Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon, Vampires, Vampire Shane Hollander, Vampire Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Magical Realism, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, First Time, Rimming, Fingering, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Bottom Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Spooning, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Riding, Mating Press, Creampie, Sexting, Phone Sex, Pining, Bathtub Sex, Clubbing

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of LD/MA

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-13 Completed: 2026-03-02 Words: 30,626 Chapters: 7/7

Less Dead Than You’d Think

Summary

Newly turned vampire Shane Hollander is determined not to be a monster or let his new status stop him in any way from his dream of becoming an NHL star. He stubbornly keeps a diurnal schedule, only drinks animal blood, and never so much as bares his fangs in polite company.

His careful rhythm is disrupted when natural born vampire Ilya Rozanov waltzes into his life. Ilya is his opposite in every way: no sleep schedule to speak of, freely mixes matters of blood and sex, and grins with his fangs when he’s particularly pleased.

All this should repulse Shane, of course, not make him so desperate it’s as if some part of him has been waiting his whole life to surrender to the uncontrollable attraction.

[Now with a sequel: More Alive Than You’d Know]

Notes

heyyy, welcome to my first hollanov multi-chap!! 🥳

Chapter 1: Do the Right Thing

Chapter Notes

it's not mentioned, but shane and ilya are the same age here. also, let's just say drinking age laws in LA (or anywhere else, for that matter) don't apply to vampires :)

Two hours ago, Shane Hollander was human.

He was a junior at prom, after having been pestered into attending by his parents. This was because, according to them, Shane rarely had the opportunity to attend school functions in between all the hockey. He lingered at the edge of the room, a glass of punch in hand, and watched his classmates dance. When the music turned slow and romantic, he decided he couldn’t stand watching all the couples and ducked into the men’s room. There, Shane would hear a male voice and a female voice arguing from one of the stalls, the girl insisting she didn’t want to be bitten in a place like this while the guy was equally as insistent that she’d been desperate for exactly that all evening.

Two hours ago, the closest that Shane Hollander had ever gotten to any violent crime was watching them unfold on TV.

Shane didn’t think twice; he slammed the stall open and regarded the vampire and human inside with what he hoped was an intimidating look as he asked them, “Is there a problem here?” To which the guy would reply with a snarl and a lunge towards him at superhuman speed. Pinned against a wall and with the vampire’s fangs millimeters from his neck, Shane remembered thinking, Is this how I’m gonna die? before he heard the gunshots.

Two hours ago, Shane Hollander had no idea what it was like to die.

It got explained to him when he woke up at the morgue: the girl in the bathroom was apparently packing a gun with silver bullets. In a panic that her vampire companion was about to murder someone over her by draining Shane dry, she had emptied an entire magazine into him. Copious amounts of the vampire’s blood then got onto and into Shane, who had been nearly drained dry, thus catalyzing his turning. An accidental turning, he’d been told, was rare but not unheard of.

Two hours later, Shane sits across from a vampire doctor with his mom and dad on either side after they had been called by the school as the doctor explains the medical details and restrictions of his new constitution.

She covers all the basics: sunlight, silver, garlic, blood. Shane hears everything come out muffled, like he has cotton in his ears. After the ordeal is done, his parents take him home. In the car, Yuna starts talking about ethical sources of herbivore blood since that had been the recommendation after the doctor had seen how strongly Shane recoiled at the mere suggestion of drinking human blood. Shane nods and hums in acknowledgment, but remembers none of what was said afterwards. They stop by a store on the way home to buy stainless steel cutlery after Yuna and David jointly decide it’s an urgent enough matter to replace the silverware they have at home, even though Shane wouldn’t be using any of it. When they finally get home, Shane makes a beeline to his bedroom and collapses face first onto his bed, utterly spent.

+++

Seven months later is the World Juniors.

By now, Shane has figured out a rhythm that works for him. It’s not like how he was before, and Shane doubts he ever could go back, but it’s the closest thing. His routine is largely the same, except his strict diet is replaced entirely by sheep blood; his wardrobe is replaced with dark long sleeves and caps; and his skincare is replaced by copious amounts of sunscreen and sunblock. He still stays awake during the day and sleeps at night, though it’s hard, because human society is day-driven and it’s just simpler that way. His friends, though he’s not really that close to anyone, are the same humans, and only humans, that he’s always called friends.

The only flaw with all this, of course, is that he’s really fucking lonely. Nobody understands, and Shane doesn’t want to explain anything to them. Maybe that’s why he’s going out of his way to approach a total stranger who probably won’t take kindly to it, if his reputation were to be believed.

“Ilya Rozanov?” Shane asks, though he knows the face he’s memorized from screens and papers couldn’t be anyone else. Standing before him in the snow is the young man in question—woefully underdressed for the weather, though Shane supposes that, for their kind, it doesn’t really matter—trying and failing to light a cigarette. “Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself.” He offers a hand for Rozanov to shake.

Rozanov looks standoffish and reluctant, but he does take Shane’s hand after a moment of shifting the lighter he’s holding to his other hand—and then he appears quite shocked, Shane guesses, by the temperature. Shane expects this; ‘I didn’t have you pegged for a vampire’ is something he gets all the time.

“You are vampire,” Rozanov notes, and—Shane would maybe characterize that tone as… pleasantly surprised? Perhaps at finding another like himself in the world of hockey.

Shane smiles shyly. Right now’s probably the first time he doesn’t feel bad about being one. “Uh, yeah. Been about seven months.”

“Fledgling,” Rozanov points out.

“Yeah,” Shane says, licking his lips.

“Strange it is not mentioned anywhere,” Rozanov says, looking him up and down.

Shane blinks. Did the Ilya Rozanov just indirectly admit to paying attention to the press surrounding Shane? Nice to know I’m on your radar, too. “Yeah, no, uh. See, my mom’s kinda like my agent, and she makes sure they don’t focus on the vampire thing,” he explains.

“You still live as human,” Rozanov says, and it sounds like a diagnosis more than a casual statement. Then, he smirks and raises a hand to make a so-so gesture. “I give it a few years.”

Shane exhales a somewhat affronted laugh. “A few years and then what?”

Rozanov tilts his head. “And then you live.”

Shane huffs. “That’s not happening. I like my life.”

At that, Rozanov snorts. “Who says they like their life?”

“And,” Shane continues, a little louder than necessary, stubbornly ignoring that last remark. “I don’t want the lifestyle of the typical vampire, no offense.”

“None to take,” Rozanov says generously. “But as born vampire, I do not know any other life. Besides, is not what you think.”

Shane crosses his arms. “So it’s not the peak of hedonism at the cost of all else, then?”

Rozanov scoffs. “Ok, is a little bit what you think,” he says. “But is not all about that.”

Shane nods, and is surprised to find himself smiling. How long has he been smiling for? Geez. “I, ah, they’re probably looking for me. But it was nice meeting you.” He offers a hand out again, only realizing how awkward and nonstandard a second fucking handshake is once Rozanov has already taken it—more firmly this time.

“See you in final.”

And they do see each other in the finals, where Russia proceeds to wipe the floor with Shane and his team and win gold.

“See you at the draft,” Rozanov tells him as they skate by each other to shake hands once more, both of them lingering a bit longer than strictly necessary. And, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “Who knows? I might show you the lifestyle is not so scary then.”

+++

Six months later finds Shane in Los Angeles for the NHL draft.

Of course, he comes in at number 2, behind Ilya Rozanov—who is all smiles, fangs out, as they hold their jerseys up. He even smiles to his side at Shane, which Shane can’t quite bring himself to return until he’s singled out by the cameraman for not smiling.

Still remembering Rozanov’s words from the last time they met, Shane expects some kind of signal from him before they part ways, but none are forthcoming. Once the cameras are done with them, Rozanov flashes him one last smile and a two-fingered salute before sauntering away. Shane tries not to feel disappointed.

The evening only gets worse from there.

“Oh, and, uh, just to be clear, we are thrilled that Shane is Asian, or Asian-Canadian.”

Shane would rather be literally anywhere but here right now. His gaze wanders around the room, looking for some kind of excuse to make a quick exit, before landing on the upper deck on Ilya Rozanov—who just so happens to already be looking at him. Shane holds his gaze for a moment that feels much longer than it probably is before breaking away to land squarely back on the conversation happening in front of him. Just in time, too, because right at that moment, Yuna nudges him to speak.

“I’m, uh, I’m still in shock, but, uh, I’m so excited,” Shane manages.

He mostly zones out for the rest after that.

Once the conversation is over and their oh so pleasant company is gone, Shane beats his parents to the punch of trying to get him to mingle by excusing himself to go to the men’s room. When he gets in, it’s empty. There, he paces, washes his face, and stares at the blank mirror.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, hands braced on the wide sink. Then, he straightens up, loosens his tie, and psyches himself up to go back out there. However, just as Shane is about to leave, the door slams open and in comes none other than Ilya Rozanov.

“Hi,” he greets, accent thick even on the single syllable.

Shane forces a smile. “Hi.”

Rozanov walks slowly to the sink and washes his hands. “Any plans after this?” He asks.

Shane perks up. Ah, so he hasn’t forgotten. Shane seriously considers saying, Yeah, going up to my hotel room and screaming into a pillow, and subsequently wants to cuff himself on the head for it. Why can’t he be happy on what’s supposed to be his big day? Well, no; he knows why. He’s looking at the reason right now.

“None,” Shane says instead.

Rozanov grins, a flash of fangs. “Good,” he says. “We stay at same hotel, yes?” And when Shane nods, “Meet me at lobby at midnight.”

“What for?” Shane asks.

Rozanov leans against the sink and pouts. “Either you forget or you are teasing me, Shane Hollander.”

“I didn’t forget,” Shane insists, which is the truth.

Rozanov pushes himself off the marble and steps into Shane’s space. Shane gulps. “Which makes you a tease,” he says huskily.

For the second time in his life, Shane is glad he’s a vampire—because if he were human he’d probably be blushing right now. “I’m not—”

“See you later,” Rozanov cuts him off, tapping Shane’s cheek before making a swift exit from the restroom and leaving Shane winded.

+++

Fifteen minutes to midnight and Shane is agonizing over the meager selection of clothes he’d brought to LA for this trip. He holds up every shirt he’s got against his chest, trying to decide from the awkward viewing angle which would embarrass him least. Fuck, this is really hard to do without a mirror.

In the end, he decides on a long-sleeved dark maroon button up, maplewood slacks, and black dress shoes. No bag, just his phone and wallet. Before he can regret it, he rushes to the elevator—five minutes to midnight.

When he gets to the lobby, Shane has half a mind to retreat and just forget this ever happened—because Rozanov is dressed much more casually: black tank top, black pants, and sandals. It’s made much worse when the first thing Rozanov says to him is, “Nice shirt,” while obviously trying not to laugh.

“Fuck off,” Shane says, but he’s smiling.

“Let’s go?” Rozanov asks, tapping at his bare wrist with a finger.

Shane takes a deep breath, then nods. “Okay.”

When they exit the hotel, a cab is waiting for them. Shane climbs into the back beside Rozanov.

“Do not worry. The place I chose is… newbie’s friend. Good for fledglings,” Rozanov tells him.

“Beginner-friendly,” Shane supplies the phrase he’s looking for.

Rozanov lets out a surprised chuckle. “Yes, that.”

“How do you know how to find these kinds of places in LA?” Shane asks, genuinely curious. Rozanov doesn’t look like he comes here often, after all. Like Shane, it’s probably his first time in LA.

“Every city has them,” Rozanov says confidently. “You ask a local.”

“Ah.”

They’re silent for the rest of the trip, but it isn’t awkward, just… companionable, almost. Rozanov checks his phone one time, frowning down quite seriously at it, and Shane doesn’t ask.

They arrive at an understated, classy-looking establishment with a sign that says Klub Ăléxăndros in golden font. Rozanov guides Shane through the entrance, where he simply tells the vampire bouncer his surname and then they’re being let in.

The place is beautiful. Despite being called a club, it’s more of a bar with a sprawling floor plan, a dancefloor, and lots of semi-private booths—one of which they claim for themselves. It looks very expensive, something only confirmed by the lack of prices on the drinks menu, all of which Shane assumes are blood-based cocktails.

Rozanov sees Shane struggling with the menu and takes pity on him. “Names are not obvious, hm?”

Once again, were Shane human, he’d be flushing red right now. “I’ve just… never had blood-based cocktails before.”

Rozanov smiles. “I know.” He takes Shane’s hand that’s scanning through the menu—making Shane’s breath hitch—and guides it to an easily missed item called ’Wrath of the Lamb.’ “This one is sheep blood and good—eh, decent—Russian vodka.” Then, he pulls his hand away, leaving Shane’s strangely tingling at the point of contact.

Shane swallows a nonexistent lump in his throat. “Thanks. I’ll, uh, I’ll have that then.”

They order, and only afterward does it occur to Shane:

“Wait. How’d you know I drink sheep blood?”

Rozanov gives him a look like Shane had just insulted him. “You do not know this, but you are walking stereotype. Fledgling who clings to human lifestyle and values drinks animal blood, of course. You are athlete, so you go for herbivores for the sake of your physique, and between two most popular options, cow is fattier. Thus, sheep. Easy.”

Shane can’t lie; that logic is pretty much bulletproof. “Wow,” he says. “I see we have The Vampire Holmes with us tonight.”

“Who?” Rozanov asks.

Shane blinks at him in disbelief.

Rozanov breaks into a grin. “I’m joking.”

Shane can’t help grinning back. “You better be.”

Their drinks arrive, Shane’s a plain drink in a tall, narrow glass and Rozanov’s a flashy, colorful cocktail in a wide, angled glass. Both are iced.

Shane takes a small sip of his, and is floored by how much he likes it. “Oh. Wow.”

Rozanov chuckles, then takes a sizable gulp of his own drink. “I know, right?”

“What’s yours?” Shane asks.

“Human blood, brandy, and cherry syrup,” Rozanov replies. Then, he smirks. “Why? Want some?”

Shane shakes his head. “Think I’ll pass.”

Rozanov shrugs, as if to say, Your loss, and finishes the cocktail off.

Shane does a double take. Did he really just finish a whole glass in two mouthfuls? Ilya Rozanov is truly something else.

Over the course of the evening, Rozanov orders three more drinks—all overly sweet concoctions—while Shane orders a second glass of the same drink he had the first time. Then, they just… talk. They talk about hockey mostly, and Shane is surprised by how much they agree on things like who to watch out for and what they think of various teams. Eventually, Rozanov addresses the elephant in the room:

“What a fucking day, huh,” he says, sipping his drink.

“Yeah, totally.”

“It’s everything you dreamed of?” Rozanov asks.

Shane doesn’t know why his gaze darts down to Rozanov’s lips. It’s not for the first time tonight. “Almost.”

Rozanov makes a face. “I’m sorry.”

Shane smirks from behind his glass. “No, you’re not.”

Rozanov puts his glass down and leans back in his seat. “Montreal is… it’s nice, yes?”

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Shane says.

“Boston is nice, too?” Rozanov asks, voice uncharacteristically small.

Shane blinks. Ah, he gets it. It’s a new city, halfway across the world. Even for someone as seemingly unflappable as Ilya Rozanov, there must be some doubts. He tries to reassure him: “I think so. People like it there.”

Composure back, Rozanov gestures between them. “We will, uh, we will be seeing each other a lot,” he says.

A beat passes. Then, Shane’s brain catches up and he nods. “Yeah, Boston and Montreal play against each other often.”

The music changes at that moment, to something Rozanov must like, because he polishes off his drink and stands. “Care for dance?” He offers a hand out to Shane.

Shane stammers. “Uh, no thank you. You go and, um, have fun.” There aren’t a lot of people, but the two of them dancing together would probably raise some eyebrows.

Rozanov shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Shane watches as Rozanov makes his way to the dancefloor. A couple humans immediately flock to him, and Rozanov ends up dancing with one of them, a girl in a roadside hazard sequin dress. Shane sips from his drink.

The girl whispers something in Rozanov’s ear, and the next thing you know, Rozanov is biting her neck. Shane’s grip tightens on his near empty glass. The girl’s back is against Rozanov’s chest as he bites her, both facing the way of Shane’s booth. Rozanov’s eyes lock with Shane’s.

Shane can’t look away, watching Rozanov drink his fill from this girl like he hasn’t been having blood-based cocktails all night. And now, he’s looking at Shane like he wants to devour him. Fuck. But then, why is Rozanov feeding from and feeling up this girl? Shane’s heart seizes. A stray thought strikes him like lightning: It should be me. Would it have been him, if he’d said yes to dancing?

In one big gulp, Shane finishes the rest of his drink, stands, and walks out of the bar. So he isn’t in the middle of the street, he ducks into an alley on the left side of the building.

It doesn’t take long for Rozanov to find him. He appears at the entrance to the alleyway, panting, fangs still out.

Shane looks at him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Rozanov closes the distance between them, and Shane lets him. “Hollander…”

“What do you want?” Shane spits out.

Rozanov inhales sharply, then steps forward to nudge Shane’s face up by the chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell me, did I read this wrong?”

“Read what wrong?” Shane asks, staring deeply into Rozanov’s stunning hazel eyes.

Rozanov scoffs, then kisses him.

Shane makes a shocked noise at the back of his throat and his eyes flutter closed. The press of lips is uncharacteristically soft, not at all what Shane would’ve expected from someone like Rozanov. He kisses Shane gently, almost reverently, like he’s unsure if he’s really allowed to have him. Shane melts against him, hand finding Rozanov’s curls.

After a while, they part, staring at each other.

This time, it’s Shane who leans in and claims Rozanov’s lips.

Their second kiss is more heated, starting from when Rozanov licks into Shane’s mouth. And fuck, the things he does with his tongue are making Shane’s knees weak. Rozanov really knows how to kiss, but that shouldn’t be surprising considering that this early in his career, there are already rumors about him being quite… prolific. But right now, Shane has him. He has Rozanov pinning him against the wall, hands on Shane’s waist, tongue swirling around Shane’s own.

When Shane pulls away, Rozanov chases his lips, landing a couple light kisses on the corners of Shane’s mouth and making Shane smile.

“So… what now?” Shane asks, slightly out of breath.

Rozanov gestures vaguely. “What do you want to do?”

“Kiss you some more,” Shane blurts out before he can stop himself.

Rozanov laughs. “Maybe somewhere else, yes?”

Shane looks at their surroundings. “Yeah, probably better that way.”

Rozanov puts some space between the two of them. “We go back to hotel?”

Shane nods. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

Rozanov calls them a cab, and they spend the ride in silence, Shane buzzing with anticipation. At some point, Rozanov reaches between them and grasps Shane’s hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb. The contact sends a thrill down Shane’s spine.

They arrive, and Rozanov gets out first. “1109,” he whispers to Shane before letting go of his hand and making his way inside the hotel. By the time Shane makes it into the lobby, Rozanov is gone, presumably already in an elevator.

Shane takes a deep breath to steady himself as he jabs the up button. By going first, Rozanov had given him the easy way to back out. The question is: does Shane want to back out? By all intents and purposes, he should. This is a bad idea on so many levels. Shane should punch in the number of his own floor, go back to his hotel room, and sleep.

He presses down the number 11 on the panel.

+++

Rozanov opens the door on the second knock.

The second the door closes behind him, Shane is immediately on Rozanov, yanking him by his collar so he can crash their lips together. Rozanov laughs into the kiss, reaching out to start unbuttoning Shane’s shirt. Shane nudges his shoes off using one foot and then the other. Without once breaking their kiss, Rozanov backs Shane towards his bed. They only pull apart once Shane’s knees hit the foot of the bed. Shane shrugs off his shirt then and takes a moment to fold it before discarding it on a chair beside the bed. Rozanov looks amused, and then he’s taking off his tank top and pushing Shane down onto the bed and—wouldn’t you know it? They’re kissing again.

