Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, Mentions of past child abuse, Explicit Sexual Content

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-23 Words: 8,046 Chapters: 1/1

you've tasted love and it tasted sweet

Summary

Shane had seen all of him. His broken heart, his bruised ribs, his childish desire to be known. And he still wanted him.

Or: Ilya cannot wrap his head around the fact that the boy he loves, for some reason, loves him back.

Notes

this originally started as a character study of sorts because i just couldn't get that scene of ilya smoking by the lake out of my head (he looked so beautiful and so, so sad) but it eventually turned into something else... and i'm still not sure what it is

i haven't written in a very long time so please be kind in the comments if you find any mistakes (english is not my native language and neither is russian) anyway i hope you like it <3

little disclaimer: i do not fuck with ai. this whole thing was written by my very human hands and my very functional brain. thank you very much.

Ilya couldn’t sleep.

He had his eyes closed, nose pressed into warm skin. He breathed in slowly, wondering not for the first time in the past hour if it had all been a dream. Shane felt unbelievably soft under the press of his lips, reminding Ilya of ripe peaches during summer time. He tasted just as sweet.

Ilya nuzzled further into that warmth, wishing to get drunk on his scent.

It made him smile, something faint and barely there. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself be this vulnerable around another person. Not even Svetlana had been allowed to witness this side of him, live prey out in the open, helpless and afraid. No armor left to shield him.

The night before, Ilya had laid down on that bed naked, in every possible sense of the word. His chest cut open, bleeding and bare, offering himself up as some strange sort of sacrificial lamb. Here I am, take me. I dare you to take me. Shane had seen all of him. His broken heart, his bruised ribs, his childish desire to be known. And he still wanted him.

The confession had left his lips without much thought, fearless in the most tender of ways, barely more than a whisper in the dead of the night.

Soft, so terribly soft. So unlike himself.

Ilya remembered his father trying to beat that same softness out of him from a very young age, to mold him into stone somehow. Harsh words, stern looks. He would use his hands to punish him most times. Big, thick, calloused hands. They felt rough against him, like leather. Ilya would touch his tender and reddened skin every night before bed, digging his fingers in deep, deeper still, until he choked from pain.

But he never cried.

His lips would be bitten raw, eyes burning from unshed tears, a lump so big in his throat he had trouble breathing.

And, yet, he didn’t break.

He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to remember. With sharp, vivid clarity. Maybe then he wouldn’t falter and fall next time he hit the ice, wouldn’t make the mistake of letting anyone see what he hid deep underneath. Boyish curiosity. A strange type of hunger.

Perversion, his father would say, weakness.

But one look at Shane and suddenly Ilya could no longer hear his father’s voice screaming at him in the back of his head.

Shane was the only thing on his mind, his head filled with nothing but images of him. How peaceful he looked when he fell asleep in his arms, how gentle his touches had always felt, even before either of them acknowledged this thing blooming between the two of them. His chocolate brown eyes glossy with tears, his soft pink lips quivering from barely contained emotion, his heart beating at a bruising pace just under his fingertips.

Shane, Shane, Shane.

Ilya felt it again, that same craving he did years before. Bone deep. Gut wrenching.

He wanted so much.

He wanted Shane more than anything in the world. To be his. To be together. To belong. He wanted too much.

It was terrifying.

Suffocating.

It felt like it could kill him.

Ilya found himself still comfortably tucked against Shane’s back, breathing in the smell of his cologne and aftershave. Spicy, addictive. He hadn’t moved in some time now, snoring softly and all but dead to the world around him. Ilya had been very pleased to discover Shane was a heavy sleeper. It made him smile again, brushing his lips against Shane’s nape in something that could hardly pass for a kiss.

I love you, he thought.

It filled him with a strange sense of déja vù, having uttered these same words out loud for the first time only a couple hours before. He didn’t mean to, not really. But Shane had been so determined, so honest, he’d somehow managed to tear down the walls Ilya had spent years building up. It was too much. It was everything. And, before he could make sense of what was happening, the words simply poured out of him, carelessly and true. The most genuine he’d been in a very long time.

Ilya blinked his eyes open again, scared of falling asleep and waking up to an empty bed, somewhere cold and all too familiar, miles away from this tiny pocket of paradise. It wasn’t a dream, he reminded himself.

Shane was real. And he was finally, truly his.

Ilya dragged his hand possessively down Shane’s stomach and up the valleys of his chest, a curious press of fingers. He trailed after every hard line, every smooth curve. Ilya wanted to commit his body to memory, to recognize him with eyes closed. Strong limbs and lean muscle. Soft, silky hair. So nice to tug at, to just run his fingers through.

How easy it was to make his skin flush that beautiful shade of pink. Sunkissed, so pretty.

And those damn freckles.

Ilya had been doomed from the very beginning.

