Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike & Jackie Pike, Troy Barrett/Harris Drover

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Wyatt Hayes, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Original Male Character(s), Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Toxic Ilya Rozanov, Toxic Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Gang Violence, Motorcycles, Motorcycle Sex, Heavy Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Sub Shane Hollander, Dom Ilya Rozanov, Blood and Violence, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander, Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Anxious Shane Hollander, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Manipulative Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hazing, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Shane Hollander Was Never a Professional Hockey Player, Ilya Rozanov Was Never a Professional Hockey Player, Rimming, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Riding, Hurt Shane Hollander, Hurt Ilya Rozanov, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Dubious Consent, Drug Use, Depressed Shane Hollander, Self-Destruction, Kidnapping, Fuck AI, this writer hates ai, Temporary Character Death, Presumed Dead

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-03 Completed: 2026-07-20 Words: 117,791 Chapters: 11/11

Motorcycle Boy (It's Fine)

Summary

“Because you want to ride my bike. You stare at it with those pretty Bambi eyes. I know those looks, and those looks cause trouble.”

“What if I like trouble?” Shane asked innocently, their breaths mixing together. He could see the sparkles in Ilya’s eyes. In this moment, Shane had officially voiced his decision, there was no turning back now. From this gang, from Ilya.

“You don’t.” Ilya answered for him. But then they were crashing together.

-

Or where Ilya Rozanov is the leader of a ruthless motorcycle gang called the Centaurs. Shane is the love of his life who sits on the back of his bike.

Notes

Welcome!

I'm so excited to share this fic with everyone! I've been working on it for a month or so now, and have four chapters down. So, I'd like to get the ball rolling and post the first chapter :)

Some things to make note:

Ilya sucks in this, he's a gang member who grew up in a terrible household and environment. He sucks at feelings, communication, and love. Poor Shane goes through a lot. I've warned you now.

My understanding of motorcycles is definitely better than some, but I wouldn't say its top tier. Thank you to Ewan McGregor's Long Way series on AppleTV for giving me all the lingo on motorcycle parts. All the gang-related topics in this were Googled and researched as best as I could. Wikipedia don't fail me now.

I'll keep a weekly schedule with posting, not sure when in the week, but we'll see how this first chapter is received.

I’d also like to make it insanely, abundantly clear that I fucking hate AI and have never ever used it for writing, nor literally anything else for that matter. I haven’t been accused of anything, I just want to state that now. Fuck AI, so hard.

This is titled after Motorcycle Boy by Fontaines D.C. I was listening to this song a lot while making this series. I'll share some more songs throughout the chapters.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: it's fine, i know

Chapter Notes

Shane needed a job.

He thought moving in with Hayden would be good for him; he saw it as finally escaping his parents. Shane was excited to meet new people. He thought he’d actually get to date again, to go out and enjoy his life with his best friend by his side.

But you needed money to date, how was he going to tell the next guy he was going out with that he couldn’t even afford a slice of pizza?

He tried to get a job, he really did. But the economy was fucked, and he consistently got no answer from the companies he dropped his Resume at. So now he was here, on his best friend's couch, begging.

“C’mon Hayd’s…you can’t put in a good word for your best friend?!” Shane whined while Hayden got ready for his job. Hayden stopped his movement in grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge to glare at Shane.

“Don’t you dare pull the best friend card on me! I told you, this place is exclusive as fuck. They don’t hire anyone without an insane background check because it’s owned by…you know.”

Hayden refused to say it as if the words were sacrilegious. As if saying the gang's name out loud would bring forth wrath upon their heads.

Shane knew plenty about the Centaurs. Hayden had gotten into motorcycles two years ago, and had told him about how cool these biker guys were around Ottawa. He liked the danger, and at the start, bragged about the rugged bar fights and hot chicks all the time once he had managed to score a job at one of the bars they owned outside of the main city in Nepean.

But as time passed, Hayden grew closer to the members and the bar. He began to act as if he were part of something secretive and untouchable. That just heightened Shane’s curiosity more.

“You used to brag all the time about how awesome this job was! Plus, I don’t have shit against me. They can background check all they want.” Shane got up from the couch and decided he needed to go to his last resort. To get on his knees and beg. As soon as he lowered himself to the floor, Hayden was rolling his eyes.

“Get the fuck up, Hollander. Fine, fine! I’ll ask. No promises, though,” Hayden sidestepped around Shane’s kneeling form and began to walk towards the front door.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You know I love you, right?” Shane called back to Hayden’s slowly disappearing form. He heard the front door open and a grumbled “yeah, yeah!” Before the door shut.

Shane slumped onto the floor, huffing loudly now that he was alone. The embarrassment and doubt grew in his chest, and he glared at the wall in front of him. He moved away from home to feel better, to get out of his mother’s prying eyes and consistent hovering, but was that worse than being broke and depressed?

His phone vibrated in his pocket, which shook him out of his thoughts. He dug it out of his jeans and squinted at the caller I.D.

Speak of the devil.

He answered, because why wouldn’t he? There was a crackle on the other end, soft voices speaking to one another, and they hadn’t noticed Shane had answered.

“Mom?” Shane called.

“Oh, honey! Listen, I know you said not to call you too much, but you haven’t been answering my texts-“

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m sorry that I worried you. I’m just…just trying to find a job right now.”

A hum from his mother on the other end, he could easily picture her reaction to his words. The way her eyes would turn down in unison with her lips, her face drooping with mild concern that she couldn’t share. He was an adult; he was supposed to have his shit figured out.

“Okay, honey. Do you want to talk about it?”

Shane shook his head before his mom finished asking. No, he didn’t want to talk about how shit his life was right now. No, he didn’t want to remind himself that moving out was a bad idea.

“Maybe later, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t call you at all. I’ll call later in the week, I promise, okay?”

“Okay…if you’re sure. I’ll be waiting, I love you!”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Then the call ended, and Shane had to toss his phone away from him before he screamed.

-

He was already asleep when his ringtone almost sent him into cardiac arrest. Shane flinched off his pillows and blindly reached to grab it and silence the punishing noise. But he faltered when he saw Hayden’s name flash on the screen.

Concern burned in his stomach when Shane flickered his gaze to the time next: 2 am. He sat up on the bed and swiped to answer. Hayden began to speak immediately.

“You want a job so badly? We need a dishwasher like…right now.”

Shane scrambled out of his bed and placed Hayden on speakerphone; his socked feet slipping on the floor of his room as he got dressed.

“Fuck, really? Holy shit…I-I’ll be there in like twenty minutes.” Shane called out, a smile breaking out on his face.

The only reply he received before Hayden ended the call was very simple and made Shane roll his eyes.

“Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”

When the line went dead, Shane gathered his phone, keys, and wallet and didn’t bother checking how he looked. If he was doing dishes, and they needed a guy as soon as possible, it didn’t matter what he looked like as long as he had two hands.

He rushed out the door and towards his very beat-up 2000 gold Mazda. His parents had gotten it for him as a high school graduation present, and it’s been alive ever since. Shane refused to look under the hood, and the suspension was practically non-existent, but it got him from point A to point B. That was what mattered.

And now it was taking him to his new job. He wasn’t going to fuck this up.

Due to him and Hayden living downtown, it would take him about twenty minutes to get to the bar. Nepean wasn’t far, and all this car had to do was get him on the highway.

He made it in record time; the highway was free of traffic at this time of night. The bar stood alone amongst a pothole-filled parking lot just off the highway. The neon open sign was dark, but lights illuminated the parking lot from inside the bar. They shone perfectly across the line of sparkling motorcycles parked in front of it.

Shane ogled as he walked towards the front door. The bikes looked like dark beasts in the night; they were all deep, dark stallions awaiting their riders. He could see most were Harleys, which was the favourite pick for Centaur members.

He knew this because Hayden was always looking for a Harley Davidson. They were expensive, but Hayden had said that if he got into the gang, he’d be able to get one easier. Whatever that meant.

“Hey!” Shane flinched horribly, his eyes still staring at his own reflection in the gas tank of the motorcycle closest to him. He whipped his head around, a gasp passing his lips.

It was Hayden, his friend was at the side of the building with an apron on. He looked like he had already been through the wringer himself, his hair tousled and the apron filthy with grease.

“Don’t fucking touch the bikes and come do some dishes!” Shane rolled his eyes at Hayden’s words. He may be broke, but he wasn’t stupid. Touching those bikes would be a death sentence.

“I was just looking…” Shane grumbled as he got tugged to the side of the bar. Hayden didn’t answer, instead guiding him into what was the kitchen area of the bar.

It was your typical restaurant kitchen. No staff were inside, and all the aprons were hung up on the back door already. It was quiet except for muffled talking out in the main area. Shane tried not to focus on that.

“Here,” Hayden grabbed for one of the aprons and threw it at him. Shane clumsily took it and shrugged off his jacket to hang it where the apron once was. As he tied it around his waist, Hayden stared at him with his arms folded.

“Our dishwasher no-showed all night. So have fun. The boss will give you cash under the table for now. The keys to lock up are in the office down the hall, put the dishes on the drying rack, and we’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

Shane nodded, not knowing what else to say. There was…a lot happening.

Hayden untied his apron, put it up on its hook, and got his own coat on. He was making his way towards the back door again when he stopped and stepped towards Shane. He hissed in a whispered, warning tone.

“And don’t go into that bar. The gangs at church right now.”

Shane’s brows furrowed and he shook his head, not understanding. Hayden realized and huffed out a laugh.

“They’re in a meeting. You’ve gotta get used to the slang now, pretty boy. You’re in Centaur territory now.”

And then Hayden left, his hand coming up to pat playfully at Shane’s cheek before he stepped out into the night. The door echoed throughout the kitchen as it closed.

Now Shane was alone with what was apparently the Centaurs just across the bar from him. He looked across the kitchen towards a beat-up door that had only a small window to peek out of. Yellow light shone through it, the light getting eaten by the white fluorescent lighting inside the kitchen.

Laughs echoed throughout the place, men’s voices rang and hollered. Shane decided against the intrusive thought of looking out into the bar area. He wiped his sweaty palms against his apron and then turned towards the sink instead.

The mountain of dishes that stared back at him made him feel faint. Fuck.

But it was a job. One he begged on his knees for.

-

Shane adapted to his new routine slowly. He had made sure to make a good impression the first night, even though Hayden had told him to leave the dishes on the drying rack, he had dried and put them away as well. It earned him a pat on the shoulder from Hayden when he returned the following night.

His hours were 11 pm to 3 am. Just four hours for now, and all he did was clean up and do the dishes. It was the work no one else wanted to do, but Shane took it in stride.

The boss was decent, and Shane only knew him as Wiebe. The guy was usually working away in his office or chatting up the crowds in the bar. They didn’t speak much, just a “hello, I’m Shane, your new dishwasher” and then a “good to meet you, Shane.” And that was it.

Shane was at the bottom of the totem pole; he knew that. He didn’t need to have a reputation in this place; if these people were as dangerous as Hayden had warned, then it was good that he kept to himself.

A few days passed, and Shane kept washing and drying the dishes. He brought his headphones to drown out the heavy cackles and revs of motorcycles as he worked. It was actually quite nice to be alone and do his own thing. Almost a week had gone by before he was approached by Wiebe again.

“You think you can clean up some of the front tonight? We were short a bartender. I’ll pay you for an extra hour.”

And Shane couldn’t say no to that.

So he started with the dishes; there wasn’t much compared to other nights. Plus, there wasn’t any noise coming from inside the bar, which meant he was actually alone for once.

He felt giddy inside. Finally, he would be able to see what the inside of the bar looked like. He hadn’t even looked into the narrow window from the kitchen door. Shane had been strict with himself about staying on task and keeping his nose out of the gang's business. But now, with no one here and approval from the boss to go in there, Shane couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled in his chest.

He finished the last plate and dried it half-heartedly before setting it in its place. Shane watched the dirty water circle the drain of the sink, soap curdling at the top of the drain in a yellowish tinge from the grease. Once the sink was completely empty, he allowed himself to whip around and begin his walk out into the bar area.

The dim, sombre lighting illuminated his skin as he pushed open the kitchen door. His eyes went wide with curiosity, the bar being much different from the kitchen.

It was no surprise that the kitchen wasn’t for customers to look at. Here in the main bar, it was covered head to toe in wood flooring and walls. The ceiling was plain, but had beautiful Victorian-style mosaic lamps scattered across it. The place looked like something out of Twin Peaks.

The bar was very large and definitely needed cleaning. The floor was sticky as he stepped on it, and the part of the counter where the bartender would be was drowning in liquids, some of it dripping onto the floor.

Shane sighed and got to work. He grabbed a towel and focused on the job at hand. He thought that maybe if he got the cleaning over with, he’d be able to have a more thorough look around. There were photographs and motorcycle memorabilia littered across the walls, and he wanted to get a better look at them.

He barely got a quarter of the way done when the front door to the bar opened. Shane hated how hard he jumped, not expecting anyone to come inside. He hadn’t heard a motorcycle pull up either.

The man was very rugged and handsome, which was the first thing Shane noticed. He had an unlit cigarette hugged between his plush pink lips, and he had strange eyes. They shone from blue to green, dark and light. He couldn’t pinpoint what colour they were.

He looked like a biker, that was for sure. A leather jacket hugged the man’s broad shoulders, and he had on motorcycle pants and chunky boots. Completely dressed in black like a mystery man from Shane’s dreams, the man stopped at the bar and blinked towards him with curiosity.

“Uhm…” Shane spoke awkwardly, not knowing how to approach the situation. Was this man expecting a meeting? Or whatever they called it? Was he coming to kill Shane for looking at him the wrong way?

“We’re closed…” That’s what Shane ended up going with, which he immediately regretted. The man slowly began to smirk, plucked the cigarette from his lips, and settled it behind his left ear before making his way closer to Shane.

Shane gulped and tried not to show fear. He kept his feet planted where he stood and the rag he was holding still in his grip. The need to run was clawing inside of him; the man was very intimidating.

“Shane, right?” The man asked. Shane’s heart plummeted to his stomach.

“Y-yeah,” he replied. His hands tightened on the cloth in his hands as he tried to think of an escape plan. He was so dead.

“You are new dishwasher, yes? And now, what, new bartender?”

The man still hadn’t addressed the fact that he was in the bar while it was closed. The man had a thick, creamy Russian accent; his voice bounced off the walls of the bar and landed right into Shane’s face. He could only blink. But he knew he needed to answer eventually; the biker could probably smell the fear radiating off of him. It was embarrassing.

“No. N-no. I’m just-uh Wiebe asked me to help clean the bar tonight. The other bartender didn’t show…” Shane trailed off as the man reached behind the counter and grabbed a bottle of vodka and a glass. Shane watched with wide eyes as the man flicked off the cap and then casually poured himself a shot. What the hell?

“Da. Fucking James. He is no good. Do you know how to bartend?”

Shane tried to pay attention to what the guy was saying, but his eyes were entranced as the man’s glass hovered across his lips as he spoke. He then took a long gulp, his throat bobbing as the vodka made its way down his throat.

“I, uh…I have Smart Serve, yeah.” The man looked at him funny.

“What is…Smart Serve?”

Shane shuffled a bit further away, his back hit the counter behind him. He placed one hand on the edge of it to ground himself.

“It's what you need to be legally allowed to bartend in Canada. I-I don’t know what you guys have in Russia, but-”

The man’s brows rose into his hairline, that same intrigued smile appearing across his face.

“You know I am Russian? What gave that away? The accent?”

Shane breathed out a laugh, and he felt his shoulders release their tension slightly. This guy wasn’t too bad.

“Yeah, it's…it's cool,” Shane tried not to cringe at his response.

“Cool,” the man repeated Shane’s words while he took his last sip of the vodka before fishing out the cigarette behind his ear and fishing for a lighter inside his leather jacket.

“I’m sorry, you seem really nice and all, but we really are closed.” Shane tried to speak sternly, but all he got out were wobbly words. The man was a toxic cocktail of handsome and terrifying, and it was exactly Shane’s type.

The man watched him, his lashes long as they fluttered towards Shane. He lit the cigarette despite Shane’s words, and a tuft of smoke rose between them.

“Well, Shane, I guess I will get going then.” The man reached a hand out, and Shane was confused for a second as he stared down at the outstretched limb. He quickly realized the man was gesturing for a handshake, and like he was kick-started back to life, Shane almost lunged forward to shake the man’s hand.

The man laughed through his cigarette, his skin cool and calloused from many bike rides. Shane tried not to think about how the man’s fingertips softly dragged across the inside of his palm when they pulled apart. He wanted that feeling back. 

Shane watched as the man turned around, and he gulped at the patches that littered the back of the man’s leather jacket. Large red letters curved across his shoulders that read ‘Centaurs.’ The unmistakable logo of a half-man, half-horse, and then the word ‘Ottawa’ written below the logo.

Even now that Shane was alone, he still had the man's face burned into his memory. He had very Slavic features; his curls bounced and shone with different shades of blonde in the bars' lighting. He looked like he had strong, bulging muscles underneath all that leather, and it made Shane breathless.

He needed to get laid; that was obvious the moment Shane had moved into Hayden’s place. Hayden had a girlfriend named Jacki, and if Hayden wasn’t working, they were fucking. It was driving Shane insane, and it was a vicious combination of being jobless and very touch-starved.

Refocusing on the duties at the bar, once he finished cleaning the countertop, clearing the counters, mopping the bar floor, and cleaning the tables, it was already 4 am. He was exhausted and also ready to jerk off into his sheets.

It was silly that the first above-average man he encountered caused him to become feral. Shane was already half hard as he got into his car and drove back home. He snuck up the stairs and tumbled into the hot shower. It was there that he fisted his cock and clawed at the tile walls of the shower, his back rippling and pulse quickening as he pictured that Russian biker on his knees sucking his cock. 

He came with a shout into his forearm, his forehead pressing hard into the tile. The water washed away the cum, it swirling down the drain at his feet. His heavy breathing echoed throughout the washroom, and he took a moment to recentre himself before he lifted his head off the wall and continued to clean himself.

Shane felt extremely pathetic, and he scrubbed his skin raw with his washcloth to rid the lingering scent of the man’s cigarette off his body.

-

It was the very next day when Shane found exactly who the mystery man was.

He had gotten to work and began his regular cleaning. The kitchen staff slowly trickled out, saying half-hearted goodbyes to Shane, some not even looking his way. He was still new. Hayden was the last one of the staff to leave, having stayed behind to annoy Shane with his and Jacki’s relationship issues. Once he couldn’t say a full sentence without yawning, Hayden gave Shane a solid pat on the back before leaving.

Then, lastly, Wiebe was shrugging on his jacket and making his way to the back door, he had something in his hands and stopped beside Shane.

“Hey, Shane. Good work last night.”

Shane didn’t stop his cleaning, but acknowledged his boss with a quick nod.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Wiebe is just fine. And I’ve heard from Ilya that you’ve got some bartending skills, so…maybe we can get you on the other side of the bar soon, eh?”

Wiebe gave Shane’s shoulder a tap, and Shane couldn’t help the confusion that contorted across his face. His brain slowly began to process Wiebe’s words, and the dots connected.

“Ilya…I met him last night?” Shane asked, the name feeling strange on his tongue. Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.

“Mm, yes. The big guy himself. I would’ve introduced you to him properly, but Ilya is a hard man to catch.”

Wiebe chuckled, Shane did not. His brain was still shuffling through the images from last night. The handsome face had a handsome name.

“That’s okay. Uh, is he like…a regular or something?” Shane asked.

That’s when Wiebe’s smile faltered, just the smallest bit. His lips twitched, and then he recovered with a shake of his head.

“Christ, kid, he didn’t tell you? He’s the owner of the bar.”

Shane stopped doing dishes and stared forward at the wall in front of him.

“Hayden didn’t tell you anything either? Ilya Rozanov? Leader of the Centaurs in Ottawa?”

Wiebe kept asking as if Shane would suddenly understand. Lots of words came at Shane all at once, and he had to hold onto the edge of the industrial sink tightly. He glared at the soap settled on top of the water; it was still white since he had only just started cleaning.

That handsome, rugged man from last night, whom he kicked out of the bar, was none other than the bar owner himself. No, not just the bar owner, the leader of the fucking Centaurs.

Shane felt sick to his stomach. He was going to fucking die, was his first thought. This Ilya guy didn’t say a thing and allowed Shane to degrade and humiliate him. That man had probably never been spoken to like that in his life.

Or, if he had, the person was definitely dead by now.

“Shane? Buddy?”

Shane flinched, and a bit of water flicked off his hands. He apologized profusely, saying he was fine, just spaced out. Wiebe held a concerned stare, but nodded and held out whatever he had in his hands toward Shane.

“I need you to give this to Ilya tonight. He should be stopping by. It’s just a spare set of keys to the basement of this place.”

Shane nodded, but he felt like he was staring at himself from outside his body. Was this the basement where his body would be found? Maybe Ilya will cut him up into tiny pieces and send his limbs off to his parents and Hayden.

“You sure you’re okay, Shane?” Wiebe was still standing beside him. The man had taken a step back to give Shane some breathing room.

Shane stared down at the set of keys in his trembling hands. He nodded without saying another word. Wiebe took that as a good enough reassurance, because his boss had silently walked off and out the side door.

He stood there for a long time, eyes focused on the keys in his hands. Should he run away? Call Hayden? Calling the cops was useless; that would be an even bigger target on his back.

The roar of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot sealed Shane’s fate, and he closed his hand into a fist with the keys still tightly held inside.

Chatter echoed into the bar, men’s voices rising as glasses clinked and laughs rang out. Shane tried to keep himself focused on the dishes, and never dared to look back at the window looking out into the bar.

But then the dishes were done, and now he had no excuse to be in the back. The keys were burning a hole in his apron pocket, and he took a deep breath before walking towards the kitchen door.

He risked a look outside. He strained to see a group of men all decked out in their classic biker leather at the back of the bar in one of the booths. They shared two ashtrays and passed around a bottle of whiskey. The air was murky with cigarette smoke.

And there, in the middle of it all, was the handsome, mysterious man. Or, Ilya Rozanov.

Shane gulped and closed his eyes. He counted to ten in his head and decided he’d rather come to Ilya than have the biker find him. He needed to show his strength in this.

The door creaked open, and the men were too loud to notice. But Ilya’s position at the booth was perfect to view Shane entering the bar. Shane expected to see the gang leaders face fall with rage, or his hand to whip out a gun and shoot Shane before he even blinked. Instead, Ilya tilted his head to the side in curiosity and gave Shane that same devious smirk.

“Boys,” Ilya’s voice rose through the laughter, and it was almost immediate how everyone stopped to listen to him. No one spoke, all the men stared towards Ilya and hung on his next words.

Ilya then gestured towards Shane. “Meet Shane Hollander. Our new bartender.”

Shane blinked in surprise, not expecting that to be how he was introduced. He wasn’t a bartender yet; he had just finished slaving away at dishes for hours. But he wouldn’t dare correct Ilya; alternatively, he decided to give everyone an awkward smile and a wave.

The men hollered his name, all obviously either drunk or getting there. One of the men stood up, his form quite tall. It was intimidating, and Shane tried not to flinch when the man walked towards him and landed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

“Hollander! Now we’ve got a guy to get us wasted all the time!” The man shook him, and Shane couldn’t help but try to weave out of his grasp.

“Marleau.”

The man stopped his roughhousing when Ilya spoke in a warning tone, his smile never faded as he let go of Shane’s shoulders and stumbled to the back with a mumbled ‘I gotta piss’ passing his lips.

“Dishes done, Shane?” Ilya asked, and the room was less loud; the men surrounding Ilya continued to chat, but in a lower volume.

“Y-yeah. Uhm…Wiebe told me to give you these?” Shane hated how he fumbled with his words; his heart was beating out of his chest as he dangled the keys in his grip, revealing them to Ilya.

Ilya didn’t react; he only nodded and took a long drag out of the cigarette pinched between his fingers.

“Later. Clean the bar first, would you?”

Shane hated how fast he nodded and turned away. He felt so submissive, but didn’t know how else to act. Retaliation was futile, not amongst these men who were trained to kill and commit crimes.

Shane cursed himself in his head. How had he gone from being invisible to the centre of attention?

He kept his head hung low as he cleaned the bar. The other bartender, James, must’ve been fired by the looks of the bar again. It sounded like he had the job now, and he didn’t want to know what happened to James to cause him to leave.

The nerves were eating away at him, and Shane struggled to stamp them down. He was scared they’d radiate through the air; he could feel Ilya’s eyes on him the entire time he cleaned. The weight of them had him dragging his feet and begging for forgiveness inside his own head.

“Good night, boys!” Shane whipped his head up when he heard Ilya’s voice. The group of men were waving Ilya off, all of them pushing and shoving one another out of the bar's door. In the midst of their roughhousing, one of them had overturned a chair.

Then it was like a brick wall of silence hit Shane. No more yelling and cackling. It was now just him and Ilya Rozanov inside this bar. Shane refused to look Ilya in the eye, and instead of standing there like an idiot, he rushed to put the chair back upright.

But Ilya beat him to it; the man stepped forward and carefully put the chair back on its four legs. Shane was now looking even stupider, standing right in the middle of the bar's floor with nothing but his grease-stained apron, weighed down by keys to the bar's basement that he still wasn’t allowed to give.

“I-I’m sorry.” Shane blurted out. He didn’t know what else to say. The silence was killing him.

Ilya raised a brow at him, and he crossed his arms as he leaned against the chair he adjusted. The leather jacket tightened across his shoulders due to the movement; it was still extremely hot.

“Sorry for what?” Ilya asked, finally speaking.

Shane blinked rapidly. No, he wasn’t going to cry and beg for his life.

“I’m sorry I kicked you out last night. I swear to God I didn’t know who you were till like…an hour ago. Fuck that sounds worse, I-“

Shane was interrupted by Ilya’s laugh. It was a deep, guttural chuckle that went straight to Shane’s heart.

“Mm, no, it was fun. You are good security, too, I guess. That’s good.” Ilya’s tone was lighthearted and unbothered, but Shane still couldn’t untighten the nerves inside of him. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“If you want to fire me, I get it. I should’ve known…” Shane couldn’t finish his sentence. He knew getting fired was probably the best scenario in this situation.

But Ilya just kept smiling and looking extremely sexy. The man ran a hand through his hair and blew a tuft of air from his lips before pushing off the bar to start a slow walk towards Shane.

“You think I will fire you, why? Because you did not know who I was?”

Shane nodded silently. His feet stayed stuck to the ground where he stood. He didn't know whether to look Ilya in the eye or lower his chin to his chest in submission.

Ilya stopped a few feet away from him, still allowing Shane some space. He stared at Shane with that same curious look, always searching Shane’s face and eyes for something that Shane couldn’t understand.

“If I wanted you gone, you would not be standing in front of me. So relax, da?”

Shane nodded stiffly, gulping loudly.

“Say yes so I know you understand,” Ilya spoke again. His voice was not sharp or intimidating, but the softness was almost worse.

“Yes.”

Once Shane gave Ilya what he wanted, Ilya made a final few steps to stand toe to toe with Shane. They were so close that Shane could feel the tickle of Ilya’s breath on his freckled cheeks. He shifted from side to side and wiped his sweaty palms on his apron.

Ilya’s hand suddenly appeared, palm up with grabbing gestures. Shane blinked, his mind having to catch up from being frozen with fear. Then he realized what Ilya wanted and fished for the keys in his apron pocket. Shakily, he placed them in Ilya’s hand.

And he couldn’t ignore the way Ilya’s fingers almost closed around his hand. Shane hated that he flinched and stumbled back.

“Good to see you again, Shane,” Ilya said, still standing tall and proud in front of him.

“Yeah. See you later.” Shane praised himself silently for not stuttering out his goodbye. He could only watch silently from where he stood still in the middle of the bar as Ilya waltzed out into the night.

Shane waited and observed how Ilya’s motorcycle revved to life, its lights beaming into the bar's windows as he pulled out and sped off into the night. Shane couldn’t see from where he stood; he was too scared to go over and look outside, but he just knew Ilya looked amazing sitting on his bike.

-

“What the fuck do you mean you’re a bartender now?” Hayden groaned as they sat on the couch. There was a hockey game on, and also their day off.

Shane was still a little tense from last night's events. It all blurred together into one fever dream. Ilya’s face is the centre of it all. It was already past 3 pm, and Shane had only woken up an hour ago; that was how dead he was.

“I don’t know…this Ilya guy asked me if I could bartend, I said yes, and then Wiebe came up to me last night basically offering me the job.” Shane shrugged; he didn’t understand it either.

Hayden scoffed and shook his head, his interest in the Senators vs. Sharks dwindling due to the new information.

“So you’re telling me Ilya fucking Rozanov approached you and asked you to become the next bartender at his bar? Fuck off.”

“Yeah. And fuck you by the way, for not telling that Ilya was the bar owner and the leader of the Centaurs. I made a fool of myself.” Shane quickly snapped back.

Hayden abruptly laughed with surprise, staring at Shane with his mouth open.

“Oh my God, no way. Shit, man, I honestly didn’t think you’d meet him. I never see him, and I’ve been working there for almost a year. Oh, please tell me what you said.”

Shane shook his head, getting up from the couch. He was done with this conversation and refused to entertain Hayden further.

“Oh, come on! Did you kick him out of the bar? Told him he couldn’t smoke inside? Tell me!”

“Fuck you, Pike.”

They went back and forth, and Hayden ended up rolling around on the couch with laughter when Shane eventually spat out how their interaction went down. Shane watched and hid the smile on his face by grabbing a beer from the fridge. It took Hayden a few moments to calm himself down.

“You know, I’ve been working there almost a year and can’t even get out of the kitchen as their greasy ass cook but you’re there, what, a week and they promote you? Jesus.”

Shane shrugged again because he had nothing else to say. At least nothing to say to his friend. There were a lot of questions and concerns rattling around in his brain as he sipped on his beer and watched Ottawa’s team get destroyed.

Like, what the hell is he to do now? Why was he chosen to be this Ilya man’s centre of attention? This would only lead to trouble, Shane could foresee that part.

“He’s bisexual, you know.”

Shane blinked at Hayden. Hayden side-eyed him while watching the TV and smirked devilishly.

“Who?”

“Who do you think I’m talking about?”

“You’re fucking lying.”

Hayden raised his hands in surrender at Shane’s bite. Shane just wasn’t having it; he could not believe Hayden was trying to insinuate that, what, he and Ilya could ever be a thing?

Yes, Shane was gay. Yes, Ilya was definitely Shane’s type. But he wasn’t really looking for a gang leader to add to his very small dating history.

“All I’m gonna say is, if you’re being promoted that quickly, it sounds like Mr. Rozanov has gotten sweet for you. You better watch out, Hollander, or you’re gonna be one of the old ladies.”

“Old ladies?” Shane raised a brow with a laugh and then took another swig of his beer.

“That’s what they call their wives and girlfriends in the clubs. Not sure about the boyfriends and husbands. I never had the balls to ask. But you’ll know who they are, now that you’ll be at the bar. They’re the ones with the ‘property of’ patches on the back of their jackets.”

Shane felt his stomach do a weird flip.

“That sounds degrading,” Shane decided to reply with that. Hayden shrugged.

“Do you know how many people would die to have patches like that? It’s not about…degrading someone. It’s honestly more powerful. You got a Rozanov patch on your back, no one’s fucking touching you.”

Shane shivered and hid his reaction by downing the rest of his beer. Once it was empty, he got up and made his way towards his bedroom.

“Have fun jerking off to that picture!” Hayden teased as he left.

Shane knew he was blushing deeply.

-

Gradually, Shane’s hours got longer and more entertaining. He still did the dishes after the bar closed, which he should’ve been paid a little more for since he was doubling up on bartending and being the dishwasher, but he couldn’t complain.

Bartending was fun. The people were rambunctious and loud, the place blared hard rock and sexy men, and women danced and made out. The bar was littered with leather jackets, all of them plastered with the Centaurs logo. 

Shane even saw the ones that Hayden had been talking about. The women held their heads high and were all over the men whose last name they had stitched into their backs. They didn’t look sad at all.

One night, Shane had actually seen a man with a ‘property of’ jacket on. It was so shocking that he didn’t realize he had been staring until the guy was speaking to him with an amused grin.

“Something on my face?”

Shane flinched and almost dropped the rag he was using to clean the bar. Now that he was both the end-of-the-night cleaner and bartender, he was more aware of his spills. But it looked like he had been wiping over the same spot for a solid minute, all because this beautiful man walked in with a jacket that read ‘property of Barrett’ across its shoulders.

“U-uhm no. Sorry…what would you like?” Shane asked, immediately trying to deflect the situation. A blush continued to make its way across his freckles.

The man kept smirking, but played along.

“Just a Coke for me. But a Guinness for my husband Troy over there, please.” The guy shoved a thumb over his shoulder, to make it clear that he was taken, as if the giant letters on his back weren't insanely obvious. But Shane had to remember he was new here; no one knew his intentions.

Shane had to shoot this down immediately.

“I’m sorry for staring. I’m not uh, I’m not interested or anything. I’m just learning the rules, and I saw your patches. They’re cool.”

The guy nodded, looking a little less tense now that Shane sputtered out that awkward response. Shane busied himself by gathering the man’s drinks.

“The new guys are always overwhelmed. It’s fine.”

Shane smiled cautiously, placing the Coke on the counter and then finishing up pouring the Guinness.

“I’m Harris, by the way. Troy is my husband. I guess you’re brand new if I haven’t seen you before.” The man, Harris, had his hand out for Shane to shake, and Shane gladly did.

“Yeah, I’m the dishwasher too. We’re down a bartender, so I’m helping out.”

“Jeez, they’re really putting you to work.”

Shane smirked. He liked this guy.

Harris grabbed his drinks, lifting them in a cheers to Shane as he stepped away from the bar.

“Put it on Rozanov’s tab, and I’ll see you around.”

Shane nodded and then watched Harris walk back to Troy Barrett’s side, the other man’s last name displayed on his back in big, red letters. Shane tried not to stare as Harris leaned down to give Troy a wet kiss before handing him the beer.

Hayden’s words came flooding back to him as he tried to occupy himself with cleaning. “He’s bisexual, you know.”

Now it didn’t look so shocking. If there were other gay guys in this gang, maybe Rozanov was also?

Shane danced his gaze across the table that Harris and Troy were sitting at, and he flinched when he quickly locked eyes with Ilya himself. It was like the man was already staring at him.

He hid his blush by dipping his chin and pretending to fix the bottles on the counter. Thankfully, a woman came up to the bar asking for a round of shots, so he was able to distract himself that way.

The next few days were the same. Every time Shane would look through the crowds of people, Ilya was always locking eyes with him. Consistently, he was always being watched.

He got closer to the gang, as well. When the bar would close, the boys would migrate to the back booth and have their little meetings. Their wives and Harris would head home. It would just be Shane and Ilya’s closest men.

They’d ask for refills and joke about Ilya’s tab; recently, they had even bought Shane a shot to down with them. Shane never heard what they spoke about, and never wanted to. He was just happy they accepted him.

Many nights ended with all the boys leaving and Rozanov staying behind; his excuse was always that he had to pay off his tab.

“It’s your bar, do you really have to pay it off?” Shane had joked when it was the third night in a row that Ilya had stayed behind. Ilya just shrugged, and Shane swore Ilya’s eyes flickered down to his lips.

“I don’t want to fuck with Wiebe’s till, and you need a good tip, yes?”

And Ilya always gave a very high tip. He would pay Shane a hundred dollars in cash, then pay with a debit card for the drinks.

“You’re giving me too much…” Shane joked when the hundred-dollar bill got slapped down on the counter. Canada’s eighth Prime Minister, who was plastered on the bill, was staring back at him mockingly.

“Mm, not enough, I think,” and then Ilya winked.

Shane had never felt his knees go weak before, but in that moment, they definitely did.

They grew closer; Shane felt comfortable under Ilya’s gaze now. If he swept his eyes across the bar, he stopped flinching when he met those hazel eyes. Ilya’s stare was a blanket of comfort; he felt protected.