Rozanov kisses Shane hungrily, hands wandering from Shane’s hair to his face, to his chest, to his stomach, to finally palming at Shane’s crotch through his pants. Shane lets out an embarrassing noise at the contact, which is swallowed right up by Rozanov. Shane’s arms are wound around Rozanov’s neck, his hands threading through Rozanov’s hair—because earlier, one glass of blood and vodka in, Shane had decided he particularly likes them, Rozanov’s dirty blonde curls. Now that he thinks about it, Shane finds a lot of Rozanov’s features to be especially appealing: his eyes, his moles on his cheek and neck (and in more places as revealed by him going shirtless; Shane wonders where else he has them and if he’ll get to see), even his fangs.

Rozanov pulls away. “Off,” he says, working at the waistband of Shane’s slacks. “I want to taste you.”

For the third fucking time tonight, Shane is thankful he’s physically incapable of blushing despite feeling otherwise. To hide his embarrassment, he just complies with Rozanov without saying a word. Shane’s boxers come off next, freeing his cock—painfully hard and leaking.

Rozanov is lying between Shane’s legs, his face centimeters away from where Shane needs it to be. “Can I?” He asks.

Shane wants to cover his face. “Yes,” he rasps.

Once he’s gotten a verbal go-ahead, Rozanov wastes no time: licking a stripe up Shane’s length, putting his lips around the head, and tonguing at the slit. Shane moans, hips bucking up to chase the wet heat of Rozanov’s mouth. His hands fly to Rozanov’s curls, and Rozanov hums approvingly with Shane’s cock halfway to his throat. Rozanov bobs his head, setting a fast pace that has Shane arching and gasping and way too close too quickly.

“Holy shit, Rozanov, you better get off—”

But he doesn’t. Rozanov only speeds up, sucking harder, and it’s the lewd sounds plus the feeling of fangs grazing his cock—lightly, just to tease—that does Shane in until he’s coming with a loud groan, right into Rozanov’s waiting mouth.

Satisfied, Rozanov pulls off Shane’s cock, licking his lips, and crawls up to hover over Shane, leaning down to kiss him. And at this point, so blissed out is Shane that he doesn’t even care he’s tasting himself.

When they part, Shane tells him, “You’re really good at that.”

Rozanov smiles. “What is that saying, again? Practice makes perfect,” he says teasingly.

For some reason, Shane really doesn’t want to hear about Rozanov’s other hookups right now, so he flips their positions, pinning Rozanov to the bed while Shane sinks down to be at face level with Rozanov’s clothed crotch. “Off. My turn,” he says.

Rozanov starts to pull his pants down, but then pauses. “Have you done this before?”

Shane considers lying, but figures that Rozanov in all his experience will surely catch him out once he gets down to it, so instead he admits, “No. Is that a problem?”

Rozanov pinches Shane’s cheek to punctuate his next words. “Not. At. All.” His hazel eyes are flaring with arousal, and suddenly Shane can hardly wait to go down on him.

So he doesn’t. He pulls Rozanov’s pants down the rest of the way, then his tights, and—holy shit he’s big. Big enough to choke on, probably. How is Shane supposed to do this, exactly? Just dive in and hope for the best?

“Is there problem?” Rozanov asks, clearly amused, like he’s gotten this sort of reaction before. Oh, Shane hates him and his stupid enormous cock. For sure.

Shane scoffs. “No.” And to prove it, he does dive right in. So as not to get overwhelmed, Shane copies what Rozanov did to him and starts licking and mouthing along the length of Rozanov’s cock, trying to get a feel for the whole thing. He looks up at Rozanov as he does this, and is tickled to see Rozanov’s earlier smirk has turned into a tight upturn of lips, barely a smile. Ah, so Shane isn’t complete garbage at this. Good to know.

Growing bolder, Shane starts sucking on the head, then remembers he should be using his tongue, so he swirls it around Rozanov’s cockhead, too. That gets him a grunt, and suddenly one of Rozanov’s hands is in Shane’s hair, guiding. Shane lets Rozanov direct his motions, bobbing his head slowly and deliberately, taking more and more of Rozanov’s length into his mouth each time. He tries to use his tongue when he can, remembering how Rozanov had done so to him, but it’s a little hard to keep a hundred percent of his focus when the weight and warmth (well, relative to the rest of him) of Rozanov’s cock has him hornier than ever.

Shane sucks in earnest, moaning when the tip of Rozanov’s cock hits the back of his throat. By now, Rozanov has stopped trying to control the pace, wholly surrendering it to Shane who has figured out a rhythm of his own, fully engrossed in the task before him—and hard again. Shane takes himself in hand as he continues blowing Rozanov, stroking in time with the motions of his mouth.

Sooner than Shane would’ve expected, Rozanov is grasping his hair in warning for him to pull off. “Fuck, Hollander—”

Shane releases Rozanov’s cock, and now they’re both stroking themselves in hand, racing to completion. Rozanov gets there first, with a choked off grunt of Shane’s surname, but Shane is not far behind, and soon enough, he’s spilling onto the sheets with a moan and collapsing beside the other vampire.

+++

“You’re not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?” Shane asks as he’s putting his boxers back on.

Rozanov is still lying on the bed, naked. He rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, Hollander, yes. I am going to tell everyone.”

“Because no one can know,” Shane continues, having moved on to his pants now.

Rozanov sits up. Sighs. “Look, Hollander, I am not going to tell anyone. Ok?”

Shane nods, putting one sleeve on and then the other of his shirt. “Okay.”

Once Shane has buttoned up his shirt all the way and is about to put on his shoes, Rozanov beckons him closer. Shane goes. Rozanov gestures with a finger for Shane to lean down, and Shane can’t help the way his lips quirk up as Rozanov closes the remaining distance to kiss him.

It’s a kiss without heat or urgency or the promise of further action, but it’s nonetheless filled with passion.

“Good night,” Rozanov says simply, when they part.

“Night,” Shane replies.

+++

Upon entering the elevator, Shane touches a finger to his lips, which are still tingling from that last kiss. He thinks back on the whole night: from the event hall bathroom, to the bar, to—finally—Rozanov’s hotel room.

Fuck. Just what has he gotten himself into?

Chapter 2: Walk the Line

Chapter Notes

happy valentine's day!

“Will you at least consider movie night again?” Yuna asks. “We used to do it all the time.” Back when you were human goes unsaid. And yet, Shane hears the words hanging unpleasantly in the air anyway.

Right now, the three of them are sitting in a restaurant at mid-afternoon. Of course, it’s a place with an option that follows Shane’s singular item diet.

“Your mom’s right,” David adds. “Look, you work so hard all the time, Shane. You deserve to play a little hard, too.”

“Besides, I’ve done some research. I could even make you blood-based cocktails,” Yuna says proudly.

Shane shakes his head in disbelief. Are they really still talking about this? “During the season? Out of the question.”

“Some time out of season, then,” Yuna compromises.

Shane crosses his arms. “Then, I should be training,” he says. “And, cocktails, Mom, really? We’ve talked about this.”

 Yuna sighs. “I know, I know. ‘Blood is just sustenance.’”

“‘It’s not something to be enjoyed,’” David recites Shane’s tired words along with her.

“And I still maintain that that’s sad!” Yuna asserts.

Shane nods, slumping in his chair. “I know, Mom.” He sips his tall, opaque glass of sheep blood and tries not to think about it mingling with the taste of vodka.

+++

Routine is, realistically, all Shane has. It’s the fine line between death by asceticism and becoming the same kind of monster as the man who turned him. By threading the tightrope, Shane is able to live the high octane life of a famous(-ish) athlete without losing himself. High performance and strict denial.

Sometimes, Shane wonders where along that line Ilya Rozanov sits. A born vampire, he clearly carries none of the guilt Shane does about his own physical constitution. He knows what he wants and simply takes it—the exact way he had taken Shane. But it’s not as though Shane were not complicit in his own taking. Shane had wanted it, wanted him so much he ached with it, which definitely makes the whole thing worse, he thinks.

Back in LA, Shane had had a major lapse of control—the kind he dare not repeat. The next time he sees Rozanov, he’ll make it clear that that was definitely a one-time thing, no matter how many nights Shane stays up replaying the events in his head and wanting nothing more than a repeat performance. No. It’s best to quit while he’s still ahead.

It’s with this determination that Shane goes on to win his final World Juniors six months after their last encounter.

Unlike what Shane had expected, Rozanov doesn’t seek him out once throughout the entire time they’re there. He plays hard against Shane on the ice, but otherwise, there’s no indication that what happened between them had even happened. Based on the way Rozanov is acting, Shane can almost convince himself that maybe it’s all in his head, the fevered imaginings of an exhausted and repressed mind turned idle. Almost.

When they line up to shake each other’s hands after the game, Shane contemplates using his few seconds of having Rozanov’s undivided attention to say a dozen different things. He mentally crosses them all out with red ink. In the end, Shane simply gives Rozanov what he hopes is a sportsmanlike smile and tells him, “See you in October.”

At that moment, Rozanov’s face—previously transparently sore about losing—flashes with an emotion Shane can’t name.

+++

In the end, it doesn’t take until October—because only six months later, Shane and Ilya Rozanov are called to do a shoot together for CCM in Toronto.

Shane expects the same demeanor from Rozanov as what he’d had during their last World Juniors—but that is not what he gets. From the get-go, Rozanov is gregarious, entertaining the crew with his signature brand of Ilya Rozanov-ness. He’s polite one moment, joking the next. Some of the people here are clearly aware of Rozanov’s game persona and treat him accordingly, but Rozanov manages to disarm them by breaking the character he usually plays in front of the cameras.

Rozanov’s energy is infectious, to the point that he even has Shane giggling during their shoot as they continually mess up the motion of skating towards each other ‘with a lot of intensity.’

“Okay, I think we have what we are gonna get here,” goes the resigned admission from their director. “Thanks, guys!”

Shane holds Rozanov’s gaze for a moment, lips dangerously close to a smile, and then he skates away.

They both get a brief break. Against his better judgment, Shane is the one who approaches Rozanov first. He tries to make it seem casual, like he just so happens to lean against the wall Rozanov is sitting behind. Rozanov perks up when he notices him.

“When they tell you you do commercial with me and not just alone?” He asks.

Shane thinks about it. “I don’t know, like, two days ago?”

Rozanov nods, scratching the back of his neck.

“Why? When did they tell you?”

“Nah, they told me nothing. It was my idea,” Rozanov says.

Shane’s breath catches. He arranged this?

Before he can say anything else, Shane is being called again. Rozanov waves at him as he goes.

After that are the solo shots. Shane goes first, and he finishes up as quickly as he can, eager to be over and done with it. As he’s dressing down, he sees his mom wave him over from the stands. By the time Shane gets there, it’s Rozanov’s turn, and Shane can’t help but watch him to the point of (mostly) tuning out Yuna’s words.

“Shane, are you listening to me?” His mom calls.

“What? Yeah,” Shane says absently.

“Okay, so what did I just say?” Yuna challenges.

Shane blinks at her. “Sneakers, I heard,” he replies a bit petulantly.

“Ok, you have to be seen in your Reeboks,” she says.

“I know, Mom.”

“Because you cannot be in anything else,” she continues.

“Mom, I’m always wearing skates,” Shane insists.

“But in case you’re not,” Yuna retorts.

After spending the rest of the conversation appeasing his mother, Shane is just about ready to call it a night, and heads for the showers.

Of course, when he’s more than halfway done, enters Ilya Rozanov, who takes one a couple showers down from Shane’s spot. Other than the two of them, all the other spots are empty. Rozanov is wearing nothing but that golden crucifix of his, which makes sense, as this is, again, a series of communal showers. Shane can’t help it; he stares. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but after so long, his memories could use the refresher. A dripping wet refresher, which reacquaints him with the swell of Rozanov’s muscles, his moles all over his body, his cock—

Shane looks away and tries to focus, pointedly, on his own business. Washing and scrubbing and cleaning. Yes. He is not going to get hard.

Rozanov finally breaks the silence. “What are you doing later tonight?”

Shane pauses. Looks Rozanov’s way again—and quickly regrets it when he feels his cock twitch. “We’re not—I don’t want to go out tonight,” he says, his voice echoing throughout the fully tiled room.

Rozanov washes his hair, glancing down at Shane’s hardness. “Another part of you says something else.”

“Fuck off,” Shane replies without missing a beat.

“I already found a place,” Rozanov continues. “Highly recommended by locals.”

Shane turns his shower off. He drafts a dozen different statements in his head again, some entirely profanity, and crosses them all out with that mental red pen. “I’ll think about it,” is what he ends up saying.

Rozanov smiles. “Decide by midnight and meet me at hotel lobby. I will not wait for you longer than that.”

Shane nods and towels himself off.

+++

Shane is not going to make the same mistake twice.

By that, he means he’s not overdressing this time. He wears a white tshirt, faded blue jeans, a beige cardigan, and rubber shoes. Checking himself, he once again curses the mirror in his hotel room for being useless. He’s on the elevator going down by ten minutes to midnight.

At the lobby, he’s greeted by Rozanov in a black v-neck, dark grey pants, a black blazer with thin white stripes, and black combat boots.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Rozanov smirks, looking Shane up and down.

“Shut up,” Shane says, fighting off a smile.

Rozanov leads the way, and once again, there’s a cab waiting for them when they go out.

They get inside, and after a couple minutes of silence as Rozanov checks his phone, he turns to Shane. “So, how is your boring human life?”

Wow. He doesn’t waste any time, does he? Shane shakes his head. “My life is just fine, thank you.”

“What do you even do at night?” Rozanov asks.

“Sleep,” Shane says with a gesture of his hand, like it’s obvious.

Rozanov looks taken aback. “So right now we violate your bedtime?”

“Violate, that’s a big word,” Shane says. Rozanov rolls his eyes. “And it’s fine. One night a year couldn’t hurt.”

Rozanov grins with his fangs. They really are striking. “So I am your cheat day from pretending to be human?”

Shane chuckles behind his hand. “I suppose you are.”

They spend the rest of the ride in silence. It’s a longer trip than last time, but then again, their shoot’s location isn’t exactly in the city center. A couple times, Shane wants to speak, questions for Rozanov on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t figure out a way to phrase them that doesn’t make him come across as nosy, or maybe overly familiar, so he ultimately holds his tongue.

When they arrive, it’s to an honest to god club this time, complete with lights and pounding music. A cursive neon sign above the entrance reads Jamais Vu. Again, Rozanov speaks to the bouncer, a tall vampire woman, and then she lets them in.

The club is packed. It’s a mixed crowd, but at a rough glance there are more vampires than humans. The atmosphere is total party mode, and Shane has to take a moment to simply stand there and take it in, needing time for his overly sharp senses to adjust to the sights and sounds around him. There’s a lot of biting going on, both on the dancefloor and in the seats and couches off to the sides of the club. Rozanov dutifully stands beside Shane and waits for him to get his hackles under control, even stepping forward to rub soothing circles into Shane’s back and whisper faint reassurances into his ear. For that, Shane is thankful.

Shane decides to focus on Rozanov’s presence: his breathing, his scent, his eyes silently assuring him. Like this, he gets his breathing in control and his senses back in check, no longer reeling from all the conflicting stimuli.

“Thanks,” Shane mutters as they finally make their way to the bar.

“No problem,” Rozanov says, stopping to take Shane’s hand and squeeze it for a second before leading the way again.

At the bar, Rozanov helps Shane order a rum and coke with sheep blood. It’s between that and beer for the only options with sheep blood on the menu, and Shane had never been all that into beer, even when he was human. Meanwhile, Rozanov orders a modified Cosmopolitan with human blood, which they call a ‘crimson Cosmo.’

“What’s with you and the fruity drinks?” Shane teases when their drinks are ready.

Rozanov takes a hearty sip of his cocktail. “Unlike you, Hollander, I like to have fun.”

For their second round of drinks, they move to a couple of leather couches off to the side of the dancefloor and sit facing each other. They talk about primarily hockey again, though Shane does get to ask about Rozanov’s life in Boston and is genuinely pleased when Rozanov is all positives, no mention of homesickness.

“In some people, I cannot understand their accent,” Rozanov admits, gesturing with his drink in one hand. “I feel like I am learning English all over again.” He takes a sip of his drink. “One time I received delivery and got zero words the man said. I just nodded and signed.”

Shane clears his throat and does his best impression of a Boston accent. “Mr. Rozanov, we got a package here for you.”

Rozanov throws his head back and laughs. “I think that sounds more New York than Boston.”

Shane smiles behind his glass. “Does it?”

Rozanov nods, shoulders still shaking. “It really does.”

They look at each other, something positively electric in the air between them. The club is fuller and noisier than ever, but it’s like Shane’s world has narrowed to these two couches and there’s no one in existence except for him and Rozanov, whose features are just as striking even with the colorful flashing lights. Shane really, really wants to kiss him.

Rozanov’s gaze breaks away then, and suddenly, he’s finishing off his current drink in one big gulp. “Don’t suppose I could get you to dance this time?” He asks.

Shane smiles. “No chance.”

“Promise not to walk out if I find someone?” Rozanov teases, but it carries an undercurrent of worry.

Shane crosses his arms. “Fuck off,” he says. “I won’t.”

With one last glance back at Shane, Rozanov approaches the dancefloor in confident strides, turning heads wherever he passes by. If Shane had not been informed that this place apparently has a strict no thralls or glamours policy, he could be forgiven for thinking the humans that try to get Rozanov’s attention as he dances are all glamoured with the way they’re caught in his orbit. Rozanov dances through the sea of people like he were born to do it, movements sharp yet graceful as he holds someone’s hand to pull them towards him before swiftly letting go and moving on, as he catches another person and dips them, as he teases yet another with his fangs millimeters from their neck before pulling away.

A pair of two humans, one man and one woman, approach Rozanov. The woman—tall and curvy—dances, unbridled and expressive, with her back against Rozanov’s chest while the man—slender and leggy—is a little more reserved, finding a place behind him. Unlike Rozanov’s other dance partners, these two last quite a while, making conversation that Shane can’t suss out from their lip movements alone. At some point, Rozanov throws a glance Shane’s way, and then whispers something in the woman’s ear. She laughs, says something to the man, and then the three of them are making their way to where Shane is.

“Hi there,” the woman greets, offering Shane a hand. “My name’s Kylie.”

Shane stares, and then takes it before he can change his mind. “Uh, hello,” he says. “Shane.”

Kylie smiles warmly at him. “Nice to meet you, Shane.” She gestures at the man. “This is my boyfriend, Laurent.”

“Hey,” Laurent says with a nod. Shane nods as well.

Rozanov takes his seat from before, in front of Shane. Kylie sits beside Rozanov and Laurent sits beside Shane.

They make some mundane conversation. Kylie and Laurent are locals, born and raised in Toronto, so they’re curious about how the travelling Shane and Rozanov are liking their city. Shane confesses he hasn’t seen much of it; Rozanov says it’s a nice city. At some point, the topic turns to occupations, and it’s revealed that Laurent is a real estate agent while Kylie is in grad school. When Kylie asks Rozanov what he and Shane do, Shane holds Rozanov’s gaze and subtly shakes his head. Still, Rozanov tests him by saying, “College athletes.”

“Oh? What sport?” Laurent asks. “I’m a big football fan.”

“Basketball,” Rozanov lies easily.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and they all get topped up on their drinks.

+++

“So, Ilya here was just telling us on the dancefloor that this is only your second time at a mixed club,” Kylie says. “Having a good time so far?”

“Uh, yeah, for sure,” Shane says, tearing his eyes away from Rozanov, who seems content to watch the conversation play out in silence.

Laurent chuckles beside him. “Relax, we don’t bite. Though, we’re kinda hoping you two will.”

“Um,” Shane says dumbly.

“Babe!” Kylie chastises.

“What?” Laurent shrugs.