He spent so much time hiding this side of him, lying about how much he cared, trying so desperately to maintain control of the narrative he’d created for himself. Because yes, he was the one who had set this whole thing into motion. Who had spent days thinking of ways to see him again, who had first approached Shane in that lockerroom. He had no idea at the time that shy, awkward boy would someday become his undoing.

A single glance at those freckles, a tiny smile breaking across those pretty lips, and suddenly everything would come crumbling down.

His body felt sated and heavy from exhaustion, like he’d been carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. It seeped into his muscles, ingrained in his chest, a phantom ache that throbbed with each heartbeat, pulsing loudly in his ears.

Outside the birds had begun to chirp and he could feel sunshine crawling down his spine. Ilya wondered how long he’d been lying awake while Shane took much needed rest. He knew he should be resting too. They had spent the whole day out in the sun, basking in each other’s bodies, feeding on each other’s touch. Ilya had never been happier.

But he also knew it was only a matter of time before they were both forced back into the real world.

They needed more time.

They needed a plan.

Shane had come up with one, a very good one. And it could actually work. He’d been so sure about it, too. Unwavering. His eyes shone with the same restless determination Ilya would see on the ice, as if nothing in the world could stop him. Shane wanted to be with him. For a very long time. The realization made Ilya dizzy, the feeling not unlike whiplash. How long had Shane been thinking about this before finally mustering the courage to bring it up?

He needed a cigarette. Maybe two.

Ilya planted a small kiss just below Shane’s ear before slowly pulling away, careful not to stir him awake. He put on a pair of sweats he found lying on the floor, though he couldn’t remember with any accuracy how they had landed there in the first place.

The days were all slowly starting to blur, hazy as if he’d been drunk for the entirety of his stay. His memories were a jumbled mess that consisted mostly of sweaty bodies, tangled sheets, and heavy breathing.

If Ilya closed his eyes he would still be able to hear Shane moaning in his ear, groaning against his lips.

The blunt press of teeth sinking into flesh, sucking hard and unforgiving, leaving behind a small trail of bruises down his jaw and all the way to the side of his neck. That unmistakable feeling of having a searing hot tongue laving down his exposed throat in a vicious display of hunger, covering his skin in frantic open mouthed kisses. Ilya couldn’t tell at the time if Shane had been trying to soothe the pain he’d inflicted or if he’d wanted to devour him.

But he had loved every single, agonizing second of it.

The tiny bursts of pain, the ferocity, the complete lack of control. He enjoyed being the one bearing those types of marks, getting off on the idea that Shane had staked some type of imaginary claim over him, like animals sometimes did out in the wild.

Mine, mine, mine.

It went unsaid with every bruising kiss.

Ilya would tell Shane to be louder, encouraging him to bite harder. He wanted Shane to be ingrained in every inch of him, woven deep into his skin like a tattoo.

Irrevocably and undeniably.

He pressed down a thumb against the phantom lips imprinted onto his skin, only enough for it to sting a little. Ilya wondered how long it would take for these to fade away completely. He wanted to ask Shane for more, for the bruises to crawl down other parts of his body, hidden from prying eyes.

He took one last glance at Shane, still curled under the sheets, and made his way outside.

—

Ilya only needed a little bit of fresh air in his lungs. And, well, a little bit of nicotine to get him to calm down. It was a bad habit, he knew. It made Shane upset, rightfully so. But quitting was hard, especially when he had so much on his mind.

Sitting on a rock closer by the lake, he pulled out the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him from the airport back in Boston. It had been a last minute decision, spurred mostly on nerves. He placed a white stick between his lips, grabbed the lighter and went through the mechanical motion of setting it alight with a trained flick of his thumb.

Ilya took in a long drag, closing his eyes briefly before letting out the smoke through his mouth.

The sun was slowly rising in the horizon, casting its warm glow across the still surface of the lake. Somewhere not too far from where he sat Ilya could hear loons calling out to each other. Maybe they were a pair, like he and Shane. Though, he wanted to believe they were better at communicating.

There was a light chill in the air this early in the morning, nothing that would make Ilya shiver after enduring many harsh winters back in Moscow, but enough to make him regret not putting on a shirt before he left the bedroom.

Ilya took another drag of his cigarette, hoping it would warm himself up a little from the inside. But even the cold felt different out here. Not so bitter, a little more forgiving. 

His mother would have loved this place.

Being surrounded by nature, free to roam in the woods or swim in the lake, away from a house that had always felt more like a prison. Shane would probably make sure to keep the cupboards stocked with all her favorite foods, he might even give up his own room just so she would have access to her very own private bathroom. Ilya wouldn’t mind staying in one of the smaller guest rooms, as long as he could still share a bed with Shane.

Ilya let out a sigh, smiling ruefully.

“I think you would have liked him, mom,” he said in Russian, to no one other than himself, lowering his voice as if he’d just shared a secret. “His name is Shane. He plays hockey, too. You would have loved to watch him play. It’s—” Ilya swallowed, tapping the ashes off his cigarette before taking another drag. His fingers were trembling when he touched his lips. “He’s very good, the best probably. He’s good to me, too. So good, I don’t know what to do sometimes. He invited me to his cottage for the summer, so we could have more time together.”

