. Almost entirely asleep. I can wait.” Actually, his dick might disagree there. “Or… I can go jerk off in bathroom, is fine.” “Don’ do that,” Shane mumbles. “Don’ care if I fall ‘sleep.” “Huh,” Ilya gasps, cock twitching almost painfully, and Shane hums encouragement, squeezing around him. “Fuck.” “Jus’… use me,” Shane murmurs, barely audible. Oh, Ilya thinks. He closes his eyes, trying to remember to breathe. He’s already moving before he’s made a conscious decision; his hips rock in shallow little swivels, barely a thrust, just staying inside Shane, as deep as he can possibly be. Ilya’s not sure he’ll ever get over the trust Shane has in him, to give himself over this way. To surrender control, when he never does so in any other part of his life. This strong, brilliant, powerful man… not just willing to be vulnerable with him, but asking for it. Ilya splays a palm over his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat under his palm, and whispers, “This is what you want?” “Mmmm,” Shane sighs, boneless and lax in his arms. Nobody else ever gets to see him this way. If it’s up to Ilya, nobody else ever will.
Chapter End Notes
Somnophilia kinda thing happening in this chapter; Ilya gets home late at night, Shane wakes up and instigates sex before starting to pass out again, and he asks Ilya to keep going even if he does fall asleep. Also: the inherent eroticism of power exchange with somebody who is 100% your equal in every other way, amiright? It's one of my favorite things about their relationship. Comments are writer jet fuel - please let me know if you're enjoying this! **ETA: you can now read an extended version of this scene from Shane’s perspective! Next work in the series — https://archiveofourown.org/works/79546371
Chapter 4
Chapter Notes
Chapter content notes at the end! Just about done with the last two sections of this now, so I've a) upped the chapter count, because that +1 is getting longer than anticipated, and b) finalized the tags. If you feel like there's something I've missed that deserves a warning, let me know? See the end of the chapter for more notes 4.
“Not sure this is your color,” Shane calls, from the powder room in the hallway. Ilya stretches, draping himself over the back of the couch to crane his neck in that direction. “What are you talking about?” Shane appears in the doorway, smirking, and tosses something in his direction; Ilya grabs it out of the air reflexively. It’s a tube of lipstick. “Svetlana’s, I guess. She was here last week.” He opens it and admires the deep red shade. “I don’t know, I think I could pull this off. Is called ‘Russian Red,’ after all.” He holds it up appraisingly as Shane comes around the couch and flops down next to him again. “Would look better on you, though.” “Shut up,” Shane mutters, going pink. He’s all loose-limbed and relaxed, thanks to an afternoon blowjob, a good dinner, and a lazy evening of video games; his defenses are down, which is probably why Ilya’s able to straddle him before he gets more than token resistance. “Is true, you always look so pretty in make-up,” Ilya teases. “Come here, let’s see.” “Oh my god,” Shane half-laughs, trying to bat his hands away, but Ilya pouts and gives him puppy eyes and generally makes a nuisance of himself until Shane huffs out a resigned, “Fine, whatever.” Ilya grins, holding him by the chin to keep him still as he swipes the lipstick over Shane’s pretty cupid’s bow, while Shane watches him through his lashes, the corners of his mouth curling up in a soft smile. “I am artist, this is art,” Ilya says solemnly, and drags the color across his lower lip while Shane tries not to laugh. He rubs his own lips together pointedly and directs, “Like this? Hm.” Ilya caps the lipstick again and leans in close to wipe at a smudge with his thumb. “I am… Impressionist artist, maybe. Not so good at coloring in lines.” Shane does laugh at that, which makes the smudge a little bit worse. How do women do this so easily? Then Shane nips at his thumb, white teeth even whiter against the deep blood-red color of his mouth, and wraps his lips around