Shane clears his throat. “Didn’t Roz—Ilya tell you I’ve never bitten anyone?” Not only that, but he’s also never so much as bared his fangs since he was turned. “And that I don’t, uh, bite people?” He taps his drink with a finger. “Sheep blood.”

“Well, why not?” Kylie asks.

Shane takes a sip of his drink. “Because it’s…” He can’t say wrong—because Rozanov is right there and Shane doesn’t necessarily think the way he feeds to survive is wrong. He can’t say exploitative—because he knows human vegans will have more than a thing or two to say about him getting his preferred sheep blood from farms and butchers. So, what then is left? “Uncomfortable,” he settles on.

Kylie leans forward and crosses her legs. “Like you think you won’t like it or you won’t be able to stop yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Shane says—the truth.

“The image you have in your mind, of reckless feeders draining people dry, that’s not the only way,” Kylie says. “In a controlled environment, where everyone consents, it can be an enjoyable experience for both parties involved.” She laughs. “I mean, take Laurent and me—we’ve had a couple bad experiences, sure, but for the most part we have a lot of fun with it. Why else would we keep coming back, right, babe?”

“Yep,” Laurent says.

“Now knowing all that, would you be open to trying, Shane?” Kylie asks.

Before Shane can answer, the music changes to something that has the entire club going wild, with everyone singing along to the lyrics. Kylie and Laurent are singing passionately. Even Rozanov mouths along to the song.

Shane shoots him a questioning glance. “Why am I the only one who doesn’t know this song?”

Rozanov, lounging with his arms stretched across the couch, smirks. “Because you are boring. Lapse by Escape Velocity. They are Japanese, I think.”

Shane nods, and then he’s caught off guard by the hook before the instrumental break:

I’m tired of control

Time for a lapse

Kylie turns to Shane then. “Sorry, got kinda distracted there. So?”

Shane swallows. He reaches for his drink, but it’s empty. As his last lifeline, Shane then looks to Rozanov, searching his eyes for something (he doesn’t know what), but Rozanov’s features are inscrutable. Shane inhales deeply. “You know what? Fuck it. Sure.”

Kylie claps her hands. “Yay! Okay, let’s do it together. Oh, this is gonna be so hot.”

“Agreed,” Laurent says.

The couple gets into position, Kylie in Rozanov’s lap and Laurent in Shane’s.

Kylie and Rozanov whisper to each other for a bit, and then Rozanov’s fangs are sinking into the skin of her neck. Kylie moans at the sensation. Rozanov keeps his eyes on Shane all the while.

Shane reluctantly tears his gaze away to focus on the person in front of him. And, let it be said that Shane really does try, but no matter how much he tells himself he wants this and that he agreed to this, he just can’t bare his fangs.

Laurent smiles down at him. “No worries,” he says, then reaches into his pants’ pocket to pull out a peculiar device: a needle in a fancy holder and casing, which he uses to pierce his own neck. “There.”

Shane tongues at the tiny pinpricks the needle made and starts sucking Laurent’s blood. It’s completely different from sheep blood. Better. Richer. Sweeter—and Shane remembers Kylie saying earlier that she and Laurent had upped their blood sugar specifically for tonight. He can see now why some vampires refuse to drink anything else. Shane sucks and sucks, Laurent groaning against him.

Impulsively, Shane’s eyes drift to Rozanov again. Kylie is grinding against him now, and Rozanov feels her up languidly. Shane’s own hands are stilled on Laurent’s waist, and thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect much of Shane, content to focus on the feeling of being fed from. Then, Rozanov catches Shane’s gaze and they lock eyes. Rozanov’s hazel eyes are darkened with arousal, the heat of his gaze going straight to Shane’s cock.

Suddenly, Shane can’t wait to get out of here.

+++

As soon as the door to Rozanov’s—Ilya’s hotel room shuts behind Shane, he’s pushing Ilya against a wall and kissing him hard. In turn, Ilya licks into Shane’s mouth with a fervor and urgency that imply he’s wanted to do exactly this all night. Fuck—me, too. Shane kisses back in a way that he hopes Ilya will understand it’s the same for him. Their tongues swirl together, all heat and wetness and desperation, as their hands grasp madly at shirts, necks, hair—the works. On Ilya’s tongue, Shane can taste fresh blood and fruity cocktails.

They part briefly as Ilya takes off his shirt. (His blazer was already off before Shane got here.) As soon as it’s off, Shane’s lips are back on Ilya’s. They kiss hungrily, wet and open-mouthed, and Shane’s hands wander to Ilya’s happy trail and then downwards, sneaking underneath his pants to feel his hardening cock.

Ilya pulls away from their kiss. “Get on your knees,” he commands, and Shane sinks to his knees in record time, all but pouncing at the chance to get his mouth on Ilya’s cock.

And that’s exactly what he does. After fiddling with the zipper for a second too long, Shane pulls Ilya’s pants down until it pools at his ankles, and he feels his mouth watering a bit at the sight of Ilya’s hardness—all his for the taking. Ilya watches with ravenous eyes and a hand in Shane’s hair as Shane starts licking and mouthing all along his cock. Shane makes sure to look up at Ilya through his lashes as he starts sucking on the head, his tongue lapping up the precome at the slit. He bobs his head shallowly, one hand wandering up to knead at Ilya’s pec. As he takes more and more of Ilya’s ridiculous length into his mouth, Shane hollows his cheeks—a trick learned from the Internet—and he’s immediately rewarded when Ilya’s breath hitches.

Not long after, Ilya is pulling Shane up to kiss him again. Without their lips once parting, Ilya lifts Shane by the hips and carries him to bed. Shane makes a surprised sort of sound from the back of his throat, but it’s not a complaint. On the contrary, the thrill of Ilya carrying him so effortlessly goes straight to Shane’s cock. Moving up on the bed, Shane discards his cardigan and then his tshirt, no longer caring where and in what state they land, as Ilya pulls Shane’s pants and underwear down and throws them away somewhere. All too soon and yet not soon enough, their lips meet again in passionate, bruising kisses.

Having kissed Shane sufficiently breathless, Ilya’s lips travel gradually down from Shane’s own to his neck, his chest, his stomach, and finally to his inner thighs right before Ilya is taking Shane’s cock into his mouth. He sucks Shane off with razor sharp focus and a tongue capable of wicked, wicked things. And his fangs, just barely grazing Shane’s skin. Shane is left gasping and cursing until Ilya pulls away and kisses up Shane’s body the way he came, landing on Shane’s lips once more.

“Get on your stomach,” Ilya says. Shane’s hesitance must show as a delay because he says it again. “On your stomach.”

When Shane finally does so, Ilya is behind him, rubbing and kneading at his ass. “Have you ever?” Shane opens his mouth, but no words come out. Ilya changes tact: he kisses the back of Shane’s neck, and then asks, “Do you want to?” When Shane still doesn’t say anything, Ilya’s hand stills. “You’re scared.”

That does it. “I’m not scared,” Shane says.

“No, it’s ok,” Ilya reassures him.

“I’m not scared,” Shane insists.

Ilya stops hovering over Shane and leans back on the bed. His hand on Shane’s ass moves again. “Do you ever touch yourself here?”

Shane slams his face against the mattress. “I…”

“Is ok, tell me,” Ilya says gently.

Shane raises his head just barely. “I have… a thing.”

“What… thing?” Ilya asks slowly.

“…A dildo,” Shane says in a small voice.

Silence.

“What color?” Ilya asks.

“Fuck you,” Shane says, earlier embarrassment gone to be replaced by indignation.

“It’s big?”

Shane raises himself up on his elbows. “I’m leaving—”

Ilya climbs back over him, plastering himself over Shane’s back and kissing Shane between his shoulderblades. “No, no, Hollander, I want to fuck you,” he whines.

Shane turns around in Ilya’s hold and can’t help smiling up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Ilya intones. “Do you,” he kisses Shane on the lips. “Have any idea,” he kisses Shane’s shoulder. “How I planned this whole night,” he kisses Shane’s chest. “Just to get you here?” He kisses Shane’s stomach.

“I might have some idea,” Shane confesses, unable to stop smiling.

Lying between Shane’s legs and with his mouth against Shane’s inner thigh, Ilya asks, “So, can I?”

Shane inhales deeply, then nods. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Tell me if you change your mind,” Ilya says before taking Shane’s cock into his mouth once more. Shane moans as Ilya takes him all the way to the base, bobbing his head a few times before pulling away. He moves down to Shane’s balls, licking and mouthing, and then lower still until he’s right up against Shane’s puckered entrance. He then raises himself up to nudge Shane’s legs upward, and Shane complies, holding them open for Ilya. Satisfied, Ilya dives down again.

Shane takes a sharp breath as he feels Ilya’s tongue dart out to lick his hole. Ilya rubs Shane’s thighs soothingly to get him to relax, and Shane lets himself melt into the bed, fully surrendering. And then—oh, Ilya is rimming him, lips and tongue working at his entrance. It’s weird at first, but weird turns into feels good pretty fast.

“Fuck,” Shane hisses as Ilya’s tongue fucks in and out of his hole, his hand flying to Ilya’s head to grasp at his curls.

Once Shane is moaning and gasping at the sensations of being eaten out, his cock painfully hard and leaking against his stomach, Ilya is suddenly pulling back and leaning over the side of the bed to fetch something from the drawer—lube and a condom. The condom, he sets aside for now, while the lube he pours a generous amount of on one hand.

At the first press of a slicked finger against his entrance, Shane holds his breath.

“Ok?” Ilya looks up at him to check in.

Shane nods, a little dazedly, and the next thing he knows, Ilya’s finger is pressing into his hole. It fucks into him slowly, Ilya careful to let Shane gradually get used to the sensation. Then, after a while, “Second one,” he warns before adding another. Shane breathes heavily at the feeling of two fingers stretching him, scissoring, and going deeper than before. Just as Shane has gotten used to this, Ilya curls his fingers just so—and then Shane is arching up off the bed with a gasp as a shock of unbelievable pleasure shoots up his spine. Great; that must be his prostate, then. Ilya jabs it over and over with his fingers, turning Shane into a mess of moans and profanity. But soon enough, he lets up and speaks again. “Third one,” he says, then inserts another finger. By now, Shane might as well be putty in Ilya’s hands.

After Shane becomes sufficiently acclimated to the stretch of three fingers, Ilya pulls them out. He puts on the condom, slicks up his cock with lube and lines himself up against Shane’s hole. “Ready?” He asks.

Shane wraps his legs around Ilya’s back and his arms around Ilya’s shoulders. “Yeah.”

Ilya nods, slowly starting to roll his hips, and Shane arches up at the sensation of Ilya’s cock filling him in a torturously slow slide until Ilya is buried to the hilt. They both take shaky breaths against each other’s mouths at the feeling of being joined together at last. Shane almost wants to cry because of how much he wants this, but he has a feeling that won’t go over very well.

“I will start moving now, ok?” Ilya says, voice a bit strained.

Shane nods frantically. “Please.”

Ilya rolls his hips shallowly at first, testing the waters of Shane’s comfort level, but after some encouraging noises that embarrassingly escape the back of Shane’s throat, he starts to move a bit more forcefully, properly fucking Shane. And oh does Shane love it: the sounds, the sensations, the way Ilya’s face contorts from the pleasure, the way Ilya brings their lips closer to kiss desperately, the way Ilya’s cock is hitting him in all the right places until—

“Holy fuck!” Shane exclaims when Ilya’s cock starts hitting his prostate, making Shane’s nerves sing.

“You like that, Hollander?” Ilya asks, on the edge of breathless as he ruts into Shane at a brutal pace.

Shane can barely manage a few frantic nods. “Fuck, Rozanov—”

Ilya snaps his hips like a jackhammer. “You like it hard, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Shane pants.

Expecting things to continue as they are till they both reach completion, Shane is a bit winded when Ilya slows down and then stops entirely. “On your hands and knees, then.”

Shane lets out a sound that may or may not be a whine at the sudden loss of fullness in his now empty hole, clenching around nothing. “Fuck. Gimme a moment.” And Shane takes his moment, to catch his breath and regain his bearings, before complying.

“Mm. Good boy,” Ilya tells him once Shane’s ass is in the air and his face in the mattress.

“Fuck you,” Shane snaps back immediately, before promptly shutting up when Ilya lines himself up again behind him and his cockhead presses against Shane’s hole.

When Ilya slides home, they both curse. The angle is completely different this time around, and Shane can feel Ilya’s cock more deeply somehow. Fuck, so he was right to change positions. Leave it to Ilya to be the expert at sex, in addition to the expert at finding vampire clubs and figuring out Shane’s dietary preferences.

Ilya’s first few experimental thrusts take Shane right out of his own head, anchoring him firmly to his body and its sensations. One of his hands is on the small of Shane’s back, the other on Shane’s hip, and he uses both for leverage as he fucks Shane in earnest.

“So fucking tight,” Ilya mutters, regaining his pace from earlier and angling this way and that until Shane groans loudly when Ilya finds his prostate yet again. He pounds into Shane with what Shane imagines to be the strength and stamina of a pornstar. Ilya could probably make a great pornstar if hockey weren’t in the picture, but for some reason Shane doesn’t really like the idea of Ilya fucking anyone else. God knows he’d reacted adversely enough when Ilya had simply bitten someone else.

Shane feels Ilya nibbling on a spot between his neck and shoulder and abandons his previous train of thought. “What?” He asks.

Ilya’s thrusts turn from almost frenzied to languid. “I want to bite you,” he says. “Can I?”

Shane exhales a surprised huff of laughter. “How much blood have you had tonight, again? Now you want some of mine, too?” He tries for levity to distract from the fact that he hasn’t been bitten since he was turned. And now Ilya’s asking, and Shane really wants to give it to him.

Affronted, Ilya reaches over to tweak Shane’s nipple. “Hollander…”

Shane twists his head awkwardly to look back at him. “Do it.”

This demands another change in position, but this time they manage to do it without Ilya needing to pull out. Now, Ilya is sitting down with Shane in his lap, Shane’s back to Ilya’s chest.

Ilya doesn’t bite right away. He takes his sweet time, peppering kisses onto Shane’s neck and licking the spot where he intends to sink his fangs, all while rolling his hips, nudging his cock ever deeper into Shane’s hole.

When Ilya’s fangs finally break Shane’s skin, Shane is prepared to cry in relief after all that anticipation.

Shane can’t lie; the feeling of Ilya feeding from him is euphoric. It feels safe. It feels right. It feels nothing like he expected. It feels like Shane is right where he belongs. Every part of him is singing, attuned to the blood leaving his body via that one electric point of contact. He clenches around Ilya’s cock, and he knows Ilya must feel it for the way he moans against Shane’s neck and his thrusts stutter.

Shane’s climax sneaks up on him. One moment, he’s moaning at Ilya’s cock hitting him deep and Ilya sucking up his blood, the next, he’s coming untouched and making a mess of his stomach. His vision whites out for a few seconds and he probably screamed, but he’s too blissed out to be sure of anything, really.

Ilya is not far behind. He bucks up into Shane’s tight, wet heat desperately now, fucking Shane almost into overstimulation before he’s finally coming with a grunt, spilling into the condom while buried to the hilt inside Shane. He pulls off Shane’s neck as he comes, panting with his fangs still out and bloody.

Shane lifts himself off of Ilya’s cock with his last bit of energy before promptly collapsing on the bed. A moment later, Ilya joins him. They lie down, facing each other, breathing heavily.

Silence.

Then, Shane doesn’t know who laughs first, but out of nowhere, they both burst into giggles.

“You killed me, Hollander. I am dead,” Ilya says in between gasps of laughter, his fangs still out.

“Sorry? No, I’m not sorry,” Shane says with an earsplitting grin. “That was so fucking hot.”

“Worth the wait?” Ilya asks. Shane doesn’t know if he means the long night they’ve had before they ended up here… or the amount of time since they last saw each other and had sex.

In lieu of an answer, Shane leans forward and kisses him, first on the lips, then on Ilya’s brow.

Chapter 3: Hear the Night Sing

Chapter Notes

hiii. i literally cannot stop writing this. send help.

Three months later, it’s a home game of Montreal versus Boston.

Throughout the whole game, Shane and Ilya exchange searing glances, fight for the puck with an energy they don’t quite muster for anyone else, and a couple times Ilya pushes Shane into the boards with a smirk—perhaps as a preview of the night to come—before quickly skating away. For the last face-off, the crowd is screaming Hollander! Rozanov! and their respective coaches cave easily, sending them in.

Ilya skates up to meet face to face with Shane. He looks at Shane with such naked desire that it sends an all too pleasant shiver down Shane’s spine. “Shane Hollander. Will you disappoint them?”

Shane shakes his head. “Le Rêverie. Downtown. 10 o’clock,” he says.

Ilya smiles.

The puck drops, and Shane wins the face-off.

+++

Shane rushes through his post-game interviews and other miscellaneous goings on. He declines invitations to join his team and celebrate their win. At this point, his teammates are used to this kind of thing from Shane. They probably figure he’s just a weird and reclusive sort of vampire and chalk it up to that. And usually, Shane would be going straight home. But not tonight.

Putting on a dark grey button up with white stripes, white pants, and shoes he got from a sponsor, Shane checks his phone for the time before pocketing it and heading out. He makes sure to get there early, earlier than Ilya since he’s the one who invited him.

Le Rêverie is an unassuming establishment that doesn’t even look like a club from the outside. It’s not too crowded, there are hardly any humans, and the ambiance is pretty great; Shane had scouted the place out beforehand. More importantly, the way the drinks menu works is you choose your preferred type of blood for all the cocktails they have on offer, so Shane can have anything on the menu.

Right on time, Ilya arrives via taxi. He’s wearing a white tank top, black ripped jeans, and leather boots. He looks really fucking good.

“Hey,” Shane greets, unable to keep from breaking into a giddy smile already.

“Hi,” Ilya greets back, looking around to appraise the place.

“Shall we?” Shane asks with a gesture towards the front door.

Ilya hums approvingly. “We shall.”

+++

They end up staying by the bar, just drinking and talking. The topics are all over the place, and Shane counts each time Ilya smiles or laughs. Shane sticks to sheep blood cocktails on the simple side (by that, he means without the fruit juices and syrups). However, when Ilya offers him a sip of his mojito with human blood, Shane obliges, leaning forward and letting Ilya tip the glass into his mouth. He decides he likes the taste, and likes the hungry way Ilya had looked at him while he drank even more.

Ilya must figure Shane is letting himself get away with more than he usually does tonight because, after their third round of drinks, he stands and offers a hand out to Shane—an invitation to dance. And, third time’s the charm, it seems, because Shane doesn’t even wait a second too long before he takes it and follows Ilya to the dancefloor.

As is par for the course for a vampire club, they aren’t the only same-sex pair; Shane counts three distinct pairs of women, a couple even kissing in the middle of the dancefloor. No one here likely cares about hockey. They’ll be fine.

Still, the stray worries must show on Shane’s face because Ilya mouths “Relax” at him as he puts his hands on Shane’s waist. No heads turn at their proximity. Shane exhales a shaky breath and puts his arms around Ilya’s shoulders, fingers playing with the hair near Ilya’s nape.

They dance, gazes locked, with eyes for no one but each other. A couple times, Ilya leans in close to whisper into Shane’s ear, but otherwise they refrain from overtly intimate contact—no matter how much a part of Shane wants to throw caution to the wind and kiss Ilya stupid for everyone to see. Ilya guides Shane with his hands as he sways his hips, directing the motion to be smoother as opposed to sharper, and Shane thinks of those hands bracing themselves on his hips as Ilya fucks him.

Shane inhales sharply. Later. Right now, they’re still in public.

As it turns out, Ilya is on the same page. “Want to get out of here?” He asks.

Shane smiles. “I thought you would never ask.”

+++

Instead of his apartment, Shane takes Ilya to his newly furnished condo.

“Wow, nice place,” Ilya says.