He shook his head, taking in a deep breath. His eyes had begun to burn, lashes heavy with the weight of unshed tears. It hurt to think of his mother, even after all those years, as if the wound was still open. It never stopped hurting. He just had to learn how to live with this pain.

Ilya licked his dry lips, swallowing past the lump that had formed in the back of his throat.

“I want everything with him, mom,” he confessed, but the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “I want him all to myself, all of the time. I’m so in love with him, so much it hurts,” Ilya sniffed quietly as he took one last drag, refusing to break. “I don’t—I don’t know if we can make this work, if I can be what he needs me to be. But I–I want to. Fuck, I want to be good for him, too. I’m so fucking scared.”

In the end, a single tear spilled over and sliced sharp across his face, running down until it landed on his upper lip. He licked it clean, blinking back the moisture lining his eyes.

“I miss you, mom,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I wish you were here, I wish I could bring you to meet my…” Ilya cut himself off, swallowing hard. Shane wasn’t his boyfriend. Not officially, anyway. “I wish you could meet Shane.”

Ilya stared into the lake, listening to the water slosh gently on the shore and fiddling with the extinguished butt of his cigarette. Sunlight slipped through the tiny cracks between leaves up in high branches, gleaming warmer than a moment before. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, talking to the ghost of his mother, but he should probably go back inside before Shane woke up and didn’t find him in bed.

Would he be able to tell he’d been crying?

Ilya didn’t want Shane to think he was sad. He wasn’t. But he would get like this sometimes, stuck in his own head, drowning in feelings he didn’t quite know how to name. Then his mood would take a weird plunge. He hated feeling this way.

Placing a second cigarette between his lips, Ilya figured he would need a shower if he wanted to lie back in bed with Shane. And to brush his teeth too, if he were to kiss those pouty lips. He played with the lighter for a little while longer, growing quiet in his melancholy, not yet ready to go back inside.

Just a couple more minutes, he told himself. Just until he finished this one last cigarette.

But a small noise coming from the house prompted Ilya to look back over his shoulder, stealing a short glimpse through the large glass windows that surrounded the cottage. He couldn’t really see Shane from where he sat, but he could pick up on the movement coming from inside. Ilya knew it was only a matter of time before Shane made his way to the shoreline, no doubt already searching for him in every room.

He took a drag from his cigarette, hoping to quiet down some of the restless energy that had begun to stir inside him, churning his stomach into knots.

Letting out a shaky breath, Ilya released the smoke from his lungs. He felt so terribly self conscious all of a sudden, as if he’d made a mistake somehow, hyper aware of Shane’s presence. He wanted to get up and run into his arms. To kiss him senseless, to tell him how much he loved him. Again, again, and again. To beg Shane to say he loved him back just the same.

Instead, Ilya stayed where he’d been for the past hour, sitting perfectly still on that small piece of hard rock, staring out into the lake and taking drag after slow drag of his burning cigarette.

And he waited for Shane to find him. Somehow they always found each other.

It didn’t take him long, given there were only a handful of places where Ilya could be hiding. Behind him, the back door slid shut and he heard the sound of Shane’s footsteps dragging across the cobblestones as he made his way down to the shore. Out of the corner of his eye, Ilya could pick out his silhouette, calm and carefully approaching.

He turned his face towards him, seeking comfort in those familiar brown eyes.

Shane had his hair still slightly mussed from the night before, sporting a faint hickey right below his jaw that Ilya had gently sucked into existence a couple days before, standing there in the same button up shirt he was wearing the day he went to pick him up at the airport.

Except a few buttons had been left undone this time, exposing a sliver of his firm chest. His skin was like molten gold bathed in sunlight. His freckles were like a small constellation of stars scattered across his face, all meticulously placed — over the bridge of his nose, the apple of his cheeks, all the way up to the corner of his eyes.

Ilya felt his fingers itch with the urge to trail after each and every single one of them.

Shane smiled at him, a little hesitant.

He had a pair of steaming mugs in each of his hands and a heavy looking blanket thrown over one of his shoulders. Ilya smiled in return, something small and tentative, hoping to god there were no vestiges left anywhere on his face that he’d been crying. If there were, Shane did a wonderful job pretending not to see it.

He silently offered him one of the mugs and Ilya carefully picked it up, placing it next to his lighter and the pack of cigarettes. Then, slowly and still a bit hesitantly, Shane placed the blanket over the broad expanse of Ilya’s shoulders.

He covered both of them with it, sitting by his side. Shane pressed close to Ilya, resting his head on his shoulder.

Ilya couldn’t remember the last time anyone treated him with this much care. He had probably still been a child, clinging to his mother. She would card gentle fingers through his hair every night when she put him to bed, her dark eyes brimming with a strange and affectionate shine.

She didn’t smile a lot. But whenever she did it was always because of him.