He felt like property, like he was already wearing that jacket.

Ilya now stayed longer once all the boys left. He even sat on the counter in the kitchen nursing a beer and kicking his big steel-towed boots around while Shane finished the dishes. Then it became a trend for Ilya to follow him around like some lost puppy, always chatting about life and sports.

But never about the gang. Never about that. Shane kept that off limits, and Ilya did as well.

Tonight was different the moment Shane entered the bar, though. Shane could feel it in the air as soon as he walked in. The kitchen staff kept bustling away, Hayden giving him a raised brow and a smirk before he went back to plating a burger.

Everyone else seemed fine, but Shane still felt so…off.

Maybe it was because Ilya wasn’t in attendance tonight. Shane noticed immediately when he shouldered open the kitchen door and walked into the bar. His eyes did their usual scan across the bar, and there was a giant empty booth that held no one. Not Ilya, not Troy, none of Ilya’s crew were there.

They didn’t have to be here every night. Shane knew that. Ilya especially, since he had a gang to run. But Shane almost felt naked without the hard and consistent stare from Ilya.

He tried to shake it off. He had a job to do, that was it. The night went on with no issue; the crowd died down quicker, and people weren’t as lively as they usually were. Shane noticed everything that was out of place.

“I’m heading out!” Yelled Rose, who was on shift with him tonight, Shane nodded her way and watched her leave. The kitchen door swung once before Hayden came through it next.

He looked exhausted; he and Jacki had been going through a rough patch. Shane hated to see his friend like that.

“Can I buy you a drink before you go?” Shane asked, giving Hayden a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Hayden shook his head.

“Nah, one of the things Jacki told me was I gotta lay off the beer. I gotta at least…try for her, you know?”

Shane nodded and let Hayden shrug him off before leaving next. Soon enough, the bar and kitchen were completely empty. Shane was the only one inside the building.

He felt stupid for feeling depressed as he wiped down the counter and reorganized the bottles. It should be good, usually he and Ilya talked too much, and it ended in him driving home an hour or so after his shift was supposed to end.

This will be good. He can sleep more.

But would his sleep be interrupted by pink plush lips and curly blonde hair?

He scrubbed harder at the bar's counter in retaliation for his intrusive thoughts. Shane was just about to swing around and readjust the chairs at the counter when the front door burst open.

So much happened at once, Shane gasped and stumbled backwards. He hit his lower back hard against the back countertop and watched in horror as three guys dragged one screaming man through the bar.

Ilya was waltzing behind the chaos, his jaw set and eyes flaming with anger. Shane had never seen him like this.

Troy was one of the three guys dragging the lone victim, and Shane thought he saw a glimpse of Marleau. They threw the man so hard that he tumbled over a table and landed harshly on the ground. The man scrambled backwards and grabbed at a chair, kicking and thrashing with the piece of furniture between him and the three burly guys thirsting for blood.

One of them grabbed at the chair and flung it across the room, and it hit the wall beside Shane, causing him to gasp in shock.

That was when Ilya’s eyes finally met his.

It was strange how Ilya’s expression immediately softened out of the rage it once held. The boys were now beating on the man, some shouts of ‘you really fucked with the wrong people’ and ‘what are you gonna do now, Tom?!’ Being thrown in the air.

Shane froze when Ilya broke away from the fight to walk up to him. He approached with caution, probably noticing the fear on Shane’s face.

He said one sentence to Shane once he got less than an arm’s length away.

“Get back in the kitchen.”

Ilya’s voice was stern but still ever-so soft when speaking to Shane. Shane caught sight of the keys to the basement that he had given Ilya. They were grasped in one of his hands at his side.

Shane stared wide-eyed, but nodded and stumbled back into the kitchen door. It swung roughly, hitting the wall and creaking loudly over the man’s screams.

He almost fell onto the floor, but steadied his balance by gripping the kitchen table. The cool steel soothed his sweaty skin, and Shane held it for dear life as he tried to block out the yells and wet hits of impact. 

‘This is what they do. This is what you signed up for.’ Shane repeated to himself. Hayden had warned him that they were dangerous, and this was the reality. It wasn’t just pure and simple late-night chats, or off-handed flirting that made him blush. It was the calm before the storm, and now he was right in the middle of it.

Well, not right in the middle. Ilya had done him a favour by ordering him back into the kitchen. The horrific sounds were muffled by the wall, and now all Shane was left with was his imagination.

He lifted himself off the table and tried to distract himself. The dishes still needed to be done, since he had started in the bar, so he dove right into the job and purposely clanked and clashed the dishes together louder so it drowned out the heavy sobs and pleas.

Eventually, he heard the cries die down. The crashes faded out, and Shane tried not to tense when the kitchen door creaked open.

The slow thunder of Ilya’s motorcycle boots, their heavy soles clacking against the tiled ground until they stopped beside him. Shane stopped cleaning and glared at his own reflection amongst the soap in the sink. He stared back at a terrified face.

“I am…sorry you had to see that.”

Shane’s brows furrowed into the water. Ilya stepped forward even more; now he could see the hint of curls at the corner of his reflection.

“Shane.”

He snapped his eyes up and tried to hide the fear with a smile. Ilya didn’t return it. All the fire in Ilya’s eyes had extinguished. He looked into Shane’s eyes and desperately searched with concern.

“It’s okay-” 

“No, is not okay. I should have checked the bar before we came in.”

They basked in the silence, both unsure how to move forward. Shane shrugged and bit his lip. He still had the washcloth in his hands, and he fiddled with it as a distraction from wanting to touch Ilya.

“It’s your bar, Ilya. I’ll live. It was just…shocking, that’s all. I’ll get used to it.”

Ilya didn’t seem to like that answer; his face still grim. But his shoulders dropped, showing defeat.

“I am sorry again. Do not worry about cleaning up. I will walk you to your car, now.”

Shane tried to protest, but Ilya was already walking away and grabbing for Shane’s jacket.

“Wiebe will kill me if I leave this place like this…”

Ilya smirked as he handed Shane his jacket.

“He will not because I will tell him to leave you alone.”

And that was that. Shane had no fight left in him. He hung the cloth on the sink faucet, untied his apron, and then shrugged on his jacket. Ilya watched with careful eyes that flickered from Shane to the kitchen door as if awaiting someone else to come crashing in.

Shane pushed the back door open and had already forgotten that Ilya had offered to walk him to his car. He stared back and faltered in his step when Ilya walked outside with him, the man stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“You don’t have to…”

“Mm, and what if I want to?” Ilya hummed, keeping his slow pace and continuing to walk towards Shane’s car alone. It was the only beat-up car in the parking lot, and he knew exactly where to go.

Shane followed, his own hands stuffing into his jacket pockets. They walked side by side, and it took only twenty steps until they were at Shane’s driver's side door. Shane counted.

Ilya didn’t speak to him, and the awkwardness grew inside Shane. He fumbled for his keys and kept missing the lock on the door handle. He began speaking in a ramble to fill the silence.

“I uhm…I won’t freak out next time. I promise. It was just my first time seeing, well, that-”

“Shane.”

And then Ilya placed his hand on top of his, halting his frantic movements. Shane was frozen with surprise and watched as Ilya took his keys and unlocked the car for him. Ilya was so close to him that he could count the moles on his face and see the hint of a gold necklace tucked inside his shirt.

Ilya turned, their noses almost brushed. Ilya was only slightly taller than him, so Shane had to look up through his lashes to meet his eyes.

“I will text you when I need to be in the bar. Okay?”

Shane nodded; he couldn’t form words for a few seconds. His brain was jumbled with images of Ilya’s face. 

“D-do you need my phone number?”

Ilya smirked, his hand connected with Shane’s to give him back his keys. He dragged his fingertips along the back of Shane’s hand.

“I have your number already.”

Ilya took a step back, the intimacy snapping in half. Shane’s mouth was opening and closing as he tried to find more words to say, but Ilya was already walking towards the bar and stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

Shane stared at the Centaurs logo as it slowly grew smaller and smaller, it finally disappearing into the bar.

-

Two days passed, and Shane couldn’t stop thinking of Ilya. It wasn’t out of trauma, but the opposite. Shane had gone to sleep the night of the incident, dreaming of Ilya’s fiery gaze, but instead of it walking into the bar, it was staring down over top of him as Ilya thrusted into Shane’s moaning form. The flash of a cross necklace dangled in front of his face, it acting as a pendulum that entranced him.

Shane had cum in his boxers when he woke up, and he felt so ashamed that he rushed into the bathroom and took the coldest shower he could muster.

When he was back at the bar, Shane had noticed immediately that Ilya was avoiding him. Usually, when Shane locked eyes with Ilya, the other man would keep that stare, but now Ilya would break their gaze instantly. He’d make the other boys go up to get him a beer, and never once went near the bar when Shane was there.

It was a very, very lonely night for Shane. He went numb when Ilya left with all the boys; they had snuck out when Shane had gone to the back for his break. Shane used to love the silence, but now it left an ache in his gut. 

The next day was the same. Shane desperately tried to meet Ilya’s eyes, to get some kind of reaction out of the man. But there was nothing.

Shane hated to admit he almost cried on his next break, the tears welling up in his eyes as he sat in the back room.

He couldn’t take it anymore, and Shane had his chance once everyone was out of the bar. Ilya had just said his goodbyes to some of the old ladies from his gang, and he faltered in his step back to sit with his boys. They were separated by only the bar counter.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Shane pointed out before he could overthink it.

Ilya looked at him, his eyes moving up and down Shane’s form. He turned towards him and leaned against the counter. Shane stood his ground; he refused to show weakness even though he was hollowed out on the inside.

“I have been busy,” Ilya paused, and Shane dipped his head in shame, but then Ilya continued. “And I do not want to scare you.”

Shane couldn’t help but scoff and shake his head. He looked up to stare right into Ilya’s eyes to show just how not-scared he was.

“I told you, I’m fine. I swear, okay? It wasn’t that big of a deal, I’m over it already.”

Ilya absorbed Shane’s words, a pause coming between them.

“Okay. Then we will talk later, yes?”

Shane nodded stiffly, and Ilya walked towards his booth at the back.

He kept to himself while Ilya had his meeting. The boys were their usual rowdy and loud selves, and Shane was ecstatic to hear and feel the energy come back into the bar. It had only been two days, but it felt like a lifetime.

It was bad that Shane was getting so attached to this lifestyle. He could already hear his mother's nagging tone in his ear. She'd judge him about his choices and future. But he was only in his twenties, he wanted to live for fuck sake.

So he allowed the boys to buy him shots, and he chatted them up when they weren’t talking about private matters. Ilya watched him curiously whenever he settled another beer on the table for the boys or hung around to tease one of them. He never said anything directly to him, but Shane didn’t mind. Their alone time was coming.

“You’re fucking hilarious, Hollander!” One of the guys suddenly shouted out. Shane didn’t remember his name; all he knew was that this guy was very drunk, and Shane wasn’t sure how the hell he was getting home. But he was too afraid to deny him.

When no one replied to the guy's outburst, he continued with a snort.

“I mean, come on, boys. I think we can call it what it is, now! We’ve got ourselves a little poser here!”

The table went impossibly more silent. Shane tried to gauge the reactions from the boys, but received nothing. Ilya was staring across the table at the guy with hard eyes.

“What?” Shane asked, letting out a forced laugh. He tried to occupy himself by grabbing some empties from the table. He didn’t make eye contact with any of the boys, suddenly embarrassed.

“A wannabe rider, either that or you wanna fuck one of us, right-“

“Jake.”

The whole table turned towards Ilya’s sharp tone. Shane stepped back with his arms full of empty beer cans and glasses. He didn’t know whether to run away or stay.

“Oh come on, Roz!” The guy, Jake, had a shakiness to his voice.

“Don’t bite the hand that gives you beer. And don’t fucking talk to him like that.”

Then Shane turned away and walked back to the bar. He had made his own decision to depart from the group after Ilya’s words. He felt a fullness in his chest as the exchange of words replayed in his mind. Ilya had actually defended him. And to think he had once thought Ilya hated him only a few days ago.

When the clock struck 3 am, the boys began their leave. All of them patted Ilya on the back and walked out, except for Jake, who had left early with his tail between his legs. Other than that, every single one of them had also said goodbye to Shane. It was now very clear these boys needed to respect him. 

Once the muffled rumble of the motorcycles leaving the parking lot was heard, Ilya got up from his seat at the booth and slowly stalked over to him.

“You should clean up and go home,” Ilya started the conversation off with the words Shane didn’t want to hear.

“Nice try. I’m not leaving you that easily. Plus, I still have dishes to do.”

Ilya scowled at the retaliation, but nodded and followed Shane into the back. They fell back into conversation easily, once again talking about things other than gang life and the shit that went down just a few hours ago. Ilya talked about how much he liked Montreal and the places he’s been to across America.

It allowed Shane to work, and he was fast and efficient, listening to Ilya drawl on and on.

“Where would you like to go, if you could right now?” Ilya asked. Shane snuck a glance over to the man. He was leaning against the back door, eating something he found in the kitchen’s fridge.

“I don’t know…maybe Vancouver? My parents grew up there. I always wanted to see it.”

Ilya gave him a blank stare, and then his face broke out into a large and amused grin.

“What?” Shane asked with a chuckle, and he put the dish he held back down into the sink to stare at Ilya with raised brows. His hands were still covered in soap suds.

“That is a very boring answer.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

Ilya took a step closer. He had settled whatever he was eating down to start helping Shane by drying the plates he had cleaned.

“What did you want me to say? I’m insanely broke right now, a vacation is not happening!”

Ilya scoffed and shook his head. He was still smiling.

“I said, if you could go anywhere. You can say Japan, maybe Los Angeles, Australia…”

Shane thought through Ilya’s suggestions and decided to give Ilya another sliver of his life.

“My mom is from Japan, like, her parents were born there. So…I guess I’d like to go there.”

“Very good choice. And you get your looks from her, yes?”

Shane paused and stared. Ilya continued drying as if nothing had happened, but he knew exactly what he had done, and he raised a brow at Shane when he didn’t say anything.

“You don’t look like you are breathing,” Ilya points out. Shane definitely wasn’t.

“I’m fine, just-“

Ilya stopped drying the dishes and stepped into Shane’s space. They were nose to nose, just like they were when Ilya had walked Shane to his car. But this was different.

“You are still scared of me. Look, you’re shaking,” Ilya lightly grabbed at Shane’s soap-covered hands. Now they were both covered in little bubbles.

“Fuck, Ilya, I’m not scared. Okay? I’m…fuck I don’t know. It’s hard to act normal around you.”

Ilya’s breath was tickling his face, and Shane could count the speckles in his eyes. They were still holding hands, and Ilya was now rubbing slow circles on the back of Shane’s hands with his thumbs.

And then Ilya asked the question that really had Shane breathless.

“Can I kiss you?”

It was as if Shane were starving. As soon as Ilya asked, Shane threw his hand up to grab at Ilya’s hair and finally, finally connected them.

They were both extremely greedy. Teeth clashed, tongues entwined, and moans and sighs of relief rang in a chorus around the kitchen.

Ilya had his hands occupied on Shane’s waist, not daring to go down any lower. Shane wanted to whine and push them to go further with this, but he knew that would be too much right now.

They had to part so they could breathe eventually, and their hot breaths mingled into each other's open mouths. Shane loosened his grip on Ilya’s curls, smoothing his hand down to cup at the back of Ilya’s neck.

“That was…” Shane whispered, his eyes searching Ilya’s expression for any sign of regret. But Ilya had the same starry eyes as him.

“Yes,” Ilya answered, his own voice barely above a breath. He licked his lips once and then painstakingly pulled away from Shane’s grip.

Now they were looking at one another, just one foot apart, lips red and wet, words caught in their throats. Shane could see the gears turning in Ilya’s head, the way his shoulders tightened and squared up to protect himself from a fight that wasn’t coming.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” Ilya’s voice grew colder and more distant. Shane wished he could reach out for him, but the boundary had been severed.

So he nodded silently and watched Ilya adjust his leather jacket and rush out the back door.

When the door closed, it echoed across the empty bar mockingly.

Chapter End Notes

Please comment and let me know what you thought of the first chapter! I have over 40k written so far in this series (so four chapters down now) and I'm so excited to share them!

Chapter 2: open the floodgate

Chapter Notes

Chapter two here we go!

There are these two guys on tiktok who both ride motorcycles and wear Hollander and Rozanov jerseys and I bet they would love this fic lmao. It JUST came on my fyp, go have a look if you want: russianbiker

Chapter is titled after Floodgate by Tatiana Hazel.

It was painful, the nights after that kiss.

His lips wouldn’t stop thrumming. He felt on edge every minute, and it didn't help that he'd received weird looks from Hayden multiple times a day. 

Shane was frustrated not only with Ilya Rozanov but also with himself. Because why was he feeling this intensely? He knew nothing about this man, only that he was in a gang, had a motorcycle, and liked Montreal. 

But that was just it, Shane wanted to know more. He yearned to hear Ilya talk his ear off while he scrubbed grease off plates in the back. He desired to pass this man beers every night knowing he’d get him all to himself later.

But that had been cut off abruptly.

Ilya had disappeared again.

The bar had been vacant with Ilya’s presence for three days now. Shane had been cleaning up alone and holding back tears for three whole nights. He dragged his feet across the parking lot like a child after every shift, the loss of a man he barely knew heavy on his shoulders.

It was going on the fourth night, but the dry spell had been broken. Ilya walked into the bar like an owner and gang leader would, with his head held high and a cigarette kissed between his lips.

People’s heads turned, and Shane tried to play it cool as he cleaned a glass. But then Ilya walked right up to him, the other boys in his group making their way to their spot.

Shane tried not to stare at Ilya’s lips as the man approached. He wished he were that cigarette. 

“A round of beers for the table, please.” 

Shane jerked a nod and got to work. He expected Ilya to walk away, but he continued to watch Shane pour the beers. 

At the corner of his eye, Ilya plucked the cigarette from his mouth and tapped off the ashes in an ashtray on the bar. He didn’t bring it back to his lips.

“I, uh, I can bring it to the-“

“No. Is okay. Just put it on my tab, da?” 

Shane nodded again, feeling like he was already sweating buckets. He placed the beers one by one on the counter, and Ilya grabbed them and walked back and forth from his table. Shane could hear Ilya’s friends asking what the hell he was doing. Shane wondered the same thing.

Did he not want Shane to be close to the group anymore? Was he embarrassed by that night? 

Shane shook it off, placing the last beer on the counter and nodding stiffly Ilya's way as the beer was grabbed. Then all Shane could do was stare at the Centaur sewn onto leather at Ilya’s back. 

The night went on like normal. Shane was off his game a little bit, but by the time the bar closed, he had shaken off the strange interaction. Ilya was still there speaking with his group, and never once did he make eye contact.

Shane wasn’t going to try to clean around them, so he made his way into the kitchen and cleaned the dishes. 

First, the unmistakable roar of motorcycles coming to life and driving away.

Second, the familiar creak of the kitchen door opening.

Third, the haunting sound of Ilya’s motorcycle boots on the tiled flooring.

And lastly, the aura beside him. Calm, patient, and still incredibly mysterious.

But Shane didn’t want to fold so quickly. He hated how his heart quickened in Ilya’s presence. He was so easily manipulated.

“You gonna stare at me all night?” Shane asked, feeling brave.

Ilya broke into a smile, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned into the wall beside the sink. 

“What would you like me to do?” Ilya asked, his smile softening. He raised a brow, and Shane stopped his cleaning to meet Ilya’s eyes.

“Maybe tell me why you kissed me that night? Or what you did to that guy last week? Or why you-“ 

“That is a lot of questions for a dishwasher.” 

Shane’s mouth snapped shut; he felt offended by Ilya’s words. 

“Bartender. Remember, you promoted me?” 

Ilya got off the wall and took a few steps towards him. Shane held his ground. He even hardened his glare and folded his arms across his chest. Ilya wouldn’t get the satisfaction of thinking he had scared him again.

“Mm, yes. A very pretty bartender indeed. One that will cause me trouble.” 

Shane was surprised by the answer. Ilya blinked down at him, now less than an arm's length away from him again. They were back where they began. 

“What trouble can a bartender cause?” Shane grumbled, his act slipping. His arms loosened back to his sides. It didn’t take long before he was fiddling with his apron to ease his nerves. Ilya didn’t answer him right away; he continued to stare.

“Lots when he is pretty.” 

“I’m not pretty. Stop saying that.” 

“Oh? But you are blushing.”

Shane wiped his cheeks as if he could rub away the blush upon them. During his actions, he stepped back from Ilya’s bubble. He couldn’t bear to be so close again.

“Y-you just like fucking with me then, right? Is that it?” Shane hated to raise his voice, but he couldn’t contain it any longer. The feelings were overflowing.

Ilya allowed the words to float in the air before he started to walk back into Shane’s space. And Shane hated how he allowed it. 

Ilya got so close that their chests were brushing against one another. Shane’s eyes fluttered, and his breath hitched. He saw Ilya’s hand move up and his knuckles brush against his cheek. It was a feather-like touch, but Shane leaned into it greedily.

Ilya was leaning in, too. They were so close that their noses brushed together. Ilya stunk of cigarettes and motor oil, Shane probably smelt of grease and soap.

“Good night, Shane.” 

Ilya’s breath tickled his ear, and then he was gone like a leaf in the wind. Shane didn’t even realize he closed his eyes until he heard the back door slam shut. 

When he reopened them, he practically whimpered.

-

Ilya showed his face the next night as well. He walked into the bar radiating power. People loved him and greeted him as if he were their leader and friend. Shane had no desire to follow that.

None of the gang came to the bar, and Shane knew it was his job to approach them. He allowed a few minutes to pass before walking over; he passed a handful of other bikers along the way. One man in particular had his eyes glued to his body the entire journey from the back of the bar to Ilya’s table. 

“The usual?” Shane asked. He attempted to sound as cheery as he could.

“Thanks, Shane,” Troy and the others chorused. Ilya leaned back into the booth and stared behind Shane, uninterested.

So Shane didn’t hang around. He walked back to the bar and caught the other man’s eye, who was still staring at him. It made a shiver run down his spine.

He minded his business and did his work. Ilya’s eyes were on him from across the bar, that was for sure, but they weren’t the only ones. Whenever Shane looked up to catch Ilya’s gaze, he would instead find himself staring into another man’s as well.

The other guy wasn’t a part of Ilya’s gang, but was definitely a biker. He dressed in leather as the Centaurs did, but Shane didn’t remember seeing a symbol on the back of his jacket. The man looked older than Shane or Ilya, and his skin was littered with tattoos. He had a thick moustache that honestly looked good on him. 

Another one Shane needed to stay away from.

“Earth to Shane?” 

He flinched. Rose was waving a cloth in his face. With a scowl, he grabbed it from her grasp.

“Can you wipe some tables down back there? I’ll do the front.” Before Shane could complain to her, she was grabbing her own rag and walking out of the bar. 

There were three empty booths near the back; the ones occupied by Ilya and his friends were on the other side. In the middle, the tattooed biker sat with his group. 

Shane ignored them all, wetted the cloth, and made his way over to the booths. He cleaned the first one with no issue, but he barely swiped the cloth on the second booth’s table before a form slid into the bench.

Tattooed hands, a skull on the back of one hand, a rose on the other. Shane’s eyes traced up the tattoos and leather until he stared back at the same strange man from before.

“I had to get a better look at ya,” the guy says. His voice is deep like Ilya’s, but more chipper. His moustache twitched into a devilish grin.

“Sorry, you can’t use this booth right now…I’m…” Shane tried to deflect, but the guys' laughter threw him off guard.

“You can’t sit for a minute and talk, pretty thing?” 

Shane blushed; he couldn’t help it. The word echoed in his brain but morphed into Ilya’s accent. Because that’s the only man he wanted to hear call him pretty. 

“I’m working,” Shane couldn’t hide his smile. He wasn’t used to being flirted with like this; he hadn’t been with a man in a very long time. 

“Working in a biker bar, hm? You ever ridden one of those?” 

Shane froze mid-cleaning. He blinked up at the man.

“What?” He asked.

The man leaned forward, his hands shifting on the table so they were closer to Shane’s. They didn’t touch, but they were inches apart. 

“A motorcycle. Have you ever ridden one?” 

Shane shook his head no. The man smiled wider, sparkles shimmering in his eyes. 

“I could change that and take you for a spin, you know?” 

Shane’s heartbeat grew in his chest. Several thoughts battled in his head. He wanted to ride a motorcycle, to feel the wind in his hair. But with his arms around this man? Would he really?

No, he shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry, I really do have to work. I’m new here.” Shane cursed himself in his head for oversharing, but when he was nervous, he did that. The man wasn’t fazed. 

“Oh, c’mon, what time do you get off?” 

Shane shook his head with a nervous laugh. The man was pushy, and their hands were still so close.

“I don’t know…”

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

The man’s pinky was about to ghost over Shane’s when they were interrupted. The voice jolted Shane back into reality.

“Excuse me.” 

Ilya was standing behind him, the blue and green mix in his eyes had darkened to almost black. A shadow cast upon his face like a demon.

“Great timing as usual, Rozanov,” the man announced tightly, his genuine smile hardening into an obviously fake one once he looked away from Shane towards Ilya. 

Shane stepped away. Now that this man’s eyes weren’t on him, the trance was broken.

“We need to catch up,” Ilya answered, the tension building in the air. Shane was forced to take two more steps back as Ilya snaked his way between him and the man to get into the booth as well. Now the two men were across from each other and having a staring contest.

“I’ll just be, yeah, I’ll be cleaning,” Shane wanted to face-palm himself with how stupid he sounded. The silence was killing him, and neither man acknowledged his existence now that they were in each other's space.

But as Shane was about to scamper off, a hand whipped out to lightly curl around his wrist. It was the hand with the skull.

“My name is Pete, by the way.” 

A wink, then the man let go. Shane couldn’t help but snap his gaze over to Ilya, who looked ready to jump across the table.

The shocking arousal that bloomed inside him made Shane whip his body back around and rush away from the two. He couldn’t stand to look at either man any longer. 

He didn’t bother cleaning the rest of the tables. The kitchen was his sanctuary as he burst through the door and caught his breath. Staff were already leaving, and Hayden was putting on his coat when he made his entrance.

“Jesus, you okay, bud?” Hayden asked, a smirk tugging at the side of his lips. He looked tired, but still ready to tease Shane over whatever had occurred.

“Nothing, just…need a break for a second.” 

“Did Rozanov-“ 

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence, Pike,” Shane growled out. Hayden cackled and slapped a hand down on Shane’s shoulder. 

“Okay, okay! Sorry. All I ask is you jerk off in the washroom, yeah?” 

Shane promptly threw up two middle fingers for Hayden to catch. He was still glaring at the kitchen floor as Hayden said his final goodbyes and walked out.

Now he was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his head rolling with images of Ilya’s dark eyes staring him down. Possessive and wild.

How dare Ilya act this way. He had been toying with Shane for days, pulling him in only to push him away. Ilya expected Shane to crumble under his touch, to bend to his will.

And Shane couldn’t admit to himself that it was working. 

He composed himself after a few minutes of deep breaths. The bar was about to close, and Rose was probably wondering where he had gone.

People were slowly trickling out once Shane opened the kitchen door. Some loud, drunken laughter, others hanging off one another in a promise for more activities throughout the night. Shane turned his head from the sight and walked towards Rose, who was already untying her apron and giving him a raised brow.

“You good? Did Hayden talk your ear off again?” 

Shane shrugged with a forced smile, and Rose accepted that response before making her way out. It was as she cleared out of the bar that Shane noticed the last person.

Ilya sat at his usual booth in the back; only Troy and Wyatt were with him. He was nursing another cigarette, inhaling deeply once their eyes met. 

They stared at one another as Troy and Wyatt argued about something that Shane couldn’t make out. It didn’t matter; everything zeroed in on Ilya Rozanov and how he looked at Shane like he was the world.

Shane broke eye contact first, like he always did. He tucked his chin and walked out of the bar to the kitchen without another glance. Dishes. He would do dishes first.

He managed to finish them all with no sign of Ilya. Shane had completely immersed himself in his work to drown out the emotions that plagued him. 

Drying his hands on his apron, he looked back at the kitchen door, glaring at the narrow window leaking yellow light into the white fluorescent kitchen. Onward.

His feet felt glued to the floor, but he managed to walk out into the bar. The door creaked, and his eyes danced across the room.

There. Just Ilya. The man was smoking another cigarette and holding an empty beer bottle. He was still at his seat in the back, but now alone. Shane didn’t hear Wyatt and Troy leave.

“You should probably go home,” Shane said. He mirrored the words Ilya spoke to him a few weeks ago. He wanted Ilya to hear them from his own lips.

Ilya breathed out an amused laugh, soaking in Shane’s entrance before heaving himself out of the booth. He took his time, extinguishing his cigarette into the ashtray, then grabbing his beer. Once those tasks were done, he stalked over towards Shane.

Shane could not move. The bar wasn’t even between them. He stood exactly where he had entered, the kitchen door behind him. Maybe it was for a quick exit, something deep inside him wanting him to run.

“I see you met Peter.” 

Shane was confused at first, the name not registering. But then the flash of hands inked with roses and a skull pierced his memory. 

“I thought his name was Pete,” Shane pointed out to agitate Ilya.

“He introduced himself as Peter to me when he was begging for a spot in the Centaurs,” Ilya shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but Shane could see the fire building in his eyes. 

“Why wasn’t he let in?” Shane asked, because he was genuinely curious. 

But he received no response. Ilya did that a lot; he would turn himself off when Shane asked too much. Why? To protect him? To anger him? 

If it was to anger him, it was working. 

Ilya placed the empty beer bottle on the counter beside them. They were closer now, but not enough for Shane to reach out and touch, and what Shane wanted to do was push Ilya so hard he lay in a heap on his own bar floor. 

“You can’t ride with him,” Ilya finally spoke up, his tone was shaky and had less of its usual bite to it. It was always so soft around Shane, even when he was ordering him around like a dog. 

“And why the hell not?” Shane scoffed; he glared into Ilya’s eyes in a desperate search for answers since the words weren’t enough. 

Ilya fixed his jacket and tugged on its cuffs, unbothered but too cowardly to keep eye contact with Shane as he spoke. 

“He has had many accidents, and ripped off mechanics. They fix his bike fast, and he gives them nothing.” 

It was a good reason not to ride with the guy, but Shane had this burning need to fight back. He had been walked on for far too long.

“Why don’t you take me on one, then?” It was far too bold, but Shane was tired of dancing around these emotions that were clearly vibrating between them. Now that the idea was planted in his mind that he could ride a bike, he wanted it. But the desire to wrap his arms around not just any man’s middle, but Ilya’s middle, was overwhelming. 

“No,” Ilya answered flatly. 

“Why not?” Shane snapped back. Ilya shook his head and ran his fingers through his curly hair. 

“Because is not safe.” What a cheap response. 

So Shane laughs, and he laughs loudly so it fills the empty bar. He feels tears welling up in his eyes and he doesn’t know why, and before he can think of his next reaction, he shoots back.

“Why wouldn’t I be safe with you?” 

His voice hung in the air. Shane immediately bit his lip and recoiled. Ilya stood as still as a statue and stared at the ground with heavy eyes. 

“Go home, I will lock up.” 

The tears burned in Shane’s eyes. His lip was going to start bleeding if he didn’t release the pressure his teeth had on it. 

“Okay,” he decided that was the safest way to end this conversation. He didn’t trust himself to come up with anything else. 

Turning on his heels, he practically ran out of the bar. It was only when he got into the car that he realized he forgot to take off his apron. 

He didn’t have the heart to go back in and put it back. So he drove with grease stains and tears on his lap.

-

The next two nights were empty. 

Yes, people still filled the bar. Loud laughter and smiling faces surrounded Shane as he worked. But no one mattered, because that booth was empty. 

Ilya and his friends were gone, but where? Shane didn’t know. He never knew anything. He was just a bartender. One who had kissed the leader of a motorcycle gang, and now that said leader acts as if he owns him, but also pretends he doesn’t exist. 

If he knew moving out would be this complicated, Shane wouldn’t have done it. 

It was during the second night that Harris walked into the bar wearing that same ‘property of’ jacket. Shane was surprised when the man sat on one of the stools at the counter instead of mingling with other people. 

“Hey, handsome,” Harris teased. His smile was very warm and settled the nerves in Shane’s gut. 

“Oh, so you’re flirting with me now?” Shane joked back. They both laughed lightly as Shane got to work on Harris’ usual. 

“Where’s Troy and the boys, anyway?” Shane asked casually as he settled a Guinness down for Harris. He was worried he’d be shut down immediately, just like Ilya had done countless times before, but Harris had an answer. 

“They have a chapter in Montreal, so they go there. Lots of boring meetings, is all I know.” Harris took a swig of his beer, and Shane could feel his eyes sizing him up when he nodded along to the information. He didn’t expect the next reply. 

“Ilya will be back this weekend.” 

Shane shot his head up, his eyes widening a fraction larger. Harris was smiling away at him in amusement, all while Shane was trying to smother the panic blossoming in his chest. 

He didn’t realize they had been so…obvious. Or had people been talking? Is this why Ilya kept pushing him away? Had Shane been too obvious? Too pushy? 

“Just…wondering when our most loyal customers will be returning.” Shane sucked at playing things off, and maybe that was his Autism talking. He had to turn away completedly and pretend that he was rearranging glasses. His chest felt tight with worry, and he had to wipe the sweat on his apron, or he’d end up rubbing between his pecs to self-sooth the impending panic attack. 

Harris didn’t continue the conversation. Shane turned back once his nerves were dampened, but the man was already off talking to other women with ‘property of’ jackets. 

The weekend loomed closer and closer. It was Thursday night, and Shane expected another lonely night of socializing and pouring drinks. But then the door to the bar opened to reveal unmistakable tattoos and a thick moustache. 

Pete, or Peter. Whoever it was. He walked in with a few of his friends. He hadn’t shown his face since Ilya had spoken to him a couple of nights ago. But it seemed he realized Ilya had left, and the bar was free of the leader's presence. 

He continued to stare Shane down from across the bar, but he kept his distance. Wherever Shane went, the man’s eyes followed like they were stalking prey. It was exactly what Ilya had done during Shane’s first few shifts, but this felt different. 

This felt wrong. 

But he couldn’t voice his own paranoia. This man was just starry-eyed and full of anger from Ilya cock-blocking him. 

“Shane, right?” 

Shane flinched out of his daze. The man he was just thinking about was now staring back at him from the other side of the counter. Shane had been cleaning the same glass for five minutes. 

“Yeah, hi! Uh, Pete?” 

Pete smiled, a soft laugh passing his lips as his moustache curled across his face. He was holding an empty beer, probably just being nice and handing it back instead of leaving it at the table. He continued to laugh, his rose hand coming up to scratch at his chin. 

“What’s so funny?” Shane asked, taking the bait. 

“Just happy you remembered my name,” Pete shrugged. It was a very sweet response, one that should’ve had Shane melting. But he felt immune to this man’s flirting now, and all he could do was nervously laugh. 

“Yeah, well, you’re easy to remember.” Shane gestured to the tattoos, but instantly regretted his words. That definitely sounded like he was flirting back. 

And Pete’s smile softened, his eyes sparked. It was a look of desire, one Shane had seen in Ilya before he asked if he could kiss him.

Shane grabbed Pete’s empty beer glass and occupied himself by putting it in their empty’s bin. He cursed himself in his head. 

“So you gonna take me up on my offer?” 

Shane was facing away from Pete, so he allowed his eyes to close for a split second with defeat. He had walked himself into this.

“I’m working a lot, I don’t think I can, Pete.” 

Shane wishes he had the guts to tell him to fuck off. But he fucking hated confrontation; his social skills weren’t the best.

He heard Pete shuffle in his chair. Shane refused to turn.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be here.” 

Shane nodded and listened to the scrape of the stool and the retreating thumps of Pete’s boots on the floor. Once the sounds of the bar flooded back into the atmosphere, Shane allowed himself to breathe. 