Shane watches him walk around and look around. “Thanks. I just bought it recently. You know, investment property. I’m also thinking about buying the place next door, maybe renting it out.” He’s rambling, isn’t he?

“Mr. Businessman,” Ilya remarks, making a silly gesture. “Mr. Landlord.”

“Shut up. You asked,” Shane retorts.

“No, I didn’t,” Ilya says with a smug smile. Okay, maybe he didn’t. He stretches and looks around again. “I will shower first, ok?”

Shane, who’d been expecting to get his bones jumped as soon as they entered, blinks. “Sure. Down that way,” he points in the direction of the bath.

Ilya nods. Then, he smirks. “Want to join?”

Shane huffs. “Fuck off.”

He lasts all of one minute before he’s tearing his clothes off and entering the shower after Ilya.

“Hi,” Ilya greets, rinsing his hair. Shane’s eyes are drawn to the shiny golden crucifix again, just like the last time they’d showered together.

“Shut up,” Shane says, then sinks to his knees.

Shane makes sure to use all the tips and tricks he’s learned so far to make Ilya come undone. It seems to work well enough, if the way Ilya is cursing in Russian and grasping Shane’s hair is any indication. When Ilya orgasms, his eyes are closed and his head is tilted upwards, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure. Shane swallows Ilya’s release and keeps on sucking his cock until Ilya pulls him off, too sensitive from climaxing.

Once they’re out of the shower, Ilya retaliates immediately by pinning Shane down on the bed and eating him out to within an inch of his life until he’s coming with a shout.

Afterward, they make out lazily, until lazily turns into hot and heavy and they’re both hard again.

Ilya fucks Shane from behind while spooning him, and the angle coupled with Ilya breathing hotly against his ear must be doing something to Shane because he comes embarrassingly quickly without Ilya even touching his cock once. Chasing his own release, Ilya asks to bite Shane again, and Shane agrees. Ilya ruts into him wildly as he sucks Shane’s blood until he’s stilling and coming deep inside Shane. Pleasure blooms from the point where Ilya’s fangs meet Shane’s neck, and Shane moans, still reeling from his own orgasm.

In the aftermath, Shane turns around, climbs over Ilya, and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. Ilya smiles into these kisses, cupping Shane’s cheek as he licks past Shane’s lips and into his mouth, his tongue tangling with Shane’s own. Shane doesn’t know how long they spend like this, just kissing passionately but without the expectation to escalate into another round. Shane really likes kissing Ilya. It doesn’t hurt that Ilya just so happens to be an excellent kisser—always giving Shane exactly what he needs at the right time, filthy and yet tender, with a consummate mouth and a skilled tongue.

Eventually, though, they do have to part. Shane mourns the loss of Ilya’s lips against his own right away.

“I should go. I have early flight tomorrow—er, later,” Ilya says, getting up from the bed and searching for his discarded clothes.

Shane nods absently. “Okay.”

Once Ilya is dressed and ready to go, he tells Shane, “See you at All-Stars.”

Shane flashes him a small smile. “See you.”

After the door shuts behind Ilya, Shane looks up at the ceiling and curses. “Fuck,” he hisses. He touches the spot where Ilya bit him, which is still tingling faintly. Why is his heart heavy and aching in his chest? Tonight had gone great, by all measures. Shane should be satisfied—is satisfied. And yet he can’t help wishing Ilya were still in his bed.

+++

Four months later finds Shane and Ilya in Nashville, sitting together under a million cameras and harsh lights that feel like they should burn their skin.

“Ilya, you’re having a legendary rookie season. Both of you are. You said you’d hit 50 goals this year. You’ve hit 28 so far, and we’re in the middle of February. You still thinking about a 50-goal campaign?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shane watches Ilya fidget, and then feels Ilya’s shoe tap his own. “Yes.”

“Shane, kind of the same to you. You’ve scored 31 goals. Any chance you’ll want to speculate as to how this season is gonna end up for you guys?”

“No chance at all,” Shane says with a faint smile, which garners some laughs.

“Question for Ilya first, but it’ll be the same for Shane. Boston is an Original Six legendary team that has struggled to get to the playoffs for the past three seasons. How much pressure do you feel from the fans, from the hockey world in general, to restore Boston to its former glory? And how much of that do you take on personally?”

What a long-winded and poorly worded question, Shane thinks. Ilya adjusts his tie, then his collar, looking very clearly uncomfortable. “Um…”

“Uh…” Shane says. “Sorry, not to jump the gun here, but um, with Rozanov’s permission—” Shane taps his foot against Ilya’s shoe this time, and Ilya nods. Shane gives his own long-winded, media trained answer, garnering some laughs at a few points.

“Ilya?”

Ilya leans forward into the mic. “What he said.”

Laughter.

Ilya nudges his shoe against Shane’s again, and Shane pushes his own flush against Ilya’s.

+++

At the shot accuracy competition, Ilya beats Scott Hunter’s record, and then two minutes later, Shane beats Ilya’s. Shane cheers when he sees that he got it, high on adrenaline.

Shane retreats to his corner with his teammates, on the other side not too far from which Ilya waits.

“Good job,” Ilya tells him, and Shane can’t tell whether it’s sarcastic or genuinely impressed.

“Thanks,” Shane says nonetheless.

Ilya nods. “You had fun last night?” He asks.

“Last night?” Was there something going on that Shane had missed?

Ilya gestures. “With your team. Get dinner, get drunk.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I had fun, but I didn’t get drunk,” Shane says.

“Not even with fellow vampire teammates?” Ilya asks, giving Shane a look he can’t decode.

You’re the only vampire I willingly hang out with, Shane doesn’t say. The only vampire who’s kissed me, bitten me, fucked me. The only vampire I look for when he’s not there. “Nope,” he says instead. “You?”

“Yeah, it was great,” Ilya says. “No boring Canadians. No stupid Americans.”

Shane smirks. “So, what? Just a bunch of Finnish guys talking about the cousins they’re in love with?”

Ilya’s lips quirk up as well. “Think I’m going to bed early tonight.” Then, he opens the gate and skates towards Shane.

“Oh yeah?” Shane asks.

Ilya leans in close. “1221,” he says before skating away.

Once Ilya’s gone, Scott Hunter pipes up from beside Shane. “Nice shooting, rook.”

“Thanks,” Shane says.

“Glad to see Rozanov didn’t hold my record for more than a minute,” Hunter says. “What did he want, by the way?”

“Oh, nothing.” Shane makes a face. “Just shit-talking.”

“He’s an asshole, right?” Hunter asks.

“I mean, yeah, basically,” Shane says. But he’s pretty considerate in bed. And attentive in vampire nightclubs, so okay, maybe not just in bed.

“Lucky me,” Hunter intones. “I’m in the room next door to him at the hotel.”

Fuck. Shane schools his features, aiming for perfect neutrality. “Oh?”

Hunter nods. “I guarantee you, he’s gonna bring someone back.”

Shane chokes on air, but recovers quickly. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Hunter says. “Bloodsucker like him’s the predatory alpha type, for sure.” Then, he seems to realize just who it is he’s talking to and what species Shane is. “Uh, shit, no offense.”

Shane flashes him a quick, fake smile. “None taken. I get it.”

“Hollander!”

Shane springs up into action immediately, opening the gate and getting on his skates.

+++

Shane has dressed down and is about to head for the hotel when he hears an all too familiar conversation in one of the public male restrooms.

“Come on, just a little sip.”

“I said no!”

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

“And you’re an asshole. If I let you bite me, you’re gonna take too much again and I’m gonna end up fucking anemic.”

“Ugh. Just hold still already. You know you want to.”

Shane slams the door to the restroom open and stomps his way to a far stall, the only one occupied. The lock is no match for his strength as he pushes it open to reveal a tall, bulky male vampire pinning a shorter human woman to the wall of the stall by her wrists.

Shane’s tone is grave as he recites the same words that had once gotten him killed. “Is there a problem here?”

The vampire’s eyes are wide. “You’re—”

Shane turns to the human. “Miss, are you okay?”

She doesn’t answer. She’s trembling in fear, breathing hard, and looking quickly between her companion and Shane.

The vampire lowers her wrists, but doesn’t let them go. “She’s just fine,” he says. “And no, we don’t have a problem here, Mr. Hollander. I was just talking to my girlfriend. Right, baby?”

She looks at her companion, and then helplessly up at Shane. A tear drips down her cheek. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She closes it again, then closes her eyes, then opens them back up. More tears.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to let her go,” Shane says, careful to keep his tone even despite the well of rage threatening to spill over from within him.

The vampire scoffs. “And why would I do that?” He looks Shane up and down. “Nobody ever teach you to mind your own business? We all have to feed. Surely you understand that.”

Shane inhales deeply. “This is your last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

The vampire snarls and lunges towards Shane, making full use of his speed—but Shane is ready for it. He dodges the man’s attempt to reach for him and turns the tables in an instant, pinning him to a wall with one of Shane’s hands on the back of his neck, caging him, while the other holds his hands behind his back. The vampire growls and twists, trying to get out of Shane’s hold, but Shane may as well be made out of rock in the way that he isn’t budging so much as a centimeter.

However, Shane then throws a glance to the side at the human, who hasn’t moved from her spot—and that’s his mistake, because the vampire takes that chance to sweep Shane’s feet out from under him. Shane tumbles to the floor, and quick as a whip, the vampire is on him, aiming to subdue.

Shane isn’t having it, though, and manages to reverse their positions, grappling until the vampire is under him and struggling to be free of Shane’s hold once again. Before he can do anything more, Shane headbutts him as hard as he can, sending the vampire’s head bouncing against the floor with a sickening crack and knocking him out. Shane then stands, dusting himself off, and immediately moves to check on the human.

She’s hyperventilating.

“Miss, hey. Hey. Look at me, please,” Shane tells her, moving in close but being careful not to touch her. “You’re okay. You’re not gonna be bitten or drained or anything like that. You’re safe now.”

She doesn’t appear to believe him, tears falling uncontrollably, and noisy, uneven breaths echoing in the empty room.

“Miss, will you come with me? I can take you to see security. Get you some help so you can go home. Do you want that?”

No response.

“Fuck,” Shane mutters, ducking his head and leaning against the opposite wall of the stall as the woman. Then, an idea occurs to him. His fangs aren’t the only vampiric part of him he hasn’t used since he was turned. There’s also… his eyes and voice. Glamour.

Would it be unethical? Fuck yes. Would it be a shady and dubious method? Also yes. Would it get this human to calm down? Shane is about to find out.

Shane lifts his head and looks at the poor stranger. “I’m sorry in advance,” he says, and in the next moment, he turns his glamour on her at full force. “Look at me,” Shane commands, and at once the human is ensnared, eyes dulled and mouth slack as she obeys. “Breathe. In and out. In… and out. In… and out. That’s it. You’re doing well. Keep looking at me. Breathe slowly. Inhale. Exhale. No, no, don’t look at him. Keep your eyes on me. Now, answer me honestly: do you want me to escort you to security?”

“Yes,” the human says.

“Then come with me,” Shane offers a hand for her to take. She grasps it hesitantly.

Shane lets the glamour fade as they walk the long and winding way to security. The woman remains calmer than she was before, but her gait does stutter the moment she’s released from the grip of Shane’s glamour.

“Thank you,” she murmurs to Shane when they arrive at their destination.

Shane manages a smile. “Don’t mention it.”

“Sir? Ma’am? How can I help you?” A human guard calls their attention.

Shane gives a brief explanation of what happened, and then he leaves.

In the car ride to the hotel, Shane’s entire body feels numb, like it’s filled with TV static. He closes his eyes and covers them with an arm.

+++

Shane doesn’t know why he goes to the twelfth floor. He doesn’t know why he knocks on Ilya’s door and stands there, probably looking like a kicked puppy, until he opens. He doesn’t know why he stares at Ilya, who takes one look at Shane and is immediately concerned, and asks him in a scratchy voice, “Can I come in?” And he doesn’t know why Ilya lets him in, instantly and without question, when this is not something the two of them do.

Their arrangement is simple: Shane breaks the rigid rules he lives his life by for one night to let Ilya show him the vampire high life, and then they have sex. Running to Ilya after getting, well, triggered by an experience so close to the night of his turning is almost certainly not included in that arrangement. And yet.

Ilya guides Shane through the hotel room while cradling both of Shane’s hands in his own, grounding him. He leads Shane to the bed, where they sit side by side. He cups Shane’s cheeks, caressing one with a thumb. He tells Shane, “Hey. Hey. You’re good. You’re safe here. I’m right here with you. Hollander.” He nudges Shane’s face this way and that to get Shane to look at him as Shane tries very, very hard not to cry, blinking back tears that threaten to blur his vision. He asks, very gently, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Shane nods. Choking back a sob, he tries his best to recount the events of tonight: the alarming conversation in the restroom, the vampire’s demeanor, the fight, the woman’s state afterward, his first time usage of glamour.

Ilya listens intently, staying close and rubbing Shane’s back all the while. He waits when Shane pauses, does his best to get Shane back on track when he gets overwhelmed, and at the end pulls Shane flush against him in a somewhat awkward hug. Shane finally lets his tears fall against Ilya’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around him. “So, you maybe saved this human’s life,” Ilya says. “You are hero tonight. Why are you upset?”

Suddenly, Shane feels so faint he struggles to get his next words out. “It’s not about… what happened tonight.”

Ilya pulls back to observe him. “You’re dropping,” he concludes. “When was the last time you fed?”

“I dunno,” Shane murmurs, head drooping and body slumping. “Before we went out on the ice?”

“Fuck, Hollander, that is long time. Too long,” Ilya chastises, holding Shane’s face up. “Hold on.” He lets Shane go and stands, heading for the mini fridge. Shane blinks slowly at him, dazed. Rummaging through the contents of the fridge, Ilya then takes out a tumbler and strides back to the bed at top speed so he can hand it to Shane. “Drink this.” When Shane just stares at the tumbler, Ilya sighs. “Don’t worry, ok? It is sheep blood. Safe. So drink, please.”

Shane starts undoing the cap, struggling with it until Ilya reaches forward and does it for him. Once open, he tentatively raises the tumbler to his lips and takes a sip. And then another. And then another. Some sharpness begins to return to Shane’s senses, and soon enough he’s urgently gulping down the tumbler’s contents, only realizing how much he’s been starving now that he’s feeding. He ends up drinking it all.

When Shane finishes, Ilya is smiling at him, thumb darting forward to wipe a stray drop of blood on Shane’s chin. “Good,” he remarks.

“Shut up,” Shane says.

Ilya’s smile grows wider. “Ah, there he is. Welcome back!”

“You’re an asshole,” Shane tells him, except it lacks any bite it could’ve had because after everything Ilya has done for Shane tonight, he can’t bring himself to really mean it.

Ilya tsks. “High on emotions, low on blood—is bad combination. Your sire should have taught you this,” he says, concerned.

Shane frowns, whatever levity that existed gone as soon as it arrived. He looks away from Ilya and scooches back, putting some distance between them. Then, he snaps, revealing information known to no one but his parents and the morgue where he turned: “I don’t have a sire. He was a creep who tried to kill me until he was pumped full of silver bullets and his blood turned me by fucking accident.”

He sees the exact moment Ilya connects the dots in his head, eyes widening. “And that is why tonight’s creep bothers you so much. It is the same story. Fuck.” Ilya rubs his temples. “Sorry.”

Shane reluctantly meets Ilya’s eyes again. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.” Then, all of a sudden, laughter overtakes him. “Shit.”

Ilya looks worried. “What is going on now, Hollander?”

“It’s just,” Shane says, mirth giving way to shyness. “You finally know my big secret. You’ve even seen me at my worst.” He looks at Ilya through his lashes. “But I still hardly know anything about you.”

Ilya blinks. “Not much to tell,” he says. “My father is vampire, part of big coven. He married my mother, human, to bear him a vampire child. They failed with my brother, human, and succeeded with me.” He takes a deep breath. “But it was very hard on her, body and mind. After, she would rather die than be turned according to coven’s orders.” Ilya’s voice drops in volume, eyes flashing with pain. “And she did. I was 12.” He pauses, then sighs. “Then I got inducted into coven, but now I am on brink of losing member status because I refuse to turn anyone.” He leans back. “How is that?”

“Um, wow,” Shane says dumbly. “First of all, I’m sorry about your mom; that’s horrible. Second, I’ve heard about covens, but mostly historical ones. How do they work in this day and age, exactly?”

Ilya shrugs. “Every coven has different rules. Mine is about… hm. What would it be in English? Selective… continuation.”

“What does that mean?” Shane asks, leaning forward.

“Creating a ‘good’ bloodline,” Ilya says, with airquotes on the word good. “Preferably it is through having born vampires, but it is also through sires and childers.”

Shane nods. “And you refuse to participate in that.”

Ilya crosses his legs. “Yes.”

 “Why not?” Shane gestures.

Ilya scoffs. “Because I am immortal. Why would I make or turn people who might depend on or resent me for eternity?”

“That makes sense,” Shane says.

“Yes, thank you,” Ilya intones. “I should get you to convince them to leave me alone.”

Shane smirks. “As if they’d listen to me, broken bloodline and all.”

Ilya surges forward then, to kiss Shane on the temple. “They will have to listen—because you are so convincing.”

“Hey!” Shane exclaims in surprise. In response, Ilya does it again: a loud smack of lips against Shane’s temple, making Shane giggle. When Ilya pulls back, Shane holds his gaze for a long moment, and then looks away and clears his throat. “I, uh, I should probably call it a night.” He sighs. “Sorry. This is probably not the evening you expected, huh?”

Ilya shakes his head vehemently. “Do not start with that, Hollander. This evening was just fine for me, thank you very much.”

Shane’s voice is timid and vulnerable when he says, “Really?”

“Yes,” Ilya says firmly.

Shane stands. Ilya follows suit.

“Thanks. For everything,” Shane tells him as he makes his way to the door, his back to Ilya. Then, he turns to look at him and… “Fuck.” Before he can think about what he’s doing, Shane is backtracking and taking Ilya’s face into his hands to kiss him hard. 

Ilya melts against him, hands flying to rest at either side of Shane’s neck.

They part… then kiss again. And part… and kiss again.

Finally, Shane forces himself to pull away for good. “Okay,” he says with a note of finality. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Ilya repeats once Shane is at the door again.

Shane has to look away from Ilya as he shuts the door behind him, or else he really won’t want to leave.

Chapter 4: Just Win the Game

Chapter Notes

i am, officially, no longer in control of this fic. shane hollander has taken over me after i've been writing in his pov for so long and channelled his horniness for ilya into my writing. i surrender. this is shane's fic now.

“So Shane, how about that hat trick!” Shane smiles shyly at the camera. “Did it feel good to score one off of Rozanov?”

(Ilya nibbles on Shane’s ear as he slides his hard cock between Shane’s asscheeks, so close and yet so far from where Shane needs him to be. Shane stifles a moan at the delicious friction. Huskily, Ilya asks, “So… where do you want me? I cannot know if you do not tell me.”)

Cameras flash around him. Shane says in a measured voice, “Pretty good. As long as I score, it brings my team one step closer to victory.”

(“I want…” Shane trails off, head ducking down towards the mattress as embarrassment overtakes him. Ilya takes Shane’s cock in hand then, thumb running over the slit, making Shane’s breath hitch. Shane feels exposed, undone at the seams, and so horny it’s driving him crazy. “In me,” he murmurs.)

“But one against Rozanov specifically?” Camera flashes.

(“What was that?” Ilya asks.

“I want you—fuck—I want you inside me,” Shane admits at last.

Ilya chuckles against Shane’s ear, sending a thrill down Shane’s spine. “Is that an order?”

Shane licks his lips, shoulders hunching from how he’s holding himself up on his hands and knees, struggling a little as Ilya’s cock continues to tease him. “Please.”