“Ilyusha,” she would call him, voice soft and eyes crinkling around the edges. “You look like an angel, did you know? I think it was God who sent you to me, my sweet boy.”

It felt so far away. A lifetime ago.

Ilya had a hard time trying to remember what she’d actually sounded like. Or what she’d smelled like. Or what her touch had felt like against his skin. These days her face looked fuzzy around the edges, hazy like the stuff from dreams. His brain betrayed him, like it had done to his father. The thought made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He absently touched the cross hanging from his neck, tracing its shape with the pad of his thumb. A habit. Something to ground him back to the present.

Shane pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder, searching for his hand and drawing invisible circles across his knuckles. He’d always preferred gestures rather than words, Ilya had learned as much.

They sat together in silence, breathing each other in. Ilya brought the mug to his lips, taking a small sip. His cigarette still burned between his fingers and he took another drag from it.

Ilya could feel Shane’s eyes on him, trailing after his every move. Sharp, inquisitive. He didn’t say anything, despite hating the stench of cigarettes. Shane had voiced his disgust for it plenty of times in the past. But maybe he could tell Ilya needed that now. Even if it was bad for him, even if it made him sick.

“I found you.”

Shane told him after a while, dragging a finger back and forth across the back of his hand.

Ilya swallowed, refusing to look at him. Eyes downcast, he focused on Shane’s hands instead. His bony knuckles, his perfectly shaped nails, how long and nimble his fingers looked against his own. Softer somehow, cleaner. Not a single blemish or scar. He wondered if Shane had ever gotten into a fist fight, punched someone hard on the ice, broken a bone or two in the process. He didn’t think so.

“You were looking for me?” he asked, small and a little unsure.

Ilya watched Shane circle his fingers around his hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“No, of course not.”

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, Ilya could hear the smile playing on his lips without even having to look. But his eyes searched for Shane anyway, like sunflowers seeking sunlight. He couldn’t help it. There was nobody else, there would never be anyone else but him. Him, only him.

Looking at Shane still felt like agony sometimes. Something forbidden, not meant for someone like him. Ilya wondered if he really was allowed to want someone in this way. In every possible way.

Was it too soon to think about forever? Was it too much?

“Hey,” Shane called, incredibly soft. His other hand had found its way to the side of Ilya’s face, his thumb gently brushing against the corner of his mouth. “Hey, are you okay?”

Ilya blinked, sinking into the palm of his hand on instinct. His touch was addictive, to the point he never wished to part from Shane ever again. Coming down from it would feel brutal once those two weeks came to an end. Torturous. Inevitable. The thought filled him with dread.

Shane must have seen something reflected on his face, because he’d begun to frown. His eyes shone with clear concern, too honest for his own good.

He felt a stab, something sharp piercing straight through his lungs the moment their gazes met, making it hard to breathe. Ilya touched Shane back with fingers that were just as gentle, trying to smooth away the crease that had formed between his brows, but his hands were shaking.

“I’m okay,” he said, giving a small nod of his head. Shane didn’t look very convinced. “I’m okay, Shane. I promise. I just couldn’t sleep.”

It was the truth. Mostly.

The conversation they shared over the fire a couple nights before was still fresh in his mind. It wasn’t something he did all that often. Or ever, for that matter. He didn’t think he’d ever told anyone about his mother. It always felt too sacred, too much of a fresh wound to leave out in the open.

Maybe it had stayed with Shane, too. The idea of her, the sadness surrounding them both, the tragedy of it all.

But Ilya wasn’t like his mother. At least, he didn’t think so. And he didn’t want Shane to think so, either.

“We promised we’d be honest to each other,” Shane reminded him, stroking his cheek almost absent mindedly. “You told me you’d try.”

His voice sounded so terribly tender, his eyes so painfully honest. The words didn’t sound like an accusation. It sounded like Shane cared about him in a way very few people in his life ever did. He wanted to know all of him, even the ugly parts Ilya wanted so desperately to keep hidden.

Ilya took Shane’s hand away from his cheek and brought it closer to his lips, closing his eyes for a brief second before pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. The skin there was soft and it smelled faintly of soap. Ilya mouthed at his pulse, counting each beat of his heart.

The rhythm was soothing, familiar. It brought him back to the night before, laying on top of Shane with his head resting against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat as he cried.

He thought this might be his favorite sound in the whole world.

“I love you, Shane,” Ilya said, nosing gently against his wrist. “I’m not lying, okay? I just… I never thought I could have this. You. I never let myself want any of this. It’s—It’s too much, I think,” he let out a shaky breath, letting go of Shane. His hand fell limp on his chest, a blunt nail scratching shyly against his collarbone. “I needed to breathe, so I came outside. I did this a lot with my mother. Whenever things got too hard back home, with hockey or with my father. She would hold my hand and take me out of that house.”

“Where would she take you?”