the tip of it for a moment. “How do I look?” Shane asks softly, but he doesn’t pull away, which makes the spit-wet pad of Ilya’s thumb brush against his mouth as he speaks. It leaves a red smudge. Ilya pretends to think about the question, head tilted, as he slips his index and middle fingers between Shane’s lips. He’s spent a decade, now, admiring the shape Shane’s mouth makes around various parts of his body, but this is new; the color is startling against his pale skin. Shane sucks both fingers deeper into his mouth, sucking on them lightly, and drags his tongue up between the knuckles. Ilya’s cock twitches, an automatic hard-wired response after all these years. “Entirely too pretty,” he purrs, fucking his fingers deeper into Shane’s mouth for a moment before hooking them around the corner of his lips, like he’s catching a fish. “Makes me want to ruin you.” He pulls them free, slowly, dragging a trail of spit and smeared red along Shane’s cheek, entranced by the mess. “Do you ever miss it?” Shane asks quietly. Ilya frowns. Shane’s gaze immediately darts to the side, evasive. “Miss what?” “You know. Women.” “No,” Ilya says simply. Then he narrows his eyes. “Is that what you think this is? Me missing… what, the taste of lipstick?” “No,” Shane says. “Maybe? I don’t know.” “No,” Ilya says, yet again, more firmly this time. “Tastes gross.” He ducks down to kiss Shane anyway, tongue flicking between those red, red lips, making it slick and filthy as he keeps a demanding hand on Shane’s jaw. When he pulls away, Shane’s mouth is an obscene mess. “Oh,” Shane says, wet ruby lips parting around the syllable as he stares at Ilya’s mouth. “You see the appeal, now,” Ilya observes slyly. Shane rolls his eyes and slides a hand into Ilya’s hair to tug him down; he presses a hard kiss to Ilya’s jaw and pulls back to look at the mark he must’ve made. His lashes flutter, and he lets out a soft exhale. “I like… that,” he whispers. “Seeing my mouth on you. My mark.” “Yes?” “Yeah. Yeah, I –” He looks up at Ilya, suddenly serious and intense. “That’s what I mean. I mean – do you miss being with someone you could… show off?” Ilya shakes his head without hesitating. “No.” Shane smiles slightly before he leans forward for another kiss, tongue flickering over Ilya’s pulse point in a way that makes him shiver. “There is nobody else I want. I wish I could… shout from the rooftops, that you are mine. But that is – I want different world, never different person.” “Yeah,” Shane whispers, dragging his mouth down the side of Ilya’s neck, and Ilya closes his eyes, gets lost in the sensation. He can feel the wax of the lipstick, the residue it leaves on the skin, and he tries to imagine what it looks like. Shane murmurs, “I would do this all the time, if I could. Mark you up, any way you’d let me.” Ilya’s face floods with heat, and he lets out a soft groan, grabbing Shane by the hair and tugging his head back to kiss him again. By the time he breaks away, Shane’s lips are less vivid crimson and more a puffy, well-used rose, with the remains of the pigment smeared around his mouth. “I would let you,” he growls. “Anything.” “Yeah?” Shane asks, sliding his hands up the back of Ilya’s shirt, trying to drag him closer. “Good. The way women throw themselves at you – it drives me crazy,” Shane admits quietly. “God, Ilya, it drives me so fucking crazy sometimes, I wish –” He cuts himself off, tugging at the hem of Ilya’s shirt, and demands, “Take this off.” Ilya tugs it over his head, tosses it, only to find Shane opening the tube of lipstick again, frowning with concentration as he applies it carefully to his own mouth. Ilya groans, squeezing his dick, which is tenting his joggers. “Maybe should wear Hollander jersey around. Have your name on me?” Shane shudders, eyes going dark as he bites out, “Fuck.” “Really?” Ilya asks, because – well. He’s never made a secret of the fact that he’s a possessive bastard, but Shane doesn’t say things like this often. Makes Ilya feel a little less crazy for how badly he wants the world to know that this man is his. “You would like that?” Shane