When he turned back around, Harris was staring right at him with concern. Shane was too cowardly to hold the gaze, instead turning his chin down and walking out into the kitchen. He felt weak. 

It shouldn’t be this difficult to deny a man. But Shane knew this Pete guy wasn't just any man. He was dealing with a gang; he was in an environment that was swarmed with men who had done terrible things and shed blood for their people. He didn’t know who this Pete guy was, but if Ilya had warned him away from him, that was enough to concern him.

Pete had come in on Friday night as well.

Shane held his breath as the man walked into the bar, all skulls and roses and cologne. He shared a glance Shane’s way, and gave him a soft smile before walking past him to his friends. 

That was good. Shane could deal with distant looks and passive grins. 

The night continued like that. Pete never came up to ask for beer; it was usually one of his friends who gave Shane attention. He kept space between them, and Shane felt it was easier to breathe.

He left, too. Along with all the other customers at the end of the night. The rumble of motorcycles and the shine of their headlights danced across the bar from the front windows to signal their departure. Shane was alone.

As Shane did the dishes and cleaned the bar, he shamed himself. Maybe he was being too dramatic. Pete had been shooting his shot, and that was it. He had gathered the disinterest from Shane and moved on. There didn’t have to be any theatrics surrounding it, as Shane had pictured.

The last dish was done, and he blinked sleepily at the clock at the top of the back door. 3 am. It was time for bed.

Collecting his things and shrugging on his jacket, Shane did his usual routine of turning off the lights of the bar. He loved this part, even though it was scary to see his workplace blanketed in complete darkness except for the emergency lights; it was beautiful to him.

He took one last scan of the bar, then turned off the lights to the kitchen and made his way outside.

He stopped in his tracks immediately.

First, he saw the motorcycle beside his car. It was like a ghost in the night, the darkness of its paint blending into the shadows. The parking lot lights shone across the fuel tank and handles, the rims glimmered and called to him.

Then he saw the man leaning on his trunk. Moustache, large form, leather jacket. Pete.

Shane swallowed down the panic; his skin buzzed with anxiety. He felt trapped; there was no way out but towards his car, and Pete knew that.

‘Don’t assume the worst, just act normal,’ the little voice in his head soothed him. It was enough for him to find his footing and begin to walk over.

Pete flicked ashes off his cigarette, his eyes dragging down Shane’s form as he smiled. As Shane grew closer, he shifted off his trunk and walked to the side of his car instead.

“I thought you left?” Shane asked, because that’s all he could come up with right now.

Pete shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette. The smoke billowed in the air and hung there in a white cloud between them. It reminded Shane of the space they still had. 

“Mm, yeah. But I needed to tell you in person how shit your car looks.” 

Shane let out a surprised laugh, not expecting the response. It was funny, because he expected to be cornered right away. Maybe this guy wasn’t that bad. 

“Yeah, well, it gets me home, that’s all that matters. I don’t have the money for a Harley, or the license.” Shane gestured to Pete’s motorcycle, trying not to stare too long at it. 

“You know…” Pete drugged out his words, his smile growing mischievous. “I could still take you on a ride. Take you home on a nice bike instead of a beat up…uh…” 

“Mazda.” Shane corrected, as if it mattered. His heart was in his throat.

“Mazda. It’s an interesting colour too, gold?” 

“I can’t go for a ride with you, Pete, I’m sorry. I work tomorrow, and I don’t wanna leave my car here overnight.” 

“I’ll pick you up. I’d be happy to-“ 

“No.” 

Shane hated how the frustration grew in his voice. Pete looked taken aback slightly, his brows raising before his lips thinned and disappeared behind his moustache. Shane felt numb; he wanted to take it back, but another part of him felt the need to stand his ground. 

But they were all alone in this parking lot at 3 am. Just them and the street lamps spotlighted down upon their heads, waiting for the next scene to play out.

Shane tried not to stiffen when Pete walked closer to him. The man veered off to stand near his bike, and Shane sidestepped to get closer to his door handle. He hated that he didn’t have the newer cars that took one press of a button to unlock the doors; he had to insert a key and turn. He didn’t know if he would stop shaking long enough to follow through.

Pete was petting the handles of his bike. Now that Shane was closer, he could see a red stripe down the middle of the fuel tank, right below the Harley-Davidson symbol. 

“It’s a shame, I really fucking want to see you on my bike.” Pete’s hand brushed down the bike towards the seat, then promptly turned around and walked into Shane’s space.

Shane hated that he put his hands up, but that was the only self-defence he had. Pete didn’t care, and his movements never showed any aggression, but they were persistent to the point that Shane’s back was pressed against his car door. Their noses were inches apart. Pete smelled like Ilya, but there was a dankness to it that made Shane's nose twitch. 

“You’d look really, really fucking good on my bike, baby.” 

Shane shook his head and gulped. When he found his voice, it was barely audible. 

“I-I gotta get home, Pete.” 

Pete searched his face; his pupils were dilated and moving all over every inch of Shane. Dark eyes scraped down his cheeks, his eyes, his brows, and his nose. 

They ended at his lips. 

“You’re a really hard one to catch, you know that?” 

Then Pete leaned forward, and Shane put his hands to use; they lightly pushed at Pete’s chest to force him to stumble backwards. He dodged the kiss by lowering his head and turning towards his car as well, just for good measure.

It didn’t stop him from noticing the flash of hurt over Pete’s face. The man allowed Shane’s hands to push him back, and finally, there was room to breathe again. 

“I’m sorry. I’m tired, and I just want to go home.” Shane kept apologizing; he tried to tame the shakiness in his hands as he attempted once, twice, and three times to get the key in the hole. It was the fourth time that he was able to unlock his car door. Shane practically fell into the vehicle once it was open.

Pete watched from his bike, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

Shane refused to look at him. He turned the key and started his car, practically peeling out of the parking lot. 

The entire ride home, his eyes kept flickering towards his rearview mirror, expecting to see a singular beaming headlight and the thunder of a motorcycle following him home. 

The streets were bare.

-

Plush lips and shaking hands. The blur of rose and skull covered hands gliding down his body and grabbing at the front of his briefs. They cup and squeeze him perfectly, his thighs shaking with the need for skin on skin. There was a hot breath on his cheeks, and tickled across his freckles and nose. Shane’s mouth watered. 

When he looks up to meet the eyes of his lover, Ilya Rozanov stares down at him with twinkling eyes.

“You gonna cum for me, Hollander?” 

Shane gasps awake, rock hard and panting into his pillow. He groaned when reality hit him, and made sure to smother his hardened cock into the mattress for a sliver of satisfaction. 

He had made it home without any incident, but the adrenaline continued to course through his veins. He barely got any sleep, and when he did, he dreamed of a Frankenstein monster mangled into a mash-up of Pete and Ilya.  

He wanted to throw up, but he gulped it down and focused on his surroundings. The smell of bacon hit his nostrils, and light chatter from the kitchen. Hayden must have Jacki over.

So he got up on shaky legs and rushed to the washroom, where he had the coldest shower he could take. He was a shivering, soft mess by the time he was done. Shane refused to look at himself in the mirror when he got out of the shower, knowing he’d be ashamed of who he was staring at. He could picture the shadows under his eyes and the dryness of his lips. 

Shrugging on a Fleetwood Mac shirt and some sweatpants, he finally showed his face. By that point, Hayden and Jacki were eating BLTs at the kitchen counter and chatting softly. He had a hand around her waist when Shane entered, and didn’t retract it when he noticed Shane’s arrival.

“Hey, buddy! Jesus, you look like you need like, eight more hours of sleep.” 

Jacki was smiling kindly at him, Shane always liked her. Hayden was a bit of a prick sometimes, which was why they fought. 

“Yeah, I’m still getting used to everything, I guess,” he grabbed a piece of bacon and munched on it. It was too undercooked, and he grimaced.

“Jacki and I are going to one of the motorcycle shows downtown, so you’ll have the house to yourself.” Shane nodded silently to Hayden’s words, and he hated that his response caused Hayden and Jacki to share a concerned look.

“You okay, Hollzy?” 

With a forced smile, he nodded and opened the fridge so they had to stare at his back instead. “Yeah, yeah! Have fun at the…motorcycle show. Just don’t come home with anything.” Shane’s joke landed, and both Jacki and Hayden laughed. It caused them to banter about Hayden’s bad purchases and motorcycle obsessions, which allowed Shane to separate himself from the conversation and make up his own plate of food.

It was three pieces of bacon and an apple, but that’s all he could stomach right now. He planned to sleep the rest of the day until his shift later on. 

Because tonight, Ilya was supposed to be back. 

-

Shane pulled into the parking lot ten minutes before his shift. It was already dark outside, and he zeroed in on the row of motorcycles lining the front of the bar like they always did. He never knew which one was Ilya’s, and usually the man didn’t come in until later into his shift, but the sight of them still squeezed his chest. 

And he couldn’t help but search for one that had a red stripe of paint, but he couldn’t see any. That was good. 

Hayden wasn’t working today, thank God. He didn’t want to humiliate himself more in his friend's presence. The place was still bustling with staff since it was a weekend. How Hayden got it off, Shane didn’t know. 

The routine began. He took some orders and cleaned glasses as he went. Every few minutes, he’d take a look at the crowd and search for curly blonde hair and the Centaur's patch, but there was no sign of him. 

But then the gang slowly appeared. Harris walked in first, and Troy was hanging off of him and kissing his cheek as they stumbled into the bar. They looked good together, and happy. Wyatt was seen next. The man was friendly with people as he made his rounds around the tables. Eventually he made it to the back with Troy and a few other boys. 

Finally, Ilya walked in, and he was a sight to behold. 

He didn’t have his usual long-sleeved leather jacket on this time; instead, it was a leather vest with a few emblems on the front that Shane couldn’t quite see. It was far too cold for that kind of attire, but how could Shane complain when Ilya’s biceps were on full display? 

But in all his glory, he didn’t look at Shane once. His eyes were set forward with determination shining in them as he stomped down the bar. Shane watched him walk through all the grinning people, dodging slaps on the shoulder and greetings while he turned and shouldered into the kitchen. That definitely wasn’t his usual route, and Shane glanced towards Ilya’s group at the back and was surprised to see they were just as concerned. 

Troy was the one who got up, and he settled a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder to keep him seated. They exchanged words before Troy followed Ilya’s trail into the kitchen. 

Shane didn’t move from his place behind the bar. He wanted to go back there and check what was happening, but he knew that was pushing boundaries. He had a job to do, and Rose proved that by jabbing him in the ribs to focus on pouring more beers for a table. 

He managed to force the concerns to the back of his mind for approximately two minutes before a loud crash and a muffled ‘blyat’ rang through the walls and into the bar. 

The conversations lowered, and people looked around with concern. Wyatt got up and walked into the kitchen next, and Shane couldn’t help but catch his eye. 

“What the fuck is happening back there?” Rose asked. She was craning her neck to look into the narrow window, but Wyatt’s form was blocking anyone from peeking inside. 

Shane could see a body pacing back and forth in the kitchen, and then the door opened as some of the staff walked out awkwardly. They had wide eyes, and when one of them, Jonathan, met Shane’s gaze, Shane took that as an opportunity to ask. 

“What’s going on?” 

Jonathan shuffled closer to him and leaned against the back of the bar. His greasy hands stuffed themselves into the pockets of his stained apron, and he shook his head.

“Rozanov is losing it in there. He went into Wiebe’s office, we heard a crash, some Russian, and then his buddies were corralling us out the door.” 

So many possibilities could cause Ilya’s reaction, but Shane couldn’t help but selfishly think of last night’s situation with Pete. He hated that it made him scared that Ilya would drag him out back and force him to explain. But why would Ilya care that much, especially when he had pulled away from him countless times before? 

They were all crowded into the back of the bar, waiting impatiently for Ilya’s fit to end. A few more crashes echoed from the kitchen, and then there was silence. 

Ilya appeared first. His eyes were licking with fire in them, biceps twitching as he ran both hands through his hair and tugged at his locks roughly. He looked rattled, his breathing coming out in short tufts. 

Then Shane flinched when Ilya’s eyes suddenly snapped towards him. They looked at one another, holding a stare with so much to unpack, before Ilya lurched back into motion and stomped off to the back of the bar towards the basement. 

Wyatt came out next, nodding silently at the staff. Then Troy waltzed out, looking stern as he told the staff they could head back inside. Now Shane was back alone at the bar, flustered and aching. 

Troy was still watching the staff wander back into the kitchen, so with the last sliver of bravery he had left, Shane walked forward and tried to speak with him.

“Troy wha-“ 

He barely got one word out before Troy shook his head at him.

“Not now, Shane. Just…not now.” Then he was walking off to follow Ilya down into the basement.

And how could he focus on anything but this moment as he worked? Rose attempted to make conversation, throwing him a bone with drama at her second job. But he would space out after a couple of sentences, Shane’s eyes always landing on the basement door.

The booth was empty; by now, all of Ilya’s friends were crowded downstairs with him. Maybe he was throwing more things around down there and swearing until his heart's content. At least no one would hear him. Or more importantly, at least Shane wouldn’t.

He didn’t bother to stay in the bar long once they closed. No one from the basement returned to the main floor when the clock struck 3 am, and Shane had no choice but to walk out the back door with more questions than answers. 

He hated how his skin ran cold, a full-body shiver blanketing over his skin when he stepped outside. When he zeroed in on his car, no moustached man was leaning against it, nor a black steed in the shadows begging to whisk him away. 

Shane passed the line of motorcycles and forced himself to keep his eyes forward and towards his car. He could see his tired reflection in the window, and it mocked him as he grew closer. 

- 

The next night, he expected the same treatment. The voices in his head told him he needed to move on, that this wasn’t going to work out. Ilya was a lost memory for him, something of the past. He was lucky he still had a job-no, he was lucky he was still alive. 

But something inside him knew Ilya wasn’t going to hurt him. He couldn’t explain it. 

There were two bartenders tonight, and Shane was stuck in the back doing dishes as they got brought to him. That was a good thing; it would allow him to disappear for a bit as he licked his wounds. Hayden was there as well; his friend consistently chatted him up even when they were busy. But Shane couldn’t complain; the conversations distracted him. 

But then there was a loud crash from the bar. Flashbacks blinded Shane’s mind as soon as he heard it. His brain reminded him of the last time he heard those noises, the blood, the fear. 

Everyone in the kitchen, including him, went rushing to the door. They flooded outside into the bar, and Shane had to shove his way to the front to get a better look. As he did so, a man was shouting and gurgling. 

It took a moment for Shane to register what he was looking at. There was a streak of blood already stained across the bar's floor. It started at the front door and ended at the feet of the man who had been flirting with him for days now, Pete. 

He was trying to fight back, but his eyes were swollen, and blood was drooling out of his mouth. A rose-covered hand clawed at Ilya’s leather sleeve, Pete’s skull hand attempting to throw another fist at Ilya’s stomach. 

That earned him a heavy-booted kick to the ribs and a stream of profanity in Russian. Pete rocked backward onto the floor, sprawling and coughing in pain. 

People were rushing out; it was like a stampede as a blur of bodies bounded towards the front door. Many people looked more annoyed than anything, and their chins turned in disgust at the mess. 

“Everyone get the fuck out!” Wyatt yelled with his form tall and towering over everyone as he stood on a chair in the middle of the bar. The kitchen staff began to make their way back into the kitchen as well, but Shane couldn’t move; he was frozen in place. 

He couldn’t look away. His eyes tracked Ilya’s fists as they connected with Pete’s head in three quick punches. Blood sprayed, something cracked. 

There was a hand on his shoulder; someone was attempting to get him into the kitchen. He flinched away from it, towards Ilya. 

And then, as if feeling Shane’s movements, Ilya slowly looked up from his stance looking down at Pete. His eyes were dark and feral, and speckles of blood lay in a pattern that blended in with the moles across his face. As the edges of Shane’s vision began to blur, Ilya wiped at his cheek with the back of one hand.

“Shane.” 

He flinched again, and suddenly Harris was in focus. He was saying something to someone from behind him, and then his focus was back on Shane. 

“You’re having a panic attack.” 

There was a response on the tip of his tongue, some kind of denial. But he couldn’t form words between his quickened breaths. 

Oh. 

Harris was fast and efficient. He grabbed Shane’s arms and pulled him into the kitchen. They bypassed the concerned kitchen staff, weaving around kitchen equipment, and then finishing in the staff bathroom. 

Black dots danced in Shane’s vision; he tried to blink them away. They stayed, and he sobbed. 

He cried, and cried some more. He was confused, and scared, and so fucking tired. The guilt ate away at him almost immediately. Pete looked unrecognizable on the floor of the bar, and he begged and pleaded for Ilya to stop. 

And the way Ilya looked at him was like he was a prize, as if he had won. 

“Shane! Shane, I need you to breathe. I’m not having you pass out on this bathroom floor.” Harris’ voice desperately reached out to him, and Shane tried his hardest to hold onto it. 

A hand was on his shoulder, and it squeezed him hard. It hurt, but that was a good thing. The pain anchored him back down to Earth. 

Like a slowly deflating helium balloon, he floated down to the ground. The transition from full-blown panic attack to regular breathing wasn’t at all graceful, but Shane soaked in the buzz on his skin and the wet tears across his cheeks. 

“Listen to me very closely, Shane.” Harris’s voice was clearer now, and Shane’s eyes connected with his. Harris was crouched in front of him, from where he was curled up in the dirty corner. Shane’s body was pressed between the toilet and the wall, and he should be in extreme discomfort, but his body still felt numb. 

Shane nodded despite everything. 

Harris’s stare was very serious. 

“I need you to understand that this is exactly what you’re signing up for.” 

Shane shook his head in confusion, and his lips moved, but only a whine fell out. 

Harris continued; he never once broke eye contact with him. 

“Ilya. This bar. The Centaurs. I’ve seen you with him, the way you look at each other. That’s how I looked at Troy, that’s how he looked at me.” 

Shane sucked in a shaky breath, and Harris gripped his shoulder and shook him lightly. 

“You’re his, he’s yours. If you don’t want this, you have to tell him right fucking now, or he’s gonna burn the world for you. I swear to you, Shane.” 

The words sank in one by one. Flashes of fire with Ilya standing in the middle of it all. That beautiful face looked at him like he’d murder everyone and everything around him just moments ago. Shane knows he loved the feeling of that same stare, and he hated how his chest squeezed even when Ilya acted like this. 

This was what Harris meant. This was the point of no return, the fork in the road. He had two options: to walk away or to run towards him. 

“I-I need to go home. I need to think.” Shane barely recognized his own voice. It was quiet inside the crowded bathroom. Harris’s face fell, but he wasn’t disappointed. The man looked understanding but tired.

“Someone needs to drive you home,” Harris replied in a soft, motherly tone. Shane clung to it. 

“I can-” 

“No, Shane. You’re still shaking like a leaf. I’ll see if Hayden is still here, okay?” And then, before Shane could object, Harris was standing up and walking out of the bathroom. 

Now Shane was forced to stare at the empty, disgusting washroom. The grout was coated in dirt, and the toilet seat was way too close to him. He took a deep breath and shakily attempted to get up. It took two more tries, and he almost fell into the toilet bowl, but he made it on two feet enough to stumble into the sink. 

His eyes were rimmed red, cheeks shining with tears. With trembling hands, he managed to steady himself enough to wash his hands and then wipe at the remaining tears. Shane didn’t know why he checked for splatters of blood across his face and shirt, as if Ilya had beaten the man right over him. 

Was Pete even still alive? 

No, he couldn’t think of that. For his own sanity, he shoved that toxic thought away and focused on getting himself upright. His palms were sweaty, so they slipped on the porcelain sink. The world spun again. 

“Shane!” He gasped at the sudden loud voice. Harris’s body appeared in the reflection as he held himself up. Then Hayden came into view, his friend looking extremely concerned. 

“You’re okay, buddy, we’re getting you home.” Hayden soothed as they slowly walked him out of the bathroom. The kitchen lights were too bright, and there were so many eyes on him as he was carried out. Shane’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and it gave him the motivation to catch his feet beneath him enough that he could stand on his own. 

“-him home. He needs water and rest.” Harris said something to Hayden that Shane couldn’t quite catch amongst the fog in his brain. As they talked, Shane shrugged their hands off of him and began slowly making his way to Hayden’s car. 

His feet dragged below him, and the moon brightened the night sky when he looked up at it. When he swayed dangerously, he dipped his chin back down in front of him. But he couldn’t help himself; his eyes had to stare at those motorcycles before he left. To see them shine under the moonlight. 

He almost fell on his face when Ilya stared back at him. The man was leaning against what was presumably his bike, and his eyes were already locked onto Shane. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and a bloody hand came up to pluck it from them so he could exhale the smoke into the air. 

It was fucking beautiful.

Chapter End Notes

Comment and let me know your thoughts! Even a heart will do!

Next chapter will be a lovely 10k and I'm stoked. It's done and only needs some editing.

See you next weekend!

Chapter 3: the worst in me

Chapter Notes

Chapter 3 babyyyyy!

Title is from Guide Light by Wisp.

Poor Shane, that's all I'm gonna say. Enjoy!

“Shane…” 

Hayden’s voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. Slowly, Shane resurfaced from his dreamless sleep. His eyes cracked open, still swollen and tender, and his head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as he attempted to lift it off his pillow.

His room was dark, and only a sliver of light broke through his curtains. It guided him right to Hayden’s form standing at his door and looking very concerned.

Once their eyes met, Hayden brought it upon himself to enter further into his space.

“You gotta eat something, and I got you another water on your nightstand. Can you, like, move and tell me you’re alive?” 

Shane shook his head no as his response. His head thunked back into the pillow, and he hoped to suffocate himself.

The bed dipped, and Shane cracked his eyes back open to tell Hayden to fuck off, but then his friend was fully squishing onto the mattress with him. 

“Not now, Hayd’s…please,” Shane croaked out, but shuffled back to give Hayden room to lie down beside him anyway. 

Now they were staring at each other, curled into the bed with heads on pillows. Shane had never seen Hayden so worried before. 

“You really had to pick the one and only guy I can’t fuck up for you, huh?” Hayden joked half-heartedly, and it earned him a twitch of a smile from Shane. But it quickly fell apart, and the frown was back.

“I don’t know what to do,” Shane furrowed his brow. He could feel the headache looming. 

Hayden didn’t have an answer to that, either. It was entirely up to him what he did and did not do.

“I need you to understand that this is exactly what you’re signing up for.” 

Harris’s eyes haunted Shane. The hardness in them, and the horrors they have seen. It didn’t look like it had been the first time Harris had given that talk to someone before, and that made Shane shiver.

This wasn’t what Shane should want, but his mind and body yearned for Ilya like nothing before. With each punch Ilya threw for him, it made his heart burst. And his lips pulsed with the need to feel them against Ilya’s again.

He wanted the ‘property of’ jacket. He daydreamed about the letters sewn onto his back spelling out Rozanov, to be untouchable, to be solely Ilya’s.

“Would you hate me if I still wanted to be with him?” Shane asked. It was the most he’s talked in hours, and his voice felt scratchy and sore.

Hayden shifted closer, his cheek squishing harder into the pillow as he shook his head. Shane wasn’t sure if it was out of disappointment or if it was to answer his question.

“You know I’ll be here for you no matter what…just…” Hayden trailed off, his eyes growing distant as he thought of his next words carefully. Shane held his breath.

“I feel really fucking responsible for putting you in this situation, and I’m apologizing now before this gets any worse. I’m really sorry, man.” 

If he had any energy left, Shane would’ve hugged Hayden. Instead, he lifted a heavy hand and patted his friend's bicep.

“I chose this…and I still choose it,” Shane reassured, but Hayden still looked pained. 

There was a long pause as they both soaked in the exchange. They had been friends ever since they were young boys, and Shane remembers when they dreamed of being famous hockey players who travelled the world. They’d get in trouble for shooting pucks at Hayden’s parents’ garage all the time. 

But dreams change, life gets in the way. Hayden met Jacki and moved away, then got into motorcycles. Now Shane was here and doing the same thing, dreaming of a certain Russian man instead of playing hockey.

“I really want to be with him, Hayd’s,” Shane confessed, his voice wobbling. 

“Okay,” Hayden answered, his friend slowly getting off his bed and shaking off the sentiment. He was back to his goofy self, and Hayden grinned down wildly at Shane with his hands on his hips. 

“Tomorrow, we’re going in. No more lying around. You gotta get your ass out of this bed and go get him!” 

Shane hid his smirk into the pillow. 

-

When he got to work, all eyes were on him. 

The kitchen staff side-eyed him as they worked, and he swallowed the discomfort. There was an urge to apologize to all these people, but then he shook his head and almost laughed to himself. 

This wasn’t his doing; this was Ilya’s fault. Ilya had tornadoed through the kitchen like a maniac. Shane could only imagine what he looked like. His panic attack could’ve easily been due to Ilya’s rampage, and that was something he never needed to apologize for. 

So he held his head high and continued with his shift. No one bugged him, not even Hayden, who was flipping burgers on the grill. Rose was with him at the bar, and even she barely spoke to him. Her tone was careful with him, as if he would break into smithereens. It didn’t make Shane feel any better, but he kept repeating to himself that no one else's reactions mattered but…his. 

Ilya walked into the bar as if nothing had happened. His chin was held high, and his eyes were locked forward while he strutted to the back of the bar. He received some pats on the shoulder and greetings from brave customers, but other than that, he wasn’t bothered. 

Wyatt and Troy came in next. They spent more time chatting with the crowds, and eventually gravitated to Ilya’s booth. No one made their move to go to the bar, so Shane put it upon himself to go to them. That was his job, anyway. 

Ilya’s gaze followed him all the way to the booth, and his expression was unreadable. But Shane could see the way he was attempting to analyze Shane’s demeanour, the way his eyes dragged across his body from his feet to his eyes. 

“The usual?” Shane asked, only looking towards Wyatt and Troy. 

“Double shot of vodka for me,” Ilya chirped up. Shane had no choice but to look at him now. Once their eyes met, Ilya’s lips parted with interest. 

“Okay, coming right up,” Shane broke the contact and walked away. He could feel Ilya’s eyes on his back like a hot iron. The heat was intense and consistent, and his body was already sweating. 

Ilya’s eyes never left him the rest of the night. Glued to Shane’s every movement, no matter what Shane did, he knew Ilya was watching. And whenever Shane managed to sneak a glance over to the man, he noticed Ilya was never engaging with his friends' conversations. Troy and Wyatt would be hollering about something with the other boys, always laughing or teasing someone, but Ilya’s expression was consistently the same. Focused, calculated, and serious, with a cigarette occasionally hugged between his lips. 

The world moved around Shane like a thick fog as the hours ticked by, and people slowly began to leave. The rumble of motorcycles departing grew more consistent, and then, finally, it was once again just Shane and Ilya. 

Shane thought about avoiding Ilya. He battled with the idea of turning his back on him and walking into the kitchen. But this was what the old Shane would do, the one before all these feelings fell into place. Now, he needed to show he could be dominant too. It was now or never; this was what Ilya was waiting for. 

He cleaned off the counter and made Ilya wait. Gathering glasses, reorganizing the liquor on the shelves. Even though he was dying to confront him, Shane knew he needed to be strong. He needed to gain control of whatever this was. Ilya couldn’t hold the reins. 

When the last whisky bottle was placed back on the shelf, Shane made his way over to Ilya’s booth. Smoke billowed in a thick cloud around it, all of it swallowing Ilya’s form that was still slumped on the booth. There were still empty beer bottles littered across the table, and Ilya’s vodka glass. 

To play with Ilya more, Shane looked him right in the eyes as he grabbed for the bottles and the glass and walked away from him again. He had a job to do. 

He heard a snort from behind him as he walked away. Ilya was amused. 

But then there was nothing else to clean, now it was just him and Ilya and the swirling cigarette smoke surrounding them. Shane walked back up to him and stood at Ilya’s side. 

“What do you want from me?” Shane asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

Ilya sucked hard on his cigarette and then retracted it. With all the swagger in the world, he slowly looked up through his lashes at Shane’s towering form. 

“Everything.” Ilya answered simply. 

Shane blinked at him. That could mean a thousand things; it could be malicious or loving. He was tired of the vagueness. 

“You need to tell me, or I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.” Shane snapped; the frustration couldn’t be contained. Why was Ilya beating men into the ground after they flirted with him? Only then speak to him in riddles. The rollercoaster of obsession to nonchalance was killing him. 

Ilya gave him a long, tentative look. 

“You are scared of me,” he observed as he placed his cigarette on the side of the ashtray. “That is good.” 

Shane was shocked at how loud he laughed in response. The outburst made Ilya raise a brow. 

“I’m fucking not,” Shane swears, stepping forward. 

Ilya continues as if Shane wasn’t even there, as if Shane wasn’t dying inside. 

“No. Is good. I am a bad person, and you needed to see that.” 

“Why?” Shane asks without pause. Now Ilya is more alert, and Shane watches as Ilya shuffles closer to the end of the booth. He then proceeds to lean with his elbows on the table, staring up at Shane with pity.

“Because you want to ride my bike. You stare at it with those pretty Bambi eyes. I know those looks, and those looks cause trouble.” 

Shane hung on every word, and he didn’t realize he was gravitating toward Ilya as well. Shane was leaning on the table, his hand ghosting Ilya’s as they hovered close to each other. Neither of them crossed the line yet.

But Shane could smell the cigarette on Ilya’s breath, and the desperation grew inside him in a rageful infestation. 

“What if I like trouble?” Shane asked innocently, their lips were dangerously close. It was clear to Shane now, as he stared at the sparkles in Ilya's eyes, that there was no turning back now.

“You don’t.” Ilya answered for him. But then they were crashing together. 

In a frenzy of groping and squeezing, Shane somehow found himself on Ilya’s lap, shoved into the booth. Ilya’s hands were everywhere: on his ass, biceps, waist, and chest. Shane could barely keep up, and eventually he ended up cupping the back of Ilya’s neck and lightly tugging at the curls across his nape.

It was hot between them, and Shane could feel the heat between his thighs. Ilya was already rock hard, and he couldn’t help but pant into the other man’s mouth between wet kisses and tangled tongues. 

Shane had just gotten a hand under Ilya’s shirt when the front doors to the bar flung open.

“Roz, we’ve gotta-“ 

It was Wyatt, and the man had zero awareness of anything when he walked inside. He was focused on the parking lot, and when he whipped his head back around, his sentence was cut short by the sight.

Quickly, Shane threw himself off of Ilya, and he sheepishly wiped the back of his hand over his mouth to dry his spit-covered lips. Shane couldn’t look at Wyatt, a thick blush tinting his cheeks. 

“This is why you fucking look before you come inside, Hayes,” Ilya scorns. But while he spoke, he shifted a hand under the table to squeeze Shane’s knee. 

Now Shane looked up, and he was surprised to see Wyatt attempting to hide the grin on his face as he flickered his gaze between the two of them. 

“We gotta go, sorry for interrupting,” Wyatt said his piece and then happily turned on his heels and walked out of the bar. Once the door closed, they were once again bathed in silence.

Ilya looked wrecked. His curls were tangled together in a mop on his head from Shane tugging and combing his fingers through them. His lips were also rosy and plump, and he licked at them softly as their eyes met.

“That was so fucking hot,” Shane breathed out. Ilya’s thumb rubbed circles into his knee in agreement.

But he had to go, and Shane could see the battle within Ilya as he stared into Shane’s soul. It was obvious he wanted to stay and continue, but duty calls.

“The one day I need to go, and I have a pretty boy on my lap.” Ilya sighs with pity and squeezes Shane’s knee. Before he gets up, he leans forward slowly. It allowed Shane to lean in as well, and they met in the middle with a delicate kiss.

“Forgive me?” Ilya whispers across Shane’s lips as the tips of their noses brush together. 

Shane hesitated, because they really did need to talk. Their conversations couldn’t keep ending in bloody fists or spit-covered lips. But he couldn’t stop Ilya from going; he couldn’t stop Ilya from doing anything.

So he hums in approval, and couldn’t help but steal another kiss before Ilya hoisted himself out of the booth and made his way to the front door.

He turned midway and was walking backwards, a large smile spreading across his face until his back hit the door. Shane stayed where he was and allowed himself to be looked at.

Disappearing into the night, Ilya exited with the rumble of his motorcycle. 

Shane sat and listened until he couldn’t hear it anymore. Only then did he touch his lips and smile.

-

The next day, Shane didn’t work. He had actually been scheduled off, and he hated how he couldn’t handle being away. 

Their kiss left Shane’s lips vibrating with want. He couldn’t stop running his fingertips over his bottom lip; the desire to feel something against them again was killing him. 

And they way Ilya’s strong thighs and capable hands kept him in place on his lap. How Ilya’s stomach rippled under Shane’s touch during the split second of contact before they were interrupted. Shane wanted to feel Ilya’s fuzzy happy trail again; he wanted to nuzzle into it and lose control.

These dirty thoughts came with a rock-hard problem below his waist. The moment Shane woke up, he had been hard. He tried to take another cold shower, but it did nothing to flag the ache.

The only way to get rid of it was to get off. Shane ended up stomping into his room and throwing his towel onto his bed. When it was stretched out evenly across the mattress, he got to work, grabbing his supplies.

The supplies included his dildo; the long, black silicone cock was stuffed into the back of his nightstand. He had to shuffle through notebooks and loose resumes until finally curling his fingers around the base. The lube bottle wasn’t far away either.

Frantically, as his skin pulsed and his cock throbbed, he shuffled onto his side upon the towel. He had this down to a science. He knew what position knocked at his prostate the most, and what made him cum in a toe-curling whimper. He needed to feel that today.

It had been a while since he played with himself in that area. He had to set aside the dildo and drizzle lube on his fingers. Once they were fully coated, he breathed through the stretch as he fingered himself. It felt good, but not nearly as satisfying as the dildo…or, of course, the real thing.

Shane buried his head into the pillows, a huff passing his lips as he refocused on the task at hand. He pumped harder and scissored more frequently until he was loose enough to group three fingers inside himself. 

When he was satisfied enough, or more, he couldn’t take it any longer, Shane ripped his fingers out and scrambled for the lube and dildo. His hands were shaking as they got to work on drowning the silicon in lube; his hole was pulsing and hungry as he stared at the girth of the toy.

Readjusting his position, Shane kept one elbow on the bed to push himself up as he continued to lie on his side. His knees curled further up while he made sure to arch his ass to get himself better access. 

Then he reached behind himself and toyed with his hole. As soon as the hard tip of the dildo breached it, Shane closed his eyes and moaned. He imagined how Ilya would do it with him, how he’d probably tease the tip across his entrance, then torture him more by inserting just the head in and out.

Following those movements, Shane shook and writhed. His imagination was running wild.

“Put it in me, please, I need it,” Shane whispered into thin air, the imaginary Ilya towering over him and giving him that wicked grin. His hand finally sheathed the fake cock fully inside of him, and Shane moaned loudly at the overwhelming feeling of being filled.

He kept the cock fully inside as he rocked his ass back on his hand. His thighs were already shaking as they kept themselves curled towards his stomach, and dirty words were hanging at the tip of his tongue.

He wanted to tell Ilya how good he was to him, how magnificent it felt to be so full with his cock. Reality had become warped in the middle of his lust, and the embarrassment was forgotten.

“Make me cum, fuck!” Shane lifted one knee to spread his ass apart, his hand pounding the fake cock harder into his hole. He panted along with the heavy squelching noises, and finally, the orgasm began to roll in his gut.

Chasing it, he didn’t slow down. His prostate was being abused against the silicon with each deep thrust. His arm and hand were getting tired, and the awkward angle of holding the dildo behind him was tiring. But Shane wouldn’t stop until the orgasm was fulfilled.

It came crashing down upon him in seconds. Only five more deep and fast thrusts sent him over the edge and spilling onto the towel below him. For good measure, he thrusted the dildo to the hilt inside of him and rolled his ass back.