“We would go to lake not too far from where we lived, it was our secret place. Special, you know? Like cottage is for you,” Ilya swallowed before continuing. “Sometimes, during winter, it would freeze over and we would skate there together. It was just the two of us out on the ice, for hours and hours,” his voice sounded fragile and on the verge of breaking when he spoke again. “I never wanted to go back home. I wanted to stay in that lake forever, where we were both happy and where nothing bad could ever find us.”

Where my father couldn’t find us. It went unsaid.

Shane grazed the tip of his finger against the golden cross that hung at the base of his neck. Ilya felt a shiver run down his spine.

“It sounds like a beautiful memory, Ilya.”

Ilya nodded, “It is. Most of my memories of her are beautiful ones, happy ones.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered, avoiding his eyes. Ilya frowned, confused. “I shouldn’t have assumed you weren’t being honest with me. That was—” he shook his head, looking up from behind long lashes. “You must miss her a lot and I–I’m sorry. I can leave you alone, if that’s what you want.”

“No.”

“No?” Shane asked, his voice small.

He was blushing, looking embarrassed. Ilya felt his heart swell in his chest, brimming with adoration for the man sitting before him. He loved him so fucking much. This feeling would someday swallow him whole, consume every last bit of him, until it spat back nothing but his bare bones.

He took hold of Shane’s wrist again, stroking the soft skin there in a silent plea. Please, he wanted to say, don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me. He didn’t want to be alone. The idea made him feel sick, his stomach tied in knots.

Ilya couldn’t bring himself to say as much. Instead, he shook his head, bringing his other hand to cradle the side of Shane’s face, tracing his freckles with his fingertips. Shane’s eyes were so big, so dark. Ilya thought he could drown in them.

“I don’t want you to go.” he said, barely more than a whisper.

Shane swallowed. Ilya followed the movement of his throat with his eyes.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Shane nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. We can stay here for as long as you want.”

Ilya smiled, then kissed Shane on his plush, pretty mouth. Sweet, almost chaste. He thought he could taste the sun from his lips.

“Thank you, lyubimyy.”

Shane stared at him, eyes dark and inquisitive. He bit back a smile.

“What does it mean?”

“I will teach you someday,” Ilya touched their foreheads together, refusing to tear himself away. “We have time, yes?”

Shane was unable to hold back a smile this time. It lit up his entire face, bright and unbidden, causing his eyes to crinkle around the edges.

“Yeah,” he whispered, bumping their noses together. “Yeah, we do.”

—

They stayed outside until the sun had climbed high up in the sky, lying down together on a small patch of grass, bathing in each other’s warmth. Shane had his arms around Ilya, idly playing with his hair.

With his eyes closed, Ilya nosed along the naked column of Shane’s neck, peppering his skin with kisses and collecting the sweetest kind of a summer induced sweat on the tip of his tongue.

It felt like coming home, like he could get used to a lifetime of this.

His head had grown quiet, hammering thoughts of his inadequacy having all faded to the background. His sudden melancholy all but forgotten in the back, most hidden corners of his mind, alongside memories of his mother.

Shane made everything better. He made Ilya feel whole again.

“It feels nice,” he sighed, tilting his head to the side when Ilya moved the kisses higher on his throat. “Being here with you… like this… feels nice.”

Ilya hummed in response, “Let’s go inside.”

“Inside? Why?”

“I want to fuck you, lyubimyy,” he spoke against the corner of Shane’s mouth, licking the words between his parted lips. “Want to make love to you, want everything with you.”

Shane let out a shaky breath, “Everything?”

Ilya gave him a nod of his head, using a firm press of his thumb to tilt his chin up. His lips were glossy from Ilya’s spit, his eyes hazy and heavy-lidded.

He looked beautiful.

“Da, everything.”

They left the blanket outside, crumpled and forgotten, alongside their half empty mugs. Shane tugged Ilya by the hand, locking their fingers together.

They took it slow, much slower than all the times before. Neither of them were in any hurry, they didn’t have to be. Shane was his for more than just a couple hours and for once Ilya was allowed to be slow and patient, maybe even a little selfish in his want.

He could take his time mouthing along Shane’s perky nipples, his sculpted torso, all the way down to his drooling cock. He could litter his neck with pretty colored bruises. Savor each shiver, swallow every moan.

Ilya carried Shane in his arms all the way to the bed, a little dazed from the hungry lips exploring along the side of his neck. He kept a strong grip on the soft skin underneath Shane’s thighs, having them secure around his waist, parting his mouth in a silent whine when long fingers tugged harshly at his hair.

Letting go of Shane only to place him on the mattress, Ilya took a moment to catch his breath, willing his heart to slow down. 

Shane stared back at him, eyes searching.

He felt warm under his touch, no more than a soft press of his thumb as Ilya traced invisible lines between the freckles dusting his cheeks.

“Take off your clothes.”

Shane began slowly unbuttoning his shirt and Ilya helped him slip out of it before carefully folding the fabric himself. He placed it on the nightstand, the same way he’d watched Shane do many times since they arrived at the cottage.