“Please what?” Ilya asks, slowly and carefully enunciating each syllable.

Shane closes his eyes. “Please fuck me,” he begs.)

Shane crosses his arms and shrugs. “I’m happy with any goal,” he says dismissively. More cameras flash.

+++

Shane tries hard to focus on the book he’s reading, but it’s of no use. His mind is elsewhere today. He sighs and puts it down. Leaning back on his bed, Shane stares at the ceiling, but then notices he’s still wearing his reading glasses. He takes them off and puts them on the nightstand. His fingers brush over the handle to the top drawer, and he pauses.

Fuck. Is it really that kind of day? His dick seems to think so. One thing Shane will never understand about being a vampire is how his libido seems to have shifted to high gear since he turned, in a way he’d never experienced back when he was human. Or maybe this is just Ilya’s influence; so accustomed is Shane now to his… attention that he’s even craving action when he’s alone.

In any case, Shane opens the drawer and grabs the dildo and a bottle of lube. Then, he takes off his underwear, but not his shirt. Now naked from the waist down, he does his best to relax and get comfortable on the bed. The dildo, he sets aside for now, while he takes the lube and pours some on his fingers.

The first press of his index finger against his hole is cold and uncomfortable, making Shane wince. But that’s the worst of it. Once Shane gets into a rhythm with the first finger and then the second, discomfort gives way to some pleasure. Still, he can’t help but think he’s kind of bad at this. His mind wanders. If it were Ilya…

Shane’s dick twitches at the thought of Ilya’s fingers inside him, playing him like an instrument in the way he coaxes all kinds of moans and gasps and groans out of him with just a quirk of his fingers at the right angle, pinpointing that bundle of nerves inside Shane that never fails to make him into an absolute mess at Ilya’s mercy. Shane has never been able to find it alone with his own fingers, though. Experimentally, he quirks his fingers, angling to find his prostate, but ultimately can’t. He huffs in frustration.

Okay. Enough of that, he thinks, pulling his fingers out and reaching for the dildo. Shane hasn’t used it in a good long while—because he’s been channeling his sexual energy mostly into his encounters with Ilya. But right now, Ilya’s not here, and Shane needs to be filled somehow, so this will have to do. Growing impatient, he pours lube onto it and positions the tip against his entrance.

Shane sighs as he pushes the dildo in and he’s filled up by the silicone length. Then, stray thoughts occur without his permission: It’s not as long. Or as thick. He shakes his head, as if that will dismiss the thoughts and allow him to focus on the task at hand, which is getting off so he can continue with his day. He pushes the dildo in and out, slowly at first, then picking up speed gradually as he gets used to the stretch.

Despite the discrepancy in size, Shane can’t help it but imagine Ilya again. He imagines Ilya hovering over his body, holding him down as he fucks him—and at that, his cock gives an enthusiastic twitch. He imagines Ilya leaning back to watch the way his cock disappears into Shane’s hole, smirking, and remarking something along the lines of, Look at you. You take it so well. Shane moans then, the fantasy so vivid he almost answers to the words of the Ilya in his head.

He doesn’t take his dick in hand to speed the process along, even though his goal is to come and get this over with, because he knows Ilya wouldn’t. No, Ilya always wants to make Shane come from his cock alone. So Shane restricts himself to lifting his shirt to touch his nipple with his free hand instead. Then, he closes his eyes and surrenders to the fantasy.

Shane imagines Ilya’s cock, pounding into him mercilessly, and does his best to simulate the feeling by thrusting the dildo into himself as hard as he can. He imagines Ilya, sweating from exertion. He imagines that crucifix Ilya always wears, bouncing as Ilya snaps his hips. He imagines Ilya’s fangs coming out as he loses himself. He imagines Ilya leaning down to sink his fangs into him, filling Shane with ecstasy.

By now, Shane is panting and his fingers are trembling as he fucks himself with the dildo. His cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. He’s getting close. He fiddles with the dildo, angling it this way and that, until he finds the precise angle that makes his toes curl in pleasure—finally. He thrusts the dildo in and out, hitting that same spot over and over again, and wishes it were Ilya filling him right now.

He thinks of Ilya’s breath against his ear, Ilya’s hands wandering all over his body, Ilya’s muscles straining as he fucks Shane with all his strength, Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.

“Fuck, fuck—” Shane pants into the empty room. His head sinks onto his pillow as he throws it back, moaning. “Ilya—”

To push himself that final bit over the edge, Shane finally wraps a hand around his cock and strokes desperately—and that does it. He comes with his hands shoving the dildo in his ass as deep as it can possibly go and his lips caught on Ilya’s name.

Afterward, he cleans himself up, cleans the toy, and spends the rest of the day distracted by thoughts of dirty blonde curls and a smug, fanged smile.

+++

Four months after All-Stars finds them in Las Vegas for the NHL Awards.

Shane and Ilya are both up for Rookie of the Year, along with a human from Minnesota.

As Shane exchanges a lingering glance with Ilya from across the room, he wonders what tonight has in store for them. Another club, perhaps? Shane finds himself adjusting his collar at the thought of what’ll happen after the club.

The presenters for the Rookie of the Year award get on stage. Shane doesn’t expect to win, honestly anticipating that Ilya will get it. The two of them scored the same number of goals this season, but Shane thinks Ilya got to shine a little more as a dominating presence within his team than Shane. Although, Shane is ahead on assists.

The announcement comes. Shane goes on to win the award.

As he goes to accept it, Shane’s eyes instinctively search for Ilya. He finds him immediately: holding a champagne glass filled with blood and what Shane assumes to be some kind of mystery liquor, knowing his habits. He’s looking at Shane with what can only be described as melancholy, and suddenly, whatever giddiness Shane might have felt as he makes his way to the stage is replaced by a sour, sinking feeling.

After the awards, Shane tries and fails to get Ilya alone. At first, he has to talk to his parents, then his teammates. He misses his chance as he sees Ilya refuse drinks and duck out in the direction of the roof access passage. And Shane can’t follow him right away without looking suspicious. So he doesn’t.

Shane is leaning against the bar, staring intently at the door Ilya left through, when Scott Hunter approaches him.

“There better not be any liquor in that blood yet, rook,” he says lightly.

Shane smiles. “There isn’t, Mr. Hunter. I wouldn’t indulge in front of you.”

Hunter shakes his hand. “Congrats, man.”

“Thank you,” Shane says.

Hunter turns around, newly acquired drink in hand, leaning against the bar now, too. “What would you say if, uh, me and some of the other old fucks wanted to do some shots with the three rooks? Would you be into that?”

Shane nods, honestly needing the stress relief now. “Fuck yes, I would.”

“Okay, then where’s your boy Rozanov?”

Shane’s head whips around at breakneck speed to regard Hunter with an affronted look. “My what?”

Hunter laughs. “No, I mean, not your boy. Just, like, it’s always, uh, Hollander and Rozanov, right?” He flashes Shane an awkward smile. “I just thought, since you two seem to have a lot in common…”

“I, no, uh,” Shane stammers. “I don’t know where he is,” he lies. “We’re not, like, friends or anything.” Their relationship certainly can’t be described as platonic, anyway.

“No worries, man,” Hunter reassures. “No worries. I’m sure someone else grabbed him.”

Shane stays for shots, the vodka for him drizzled with just enough sheep blood to make the alcohol palatable for a vampire. Then, he gets further stalled by several players from Hunter’s crowd wanting to talk to him. For these conversations, Shane liberally employs more and more alcohol to smooth things along. By the time he’s able to sneak away to the roof, he’s more than a little buzzed.

Part of him expects Ilya to be gone once he gets there; it’s been a while, after all. But no, there Ilya is in all his somber glory, hunched over the railing and staring at the city below with a cigarette in his hand. His head turns to regard Shane. “Party all done?”

Shane goes and leans over the railing himself. “No, I just need some air.”

“You are drunk,’’ Ilya declares, amused.

“I’m not,” Shane retorts.

Ilya nods. “Good for you. Big night for you.”

“Yeah, well, it could’ve gone to either one of us,” Shane says.

Ilya takes a drag of his cigarette. “It went to you.”

“Are you sulking?” Shane asks, turning to his side.

Ilya scoffs. “No, I am not.” He takes another, longer drag from his cigarette.

“Liar,” Shane tells him.

Silence.

“I go home in three days,” Ilya says, eyes on the scenery.

“Okay, must be nice.” Then, Shane remembers a crucial detail. “Oh, but, uh, too bad your coven’ll be hassling you again, right?”

Ilya lets out a sardonic huff. “Right.” A series of emotions Shane can’t name flashes across his eyes. He puts his cigarette out, then turns to Shane. “Your room or mine?”

“What, no club tonight?” Shane asks teasingly.

Ilya smiles. “I had no time to find one,” he admits. “But I’m sure there are many close by, if that is what you want.”

Shane leans in close. “My room,” he says in what he hopes comes out as a sultry voice. Then, he pulls back and starts walking away, back towards the entrance.

+++

Ilya takes his sweet time, so Shane has many a spare moment to overthink. He paces around his hotel room, rearranges the pillows on the bed, strips down to his boxers, promptly feels ridiculous at the thought of having to answer the door like that, then puts on a bathrobe to cover up. Just when Shane is beginning to worry for real, there’s a knock on the door.

The first thing Ilya takes note of is Shane’s state of undress. “Eager, aren’t you?” He grins with his fangs.

“Get in,” Shane says urgently, then pulls Ilya in by the wrist.

Door shutting behind him, Ilya starts stripping. First goes his suit jacket, then his dress shirt, then his shoes. Once he’s down to his pants, he pauses, then surges forward towards Shane.

It becomes apparent that something is different from the way Ilya kisses him for the first time. When their lips meet, it’s unhurried and oddly tender, their tongues mingling loosely. Ilya cradles his face and kisses Shane like he’s something precious, and some part of Shane deep within aches. At this point, he’s used to heat, to passion and insistence from Ilya… but this kind of sweetness is uncharted territory. Still, Shane already knows that the memory of this kiss will be seared into his mind, to be recalled once he’s alone and Ilya is thousands of miles away. He wants to ask Ilya, Just what are you turning me into?

If Shane wasn’t sure enough already, now it becomes clear to him that something really is different about tonight when Ilya slowly walks him backwards to the bed, pushes him down, gently helps Shane remove the bathrobe, and climbs over him to ask in a soft voice: “Can I bite you?”

Shane is surprised—isn’t it a bit early?—but not averse to it, and tells Ilya as much. “Sure.” He bares his neck to give Ilya easy access, and sucks in a breath when Ilya leans down and his fangs graze Shane’s skin.

Ilya takes his time, kissing and licking and suckling and running his fangs over the spot before finally sinking them in. An initial prick of pain gives way to a blissful bloom of pleasure that radiates vividly from where Ilya bites him, making Shane moan and cling to Ilya’s shoulder with one hand and his hair with the other. Ilya drinks his fill, but he doesn’t linger like Shane expects.

Instead, almost as soon as they arrived, Ilya’s fangs are retracting from Shane’s neck as Ilya’s mouth travels downward, to Shane’s chest, eventually settling right above a nipple. Ilya looks up at Shane through his lashes, and the next thing Shane knows, Ilya’s fangs are sinking into his pec. Shane gasps at the feeling. It’s a completely different sensation, this area being far more sensitive than his neck. Ilya sucks his blood, and arousal courses through Shane starting from the place where Ilya’s fangs meet his skin. Fuck, it feels good.

After that, Ilya claims one of Shane’s wrists for himself and bites that and Shane can’t believe it, but now he’s well and truly hard, solely from being bitten.

Paying absolutely no mind to the growing bulge in Shane’s tights, Ilya moves on to a spot below Shane’s bellybutton and sinks his fangs into there, too. And Shane whines and tries very hard not to arch up—because Ilya is so dangerously close to his crotch and yet is nowhere near touching it.

Continuing his journey, Ilya heads for—surprisingly—the most sensitive spot so far: Shane’s inner thighs. He gives each one its due in attention, kissing and licking and suckling and grazing first like he did with Shane’s neck, before finally biting down—just as Shane is about to beg for it. And then he does the same to the other one, until Shane’s legs are trembling and his voice is raspy from all the noises Ilya manages to coax out of him.

Seemingly satisfied at last, Ilya pulls away and leans back to regard Shane’s disheveled state while licking his bloody lips. Then, he speaks. “Good? You are not dropping?”

Shane dazedly shakes his head. “Don’t think so, no.” The only thing he is is painfully aroused, so much so that it’s beginning to cloud his mind and he has to stop himself from just begging Ilya to make him come already, however he sees fit. To that effect, Shane makes grabby hands at Ilya, all but pleading he come closer.

Ilya complies with an amused huff, assuming his earlier position atop Shane and leaning down for a kiss. Shane smiles into it, hands coming up to tangle in Ilya’s curls. When Ilya licks into his mouth, Shane melts into his pillow with a sigh. Ilya’s kisses are searing and demanding, and Shane tastes his own blood on Ilya’s tongue. A few times, they part, but not for long as Ilya’s tongue plunges back into Shane’s mouth to explore and make Shane come undone. All the while, Ilya’s hands are wandering all over Shane’s body, touching everywhere he can reach. Shane moans when Ilya rubs a thumb over his nipple, still sensitive from when he bit near it earlier.

A moment later, Ilya pulls back, and Shane instinctively leans upwards to chase his lips. At that, Ilya smiles and presses a quick peck onto Shane’s lips. Then, he asks, “So, how do you want me?”

Shane’s hands, which have shifted to being wound around Ilya’s shoulders, tighten their hold. “Just like this.”

Ilya nods and leans back to start taking off his pants and underwear. Then, he turns his attention to Shane’s tights, a bit wet now from his precome, and slides them off gently. He presses a kiss to Shane’s knee as he does so, and Shane bites back the question, What’s up with you tonight? because it might make Ilya change tact, and the last thing Shane wants is for whatever this is to stop.

Once they’re both naked, Shane leans over to reach into the nightstand for the condoms and lube. Ilya takes the lube and quickly gets to work on opening Shane up. It’s uncomfortable at first, as prep always is, but Ilya being Ilya of course finds a way to make it good for Shane. He fingers Shane patiently and deliberately, with a feel for all of Shane’s sweet spots. Pressing kisses to Shane’s stomach and then his thighs, Ilya works him up until he has Shane moaning and bucking his hips to chase Ilya’s fingers.

Eventually, Shane whines, “Enough. I’m ready.”

Ilya nods, kissing the side of Shane’s knee, and sits back to put the condom on and slick himself up. They both breathe sharply when Ilya’s cockhead presses up against Shane’s opening.

“Ok?” Ilya asks.

“Do it,” Shane says impatiently.

Ilya rolls his hips slowly, his cock sliding home until he’s buried to the hilt inside Shane, and he lets out a hissed “Fuck,” as he bottoms out. Shane throws his head back into the pillow, mouth open in a silent ‘O’ as he adjusts to the stretch of Ilya’s hard cock filling him at last.

Pressing a kiss onto the corner of Shane’s mouth, Ilya tells him, “You are very beautiful like this, taking me so well.”

Shane damn near short-circuits. Once again, were he not a vampire, he’d surely be blushing. To hide his embarrassment, he looks off to the side and mutters, “Move.”

Ilya exhales a laugh. “Yes, sir,” he says sarcastically. He pins Shane down by his wrists, then shifts his hands upward to thread through Shane’s fingers—and it feels so intimate that Shane wants to cry from the way his heart seizes tight in his chest. Sublimating the series of desires that suddenly wells up from within him to say and do greedy, presumptuous things, Shane wraps his legs behind Ilya’s back. Then, Ilya begins to move.

He starts slow, rolling his hips with the singular purpose of making Shane feel every thrust right in his core. All the while, he kisses and suckles at Shane’s neck. Shane’s hands find Ilya’s back and hold on for dear life as Ilya pulls out almost entirely only to slam his hips forward a moment later, his cock hitting Shane in all the right places.

Gradually, Ilya builds up speed, snapping his hips faster and harder, making Shane moan an increasingly debauched series of Ahh-hah-uhhs against his pillow. Ilya’s kisses move upward then, from Shane’s neck, to the column of his throat, to his chin, then finally to his lips. Ilya seals their mouths together in a filthy open-mouthed kiss without the pace of his hips once faltering. Shane lets his nails run against Ilya’s back as he’s overwhelmed with pleasure, and he finds himself wishing against all logic that Ilya wouldn’t regenerate so quickly so the marks he’s no doubt making would stay until later.

Ilya shifts the angle of his hips then—and suddenly Shane is groaning into his mouth as Ilya’s cock starts hitting his prostate with every thrust. He ruts into Shane with renewed zeal, slamming his hips at a breakneck pace and with all his strength. Growing desperate, Shane locks his legs around Ilya’s back with all the strength he can muster and pulls him in impossibly closer, to show Ilya through action what he can’t say in words, to make him feel how intensely he fills Shane with desire. I’ve never felt this way before, even when I was human.

Pulling back, Ilya asks, “Are you close, красивый?”

Resolving to ask what that means later, Shane nods. “Yes.”

Keeping up his brutal rhythm, Ilya tells him, “Then come for me, сладкая моя.” Then, he seals the deal by biting down on Shane’s neck again.

Thanks to the combined feeling of Ilya’s fangs sinking into him and Ilya’s cock slamming against his prostate, Shane arches off the bed and comes with a gasp. Ilya fucks him through it, the movements of his hips turning frenzied as he chases his own release. Not long after Shane, he’s coming, too, with a groan as he pulls off Shane’s neck to seek his lips once more.

For a while, they don’t move. Foreheads pressed together, they pant against each other’s mouths, winded from their respective orgasms. Then, Shane goes in for a quick kiss, which Ilya returns with another, until they’re locking lips again, tender and sweet, and grasping at each other everywhere they can touch.

+++

Shane leans against the headboard and gulps down a big glass full of sheep blood. Once he’s drunk his fill, he turns to Ilya beside him and asks, “The things you were saying in Russian earlier, what do they mean?”

Ilya regards him with nothing but silence for an extended moment, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He looks embarrassed. “Compliments,” he says eventually, voice clipped. “It just slipped out.” Is he… defensive?

Shane flashes him a smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Which is a bold-faced lie, as Shane is dying to know what Ilya meant when speaking Russian, but he isn’t going to push it.

“You could talk to me in French,” Ilya suggests with a shrug. “To make it fair.”

Shane thinks for a second. “Tu embrasses vraiment bien,” he says shyly, not meeting Ilya’s eyes.

“And what does it mean?” Ilya asks with a smile in his voice that Shane can hear even when he’s not looking at him.

“It’s an insult, trust me,” Shane says, embarrassed now, too.

Ilya shakes his head, but he’s suppressing a laugh. “I don’t believe you.”

Shane sets his glass down and climbs onto Ilya’s lap. “Et tes cheveux me rendent fou,” he tells him, reaching up to run his hands through the curls in question.

“And that?” Ilya asks in a low tone, staring deeply into Shane’s eyes with his own lit up with desire.

Shane smiles. “Another insult.”

“Liar,” Ilya says.

Shane kisses him to shut him up.

One kiss turns into two, then into a heavy makeout session, then into Shane grinding against Ilya, then into Ilya fingering Shane as their cocks slide against one another. Soon enough, Ilya is reaching over to the nightstand to grab the lube again. Shane stays his hand when he goes to tear a condom open, though. Ilya looks up at him in question, and Shane simply nods, not wanting to say the words out loud. In response, Ilya squeezes his hips and kisses him a little desperately.

Shane raises his hips as Ilya lines himself up, and they both hiss when Shane takes Ilya’s cock into his body and sinks down. Holy shit this angle. After some adjustment, Shane starts to move, and he immediately finds his hands on Ilya’s shoulders trembling from the way Ilya’s cock hits him deep. Too caught up in his own pleasure, Shane repeatedly raises himself up and then sinks down on Ilya’s cock without any poise or rhythm whatsoever.