just looks at him, mouth a debauched, messy red, almost angry with the intensity in his eyes, and ducks forward to nip at Ilya’s nipple. Ilya groans, hands flying automatically to Shane’s hair, holding him in place, and lets his head loll back on his neck. Shane gives the tingling, pebbled skin a final suck, then pulls away to admire his handiwork. God, it looks filthy. There’s a perfect red kiss around his nipple, which is tight and wet and so sensitive it almost hurts. “More,” Ilya breathes, palming himself again. Shane’s hard too, the shape of him obvious in his sweatpants when he shifts, and Ilya rocks down against him, breathing harsh and heavy. But instead of leaning forward again, Shane grabs the lipstick, and he starts writing on Ilya’s chest, dragging the little stick in quick, sharp strokes. His head is in the way; Ilya can’t see what he’s writing, not until he leans back to look. “What does it say?” Ilya asks hoarsely, trying to read the messy block letters upside-down. “Property of Shane Hollander,” Shane tells him. Ilya cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot remember ever being so turned on in his entire life, holy shit. He lets out a sharp animalistic sound and kisses Shane, biting and greedy, hands shaking. “Bed,” he growls. “Now.” “Why –” “Because I want you to write it all over,” Ilya tells him. “And the leather couch is not the right place for this.” He tries to get up, and he almost stumbles, clumsy – maybe because every drop of blood in his entire body is in his dick right now. “Bed.” Shane is still holding the lipstick when Ilya hauls him to his feet; he glances down at it almost defensively and says, “I’ll buy Svetlana a new one,” in a stubborn voice like he expects an argument. “I’ll buy her ten new ones, I don’t care,” Ilya retorts, pulling him toward the bedroom. Maybe he’ll get one for Shane, too. ‘Russian Red’ really does look good on him.
Chapter End Notes
This chapter involves lipstick! But not in a feminization way, more like a possessive/writing on each other's skin kinda way. Also featuring: the author's enduring love of MAC's Russian Red. ALSO: you can now read about the aftermath of this chapter! in Assumptions, which is work 3 in this series. ALSO ALSO! THIS CHAPTER NOW HAS ART! And it’s fucking incredible 😍 Check out the “inspired by” works! So very grateful for all the comments on this! I love hearing from you! If you’d like to spread the word on tumblr I made a post for this story: https://www.tumblr.com/there- must-be-a-lock/805417340274606080/5-times-shane-and-ilya-matched-each-others- freak
Chapter 5
Chapter Notes
Warnings at the end! See the end of the chapter for more notes 5. “I was thinking,” Shane says. “Ah, yes, something new for you,” Ilya deadpans. “Shut up. I was thinking –” “If you can still think, I am not doing my job." Ilya strokes in little circles with the tips of his fingers, until Shane bows up off the bed and moans. “Don’wannauseacondom,” Shane gasps out, which does in fact shut Ilya right the fuck up for a second. He blinks down at Shane. In the deep orange light of the sunset reflecting off the lake, he looks like he’s even more flushed than he is. “Excuse me?” “You heard me,” Shane grumbles. He takes a deep breath and puts on his Mr. Logical voice, which loses some of its effect given the way he’s trying to fuck himself on Ilya’s hand: “I don’t sleep with anyone else. You don’t sleep with anyone else. Right?” “Yes,” Ilya says, nodding like a bobblehead. They both got tested within the last year, just in case – so maybe he should be surprised that this hasn’t come up already. But it’s not something he’s ever done before. He was very slutty, for many years; he could not afford to be careless, so he always thought of condoms as an entirely mandatory part of the experience. This feels like a step, a new level of trust… and right now, on their first night back at the cottage, it feels significant. “So?” Shane asks, very smug for someone who looks as utterly wrecked as he does. “Yes,” Ilya repeats impatiently. “I mean – yes, I want – yes. Now?” Shane rolls his