“F-fuck Ilya,” he sobbed out. It was overstimulating quite quickly, and he let go of the dildo to slump boneless onto the bed. It slipped out as he rolled onto his back and panted towards the ceiling.

All sweaty and ruined, now was the time in his session when the guilt and embarrassment crept in. The images of Ilya disintegrated, and reality kicked him in the head.

How could he have fallen so quickly? 

-

Shane was giddy when he walked into work the next day. He tried to extinguish the anticipation that burned in his chest when he saw the line of motorcycles outside the bar as he pulled up. Even if none were Ilya’s, the simple look of them had his heart pumping. Ilya’s words rang in his head as he walked towards the back door and passed them. 

“Because you want to ride my bike. You stare at it with those pretty Bambi eyes. I know those looks, and those looks cause trouble.” 

Shane didn’t regret what he said afterward. He fought with the desire for so long, but the trouble was attractive to him. Ilya’s toxicity had an effect on him that sent his mind spiralling. 

It was back to normal in the kitchen as well; no one gave him stiff side glances or sidestepped away from him. Jonathan even greeted him when he walked in the door, and Hayden gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before he got called to get fries out of the fryer. 

Back to the bar he went, and Rose was also greeting him with a soft smile when she saw him enter. The bar wasn’t crazy busy, so they were able to exchange some small talk. She never once brought up Ilya or the situation, and maybe, finally, things were looking up. 

Harris walked in a few hours into his shift with Troy in tow. Ilya was nowhere to be found yet. He separated himself from Troy and made his way over to Shane’s side of the bar, and Shane couldn’t help but tense. 

“Hey,” he greeted first, because he needed to show his strength more than ever right now. 

Harris smiled his way and gave him a solid look. It was as if he were searching for fear. 

“How have you been?” Harris asked, leaning against the bar. 

“Uhm…really good, actually,” Shane replied with a genuine smile. It was the truth, and it felt good saying it. 

Harris didn’t look fully convinced, and his smile turned into a frown as he looked over Shane’s form. Harris nodded nonetheless and didn’t pry for details, instead moving on and asking for his usual beers. Shane was happy he didn’t have to deal with that.

It wasn’t long after that Ilya made an appearance. Walking like a dream, he made his way across the bar. This time, he looked right at Shane as he passed him. Their eyes met, and it was electrifying.

They couldn’t go further than that, not in public at least. Shane hoped the soft touches and slow kisses would still happen after the bar closed and everyone left. If Ilya was looking at him, that was a good sign. 

The night went well; Shane laughed and moved freely throughout the bar. He felt alive, and not like he was dragging his feet through molasses. This newfound confidence didn’t go unnoticed by Ilya, who continued to watch him the entire night like he always did.

And when the time came, Shane stood in the middle of the bar as people left. He waved goodbye to Harris and Troy, who were the last to leave, and as he heard the rev of the motorcycles, Ilya’s boots thumped towards him slowly.

Shane turned just as the motorcycle's headlights flashed across Ilya’s face. He looked beautiful among the yellow lights, and the blue flecks in his eyes twinkled.

The headlights began to flicker away as Troy and Harris peeled out of the parking lot, and as they dimmed and marked their alone time, Shane met Ilya in the middle for a deep kiss. 

They kissed for the rest of Shane’s shift. He didn’t get anything done. Ilya had backed him up onto the bar counter, Shane’s breath hitching every time Ilya’s hands roamed lower or squeezed harder. 

They were all over each other, and it was just the start. It became a routine to have a passionate makeout session somewhere in the bar. Whether that be with Shane propped up on a barstool with his legs wrapped around Ilya’s waist, or Shane sprawled over Ilya’s lap in the booth at the back. 

They even migrated to the kitchen. Shane would push Ilya away teasingly and tell him that he needed to get work done. He’d start the dishes, but wouldn’t be able to finish them before Ilya pressed himself behind him and kissed his neck. Shane would melt immediately, and he’d find himself sitting on one of the tables as Ilya stuck his tongue down his throat.

It was like a drug, the taste of Ilya. It tasted like cigarettes and vodka, and his mouth was always so hot and slick as he devoured Shane. Ilya knew every curve of his lips, how to make Shane moan into the kiss, where to lick inside his mouth to make him shiver. 

They were going through another night of heated kisses and heavy petting. Shane laughed into Ilya’s mouth because they had decided to make out right in front of the sink where he was doing dishes. Ilya was pressing him so hard into the sink that he was almost sure he was going to get tipped over into the soapy mess below.

“What is so funny? Hm?” Ilya breaks the kiss to ask, his lips swollen and slick. Shane stares up at him with a smile still plastered on his face.

“I’m gonna fall into the sink if you push me any harder!” Shane teases as he nods his head back to the sink behind him. His hands are still covered in soap, he’s wearing his greasy apron tied around his waist, and his shirt is rolled up to his elbows so the sleeves don’t get wet.

And he had a biker with a thigh between his legs and hands on his waist, staring at him like he was going to eat him whole.

Ilya surveys the situation and then decides to tighten his grip on Shane’s waist and tug him around to the other kitchen counter. Shane stumbles and gasps at the sudden movement, which causes him to hit the table harder than he would’ve liked. Some pans that were hung on the kitchen racks above the table shook and clattered.

“Fuck! Shh,” Shane shushes the air. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself, the pots, or Ilya. In response, Ilya gave him a raised brow.

“No one else is here. We can be as loud as we want,” Ilya smirked devilishly, and he leaned in to continue where they left off. But Shane was lost in his head. He imagined Wyatt or Troy, or god-forbid Wiebe, walking in on them. It happened before, and it could happen again.

He tried not to think of it too much, because he was in so much bliss these past couple of days. He didn’t want to ruin it with his anxiety, and he repeated to himself that if Ilya wasn’t worried, he shouldn’t be, either.

But the thought was invading his mind, and he couldn’t stop the embarrassment flooding his actions. 

“Where are you?” Ilya asks, leaning back from the one-sided kiss. He looks at Shane with concern, his eyes surveying Shane’s face to look for answers.

It doesn’t help Shane’s embarrassment, and he can’t look Ilya in the eye. He has to look down at his hand that was now resting limply on Ilya’s stomach. 

“M’fine…just,” Shane pauses to shrug, not knowing how to move forward. “Do your friends know about…us?” 

Shane still can’t look up. He’s grabbing at the lapels of Ilya’s leather jacket to distract himself. The feeling of the thick material under his thumbs is nice, and he has had many dreams of it wrapped around his shoulders.

“What, that I make out with you every night?” Ilya asks, and he isn’t taking this seriously. His smile falls when Shane doesn’t return it. With a sigh, he releases one hand from Shane’s waist to lightly brush his thumb across his freckles.

“They know I like girls and boys, is not unheard of in groups like mine.” He shrugs and continues the soft brushing of his thumb under Shane’s eye. It’s trying to be soothing, and Shane is so close to melting into Ilya’s touch and forgetting this conversation. 

“But do they know about us?” Shane repeats himself, his eyes wide as they finally meet Ilya’s. It’s hard to keep the contact, because he’s scared to see Ilya’s eyes fall and his body retreat with disinterest at the push of information. 

They look at each other for a solid moment, the world around them silent and waiting for the next move. 

Then Ilya’s thumb leaves Shane’s cheek, and he’s cupping his jaw and leaning in for a soft, feathery kiss. 

It’s so intimate and personal, it’s unlike any of the kisses Shane had gotten from Ilya before. It makes Shane’s knees weak, and he has to move a hand off Ilya’s jacket to anchor himself on the table behind him. 

They part, but Ilya doesn’t go far. Their lips ghost together, Ilya’s breath hot on his.

“They know, and they won’t say anything. Da?” 

Shane isn’t entirely impressed with that answer, but he doesn’t really know what answer he wanted. Did he want this relationship to be a secret? He didn’t think it was an option to be public, anyway. The thought of being Ilya’s dirty little secret was both arousing and terrifying.

But Ilya’s hands were squeezing at his hips, and his breath was still hot on his lips and smelling of cigarettes and the beer he drank an hour ago. So Shane put all those thoughts on the back burner once again so he could surge forward and sink his tongue down Ilya’s throat. 

-

Ilya starts acting strangely the next week. It had been a full week of hard kisses and wandering hands in the shadows of the bar. 

It was never toward Shane, his anger. But Shane could see how cloudy Ilya’s gaze was when they’d fondle each other at the booth. The first night, Shane thought it was just Ilya lost in his thoughts, but then two went by with the same far-away look in his eyes. 

Ilya would be snippy with his friends. Shane could see Ilya clench his teeth and growl at Troy, or shove past Wyatt to get to the basement. He drank and smoked more, but despite it all, Ilya never took his eyes off of Shane throughout the nights that passed. 

Shane had asked what was wrong, but Ilya wouldn’t tell him anything. The first night Shane had asked with a soft ‘are you okay?’, Ilya’s posture changed noticeably. But he had quickly regained his composure and shrugged it off, even distracting Shane by nibbling on his jawline. It ended with Shane pinned to the bench on his back as they dry-humped into one another. 

This was the fourth straight night of unusual behaviour. Shane heard the revving of an engine above the chatter of the bar crowd, and then Ilya burst through the doors not a minute later. No one followed him as they usually did; instead, Ilya walked alone, and with fire in his eyes. 

Shane swore the man was going to punch anyone who got in his way; that’s how angry he looked. But Ilya’s focus was solidified, walking straight to his booth and immediately lighting up a cigarette. He sucked on it heavily, his eyes scanning the bar once before meeting Shane’s. 

Shane smiled at him, trying to ease whatever demons were inside Ilya’s mind. He didn’t receive a smile back. 

Troy and Wyatt came into the bar after Ilya, both looking tired and irritated. Their rounds around the bar were short and restrained before they made their way over towards Ilya. Shane tried to ignore the tension that filled the bar as soon as they entered, instead pushing all his worries to the side so he could do his job. 

He walked over with a smile. He received no positive response, not even a hello. They ordered their drinks with monotone voices, and asked for a pitcher of Budweiser for the table, which meant they were likely getting company. 

Shane didn’t hang around. He nodded their way and let them be. He forced himself not to look Ilya’s way; he felt the man needed his space instead of the weight of Shane’s eyes on him.  

Eventually, he had to make his way back over to hand them their drinks; no one said their thanks, and Shane took that as a sign to get the hell out of there and stay behind the bar for the rest of the night. 

It was a smart idea, because two strangers waltzed into the bar next. They had mean faces turned down into frowns, and they didn’t greet anyone as they stomped toward Ilya and sat at the booth. Shane kept his distance but listened in as best as he could. 

The bar was loud and rowdy, and there was a reason Ilya chose the back of the bar. It was quieter and away from easedroppers like Shane. All Shane could do was side-eye the conversation and watch Ilya’s expressions. 

Ilya looked pissed; that was clear. His brows would furrow deeper and deeper. He was very expressive, his top lip was curled, and his chest leaned forward. He'd growl across the table at the other men. Spit flew from his mouth as he hissed out some words; his cigarette was forgotten in the ashtray, and rising smoke filled the middle of the table. 

Shane looked away for only a moment. Rose asked him to grab a bottle of tequila on his side of the bar. He had to get on his tippy toes to reach it, and when a loud crash and ‘blyat’ roared through the room, Shane almost dropped the whole bottle onto his face. 

He whipped around just in time to see one of the men stomping out of the bar. As he passed Shane, he gave him a quick side glance before exiting. That didn’t settle well with him, but his thoughts were quickly steered toward Ilya, who was standing at his booth, looming over his men like a vulture circling its next meal. 

His chest was heaving, and his arms were shaking as they held his weight on the table. There was a glass of vodka smashed into smithereens on the ground, the smell of spilt alcohol hitting the air. 

Shane didn’t think; he just saw the mess and did his job. He waved off Roses’ attempts to help and grabbed for a cloth, paper towels, and a bag to put the glass in. As he walked over, the remaining man gave Ilya a tight nod and silently made his way out. He shouldered past Shane like a bulldozer, and he had to awkwardly step out of the way before the guy ran him over. 

He was ready to get on his knees and clean, but Ilya’s sharp voice cut through the air. 

“Leave it.” 

Shane looked up from where he was bent over. He was halfway to picking up the glass when Ilya spoke, and the man wasn’t even looking at him. Ilya had a dangerous look in his eyes, the blue in them dark and thunderous as he glared towards the front of the bar where the two men had exited. 

“I can-” 

“Shane,” Ilya’s tone went dark, and Shane had never heard that tone towards him before. It was enough of a warning for him to step away from the mess. 

Troy came into view now. He stood up from the booth and stepped between Shane and Ilya. His broad shoulders blocked Ilya from view, so now Shane had no other choice but to look at him. 

“I’ll clean it, don’t worry about it,” Troy said with a forced smile. Shane could only give him a stiff nod before handing him the cleaning supplies. 

Then he was walking back towards the counter. He didn’t look back and decided it was best if he was completely out of Ilya’s sight for the rest of the evening. It was slow anyway, and if he finished the dishes now, he could leave earlier. 

Because it looked like Ilya had other things to deal with than wasting his time making out with Shane. 

But then the bar closed, and the world went silent after the roar of motorcycles peeled out of the parking lot. Shane had finished drying the last dish when the kitchen door opened. 

It was Ilya, that was obvious. Now all he could do was ignore him and continue to finish draining the sink. He was drying his soapy and wet hands when arms wrapped in leather snaked around his waist. 

He froze for only a second and then continued. A shiver leaked down his spine as Ilya’s hot breath brushed against the back of his neck. 

“I am sorry for snapping at you,” Ilya sighed out. He sounded tired. 

The apology was sincere, though, so Shane couldn’t ignore him any longer. He turned in Ilya’s grip with the dish towel still in his hands. Once they were chest to chest, Shane thoroughly looked over Ilya’s face. 

Up close like this, he could see the sleepless shadows under his eyes. The darkness that they had held only an hour ago lightened in Shane’s presence. Ilya was looking Shane over as well, his hands massaging Shane’s hipbones.

“You aren’t going to tell me what’s wrong, are you?” Shane pushed desperately. He cared for Ilya, no matter how complicated their relationship was. He wanted Ilya to vent to him about his issues, for him to hold Ilya in his arms and comfort him as Ilya would do for him. But the man was a brick wall. 

“People are pissing me off. They are questioning my intelligence.” Ilya responded. 

It was something. Not a lot, but it was enough for Shane to grab onto. Usually, the reply was silence with a hand wiggling down his pants to move away from the conversation and back into groping. But Ilya was looking at him with a sincerity Shane hadn’t seen before. 

“You’re letting them get under your skin? You? Ilya Rozanov?” Shane teased lightheartedly. His heart warmed when he saw a small smile appear on Ilya’s face. It was quick and faint, but enough for Shane to feel accomplished. 

Ilya didn’t answer; instead, he leaned forward and kissed Shane with all he had. Shane returned the eagerness, and he was swiftly being carried to one of the kitchen tables for another extremely successful makeout session.

But it seemed his words of encouragement were too helpful for Ilya. Two nights later, Shane doesn’t see Ilya during his entire shift. The booth was vacant, and not one familiar face from Ilya’s group walked into the bar. Shane’s thoughts drifted with anxiety, and he thought about those scary men Ilya sat with who stormed out once he got mad.  

Ilya was safe. That was what he had to repeat to himself as he made his rounds cleaning the tables once the bar had closed. He was just about to head to the kitchen when the roar of a motorcycle turning into the parking lot startled him. 

The headlights flashed into the bar and blinded Shane. He squinted to try to see who it was, but all he could see were the burning yellow lights. The motorcycle revved twice and then turned off, the light dying with the noise. 

Shane adjusted to the darkness. The door to the bar opened in his stunned silence, and he flinched when a form limped into the bar. 

It was Ilya, and he was trying to hide how he favoured his right leg. His face looked fine, but his hair was a bit tousled and out of place. When he looked up to meet Shane’s eyes, an emptiness was behind them.

“Ilya?” Shane called, his body moving before his mind as he rushed forward. He went to grab Ilya’s arms to help him stay upright, but a hand came out to stop him before he could make contact. 

Shane froze at the blood caked on Ilya’s knuckles, cuts littered them, and crimson stained the fingers wrapped around Shane’s hands. 

“Ilya, what-”

“Is not mine,” Ilya huffed out before Shane could pry. He pulled away from Shane’s touch and used the countertop as his crutch while he made his way down the bar toward the kitchen. Shane was frozen in place; all he could do was stare at the back of Ilya’s head and the Centaur across his shoulders. 

Ilya wouldn’t come here if he didn’t want his comfort. That was what Shane concluded when he watched Ilya shoulder through the kitchen doors. So, Shane followed and hesitantly stayed at a comfortable distance as Ilya limped toward the bathroom. 

Leaning heavily on the sink and glaring at himself in the mirror, Ilya took a good look at himself. It was like a switch went off in his head, because suddenly he straightened himself out, rolled his left ankle and winced, and then squared his shoulders. He shook off the pain like it was nothing and then turned on the sink to wash the blood off his hands. 

Shane could see the blood circling the drain as he leaned against the frame of the bathroom door. It made his stomach turn, but he couldn’t turn away. Instead, he looked up to stare at Ilya through the mirror. 

When Ilya was done, he looked up. 

They gazed at each other, silent but peaceful, as if there wasn’t blood stained across the porcelain below them. 

“You’re hurt,” Shane pointed out as if it wasn’t obvious. But he couldn’t handle Ilya hiding it. 

Ilya shrugged and shook his head. He tried to reach for Shane’s waist, but Shane caught his hands and brought them close to inspect them himself. Ilya stayed where he was and allowed it. 

The cuts weren’t deep, but they were red and angry across Ilya’s knuckles. It looked like it would bruise as well, but other than that, it would heal. 

“You should see the other guy,” Ilya tried to joke. He shuffled forward, and soon they were chest to chest with Ilya’s hands cupping Shane’s cheeks. Shane should’ve felt the need to squirm at hands that had just been coated with another stranger's blood on his face, but it was Ilya’s touch, and it was different. 

“Were they questioning your intelligence?” Shane asked, reminding Ilya of their last conversation. Ilya huffed out a laugh and then they were kissing. It was wet and soft, and Shane melted into the feeling immediately. 

They kissed for a few minutes, nothing was hungry about it, their hands didn’t wander or squeeze. It was nice to uncomplicatedly hold each other and feel the moment. But eventually they had to part, and when Shane looked into Ilya’s eyes to expect bliss, he was met with concern. 

“What?” Shane asked, his hand coming out to smooth down Ilya’s crazy curls. Ilya’s hands had found his middle and squeezed. 

“Can I…” Ilya paused, his words failing him. Shane was patient. “I do not know words in English…can I follow you home?” 

Shane raised a brow. 

“You want to escort me home? Ilya, why?” Shane would’ve found it cute that Ilya was struggling with his English. But the words were too worrying. Why did he need to be followed? That didn’t sit well with him. 

“Please,” Shane’s eyes widened. Ilya had never sounded desperate like this. “For my sanity. Nothing is wrong…just, for my peace of mind.” 

Shane couldn’t deny him. Even though the anxiety blossomed in his chest, the way Ilya was looking at him made him dizzy. 

“O-okay,” Shane agreed. He wanted to say more, he wanted to pull Ilya into his arms and feel the leather on his skin. But Ilya was pulling away and moving toward the back door. 

He grabbed his coat and made his way out the door with Ilya in tow. Ilya was parked near the front of the bar, whereas Shane was in his usual spot near the far end of the lot. He faltered in his step toward his car when his eyes fell on the shine of Ilya’s bike. 

They didn’t say a word, and Ilya stayed behind and watched curiously as Shane veered towards his motorcycle. Shane wasn’t brave enough to touch it, and could only stare back at his reflection in the glossy black paint of the gas tank. 

“Year 2000. Harley Davidson, 883 CC.” Ilya rattled off the motorcycle jargon, and Shane listened as best as he could. He felt breathless in the presence of Ilya’s bike; it was dangerously beautiful. 

“It’s beautiful,” Shane repeated outloud, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes absorbed the leather seat and the shining handlebars. There wasn’t a centimeter of rust across the entire bike, and every piece of it shone. Ilya had taken exceptional care of it. 

“You can touch her, if you want.” Ilya was still watching Shane carefully when Shane looked back at him. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, eyes half-lidded like he was high from the sight of Shane near his bike. 

“Her?” Shane asked, trying not to show the arousal that shivered through him as well. Ilya’s eyes on him were one thing, but in the presence of his bike, it felt so…personal and possessive. 

Ilya nodded and stepped around the bike with his keys in hand. Shane took a step back and felt his heart jump into his throat when Ilya turned the ignition, and the bike roared to life. 

It thundered and then rumbled to an easy idle. With shaky hands, Shane delicately brushed his fingertips upon the handlebar closest to him. It vibrated under his touch as he brushed down the brake lever and tapped his fingers over the grip. When he looked up to check if what he was doing was okay, his whole body heated up at the sight. 

Ilya was reacting like Shane was masturbating for him, as if Shane had just stripped down and jerked off to give him a private show. His eyes were clouded with lust, and he couldn’t look away from Shane’s hand on the handlebars. 

“You will need to stop, or we both won’t make it home,” Ilya’s voice was shaky as he spoke, and Shane made a show of slowly dragging his fingers off the handle. 

Ilya was stiff as if he was holding himself back from pouncing on him. Shane couldn’t help but giggle in amusement. Ilya had gotten so hot and bothered just at the simple touch of Shane’s fingers on the handlebars. 

Now Shane couldn’t help but imagine what Ilya would do if he sat on the bike. If he let his thick thighs squeeze between the shiny metal, his ass pressed onto the leather seat, maybe it was jutted out a bit with his back curved due to him leaning forward to reach for the handlebars-

“We should go,” Ilya’s voice rose through the fog in Shane’s mind. He blinked away the heated vision and nodded. Shane knew a blush was dusted across his cheeks as he stepped away towards his car, but he didn’t care. 

He was doing things to Ilya that Shane didn’t even realize were possible. Shane never felt so sexy in his life as he swayed his hips and walked away from the man and his steed. 

He really did need to get home, though. The sleepiness was weighing down his eyelids as he slumped into the driver's seat. He stared with heavy eyes as Ilya swung a leg over his back, his ass so perfectly displayed over the leather seat, and Shane had to gulp down a moan when Ilya leaned forward to grab the handlebars, causing a small sliver of skin to reveal his lower back where the leather jacket rode up. 

He looked behind him and waited for Shane to leave first. Shane had to shake off the arousal and adrenaline that coursed through his system. He refocused on the task at hand and managed to pull out of the parking lot and onto the main street. 

Ilya followed, the bike a constant growl behind him. It loomed a car length away, Ilya’s face illuminated by Shane’s rear lights. He looked dark and mysterious, and it was like he was staring back at Shane through his rearview mirror. 

Twenty minutes later, Shane pulled into his driveway. Ilya stopped at the curb outside his house with the bike still on. It was to show he wasn’t staying, that it was the end of the night. Their desires could only go so far. 

With a small wave Ilya’s way, Shane locked his car and forced himself not to look back until he got to his front porch. Then he indulged in watching Ilya ride off into the darkness. 

Shane didn’t go inside until he couldn’t see Ilya any longer, his rear lights disappearing around a corner. It was only then that he released the breath he was holding. 

-

Along with the makeout session, Ilya escorting Shane home became a part of the routine as well. With swollen lips and different bruises sucked into his neck, he’d drive home with Ilya’s headlights flashing into his rearview mirror and the thunder of his Harley Davidson like a sweet lullaby to finish off his night. 

It’s the third consecutive night of this routine when Hayden notices. Shane is startled to see his friend standing in the kitchen when he enters. Hayden has a smug grin plastered on his face, he looked like he had been sleeping. He had his sweatpants on and his hair was ruffled with bed head. 

“Jesus, dude, why are you up?” Shane scorned. Hayden didn’t reply right off the bat. He was too busy staring at Shane with raised brows and that consistent sneer. 

“So when did it get this serious?” Hayden asked. He didn’t need to be specific; they both knew who he was talking about. 

Shane gripped his keys tighter. He didn’t want to have this conversation right now. It was 4 in the morning, and the adrenaline had worn off into a deep exhaustion. He needed sleep. 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Hayds.” Shane tried to run away, but Hayden was moving before he could. His friend crossed the kitchen and boldly grabbed at the neckline of his jacket to pull it down and inspect his neck. Shane grunted with surprise and whacked Hayden’s hand away. 

“Fuck, is he a vampire or something? And why does he need to drive home with you every night?” Hayden was asking too many questions, and the teasing jabs felt too hard-hitting. Shane didn’t have a fight left in him. 

“Drop it, Hayden. It's fine, I’m fine, he’s fine.” He turned away and made his way up the stairs, signalling the cue for this conversation to end. But Hayden was right on his tail. 

“If it's all fine, then why the fuck does he need to follow you around like that? Listen, Shane, I’m still supporting your decision, but come on…you aren’t a little concerned-”

“Stop!” Shane’s voice was louder than he expected, all his fear and anger overflowing in his head. Hayden’s words were like sharp knives in his head, and it manifested as a headache that was already pulsing at Shane’s temples. 

And the look of defeat Hayden gave him was just as painful. 

“Please, Hayden. Can you just…drop it?” Shane couldn’t look his friend in the eye. He made his way up the stairs with his head hung low in defeat and guilt. 

Hayden didn’t say anything to him after that. And didn’t say anything to him at work the next night when they worked together. Afterwards, when Shane and Ilya were kissing sloppily at the bar counter, Shane couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about the kisses Ilya was leaving on his skin. Hayden’s teasing words and look of hurt were enough to deter him from allowing Ilya to grab and suck him harder.  

Ilya didn’t notice Shane’s change in behaviour; he saw it as Shane being his usual overly-careful self. They left as they always did, with Ilya straddling his bike and revving his engine. The shine of headlights and the reflection of hazel eyes in his rearview mirror.

What Shane didn’t expect was the audience when he walked into his house. Ilya was long gone, Shane waiting until Ilya disappeared around the corner like he always did until he stepped inside. But Harris, Troy, and Hayden were sitting around the kitchen table as if it were an intervention. 

It was strange to see the Centaur logo in his own place. Harris was sitting so his back was facing Shane, as if he was taunting him with the ‘property of’ stitches on his jacket. Shane felt sick to his stomach. 

He wasn’t getting out of this easily, he knew that as soon as they saw him. Hayden jumped up from his chair as if a lightning bolt shot through him. Harris and Troy stayed seated but turned their heads to give him matching weary glances. 

“What the hell is going on?” Shane’s voice was immediately shaky, and it was strange amongst the silence of the house. It was once again way too late for this. But now there were three pairs of eyes staring at him like he was dying, and he didn’t know what to do. 

“I need you to sit down, buddy,” Hayden was speaking as if he were coaxing a stray dog into his arms. Shane held back the scoff he wanted to let out and decided fighting with whatever this was wasn’t going to help. 

Besides, the anxiety that itched at his chest when he saw not only Harris but Troy sitting at his dinner table was enough to keep him there. 

He sat beside Hayden and across from Harris and Troy. Hayden only sat once Shane did, as if he was scared Shane was going to make a run for it. 

The eyes were heavy around the table, and Shane gulped loudly. All he could do was fidget with his car keys and turn his chin down. 

“Has Ilya been following you home every night?” Troy asked with a serious tone. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his leather jacket. 

Shane shrugged, but knew that wasn’t going to be a good enough answer. 

“Yeah.” That was all he could get out. 

Harris and Troy gave each other a look that didn’t look promising. Shane tried not to shift uncomfortably in his chair at the reaction. 

“He signed up for this, Troy,” Harris mumbled, but Troy didn’t look impressed. The words sent a shiver down Shane’s spine. 

“Listen, Shane,” Troy started, “I know you’re a good person, and that’s why I’m telling you this. Ilya is dangerous, okay? Not like me or Wyatt, who fuck around. Ilya was into some really bad shit. Shit that got a lot of people killed and arrested.” 

Shane’s mouth went dry. 

“W-why are you telling me this now?” 

Harris’ eyes closed, Troy looked over at him nervously. Both men were tense from the start, and Shane wondered what the conversation was like before he got here. Everyone was so serious; there was no beer around them to drink or laughter floating across the room like when they were in the bar's atmosphere. It felt like Shane was in a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. 

“Because-” Before Troy could say another word, he was swiftly interrupted by Harris. 

“Because we give a shit about you, Shane. We consider you a friend, and if Ilya’s following you home, that means something is happening that could potentially cause you harm. That’s the only reason he’d do that. His brother-” 

Troy gave Harris a dangerous look, which shut him up. They had a staring contest for a few moments, and Shane could only focus on controlling his breathing as all this information was dumped on him at once. He should be in bed. He should be in Ilya’s arms. 

“He deserves to know. You can’t just tell me and not him.” Hayden growled out. His friend was stiff with a protective glare in his eyes. Shane tried to ignore that they were planning to tell everyone but him about this. How dare they sit him down and warn him against a man he loved and not tell him why? 

Troy took a deep breath, shuffled in his seat like he was preparing for a blow, and then began to talk. 

“Ilya had an older brother, Alexei. When they immigrated from Russia, their parents were shit, and it caused them to get with the wrong crowds. Alexei was in a brutal motorcycle gang called the Raiders outside of Ottawa. He did some pretty stupid shit to get in. Bad enough to the point Alexei would have a guy following Ilya home from school, then Alexei himself wouldn’t leave Ilya alone. From what I heard, Alexei saw it as safer to train Ilya and accept him into the gang than keep him away from it.” 

Shane’s eyes narrowed. Harris wasn’t looking at him, and Troy was trying to keep eye contact. 

“Long story short, Alexei got involved with some drugs and had a few bad deals. Alexei was killed in a drive-by shooting only a few months after Ilya joined the gang.” 

Shane’s breath hitched. Oh, Ilya. 

“He went on a rampage after. Got a lot of guys killed to get to the ones that actually did it. He got his hands dirty in other people’s business, got some guys arrested, fucked with the police. He earned his spot as the leader of the Centaurs and left the Raiders, but not at the cost of being the most wanted guy in North America.” 

There was a deep silence after Troy’s speech. The air was cold, and the sky outside began to lighten and awaken with the morning. It was too late for this. He should be sleeping; he should be back at home with his parents, where they babied him and told him he should’ve gone to a hockey college. But no, he was here in his best friend's kitchen being told that the man he was falling in love with was a full-blown criminal. 

Shane should’ve known. Deep down, if he really looked into himself, he would see that it wasn’t surprising. Just a few days ago, he stumbled into the bar and into Shane’s arms with blood on his knuckles. A few weeks ago, he was pummeling a man into the bar floor because he flirted with Shane. 

“I need you to understand that this is exactly what you’re signing up for.” 

Then, Shane went home crying and in a panic, only to realize he couldn’t let Ilya go. That all the blood and fights didn’t matter to him. He went back to Ilya and melted into every kiss that the man gave him. 

“Ilya. This bar. The Centaurs. I’ve seen you with him, the way you look at each other. That’s how I looked at Troy, that’s how he looked at me.” 

And Shane understood now what Harris was trying to do. He was trying to push Shane away; he was attempting to give him mercy, to protect him from Ilya’s wrath. 

With tears brewing in his eyes, Shane looked at each one of his friends around the table. 

“What do you want me to do? Leave him?” Shane asked shakily. 

“He’s gonna get you killed, Shane. It probably won't be his fault, but-” Hayden finally butted in, but was interrupted. 

Shane’s tear-filled laugh rang through the air. He mouthed the word ‘probably’ in disbelief. How could this be his life?

“You’re all fucking hypocrites. Every single one of you joined this gang, but when I do it, I’m suddenly getting an intervention? Why? Cause I’m dating the guy you’re all scared of?”

“Shane-” 

“No, fuck all of you.” Shane shot out of his chair, the tears beginning to fall in slow rivers down his cheeks. He sniffled and hiccuped as he stomped away from the table and towards the stairs. He stopped at the edge of the kitchen and glared back at the people who pretended like they were doing him a favour. 

His eyes locked in on Harris, and through the ripples of tears in his eyes, he spoke with venom in his voice. 

“I signed up for this, didn’t I?” He growled out before rushing off up the stairs and into the sanctuary of his own room. 

Ilya’s words echoed in his head as he fell into his bed. Shane curled into a fetal position in the middle of the mattress, hands pressing hard onto either side of his face to smother the deep Russian voice speaking hauntingly to him. 

“You are scared of me.” Cigarette smoke clouded his memories. Soft kissable lips and dark eyes. Ilya’s far-away gaze as he spoke.  “That is good.” 

Shane sobbed. He was. Deeply, and insufferably terrified.

Chapter End Notes

I'm now officially at 7 chapters done, whoop! And Chapter 4 gets VERY spicy, please prepare. I'm excited to share more and more of this story and appreciate your wonderful comments. I read them all!

Until next weekend...

Chapter 4: head in the wall

Chapter Notes

a nice long and spicy chapter for everyone

chapter title is from Head in the Wall by Ethel Cain

Shane avoids Hayden like the plague in the morning. He doesn’t get out of bed until he hears the front door open and close, signalling his friend's departure. 

He doesn’t acknowledge Harris and Troy when they enter the bar later that night, either. He couldn’t hide in the back and do dishes since Hayden was there, and the bartending meant staring at the gang all night. But he knew Harris and Troy wouldn’t try to talk to him after the explosive ending to their night. 

Rose was there to keep him company. She raised a brow when he looked nervously toward the back and front of the bar, but never pried. That’s why Shane liked her, she didn’t get into his business and expect answers from him. 

But eventually, Ilya was going to show up. Shane wondered if Troy or Harris had spoken to him since last night. Did they tell Ilya to break up with Shane for his own safety? 

Were they even at a stage in their relationship where they could break up? Ilya had never exclusively told Shane if they were dating or a couple. They just made out every night. 

Shane realized very quickly that this complex relationship needed to be fixed tonight: no make-outs, no wandering hands going up shirts or fingers in pants. Shane needed to man up and talk about this.

He rehearsed a vague question for Ilya. It was only when Ilya showed up an hour before closing that Shane couldn’t think clearly any longer. Ilya still looked at Shane like he hung the moon, his eyes so careful as they followed him around the bar. Shane could see Ilya’s thighs spread below the booth, begging to be sat on. 

Maybe they could do a bit of making out. 

When the bar closed, Shane stayed in the back as soon as the kitchen staff left. He didn’t want to encounter Troy or Harris leaving. He needed to face Ilya alone through this, to get Ilya’s side of things and not other people. 

When the last rumble of motorcycles left, Shane counted to fifty and then left the dishes unfinished. He couldn’t wait any longer. 

Walking out of the kitchen, Shane could see Ilya was still lurking in the back. The darkness swallowed him, except for the one overhead light over the booth. In his mouth, a cigarette sat half finished, and he fiddled with it between his lips as he spread his arms across the booth in an offering for Shane to come to him. 

And Shane did, the words were at the tip of his tongue, but as he rushed forward, he quickly decided to straddle Ilya in the booth. His thoughts were shoved to the back of his head instead. The desire to mix his spit with Ilya and moan upon his lap was too strong. Ilya reciprocated in full throttle. The man had an iron grip on his hips and forced his ass down to grind on him. It was messy and ethereal. 

Fingers shifted to untie his apron, and that’s when reality floated back into Shane’s head. Reluctantly, he pulled away, Ilya chasing his lips as he did so. He looked like a kicked puppy, his lips forming from a pout to a frown when he didn’t get what he wanted. 

“Can you be…insanely truthful with me right now?” Shane asked, his hands curling around Ilya’s neck and playing with the soft ringlets at the nape. Ilya leaned back into the booth, his brows furrowing and his hands resting on Shane’s thighs, no longer gripping and searching. 

“Whoa, this looks serious.” Ilya continued to frown and look up at Shane in confusion. Shane forced himself to stay strong and go through with what he had planned; he couldn’t run away from this.

“I need to know before we can do anything with…whatever this is,” Shane was stalling; he knew that. And when Ilya straightened below him with concern, Shane went out and said it. 