Shane bit his lip, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Ilya gave him a slow, tender kiss.

“Is okay, I don’t mind.”

He could feel Shane smiling against his lips, hands coming up to cup his face. He kept Ilya from pulling away completely, unwilling to let go.

They ended up falling on the bed together in a messy heap of limbs, wrapped in breathy laughter.

Ilya had Shane caged between his arms, one of his knees resting between his parted legs, pressed snuggly against his balls. He dug harder, feeling curious. Underneath him, Shane bit his lip. He loved how malleable Shane became under his touch, like honey sliding down his throat. Thick, syrupy, and so fucking sweet.

“I want to take my time with you,” Ilya whispered the words into Shane’s mouth, dragging a hand across his face, fingers wrapping loosely around his throat. “I want you to think only of me,” leaning down, he pressed another kiss over Shane’s frantic pulse. “I want to ruin you for anyone else.”

Shane cursed under his breath, eyes falling shut as he let his head sink further into the pillow. Ilya buried his teeth into that sweet spot between neck and shoulder, pinning him down on the bed and rutting his hips between Shane’s thighs.

“Shit, Ilya.”

Ilya nuzzled along his neck, mouthing along the mark he’d left there, fresh and pulsing an angry red.

Shane tasted heavy on his tongue, intoxicating. His skin looked deliciously flushed, sticky with sweat. Moving lower on his body, Ilya used his mouth to explore every crevice, every line of sculpted hard muscle.

Humming softly, he tugged at one of Shane’s perfectly brown nipples with his teeth.

“You like when I bite.”

“S–Shut up.”

“Is okay, lyubimyy,” his accent came off stronger, heavy with want. “I like to see you marked. I dreamed about this for a very long time.”

“Y–You did?”

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing down the smooth expanse of Shane’s naked body. “I like knowing you are mine.”

“Yes, yours.”

“My Shane. All mine. Moya lyubov.”

Shane let out a heavy sigh, arching off the bed. Ilya made quick work of his shorts, tugging them down his thighs and legs. He made a noise from the back of his throat once his eyes fell back on Shane.

He looked like a painting, sprawled on top of those white sheets, ripe and bleary eyed. All gorgeous, rose-gold skin. His blush had begun to bleed down his collarbone, spattered across his chest in tiny specks of color, matching the pink of his erection as it strained against the thin fabric of his underwear.

Trailing lazy kisses down Shane’s body, Ilya painted a glossy trace of spit across his chest and torso. Shane had squirmed under his lips, mewling in pleasure. He was so sensitive, so easy to rile up.

Ilya nipped at his lower belly, then buried his nose against the front of Shane’s boxers, mouthing along the shape of his clothed cock and swallowing down every bead of wetness staining through.

“Ilya.”

Shane shifted on the bed, threading his fingers in Ilya’s curls and pushing up his hips, silently asking for more. By now, Ilya had become fluent in all his little tells, almost like some unspoken language.

Ilya dug his fingers in Shane’s waist, holding him very still. 

“No need to rush. We have time, remember?”

He brushed one of his hands lightly down the inside of Shane’s thighs and watched with rapt delight how the muscles seemed to pull taut under his touch. Ilya loved how fucking responsive Shane could get without even meaning to, it always made him smile.

“You’re beautiful,” Ilya breathed out, grazing the tip of a finger across the waistband of Shane’s boxers. “You’re so gorgeous, Shane. So fucking perfect, is like you were made for me.”

Shane sighed, briefly closing his eyes, “I like that… me being made for you.”

Ilya captured his lips in a slow and sensual kiss. He liked that, too. He liked that very much.

Curling his fingers inside Shane’s underwear, Ilya tugged them off with practiced ease. His cock fell heavy and useless against his toned stomach, framed by a dusty patch of dark trimmed hairs, the head glistening from precum. Half hard, dripping wet.

Shane had such a pretty looking cock, it made his mouth water.

Ilya closed a hand around his erection, stroking him to full hardness. He dug his thumb into the slippery head, rubbing against the slit and hissing out a curse when another thick stream of precum leaked from the tip, drooling onto the sheets. He felt his own neglected cock twitch inside his sweatpants, begging for attention.

“Fuck, Shane, you make such a pretty mess.”

Shane let out a trembling sigh when Ilya got a wet mouth around him, whimpering softly at every heated lap of his tongue, every expert swallow of his throat. With his other hand, Ilya spread his thighs open, teasing his entrance with the pad of his thumb.

He pulled away from Shane’s cock with a loud, nasty wet sound. Shane was heaving for breath underneath him. Ilya licked the precum off his swollen lips, savoring the bitter taste it left on his tongue.

Shane let out a heavy sigh, “More.”

Ilya thought he could hear all the blood rushing south of his body, painfully turned on over the absolutely gone quality of Shane’s voice when he all but breathed that single word out. No, not a word. A plea. On the verge of begging.