eyes. “Yes. Now.” “Going to last about two seconds,” Ilya warns him. They exchanged rushed, frantic blowjobs on arrival (in the car, because Ilya was lunging for his zipper before Shane could even put the car in park) but that was hours ago, and after a long year mostly apart, it barely took the edge off. “Yeah, well, we got all summer for you to make it up to me.” Shane’s bratty tone is almost ruined by the shy, giddy smile that spreads across his face. “Okay,” Ilya says, mostly to steady himself. He wipes off his fingers on someone’s discarded t-shirt. Shane wrinkles his nose and complains, “There’s a washcloth right over there.” Ilya ignores that, crawling up Shane’s body to kiss him. His hand is shaking a little bit, when he goes to slick himself up, and he almost laughs at himself; he’s so wound-up and nervous, like he’s losing his virginity all over again. But Shane is smiling up at him, open and trusting and eager, with his eyes shiny and his pink freckly cheeks sheened in sweat, and focusing on that smile makes everything else melt away. From the first cautious press into his body, it’s so much more. It knocks the air out of Ilya's lungs; he can’t even catch his breath to moan. His mouth drops open, and he stares, watching Shane tilt his head back and sigh, and then he has to fold forward and bury his face in the crook of Shane’s neck and just pant for a second in an attempt to pull himself back from the edge. He smears an open-mouthed kiss up the side of Shane’s neck. “Oh, fuck.” He rocks his hips, clumsy and overwhelmed, and groans, “Still okay?” Shane smacks at his upper arm with an impatient huff, like he’s beyond the point of being able to make words, but then he smooths his palm up and down the spot he hit as if to apologize. He slides his hands up Ilya’s back, digging his fingertips into the muscle, raking them through his hair, to finally pull him into a real kiss. “Yeah,” he breathes, as the tips of their noses brush. “Yeah, it’s good. Fuck, Ilya, please.” They both moan in unison at the next rolling thrust. It’s so intense, so hot and slick, but it's more than that, too. It's intimate. Ilya can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s the closest he’s ever been to another person. He's got sparks coursing down his spine, a molten simmer in his belly, a throbbing, needy ache in his cock, and it's Shane, and every little drag of friction feels like fireworks. “Fu-uuhh, ngh,” he slurs. “You feel – so good.” He’s tongue-tied and stupid with the effort of holding back. He’s not going to last, there’s no way in hell. “Do you want – do you want me to pull out, or –” “Why would you –” Shane tosses his head back with a near-delirious little half-laugh, half- moan. Ilya’s about to warn him, tell him to touch himself, when Shane teases, “What, you don’t wanna knock me up?” “Fuck,” Ilya chokes out, and jerks into him, rough and abrupt and involuntary, blindsided by the surge of white-hot arousal that flashes through his entire body. “Huh,” Shane breathes. Ilya has time to think, oh, motherfucker, I know that tone, before Shane adds, “Don’t pull out, I wanna feel you dripping out of me.” “Oh, fuck!” Ilya gasps again, and he’s gone. He’s crushing their bodies together in choppy, desperate thrusts, driving impossibly deeper with all the grace of a feral creature, and the noise he makes is more snarl than speech. He sobs through the first pulse of his release, and then sinks his teeth into Shane’s salty skin at the second wave of it, in an attempt to muffle all the high, jagged, broken sounds that want to spill out. The aftershocks are still shuddering through him when he realizes Shane’s whimpering, that he can’t even get a hand on himself with the way Ilya’s pressed against him, and so he pulls out with a pained grunt and ducks down to get his mouth on Shane’s cock. He swallows him down all at once, slips three fingers inside to give that wet, empty hole something to clench around, and Shane lets out a single shout before he comes in thick pulses down Ilya’s throat. Ilya pulls off with a filthy-wet sound and hauls in a ragged