“Have you killed people?”  

Ilya’s face went through many different stages before it finally landed on stone cold and distant. He looked away, gaze landing on nothing. His hands went slack on the bench and left Shane’s thighs. Shane didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know what to say. All he could do was anchor Ilya underneath him and hope he didn’t throw him off and run away. 

“Who is telling you these things?” Ilya asks, voice devoid of emotion. 

“It doesn’t matter who.” Shane held his ground, staring at Ilya’s lashes that twitched in response to his words. 

There was a long pause. All Shane could hear was the buzz of the light above them. Different kinds of scenarios raced through Shane’s mind as he sat and waited for Ilya to speak. Maybe Ilya would shove him off and beat him into the booth, leaving his blood-stained into the place he always sat as a reminder of the man who asked too much. Or maybe he’d silence it all with a smothering kiss to Shane’s lips, and he’d spread him out and fuck him right here on the table. 

“I told you I was dangerous,” Ilya began. He still wouldn’t touch Shane. 

“And instead you are on my lap every night telling me you like trouble.” Shane’s breath hitched, because it was true. Despite the blood on Ilya’s knuckles and the motorcycle gang logo stitched onto his back, Shane adored Ilya. Nothing mattered, and that scared Shane the most. Not Ilya’s wrong-doings, but Shane’s desire to stay with him regardless of it all. 

“Well,” Shane flinches when Ilya suddenly looks up at him as he begins to speak again. Their eyes meet in a hungry clash as Ilya continues. “I was not lying, sweetheart.” 

Shane processes the words, his throat running dry and his chest tightening. He moves his hands from gripping the back of Ilya’s neck to running his thumbs along his jawline. He traces the bone, then tugs at the corner of Ilya’s lips. 

They gravitate impossibly closer. Then, in the blink of an eye, they connect in a deep kiss. It could be the nail in the coffin for Shane, like Hayden, Harris, and Troy warned him about. But right now, he has never felt more alive. The adrenaline pumping through his veins, the ache in his groin, the shiver along his skin that gave him goosebumps. It was worth it. 

Shane wants Ilya now. He wants Ilya to throw him down on top of the table behind him and tear off his clothes. He needs to consummate this moment, to finally free-fall over the edge and never turn back. 

Shane sits up so his ass is hovering over Ilya’s lap. His hands fumble with urgency as he tries to unbutton Ilya’s pants below him. But he’s surprised when Ilya stills his movements and pulls away. 

They look at one another again, this time with a line of spit connecting their lips. Shane wanted to lick it up; he wanted Ilya entirely. 

But Ilya was soft with his touch as he brushed rough fingertips across Shane’s freckles. He’s so delicate, like Shane would break under his touch. 

“I do not want you to get involved with that side of me…I want to be just - Ilya for you. Not Rozanov from the Centaurs.” 

It was sweet, so sweet that Shane forgot all about the hungry desire that had flooded him only moments ago. Now he was caressing Ilya back, both of them staring into one another’s eyes like nothing ever mattered. And it was true. 

Before Shane could say anything sappy back, Ilya piped up again. 

“Let’s go for a ride.” 

Shane doesn’t understand at first; his brain is still foggy with the steamy make-out session and Ilya’s vulnerability. But when it finally clicked what Ilya had said, his eyes widened. 

“You mean…” Shane trailed off, still trying to find his voice. 

Ilya smirked, the seriousness falling off his face. He patted at Shane’s hip in request to get him off, and Shane’s thighs felt like jello as he shakily swung his leg back over to the corner of the booth, freeing Ilya from the cage of his thighs. 

Ilya got up from the booth and turned, his hand coming out for Shane to grab. Slowly, with anticipation curling in his gut, Shane was guided to the front of the bar and into the parking lot where the steel beauty awaited. 

It practically glowed in the night, and Ilya released Shane and watched from afar as Shane made his way up to it as if he’d scare it away. With a deep breath and shaky hands, he splayed them across the gas tank. It was smooth and cold, and his reflection stared back at him as if encouraging him to caress the bike more. 

Then Ilya’s presence was behind him, his slightly taller form pressing into Shane’s back. He didn’t remove Shane’s hands from their place on the tank; instead, he rested his hands on Shane’s hips and hooked his chin over Shane’s shoulder to watch. 

He was hard, Shane could feel it against him. He fought the urge to grind back into Ilya’s body. 

“I don’t have a helmet,” Shane replied pathetically. But the anxiety was consistently there. He was about to ride on a motorcycle for the first time. 

Ilya huffed into his shoulder, his hands pulsing on his hips before he kissed the back of his ear, making Shane shiver. 

“I will get you one, I won’t go fast, moya lyubov,’” Ilya sounded sincere, and for some reason Shane trusted every word. But still he hesitated. 

“I don’t even want to sit on it…” Shane admitted after a full inspection of the bike. It was precious to Ilya, and so beautiful with all its different features. Shane couldn’t believe he was here touching it…and now Ilya wanted him to ride it? 

Ilya lightly directed his body away, and Shane gulped as he watched Ilya straddle the bike. The kickstand was still out, but he placed his feet on the ground to balance it on its wheels. He had one hand on the handlebar and the other stretched on his thigh. 

“Get on, is okay.” 

He had to put his busy thoughts aside and do it. Shane pushed forward and finally swung a leg over the bike. Once his thighs were on either side and his ass hugged the leather seat, Ilya reached behind him to grab at Shane’s arms and wrap them around his middle. 

“Hold on tight, don’t let go.” 

Never. Shane wanted to say. Instead, he choked out a yes. 

The next sequence of events felt euphoric. Shane had to let out a shaky breath as Ilya kicked out the kickstand and turned on the bike. Shane flinched as it rumbled and vibrated beneath him, the vibrations rippling through his body and shaking his teeth. His arms tightened around Ilya, who hummed with approval. 

Then the bike shifted from side to side; if Shane hadn't been holding on so tight, he’d be worried he’d fall off like a loser. But with his feet planted on the foot pegs and his arms around Ilya’s waist, he strangely felt secure.  

“Ready?” Ilya called and looked over his shoulder to meet Shane’s eyes. 

Shane nodded silently, his voice gone. 

“Press into me, do not let go, yes?” Ilya said again. The overprotectiveness was very obvious, and Shane felt dizzy. 

With that, Ilya leaned forward to grip the handles. Shane leaned with him and pressed his cheek into Ilya’s shoulder, the leather cool against his skin. Ilya revved the engine, and the bike began to roll back, making Shane’s breath stutter. He turned the wheels and began to reverse out of his parking spot and towards the exit of the parking lot. Once the road was clear in front of them, Ilya pressed on the gas, and they were off. 

He accelerated gradually for Shane’s sake. The road was smooth under the wheels once they got onto it. For a while, Shane was stiff against Ilya’s back, refusing to look up as Ilya’s speed grew and grew. His ears rang from the wind, and he felt his heart fall to his stomach when Ilya stepped harder on the gas, causing them to go at their highest speed yet. 

He buried his nose into Ilya’s shoulder as the wind whipped around them; the jacket smelled of leather and remnants of cigarettes. It made him want to crawl into Ilya’s body and stay there forever, due to the ruthless wind against his face. It was harder to breathe without a helmet because of the wind, but the further they went, the higher Shane confessed he felt. 

They stopped at a red light, Ilya shifting in front of him as he placed his feet on the road to balance the bike during its idle. 

“Everything okay?” Ilya asked. 

Shane didn’t realize he had closed his eyes. He reopened them to blink at the landscape around him. The bike continued to thunder beneath him, and Ilya was looking over his shoulder with a clenched jaw. 

“M’fine, I promise,” Shane assured. He tried to prove his point by straightening in his seat, his cheek leaving Ilya’s shoulder to look around. But then the light turned green, and he immediately curled back into him. 

He felt Ilya chuckle, his chest moving under Shane’s touch. 

They sped off, and Shane began to realize he had never asked where they were going. Ilya could be whisking him away to his death. But in the end, Shane didn’t care. This is what he had craved for so long. 

With the wind in his hair, they sped through Nepean until they reached Britannia. It was a rich, beachside area outside downtown Ottawa that Shane had been to many times. He’d go there to jog through the forests or swim at the Beach. He adored the area and had always dreamed of living there. 

Ilya had to go slow due to speed bumps, but finally, they pulled into a driveway. The house in front of Shane was way nicer than his. It had large windows across the front and back, with beautiful wood designs along the porch and throughout the outside. It almost looked like the house from Twilight that the Cullens lived in. He couldn’t believe he had made that reference in his head.

“Wow…” Shane mumbled as Ilya flipped off the bike. The rumbling beneath him immediately stopped, so he felt safe enough to place his feet on the ground. He used Ilya’s broad shoulders for balance as he swung his leg back over and got off the bike. His legs felt weak.

Ilya inspected him quickly before he got off the bike next. His eyes danced over Shane’s face as if expecting to see pure terror or pain. To prove he was fine, Shane gave Ilya a small smile.

Shane knew it was important to Ilya that he liked the bike. Shane could see it in Ilya’s expression, from getting aroused when Shane brushed his fingertips over the bike, to then being tight and concerned when Shane was on it as they rode through Ottawa. Ilya had so many emotions, all because of this bike.

And Shane really did love it. Ilya’s bike shone and glowed. It was a beacon of light through his rearview mirror every night, and when he sat on top of it, it was so personal and erotic. He wanted to do it again, and again, and again. 

They walked up to the house, Shane trailing behind Ilya’s form and waiting for him to open the door. Once they were inside, Shane couldn’t help but gawk. As he did with the bike, he brushed his fingers over the walls and toward the kitchen. It had beautiful marble counters, and it was large and impressive. 

“Did you get this built? Like, was this designed by someone? Or did you-” 

Shane lost his train of thought when Ilya crowded him against the kitchen counter. He gulped and looked up through his lashes. Even though Ilya wasn’t much taller than Shane, he held himself as if he were towering over him. 

“Lots of questions and not the ones I want to answer.” Ilya teased with a sigh, his hands brushing along Shane’s hips, fingers lightly tugging up Shane’s shirt to feel the skin beneath. 

Shane shivered, but kept his eyes on Ilya. 

“What questions would you like me to ask?” Shane threw Ilya a bone, his brow raising with a smile. 

Ilya pressed him harder against the counter; he was hard again. Maybe he hadn’t stopped being hard since Shane had made contact with his bike.   

“Mmm, like, where do you want me? Can I suck your cock? Can I sit on your face?” Ilya smirked devilishly and Shane was a goner. 

With that, their lips merged. Ilya had his hands beneath Shane’s thighs, and he lifted him like he was nothing, turning them around so Shane was sitting on top of the island. They parted briefly to remove their shirts, Shane feverishly removing his first so he could watch with heavy-lidded eyes as Ilya shrugged off his leather jacket and settled it on the counter beside Shane. Then he removed his shirt, and Shane greedily reached forward to run his hands down the fuzzy pecs and stomach. 

They moulded to one another, Shane hooking his ankles behind Ilya’s back and arching his back forward so every piece of his body was touching Ilya’s. They moaned and sighed into one another's mouths, and with a soft press to the middle of Shane’s chest, Ilya guided him down so his back was pressed against the counter below him. 

The marble was cool against his skin, so rich and hard beneath him. Shane curved his lower spine to chase away the feeling; it was almost overstimulating to him. Ilya still had his hand on Shane’s chest, and slowly he dragged it down. Shane could only stare at Ilya’s expression of pure wonder and amazement. Ilya wasn’t looking at him, his eyes following his hand down Shane’s torso and stopping at his pants. 

Then they snapped up to meet Shane’s eyes, a short pause and a silent question of ‘can I continue?’ hanging in the air. With a flutter of his lashes and a deep exhale, Shane nodded. 

They had done this before, Ilya’s mouth on Shane and Shane’s on Ilya’s. Hidden in the shadows of the bar and the kitchen, Ilya would give him that same look that he did right now, waiting for the nod, and then he’d untie Shane’s apron and shuffle down his pants. The heat of Ilya’s mouth was always overwhelming and pleasant; he knew how to make him cum hard and fast. Shane learned all the tricks and flicks of his tongue from Ilya and used them back on him. He remembers the first night he got on his knees for him. 

It was in the kitchen, Shane still had soap suds on his hands when he kissed down Ilya’s front and shoved him into one of the tables. Ilya cupped Shane’s jaw softly, his thumb rubbing circles into his cheekbone as he lowered himself to the ground. He didn’t care how hard the floor was, or how dirty, he only had the eyes and mind for Ilya’s cock as he hooked his fingers into his waistband and shimmied the briefs and jeans down Ilya’s strong, thick thighs. 

Ilya had cum with a growl and a hand in Shane’s hair. But was holding himself back, Shane could tell by the way his fingers tensed and untensed as he grew closer to the edge. Shane hated that part; he wanted Ilya to lose control, to release like he never had before. 

Tonight, it was Shane’s duty to make that happen. But for now, he’d happily watch Ilya mouth messily at his crotch, wetting the front of his briefs. He had to gulp down a whine when Ilya dragged his tongue over his pubic bone as he took off the rest of his pants. Shane’s cock sprang free, standing tall and red and between Ilya’s eyes. Precum already leaked from the tip, and Shane’s stomach fluttered when Ilya licked his lips. 

Then he dove forward like a starving animal. In one swift movement, Ilya sucked Shane down to the hilt and choked. But he was a natural at this, sucking cock, and he only choked once before he expertly swallowed Shane down and worked his mouth and tongue around his shaft. It was a warm, wet embrace that had Shane sprawling back onto the marble countertop, moans spilling past his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

Shane didn’t want to cum right off the bat. He wanted to drag this out. He wanted Ilya to make a home inside every part of him, to mark his place and claim his property. 

“Please,” Shane cried out into the air. He didn’t know how to express what he wanted; the sensations were so stimulating and perfect. He didn’t want Ilya to stop, but he also did. 

Ilya seemed to notice him squirming, and he popped off wetly, a string of drool connecting his lower lip and Shane’s head. 

“What do you need?” Ilya asked,  his eyes wide with lust as he stood up to look down at Shane. Shane couldn’t stop staring at his swollen, wet lips.

“I…I need…” Shane blushed and turned away, suddenly realizing the position he was in. Naked and spread out on Ilya’s kitchen island, panting and begging.

“Tell me,” Ilya commanded, his voice so smooth and strong. He was leaning on the counter overtop of him, muscles tense as they awaited Shane’s response. He hadn’t touched him, not since he had popped his mouth off of Shane’s cock. It was a travesty.

One that could have been fixed if Shane dared to spit it out. So with eyes to the ceiling, he answered shakily. 

“You. Inside me. Please.” 

That was enough for Ilya, who laughed with amusement. Shane let out a gasping moan when Ilya straightened and then lifted him clean off the marble again. Shane flailed and gripped Ilya’s shoulders as he did on the bike, his nose burying into Ilya’s neck with embarrassment at being lifted so easily like this for the second time. 

They walked down a long hallway, a door being kicked open behind Shane before he was dumped on a plush mattress. It was ten times better than the hard countertop, and Shane basked in the cloud he was put in. The soft sheets hugged his limbs, and he spread further across the bed with a happy sigh. 

He looked to the side to see Ilya walking toward his nightstand. He had taken off all of his clothes, and his cock swung heavily between his thighs as he grabbed for the lube and a condom. Once they were in his hands, Ilya looked up at Shane spread across his bed, his eyes shining. 

“Krasivyy,” Ilya mumbled in Russian. Shane had never felt so small before, laid out for Ilya like this. But it wasn’t a bad thing, no, it sent shivers down his spine and sparks at his fingertips. He wanted Ilya to look at him and mumble in his native tongue all the time. 

Slowly, like stalking a prey, Ilya placed one knee on the bed and then the other. He crawled forward, and once he reached Shane, he pressed a kiss to his knee. His lips ghosted down Shane’s leg and down his inner thigh. Shane’s breath hitched, and it took everything in him not to close his legs with embarrassment. 

Ilya never stopped looking at him. Eyes like fire as he kissed down Shane’s thigh until he reached his cock. His hot breath brushed Shane’s balls, and he moaned. 

The sound of the cap opening on the bottle of lube filled the air. Shane forced himself to relax, the back of his head thunking back down on the bed. He couldn’t look down at Ilya right now; instead, he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure he could watch this part. 

Ilya hooked his hands under Shane’s knees and bent them towards his chest. Shane waited for the blunt tip of Ilya’s fingers, but nearly arched off the bed when he felt a hot tongue against his hole instead. 

“Oh,” Shane whimpered out, his eyes snapping down to get a view of Ilya eating him out. It was slightly obscured due to his knees in the way, but he lightly parted them enough to get a glimpse of the action. It almost had him cumming right there and then, the way Ilya was devouring him like a last meal, tongue wet and sloppy across his hole and up to his taint. Shane was shocked out of his daze when Ilya shot his eyes up to look at him, and the bastard smiled through his licks before letting go of one of Shane’s knees to place a finger at his hole beside his tongue. 

Shane threw his head back, his chest heaving. One hand grabbed for the knee, Ilya let go, and the other gripped a pillow beside him as an anchor. Soft and short moans passed his lips consistently, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head when Ilya wiggled two fingers beside his tongue. 

Soon enough, Shane knew he wasn’t going to last. His thighs began to shake, and his moans gradually became higher-pitched. Sweat was already glistening across his skin. He didn’t know how he’d be able to last with Ilya’s cock in him next.

Ilya managed to see he was starting to get restless, and he removed his fingers and tongue slowly. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Shane watched Ilya straighten up on his knees and look down at him. 

A God among men, Ilya’s curls were draped messily across his forehead. In the moonlight, every muscle was defined, and between his pecs his cross necklace winked back at Shane. Shane could not believe this man was looking down at him in all his glory. 

“Takaya krasivaya…” Ilya whispered, and Shane could only guess it was words of admiration by the way Ilya looked like he wanted to crawl under his skin and stay there forever. 

Shane made a show for him. He turned off the thoughts in his brain and stretched out across the mattress. Knees bent and revealing his hole, arms held above his head and stretching high so his back arched and his chest curled upwards. He smiled, eyes closing so he wouldn’t chicken out. 

“Fuck,” Ilya growled before finally connecting with Shane. Ilya made a home between Shane’s thighs as they kissed. Their tongues danced, and Ilya’s hands wandered down. One hand cupped Shane’s ribs, the other gripping at his thigh and squeezing. Not hard enough to bruise, which needed to change. 

Ilya disconnected them and sat up after a few more wet kisses and fondles. Shane chased after his lips, but stopped when he noticed the serious expression on Ilya’s face. He moved the hand on his ribs to his face, a thumb starting at Shane’s temple and running down to his lips. Ilya tugged at his bottom lip while his other hand removed itself from Shane’s thigh to put on the condom. 

Once it was on, Ilya nudged it teasingly against Shane’s hole. 

Shane let out a huff of air, his mouth hung open and eyes still connected with Ilya’s as Ilya began to delicately and slowly enter Shane. Inch by inch he went, and Ilya was very controlled with each slide into Shane’s core. His shoulders shook and his mouth hung open, the cross necklace dangling between Shane’s eyes. Now they were both panting into one another’s mouths as they became one. 

Shane felt cocooned in a safety net with Ilya, even when he was slowly getting speared with his cock. Ilya watched him like a hawk, his brows furrowed with concentration and restraint. Shane knew this was a good thing, but he was growing impatient. He wished his body would give in to Ilya’s so they could skip to the heavy and deep fucking. 

But this was Ilya, not the big, scary Russian gang leader. He didn’t have the Rozanov and the Centaur logo on his back as he fucked Shane, now he was just Ilya, the man he loved and the man that wanted Shane to feel comfortable and secure. 

“Oh…” Shane gasped, his head flying back into the pillows once Ilya fully slotted inside him. He stared up at the ceiling with his mouth still open, and Ilya kissed greedily at his stretched lips and wide eyes.

“Everything okay?” Ilya asked as he shifted above him. It was similar to when Shane was pressed against his back on the motorcycle. He was so concerned and caring, his eyes stern as they locked with Shane. 

He wouldn’t move until Shane nodded. And it took a few seconds for Shane to adjust to the stretch before he jerked a nod. That was Ilya’s cue to begin thrusting. They were shallow to start, and Ilya kissed across his face to ease the tension. Shane continued to moan, the stretch slowly wearing off with each thrust. 

The thrusts grew harder and faster. Shane encouraged Ilya by whining as he threw his hands up to hold onto Ilya’s shoulders in an iron grip, his mouth permanently held open. A short breath of air passed Ilya’s lips with each thrust, and his eyes were wild as they stared down at Shane’s mouth. They had stopped kissing during Ilya’s change in pace, and Shane suddenly needed Ilya’s lips on his. 

He took one hand off Ilya’s shoulder to cup the back of his head and force Ilya down in a bruising kiss. Tongues and spit mixed, their lips vibrating as they moaned into one another’s mouths. The sensation made Ilya go harder and faster, and then the sound of skin slapping on skin filled the air. 

“Oh, fuck,” Shane whimpered, his eyes crossing as the rhythm sent him into bliss. Ilya was a menace, and his hips never slowed their pace. His hard body rocked into Shane with ease, and when their eyes met, Shane couldn’t help but grip Ilya’s hair and tug with encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch Ilya’s lips thin and eyes flutter with ecstasy. 

This was a feeling like nothing before. Shane had never been fucked like this. His dildo couldn’t get this deep; it never made its way into the crevices of his prostate like Ilya could. He was filled to the brim with cock, and Shane was happy to die here. 

It was still so intimate, the way they couldn’t stop kissing as they rose further and further toward their peaks. Ilya was soon fucking Shane so hard that their kisses couldn’t land upon one another’s lips anymore. Shane ended up kissing Ilya’s chin or nose, and Ilya kissed Shane’s cheek or brow. But this was perfect; it was all Shane could ever want.

“I’m gonna cum,” Shane squealed out, his toes curling and thighs spreading wider to accomdate Ilya’s brutal pace. The room was filled with obscene sounds, a mix of pornographic moans and skin-on-skin impact. It felt like they were going to break the bed, the headboard slamming back on the wall with deep thuds. 

“You gonna cum on my cock, malysh?” Ilya groaned out, his voice strained as he kept thrusting. 

Then Shane went through a long, drawn out orgasm. It was nothing he’s ever experienced before. It started in the depths of his gut and built so high that his back arched off the bed, the angle deliciously sending Ilya’s cock right into his prostate. Shane’s eyes watered with overstimulation along with a long whine passing his lips, and finally, he came in ribbons across both his and Ilya’s chest. 

Ilya fucked him through it, his mouth sucking at Shane’s throat like he was extracting his soul out of his body. Shane held on with his fingertips gripping bruises into Ilya’s shoulders; his thrusts grew erratic in the middle of Ilya chasing his own orgasm. As Ilya fell further and further into lust, he started to chant in a mixture of Russian and English. 

“So fucking tight. ty kraseevyi. Taking it so well. ty moya yedinstvennaya i nepovtorimaya!” 

Through gritted teeth, Ilya came with a shout in his mother tongue. Shane moaned with him, his hole twitching and thighs quivering. 

Ilya was shaking so hard Shane was sure he was going to collapse on top of him. He rolled his hips, burying himself further into Shane as they came down from their highs. With trembling arms, Ilya kept himself upright as he slowed his breathing and returned to his body. 

Eventually, he pulled out with Shane petting his hair. Ilya tilted his head to kiss the inside of his wrist before he rolled over onto the bed and lay down beside Shane. 

They both laid in the moonlight. The silence of the night blanketed over them. Shane limply looked over towards Ilya’s form, admiring the glistening of sweat and heaving of his chest. His cross necklace had shifted to lie at his collarbone, so Shane reached over to fix it. 

“Can you translate what you were saying to me?” Shane asked as he lightly grabbed for the cross and placed it between Ilya’s pecs. The silence had grown too much for him already. Shane needed to speak, or he felt he’d melt into the mattress. 

He didn’t know why he was suddenly so nervous. Maybe he thought Ilya would send him home, or turn cold as he did many times before at the bar. 

But Ilya turned his head, a fond smile creeping on his face as he blinked toward Shane. His eyes shifted down to where Shane kept his hand upon his chest, his palm placed right above the cross. In a careful grip, Ilya took Shane’s hand to hold in his. He squeezed twice with a sparkle in his eye, still not answering Shane’s question, and then released his hold and guided Shane’s head to his chest. 

Immediately, Shane was able to breathe better.

“Maybe later. Right now, I am dead. You have killed me.” 

Shane snorted and rolled his eyes at the response. But he was the same way; it felt like concrete had been poured into his body, and his head refused to lift off of its place on Ilya’s chest. Even with dried cum on his stomach, he refused to move. 

He thought he closed his eyes for a few minutes, but when Shane reopened them there was sun instead of moonlight shining into the windows of Ilya’s room. It shone across the bedsheets in a trickle of yellow, and Shane followed the ray of light beside him, where it was empty. 

Trying not to panic, Shane examined his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that he was clean. No remnants of cum on his stomach and thighs, and some of the sweat was wiped away as well. The sheets were cold to the touch when he spread his hands toward Ilya’s side of the bed, and he frowned. 

Then he listened, but there was no movement he could hear. No rustle from the kitchen or padding of feet on the floorboards. That was enough for Shane to get up from the bed, throw on whatever pants and shirt he could find, and then make his way out of Ilya’s room and down the hallway. 

It was morning, that was for sure. Shane couldn’t believe he was fucked so good that he had passed out for the rest of the night. He was more surprised that Ilya hadn’t woken him up and told him he had to get going. 

The keys to his car were on the island that Ilya had sucked him off on just hours ago. Beside the keys was a piece of paper, and Shane rubbed the sleep from his eyes before grabbing it. 

‘Off to church. Stay as long as you like, your car is in driveway.’ 

Shane blinked rapidly in surprise. He was worried his eyes were playing a trick on him, but the more he blinked, the more in focus the choppy English words became. 

He whipped his head toward the large windows and made his way over to them. Slowly, his car revealed itself in Ilya’s front driveway where his motorcycle used to be. 

Had Ilya gone out early in the morning to drive the car back to his place? That meant leaving his motorcycle there. The more Shane thought about it, the more confused he got. But he knew it was best that his car was here, especially so people didn’t start getting skeptical or concerned for him. 

He’d imagine Hayden having a heart attack hearing that Shane’s car was left overnight in the parking lot. Then he’d be spamming Shane with texts and calls asking if he was alive. 

Hayden. 

It dawned on him swiftly that Hayden would be worried no matter what because he lived with the guy, for God’s sakes. Shane refused to look for his phone and see if there were messages. He couldn’t deal with that right now, especially while inside Ilya’s house. 

The rational part of him told him to grab his car keys and go, that he needed to leave and explain to Hayden why he wasn’t home last night. It was for the best. This was too intimate, being inside Ilya’s house while he wasn’t home, especially wearing his clothes. Shane felt like a housewife waiting for her husband to get home. 

But also…it felt good. He couldn’t ignore the way his stomach fluttered when he read the letter, when Ilya wrote that he could stay as long as he’d like, as if this was his home too. 

The irrational part of him took over. Because he wanted to explore Ilya’s home, to leave his scent on every piece of furniture as if he were a cat in heat. Shane wanted Ilya to come home and know that he was there, to yearn for him as soon as he got through the door. 

With greedy hands, he made his way around Ilya’s house, touching anything he could. He brushed his fingertips over lampshades and tabletops, pressing his palms to cushions and walls. Beautiful paintings were lining the hallways that Shane had missed during their heated moment last night, and he admired them as he slowly made his way back towards Ilya’s room. 

Once he got to the door, he stared into the room as if he were a stranger. The sheets were twisted and tangled across the bed, pillows and clothes thrown around, the bottle of lube lay on Ilya’s bedside table, the cap still open. 

Shane grabbed and closed the bottle. He put it in the drawer, his eyes wandering over a Russian bible and a box of condoms. What an interesting duo. 

He closed the drawer and turned to leave when he noticed his briefs still laid out on the ground. Shane’s first reaction was to blush and rush over to grab them, but then an idea popped into his mind that halted his movements. 

Maybe he should just…leave them here, and keep them on display across the floor as a reminder of his presence in the house. A memento for Ilya to keep when he returned later, and a promise for more. 

Shane straightened and left the briefs where they were, satisfied with that plan. It felt good to be bold and daring like Ilya. But it was because of Ilya and his response to Shane that allowed Shane to act like this. He could see the obsession and hunger in Ilya’s eyes when he looked at him, and this was Shane’s answer. 

It was time to leave now that he had left what he needed behind. The place was filled with his fingerprints, scent, and precum-stained underwear. 

He grabbed his keys on the island, and as soon as they were in his grip, he could feel the difference in weight. It surprised him enough to stop in his tracks, and Shane looked down to inspect the keys. He quickly noticed that there was an extra key on the chain. It was brass and had the letter ‘I’ carved into the base. Shane traced the raised edges of the letter with his thumb, a smile creeping upon his face. 

Slowly, Ilya was absorbing Shane like a sponge. First, the make-out sessions and sneaky blowjobs in the bar, then the escort's home, next the ride on the bike and the ultimate claim in his bed. Now Shane was here, standing in Ilya’s kitchen with a key engraved with the first letter of Ilya’s name, one that probably locked and unlocked all of Ilya’s doors. 

And maybe next was the ‘property of Rozanov’ stitched onto his shoulders. Then it would be complete.

It was all moving so fast, and it made Shane’s head spin. Only a few weeks ago, Shane was dreaming of this moment, of having Ilya in his bed, or him in Ilya’s. It was only a month or so ago that Shane had started this job and watched Ilya walk in. The man made an effort to pretend as if he didn’t own the place so he could make a fool out of Shane. 

Shane gripped the keys tightly and grabbed the note as well. He folded it neatly and placed it in his pocket, something he wanted to keep as a memento. 

Once outside, he tested the keys by locking Ilya’s door. A smile crept up his face when the key easily slid in and turned. Then he stepped back and gave the house one last look, hopeful to return soon. 

It was strange getting back into his car. After Ilya’s motorcycle and all the adrenaline it contained, now Shane had to sit in a vehicle that was rusting underneath and barely choked to life when he started it. 

Shane suddenly blushed with embarrassment, remembering how it had gotten here due to someone driving it. That alone made him quickly peel out of the driveway and drive back home. 

It wasn’t far to his place, maybe 20 minutes. Shane had managed not to look at his phone once, but once he was parked outside the house, he knew there was no hiding from Hayden’s wrath. 

But Shane didn’t expect silence when he opened the door. There was no rush of footsteps bounding down the stairs or hallway with a flustered Hayden holding his phone and asking a million questions. There was just…nothing. 

Walking down the hallway, Shane stopped in his tracks when he saw Hayden and Jacki cuddling on the couch, watching TV. Her feet were settled in his lap, and Hayden was cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. 

“Hey, buddy,” Hayden said nonchalantly, not even looking Shane’s way. He sipped at his coffee and blinked towards the TV. 

“I’m uh…sorry for not-”
Hayden snorted and shook his head, which interrupted Shane’s useless explanation. 

“You’re a grown man, Shane. Do what you want.” 

And that was that. Shane didn’t answer and nodded stiffly. He couldn’t help but look over towards Jacki, who was staring back at him with concern in her eyes. She flickered her gaze away from him as soon as they locked eyes, as if embarrassed. 

Shane walked away and didn’t say another word. 

- 

Shane didn’t go to work until the next night. He hated how he constantly checked his phone to see if Ilya would text him. He felt like a coward because he couldn’t muster up the courage to do it himself. He was able to leave his briefs on Ilya’s floor, but not text him? His mind worked in mysterious ways. 

When he did get to work, Rose was smiling like an idiot as soon as he got behind the bar. Her eyes roamed his face and body as he tied an apron around his waist. 

“What?” Shane asked, feeling his skin crawl. 

“You just look like…I don’t know…” Rose trailed off teasingly and pretended to be busy by grabbing a cloth and wiping the bar. 

“Like what?” Shane asked again, not enjoying the drawn-out pause. 

She shrugged and stopped her actions to give him a smirk again. Her eyes moved around, inspecting their space to see if anyone was listening before leaning toward him. Shane met her in the middle as her breath reached his ear. 

“Like you’ve been thoroughly fucked,” she whispered happily. 

Shane actually choked. He snapped up straight with wide eyes as he looked at Rose. How the hell did she know? Based on what? Only his appearance?

“I-what are you talking about? That’s not-” 

“Hey, hey,” Rose stopped his panicked words, her perfectly manicured hands coming down to rest on his biceps. Shane was still stiff as she touched him, but he remembered to breathe. 

“No need to freak out. It’s fine, I’m glad you’re getting some. You’ve been annoyingly uptight these past couple of days. Both you and Rozanov.” 

Shane froze, the panic returning. Did everyone know about him and Ilya, now? 

“Rose, we’re not-” 

Rose wouldn’t have it. 

“Oh, yes, you are. Based on the hickey on your neck. Unless you have another motorcycle boy following you around?” 

Shane blinked. Rose started to look slightly concerned at his gradually worse reaction. Every word that came out of her mouth was stressing Shane the hell out. 

“Okay, breathe. Go to the back and get my purse. There’s a purple makeup bag inside it. You won’t miss it. I’m a bit lighter than you, but it’ll cover it, okay?”

Shane went on autopilot. He rushed to the back with his head down. He couldn’t believe that he didn’t notice the hickey. Had Shane been walking around the house for a day and a half with that thing on his neck? He’d even taken a shower and looked at himself in the mirror before he left…

But really, he knows why. His eyes barely looked at his reflection before they went down to his phone to see if Ilya had texted him. His mind was foggy and still fucked-out from the best night of his life. The hickey had been a reminder of it all, and his brain shut it out. 

He stumbled into the tiny bathroom and shut the door once he had Rose’s makeup bag. He squinted into the mirror, glaring at his reflection as he zeroed in on the mark upon his neck. 

Rose wasn’t exaggerating; it was quite large on the side of his neck. It was a dark purple in the middle of the hickey, with a more yellowish tinge at the sides. No matter what, it was way too large. 

Shane scrambled for the concealer. He’d never used one before, but knew the basics. With shaky hands, he untwisted the lid, revealing the little wand attached to it. It looked like enough of the product to do that job, so Shane proceeded to lightly dab at the bruised area until it disappeared. 

He blended it out with his fingers, his face contorting with disgust at the feeling of the makeup on his neck and fingers. He hated things touching so close to his face, and with it also on his hands, it caused him to be very overstimulated. 

Cursing Ilya in his head, Shane twisted the concealer back together and put the makeup away. Then he was able to lean over the sink and focus on breathing. 

This was definitely another tactic from Ilya to show that Shane was his. If Shane had noticed before he had gotten to work, he probably would’ve been all fluttery with affection. But being blindsided by this, only due to his own stupidity, he couldn’t help the anxiety that coursed through his veins. 

But he needed to get back to work, and he refused to have another breakdown in the middle of all his coworkers again. With his head held high and the makeup bag gripped tightly in his hands, he walked out of the bathroom. 

No one was looking at him, not even Hayden, who was also on shift. Shane kept himself lowkey, striding to Rose’s purse and putting her makeup back inside before rushing back to the bar. 

Rose immediately locked eyes with him as soon as he got behind the bar. He could see her inspecting his neck, and she smiled warmly at him. But Shane needed a verbal cue that this was okay, because his cheeks were still burning with embarrassment, and the bar was slowly growing more and more crowded. 

“Is it…?” He gulped, throat feeling like sandpaper. 

She rubbed a hand down his arm, squeezing his elbow affectionately. 

“Yes, it’s fine.” 

Just then, the front doors of the bar opened, and the flash of curly hair and dark eyes filled Shane’s vision. He was surprised how quickly Ilya’s eyes locked onto his, and suddenly Rose was ripping her hand off of him and stepping back as if she were burned. 

Shane gave her a confused look, but she was focused on organizing the bottles behind her. 

He tried to ignore it, instead watching Ilya make his way to his spot at the back. His friends trickled in after him, Wyatt, then Troy, and, surprisingly another young guy came trailing behind them. He held his chin high, but his eyes gave away his nerves as they moved across the bar. 