“Sorry. I’m not very good at this, am I?” Shane says, rolling his hips.

However, far from being unimpressed by Shane’s clumsy motions, Ilya looks completely transfixed as Shane rides him. He kisses the hollow of Shane’s throat. “You’re perfect.”

Embarrassed again, Shane hides his face in Ilya’s curls, smelling sweat and faint traces of cigarette smoke.

Ilya plants a kiss on Shane’s shoulder to get his attention. “I will move now, ok?”

Shane nods. “Okay.”

Ilya kisses Shane’s collarbone then, and starts thrusting his hips.

“Ohh fuck,” Shane moans, movements faltering as Ilya’s motions knock the wind out of him, his cock hitting Shane harder and deeper than before. He lowers his head with much urgency to find Ilya’s lips, crashing their mouths together. How are you so good at this? Shane hopes to convey with the way he runs his tongue over Ilya’s bottom lip, seeking entry. Ilya opens his mouth immediately, tongue mingling with Shane’s own.

When they part, Ilya’s eyes are glazed over with pleasure, his mouth parted and fangs out as he breathes heavily in time with the motions of his hips. In what’s probably the heat of the moment, he says, “Bite me.”

Shane’s hips stop. A second later, Ilya stops as well, looking like he’s about to apologize based on the way Shane had reacted.

Before Ilya can say a word, Shane beats him to the punch. “I’ve never… with anyone.” He swallows. “But I want to.” Shane laughs. “Let’s see if I can even make them come out, though. You already know last time, I couldn’t.”

Ilya nods, rubbing Shane’s hips in soothing motions as he waits.

Shane leans over, lowering his face to Ilya’s toned neck. He closes his eyes and wills his fangs to come out. And unlike last time, they do, protruding slowly from his canines for the very first time since he turned and got them. The feeling of having his fangs out is weird and cold, but Shane gets over it remarkably quickly to focus on what he’s about to do: bite Ilya.

Timidly, Shane lets his fangs graze the skin of Ilya’s neck, and he feels more than hears Ilya suck in a breath. He presses down, pricking the skin, and then sinks his fangs fully into Ilya. At the first taste of Ilya’s blood, Shane moans. He tastes a little bit sweet and a little bit spicy, and somehow the flavor makes Shane think of autumn. He tastes amazing, better than any kind of blood Shane has ever drunk—human or animal, plain or blended with flavorings. Shane sucks harder, and he hears Ilya groan and feels Ilya’s hands tighten on his hips.

Feeling particularly daring, Shane rocks his hips then—and he has to close his eyes again for the way the dual pleasures of drinking Ilya’s blood and being split open on Ilya’s cock has him pushed to the brink and already close to coming.

“Fuck,” Ilya breathes before starting to move as well.

And just like that, Shane is done for. With a few more well-aimed thrusts and the taste of Ilya on his tongue, Shane is climaxing hard. He pulls away from Ilya’s neck to capture his lips, Ilya’s blood now on both their tongues as he rides out his orgasm.

Then, suddenly, Ilya is pushing Shane down on his back and caging him in a mating press. He ruts his hips wildly, pounding into Shane with the intensity of a beast in rut until his rhythm finally stutters and he comes deep inside Shane. Feeling Ilya’s release coat his insides, Shane shudders pleasantly and holds Ilya’s face in his hands, dazed and blissed out.

Shane can’t help the giddy smile that blooms on his face. “So, how’d I do?”

Ilya blinks a few times, returning to himself. “I told you,” he says. “You’re perfect.”

+++

Shane is lying with his head on Ilya’s chest, fully immersed in post-coital bliss and unwilling to let Ilya leave just yet, when Ilya tells him: “Give me your phone.”

At first, Shane whines and buries his face into Ilya’s chest, unwilling to get up and fetch it.

Ilya sighs. “You have phone. Give.”

Shane sighs exaggeratedly right back and lifts his head. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabs his cellphone, and hands it to Ilya.

Ilya types some things and then hands the phone back to Shane. On the screen is a new contact, presumably with Ilya’s number, named Lily. Ilya then reaches over to the other nightstand on his side of the bed for his own phone, opens the dial pad, and gives it to Shane.

Shane takes the phone and enters his own contact information. Handing it back, he asks, “So, what’s my name gonna be?”

Ilya starts typing. “Jane,” he says.

A text message notification appears on Shane’s phone.

Lily: hey jane, have a great summer! text me. xo lily 😉

Shane is honestly surprised it’s taken them this long. He doesn’t know how the idea of exchanging numbers hadn’t come up before. But better late than never, it seems.

“When’s your flight?” Shane asks.

“Late,” Ilya replies.

Shane licks his lips. “Stay a bit longer?”

Ilya looks off to the side for a bit, then fixes his gaze back on Shane. “Ok.”

Shane smiles and presses a kiss to Ilya’s lips.

Once this is over, Shane knows he’ll probably spend the rest of the summer missing Ilya, but for now, he chooses to stay in this little bubble of a hotel room and not think about the future.

Chapter End Notes

and with this we are FINALLY done with episode 1 territory lmfao. cheers

translations~

красивый = beautiful

сладкая моя = my sweet

Tu embrasses vraiment bien = You're a really good kisser

Et tes cheveux me rendent fou = And your hair drives me crazy

i am neither a russian speaker nor a french speaker, so please forgive any mistakes 🙇‍♂️

Chapter 5: Save the Date

Chapter Notes

Shane is on his daily before-sunrise run when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

Lily: [sent a photo]

Lily: is it just me or does this shit not fucking work??

Ilya had sent a photo of a popular American brand of sunblock, which he must have brought over from the States. Smiling down at his phone, Shane does the time conversion in his head and types furiously.

Jane: You’re going out at noon now? Aren’t you supposed to be nocturnal?

The typing indicator starts and stops a few times before Ilya responds.

Lily: have some business to take care of and the coven takes up all my nights, so…

Shane thinks about his response, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Jane: Yeah, that brand doesn’t work for us. If you turn the bottle over, you’ll see a disclaimer in the tiniest font in existence saying it “does not offer total protection for sensitive skin” which in practice just means vampires.

The next reply comes immediately.

Lily: maybe i should get you to buy for me next time. you are… what is word? meticulous

Shane chuckles. Yeah, that seems likely with them being several hours and a national border apart, when they’re even on the same continent.

Jane: Sure.

There’s no reply, so Shane pockets his phone and continues on his run, a smile still on his face.

+++

Shane is having lunch with his parents when his phone vibrates on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the name Lily and perks up, reaching for it.

“Shane…” Yuna sighs, giving the phone a dirty look as Shane picks it up.

Shane smiles apologetically, but still opens it. “Sorry, it’s just…”

Lily: [sent a photo]

Lily: if i end up poisoned by this drink, will you come to my funeral?

The photo is of a martini glass full of a blood-based cocktail and it was clearly taken at some sort of club. Shane starts typing at once.

Jane: That bad?

Shane doesn’t even bother putting the phone down because it buzzes again right away.

Lily: so bad. this is worst club in moscow

Shane’s fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jane: So then why are you there?

“Friend of yours?” David asks.

“What?” Shane distractedly looks up from his phone to meet his father’s eyes.

“It’s just… you’re smiling,” Yuna says.

Shane schools his features in an instant.

“We never see you with your friends. We can’t help but be curious,” David continues.

“It’s no one,” Shane says. “Just, ah, someone I know. From hockey.” Which isn’t technically a lie.

He picks up his phone again.

Lily: some coven people said it was new and good, and i made mistake of listening to them

Shane takes care to suppress another smile, so his parents won’t have any further ammunition against him.

Jane: Don’t give into peer pressure next time, then.

Jane: And yes, I would go to your funeral. I’d give a speech about how you died as you lived, loyal to the modern vampire lifestyle to the end.

His phone buzzes a moment later.

Lily: 😂

Shane pockets his phone, suddenly in a better mood than he’s been in all day.

+++

After a lengthy gym session, Shane checks his phone for missed calls and messages and sees one from Ilya sent just minutes before. It’s around 2AM in Moscow; Shane knows the conversion by heart at this point.

Lily: urgent: what is your opinion on surrogateship?

Jane: What’s that?

Typing… typing… typing…

Lily: it is when fledgling is unable to be cared for by their sire and another vampire steps up to exchange blood with that fledgling and assume mentor role

Shane thinks about it. Would he have been helped by having another vampire mentor him in those lonely first few months after turning, before he met Ilya? In theory, it could’ve been nice to have someone to teach him things he had to learn on his own, or learned eventually because of Ilya. However, Shane can’t imagine being so close as to exchange blood with any vampire other than Ilya.

Jane: For the fledgling, I suppose it could be helpful.

The next reply is quick.

Lily: what about for original sire? some view childers as like property, so to have that be taken from them is grave offense

Shane takes a while on this one, too.

Jane: Well, I can never get behind childers as their sire’s property. Friend, family, or significant other maybe—and I can understand them being upset. But if they abandon the person they turned and still think they own them, to the point of doing something drastic in response to someone else being in the picture… yeah, that’s just shitty.

Shane smiles when he reads the next text.

Lily: i agree. thank you for sane response, when i am surrounded by madness

He hesitates hitting the send button after typing his reply. In the end, he selects it before he can change his mind.

Jane: Anytime.

+++

While reading a book in bed, Shane hears his phone buzz from its place on his nightstand.

Lily: what are you wearing?

Shane suspects Ilya has memorized the time conversions by now, too—because it’s 5AM right now in Moscow, making it 9PM for Shane and thus Ilya knows he’d likely be alone and in bed considering his schedule. All this to say: what careful timing for a sext.

Jane: Tshirt and boxers. Why?

The reply barely takes a few seconds.

Lily: you are very bad at this

Shane snorts at his phone.

Jane: I don’t know about ‘very.’ Just the right amount of bad, I’d say.

Jane: What are you wearing?

Shane rolls his eyes when he reads the next reply.

Lily: nothing at all ;)

Shane shakes his head as he types because surely Ilya’s just saying that to be sexy over text.

Jane: I don’t believe you.

And Shane, suddenly flustered, has to put his phone down for a moment after reading Ilya’s next text.

Lily: want a picture?

Shane picks his phone back up and starts typing, then slams backspace, then starts typing again, then slams backspace again. Eventually, he settles on something decidedly unsexy.

Jane: That’s not safe.

The reply is immediate.

Lily: that does not answer question. you did not say you don’t want, so you do?

Shane holds his breath as he types, and hesitates sending an honest answer, but goes through with it anyway.

Jane: I do want to see you. But don’t send it.

Shane’s fingers are still on the keyboard when the next reply comes.

Lily: you are no fun :(

An idea occurs to Shane then, and he can’t believe he’s about to do this, but he starts stripping. Once he’s gotten everything off, he grabs his phone again.

Jane: There.

Jane: You can’t see me, but now I’m wearing nothing, too.

Jane: Still no fun?

Shane splutters when he reads the next reply.

Lily: are you as hard as i am right now?

Shane bites his lip and looks between his legs, seeing that, yes, he’s definitely on the way to full mast. He wants to touch himself, but holds back—because he is not getting off to a text conversation.

Jane: Getting there, yes.

Typing… typing…

Lily: touch yourself, then

Shane swallows. He’s seriously considering it.

Jane: Only if you do it, too.

The next reply makes Shane’s cock twitch.

Lily: oh, i am

Fuck it. Shane takes himself in hand and starts stroking.

Jane: Now I am, too.

The reply takes a bit.

Lily: i want to touch you

Shane speeds up his hand a bit and exhales audibly.

Jane: Touch me how?

While he waits for the reply, Shane imagines Ilya in bed and naked like him. He’d have a hand on his cock—that same cock that had filled Shane up and made him come untouched multiple times now, that same cock that had him mewling and whining and screaming for the way it fucked him, that same cock that had sat warm and heavy in Shane’s mouth as Shane worshipped it with his tongue. 

“Fuck,” Shane pants into the empty room.

Then, his phone buzzes.

Lily: i would kiss you everywhere: your lips, your throat, your chest, your stomach, your thighs, every beautiful part i think of when i am alone

Shane moans, stroking even faster now. He’d like that. He’d really like that.

Jane: What else?

Shane thumbs the slit of his cock and imagines how Ilya might be touching himself: would he be as desperate as Shane is right now or more relaxed, not aiming to come just yet?

Lily: i would suck you off as i open you up to take my cock

Shane’s fingers tremble as he types.

Jane: I want you to fuck my face, before.

When the next reply comes, Shane is already close.

Lily: of course i would fuck that perfect mouth

Shane pants and bucks into his hand, wishing he could have Ilya’s perfect cock in his mouth right now.

Jane: I’m close . Are you?

Typing… typing…

Lily: yes

Lily: come for me, котенок

Lily: i would fuck you so good, until you’re whining on my cock

The movements of Shane’s hand become wild and frenzied as he chases his release. He comes with a groan.

Jane: Fuck.

Jane: I just came.

No new messages for a minute, and then a reply comes.

Lily: so did i

Shane suddenly can’t help it; he starts laughing.

Jane: Did we really just do that?

Ilya’s next message comes right away.

Lily: yes, we did

Shane huffs.

Jane: Am I still ‘very bad’?

Bzzt.

Lily: a very bad boy, yes

Shane shakes his head in disapproval, even knowing Ilya won’t see it.

Jane: Ha.

Jane: Shouldn’t you be going to sleep soon?

Typing… typing…

Lily: i have somewhere to go

Lily: but you are sleeping soon, yes?

Is Shane really that predictable? He considers lying, but ultimately decides against it.

Jane: Yeah.

The next reply is instant.

Lily: good night, then

Shane smiles down at his phone.

Jane: Night.

Shane puts his phone aside and cleans up. Then, he lies down on his side and sighs, wishing a certain someone were next to him.

+++

Covered in dark fabric, a baseball cap, sunglasses, and copious amounts of sunblock, Shane goes grocery shopping in the middle of the afternoon. On his way back, he’s tackled by a large dog, who proceeds to lick him and bark excitedly. Surprise gives way to joy as Shane revels in an animal not hating his guts for the first time since he turned. He pats and rubs the dog’s fur and giggles as it licks his face.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” A human woman, panting and holding a leash, comes up to Shane.

Shane looks up at her, still smiling. “It’s okay.”

“She isn’t usually like this,” the woman says.

“What’s her name?” Shane asks.

She smiles. “Pepper.”

The dog perks up then, thinking she’s being called.

Shane rubs Pepper’s ears. “Nice to meet you, Pepper.”

Pepper barks.

The human’s eyes then drift to Shane’s groceries. “Shit. Let me help you with that.”

“It’s fine,” Shane says, but she gathers up the items and puts them back in their bags anyway. Shane stands up to take them in one hand.

“There,” she says. “Oh, and I’m Stacy, by the way.” She offers a hand.

Shane takes it. “Shane.” He swallows, hesitating over what he wants to say next. “Um, is it okay if I get a picture of her?” He tilts his head in Pepper’s direction. “I wanna send it to a… a friend. They won’t believe there’s an animal who doesn’t hate me on sight.”

Stacy laughs. “Sure, no problem.” She turns to Pepper as Shane puts his grocery bags down and takes out his phone. “Say cheese, girl!”

Pepper barks, tongue sticking out. Shane takes the picture.

“Thanks,” Shane says.

“You’re welcome,” Stacy smiles widely. “Nice meeting you!” Then, she puts the leash back on Pepper and they leave.

Shane opens up his text messages.

Jane: [sent a photo]

Jane: Guess who tackled me and licked me and wasn’t angry at me at all like literally every animal I’ve interacted with since I turned.

Jane: (Her name’s Pepper.)

Surprisingly, the reply comes quickly. It’s around midnight in Moscow, which can mean anything from Ilya is out on business with his coven, to Ilya is out at some club somewhere, to Ilya is at the gym training, to who knows what else.

Lily: oh!

Lily: i love her

Shane grins at his phone.

Jane: Have you met an animal that liked you before? Or am I having a unique experience?

The reply comes right away.

Lily: no i have not :(

Lily: though lady from coven who keeps cats says biting and hissing at me is sign of affection

Shane takes a moment to pick up his grocery bags and get out of the sun before taking his phone back out to continue the conversation.

Jane: I wonder why Pepper seems to like me. Is it because of her breed or something I’m doing or wearing?

Ilya stops and starts typing a few times, likely thinking about it.

Lily: some say it is due to diet. to animals, you smell like what kind of blood you drink, so you must smell like harmless herbivore

Shane frowns.

Jane: That doesn’t explain why every other animal I’ve met hates me, though.

Typing… typing…

Lily: others say animals see color of your soul, so you must have good soul

Shane snorts. Why is that somehow one of the nicest compliments he’s ever gotten?

Jane: Kind of the same problem with that theory.

The next reply takes a while.

Lily: ok i give up. i don’t know why but i am very happy she likes you

Shane’s lips quirk up again.

Jane: Me, too.

+++

Subconsciously, Shane has gotten so used to Ilya texting him all the time to the point that he doesn’t even realize he’s looking forward to receiving messages throughout the day, so it leaves him feeling strangely bereft when Ilya doesn’t text him for a whole week.

At first, Shane wonders if he did something wrong. He reads back their last conversation, which is about types of animal blood each of them has tried before and how those taste. (Surprisingly, Ilya has tried a lot, with the standouts being chicken blood and wolf blood.) However, the whole interaction is par for the course for the two of them, and Shane can’t identify anything out of place.

He’s not sulking.

To prove it, he goes out for the night. He’ll have so much fun at a club that he won’t even think of Ilya once.

It does not go as planned.

Shane gets hit on multiple times and handles it poorly each time. Aiming to be adventurous, he ends up not liking the first and second cocktails he orders, and subsequently backs out of ordering a third. He witnesses a fight at one point.

In the end, he texts Ilya anyway.

Jane: Are you alive?

Jane: [sent a photo]

Jane: It’s not as fun alone.

It’s 7AM in Moscow right now, so there’s a good chance Ilya’s not even awake and won’t see the message until hours later. There’s no response.

Shane pockets his phone and goes home.

As he lies awake in bed, against all odds, his phone vibrates. Shane scrambles to pick it up.

Lily: poor you

Lily: i just got back from siberia to fetch wayward coven member on bender

Despite everything, Shane smiles at his phone.

Jane: What kind of bender?

Typing… typing…

Lily: the hunting and draining bears and people to end up on local news kind

Shane chuckles. Damn.

Jane: How are you after all that?

The reply takes a while.

Lily: exhausted

Lily: but you helped

Shane blinks at his phone, stunned.

Jane: Really?

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Lily: yes

Lily: i am going to bed now

Shane sighs, fond.

Jane: Good night, then.

The reply takes long enough that Shane starts to think there won’t be one.

Lily: good night, зайка

Sleepiness overtaking him, Shane decides to look up what that word means tomorrow.

+++

Shane is preparing for bed when he hears his phone buzz on the nightstand.

Lily: can i call you?

Frowning, Shane wonders what for. It’s not something they’ve done so far. Out of curiosity, he replies…

Jane: Go for it.

Immediately, Shane’s phone starts vibrating as the screen changes to the call interface, informing him that Lily is calling…. He picks up on what would be the second ring, if his phone’s sound was turned on.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Ilya answers. “What are you doing right now?”

“I was about to go to bed before you called,” Shane says, sitting down on his bed and leaning against the headboard.

A snort. “I knew it. You are so boring.”

Shane scoffs, affronted. “Why’d you call, anyway?”

“I wanted to hear your voice,” Ilya says.

Ire quickly doused only to be replaced by flusteration, Shane grips his phone a bit tighter. “Well, you’re hearing it now. Happy?”

“Very.” And Shane decides he really likes the sound of the way Ilya rolls his ‘r’ there.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ there…”

A chuckle. “But you are too composed. I want to hear you more… how do you say it? Wrecked.”