gulp of air like a drowning man. “Fuck,” he repeats, because apparently that’s all he can say now, and he presses his open mouth to the crease of Shane’s hip, tonguing away sweat. Shane pats at Ilya’s hair, fuck-drunk and clumsy, like a kitten batting a ball of yarn. When Ilya glances up, Shane’s smirking at him. Ilya warns, “Oh, no. Don’t even start.” “Didn’t say anything!” Shane protests innocently. “Uh-huh.” He hasn’t pulled his fingers free of Shane’s body, and he feels it from the inside as Shane shivers with a little aftershock; he squeezes around Ilya’s knuckles like he’s trying to keep them inside. Ilya’s poor spent cock twitches with a last zip of electric-shock pleasure. “Fuck, that was –” “Yeah.” “So hot.” Ilya looks down at his fingers, the way they’re slippery with his own release as he fucks them lazily past Shane’s stretched pink rim. “Oh, you’re a mess, sweetheart. You should see yourself.” “I’d let you, you know,” Shane tells him matter-of-factly. “If we could. Someday.” Ilya blinks up at him, startled. Shane's smile softens as he adds, “You’d make a really good dad.” Ilya… has no idea what to say to that. For a moment all he can do is stare. His heart feels so swollen that his ribcage might burst. Shane shrugs, getting shy now. “The way you are with kids – I love watching you.” “You’d want –” Ilya starts. “Is that what you want?” “Someday,” Shane repeats. Ilya has to clear his throat and swallow the lump in it before he rasps, “You want me to fuck a baby into you?” Shane’s eyes go wide with surprise, and his cock gives a little twitch where it’s resting against his belly. Ilya hides his smile against Shane’s thigh, kissing one of the faint white stretch marks there. He’d have so many more of those to kiss, if – that happened. “Would have to fuck you as many times as possible,” he murmurs, as he starts to curl his fingers more deliberately. “Fuck you until you can’t take any more. Just to be sure.” “Oh my god,” Shane says, and hides his face behind his hands. He lets out a sharp hiss of an exhale and squirms, but he doesn’t try to get away as he whimpers, “Ilya, fuck, that’s – too much, I need a second.” But his cock twitches again, still all flushed and fat with blood. Ilya watches it appraisingly as he says, “Fill you up, keep you full of my come… is that what you want?” “Fuck, that's - how the fuck is that so hot?" “You’d look very pretty, all... round,” Ilya muses, and Shane's breath catches. He tries to imagine it. "You'd be bossy. Make me bring you weird snacks." Shane chuckles. "Probably, yeah." "I would rub your feet. Take care of you." He’ll take any opportunity to spoil Shane, and that would be a good one. "If you let me. Would you? Let me?" “Yeah,” Shane whispers. Ilya nods slowly. "I like the sound of this someday." He’s all choked up again, for some reason. Shane runs a hand through Ilya’s messy curls with a tender little smile. They stare at each other for a moment, bathed in the orange-pink glow of the setting sun, before Shane turns away to swipe at his eyes. Ilya clears his throat and offers, “We talk about this more after my dick has recovered, maybe." "Yeah. Deal." Shane huffs out a laugh. "For now... can you come up here and kiss me?” “Anything you want.” Ilya wipes his fingers on the same t-shirt he used earlier; before Shane can make some bitchy comment about how he’ll do anything but use a goddamn washcloth, apparently, what the fuck, Ilya crawls up and silences him with a soft kiss. Someday.
Chapter End Notes
Ilya has a breeding kink and you cannot convince me otherwise. But also, the real kink is like. Daydreaming about the future! They have sex without a condom for the first time, he's very into the idea of accidentally knocking Shane up, and then they get sappy about it during the afterglow. It's so sickeningly sweet. I am not responsible for any dental bills incurred as a result of reading. Last chapter with the +1 coming soon! Links back to the Vegas scene, which -- I've LOVED all the comments, especially about that conversation in ch. 1. Glad I wasn't the only one who was sad about that.