A new guy, one that Shane hadn’t seen before. He walked over with the boys towards the booth, but didn’t sit down. They spoke quietly to him, not even looking his way before he jerkily nodded and rushed toward the bar. It was then that Ilya’s eyes glued themselves to the kid’s back. 

Shane forced himself to stare at the kid, putting on his customer service smile as he approached. The guy was handsome and had dirty blonde hair and pale skin. He was tall as well, and looked European. 

And once he spoke, he was definitely from somewhere in that region. 

“Hiya, uhm…can I get three pints of beer?” He asked, looking quite nervous now that he was in front of Shane. He was tapping at the top of the bar, fidgeting and shuffling from side to side. 

Shane smirked in amusement. 

“You got I.D on you? No offence, but you barely look 18.” 

“I’m 19! I swear!” The kid struggled to grab something out of his pants, assuming it was his wallet to show his license. Shane waited patiently. But Shane was surprised when he was handed a passport instead. A totally valid document, but Shane was amused that it was from Switzerland. 

“Whoa, Switzerland?” Shane chirped as he grabbed the passport. The kid's name was Luca Haas; in his photo, he looked younger than he did now, with plump cheeks and wide eyes staring back at him on paper. His birthday checked out, though, he could drink. 

“The drinks are not for me. They did not tell me I’d get uh…” Luca was a blushing mess as Shane gave the passport back to him. He was whipping his head back and forth from Shane to the booth in the back. Troy and Wyatt were laughing as they looked back at him, obviously very amused by the kid floundering like this. 

Ilya stared only at Shane. 

“You’re good. I’m just doing my job. Do you want anything, though? If you’re with them, they’ve usually got a tab going.” Shane gave Luca a warm smile, attempting to calm the nerves a bit more. The kid was a stiff pole and looked ready to explode. 

“Water is fine, thank you,” Luca answered with a soft smile in return. 

Shane got to work on the drinks, deciding against giving the kid any more attention. As he poured the beers, his mind wandered to Ilya’s own past. He was once the fresh-faced immigrant kid trying to get into the Ottawa gangs. Their shit parents sent his older brother into the wrong hands, the Raiders, causing Ilya’s brother to die. 

Shane was suddenly concerned for this kid, and wanted to ask Ilya about him. It wasn’t his place; he knew this, but the thoughts were eating away at him. 

Tonight, when the crowds dissipated and the lights dimmed. When it was just him and Ilya in this giant space, he’d ask. 

He turned around, ready to give the drinks to Luca, when he nearly dropped them. Ilya was there, leaning against the counter beside Luca with a cigarette mushed between his lips. The smoke billowed out of the tip, right into Luca’s face, who was slightly shorter than Ilya. But he didn’t seem to care about the smoke; no, he looked more petrified to be so close to Ilya. 

“I am here to help. Thank you, Haas,” Ilya said through the cigarette. He didn’t look at Luca once, still glued to Shane as he placed the beers down on the counter. Ilya made sure to grab them before Shane fully let go, and their hands brushed together perfectly. 

“Nice to meet you, Luca!” Shane waved at Luca, who waved back awkwardly as he grabbed the last beer and walked with his tail between his legs behind Ilya. Shane noticed now that the kid didn’t have the Centaur logo on the back of his leather jacket; it was just blank. 

Did he have to earn the logo? The name? Another question was stored in the back of Shane’s mind for later. 

The rest of the night went by fast. Rose avoided him like the plague, which concerned him a lot. Every time Shane would walk over to her, she’d step away or find another place to work. It was very unlike her. 

But before he could confront her, the night was over, and everyone was leaving. Hayden didn’t speak to him either; in fact, Shane didn’t even see his friend leave. Hayden had gone without saying goodbye, like he usually would. 

The emptiness of the bar was a lot worse this time. It felt strange and wrong. Many people were being weird in his presence. All because…what? He and Ilya were fucking? 

His mind was elsewhere, and Ilya noticed. As soon as the last rumble of a motorcycle left the parking lot, they stared at one another and stood on opposite sides of the bar. It was like they were preparing to spar and waiting to see who would strike first. 

Ilya made the first move. He lazily walked towards one of the tables at the side of the room and grabbed the back of one of the wooden chairs. The sound was loud and blared through the silent space as Ilya dragged it across the ground and settled it near the back, where it was slightly more hidden from the windows at the front. 

It forced Shane to move forward and follow him curiously. He wiped his sweaty palms on his apron and gulped. He didn’t know what to say. 

Ilya sat down, his thick thighs immediately spreading across the chair as he slumped into it. He opened the inside of his jacket, fishing for something. 

Shane expected him to pull out his regular pack of cigarettes and lighter. To light it up and allow Shane to watch as the smoke rose toward the ceiling lamps. But instead, Ilya pulled out a black piece of clothing. 

Shane didn’t understand at first. He blinked in confusion until Ilya shook it out and held it up for Shane to see in all its glory. 

It was Shane’s briefs from the other night. 

“You left these on my bedroom floor,” Ilya spoke in his usual monotone voice. There was no anger or annoyance in his tone. He said it matter-of-factly as his eyes watched the cloth dangle between his fingers. 

Shane blushed scarlet. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-” 

“Did you go home bare underneath the clothes you stole from me? Hm?” Ilya asked with a raised brow. He swung the briefs playfully in his hands, and Shane wanted the floor to eat him alive. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Shane heaved out as he rushed forward to snatch the briefs back in embarrassment. But as he strode forward and swung a hand out to snatch them, Ilya pulled them back and tutted at him like a dog. 

Shane glared at him. 

“You Canadian’s and your sorry’s. If you are sorry, you will make it up to me by doing what I say, yes?” Ilya’s voice grew more authoritative, but his eyes held a deep lust in them that made a shiver go down Shane’s spine. 

He nodded stiffly, still standing in front of Ilya, sitting on the chair. Ilya had the briefs fisted in a ball on his lap. 

“Go back to where you were and take your clothes off,” Ilya commanded. He looked up at Shane through his lashes, his large hands running down his thighs slowly. Shane wanted to climb onto his lap and rut against him till he came. 

But he also wanted to be good for Ilya, to listen to the words he spoke. So, he followed the orders and stepped back to where he previously stood. But once he got there, he grew bashful and looked back to the front of the bar where the windows were. People looking in probably wouldn’t be able to see them, but if someone walked in, they’d definitely be caught. 

“Shane.” 

Shane snapped his head back to look at Ilya. 

“You trust me, yes? If you don’t want to do this right now, say no. You can say no any time.” 

Ilya’s words were calming. He removed the alpha-male tone from his voice, instead exchanging it for something serious and soft. Just so Shane could understand he had boundaries, too. Shane was a people pleaser and didn’t like to say no to anyone. Ilya could see that. 

But Shane wanted this, he really, really did. 

And he couldn’t help but like the risk of getting caught by someone walking in and seeing them. 

Shane nodded toward Ilya as his response, but Ilya frowned. 

“I need a yes out of that mouth, Shane Hollander.”
“Yes, I’m okay.” Shane sputtered out. 

Ilya paused to look Shane over and investigate himself. Once he was satisfied with whatever he saw, Ilya spoke again, and it was back to his low and dominant tone. 

“Take off your clothes, malysh.” 

Shane held back the whine crawling at the back of his throat. Whatever that word meant, it speckled stars in Shane’s mind. 

He listened, this time moving slowly but efficiently as he first untied his apron, then shuffled off his shirt. Once he was naked from the waist up, he folded the apron and shirt and moved to place them on top of the bar counter. Once they were safe and neat, he thumbed nervously at the top of his jeans, looking at Ilya for approval. 

Ilya continued to watch and didn’t say a word, still gripping the briefs in one hand. 

Shane took off the pants and folded them next. Now he was just in his boxers. He already felt incredibly naked and exposed, and a shiver wracked through him. He rubbed at his biceps, crossing his arms over his chest timidly. 

Ilya’s eyes were like rocks weighing him down, and they darkened with each piece of clothing that Shane stripped away. He was frowning now, his fingertips that weren’t curled into Shane’s underwear now tapping impatiently on his knee. 

“All your clothes, Shane. Or you get nothing.” 

Shane breathed out a shaky tuft of air. He couldn’t look Ilya in the eye as he finally hooked his fingers over his waistband and pulled his boxers to his ankles. He stepped out of them and left them at his feet. 

Ilya’s eyes scraped down Shane’s entire form. They were hungry with large pupils that took in every curve and dip across Shane’s body. He held his gaze on Shane’s rock-hard cock, nodded, and then finally snapped his eyes back to meet Shane's eyes. 

Then he unfisted Shane’s briefs and dangled them in front of him again. He inspected them, turning them in his grip like they were a prize. 

“These stayed overnight at my place. They still smell like your cum and sweat.” 

And after he said that, he brought the briefs to his face and buried his nose in them. Shane could hear him take a good whiff, and Shane couldn’t help but whimper. He wanted Ilya’s face buried in the crevices of his body, to smell him like that. 

“You wanted me to do this, da? To smell you and see what I am missing? Very smart.” 

Shane blinked rapidly, shifting from toe to toe. He was getting cold, but his cock was throbbing between his legs. 

“Answer me.” Ilya’s voice rose, and Shane jumped. 

“Yes, I-I left them on purpose,” Shane admitted with a shaky voice. 

Ilya’s expression slowly transformed into a devilish grin as he pulled the briefs away from his face and leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. His cross necklace dangled and reflected off the bar lights. 

“Get on your knees and crawl to me, dorogoy.” 

Shane didn’t know what happened next; it was as if his brain short-circuited due to the command. In a flash, he collapsed hard onto his knees. Ilya didn’t react, still leaning forward on the chair and watching Shane with lustful eyes. 

But Shane hesitated to move forward. His hands trembled as he placed them on the dirty floor. Ilya’s voice rose above his busy thoughts again. 

“Come here, baby.” 

Shane’s brain felt fuzzy. Ilya had a chokehold on him. It felt like strings were attached to his limbs and Ilya was the puppeteer. His bottom lip hung open as he breathed, and he began to salivate as he slowly started to crawl on his hands and knees toward Ilya. 

Like a dog with a bone, a cat with its cream. His eyes zeroed in on Ilya and his large hands, swinging necklace, and spread thighs. His back arched as he swayed forward, his hole hitting the air with each rock of his hips as he crawled forward. 

Once he got close enough, Ilya took one hand and cupped Shane’s cheek. Shane rubbed his cheek into Ilya’s palm, feeling the sweat and the hard, calloused fingers against his soft skin. He kissed the inside of Ilya’s wrist that was peeking out of his leather sleeve. 

“So good for me, so pretty.” Ilya leaned even more forward so he could press a gentle kiss to Shane’s temple. Shane chased the feeling, but Ilya was gone in a second. He was now leaning back in his chair and had the briefs swinging in front of Shane’s face. 

Shane’s eyes narrowed, and he flickered his gaze from his underwear to Ilya’s face. 

“Smell them,” Ilya said, voice rough. 

Shane blinked, his heart racing. This was disgusting. He shouldn’t be sniffing his own underwear, especially one he had rubbed on with his leaking cock a night ago. He thought Ilya would just smirk at them puddled on the floor. Then he'd throw them in the wash for Shane to have when he came back to his house. 

But no, now they were right in front of his face and Ilya was staring at him with eyes that were going to devour him whole, and his thighs were so close Shane could lean just a few more inches forward and nose his face in-

Shane shut himself up by burying his face into his own briefs. He inhaled, his own musk and the faint smell of pre-cum hitting his senses and making his head spin and eyes water. It wasn’t terrible, no, it was actually quite arousing. 

Ilya allowed him to get a good whiff in before he pulled the briefs away. Quickly and quietly, he tossed them aside, Ilya now cupping Shane’s cheek again. 

“Get up now, malysh,” Ilya’s voice was softer again. He guided Shane off the floor and placed both his hands on Shane’s hips. Shane looked down, a moan passing his lips as Ilya began to press kisses across his stomach and hips. Then, he slowly turned Shane in his grip, still leaving kisses as Shane was moved to face away from him. 

Ilya placed wet kisses across his lower spine and cheeks. Shane looked back and moved a hand to run through Ilya’s curls, his ass pressing back to push Ilya further into him. His hole clenched on nothing, hungry. 

“I want you to ride me on this chair with your back to me. Can you do that for me?” Ilya spread Shane’s cheeks apart, and the answer died with a moan on Shane’s lips as Ilya spit on Shane’s hole and made it as wet as possible. There was nothing for Shane to lean against, so Ilya could get a good angle with his fingers. All he could do was rise on his tiptoes, press a hand to one of Ilya’s shoulders for balance, and arch his back so Ilya could slide a finger in and begin to pump inside of him. 

“Oh, fuck,” Shane whined. The angle wasn’t the best, but it still made his legs shake as Ilya added a second finger, his pace quickening. Ilya began to place open-mouthed kisses on Shane’s right ass cheek, his tongue swirling around his back dimples and gathering the sweat that built there. 

Once Shane’s legs began to shake a little too hard, that’s when Ilya stopped. He took out his fingers and removed his lips with a wet pop on Shane’s skin. Then he grabbed a condom in his jacket and rolled it on, all while Shane still shook overtop of him, trying desperately to hold himself up. He had to lower himself down so his heels touched the floor again, and it eased the tremors in his muscles the slightest bit. 

Once the condom was on, Ilya held the base of his cock in one hand and leaned back, spreading his legs so Shane was slotted between them. Shane kept his legs together, understanding the position Ilya wanted him in. 

With his feet still planted on the ground and his thighs pressed together, he braced his hands on Ilya’s thighs which were on either side of him. Once he was in place, Ilya guided his cock into Shane slowly. 

Shane whined with each inch that slipped into him. He gasped as soon as he was fully seated on Ilya’s cock, his hands gripping Ilya’s thighs so tightly he was sure there would be bruises there later. 

He rolled his hips, but before he could hump upwards, Ilya grabbed his throat and tugged him backward so his back was flush to Ilya’s chest. The new angle had Shane crying out in ecstasy; it felt like Ilya’s cock was making a home in his stomach. 

Ilya’s breath was hot in his ear as he spoke. 

“I see you are also hiding your hickey. Did Rose help with that?” Ilya wiped the concealer off; it easily came off on his hand. Shane could see the product on Ilya’s fingers from the corner of his eye. He gulped, Ilya’s hand coming back to hold loosely at his throat. 

Shane shifted in his grip, a high keen passing his lips as Ilya’s cock brushed his prostate. 

“I asked you a question, are you speechless from cock?” Ilya teased, his mouth coming down on the hickey and licking across Shane’s throat. 

“Sh-she was just helping. I was embarrassed. I would’ve hidden it myself if I noticed sooner.” Shane admitted. He hated how pathetic he sounded, but Ilya was turning him on like never before. He was still careful with his touch, never squeezing Shane’s throat too hard or being too forceful, always leaving room for Shane to escape if he needed to. 

But Shane was a puddle on Ilya’s lap, ready to be used. 

“You hurt me, Shane. You give me your underwear to smell, then you go and hide the kisses I give you. Should we stop now if you are so embarrassed by me? Hm?” Ilya removed his hand from Shane’s throat and leaned backwards. His hands went to Shane’s hips to guide him off of his cock, and Shane nearly cried. 

“N-no! No, I love it, fuck, I love it so much,” Shane threw an arm back to curl a hand around Ilya’s hair, all while he rolled his hips back onto Ilya’s cock, reseating himself. Ilya allowed him to ride his lap, Shane’s fingers gripping Ilya’s curls and back arching. His thighs were shaking again. 

“Mm, show me then,” Ilya growled out, his hands leaving Shane’s hips to rest at his side. 

Shane went to work. He pressed his feet into the floor, leaned forward to get better movement, and rode Ilya as if his life depended on it. His fingers were gripping Ilya’s thighs until crescent-shaped indents littered across them. Sweat began to roll down Shane’s forehead and down his spine, and he panted hard into the air. 

When he got too tired to continue going up and down, Shane pressed his thighs as tight as possible against one another and leaned back to roll his hips and bury Ilya inside of him. Ilya groaned below him, but still didn’t touch him. 

Shane looked back and twisted his spine enough so he could hook an arm over Ilya’s neck again and lean back. He moaned brokenly into Ilya’s face, and that was enough. Ilya’s hands went to the meaty part of Shane’s hips, where his ass spilled out across his lap. He gripped them hard, rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs and back up and over his stretch marks. While he touched Shane, he leaned in for a kiss. 

Tongues swirling in one another’s mouths, Shane continuing his figure eights on Ilya’s lap with his hands squeezing at his thighs and finally, finally touching him. He felt himself grow to his peak, his gut tensing and thighs twitching. 

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane cried out, tears gathering in his eyes. It was all so much; he was so full. 

Ilya kissed his lips quickly and looked Shane over, noticing the tears. He reviewed them, a flash of concern on his face before he looked down and saw how red and hard Shane was. 

“You gonna cum on my cock? You did so well, riding me like that. You’re shaking like leaf.” 

Shane nodded and whimpered. He almost bit a hole in his bottom lip as he held back the continuous whines that wanted to leave his mouth. Ilya tutted and frowned. 

“You’re going to burst,” Ilya pointed out before grabbing Shane’s cock in his hand and moving an arm around Shane’s middle. With Shane pinned to his chest and one hand on Shane’s cock, he readjusted his thighs to spread them more and anchor his feet to the ground on either side of Shane’s own feet. Then he rutted upwards and began to fuck Shane with deep thrusts. 

“Oh, oh fuck, Ilya!” Shane cried out, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He came hard, so hard he saw stars as Ilya held him close and fucked through his body. In Shane’s daze, he heard Ilya groan deep into his throat and thrust three more times until he buried himself to the hilt and came into the condom. 

Then they just sat there, basking in the silence. Shane stared up with his head on Ilya’s shoulder as he watched a ceiling lamp with a moth fluttering around it, all of it slowly coming back into focus. The light swung above him lightly, the yellow rays appearing at the end of a tunnel at first, humming and flickering mildly. The moth looked lost in a trance, continuously hitting the light and scrambling across the bulb with its tiny legs.

There was a hand petting his hair. Shane didn’t understand the sensation at first. He was slowly coming back into himself. He had never felt this before, the cloudiness in his brain and the feeling of weightlessness. Just like the moth, he was floating around a light blissfully, searching for his way back. 

He glared at the moth as it finally flew away and out of his vision. With its exit, Shane fell back into himself. 

He felt like that moth, and Ilya was the light. How cheesy of him to think of this while Ilya was still buried inside of him, Ilya, a man draped in dark clothes with dark eyes, being a light to Shane. The flame to his moth.

Chapter End Notes

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See you next weekend

Chapter 5: believe me, you are mine

Chapter Notes

Warnings for this chapter:

We are introduced to more of the dark side to motorcycle gang culture. Particularly brutal hazing is involved, the selling of drugs, and Shane tries to understand it all while falling in love with Ilya. Nothing goes into insane detail.

Other than that, more spicy stuff in this chapter! Whoop!

Chapter title is from Circus by Sandhouse

Shane’s mom had to call him eventually. 

He was dead asleep in his bed, cheek smushed into his pillow with drool leaking out of his mouth, when his phone buzzed to life. Shane nearly jumped out of his skin, his head jolting off the pillow to glare at his phone as if it had shot him. 

With blurry eyes, he reached for it, the caller I.D lighting up with ‘Mom’ on the screen. He sighed, sat up in bed, ran a hand through his hair, and then answered. 

“He’s alive!” Yuna teases on the other end. He hears his dad in the background, his voice muffled and asking a question he couldn’t register. 

“Hey, Mom,” Shane greets sleepily. 

“You aren’t answering my texts again, it’s getting to the point where I almost called Hayden to ask how you were doing.” 

Shane tries not to freeze, but he can’t help the stutter in his heart at her words. He knew Hayden wouldn’t say anything too revealing, but Shane’s mom could be pushy at times. She’d manage to weasel out some kind of intel about him, she always did. 

But Hayden was in the same boat as him. He was part of this gang and understood the secrecy. Plus, as Hayden had said, Shane was an adult and could do whatever he wanted. 

An adult with an extremely protective mom. 

His dad couldn’t care less. He loved him, of course, but he was always the one in the background of Shane and his mom’s calls. He’d ask a few questions here and there, mostly about job hunting or random updates on hockey. It was nice; his dad was the middle ground between him and his mom’s constant prying questions. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Mom, really. I got a job, and it’s weird hours. but-”

“A job?! Oh, David, did you hear that?” 

Shane rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the small, amused grin from creeping up his face. His mom reacted as if he had just cured cancer. 

“Uh, yeah. Nothing crazy. Hayden got me it actually. It’s at the bar he works at.” 

“Well, that’s wonderful, son. We’re happy you’re getting settled there.” Shane’s dad piped up from the back.

They spoke a little bit more. His mom asked him a ton of questions, many of which Shane had to lie about or be extremely vague. It was exhausting, really, but what other choice did he have? Ilya and his relationship was…complicated to say the least. Shane himself didn’t even know what to call it, so why the hell would he tell his parents? 

So he gave them boring answers, and eventually they let him go. His mom urged him to call her more, which Shane gave an empty promise to do. In the end, as long as she was satisfied with whatever he said, that was enough for him.

As soon as he got off the phone, though, a text popped up on his screen—an unknown number.

You are not working tomorrow. 

Shane raised a brow, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Before he could come up with something, another text popped up. 

Come for a ride with me.

Ah. So this was Ilya. He did say he already had his phone number. 

Shane smirked, his thumbs typing faster now that he knew who it was. 

Okay!

He immediately overthought his own text. Was it too enthusiastic? Too vague? He bit his thumbnail nervously as he waited for the response. It didn’t take long.

I will pick you up at your place. 1 pm.

Ilya was so not enthusiastic with his texts, that was for sure. He was a man who spoke very seriously, even on the phone. Shane wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Now he was giddy. Just one more sleep and he’d be back with his front pressed to Ilya’s back, the wind in his hair and the rumble of the bike between his thighs. This was sooner than he thought. Shane was sure Ilya had been petrified of Shane getting on the bike with the way he acted the first time. 

But this was happening, he and Ilya. Whatever it was between them. 

He still had work before all this occurred, and Shane couldn’t help but dread it. He and Hayden were still on the rocks, and Rose had barely looked at him the one night after helping him with his hickey. 

Maybe it was time he stopped thinking of just Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. For weeks, that was what was always on his mind. Ilya Rozanov had plagued his brain entirely, so much so that he had pushed away his closest friends and colleagues. 

With a huff, Shane dropped his phone and got dressed for the day. He knew Hayden was home since they both started later, so it was all about finding him.

Walking down the hallway, he felt controlled by determination. Shane eventually found Hayden leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee. Jacki was nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey,” Shane spoke awkwardly, his voice sounded strange in the air. 

Hayden looked up from sipping his coffee to give Shane a raised brow, looking almost surprised to see his friend in the house they shared, as if Shane had become a stranger. It hurt. 

“Hey,” Hayden replied bluntly. His tone didn’t hold any bite, and he looked worn out. 

Shane approached his friend slowly; he had his hands in front of him, picking away at the ends of the sleeves on his sweater. He sucked at this…being intimate and showing affection. With Ilya, it was different; Ilya held the handlebars in the relationship…literally and figuratively. Shane sat back and let the love consume him that way, but now he needed to step up and apologize to his friend. 

“I wanna apologize for being so…” He trailed off, but Hayden was quick to finish the sentence. 

“Bitchy?” Hayden chirped up, his mouth hidden behind his coffee cup. Shane glared at him, but couldn’t help the amused grin that crept up his face. 

“Yeah, bitchy. I uh, I’ve been really figuring myself out lately, and it's been super overwhelming and strange. And I know all the things you’ve done for me have been because you care, and I really appreciate it-” 

“Hollzy.” 

Shane stopped his rambling, his eyes locking in on Hayden as his friend placed his cup on the countertop and made his way over to him. Shane didn’t know if he should take a step back or move forward, so he stayed where he was with wide eyes. 

Hayden didn’t stop, and then all of a sudden Shane was engulfed in a hug so tight it took the breath right out of him. But as soon as he was crushed into Hayden’s arms, Shane immediately melted into them like a puddle. 

He let out a deep sigh, and the tears welled in his eyes and threatened to fall. Shane sniffled and dug his cheek deeper into his friend's shoulder, his own arms tight around Hayden’s back.

 “I love you, you know that, right?” Hayden asked, voice muffled within Shane’s shoulder. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know, and I’m sorr-” 

“Shh, stop saying sorry, or I’m gonna punch you.” 

Shane laughed, and they slowly separated. Hayden kept his hands on Shane’s shoulders and squeezed them tightly. Now they were looking at one another in the eye with a deep connection, one they’ve had since they were kids. Whatever cracks had formed had been paved over and filled. 

“You know…maybe this is a good thing that you’re fucking Ilya Rozanov, now you can put a good word in for me to be a member.” 

Shane raised a brow, a smile still stuck to his face. 

“After you lectured me about him being dangerous, you still want to be in his gang? You’re insane!” 

“Oh, I’m insane?!” Hayden playfully shoved Shane back and moved toward his coffee again. 

“Listen, it's different when you’re a member. I’ve known about the Centaurs and its culture…just not about Rozanov and how bad he personally was. Dating the guy and having a ‘property of’ jacket with his name on it is different than being just another guy with a Centaurs logo.” 

Shane felt his stomach curl. He blushed and distracted himself by pouring his own coffee. 

“I don’t have that jacket, so it’s not that serious,” Shane mumbled, his eyes hyperfocused on the ripples of coffee moving inside his mug. He couldn’t look at Hayden’s face in fear that he’d get a reaction he wouldn’t like. They had just patched things up. 

A snort came from Hayden’s mouth, and Shane took a large gulp of his coffee. It was still hot and burned down his throat as he finally looked up. 

Hayden was staring at him with the most amused grin, a white sparkling row of teeth twinkled mischievously at him. Shane wasn’t having it. 

“I’m sure he’s getting it made as we speak. You’ll be Rozanov within the week, especially with the way he’s been treating you.” Hayden gave him a wink, his eyes cast down to Shane’s throat. And, fuck, once again, he had forgotten about that hickey. It had only slightly gone down in colour; it had been only a few days since he first received it. But Ilya kept pressing on it and licking his throat, stimulating the skin cells across it to keep its purple hue. 

Shane only wanted it gone when he looked at other people; he wished the bruises could only be for Ilya’s eyes. 

He reached up and cupped the part of his throat where the hickey was exposed, his face scrunching in embarrassment. 

“But in all seriousness, buddy…” Hayden had a stern face now. He walked over to the sink and put his now-empty cup inside before turning to lean against the counter with his arms crossed. Shane hated the look he gave him, one that was filled with love and concern. It flashed back to the night Shane had walked in on Hayden, Troy, and Harris sitting in a circle at the kitchen table, looking at him like he had received a death sentence. 

“I’m gonna worry about you because you’re my best friend. If the Centaur’s guys come to me concerned about you and Rozanov getting close, I have to listen. But like I said, you’re an adult, and I’m here to support you.” 

Shane smiled softly, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He needed this. The time between him and Hayden was precious, and he really was his best friend. Shane wouldn’t know what he’d do without him. He probably wouldn’t even be in this house or have the job. 

“We’re going on a date tomorrow…” Shane decided to reveal the plans, now comfortable disclosing the information. Who knows, maybe Shane will need his friends back in this. Ilya could still be a raging psychopath. 

“Oh, really? And have you been on his bike yet?” Hayden asked with a sparkle in his eye.

“Yeah, and it was…incredibly hot,” Shane admitted, his fingers gripping tighter onto his cup. 

Hayden raised his brows. He moved into Shane’s space again, a hand coming down on his shoulder. 

“Wear a condom, and wear a helmet. Protection is key in riding your motorcycle and your man!” 

Shane swatted hard at Hayden’s bicep, causing his friend to yelp and cower away with a laugh. Shane got smacked back, and it was like they were kids again, Shane had to put his coffee mug down to tackle Hayden low at the waist, his wrists locked together at the small of Hayden’s back to try and topple him. 

Hayden was strong too, and stayed on his own two feet. Eventually they parted with heavy breaths, pushing each other away with the kitchen table between them as their no man’s land. 

“Truce? Can I go see my girlfriend now?” Hayden huffed out, his smile stretched from ear to ear. Shane missed seeing it so much. 

“As long as you tell her that you’re still trying to get into this motorcycle gang she hates,” Shane laughs back. 

Hayden was already waltzing towards the front door. But his smile was still bright as he turned around to pass Shane a glare. 

“I’m working on it, okay?!” 

Then he was disappearing out the door, and the peaceful silence followed. 

-

That night, Shane and Ilya were calm in one another’s arms. Ilya had texted Shane an hour before work, saying that he would come in once the bar closed. When he did, he practically threw Shane over his shoulder when they connected. Ilya walked him all the way to the back of the bar with Shane kicking playfully in the air. He was strong, and it was as if Shane were weightless as he strutted to the booth. He carefully placed Shane down sideways at the corner of the bench. Ilya shuffled beside him nonchalantly, lit up a cigarette, and lay his head back on the plush seating to stare at the ceiling in bliss. 

Shane shuffled up so his back was to the wall of the booth, his legs stretching out to rest on Ilya’s lap. Ilya happily allowed it and placed one hand on one of his shins, dragging Shane’s jeans up so he could connect skin to skin. Now they were sitting in the quiet, the smoke from Ilya’s cigarette forming white clouds in the air around them. 

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Shane asked, finally breaking the silence.

Ilya hummed around his cigarette and plucked it from his mouth, the smoke escaped through his nostrils like a dragon as he leaned over the table to tap off the excess ashes. 

“We are going to one of the private lakes in Quebec. Not far, maybe half an hour.” Shane perked up at Ilya’s words. That sounded amazing. 

“And…the others will be there?” Shane asked next. 

Ilya nodded, the cigarette back in his mouth while he spoke. 

“Harris, Troy, Wyatt, Marleau, Luca, and some other guys you do not know yet. There will be food.” 

Hearing Luca’s name brought Shane back to the last time they met. How Luca looked so baby-faced and wide-eyed with no clue what was happening around him. 

“Luca…is he new?” Shane questioned, his eyes following Ilya’s movements as he took another long drag of his cigarette and removed it from his mouth. He looked over to Shane, inspecting him with those same dark doe eyes. 

“Yes, a prospect.” 

Shane’s brows furrowed. The motorcycle lingo was still lost on him, and he wasn’t sure Ilya even wanted him to know. 

“What’s that?” 

Ilya kept looking at him; the cigarette didn’t move to his lips. He kept it pinched between his fingers, where his hand was resting on the table. His other squeezed Shane’s shin and then slowly made its way up to grip Shane’s thigh. It was dangerously close to his groin, and Shane shifted with arousal. 

“Some day I want to see you naked with only your little apron on,” Ilya happily deflected as he tugged playfully on Shane’s greasy apron. Shane huffed and swatted his hand away. 

“You love not answering my questions, huh?” Shane pushed himself off from the wall and scooched forward so he was leaning into Ilya’s space. His knees tucked up, and Ilya was forced to remove his hand from his thigh to his knee. The cigarette burned away. 

“It is because I like you, that is why I don’t answer them. I promise,” Ilya answered. 

Speaking in riddles again. Shane squinted his eyes forward, trying to reach the inside of Ilya’s brain for something. He was slowly wiggling his way inside, but it would take time. 

Ilya was a bad person, after all. That’s what Troy and Harris said. That’s what Hayden thought. 

Before Shane could overthink it again, Ilya was leaning forward to kiss him softly on the lips. He released his cigarette into the ashtray and used both hands to hook under Shane’s knees and shove him off of him. In a flash, Ilya was on top of him and between his thighs. It was a tight squeeze between the table and the booth seats, but perfect friction against one another’s bodies. 

Shane moaned, his jaw slackening and back arching to chase the feeling of their clothed cocks rubbing together. He was instantly rock hard, and Shane could feel that Ilya was the same.

Ilya leaned down, a hand unhooking itself from Shane’s knee to cup his jaw and lean in for a kiss. The fresh taste of the cigarette made Shane moan louder, his head coming off the bench to deepen the kiss further.

They began to grind against each other. The damned apron made it a little harder to gain a full experience, but that motivated Shane to arch further and grind deeper.

Ilya moaned into the kiss and pulled back, a line of spit connecting them. Ilya licked at his lips to disconnect the string, his eyes glossy with lust as he looked down between their bodies.

Then his hand began to move, the other was lightly cupping Shane’s throat as the other lifted Shane’s apron out of the way and began to unbutton his pants. It was hard with one hand, but Ilya managed to get the button done before Shane got too impatient and frantically removed his hands from Ilya’s torso to help shuffle them off his hips.

They didn’t take either of their pants off all the way. It was wet, rough, and quick. A perfect combination that had Shane’s brain go fuzzy. Ilya had unzipped himself and pulled his hard cock out, and then grabbed their cocks together in his fist. Now he was jerking them off and messily using their precum as lube.

“So wet for me,” Ilya groaned, the pace feverish between them. Shane was a whining mess. His hips couldn’t stay still; they constantly twitched upwards and wiggled against the booth, bare ass pressed to it as Ilya squeezed and tugged at their cocks.

The orgasm built inside Shane quickly; his voice grew higher and higher, and Ilya was whispering such sweet nothings to him. Some encouraging words in English like “yes baby, so good for me, fucking cum just like this for me,” and then some jumbled words in Russian that Shane couldn’t repeat if he tried. But the R’s rolled so beautifully, the Russian language like butter on Ilya’s tongue even as he growled them out.

“Ah!” Shane shouted, the ceiling light blinding him as he stared right into it throughout his orgasm. It was just like the last time, but this one felt messier and more dangerous. Shane felt that they were hiding from someone, but knew they were alone. It still jolted something in his gut that warmed him.

Ilya didn’t cum until he released the hand from Shane’s throat and sat up. He jerked over Shane’s body, the hand at Shane’s throat now moving to push Shane’s shirt up so his stomach was exposed. It caused him to shiver as the air hit his skin, and he moaned weakly when Ilya grunted and came across his stomach not a second later.

“Fuck,” Ilya panted, his eyes staring at his work on Shane’s middle before he finally looked up to smirk at Shane’s half-lidded eyes and swollen lips. 

Shane wanted to squirm again, only because Ilya was looking at him so intensely. He always did, but after such intimate moments like this, Shane didn’t know what to do. It felt like he was back naked in the middle of the bar again, waiting for Ilya to demand he crawl on all fours and smell his own underwear.

“I will get a cloth,” Ilya was soothing as he spoke, as if he feared that his own voice would scare Shane away. He got up shakily, his biceps pulsing and thigh muscles tensing as he maneuvered himself out of the booth. He looked extremely hot all fucked out with his jeans unbuttoned and extremely low on his hips to the point Shane could see where his happy trail met the small bundle of pubes on his groin.

Ilya grabbed the cigarette; it was still smoking away and abandoned in the ashtray. He barely held it within two fingers, but he made do as he puffed away at it and disappeared into the kitchen.

As soon as Ilya was gone from his sight, Shane collapsed back into the booth with the biggest smile on his face.

-

Ilya rode into Shane’s driveway at exactly 12 pm the next day. Shane was waiting outside on the porch, his hands stuffed inside his jean jacket. It had rained last night, and water dripped off the gutter and onto the ground. It smelled like grass and mildew, which was calming to Shane. He had stressed all morning about what to wear, and ended up in the classic Canadian tuxedo…because, well, he knew his ass looked good in jeans, and his shoulders looked huge in the denim jacket he had. 

But Ilya looked dangerous and sexy, and Shane had to bite back a gasp when Ilya pulled up in a full-face helmet. It was matte black with a dark visor over his eyes so you couldn’t see any part of his face. He looked like he came straight out of a magazine photoshoot as he stopped the bike and flicked down the kickstand with his foot. Shane nearly had to adjust himself in his pants when Ilya leaned back, his helmet slowly turning to look in his direction. 