Shane bites his lip. Is he really gonna do this? Fuck it. “Well, you’ll have to get me there, I’m afraid,” he says suggestively.

Silence. Then, “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Then get on bed, if you have not already,” Ilya commands.

“I’m in my bed,” Shane says.

“Take off your clothes.”

Shane does so, a bit awkwardly with one hand while he holds his phone against his ear with the other. Once he’s naked, he tells Ilya, “They’re off.”

“Good,” Ilya damn near purrs. “Now get some lube and pour on your fingers.”

Shane holds his phone between his ear and shoulder as he obeys, reaching for the second drawer on his nightstand. Once his fingers are slicked up, he decides to get cheeky despite knowing very well where this is going. “Done. Now what?”

But Ilya is unperturbed. “Finger yourself, like how you would open yourself up to prepare for my cock. Start with one finger.”

Shane’s breath hitches. Did he have to phrase it like that? “Okay.”

He starts circling one cold finger around his rim, relaxing gradually into the bed as he does so. Then, he pushes it in. It’s tight; it’s been a while, after all. His ass hasn’t been touched since… well, since that last time with Ilya. Shane pushes his finger in and out, slowly getting used to the sensation. All the while, he’s breathing unevenly into the phone, which he has no doubt Ilya hears.

“Now, the second one,” he instructs. There’s something different about Ilya’s voice this time. Strained.

Shane inserts the second finger and starts to fuck himself deeper. He jabs his fingers into his hole harder, stretching, then scissoring. It’s beginning to feel good, and he finds himself letting out a moan into the receiver. “Are you touching yourself, too?” He asks.

“Yes,” Ilya says, clipped.

“Fuck,” Shane pants.

“Your fingers, curl them backward,” Ilya orders.

“I know what you’re doing,” Shane says. “I’ve never been able to find it with my fingers.”

Ilya laughs lightly. “Trust me, you will.”

Shane sighs. He angles his fingers the way Ilya had instructed, and there’s nothing at first. He quirks his fingers further backward, still nothing. Then, Shane backtracks, figuring he’d overshot, and—

“Holy shit,” he breathes when his fingers finally brush against his prostate. Then, he does it again. And again, while moaning into the receiver. The stimulation leaves Shane’s cock hard and leaking against his stomach.

“See?” Ilya asks, vindicated.

Shane continues to finger himself with renewed intensity, unabashedly making noise now since that’s what Ilya had wanted from him in the first place. Wrecked, didn’t he say?

“Now, the third finger,” Ilya says.

Shane obeys immediately. “It’s in.”

“Good. Listen to you, doing so well for me. Fucking perfect.”

Shane preens under the praise, toes curling as he hits his sweet spot over and over again with his fingers. A high pitched whine escapes the back of his throat, and he’s only a little bit embarrassed.

“Are you close?” Ilya asks, his breathing uneven.

“Yes,” Shane replies, a little desperate now. “Can I touch my dick? Please?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking instead of just doing it, but it feels necessary somehow.

A chuckle. “Go ahead, милый.”

When Shane finally wraps a hand around his cock, he groans in relief. He starts stroking in time with the thrusts of his fingers, and in no time at all… “I’m coming—fuck!”

“Fuck,” Ilya echoes, his breathing growing progressively heavier until he lets out a choked off grunt, presumably coming as well.

Breathing raggedly against the receiver, Shane asks Ilya again, “Happy?”

And Shane can hear the smile in Ilya’s voice when he answers, “Very, very happy.”

+++

Calls become a regular thing after that. Usually, they’re completely safe for work, talking about the same types of topics they previously texted each other about, but a couple times, it does escalate again into phone sex. Shane will never admit how much he enjoys and looks forward to those. Not to Ilya, anyway. But Shane has a feeling he already knows.

The point is, Shane is so used to Ilya calling him now, the same way he’d gotten used to Ilya texting him throughout the day, that he doesn’t think anything of it when Ilya calls him without warning one day when it’s midnight in Moscow.

Shane jabs the answer key without hesitation in the empty gym locker room. “Hey,” he greets, tone light.

“Hello,” Ilya says.

Shane straightens up, gripping the phone tight against his ear. Did Ilya really just sound like he’s about to cry there? “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Where are you right now? Please tell me you’re safe.”

A sharp inhale. “I like you.”

All the horrible thoughts bubbling to the forefront of Shane’s mind about what might be happening—something with the coven, something with Ilya’s family, something with the government—stop like a train that suddenly activated its brakes. Shane blinks. He opens and closes his mouth. Eventually, he manages, a bit flustered, “That doesn’t answer any of my questions.”

“I know,” Ilya says. “I just wanted to tell you.”

Shane shakes his head in disbelief at himself, at what he’s about to do. He closes his eyes. “I like you, too,” he confesses.

Silence. Then, “Really?”

Shane exhales a laugh. “Yeah. I… I can’t wait to see you again,” he admits.

“That reminds me,” Ilya says, voice steadier. “I found club in Boston, Prism. You will like.”

“Yeah?” Shane asks, already looking forward to it.

“We could go, when I go back. I could go back early. Coven will be pissed, but I don’t care.”

Shane smiles. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“I need to go now,” Ilya says. “To face den of vultures.”

Shane chuckles. “Okay. Good luck. And see you soon.”

“Very soon,” Ilya assures.

Neither of them hangs up for a long moment.

+++

Shane is at his parents’ house, helping them sort through their backlog of mail, when he finds a letter addressed to him. It’s old, much older than everything else in the pile Shane has been going through for the past hour, and so out of place it’s almost comical. It’s handwritten in flowing cursive script on some exquisite scented stationery. It reads:

Dearest Shane,

I understand that you have recently found yourself in possession of the dark gift, and without a sire. Many things are likely to confuse and scare you about your new constitution, especially in these crucial first few years. You must know that there is a community, a coven, here to guide you—should you need it. If you have not been made aware of our family’s history by your human mother, it is with great joy that I inform you: you are part of a long legacy of vampiric excellence. I hope this letter finds you well, and I look forward to your response.

Your Great-Grandmother,

Sayuri

Unable to fully process what he just read, Shane turns the letter over and has to swallow a nonexistent lump in his throat when he sees this letter came all the way from Kyoto.

Clutching the letter in hand, Shane stands and leaves the living room for the kitchen, where Yuna is in the middle of baking her and David’s dinner for tonight. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Hey, uh, Mom?”

“Yes, honey?” She turns around, but once she sees what’s in Shane’s hand, her face drops. “Oh. You found…’’

Shane nods, feeling even more awkward. “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “Did you mean to tell me that we’ve had vampire relatives this whole time?”

Yuna sighs. “Shane…” She steps forward, into Shane’s space, and cradles his cheek in her hand. “You have to understand… when you turned and even some time after, you didn’t want to associate with other vampires at all. You barely accepted you were one. I thought this would only overwhelm you.” She looks away. “Besides, the coven was the reason my dad, your grandfather, decided to move to Canada. You know, to get away from them. I didn’t have much of a reference as to whether they would be a good or bad influence for you.”

“You should have told me,” Shane says simply.

Yuna nods. “I see that now.” She smiles sadly. “You’ve changed so much.” She brushes his shoulders for lint. “Does this mean you want to pursue this? Get in contact with her?”

Did he? Based on what he’s heard of Ilya’s experience, it didn’t seem all that fun, but he can’t lie; he kind of likes the idea of someone duty-bound to fetch him when he goes on a bender bad enough to end up on the news—not that he has plans of going on one. “Maybe,” Shane admits. “I can’t go to Japan, though. Not so close to the start of the season.”

“You don’t have to,” Yuna says with a shrug. “The coven has a North American branch for the diaspora. You might not be able to meet Sayuri herself, but certainly a close representative.”

“Where?” Shane asks.

She thinks about it. “Boston, I believe.”

Shane smiles in wonder, not quite believing it. Maybe he won’t even have to go alone.

+++

It’s 2AM, and Shane is currently standing with his heart pounding like an idiot in the middle of Boston Logan International Airport, waiting for Ilya to arrive from his 10-hour flight. He almost jumps out of his skin when he finally gets the text he’s been waiting for.

Lily: here

They’d agreed to meet near a café, one Shane is waiting outside of as he looks around for Ilya. At last, he spots him: carrying a black suitcase and black gym bag and wearing a sleeveless black top, khaki pants, rubber shoes, a black baseball cap turned backwards, sunglasses, and headphones around his neck. He looks exhausted. He looks gorgeous.

“Welcome back,” Shane greets, taking the bag off of Ilya’s hands.

Ilya takes off his sunglasses and smiles. “Happy to be back.”

Shane is really fucking pissed he can’t kiss him right now, but reassures himself that there’ll be time for all of that later, and the sooner they’re alone, the better. “Where to first?” He asks.

“My apartment,” Ilya says as they begin to walk, side by side, towards the exit.

“Okay, but you have to promise me you’ll get some sleep, and not just…” Shane trails off.

Ilya smirks. “Just… what?”

Shane looks away. “You know.”

“I promise nothing,” Ilya says.

They grin at each other.

A moment later, Ilya looks around, then chances a quick squeeze of Shane’s hand—there one moment and gone the next. Shane’s breath catches. I missed you, the act seems to say.

Shane looks around this time, then does the same thing, lingering a bit longer than Ilya did. He hears Ilya inhale sharply. I missed you, too.

They exit the airport, Shane’s head swimming with possibilities for the week ahead.

Chapter End Notes

let's just pretend the direct flight ilya took exists (the internet tells me it doesn't).

translations~

котенок = kitten

зайка = bunny

милый = sweetheart

thank you so much for coming on this journey with me <3

Chapter 6: Watch the Moon Rise

Chapter Notes

surprise! you get a bonus chapter! enjoy <3

Like Shane had been expecting, as soon as they get to Ilya’s apartment, they can’t keep their hands off each other.

Their first kiss after the whole summer apart is euphoric: Shane’s entire body melting against Ilya’s from where they’re pressed flushed together, his hands tangling in Ilya’s curls while Ilya’s own find Shane’s waist to pull him even closer. Ilya tastes like vodka and cigarettes, but Shane doesn’t even care. As Ilya’s tongue seeks entry into Shane’s mouth, Shane decides he rather likes the feeling of not breathing. God, he’s missed this. It’s almost like when Ilya left, he took some part of Shane with him, and only now with Ilya’s body slotted against his like a puzzle piece does Shane feel whole again.

It should scare him, how deeply he feels whenever he’s with Ilya. Perhaps it should even be a source of shame, the way they have to observe their surroundings like hawks before they can initiate even the most casual of physical contact in public. And Shane does feel bad about it sometimes, how pathetic and desperate their whole arrangement makes him. However, the moment he’s with Ilya again, the other vampire has this way of evaporating all trepidation from within Shane with his mere presence. Shane can tell himself he shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be acting like this when they’re together, but at the end of the day, being with Ilya just feels right.

With Ilya, Shane doesn’t feel like a dead man walking in a shell that was once his. Instead, he feels that this is his second life and this is his body, with desires and proclivities indisputably his own. That he can give and receive pleasure. That he can let go. That he’s not a human who died, but a vampire who’s alive. Ilya makes him feel not only wanted, but that he can want things for himself and just take them, too.

So that’s what he does.

Shane parts from Ilya with a sigh. “Wanna taste you,” he says, voice low and lustful, and sinks to his knees to start mouthing and palming at Ilya’s clothed crotch.

“Fuck,’’ Ilya hisses, hand flying to rest at the back of Shane’s head, a gentle pressure.

Looking up at Ilya through his lashes, Shane undoes Ilya’s zipper with his teeth and pulls his pants and underwear down, coming face to face with that wonderful cock that has been the main feature in his fantasies all summer. He licks a stripe up the underside of Ilya’s cock and feels his own twitch in his pants for the way his nose is all but assaulted by Ilya’s overpoweringly masculine scent, the smell of his sweat only serving to make Shane hornier.

Shane licks and mouths at Ilya’s hardening cock all over until he’s at full mast, and then proceeds to wrap his lips around the head and swirl his tongue around the slit. He makes sure to keep eye contact with Ilya as he does so, watching the way his eyes flare with want and his mouth parts from the pleasure. Then, he’s treated to the delicious sight of Ilya’s eyes closing and his mouth widening when Shane starts properly sucking his cock. He does it unhurriedly and purposefully, pulling off until he only has the tip in his mouth before bobbing his head and taking Ilya all the way down to the base, making Ilya moan. He hollows his cheeks, works his tongue, and uses a hand to cup Ilya’s balls.

All too soon, Ilya is pulling him up to kiss him. When Shane gives him a questioning look after they part, he says, “You were about to make me come, and I want to come inside you.” He presses a kiss near Shane’s ear. “You’re getting very good at that. Had some good practice while I was away?” He asks teasingly.

As if he doesn’t know Shane spent the entire summer texting and calling him to break up the routine of his ‘boring’ life. “No,’’ Shane scoffs.

Ilya hums, pleased with that answer. “You just missed me, then?” He asks, tracing the outline of Shane’s lips with his finger.

Shane’s tongue darts out to lick Ilya’s finger. “Maybe,” he says, not meeting Ilya’s eyes.

They get undressed and transfer to the bed, where Ilya gets his turn sucking off Shane while fingering him open for his cock. Of course, Ilya brings Shane to the brink, too, only pulling off when Shane begs, “I don’t wanna come, please, want your cock…”

When Ilya lines up his slick cock against Shane’s hole, it’s all Shane can do not to whine about how much he wants it inside him, now.

“Ready?” Ilya asks.

Shane twists his head to look at Ilya and nods wildly. “Hurry.”

Little by little, Ilya starts feeding Shane his cock. Shane inhales shakily as Ilya’s long, thick length slowly fills him. When he finally bottoms out, they both moan. Ilya braces his hands on Shane’s hips as he begins fucking him, quickly building up speed until he’s setting a merciless pace. He pounds into Shane recklessly, kneading the meat of Shane’s hips as he groans and grunts from taking his pleasure from Shane’s hole without meeting any resistance whatsoever. Shane holds himself up as a wet, warm place for Ilya’s cock and Ilya’s cock only, rocking his hips backward to meet Ilya’s motions while they both pursue their own respective release.

“Are you—?” Ilya asks, breaths hard and heavy.

“Y-Yeah—fuck,” Shane pants, closing his eyes when Ilya’s cock changes in angle and starts to hit his prostate with every thrust.

Ilya’s hips speed up and start slamming against him harder with every staccato moan Shane lets out, and his cock is so big and hard and perfect inside Shane’s hole that Shane can’t help but wonder how he was able to go on for so long without having this, how he’ll manage once this week is over and they’ll only see each other during games and events again.

“Coming,” Shane rasps, feeling the sensation build up at the base of his spine, and a few seconds later, he’s shooting his load onto the white sheets below.

Ilya jackhammers into him for a few more moments, groaning loudly when he finally comes as well. Shane shudders and moans when he feels Ilya’s come filling him deep within, right where it belongs.

After catching his breath, Ilya pulls out. Shane collapses onto the bed not a moment later, and Ilya scooches up beside him so they can cuddle.

Immediately, Ilya starts peppering every part of Shane’s he can reach with soft, sweet kisses. He lingers at Shane’s neck, though, fangs grazing the skin. “Can I?” He asks.

Shane giggles. “Yes,” he says emphatically, and then moans when Ilya’s fangs sink into his neck and Ilya starts sucking his blood. “Ohh, that’s good.”

Ilya pulls off after a while and bares his own neck at Shane. “Bite me?” His voice is uncharacteristically shy.

Shane pecks him on the lips with a smile before latching onto his neck. His fangs come out easily now, piercing Ilya’s skin as the taste of Ilya floods his senses. Shane hums pleasurably as he sucks Ilya’s blood, and he feels more than hears Ilya groan.

Once Shane pulls away, they kiss lazily, open-mouthed and with their tongues mingling languidly. After some time, Ilya parts from Shane to yawn. Shane smiles fondly at him. So, sleep deprivation is finally catching up, huh?

“Go rest, sleepyhead,” Shane tells him.

“You will stay?” Ilya slurs, blinking sleepily at Shane.

Suddenly, Shane’s heart feels like it’s been pricked, unable to handle Ilya at his cutest so far. He nods. “Of course. I’m here for the week, remember?”

“Mm, yes,” Ilya mumbles, eyes shutting.

Once Ilya’s breathing has slowed, Shane tells him very quietly, even though it’s morning, “Good night, Ilya.”

+++

Shane wakes up past noon, according to his phone on Ilya’s nightstand. He’s alone on the bed, and he can hear sounds coming from the kitchen. He rubs his eyes and pads his way over there, to find Ilya whipping up some kind of soup.

Ilya turns his head to look at Shane and smiles. “Good morning, Shane.”

Shane scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. “…So you heard me.”

Ilya shrugs. “Maybe.”

Shane comes up behind Ilya to wrap his hands around Ilya’s waist and perch his neck on Ilya’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Bloody borscht,” Ilya says, turning the stove off. In the residual heat, he drops raw cuts of lamb and stirs. Then, he puts the contents of the small pot into two bowls. Shane lets him go so they can move to the dining table.

For Shane, who usually has plain sheep blood in a tumbler mixed with protein powder most days, the borscht seems downright luxurious. He moans around the first mouthful. “Holy shit.”

Ilya smirks behind his spoon. “Is like eating human food again, yes?”

Shane nods. “Yeah. Though I rarely got to enjoy food even back then. I was on this strict diet, and I really kept to it.”

Ilya hums. “That is so like you, denying yourself pleasure of eating even when human.”

“I had cravings for shit like fast food all the time, and I’d get so angry at myself over them,” Shane admits with a laugh.

Ilya shakes his head. “You are ridiculous.”

Shane smiles and eats more of his delicious blood soup. He can’t believe he’s even enjoying meat again, albeit raw and just barely on the side of palatable for vampires. He’d known he could probably eat raw meat, if drenched in enough blood, but still hadn’t tried it this whole time. He’d never had reason to, when eating was just for sustenance and plain sheep blood wasn’t actively repulsive.

After they finish eating, Shane asks, “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“I have to go out now,” Ilya says. “You can do what you want, but later tonight, we go to Prism.”

Shane nods. “Sounds good.”

“And tomorrow…” Ilya trails off.

“Oh, uh,” Shane starts. “I actually have a suggestion for tomorrow.”

Ilya gathers their bowls and utensils. “What is it?”

Shane takes a deep breath. Ilya reaches over the table to squeeze his hand. “I hadn’t mentioned it, but not long before you arrived, I found out that apparently, my great-grandmother is a vampire, and Mom’s side of the family is related to this coven in Japan. As it turns out, they have a branch right here in Boston.” He looks off to the side, voice growing timid. “I kinda wanna look into it, and I was wondering if you could come with me. Since you know how covens work and all, you could make sure I don’t make a fool out of myself.”

Ilya blinks. “Huh. Which coven? What is the name?”

“Amanai coven,” Shane supplies.

Ilya’s eyes light up. “Amanai, yes. Biggest coven in Japan, like mine is biggest coven in Russia. I met some of them before, back in Russia. Very polite.”

“So…” Shane drawls. “Will you come? With me?”

Ilya looks at him like he’d grown a second head. “Of course I come with you.” He takes Shane’s other hand, too, and squeezes both. “I would not let you face coven alone, unless I am asshole.”

Shane giggles. “Okay. And thanks, I already feel better about going.”

Ilya leans forward and pulls one of Shane’s hands to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Anything for you.”

Shane’s heart tightens in his chest, and he has to break Ilya’s gaze before the sheer tenderness of it makes him say something crazy he can’t take back later.