Chapter 6
Chapter Notes
There really aren't any content warnings necessary this chapter; it is, as advertised, pure vanilla marshmallow fluff, with another guest appearance from Shane's autism. Also, some of the world's most belated aftercare. Vegas Pt. 2: Missionary-Style Boogaloo! See the end of the chapter for more notes +1
Shane opens his phone one more time as the elevator begins to move, blinking down at the text in disbelief. No matter how many times he checks, it remains the same, identical to the one he received five years ago. Lily: Penthouse 1 His own reply is underneath, unread and unanswered: Or you could come to my room. That was almost an hour ago. Ilya left the dinner early tonight. He didn’t seem to be having much fun, whenever Shane caught a glimpse of him, but then again, it’s not like he’s had much to celebrate this year. The Centaurs are a mess; Shane wasn't even sure Ilya would want to come here. The last time they were both at the awards was three years ago. Ilya skipped them last year, and Shane was injured the year before that. But three years ago, Ilya did not have a penthouse suite. He’d booked himself into a different hotel altogether. So it must’ve been intentional. He must’ve booked himself into this particular penthouse on purpose. Maybe Ilya doesn’t remember which suite he was in that night? …it’s a pretty memorable room number, though. And it was a memorable night – or at least, Shane thought Ilya remembered. He kinda thought they were on the same page about not wanting to relive that night. He gets a little more irritated with every floor. Doesn’t help that Shane is exhausted. The awards ceremony is always a blur of camera flashes and spotlights and small talk and strangers, which are some of his least favorite things in the entire world. He’s at the point of the night when his brain starts turning to white noise, when it becomes difficult to form words, when he feels like he’s been scraped dull by all the eyes on him and all he wants is one of Ilya’s bear hugs. He gives better hugs than anybody Shane’s ever met; he wraps his arms around Shane like a straitjacket and squeezes tight, envelops him in familiar cologne and solid muscle, until Shane feels like he’s not in danger of falling apart anymore. The elevator door opens with a ding and he steps out. Just a couple doors to choose from in this hallway, and he remembers the way. He gives a cursory knock before swiping the key card Ilya slipped into his pocket earlier. It’s the same, as far as he can tell. Same suite, same decor, same massive windows with a spectacular view of the city. Same figure standing in front of the windows, in his white shirt – only two buttons open this time, no vodka glass, hands shoved in his pockets, but… Fuck. Ilya still looks so good in formalwear that it drives Shane out of his mind a little bit. “Did you do this on purpose?” Shane’s embarrassed by the way the last word cracks and breaks, but he can’t help it. Ilya strolls toward him, hands still in his pockets, and admits, “Yes.” “Why?” Shane demands. He takes a jerky step closer and asks, “What are we doing here?” “I thought, maybe… whatever you want?” Ilya offers. Shane just blinks at him for a moment. In the part of his brain that’s not freaking out, the part that is precisely attuned to Ilya Rozanov and his moods, he registers that Ilya seems uncharacteristically anxious: jaw tight, eyes darting around Shane’s face, shoulders up. But he can’t even begin to figure out what that means, not when his heart is rabbiting around in his chest like this. “What the fuck?” he asks flatly. Ilya gives him the bitchy little shrug he does when he feels wrong-footed, more visible in his rolled eyes and pursed lips than in his shoulders. “Seems fair, no? Your turn to get whatever you want.” “What, like payback?” His voice shakes. “Like… making it up to you.” Shane just keeps staring, and after a long moment, Ilya seems to shrink in on himself. “I just – I wanted to apologize. Better late than never, yes?” “That’s really not how aftercare works,” Shane blurts out, without thinking, but then he sees the way Ilya flinches and immediately regrets it. Ilya shakes his head, eyes suspiciously bright, and says, “Sorry. Never mind. We can just –” “Can you just kiss me already,” Shane interrupts, in a thick, choked-up voice. Ilya doesn’t wait to be told twice. He lets out a harsh exhale and closes the distance between them with a couple steps, and then he cups both big hands around Shane’s jaw, cradling it like he’s precious, pressing their foreheads together and breathing for a moment before their lips finally meet. There’s something lush about the way Ilya kisses, the way he uses his mouth to tease and explore and caress, like he’s taking a careful, appreciative bite of something juicy, and it melts Shane now just as thoroughly as it did the first time. But he still feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, still feels all staticky and jittery inside, and now he has all the adrenaline of that almost-fight fizzling out in his bloodstream, and – “Fuck,” he snaps, breaking the kiss. He tugs at his bow tie and makes a frustrated sound, trying to pull himself together, and then he gives in and just clings, burying his face in the crook of Ilya’s neck to breathe him in. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ilya wraps his arms around Shane, bundles him up like Shane’s been waiting for all fucking night. He kisses Shane’s hair and says miserably, “I’m the one who should be sorry, sweetheart. This was – was stupid idea.” “No, that’s not –" Shane tightens his grip before Ilya can pull away, hiding in Ilya’s shoulder. “I can’t – sorry. Words are hard.” Ilya’s hand curls around the nape of Shane’s neck, warm and heavy, holding him where he is. He asks softly, “Long night?” Shane nods without pulling away, nose brushing the crisp fabric of Ilya’s shirt, which… isn’t so crisp, he realizes. It’s definitely pretty damp. Ilya doesn’t let go. He murmurs, “Okay. Is okay, take your time.” They breathe, in and out. Some of the awful tension drains out of Shane with every exhale. Ilya’s holding him tighter than he’d hug anyone else, because Ilya knows it helps; he knows that, paradoxically, it’s easier for Shane to breathe when he’s being squeezed so hard his ribcage can’t fully expand. “Love you,” Ilya whispers, and mumbles it in Russian a few times for good measure, his voice barely audible with the way his mouth is pressed to Shane’s hair. Shane straightens up, but doesn’t take a real step away, keeping their bodies pressed close together while he looks at Ilya’s face. Shane’s not good at reading most people, but at this point, he can read Ilya like a book – or, better yet, like the angle of a shot, more instinctive than calculated. It’s not even reading at this point, he just knows. Ilya’s expression has gone very soft, and his lashes are wet, and Shane immediately catches the shadow of guilt that’s still, somehow, lurking in his eyes after all these years. “I love you so fucking much,” he says fiercely. Ilya knows how to read him, too. He takes off Shane’s bowtie for him, tucks it in the pocket of his suit jacket, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Suddenly it’s a lot easier to breathe. “Better?” he asks. Shane lets out a shuddery sigh and presses their foreheads together. “Did you really think I’d – what, try to hurt you back?” he asks, the words coming slowly, thick on his tongue. His voice sounds as hollowed-out as he feels. “No,” Ilya mumbles. “Maybe? I don’t know.” “I already did that, remember? We’re tied.” “Tied,” Ilya echoes flatly. “If we were keeping score. Which we are not, because that would be ridiculous.” “No, it was – it was not like that. More like… do-over.” Shane doesn’t know if he’ll be able to find the words for this right now; he wants to show Ilya. That’s always been so much easier for them. He laces their hands together and holds on tight as he leads the way into the bedroom, and Ilya trails behind him obediently. Shane almost laughs, remembering the way he dragged that fucking chair, with his cocky smirk and his hard, flinty eyes. He was already falling, head over heels, but in retrospect, they barely knew each other back then. He still had so much further to fall. The lights are already as dim as they’ll go, and there’s a bottle of lube on the nightstand. Shane wonders how long Ilya’s been here, waiting for him. Worrying. Punishing himself. They don’t make a production of undressing; Ilya helps him finish unbuttoning his shirt, but lets Shane fold it himself. He strips, and then he gets under the massive duvet, watching as Shane folds his boxer-briefs and sets them neatly on top of his slacks. Shane slips between the sheets and tugs Ilya on top of him, letting out a sigh of relief at the familiar weight and heat of his body. He runs his hands up Ilya’s bare back, palming the contours of muscles that he’s already mapped by touch a thousand times. Ilya props himself up just enough to meet Shane’s gaze. His curled knuckles trail along Shane’s jaw, trace his lower lip, and brush a tear from the corner of his eye. “You’ve changed,” Shane says, and punctuates it with a soft kiss to Ilya’s lower lip. “In good ways,” Ilya says, nodding slowly. “We both have.” Ilya pushed; Shane ran. They hurt each other. They came back to each other. And here they are again: same hotel, same people, but everything important has changed. He leans in for a slower kiss, one that starts sweet and turns sultry, heat simmering slowly with every liquefying swipe of his tongue, until Shane’s boneless beneath him. He kisses his way down the side of Shane’s neck, and Shane tilts his head, gives him better access, as the sensation sends a trail of goosebumps down his spine. “S’better than an apology,” Shane says. “The – change. More important.” Ilya smiles at that, eyes sparkling. “Yes. I guess it is. Lesson learned.” Shane fumbles for the lube that Ilya left on the nightstand and presses it into his