And Shane knew he was only looking at him; he couldn’t help but shiver. 

It got better. Ilya unhooked something under the helmet and tossed it off his head. His curls sprang free, and he shook out the frizz from the helmet before reconnecting his gaze with Shane. 

Shane wanted to climb him like a tree. Screw this date, this meet-up. 

But no, he was strong. Shane proved it by strutting down the stairs and waltzing up to Ilya, keeping their eye contact the entire time. Ilya’s smile grew the closer Shane got, and Shane couldn’t help but lean onto the bike to give Ilya a slow, wet kiss. 

Ilya hummed and then promptly shoved the helmet into Shane’s hands. 

Shane let out an ‘oomph.’ He had not expected the action and stumbled backwards with wide eyes slowly looking down at the equipment in his hands. The helmet was very smooth on his fingers, and there wasn’t a scratch on it. In fact, it looked brand new. 

“Is this for me?” Shane asked, his eyes raising to meet Ilya’s again. 

Ilya nodded, and his eyes did a quick flicker back and forth from the helmet to Shane’s face. 

“Try it on for me,” Ilya said simply. 

Shane inspected the helmet; his hands went beneath it to look into the hollow part where his head would go. He hated that it was going to wreck his hair; he hadn’t spent long on it this morning, but he had heard of helmet head and didn’t really want to find out. 

But Ilya kept staring at him, waiting. Shane couldn’t say no. He flipped the helmet over and brought the hollow part to the top of his head. It slid on with a quick shimmy, and now Shane was encased in a plush shell. It felt nice; it was probably the best thing he could have since he hated sensory overloads. The helmet hugged his face and ears, keeping the world out. 

He could still see Ilya, and the man reached forward to flip the visor out of Shane’s eyes. The afternoon light shone in, and Shane squinted. 

“Hi,” Shane greeted. It was strange to smile in the helmet with all the padding, but he managed. 

It looked like Ilya found it incredibly adorable and hot. Shane could see how his smile slowly fell off his face until it was a soft grin, as if he were hypnotized. 

“Not too tight? Or too loose?” Ilya asked. His hands came up to shimmy the helmet around. 

“It feels…good, yeah,” Shane would have to get used to how heavy it was on his head, but other than that, he felt secure. 

Ilya continued his own inspection. He held both sides of the shell and twisted it lightly before nodding to himself and letting go. 

“Why don’t you wear one?” Shane couldn’t help but ask. 

Ilya settled back on the bike once he was satisfied with Shane’s helmet. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching. 

“Just never did. Was not cool.” Ilya shrugged, making Shane frown. 

“So am I not cool enough to go helmetless?” Shane meant it as a tease, his hands settling on his hips as he looked Ilya’s way. He felt ridiculous in the large helmet, and his head shifted around like a bobblehead as he got used to the weight. But Ilya didn’t laugh; he instead blinked forward and frowned harder. 

Then he stood up off the bike, still straddling it while grabbing the underside of Shane’s helmet to tug him forward. Ilya kissed the bottom half of the visor quickly and then maneuvered the helmet downwards so he could look at Shane through the visor even more intensely as he answered. 

“You’re too pretty to go helmetless; you need protection.” 

Shane blushed pink, and he was sure it was obvious amongst the black padding around him. 

Ilya didn’t point it out. With the hand that he used to grab the chin of Shane’s helmet, he closed Shane’s visor and leaned back to sit on the motorcycle seat. Once he was situated, he nodded his head behind him to where Shane would sit. 

Carefully, Shane swung a leg over and sat himself behind Ilya. The feeling of the leather seat on his jeans and the press of Ilya’s body against his sent shockwaves through his body. Finally, he was back on the bike. 

He remembered to circle his arms around Ilya’s waist. It was a bit more awkward with the helmet on. He couldn’t feel Ilya’s leather jacket against his cheek, or smell the waft of cigarettes, but he would have to get used to it. Eventually, he settled with a few more shuffles, and as soon as he stilled, Ilya started the bike and let it rumble to life. 

Thighs shaking, ass vibrating, his heart in his throat, Shane’s arms tightened while Ilya kicked out the kickstand and balanced the bike. With two cranks of the throttle, it revved loudly before they jolted forward and began their ride. 

The ride was so much smoother with the helmet on. Shane realized that quickly as they drove through traffic. During his first ride, the air whipped harshly around his ears and face, and he had to bury his nose deeply into Ilya’s shoulder to relieve the feeling. He couldn’t even look up, his eyes tightly shut as the world roared around him. 

But now Shane could absorb everything. He still kept his body tight to Ilya’s back, but allowed his head to turn to the side and stare at the blur of trees and cars beside him. His eyes rolled up to meet the sky, and the clouds and sun shone down upon him. 

It was like he was in a daze, because he didn’t even realize they had stopped at a stoplight until Ilya had taken a hand off the handlebars to cup his knee. Shane looked down and saw Ilya looking back at him with that same concerned look, although this time it didn’t look so erratic. He was calmer, but kept a careful eye. 

“I’m okay,” Shane said before Ilya could ask. Ilya smiled his way and squeezed his knee once before placing his hand back on the handlebars just in time for the light to turn green. 

A few minutes later and the road changed from paved to dirt. Shane’s breath caught in his throat as the bumps increased and Ilya weaved around tree roots, puddles, and stones. He hugged Ilya tighter, trusting that he’d keep them upright. 

They eventually stopped at a clearing in the forest. It opened to a field with a swamp area. Shane blinked up and could see a crowd in the middle of the field. A lot of the long grass was smothered to the ground from motorcycle tires and the ground was still wet from the rain. He raised a brow with intrigue as he swung his leg over and put both feet on the ground. 

A loud rev of an engine startled him a little bit. Shane had looked toward Ilya first since he was still straddling the bike, but it had been turned off as soon as they stopped. Another rev caused Shane to whip his head towards the sound and lock in on the disturbing scene a few meters in front of him. 

Luca was being dragged into the middle of the field. Two guys had pinned him to the ground behind a bike with someone on it. Shane couldn’t remember the guy's name. There was a rope attached to the back of the bike, and one of the men grabbed it to tie around Luca’s ankles. 

“What the fuck?” Shane spat out, his eyes narrowing with disgust. Ilya had said something to him, but his voice was drowned out by another long strain of revs from the motorcycle before the man on the bike was suddenly hitting the gas and flying forward. 

Right toward a very large mud puddle. 

“Hey!” Shane yelped. He moved on autopilot, his eyes completely focused on Luca’s wide eyes as he was fired off and dragged down the dirt road. His body left an indent in the ground from the mud, and then he was quickly swallowed by the puddle until his body almost disappeared into it. 

“Stop!” Shane cried out, his feet slipping ruthlessly on the muddy ground as he bolted toward the motorcycle. He went through the mud puddle as well, because in the blink of an eye, Luca reemerged from the puddle on the other side. He was completely drenched in mud and water. 

The guy got off the bike and turned to see who was yelling at him. Now Shane had clocked who it was. Marleau. The man from one of Shane's first nights, who had been so giddy that Shane was there to give them drinks. Shane had seen him on and off throughout his time working at the bar, but never came face to face with him like this. 

And oh, Shane let him have it. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Shane shoved the man back. It was hard enough that he stumbled back towards his bike. There was laughter and ‘oohs’ from behind Shane, but he didn’t care. 

Marleau was much taller than Shane as well, but he still got close. 

“You could’ve fucking killed him! You asshole!” Shane growled out. 

Marleau was smiling, but it dropped the slightest bit at the name-calling. 

“Get your boy, Rozanov!” Marleau yelled out, and Shane huffed in shock. How dare this guy?

“Shane, hey!” Now Ilya was here, his body crowding into his space. He forced himself between Shane and Marleau, his eyes only on Shane as he walked him backwards. 

“I need to see if he’s-” Shane attempted to move around Ilya, but Ilya’s hands pressed lightly at his chest to stop him. 

“He’s okay,” Ilya assured without even looking at Luca. 

“You don’t know that! Fuck, he could’ve drowned or hit his head, what was he-” 

“Shane,” Ilya kept forcing Shane back. And now there were so many people around them. They all looked at him with snickers on their face, women and men all dressed up in their leather as they belonged. Here Shane was making a fool of himself. 

Shane took a glance at Luca over Ilya’s shoulder. Luca was slowly getting up. The two men who had originally pinned and tied him to the motorcycle were patting him on the back and shoulders as they untied his ankles. He was shakily wiping away the mud from his eyes with a smile on his face. 

Shane looked down in embarrassment and swiftly turned around and rushed off to the treeline.

“Hey!” Ilya kept calling, his feet fast and keeping pace with Shane’s. But Shane refused to listen, his brain shutting off. But Ilya kept talking. 

“Come on, yebat’ baby, slow down!” Ilya called out. 

Baby. 

That stopped Shane’s strides. He made it to a tree and turned around to collapse onto it. He looked at Ilya with wide eyes filled with tears, his arms coming up to fold against his chest as he swallowed through a breakdown.   

“What the hell was that?” Shane’s voice shook as he spoke. His hands curled into his jacket sleeves to find comfort. 

Ilya stood a few feet away, his hands on his hips as he glared at the ground. Something was working away inside his brain, because he took a deep breath and shook out his hands before speaking.

“Do you know what hazing is?” Ilya questions, his eyes meeting Shane’s. 

Of course Shane knew what hazing was. But he understood it from the frat house perspective. Boys and girls making it a tradition for new members to do certain things that will solidify their place in the groups. So was this the same thing? Shane had never heard about hazing rituals that were ever this brutal. 

This was just plain attempted murder.

“Hazing in frat houses, yeah. But there’s no way this is anything close to that.” Shane tried not to raise his voice, but the frustration grew inside of him. Poor Luca.

“That is the version little boys play. This is the real hazing, and is something Luca signed up for.” 

Shane gawked, not understanding Ilya’s explanation. Was he actually defending this? 

Shane should stop being surprised in the end. Ilya was a bad person; he did and supported bad things.

But maybe he had hope. Maybe because Ilya had treated him like a flower, and it caused him to see a distorted version of Ilya’s world around him. 

“Signed up? Are you kidding?” 

“This is tradition here. Luca understood that; he knew it would happen eventually. Prospects have to do many things for their gang before becoming a full patch member. Things I don’t want to tell you about right now.” 

Shane shook his head and blinked away the frustrated tears. The anger had simmered and been replaced with defeat.

“Why? Because I’m too pretty to know these things?” Shane teased, trying to bite back. But Ilya didn’t look fazed at all, and his expression hardened. 

“Because you saw something scary and I don’t want to…ah, English. I don’t want to fill your brain.” 

Shane smiled weakly. That was cute.

“Overload?” Shane translated.

Ilya nodded and stepped closer, the tension dying down.

“I am sorry you had to see that, Shane,” Ilya mumbled, his voice so honey-like as he breathed the words out. He got closer and closer until they were nose to nose.

“Can you call me baby again?” Shane asked bashfully, batting his lashes for good measure. 

Ilya’s smirk rose, and his answer was in a soft kiss to Shane’s lips. 

“Baby,” one kiss. “Baby,” a second kiss, softer now. “Moy malysh,” a third whispered in Russian, one that Shane could translate, and a kiss to go with it that lasted the longest. 

They continued to kiss softly for a few moments, no tongue or messiness, just quick smooches with the promise for more. Shane placed a hand on one of Ilya’s lapels, holding it loosely between his fingers for purchase.

“Hey, Hollander!” 

Shane ignored it to steal a few more kisses.

“Hollander, look! C’mon, stop eating Rozanov’s face off and look at your little baby walk! He’s alive!” 

That got Shane’s attention as well as Ilya’s. They both turned to see Luca stumbling onto his feet and shaking out his ankles before slowly making it over to the other group of people. Shane could now see Troy, Harris, and Wyatt in the group as well, and they had huge smiles across their faces as they congratulated Luca and gave him comforting slaps on the back.

It was Marleau who yelled out the comments. He was off his bike and clapping as he walked behind Luca. When Shane looked back, they immediately locked eyes. Marleau looked very smug. 

And Shane felt so, so stupid. 

“It was worse, you know,” Ilya interrupted Shane’s train of thought. He looked away from the scene and back to Ilya’s form in front of him. 

“What was?” Shane asked, his hands playing with the collar of Ilya’s jacket. 

“Tying prospects to the bike. It used to be tied to the wrists instead of ankle. Too many wrists were broken, so we changed it.” 

Shane’s eyes narrowed, his stomach turning at the image that popped into his mind. 

“Did you…have to…” Shane didn’t know if he could finish the question. He was too scared to know the truth, and imagining Ilya hurt made him sick. 

Ilya shrugged as if it were nothing, nodding to Shane’s words. 

“Yes. No wrist broken, though. When I became leader, I changed it. It is better now.” Ilya pulled Shane in by the hips, their bodies slotted together as he swayed them back and forth. Shane could hear hooting and hollering coming from the field, but he ignored it and focused on the leather pressed to his cheek. 

“Will I have to do this, too?” Shane’s voice was small; this question scared the shit out of him the most. Would he allow himself to get tied by the ankles to Ilya’s bike while he sped off into a puddle? At first, he thought no, because he hated getting dirty, and being restrained like that would send him into a full-on panic attack. But he had already risked so much for Ilya; his friendships, family, sanity. What else would he do? 

But Ilya’s response to his question was strange. His body stiffened against Shane’s, and his hands stopped their slow circles into his lower back. Shane pulled away to study Ilya’s expression, and was met with a stone face. 

“No, you did not join the gang like I did, or like Luca,” Ilya’s hands moved back to Shane’s hips to squeeze them before he continued. “You are with me, that is different.” 

Shane nodded stiffly, still not fully understanding. But if Ilya said no, he meant it. Shane trusted him. 

“Hey,” Ilya spoke softly, but there was a seriousness to it that made Shane swiftly look up to meet his eyes. “If anyone asks you to do anything, don’t listen to them. You do not have to do anything to prove yourself to anyone, okay?” 

Shane nodded again, and then they were back to kissing. They held each other for a few moments before parting and looking back at the gang. They were setting up a mini barbecue. Luca was shirtless, and getting water dumped on top of him by Wyatt. The remnants of mud washed off of him. 

As they walked towards the group, Luca shook out his hair like a dog and looked up to meet Shane’s eyes. The kid smiled his way, a soft smile appearing on his face as if to say, ‘I’m okay.’ 

Shane nodded towards him, hoping it was true.

-

The next few days were euphoric for Shane. 

On his days off, Ilya would whisk him away on his bike. They’d drive through Ottawa’s countryside, down the Rideau River, through Quebec. 

Quebec was particularly beautiful. Shane had never seen so many mountains, trees, and rocks. He remembers when his parents would take him to their cottage down in Sudbury. He could see little fragments of his childhood when he looked at Quebec, and it made him smile with pure bliss, his eyes looking up into the sky as Ilya zipped down the highway. 

They did late-night rides, too. Shane was scared at first; he had never been so close to the darkness before. Riding on a bike was different; you were connected with everything around you. The ground was so close, and the air made sounds and sang to him. In the dark, there were fewer cars and people, and it felt like he was in a movie. 

He grew closer to the gang as well. He and Harris were always side by side when the others were rough-housing or going to church. Shane and Harris had become close, and it allowed Shane to lean on someone that wasn’t just Ilya.

But it was hard to watch Luca go through all these hazing rituals. Ilya always looked Shane’s way nervously when the boys would grab at Luca and make him do things. Shane had watched Luca get forced to lick Marleau’s boot, or get pranked to drink piss, thinking it was beer. But the kid took it in stride, always being praised and brought closer into the group. 

Shane noticed that Luca always gravitated to him when the boys redirected their attention to other things. He’d ask Shane questions about his life, and share his own. Shane had felt pride swell in his chest knowing Luca was comfortable enough around him to share his personal life. 

There were times, though, that got too hard for Shane. He had to take a breather in the kitchen when he saw Luca being given a bag of drugs to sell. Shane learned it was better to be blissfully naive than aware of what was happening below the surface of this perfect life he found. But throughout the summer, Shane had kept a careful eye on the young prospect. 

Ilya noticed, because of course he did. But it wasn’t out of jealousy, that had dampened when Shane had given him a particularly harsh glare when Ilya had attempted to separate Luca and him one time. Now he’d give Shane short updates on Luca’s progress, reminding him that he was alive and well. 

Overall, it was nice to be surrounded by this group. Shane had even gotten the courage to tell Ilya about Hayden’s interest in joining the gang. Ilya at first looked unsure, a frown tugging at his lips, but Shane had sparked his interest once he talked his ear off about how obsessed Hayden was with bikes and the culture. Slowly, maybe with time, Hayden would become part of this. 

As summer grew hotter, eventually they had their own special spot, he and Ilya. It was right outside Gatineau in Quebec. Ilya had turned on a dirt road, and magically came across an abandoned house, half-destroyed with its roof caved in. But in the backyard was a gorgeous pond, and a willow tree that hung its branches over the water. It was perfect to settle Ilya’s bike under as they jumped naked into the pond and fucked beside it. 

During their first time bare amongst the wildlife, Ilya had finally entered Shane bare. With huffed out words of reassurance and comfort, they agreed that it was safe to do so. The feeling was unlike anything Shane had ever felt, and he saw that Ilya thought the same. The way Ilya’s eyes crossed, and his chest heaved as he entered Shane. Shane was on his back, taking it while feeling overwhelmed and needy. Tears had built up in the corners of his eyes.

Afterwards, Shane had lain on his stomach, his nose buried in the crook of his elbow. Ilya lay beside him, leaning on his elbow as he tickled his back with the tips of his fingers and smoked a cigarette. Shane had been infatuated with Ilya’s eyes, the way they mapped out Shane’s back and followed the movement of his fingers. It calmed him, and sleep tugged at his eyelids. 

Then he felt it, Ilya’s hands stopping their caressing to begin tracing letters into his shoulder blades. They went from left to right, and Shane spelled the letters out in his mind. 

R O Z A N O V. 

He had never smiled so big; he remembers it almost hurt. 

“What?” Ilya had asked through his cigarette, his hand coming down to cup Shane’s bare ass. Shane got up and leaned on his elbow, his lips almost touching the butt of Ilya’s cigarette. The smoke was overpowering, but he was used to it by now. 

“Rozanov,” Shane had said the word outloud, revealing Ilya’s motives. 

Ilya smirked, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. He turned away to blow the rest of the smoke over his shoulder. His eyes never left Shane’s. 

“Mm, yes. You’d look good with that on your back.” Ilya observed, causing Shane to shiver. Yes, yes, he really would. 

They didn’t go further into that discussion. Shane felt strange talking about the ‘property of’ jacket with Ilya. Even though they had grown so close, it still felt too exclusive for Shane to be a part of. He saw it as something he needed to earn, and something he hadn’t yet proven. How he’d do that, he didn’t know. Shane wasn’t sure if he even needed to do that. 

In the end, Ilya’s touch and the look he gave him was enough. Shane had kissed Ilya silly once he flicked the cigarette away, and ended up riding him so hard he had drooled all over Ilya’s chest. His own spit made the cross on Ilya’s necklace shine brightly as it reflected off the sun and into Shane’s eyes. 

They were back in their special spot now, the sun beaming down over them. Shane sat upright, both of them sharing a blanket that Shane had packed in his backpack for the day. They had started the day by jumping naked in the pond, giving sloppy kisses to each other in the middle of it. Once their fingers began to prune, they shuffled on their briefs and settled down for lunch. Ilya looked delicious, lying beside him. All his clothes, including his leather jacket, lay in a pile beside him as he smoked a cigarette. Shane couldn’t stop staring at how his skin glistened in the sunlight. 

Growing bold, Shane suddenly reached forward and grabbed for the jacket. He bolted up in case Ilya grabbed for him, but Ilya just watched, curious. 

Shane smiled at him mischievously. Slowly, he put one arm into a sleeve. 

“What are you up to, malysh?” Ilya mumbled, his eyes sparkling. 

Shane continued, his other arm going into the jacket. He shrugged it over his shoulders, and now he was wearing it. 

The jacket was a size bigger than what he would wear, the shoulders boxing out from his own. The sleeves almost fell above his knuckles, and he grabbed onto them with his fingers nervously. He wore nothing but his underwear, and he stood beside Ilya with half-lidded, shy eyes.

Ilya looked at him like he was going to swallow him whole. 

Do it. Shane thought to himself. 

But Ilya stayed where he was. He spread his legs a bit, already half-hard through his briefs. 

Shane pushed for more. 

He sauntered away with a sway in his hips, his eyes locked on the bike leaning on the kickstand beside the tree. With careful hands, he gripped the handlebars, refusing to look back at Ilya. He didn’t have to; he knew he was being watched. 

With a swing of his leg, he sat upon the motorcycle, back arched and ass in the air with the Centaur logo stitched across his back. Shane finally looked over. 

Ilya was getting up. His necklace dangled between his damp pecs as he walked over. He stopped a few feet away, and Shane almost whined. 

Then he noticed the phone in Ilya’s hand, and Shane gulped as Ilya pulled up the camera app and began to snap pictures. Shane posed as best as he could, a blush painting his cheeks as he placed his hands on the fuel tank and smothered his cheek into it. He arched his back more, grinding his hips into the seat. 

“Yebat’...” Ilya mumbled under his breath, tossing the phone back to his clothes before taking the final steps toward Shane. 

His hands were firm as they fondled every piece of Shane he could get to. They were large and possessive as they squeezed his thighs, side, and then his ass. Ilya grabbed at the waistband of his briefs and tugged them up so they strained against his balls, causing Shane to let out a surprised moan. 

“Off,” Ilya growled, and Shane was almost sure he wanted to rip them clean off of him. 

Shane was close to asking Ilya to do so, but knew he’d hate riding back to Ottawa with no underwear on. So he pushed Ilya back and shuffled off the bike to quickly shimmy his underwear down his thighs. Ilya watched with hungry eyes, his hands hooking into his own briefs to take them off. 

Shane turned away and got back on the bike, sticking his ass out and pressing his feet into the pedals. He leaned forward so his stomach and chest were flush with the fuel tank, his hands lightly settled its sides. 

Ilya reattached himself to his body like a leech, and Shane shivered when Ilya began to kiss between his shoulder blades, right on top of where the "Property of Rozanov’ would be stitched upon his own leather jacket. 

He trailed down his back, kissing across the logo, then nuzzling at the dimples in his lower back. A tongue swiped across Shane’s right asscheek, and he pulled away for a second until solid fingers parted Shane’s cheeks and proceeded to spit roughly at his hole. 

The sound was dirty and erotic, and Shane humped into the bike as the spit rolled down his entrance and balls. Ilya removed one hand from his cheek to rub the saliva into his skin, mumbling something under his breath. 

“In me,” Shane whined, trying to grind back into Ilya’s fingers. But Ilya had a hard grip on his hip, keeping him pinned to the seat of the bike. His cock was being pinned onto the leather seat, and Shane could feel himself slipping against it from the precum. 

“Mm, look at you, laying on my bike like this. Begging for my cock.” Shane squirmed, his breathing growing heavy under Ilya’s words. 

“Ilya, I-” Shane didn’t know what to say; his words were lost on him. His brain was foggy and desperate for touch. 

“What, do you need something?” Ilya asked innocently, as if Shane wasn’t dying. 

Shane tried to get up, his hands pushing down into the fuel tank to lift off the bike and look back at Ilya, but Ilya’s hand came down to press against the back of his neck and keep him pinned. His other hand removed itself from his hip, giving Shane release on his lower half. 

“Show me like this,” Ilya whispered, voice low and authoritative, just like when they were in the bar, and Shane was told to crawl towards him. It was so fucking sexy, Shane would do anything under that voice. 

So Shane pressed his feet back into the pedals and raised his hips off the seat, presenting himself. He emphasized his needs by taking a hand off the fuel tank to grab at one of his cheeks, pulling himself apart to reveal himself to Ilya again. 

His hole winked back at Ilya, and then he was gone. 

Ilya straddled the bike behind Shane, his feet staying flat on the ground. The hand that had been pressed to Shane’s neck now raked down to hold his lower back as his other hand grabbed at his cock to tease at Shane’s hole. He tapped at it lightly, making Shane moan and press backward. 

Shane was shaking; the anticipation was killing him. Ilya removed his cock to suck on his fingers and began to stretch Shane open. Even though it still wasn’t his cock, Shane let out a long moan at the feeling. 

It didn’t take long, and with a few more pumps, Ilya removed his fingers to bring the head to Shane’s hole again. This is where Ilya always got soft with him; his grip became less hard and rough as he slowly entered Shane. He never forced himself in, always guiding his shaft slowly inside until his balls met Shane’s ass. Then he stood there, massaging Shane’s back and groaning. 

“You’re so deep,” Shane cried. He couldn’t stay still, his hand leaving his ass to grab onto the fuel tank. He held it for dear life, his breath fogging up the sleek paint job. He could vaguely see his reflection across the black paint, and he already looked high off sex and desire. 

Ilya began to move. Soft slaps filled the air, and Shane continued to let out breathless ‘ah’s’ with each thrust inwards. The bike didn’t move, Ilya being careful to keep his weight off of it and not thrust too hard. It was a tedious act, but Shane wouldn’t want it any other way. 

This was them at their most intimate. To be Ilya’s baby and lying across Ilya’s bike, his other baby. It was a mixture of everything Ilya wanted in his life, right here amongst nothing but grass, trees, and water. 

Ilya’s pace quickened, and Shane sat up to get a better angle. He put one hand to balance on the fuel tank while the other grabbed a handlebar. He was careful not to touch the throttle, as if that would do anything. In his fucked-out daze he was still mindful of the bike. 

“Oh, fuck,” Shane cried out, the angle causing Ilya to hit his prostate dead-on. Ilya snaked a hand around, pushing the leather jacket away so he could squeeze at Shane’s pec and tug at his nipple. 

Ilya couldn’t go any harder in worry that the bike would topple over, so he continued his pace and moved his hand from Shane’s chest to his now-exposed cock and began to jerk him off roughly. The intensity of sensations made Shane rock backwards and whine high in the back of his throat. 

“M’gonna cum,” Shane whimpered, mouth hanging open as he continued to moan and cry under Ilya’s touch. 

“Fuck yes, baby. Cum all over her,” Ilya growled out, never stunting his movements. 

Shane knew Ilya meant ‘her’ as in his bike, and with a scream deep in his chest, he came harder than he ever had before. His cum shot high across the bike, the white of the substance bright against the black leather and paint. 

“Good boy, such a good boy,” Ilya slapped down on Shane three more times before he came with a grunt inside of him. Now they were both shaking on the bike, attempting to catch their breath. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, malysh,” Ilya mumbled as he smothered his lips into the leather on Shane’s shoulders. Shane had collapsed forward onto the bike and tried to fight the grimace from the feeling of stickiness below him.

“Your bike is dirty now,” Shane pointed out, because he had to.

Ilya laughed, a genuine, guttural chuckle that got caught in the breeze. Shane held onto it, a smile sneaking across his face.

“I want it dirty forever,” Ilya squeezed at Shane’s ass as he spoke, slowly pulling out. Shane tightened his hole, embarrassment blooming in his chest. He didn’t want to leak all over Ilya’s seat; that would be too much.

But Ilya was pressing his cheeks apart and looking down at his work, and Shane couldn’t help but let out another pitiful whine.

“Let me get up so I can clean-“ but Ilya was diving in before Shane could finish, and the feeling of his light stubble and pointy nose pressing into Shane’s ass made Shane choke. It was so filthy, and Ilya was sucking loudly, almost as if he wanted Shane to squirm from his actions.

“Ilya, please I-“ 

Ilya abruptly stopped Shane’s protests by bringing a hand down to smack at his ass. It wasn’t too hard, but it was enough to jostle Shane and make him let out another strangled moan.

Shane didn’t know if he could cum again, but he already felt his cock harden beneath him. 

Ilya began to hum against Shane’s hole, the vibrations being sent through his body and to his cock. Just like the rumble of the engine, as if Shane were riding the bike.

“You’re so good, it’s so-“ Shane babbled, his eyes widening when Ilya took a hand off his ass to sneak two fingers beside his tongue. He could be as rough as possible with his fingers since it caused less movement on the bike, and Ilya didn’t hold back. He was jabbing his fingers in fast and hard, his tongue licking around the digits and cum that was leaking out.

The next few moments had Shane floating. He was in the clouds as his second orgasm grew inside of him. His whole body tensed, mouth hung open in a silent moan as he came dryly into the seat. 

Then he fell back down to earth, his hips began to jerk wildly as he chased the feeling. Ilya’s fingers slowed, tongue leaving his hole to instead kiss gently at his lower back. Ilya worked him through it, carefully guiding Shane back into reality.

“Holy fuck,” Shane choked out, his whole body falling limply back down across the bike. His thighs trembled, and Ilya smoothed his hands down them to ease the tremors.

“Good, yes?” Ilya teased, still running his hands around his thighs.

Shane nodded silently, not being able to find his voice.

Ilya was patient with him. He got off the bike, and there was some shuffling around Shane. Then, his presence was back beside him, and Shane could see Ilya had put his briefs and jeans back on. 

“It will be cold for a second, okay?” Ilya gave a soft warning before pressing something against Shane’s hole. He was right, the cold shot through Shane and made him flinch, but it felt good against the heat of his entrance. 

He stayed there as Ilya pampered him. He’d give him soft kisses here and there, some across Shane’s sweaty forehead, others on his shoulders. Shane had sweated pretty heavily into the jacket, but he couldn’t find the energy to fret over it.

When Ilya removed the wet material, Shane attempted to blink away the blur in his vision. He sighed when Ilya ran fingers through his hair, his touch stopping behind his neck to lightly massage it.

“Was I too rough?” Ilya asked with concern in his tone. Shane shook his head, and tried to prove his point by getting up off the bike, but his shaky thighs and trembling arms almost made him fall face-first into the handlebars.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Ilya steadied Shane, his arms coming to wrap around Shane’s waist and pull him off the bike. His strength was impressive, and he managed to place Shane delicately on the blanket laid out on the ground beside the bike.

Shane looked up at the sky, branches from the trees appearing at the sides of his vision. The clouds formed shapes above his head, moving slowly against the blue. It was like he was watching the ripple of water along a lake, like he was a kid again sitting on his dock at the cottage back in Sudbury. The loons would sing their song as a soft lullaby. 

He smiled, happiness consuming him.

Then Ilya came into view, his fuzzy curls blowing in the wind. His eyes held so much concern, Shane almost wanted to frown back up at him. 

“M’okay,” Shane reassured, a shaky hand coming up to press into Ilya’s face. He ran his knuckles across his cheek, thumb grazing his mole.

“I was too rough,” Ilya stated, his eyes growing hard. But Shane shook his head, moaning in disagreement. His fingers loosely hooked on Ilya’s necklace, beckoning him down to him.

Ilya followed cautiously.

“It was good, so fucking good. I-“ 

Shane stopped himself, the words hanging on his tongue dangerously.

I love you. He wanted to say. But he swallowed the words down and watched the clouds roll by.

Chapter End Notes

Shit starts to go DOWN next chapter y'all, and the warnings will be noted and I'll tag them!

Please continue to comment and share! Its means so, so much to me!

Chapter 6: here it comes, breathe in

Chapter Notes

This is where it gets crazy, guys.

Warnings for this chapter:
- gang terrorism, only mentioned

Chapter title is Kick the Curb by Newdad

Marleau had approached Shane and Ilya when they were outside the bar one night. Everyone was having a smoke break, and Shane leaned on the wall as Ilya stood beside him with a steady arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

“You should come to Montreal with us next week, Hollander,” Marleau piped up, his smile wide as he clapped a hand on Shane’s shoulder. 

Shane had brightened at the mention of Montreal. He had heard so much of their second chapter there, usually passively as he listened in on conversations between Ilya and the boys. He had wondered if Ilya would ever ask him to go, but never pushed. Again, he was worried he’d break some boundaries. 

“Uhm, yeah…yeah I’d love to!” Shane pushed himself off the wall, smiling towards Marleau. But he stopped when he saw Marleau’s smile falter when he looked towards Ilya. 

Shane turned, frowning when he saw Ilya’s angry expression as he glared daggers at Marleau. Shane hadn’t seen Ilya look so serious in a long time, not since Peter had flirted with him. 

“I can go, right?” Shane asked. He felt like he was talking to his parents, and it made something turn uncomfortably in his gut. 

Ilya’s gaze removed itself from Marleau to look at him. But as soon as their eyes met, he looked away. Ilya played it off by picking out his cigarette from between his lips to stamp it out on the concrete. 

“No, too dangerous,” Ilya said simply. Shane deflated. 

“Oh, c’mon, Roz! If he’s gonna be your boy, you gotta take him! At least to the cottage-” 

“Drop it, Marleau.” 

Shane shivered at the sternness of Ilya’s tone, how his voice cut through the air and caused everyone’s conversations to end. Now Shane was standing in front of him like an idiot. 

He was quiet for the rest of their smoke break. Ilya had eventually moved to the basement with the rest of the boys, and it was then that Shane tiredly spoke to Harris. 

“Why doesn’t Ilya want me to go to Montreal?” He asked with frustration. 

Harris was sitting at the bar's counter as Shane cleaned up the shelves. His friend gave him a sympathetic frown. 

“It is dangerous, I guess-” 

“You guess?” Shane didn’t mean to raise his voice and interrupt Harris, but the frustration had been bottled up the entire time he was outside after Ilya had shot Marleau down. He couldn’t help but unload. 

“Let me finish,” Harris spoke with patience. “Montreal has a lot of other gangs involved there. Rivals trying to get under Ilya’s skin. They keep taunting him with petty crime and sloppy robberies, and it’s bringing attention to the Centaurs for no fucking reason. Ottawa is Ilya’s territory, but Montreal…it’s kinda a warzone right now.” 

Shane breathed out shakily. He didn’t expect that explanation. If it was true, Ilya was protecting him. 

But as it has been said before, Shane signed up for this life; he wanted to be part of every piece of Ilya. Even if that meant he was on the edge of a battlefield. He wanted Ilya to come home to him after a hard day, to be there as Ilya’s anchor when things got tough. Not two hours away in Ottawa, waiting for his return. 

It would kill Shane, too. To watch Ilya leave him behind. Shane felt sick each time they were separated, and he knew Ilya felt the same way. 

“How can I convince him that nothing will happen to me when we go?” Shane’s voice isn’t confident, but it’s all he can find the courage to say. Defeat is eating away at his bones. 

Harris is still frowning at him, and his friend blinks his way and takes him all in before getting up from the bar to walk around it. Shane looks at him stiffly, unsure how to respond, but then Harris pulls him in for a genuine hug that makes him melt. 

“You can’t, because you have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Especially being romantically involved with a gang leader. But…” Harris pulls away, his hands on either side of Shane’s shoulders. It reminded him of that night where Shane had the panic attack, the way Harris’ eyes went solid with sincerity, and he squeezed him so tight Shane was worried he’d break. 

“You can talk to him, tell him you give a shit about him too and don’t like seeing him run off by himself. Maybe recommend you take your own car up, so you can leave when you want.” 

Shane honestly didn’t know if his car would make it to Montreal in its current state. But if that is what would convince Ilya to allow him to come, then he’d do it. 

Harris saw the gears turning in his mind, and he patted Shane’s shoulders before letting him go. 

“And remind him about the cottage,” Harris finished. 

Shane didn’t know what that meant, but he remembers Marleau bringing it up before quickly being struck down by Ilya. He kept that reminder stored in the back of his mind. 

He waited for Ilya to come back up the stairs. All the other boys left before him, and many of them gave Shane sympathetic looks as they walked past him. When Ilya finally revealed himself, he still had a grim expression weighing on his face as if he was preparing for a fight. 

“Ilya-” 

“No,” Ilya interrupted him, but Shane stood his ground. 

“No, listen to me. I know it's dangerous, but don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I get scared, too? When I watch you leave or disappear for days on end?” As Shane spoke, Ilya was shaking his head. He was refusing to listen. 