+++

After Ilya leaves, Shane spends the rest of the afternoon reading one of the books he’d brought with him on this trip. Naturally, it’s about hockey. Once the sun sets, he opts to explore Ilya’s apartment. It’s a large, spacious, open concept kind of place, all light neutral colors and wood tones. Shane lingers a bit in the main bathroom, where there’s a big bathtub that can definitely fit two. He’s already having some ideas about that. Ilya also has a small bookshelf, but most of the books are in Russian, so Shane can’t figure out what they’re about. He’s just drawn the thick dark curtains in the living room to look out at the cityscape below when Ilya arrives.

He looks tired and a little pissed off.

“Wanna talk about it?” Shane offers.

Ilya pushes him against the floor to ceiling window. “Not really.” And then, he’s kissing Shane.

They make out for a while, but neither makes a move to escalate since they both know they’ll be going out soon. Really, it’s more for comfort than desire.

Eventually, they part, get dressed, and get ready to leave. They take Ilya’s sports car and drive a short distance to the club.

When they arrive, Shane can’t help but admire the look of the place. Prism is beautiful, and true to the name, it’s all glass with creative and colorful lighting that makes everything look otherworldly and, for lack of a better term, prismatic. Ilya catches Shane gazing in wonder at the building and smirks, smug that he’s right about Shane going on to like the place.

The club is two storeys, with a balcony, and the entrance takes them to the second floor. As they enter, several people scattered throughout the club greet Ilya enthusiastically. Ilya shakes hands, claps shoulders, gives half-hugs, and gets kissed on the cheek at one point. Shane watches him with rapt attention, genuinely fascinated to see Ilya in what seems to be his natural habitat.

“Ilya, baby, are you really not gonna introduce us to this hottie over here?” A vampire woman in a dark purple cocktail dress asks. Shane retreats into himself a bit, shy over what she’d called him.

“Ah, yes,” Ilya says. “Everyone, my very good friend Shane, vampire. Shane, everyone.” He gestures to the room at large.

“Um, nice to meet you all,” Shane tells the assortment of expectant faces that surround him.

“Hey, make room for us,” Ilya demands of a group of people in the booth nearest to them. Some of them scooch over, others get into someone’s lap to make room. Space now available, Ilya then grabs Shane’s wrist like it’s the most normal thing in the world, pulling him along until they’re seated, at which point he lets go.

Introductions are then made, Ilya making snarky comments to accompany each person’s statement. Shane nods along, shakes hands when appropriate, and lets the conversation happen while sitting at the periphery of it, until he’s asked a question.

“So, Shane, what do you do?” Asks a human man in a sheer shirt.

“Real estate,” Shane lies with a smile.

Ilya shakes his head. “You see, my Shane is very boring. You will get nothing from him.”

Shane’s heart skips a beat. My Shane. Recovering, he shoots Ilya a dirty look. “Come on, you don’t have to tell them that.”

“Aww, we’re sure you’re a lot of fun,” the vampire woman from earlier—Annika, Shane recalls—says. “After all, how else would you keep up with this guy?” She jabs a thumb in Ilya’s direction.

“You’d be surprised,” Shane tells her. He doesn’t elaborate.

“You are way too sober right now,” Ilya says, pushing a drinks menu into Shane’s hands.

The menu works similarly to the one from that club in Montreal, where you choose the type of blood (or none at all) to be the base for any cocktail the establishment offers. To mix it up a bit, Shane opts for a fruit-flavored vodka and sheep blood cocktail. Ilya gets an old fashioned with human blood.

Their drinks arrive, and soon enough, Ilya is tugging Shane up again so they can circulate. They meet more people—impossibly, Ilya seems to know and be known by everyone, human and vampire—and eventually end up at the bar for their second round of drinks.

“Having fun?” Ilya checks in, eyes looking Shane up and down with no small amount of hunger.

“Shockingly? Yeah,” Shane says, sipping at his drink.

They people watch for a while until their drinks are finished, getting interrupted occasionally by someone who knows Ilya making a bid for his attention. Shane fields a few more questions, too, but manages to get through them even without Ilya chipping in. He’s honestly proud of himself.

When Shane and Ilya are on their third round of drinks, a couple of human women approach them. Specifically, the shorter one approaches Ilya, tugging her taller but shy companion along. “Hey, my best friend here would love to dance with you. Would you be into that?”

Ilya’s eyebrows raise up. “Sure, if you come along and dance with him,” he says, tilting his head in Shane’s direction.

The woman smiles. “Deal.” She offers a hand out to Shane. “Come on.”

Shane looks to Ilya. Why are you dragging me into this? But he takes her hand and lets her lead him to the dancefloor.

Ilya smirks at him as he offers his hand to the woman’s friend. Just trust me. She takes it, and Ilya brings her along.

It easily becomes apparent that Ilya is dancing with Shane by proxy from the way he maneuvers his partner while not once breaking eye contact with Shane. He feels her up, spins her around, dips her, and after talking about it, bites her—all while giving Shane the most heated bedroom eyes he’s ever seen.

Shane, for what it’s worth, does kind of the same—though not nearly to the same extent. He just can’t muster the gusto to feel this woman up. She’s pretty, but it’s doing nothing at all for Shane. Wherever he finds soft and delicate, his hands search for firm and chiseled instead. And of course, he can’t tear his eyes away from Ilya.

It’s a good thing, too, because Ilya’s partner then gets brave and goes in for a kiss. Shane holds his breath, eyes glued to the scene in front of him… but then Ilya stops her.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiles at her apologetically. “I am—how you say? Taken.”

Shane’s heart stops in his chest, right then and there.

“O-Oh,” she says, clearly not expecting that and very disappointed by it. She shakes her head after a moment. “I understand. That’s totally cool.” She shoots her friend a look, and she’s on her immediately, leaving Shane to himself.

“We’re gonna go get drinks,” Shane’s erstwhile dance partner says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Nice meeting you two.”

“You dance with her, feel her up, bite her, but you draw the line at kissing?” Shane asks teasingly, turning to Ilya. “Way to be an asshole.”

Ilya shrugs. “Would you rather I kissed her?”

“No,” Shane says a little too quickly.

Ilya smirks. “Other things are casual. Kissing is personal.”

Shane hums. “I get it.” A beat passes. “So… you’re taken now, are you?”

Ilya groans, tilting his head up and rolling his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“Guess I’ll have to find a different ride out of here, then, since you’ll be going home with whoever you’re taken by,” Shane sighs, unable to suppress a shit-eating grin.

“You are the asshole,” Ilya says, bumping Shane’s shoulder with his own.

“Nah, it’s still you,” Shane retorts.

+++

Having been unable to touch each other the way they both wanted at the club, Shane and Ilya more than make up for it now at Ilya’s apartment the moment they get home. As they madly make out, hands are everywhere: groping, kneading, rubbing over every part of each other’s bodies within reach.

“Y’know,” Shane says as Ilya suckles at his neck. “Back in the car, I wanted to suck you off so bad.”

Ilya pulls back, lifting Shane’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Mm. Why didn’t you?”

Shane shrugs. “It would’ve been too cramped.”

Ilya chuckles, running his thumb over Shane’s bottom lip. “Noted. Next time I buy car with enough space for you to get on your knees and suck my cock.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Shane tells him, before sucking Ilya’s thumb into his mouth. He laves the digit with his tongue and Ilya idly thrusts it in and out as he watches, transfixed.

“Where do you want me?” Ilya asks, pulling out his thumb so Shane can answer.

“In… in the bathtub,” Shane murmurs. “I’ve been thinking about it since before we left.”

Ilya looks thrilled. “What was on your mind?” He asks, already leading the way. Behind them, they leave a trail of their remaining clothes as they race to the bathroom.

“I don’t know,” Shane says coyly. “Might need you to refresh my memory.”

…Which is how they end up in the tub with Shane’s back to Ilya’s chest, Ilya grinding his hard cock against Shane’s ass while stroking Shane’s own erection with one hand and twisting Shane’s nipple with the other. Shane tips his head back onto Ilya’s shoulder and moans.

Thumbing Shane’s slit, Ilya asks, “Do you remember now, what you wanted to do?”

“Hmm,” Shane drawls. “Almost. Think I need a little more help.”

Under the water, Ilya’s hand on Shane’s cock wanders lower, to Shane’s puckered hole. Ilya circles a finger around the rim, testing. Shane sucks in a breath. The finger breaches Shane’s opening, pushing in and out lazily as Ilya grazes his fangs against Shane’s neck. Then, Ilya adds another finger, scissoring, and bites down on Shane’s skin. At the dual sensations, Shane groans, eyes rolling back at the pleasure. Ilya fingerfucks him skillfully, all while sucking Shane’s blood.

As if that weren’t enough, Ilya’s free hand then resumes stroking Shane’s cock—and Shane might actually come from this, which is not what he wants.

“I remember,” he says breathlessly. “Wanted you to fuck me, just like this.”

Ilya pulls off from Shane’s neck then, kissing and licking the spot he pierced until Shane regenerates from the wound. “Is all you had to say.” Ilya’s fingers leave Shane’s hole next, and then Ilya is guiding Shane to raise his hips while Ilya lines himself up.

Ilya’s cock slowly enters Shane’s hole, and they both curse. At first, Shane does little more than roll his hips and grind on Ilya’s lap, not yet chasing his climax. Then, Ilya starts moving in a decidedly more purposeful way, rutting into Shane’s wet heat while pressing kisses along Shane’s neck and back. Shane grips the sides of the tub for leverage as he meets Ilya’s motions.

Picking up in force and speed, Ilya takes Shane’s cock in hand again as he fucks him. Like this, it doesn’t take long until Shane is close again.

“Gonna come,” he tells Ilya, white knuckling the sides of the tub now as he bucks into Ilya’s hand.

“Do it. Come for me,” Ilya says, kissing Shane between his shoulderblades.

Shane comes with a loud moan, his release coating Ilya’s hand. He rides out his orgasm by rolling his hips without much coordination now, just sort of bouncing on Ilya’s cock. Once he recovers, he turns to Ilya. “W-Wait,” he says before Ilya can start fucking him again to chase his own release. “Pull out. I want you to come in my mouth.”

“Fuck. Ok,” Ilya replies, obeying.

They reposition somewhat awkwardly, Ilya standing on one knee in the bathtub so Shane can be at eye level with his crotch. Meanwhile, Shane remains sitting. Shane moans as he takes Ilya’s cock into his mouth at last, having been wanting exactly this all evening. Ilya breathes heavily as Shane starts sucking him off enthusiastically, cursing and gripping the back of Shane’s head with a hand. At first, he tries to control his hips from rutting forward to chase Shane’s mouth, but then Shane gives him a look and goes slack. Ilya takes the hint and starts fucking Shane’s mouth. And oh god, does Shane love it: the feeling of being used like this for Ilya’s pleasure.

When Ilya is about to come, Shane feels it in the way he loses his composure a bit and the rhythm of his hips falters. Ilya pulls out almost entirely from Shane’s mouth then, only the tip of his cock resting on Shane’s tongue as it shoots out rope after rope of white. Shane makes sure to look up at Ilya through his lashes as he licks and then swallows Ilya’s come.

At the sight, Ilya grunts and pulls Shane up for a kiss.

When they part, he says, “Fuck, Shane. How are you so fucking perfect?”

Shane giggles. “I’m really not,” he says bashfully.

After a bit, they finally bathe for real.

+++

Shane and Ilya are both in three-piece suits for their trip to the North American branch of Amanai coven. This is because Shane timed their visit to coincide with something called the Summer’s End Conference, and Ilya had told him this kind of thing is a formal affair.

At the entrance, Shane had prepared the letter from Sayuri beforehand as his ticket to entry, but the guard simply asks for his name and, upon hearing it, lets Shane and Ilya in. And so, in they go to the criminally ostentatious event hall.

Once inside, it becomes clear to Shane that this is no ordinary party. Certainly nothing he’s ever been to before. The only humans are service staff and glamoured individuals being led around as hors d’oeuvres—something Shane finds immediately distasteful. The vampires flock together in a way that shows clear hierarchies between lines of sire and childer. The only animal blood available is served from draining live animals on site.

Shane looks to Ilya then, and finds his expression to be completely neutral. None of this is new or shocking to him. Of course not. Shane wonders, is this what Ilya’s coven is like, too? Is this what they’re all like?

Ilya must notice the conflicted face Shane is making because he asks, “How are you?”

Shane winces. “A little culture shock, but… fine.”

Ilya stops walking, prompting Shane to do the same. “So… what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Shane answers honestly. Mingling is out of the question; none of these people know him and he doesn’t know them. The slaughter bar doesn’t look that appealing either. That leaves continuing to walk around in hopes they’ll find something to do eventually.

Fortunately, they’re saved from aimless wandering by one of the human staff approaching them. She’s a middle aged woman in a kimono who speaks accented English, and she turns to address Shane: “Ms. Chiyo is expecting you.”

Shane looks to Ilya. Ilya shrugs, motioning that they should probably follow and see what this is about. It’s better than nothing.

They follow the human, who leads them to a secluded section of the event hall that screams exclusive. Sitting at the head of a large table is a teenage-looking female vampire in a kimono with motifs of plums and plum blossoms, presumably Ms. Chiyo.

“Here they are, My Lady,” the human says, gesturing to Shane and Ilya before bowing and leaving.

Ms. Chiyo perks up. She speaks without any detectable accent: “Mr. Shane Hollander, welcome. We’ve been expecting you for quite some time now. Please, take a seat. Your companion as well.”

Shane notices Ilya stiffen at the word ‘companion’ and makes a mental note to ask why later.

They take their seats, one beside the other.

“I imagine you must have questions, Mr. Hollander,” Ms. Chiyo says.

Shane clears his throat. “Uh, yes. First, what does the coven want with me? I was turned by a nobody by your standards and I don’t know anything about coven life.”

“Nothing at all,” Ms. Chiyo replies. “You must understand—Lady Sayuri is a very sentimental person, especially towards family. She offered to turn your mother personally in her youth, and she would have offered to do the same to you if you hadn’t turned on your own. A bid for connection to her wayward family branch is all it is.”

“Wait, she wanted to turn my mom?” Shane asks.

Ms. Chiyo nods. “Lady Sayuri was refused quite firmly, as I recall. Let’s not dwell on that.” She crosses her fingers on the table. “You came at the perfect time. We can easily expedite your membership as long as you can come up with the requirements at—”

“Hold on,” Shane says. “I didn’t say anything about joining the coven. I want to understand it, sure, and I want to meet my great-grandmother at some point, but I’m not becoming a member. Not right now.”

“Well then,” Ms. Chiyo says, somewhat flustered. “I wonder what gave you such a bad impression so as to be this… impassioned about keeping your distance. Becoming part of a coven, especially ours, means to have any and all of us to call upon in your hour of need… just as you must be willing to answer others in their hour of need. It’s a community bound by duty, something I’m sure your companion is quite familiar with.”

Ilya flinches this time. Okay, something is up for sure.

Ms. Chiyo’s expression shutters. “Am I wrong, Mr. Ilya Rozanov, Second Lieutenant of the Obshchestvo? You’re on thin ice for daring to show up here, by the way. Your presence in Boston due to your occupation is tolerated, but nothing more.”

“Wait, what?” Shane blurts out, confusion winning over any sense of propriety. He turns to Ilya.

Ilya offers no explanation, just smiles with his fangs. “I understand,” he tells Ms. Chiyo. “Do not worry. I am here as… moral support. No trespassing into territory intended.”

“Ilya…” Shane tries again. “If you’re putting yourself in danger just to come with me, you should’ve told me. I could’ve gone alone. Or not at all.”

Ilya’s eyes soften as he regards Shane. “Нет, is nothing like that. Things are… tense… between my coven and theirs. But I am not here to represent my coven.” That last statement, he directs at Ms. Chiyo, who harrumphs.

“I think we’re done here, aren’t we?” Ms. Chiyo asks, standing up. “Enjoy the conference, if you choose to stay.” Her gaze shifts to Shane. “As for you, Mr. Hollander: if you want to meet the Lady, you come to her. That is the only way. And you know where she is.” She bows shallowly at them. “Good evening.”

Shane and Ilya look at each other.

“We go?” Ilya asks.

“Yeah, definitely,” Shane says, nodding.

+++

As they’re walking to the car, Shane remembers something important.

“Hey,” he starts. “Does ‘companion’ mean something specific to vampires? You reacted so strongly earlier, when she used that word.”

Ilya stops walking. “Yes,” he says.

Shane looks at him expectantly. “And? What does it mean?” He prompts.

Ilya looks uncomfortable. “It means… a fellow vampire you are intimate with, and you only exchange blood with.”

“Only?” Shane asks.

“Like, you may feed from others, but only your companion feeds from you. And same for them.”

Shane nods, getting it. “Exclusively exchange blood with, you mean,” he says.

Ilya flashes him a pained smile. “Yes, that.”

“That sounds like what we are, doesn’t it?” Shane wonders aloud. “Unless you let someone else feed from you.”

“No, never,’’ Ilya says, scandalized at the mere notion.

Shane licks his lips. “So, are we, then? Companions? Or… or do you not want to be?”

Ilya’s eyebrows furrow. “What makes you think I don’t want?”

Shane sighs, contemplating how to word this right. “The way you reacted, to Ms. Chiyo. When she said companion, it was like you’d been singed by sunlight.”

Ilya cringes. “Is not like that. Is just… she barely looked at us, and she could tell. That we are companions. Is… not safe.”

Shane’s eyes widen. “Oh.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, you’re right.” And despite it all, he can’t help exhaling a laugh. “So we’re too obvious is the problem, huh?”

Ilya smiles again, tentatively. “Да. Yes. Basically.” He looks up at the sky, as if attempting to contain himself, then back at Shane. “But I cannot help it when you are so…” He gestures helplessly at Shane. “Sweet and perfect. And sexy.”

Shane covers his face with a hand, embarrassed. “Well, I have a hard time resisting you, too. Just so you know.”

“We will work on it,” Ilya says, smirking.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees.

When they get to the car and take their seats, Shane takes Ilya’s free hand and laces their fingers together all throughout the drive home. Companions. He likes the sound of that.

+++

They spend the rest of the week largely inseparable, except for when Ilya has to go out to take care of business. They also fuck on nearly every feasible surface of Ilya’s apartment: his bedroom, the guest room, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the entranceway, against the floor to ceiling window, in the laundry area…. More often than not, they don’t use condoms anymore, which results memorably in one occasion where Ilya eats Shane out after coming inside of him.

Ilya also makes a point to cook Shane all kinds of blood-based dishes, mostly ones he knows from Russia, and Shane eats like a king. He has no idea how he’ll be able to go back to his regular meals once he returns to Montreal.

During the day, they train together in Ilya’s home gym. Many times, they can’t stop themselves from letting things get competitive.

One night, they try out a different club, but it ends up being unremarkable and not nearly as good of an experience as the one they had at Prism.

The rest of the nights, though, they stay in. The second to last night, Shane successfully convinces Ilya to read him a book in Russian, and Shane swears he’s never slept better after.

On the last night, the sex is slow and tender. Ilya kisses Shane everywhere, relentlessly, throughout it all. Shane sobs when he comes. They bite each other afterward, Ilya not yet pulling out, and they fall asleep clinging to each other.

Shane’s flight back to Montreal is early in the morning. Ilya sees him off at the airport.

“Just so you know, I’m not gonna go easy on you,” Shane says teasingly. He’s lingering, but he just can’t help it.

Ilya snorts. “Good. If you did, I would take as gravest insult.”

They stare at each other, neither willing to move on just yet.

Shane breaks first, looking away as he clears his throat. “So, uh. I should probably go now. Goodb—see you later, Ilya.”

Amused, Ilya echoes, “See you later, Shane.”

Shane gets on his flight feeling the lightest he has in a very long time. He can’t wait for the next season to start.

Chapter End Notes

this has been quite a journey, my longest fic in YEARS, and i wrote it in basically a week. sheesh.

Chapter 7: Sequel Announcement

Your requests have been heard. There is now a sequel to this work! It’s called More Alive Than You’d Know.

You can read it here.

Enjoy~