He dug his fingers harder into the supple flesh underneath Shane’s thighs, smearing a fat glob of his own spit onto his hole before slipping his tongue inside, lapping hungrily. Saliva dripped down his chin, ears ringing from the lewd sounds bouncing off the bedroom walls.

“Ah,” Shane gasped, squirming in agony. “Fuck, Ilya. That’s—Oh, my god.”

Ilya sucked two of his fingers into his mouth before sliding them inside Shane with a groan, cursing under his breath at just how tight he felt. Wet, hot. He couldn’t wait to sink into that liquid heat, to bury himself deep inside.

“How does it feel? Good?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

“Do you still want more?”

“Yes, please, I—”

His voice trembled, his breathing hitched. Between his legs, Shane’s cock twitched with shy interest. Ilya took notice and smiled.

“You ask so nicely,” he said. “I can never tell you no, sweetheart.”

The pet name slid from his tongue far too easily. And it tasted just right.

Ilya found a strange pleasure at the sudden rush of color that flooded Shane’s cheeks. His mouth red and slick from spit, his eyes only barely open. He looked blissed out already, bordering on tears, letting out a whine in protest the moment Ilya retrieved his fingers.

Climbing off the bed, Ilya quickly kicked off his sweatpants. He closed a fist around his erection soon after squirting a generous amount of lube on his hand, touching himself in long, lazy strokes.

He made a show out of it, meeting Shane’s gaze head on, eyes dark and unblinking.

His hand was still tightly wrapped around his hard cock as he climbed back on the bed, moving his wrist in languid motions, almost like an after thought.

Crawling on top of Shane, Ilya slipped his tongue inside the wet heat of his waiting mouth, a slow swipe aimed to soothe. In the back of his mind, he knew Shane would still be able to taste himself on his tongue. Tangy, warm. And the thought made Ilya grunt, filling him with some kind of sick, perverted thrill as their lips began to move together in a lewd, slippery dance.

It should feel dirty, but it only made Ilya harder.

Shane moaned into every kiss, gasping for breath as he continued to beg for more.

“On your side, sweetheart,” Ilya managed to say, voice barely more than a whisper. “Get on your side.”

He gave Shane a light tap on his hip to get him to lie down, then curled himself around his back in a solid wall of muscle.

His hands travelled up and down the smooth expanse of Shane’s body, tracing imaginary lines that ran between the valley of his ribs. In the end, Ilya gripped onto the meat of Shane’s waist, rolling his hips forward. His cock, still hard and throbbing, slid against the crease of his ass, leaving behind a sticky wet trail.

Shane tilted his head back, biting back a moan, “How could we let this happen?”

Ilya reached for his neck with his mouth and sucked another hickey just below his jawline, kissing down his throat while rocking slowly against the swell of his ass.

“I don’t know,” Ilya said, sounding gruff even to his own ears. “We were both very stupid… and irresponsible.”

Shane was breathing heavily, his voice coming out low and frayed around the edges.

“This is real, right? I’m not dreaming?”

Ilya let out a low grunt in response, words all but lost on him. He gave Shane a silent nod of his head, meeting his eyes so he could see he meant it.

Maybe they shared the same dream, maybe his mind had conjured Shane up entirely for himself. Too good to be real, definitely too good to be his. Whatever it was, Ilya never wished to wake up from it. 

Shane blindly reached for his knee with one hand while the other travelled to the back of his head, pulling at his hair.

“Please, fuck me.”

Ilya made a pained sound, too turned on to vocalize any of his words at this point. Hooking an arm under one of Shane’s thighs, he gently spread him open and ever so slowly guided the tip of his cock into Shane’s hole, pressing in carefully as if he would break otherwise.

He watched as Shane closed his eyes, letting out a thick moan at the languid slide of his hips, holding his breath until Ilya had pushed all the way inside. With his nose tucked into skin, Ilya breathed Shane deep inside his lungs.

“Ah, god, Shane.”

Shane felt heavenly around him, Ilya almost felt delirious from pleasure.

It never felt this good before, not with others. Not even remotely close. And, even if they fell apart in the end, there would be no going back to his old ways, he knew as much. Shane had changed something in him, Ilya could feel it deep into his bones. He would never again be the same.

He, too, had been made for Shane.

Ilya could do nothing but whisper his name over, and over, in quiet reverence. A prayer, like the ones his mother would mutter low into the night when she asked for a miracle, like it was something holy.

He had found religion in his mouth, every time Shane drew blood from nips that were maybe a little too sharp. A feisty little kitten, feral at times but mostly harmless. His claws had sunk into his heart, sharp deadly little things. His kisses had become more demanding. His touch burned when fingers curled roughly around Ilya’s chin, slipping a thumb with ease between his greedy lips. Ilya welcomed the familiar weight on his tongue as it pushed deeper into his throat, eager to take anything Shane was willing to give.