hand. No words needed there. If Ilya tried to push him away, right now – tried to shut him out, the way he did five years ago – Shane would see through it in a heartbeat, and this time he would be confident enough to call him out on it. To speak up. But Ilya wouldn’t. Ilya won’t. They both learned their lesson. They learned how to be honest with each other, and how to take care of each other. Shane’s learned, over the course of the last two years, just how much Ilya loves to take care of him, loves to be soft and tender and kind in ways he hides from the rest of the world. “You… show me,” he murmurs, as Ilya’s tongue flutters against his pulse point and his fingers slip down between his legs. “All the time.” “Show you?” Shane frowns, trying to figure out how to say it, running his fingers through Ilya’s curls. When Shane offers him any sort of power, any sort of submission, Ilya gets this look on his face like he’s been entrusted with something precious. He’s always so careful. Like he’s trying to prove he deserves the trust – never mind the fact that he’s one of the most rock- solid, dependable people Shane’s ever known. Trying to prove it to himself, maybe. But it’s not just sex. It’s everything. Like when Shane is overstimulated and panicky, and Ilya knows exactly what to do. He’s distracted by long, skilled fingers, and he bites his lip, tilts his head back, while Ilya kisses the hollow of his throat. He’s so gentle. Shane would like to claim that he doesn’t understand how Ilya’s managed to fool the world into thinking he’s an asshole for all these years, but unfortunately, he does understand; Ilya’s convincing. Sometimes Ilya even convinces himself. I was cruel to both of us, Ilya said, last time they talked about this, back when Shane was just beginning to understand how contrary that cruelty was to Ilya’s nature. Maybe this isn’t about letting Shane get payback. Maybe this do-over is for Ilya, too. “What do I show you, hm?” Ilya prompts. “How sweet you are.” “Lies,” Ilya huffs. “I am never sweet, liar told you this.” Shane does him the courtesy of trying not to laugh out loud. Then Ilya curls his fingers just right and he moans, arching his back shamelessly. Shane tugs at Ilya’s hair until Ilya comes up for a kiss again – and this time it’s needier, hungrier, both of them biting at each other’s mouths until their lips feel bruised, until Ilya’s hard against his hip and Shane’s gasping for breath with every twist of his knuckles. “How much you love me,” Shane says, voice thick. “That I will not argue.” Ilya’s eyes are heavy-lidded and dark, and his mouth is a deep, sinful red, and Shane is so pinned by the force of his stare that he barely notices the first blunt stretch – not until that swollen red mouth drops open wide, and his vision fuzzes at the edges with the surge of pleasure, and they’re exchanging a kiss that’s more mingled whines and close, hot gasps than actual kiss. “You can show me again, though,” Shane tells him dazedly. “If you want.” Ilya hitches Shane’s knee up a little higher and murmurs, “As many times as you’ll let me, moya lyubov.” Shane closes his eyes, lets himself get lost in the steady, sure rhythm Ilya sets – lets everything fade away except for Ilya’s body and his skin and his terrifyingly huge heart – until the rest of the world disappears. Until it’s just the two of them. Ilya kisses him again, and his cheek is wetter than can really be explained by sweat, but Shane doesn’t call him on it; he just whispers praise, and asks for more, and promises that he’s not going anywhere.
Chapter End Notes
I would LOVE to hear from you in the comments if you enjoyed this fic! I’d also love to know if you found your way here through a rec from Twitter/reddit/wherever people rec these days — it makes my day to know that somebody’s talking about a fic out there in the wild.
End Notes
First time dipping my toes into Hollanov and I hope I did them justice. These two are a whole lot of fun to write and this definitely won't be my last time dabbling in this pairing. I'm adding this to a series, because there's at least one follow-up scene I'd like to write, and I'm open to suggestions for more if there's something you want to see! I would love to hear from you in the comments, or just in general - I'm on tumblr as there-must-be-a-lock. Also, for the record, if anybody wanted to draw Ilya covered in lipstick (or any part of this, really) that would be AMAZING! There is ART of the lipstick scene! It's gorgeous, go check it out! PS if you enjoyed this you might also enjoy Denial — I think of it as the dark mirror image of this fic. It’s longer, kinkier and more emotional, but it’s got the same basic premise of Shane and Ilya muddling through communication and trust by way of filthy smut. Works inspired by this one [podfic] 5 Times Shane and Ilya Matched Each Other's Freak (+1 Time They Kept Things Completely Vanilla) by read_by_Sophie (Sophie) [Restricted Work] by blueheart_V Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!