“H–Harder,” Shane’s breath came out hot, like everything else between them. Ilya wanted to get burned from it. “Harder, please. I want to feel you, Ilya. I never want to stop feeling you.”

He closed his lips around a nipple and sucked it hard inside his mouth, trying to distract himself from cumming too soon at the overwhelming feeling of having Shane like this, bare cock buried so impossibly deep.

It was almost too much. And somehow still not enough.

It wasn’t until that very moment that Ilya realized, rather belatedly, they’d forgotten a condom.

Fuck.

Ilya had never fucked anyone raw before.

But being this close to someone else felt maddening. Being this close to Shane, of all people, felt borderline addicting.

He couldn’t think. He could hardly breathe. Shane writhed in his arms, clenching around him in such a tight, vice-like grip it was bordering on painful. Having a taste of what it was like to sink into him without any barrier between their bodies was slowly driving Ilya to the brink of insanity. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to use condoms again, no matter how thin.

Shit, he needed to pull out.

“Fuck, Shane, I forgot—”

“No, don’t—don’t stop,” Shane held Ilya’s face, staring back into his eyes. “I–I don’t care. It’s so, god, it’s too good. Please, Ilya. Don’t stop, please.”

“Oh, fuck, Shane.”

Shane’s hands roamed everywhere, squeezing his pectorals between his fingers, curious and eager as he explored Ilya’s body. It felt as if he never wanted to let him go. As if he wanted them to be together, locked in that embrace, forever.

Ilya thrusted his hips harder, caught in some strange type of frenzy, chasing after his release. He could tell Shane was close, too. He had that dazed look on his face, eyes blown black and unfocused.

“Are you—Oh.”

Cum shot out from Shane’s cock in white spurts, completely untouched, coating his entire stomach in white. Ilya couldn’t look away, the sight alone so erotic it was enough to push him over that same edge. He could feel his orgasm building at the base of his cock, tugging painfully at his balls, before finally releasing inside Shane’s hole.

“Ah, ah, Ilya. I–I love you.”

Ilya didn’t realize he’d switched back to Russian at some point, feeling as though he was maybe drunk or high or both. He felt groggy, eyes falling shut as he desperately tried to catch his breath.

“I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much. My Shane. My love. My everything. I want you so bad. I want you forever.”

He dropped his head against a flush of warm skin, savoring the feeling of having Shane gently run his fingers through his hair while he planted lazy open mouthed kisses along his racing pulse, willing his own heart to return to normal.

“I’m gonna pull out now, yes?”

Shane whispered something in return, sounding a little out of it.

Ilya was gentle, trying not to hurt Shane in the process. It was never a pleasant feeling and he figured it wouldn’t feel any better this time.

Shane let out a tiny whimper in discomfort. Looking down, Ilya couldn’t swallow back the noise that gurgled from his throat, like some wounded animal. His hand slid down to where their bodies still touched, using the pad of his thumb to rub some of the cum that had spilled free against the sensitive rim of Shane’s hole.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slow and stilted, struggling to get his mind back on the right place. “I didn’t remember to put on condom,” stealing a glance at Shane, who had yet to say anything, Ilya felt himself growing restless once again. “Wait here, I’ll find something to get you cleaned.”

But before he managed to extract himself from the bed to return with a washcloth from the bathroom, Shane held him still by the sweaty hair on his nape. His hand had tightened around his curls, preventing him from straying very far.

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart, I need to get you cleaned up.”

“I don’t care about the mess. Not when I have you like this, not when you call me that,” he said, sounding sleepy, eyes looking droopy. “Just stay. We can worry about everything else later.”

Ilya sighed, “I am bad influence on you.”

Shane snorted, “You think too highly of yourself.”

“Oh? Do I?” Ilya nipped softly at his chin, grumbling between his teeth. “You are the one who can’t seem to get enough of me.”

The corners of Shane’s lips lifted the tiniest fraction, turning into the softest smile Ilya had ever seen from him. It made him want to take a bite out of that mouth and never let go, for his teeth to rot over how sweet it tasted.

Their noses bumped against each other in Ilya’s clumsy attempt to kiss Shane through their shared smiles, their laughter vibrating between their bodies. He didn’t feel like holding himself back anymore, not when he didn’t have to.

There was no place on earth he’d rather be but on this bed, holding the man he loved in his arms and being loved in return.

No amount of time with him would ever be enough.

No other place would ever again feel like home.

“We have time.”

Shane sounded so certain, so hopeful. Ilya wanted so badly to believe him.

He never wished to forget this feeling, happy to spend the rest of his days like this, with his heart dangerously close to bursting out of his chest, blissfully in love.

“We do,” Ilya nodded, bringing Shane closer against his chest only to hide a smile in the back of his neck. “We have all the time in the world, sweetheart.”

Closing his eyes, he let himself be lulled to sleep to the sound of a heart that beat in a shared rhythm to his own, no longer afraid of waking up alone next to cold sheets.

They had two whole weeks ahead of them.

And, maybe someday, they could share more than just a bed together.