Shane walked closer. Ilya was leaning against one of the tables in the bar, his arms crossed as he stared off into nothing. Shane wouldn’t allow him to block him out, so he reached for him and placed his hands on Ilya’s waist. Looking up through his lashes, he continued. 

“Being far apart will hurt us more. I can feel it…I know you can too. Please just-just let me come in my car at least? You can tail me the whole way, and if shit goes down, I can leave whenever I want to.” 

Ilya was silent, but the grimace was loosening. Shane hit one last point. 

“And there's a cottage, right? Can’t I stay there?” 

Shane almost flinched when Ilya’s eyes suddenly whipped up to look into him. They narrowed as Ilya pushed himself off the table and walked into Shane’s space. 

“Harris and Marleau talk too much, I see,” Ilya didn’t sound angry, just exhausted. 

Shane gave him a soft smile, shuffling closer to Ilya until they were nose to nose and breathing one another in. 

“So…” Shane was impatient. 

“So…yes, you can go. But I swear to you, you will leave if I tell you to. Understood?” Ilya was stern, his voice lowering. Shane nodded as a shiver ran up his spine, his hands curling into Ilya’s chest. He wanted to fall into his body, to be consumed. 

Shane smiled widely, and they connected in a deep kiss that ended with them slumping into the booth at the back. Shane was all scrunched up on Ilya’s body, who was splayed beneath him. Shane had put a hand on the table, lifting himself to drink Ilya in. 

He was stunning, lying underneath him. Ilya was a man with an abundance of power. He terrified many people with just a glance. But now here he was, stretched out under Shane’s thighs and blinking up at him. 

Shane leaned back in to bite at Ilya’s throat, enjoying the way Ilya jerked and moaned under his touch. Oh, the cottage will be fun. 

-

Just two days before Montreal, Ilya had brought Shane back to their special spot. Shane lay under the tree, chest bare with only his jeans and underwear on. The breeze was cool against his armpits as he raised his arms above his head and stretched like a cat. 

Ilya watched from beside him, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was shirtless as well, the tufts of his hair still glistening in the sun from their recent swim. 

He got up without a word, and Ilya walked to the back of his bike where his bag hung over one of the handlebars. Shane watched with curiosity, eyes blinking up behind him from his position. 

Nothing could have prepared Shane for the leather jacket being pulled out of the bag. He could see the white stitching so vibrant against the black material. Ilya shook out the jacket, and there, across the shoulders of it, was ‘Property of Rozanov’ etched into the shoulders above the Centaur logo. 

In his dreams, Shane imagined Ilya displaying it on his bed for Shane to walk into. Or throwing it over his bike for Shane to stumble upon. Maybe he’d fuck Shane silly in the booth at the bar after handing it to him nonchalantly over the counter. 

But this was better, this was surreal. Ilya Rozanov stared down at him with a smile, and he held the jacket as if it were an engagement ring. A gust of wind combed through his curls and caught on the jacket, causing it to sway with the breeze. 

Yes. Yes. Yes. Shane sang in his head as he scrambled off the ground and stumbled over to Ilya. His arms flew around Ilya’s neck, the jacket pressed between them as Shane cried into Ilya’s shoulder. 

“You did not even look at it,” Ilya teased into Shane’s neck as he pressed soft kisses into it. 

Shane giggled, returning a kiss to Ilya’s collarbone before pulling away to stare at the jacket again. His hands hovered over it, and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with it. It was a prize, a reward, and a piece of art. Shane couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that it was his. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed out, all other words failing him. Ilya pressed the jacket into his hands, and as soon as the leather touched Shane’s fingertips, he gripped it tightly and pulled it to his face, inhaling the smell of cigarettes, gasoline, and leather. 

Ilya ran a steady hand down his bicep, and Shane could see he almost looked nervous. 

“It’s perfect,” Shane choked, tears welling up in his eyes. He shakily began to put the jacket on, and the feeling of it finally wrapping around his arms was intense. Shane had to close his eyes and inhale while the material dragged across his skin and finally rested upon his shoulders. 

Ilya took a step back towards his bike. His smile had slowly lessened throughout Shane dressing himself in it, and he stared with focused eyes. 

With one finger, he gestured in a twirling motion for Shane to turn.

A blush coated Shane’s cheeks, and he lowered his chin as his feet shuffled to follow through with the spin. His arms went up too, so Ilya could see the letters and Centaur logo stretched across his back.

But when he turned to face Ilya again, Ilya’s expression had gone cold, his eyes distant and glassy. Shane froze in place for a few moments. He didn't understand the emotions that were in front of him. 

He moved before his brain could catch up. Shane placed a hand on either side of Ilya’s face, thumbs petting under Ilya’s eyes as he soothed away whatever thoughts were making Ilya frown. 

“Hey, hey, I love it. Thank you,” Shane cooed, his lips pressing to Ilya’s cheeks and the corner of his mouth. Ilya’s hands found purchase under the jacket, and they were warm against Shane’s naked torso. 

“Ty krasivy,” Ilya whispered, his voice cracking. 

Shane cupped his chin, his other hand cupping Ilya’s jaw. He pressed their foreheads together and smiled.

“Can you tell me what that means?” Shane asked. Maybe it was time to learn Russian now that Ilya had made things official between them. That was for another day. 

Ilya squeezed Shane’s waist, one hand coming up to pet down Shane’s chest. His knuckles tickled between Shane’s pecs and stopped at his belly button, causing Shane’s stomach to ripple from the feeling.

“It means you are beautiful,” Ilya actually translated to him. Shane was about to respond, but Ilya was suddenly crowding him backwards toward the tree. 

Four steps later, Shane was pressed against the trunk. He immediately was concerned that the wood would scratch the leather, but didn’t have to think too deeply into it before he was manhandled and spun around so his cheek and chest were pressed into the tree instead.

He spread his legs and adjusted his stance, lower back bowing and ass pressing to Ilya’s bulge. His hands gripped tightly into the wood, and he swore he could feel every stitch embedded into his shoulders as the jacket moulded to his back. 

The sound of Ilya’s zipper and button popping open rose in the air, and Shane huffed with impatience as his cock pulsed in his pants. He kept his cheek pressed to the tree and trusted Ilya to take care of him.

And he did so hungrily. Ilya’s fingers stuffed themselves into Shane’s pants and underwear, roughly pulling both down to his knees in one go. Shane shifted in discomfort, wanting them fully off, but Ilya was already spitting a thick wad of saliva into his hand. 

Shane moaned and shook his forehead across the bark of the tree. The wood scratched against his skin, but it felt good. It was distracting him from the restraint with his pants. Ilya kept a steady hand on his hip, patting at it in comfort before swiftly plunging his fingers into Shane’s hole.

“Oh, Ilya…” Shane whimpered out, his mouth falling open at the feeling. He tried to stay patient, to control the ravenous need to hump back into Ilya’s digits. They had fucked yesterday, but Shane was consistently starving for this man.

And Ilya was the same. Shane could hear how he was panting and mumbling words through clenched teeth as he tried to restrain himself as well. Shane could see out of the corner of his eye. Ilya was looking up and down, staring at his hole and finishing at the words on Shane’s back. Shane could only imagine how hard Ilya was.

Oh, but then he felt it. Ilya removed his fingers and lined his cock up, the tip already drenched with pre-cum as he rubbed it along Shane’s crack. Shane had to tighten his hold on the tree and restrain himself from grabbing Ilya’s cock to insert it inside greedily.

Ilya, as careful as always, slowly dragged his cock into Shane. Shane let out a long, drawn-out and shaky breath, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the breeze tickled his cheeks. 

As he adjusted, Ilya stood patiently behind him. They basked in the rustle of the leaves and branches above them, in the way the sun felt hot and comforting as it peeked through the clouds and brushed their skin. Shane was already sweating, and he could feel it build at his spine. 

“Move, please, Ilya,” Shane begged, his ass rotating messily. Ilya hummed and gripped harder at Shane’s hips before beginning to fuck into him. 

The thrusts were harsh and caused Shane’s body to jolt forward, his cheek scraping against the bark of the tree. His mouth hung open, high whimpers passing his lips as he was rocked into the trunk. 

Then Ilya removed a hand to grab the back of the jacket; he fisted it roughly for leverage as he went deeper and harder. Shane cried out, his thighs shaking. 

The thrusts grew erratic. Shane didn’t care if he’d bleed from the bark against his face; he didn’t care that Ilya might ruin the leather with how hard he was holding the jacket in his grip. It didn’t matter because they were together. After all, Ilya was staking his claim. 

“You’re mine now, yes?” Ilya growled out as he slowed his thrusts. He pistoned forward, digging his hips into Shane’s ass to sheath himself inside. It jolted Shane’s body forward, and he swore if the tree hadn’t been holding him up, he’d be sprawled on the ground. 

“Always,” Shane cried into the trunk, nails digging so hard he was sure they’d end up bleeding as well. He’d get slivers in his fingertips and cheek from the jagged edges of the wood, ones he’d make Ilya tug out of him with soft, guilty words of encouragement. 

“Mm, taking my cock with my name on your back. Everyone will know, no one…” Ilya trailed off his rambling with a deep moan low in his chest. His pace never faltered, his athletic and thick thighs put to work. 

“M’yours,” Shane encouraged Ilya’s words, feeling the orgasm tug at his gut. He would’ve taken a hand off the tree trunk to wrap around his cock, but Ilya was fucking him so hard he needed the extra balance. 

Ilya continued, his words were hard to hear over the slapping of skin on skin. He spoke under his breath, but Shane could hear it. 

“No one will hurt you, no one will fucking touch you. You’re mine, fucking all mine. Moy rebenok…yebat!” 

Ilya came with a shout, his hips twitching as he held himself inside Shane. The rambling of words and the feeling of Ilya so far inside him made Shane cum swiftly afterwards, and his whole body shook as he cried into the tree. 

“So good, you’re so deep,” Shane felt tears fall before he could stop them. They soothed the scrapes on his cheek as they rolled down his face. He sniffled, his hand shakily leaving the trunk to wipe them away. 

“Hey…” Ilya shifted forward, causing Shane to whimper at the feeling. But Ilya sounded concerned, probably due to him crying. Shane gave him a watery smile over his shoulder, the hand that he used to wipe the tears away coming back to pat at Ilya’s hip. 

“M’okay, it was really good,” Shane sniffled again, and Ilya blinked with the uncertainty still stuck on his expression. 

Gingerly, he pulled out of Shane, and Shane grimaced at the cum that immediately leaked out of his hole and ran down his thighs. He blushed when Ilya grabbed at his hole to inspect it. 

“I want to devour you whole,” Ilya mumbled, his fingers rubbing the cum into Shane’s hole. Shane moaned, feeling his soft cock twitch. 

“I’d let you,” Shane breathed out, chasing the feeling. Ilya gave him mercy and pulled away, turning Shane in his grip and finally away from the tree. 

“Vot der’mo,” Ilya hissed out in Russian. He was wincing as he lightly brushed his fingers over Shane’s left cheek. Shane flinched, not expecting it to feel so raw. 

“You need to stop me if I get too rough,” Ilya was getting angry with himself. One hand was grabbing Shane’s jaw to inspect the rest of his face. Shane moved away from the touch, forcing Ilya to look at him by grabbing at his wrists and tugging them to his chest instead. 

“And what if I like it?” Shane was shy as he admitted that, but he meant it. With Ilya, he could be rough with him all he wanted. Every second with him felt safe, even if he was fucked up a tree or on the bike. 

Ilya was still worried, but it lessened with Shane’s words. He splayed his hands across Shane’s chest, going up to tug at the lapels of the jacket. 

“You will be the death of me,” Ilya mumbled. Shane rolled his eyes. 

“I hope not,” Shane smiled. Their eyes searched deeply into each other, and then finally they met in the middle for a deep kiss. 

-

“No one will hurt you, no one will fucking touch you. You’re mine, fucking all mine.” 

The words Ilya spoke rang in Shane’s head all the way up to him slumping into his car to go to Montreal. The jacket was snug across his shoulders, and even though it was hot outside, it didn’t matter to him. Shane wanted to sweat in it; he wanted every piece of him etched into the jacket like those stitches. 

Shane knew this was Ilya’s form of protection for when he wasn’t guarding him like a dog. In Montreal, Ilya could leave him and know the ‘Rozanov’ would still be pressed to Shane’s body and on display. 

But he must be terrified of Shane getting hurt if he had moaned those words out loud, to breathe it into the air like a prayer so it remained true. It shouldn’t be surprising, because at the start, and before Shane and Ilya had even fucked, Ilya had followed him home with the concern that he would get hurt. 

Shane shook it off, his eyes drifting to the rearview mirror as Ilya’s motorcycle appeared around the corner. He had Shane’s helmet on, probably because he wanted Shane to ride with him once they got to Montreal. But it tamed the worry in Shane’s gut. They hadn’t driven this far yet, and Shane didn’t want to stare at Ilya’s helmetless head in his rearview mirror for two hours straight. 

Ilya flipped his visor out of his eyes. Shane could see them from where he sat, the way they looked straight through the back window, between the seats, and into Shane’s eyes from the rearview mirror. It was amazing how Ilya’s gaze made Shane feel so incredibly safe, as if he were wrapped in a safety blanket. 

Shane started his car and nodded into the mirror. Ilya nodded back, and then they were off down the road. 

It was beautiful, the ride to Montreal. Even though it was just the 417, Shane had a good time. He rolled down his window and listened to the mix of sounds coming from the outside. He enjoyed the consistent thunder of Ilya’s motorcycle, then the whip of air at his ear. He had on the GPS and had popped on his Pink Floyd album. It was perfect for the drive. 

He’d check his side and rearview mirrors every minute, and not once did Ilya leave his car. That dark, ominous helmet stayed looking forward and focused. Shane was captivated by the man on his bumper.

They didn’t make any stops, and with record time, they made it to Ilya’s cottage. Shane couldn’t help but feel multiple different kinds of emotions as his car jolted and bumped through the gravel path in the middle of the forest. His eyes squinted forward to search for the cottage number, and once he did his jaw was almost on the floor at his feet.

The place was gorgeous and large. Shane almost thought he had pulled into the wrong driveway. But Ilya swivelled around him and parked near the porch. Shane had his hands tightly holding onto the steering wheel while he watched Ilya shrug off his helmet and shake out his curls.

Ilya gave an expectant look behind him, and it jolted Shane back into motion. He rolled forward a few feet more until his car was parked beside Ilya’s bike, taking one last look in awe at the place in front of him before he switched off the car and got out.

“This is…wow,” Shane couldn’t find the words. Ilya didn’t look fazed as he toyed with his helmet and stepped up towards the front door. Shane followed tediously, his hands wringing in front of him. 

“Door code is 1221, da?” Ilya punched in the numbers as he recited them, and Shane nodded stiffly. The anticipation was killing him as the door opened ever so slowly to reveal the inside. 

“Wow,” Shane probably should come up with other words, but he was hypnotized as he was led into the front hallway. There was wood from floor to ceiling, similar to the bar. Natural light shone through the large bay windows looking out towards the lake, and Shane couldn’t help but walk towards them and place his hand on the glass. 

“It will be safe here, I promise,” Ilya assured. But Shane hadn’t once thought about his safety. He wanted to roll his eyes, but when he turned around, he quickly noticed how serious Ilya had gotten. 

With a small, curious smile, Shane sauntered into Ilya’s space. Ilya allowed it, but didn’t move to touch Shane yet. He was waiting to see what Shane would do. 

“Where’s the bedroom?” Shane asked innocently, veering the conversation away from anything concerning. He tried to hide the mischievous glimmer in his eyes by moving them across the cottage. 

“Mm, to the right. Would you like the full tour?” Ilya asked, playing along. 

Shane pretended to think about it, his eyes rising toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms. He stepped away from Ilya, and without answering him, Shane made his way up the steps towards where he imagined the bedroom would be. 

It was right across the hall once Shane got up the stairs. Shane was sure there were other rooms, and maybe this wasn’t even Ilya’s, but he wanted the one with a view. He wanted Ilya to fuck him as he stared at the sun shining across the lake. 

He began to unbutton his pants, his eyes staying focused on the water lapping at the shoreline in the backyard. He didn’t need to look behind him to know Ilya had followed him. Throughout these last few months, he learned to never once doubt that he was being watched. Ilya’s eyes had transitioned from heavy and mysterious to grounding and protective, and Shane could see them in the reflection of the windows. 

It allowed Shane’s pants to fall faster to the floor. Even in front of these large floor-to-ceiling windows where there could be a possibility of someone seeing them, Shane always felt safe. 

He shrugged off the ‘property of’ jacket slowly, it falling to his elbows before he looked back. Ilya was leaning against the doorframe with fire in his eyes. 

Shane continued, licking at his lips while the jacket slipped off. He neatly placed it on the desk chair in front of him, and then began to strip the rest of the way. 

Once he was fully naked, he walked to the mattress and crawled near the headboard. Kneeling amongst the soft duvet, he looked up through his lashes and stared. 

The sun shone against Ilya’s curls as he took his time walking into the room. The light curved angles into his jawline and cheekbones as he turned towards Shane’s jacket and ran his fingertips over the material. 

“So…no tour?” Ilya taunted, his eyes refusing to meet Shane’s. He was infatuated with the jacket as he picked it up and shook it out to review the back as if it were the first time he laid eyes on it. 

“You gonna fuck me or what?” Shane laughed out while he shuffled onto his ass and spread his knees as an invitation. Ilya’s eyes snapped upwards, first starting at the tips of Shane’s toes and raking up his form until they stopped at his eyes. 

“Mm, yes. I think I might. But the jacket stays on.” Ilya throws the jacket for Shane to catch, which he fumbles. It landed beside Shane, and it felt heavy in his grip as he immediately followed Ilya’s orders and shrugged it back on. 

Ilya hummed with content once it settled on Shane’s shoulders. Shane watched with hungry eyes as Ilya began to undress once his expectations were met. Shane felt dizzy as Ilya’s clothes fell to the floor one by one, the sunlight acting as a backlight to his form as he did so. He looked like an angel sent to whisk him off to heaven. 

Like he was hypnotized, Shane fell onto his belly and began to army crawl his way to Ilya’s cock once it sprang free from his briefs. Pillows fell off the bed as he kicked them with his feet, and the silky duvet beneath him felt delicious across his cock. When he finally got to Ilya, Shane nuzzled his cock with his cheek, tongue sticking out to lick at the precum and musk. 

Ilya groaned, his hands roaming down Shane’s back and massaging the muscles over the leather. Shane hungrily arched towards the feeling, a moan falling off his lips as he began to suck Ilya down. 

As he worshiped Ilya’s cock, Ilya leaned forward to tug one of Shane’s thighs to the side and near his chest so he could gain access to his hole. It forced his cock deeper into Shane’s throat, making him gargle and choke. 

“So good,” Ilya praised while he spat on his hand and circled at Shane’s hole. He pressed in softly, his hips jerking forward in sync with his fingers entering Shane. It was overstimulating, sandwiched between Ilya’s cock and fingers, and it was a feeling that made Shane hump into the mattress with precum dribbling off his cock. 

He wasn’t going to last long if Ilya kept this up. Ilya was very perceptive, and as soon as Shane felt it was too much, Ilya had clocked it and pulled out of Shane. 

A long, thick line of saliva connected Ilya’s head with Shane’s bottom lip. Shane disconnected it with a lick to his lips just as Ilya grabbed his chin and coaxed him to a kneeling position again. 

“Ride me,” Ilya commanded, his thumb dragging roughly across Shane’s cupid's bow. Shane nodded eagerly, his eyes watching and skin thrumming as Ilya got on the bed and huffed as he settled on his back with his cock raised high and rock hard. 

Shane felt like a hungry coyote, his eyes narrowed, and he licked his canines while he stalked his prey. On all fours, he crawled to Ilya’s cock and licked a fat stripe from his balls to the tip before he turned to face the windows. 

Ilya happily grabbed at his ass while Shane straddled him. One hand squeezed Shane’s cheek while the other tapped at his hole with his cock. Shane arched into the touch, his hands resting on Ilya’s thighs for balance. 

“I wanna look at the view,” Shane admitted as he stared off into the lake. In the distance, what looked like a loon drifted across the surface, its form so small amongst the large body of water. 

“You get good view. I get better view.” Ilya purred as he lined himself up. Shane smirked as he lifted himself off Ilya’s hips to give Ilya better access. Now Ilya’s cock was slowly sliding in, and Shane’s eyes widened into the sunlight while he lowered himself down. 

His thighs shook, and his knees protested, but Shane finally seated himself on Ilya’s cock with a deep sigh that went right through his body. Ilya had both his hands placed on Shane’s hips, his thumbs digging into Shane’s back dimples right below the jacket. 

Shane noticed it was getting easier and easier to adjust to Ilya’s length. Ilya definitely wasn’t small, and he reminds himself that it takes a few minutes to get a good pace. But now Shane could shift around for a few seconds to adapt, then raise his thighs and ass off Ilya’s hips and slam himself down on his cock with controlled ease. 

Moans punched through Ilya’s chest as Shane abused his cock. He bounced with determination and speed, his ass heavy and body assertive as he greedily took what he wanted. His fingers were gripping harshly onto Ilya’s thighs; they dug in until he knew his fingernails would leave behind crescent-shaped indents and purple fingerprints. 

It was as if they were back in the middle of the bar again. When Ilya had made him crawl towards him, then sit on his cock in the same position. Shane remembers Ilya’s large hand wrapping around his throat, how it barely budged when Shane gulped. 

“Fuck,” Shane swore, the memory making him leak harder. His movements were causing his cock to slap against his stomach, and Shane knew he was close. 

But when Shane grabbed at his cock to start stroking it, Ilya’s hands swiftly left his hips and hooked into his elbows. It forced Shane to let go of his weeping cock, and he moaned with surprise. 

“No, give me your wrists. You will cum on my cock like a good boy,” Ilya growled out, releasing his hands from Shane’s elbows so Shane could make the choice. Ilya always allowed him to choose.

And Shane’s cock twitched with want. Happily, Shane moved his wrists behind him. 

Ilya grabbed them with both his hands and pinned them to Shane’s lower back. It forced Shane’s chest to puff up and his back to bow, causing a new angle that made him whimper up at the ceiling. 

Then Ilya waited in silence, and Shane knew what he needed to do. 

Due to his wrists being restrained, Shane could only roll his hips at first. His mouth fell open, eyes rolling into the back of his head while Ilya buried himself deep inside of him, the angle sending Ilya’s cock deep into his gut. A few more figure eights later, and Ilya was loosening his grip, allowing Shane to softly move up and down. 

But it wasn’t enough. Shane kept a steady, heated pace, and he could feel himself dangling over the edge of an orgasm. But it was just out of reach, and he dropped his hips back heavily onto Ilya’s hips with a frustrated cry. 

“Neugh, I-I need-I can’t cum-“ Shane mumbled incoherently. Frustrated tears hung off his lashes, and his hips twitched helplessly as he sat on Ilya’s cock. He stared longingly down at his red, neglected cock. 

Ilya stayed where he was, his hands never leaving Shane’s wrists. 

“What do you need?” He asked as if he didn’t already know, as if he couldn’t tell Shane was shaking and crying on his cock already. He spoke with a monotone voice, thick with his accent and lust. 

“Ilya, please, your cock-“ 

“So greedy. You already have my cock, what else do you need?” Ilya sounded tired and unimpressed, which only turned Shane on more. The fact that he was dying inside, and Ilya was just…present. 

He continued to moan and cry, high whimpers passing through his trembling lips as he begged.  

“Touch my cock, please…”

Ilya was quick with his reply. 

“No.” 

Shane’s chin fell limply to his chest with defeat. He was sweating all over, the jacket making it worse. But he loved how it hugged his torso and arms, how it restrained even more of him. 

He moved silently and bit at his lip in retaliation as he began to ride Ilya again. He tried to focus on the water, his eyes desperately searching for the loon again, but it must’ve flown off. 

Ilya’s grip went softer, and Shane could hear him moaning in short tufts of air as Shane fell on his cock. But it wasn’t enough; he was so, so close. 

All of a sudden, just as Shane let out a sob of overstimulation, Ilya grabbed at Shane’s waist and threw him off. Shane fell face-first into the mattress, his moan muffled into the duvet as Ilya forced his hands back behind his back and pushed into him. 

Ilya put all his weight against Shane as he began to fuck him. Shane tried to keep his knees bent and ass in the air, but his legs were forced straight behind him, Ilya was straddling his thighs and fucking down deep.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!” Shane roared as his toes curled and he began to drool. Ilya was ruthless, and his energy was admirable as he continued his brutal pace fucking down into Shane.

Shane pleaded and squealed, his cock rubbing deliciously against the mattress, Ilya’s cock hitting his prostate consistently. It didn’t take long before Shane was screaming through his orgasm.

Ilya fucked him through it, and his pace quickened as he chased his own orgasm. More Russian words fell from his mouth as he thrust down and came into Shane’s hole. 

They lay in one another's sweat for a few moments. Ilya was breathing heavily against Shane’s back. He pulled out carefully, his hands soft on Shane’s lower back as he rubbed the muscle underneath his jacket. 

“Okay?” Ilya asked, because he always did. 

Shane purred into the duvet, a blissed-out grin spreading across his face while he buried himself deeper into the mattress. His brain protested the sticky feeling below and inside of him, but he was so exhausted he couldn’t be bothered to move. 

Ilya moved for him. Shane could hear him scavenging for something in the bathroom before coming back with a warm towel. He soothed Shane with delicate kisses to the back of his neck as he wiped away the liquids across his skin. Then, when Shane was flipped over and cleaned at the front, Ilya helped him shrug off his jacket and place it back on the desk chair. 

These moments continued for days. Ilya had Shane wrapped around his finger…or more, his cock. They fucked on any surface they could get to, on the floor in front of the fireplace, on the couch, and on the kitchen table. Even once outside. 

It had been late, and Shane remembered that the bugs nipped at his skin as he lay near the fire. Ilya had been antsy at first, his feet kicking around a soccer ball for a bit as Shane watched with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. But then Shane had shivered, which Ilya had noticed. 

“You get cold so easily,” Ilya pointed out as he waltzed over to the couch. He flopped down beside Shane, and like two puzzle pieces, they slotted themselves into one another effortlessly. Shane’s knees went over Ilya’s, and Ilya’s hand came to cup his knees as he stared into the fire. 

“Good thing you run hot,” Shane teased, immediately feeling the mixed heat radiating off Ilya and the fire wrapping around him. 

As soon as they went quiet, a loon let out its call from the lake. They both looked across the water, but saw nothing. Shane loved that about loons, at night they were hard to spot, and when he had his cottage in Sudbury, he remembers the loons calling out into the night, their voice trilling over the sounds of water sloshing against the docks and boats. When he was a boy, he’d stare off across the lake like he had done that night. Although he always saw nothing, as if the bird was a ghost serenading him. 

“I like those birds,” Ilya piped up, and Shane brought his gaze back over to him. 

“What, loons?” Shane asked, enticed. 

Ilya nodded and shrugged. 

“Yes, is that what they are called? They sound like…wolves. Very scary and dark at night.” 

Shane laughed, and Ilya raised a brow at him, a smile crawling up his face. Shane remembers how the flames danced around his face. Ilya looked ethereal. 

“What? You make fun of me?” 

Shane’s laugh simmered off, but his smile continued to glow in the firelight. 

“I don’t find them scary, is all.” 

Ilya was the next to laugh, and he looked back into the fire and paused before speaking. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” 

Shane was surprised, his brain not fully processing the words Ilya had said. Was Ilya Rozanov really going to open up to him?

“Of course,” Shane answered, trying not to sound too desperate. 

“When I first heard that bird, I did not go into this backyard for months.”

Another short pause, and then Shane burst into laughter again. 

Ilya wasn’t impressed, but his smile rose across his cheeks as he watched Shane double over with laughter. Ilya had thrown Shane’s legs off of him and tackled Shane into the couch, tickling him. 

The tickling turned into soft caresses, and then those caresses became weighted. Once Ilya’s hands went to Shane’s ass and forced Shane’s thighs to spread, Shane was a goner. 

With Ilya’s help, Shane removed his shorts and boxers. Ilya did the same, and like magnets, they reattached. With skin on skin, they made out and allowed their spit to mix. Shane’s legs spread so they could accompany Ilya’s body, and Ilya’s weight was an anchor across him. 

“Will I get to hear you wail? So the birds across the lake can hear your mating call?” Ilya teases, his fingers coming up to Shane’s mouth. Shane hungrily sucked them in, his tongue twisting over the digits. Ilya hummed with approval. 

Due to their very consistent sex, Shane didn’t need any prep. Ilya grabbed one of Shane’s thighs and pulled it up, his other hand coming down to line his cock up with Shane’s already loose hole. They both purred at the feeling, and Shane’s eyes lit up towards the night sky as Ilya’s cock sank into him. 

When Ilya was fully sheathed inside him, Ilya didn’t hesitate to start moving. His thrusts were slow, shallow humps into Shane’s hips at first. Ilya would come down to kiss around Shane’s jawline and face. Shane’s moans grew and grew, and it encouraged Ilya to move faster and deeper. 

“Let me hear you,” Ilya groaned out, his one hand moving to the back of the couch for leverage so he could go harder. Shane started to move up the cushions with each thrust, and at Ilya’s words, he began to whimper and moan into the night air. 

“F-fuck, Ilya!” Shane cried out. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, and he grabbed for one of the patio pillows behind him to hold onto. Shane had to squeeze his eyes shut as the sensations overwhelmed him and stroked his impending orgasm. 

“Let me see those eyes,” Ilya kissed Shane's eyelids, and Shane flung his eyes open. 

The sight above him was something better than the lake or the loons. This was Ilya Rozanov staring down at him. The firelight cast over his face, orange and flickering, to curve shadows into his cheekbones. Behind him was the moon and the stars watching them as they fucked. All observers to their love. 

“I-I…love…” Shane trailed off; the emotions had taken over him like he was drowning. He remembers it felt like he would die if he didn’t say it. 

“I know,” Ilya whispered, his eyes intense as they stared down into Shane’s. 

Neither of them actually said the words. But Ilya fucked the noise out of Shane’s head and consumed them both with earth-shattering orgasms.  

Shane had noticed that he had mosquito bites on his ass the next day, but he didn’t complain at all. 

Then came the nights after that. Shane thought they’d be cuddled up to one another as they had in front of the fire, but he was wrong. Ilya would kiss him on the forehead at around 9 PM each night, then he’d walk out the door. All Shane could hear was the roar of the motorcycle gradually becoming softer and softer as the distance grew between them. Shane should’ve expected this because this is why Ilya had originally come here, for business. 

It didn’t make it any less worrisome. 

Ilya came back unscathed each time. Sometimes he looked rattled, others just plain exhausted, but Shane would pad into the front hallway and guide Ilya back to their room, where he’d allow Ilya to curl around him and sleep. 

Tonight was different. Shane strangely felt uneasy the moment the thunder of Ilya’s bike pulling into the driveway awoke him. It was still dark outside, and when Shane opened his phone, it read 5 AM. 

He sat up, running a hand through his hair as he sighed. For some reason, he got up quicker than he usually did, the sleep leaving him as he strode out of the bedroom to meet Ilya in the hallway. He stood at the front door and waited for Ilya to enter, anxiety tightening in his chest.

Shane nearly gasped when Ilya stumbled into the front hallway. At first glance, it looked like Ilya was drunk, but then he wiped at his nose shakily, and a glisten of blood revealed itself on his knuckles.

“Ilya?” Shane’s voice shook as he walked forward. Ilya flinched, his eyes wide as he looked up to see Shane standing in front of him. And Shane hated that Ilya stepped away from his reach.

Ilya looked terrible. His nose and bottom lip were bleeding, and blood was all over his white tank top. His knuckles had deep cuts in them as well. It was terrifying.

“Oh my god,” Shane panicked, and his hands didn’t know where to land. Suddenly, Ilya was far too breakable for him to touch, and Shane felt completely useless.

“Why are you awake?” Ilya mumbled; he sounded nasally due to the nose injury. 

“I-I heard your motorcycle and just got this feeling…it doesn’t matter. What the fuck happened?” Shane decided to grab at Ilya’s jacket, helping the man shrug it off as Ilya slowly made his way into the kitchen. Ilya allowed the help, and once the jacket was free from his arms, he walked off to the freezer to fish for an ice pack.

Shane just stood near the kitchen island, hands gripping onto Ilya’s leather jacket like a lifeline. 

“Deal went sideways. Is okay, you should uh…you should go back to bed,” Ilya tried to sound sincere, but as he attempted to smile, a wince fell into place when his nose and lip were jostled too hard.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane’s eyes watered, and he was thankful that all the lights were still off in the house. Ilya was too focused on placing the ice pack on his nose to notice the glisten in Shane’s eyes and wobble on his lip.

Ilya closed his eyes, a soft swear word in Russian coming out of his mouth at the feeling of the cold on his nose.

“You need a doctor,” Shane hated how much his voice trembled.

Ilya was immediately shaking his head. He removed the ice pack and finally looked at Shane.

Ilya frowned.

“Baby,” Ilya sighed out, his voice was so incredibly soothing. Shane wanted to fall into him, but he stood his ground. 

“You’re still bleeding.” Shane was staring daggers into Ilya’s shirt, the way almost all the white fabric was saturated with blood. He barely noticed Ilya walking towards him.

“Baby, look at me,” Ilya said, now in front of him. Shane flinched, his eyes looking up to meet Ilya’s. 

“I am okay, don’t worry, is fine.” 

“It’s not fine, what the fuck…” Ilya abruptly grabbed Shane's trembling hands. He had thrown the ice pack onto the kitchen island and focused his attention on Shane. 

Shane had no energy to fight back; all he could do was allow Ilya to place his fingertips against his lips so he could kiss them. Shane could feel Ilya’s hot breath against them, reminding him he was alive and well.

“I am okay,” Ilya said again.

“Let me help you wash up, at least?” Shane reasoned, finally grounding himself with Ilya’s touch. Ilya allowed it, and Shane guided him to the bathroom. He corralled Ilya into the shower so he could wash away the blood and dirt.

Ilya even tried to coax Shane in with him, but there was no way Shane was getting in with how the water almost turned black with the mix of substances that fell off of Ilya’s body. Shane had to gulp down vomit.

This was part of what he signed up for.

Eventually, they made their way to the living room. The sun began to rise over the horizon, peaking through the trees and casting its light over the lake. They watched it calmly, Ilya all patched up and swollen. 

But alive, Shane reminded himself.

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Shane blurted out after a few moments of silence. He was cuddled into Ilya’s side as Ilya played with his hair.

Ilya huffed above him, his hand coming out to tug at Shane’s ear playfully. 

“Do not say sorry. You have not seen me like that. I should be sorry I…I thought you would still be sleeping.” 

Shane raised his head off Ilya’s shoulder to look at him now. Luckily, it looked like nothing was broken on Ilya’s nose, but there was some bruising across the bridge and near his eyes. Dry flakes of blood were still on the cut across the bridge, as well as redness near the cut on his lower lip. He looked better, but it was still painful to look at.

“Now we’re both sorry,” Shane teased lightheartedly. Ilya smiled his way, both of their eyes searching across one another’s faces. 

Shane, feeling a surge of determination run through him, decided to kiss his way slowly down Ilya’s chest. Ilya had gotten dressed in basketball shorts, so he was easy to access as he scrambled to his knees. 

Ilya’s eyes held hunger within them as he allowed Shane to grab him out of the basketball shorts and begin to stroke him. It didn’t take long until he was fully hard, and Shane preened at the way Ilya’s mouth lightly hung open as soft moans escaped him.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya choked out once Shane doubled over and took Ilya’s cock in his mouth. Easily, Shane swallowed him all the way down, his nose breathing at Ilya’s pubic bone as he gulped around the length. 

With expertise, Shane greedily began to suck around the base. He bobbed his head and fondled Ilya’s balls, his cock throbbing at the noises Ilya was making and trying to withhold. 

“So fucking good,” Ilya said through clenched teeth, his hand coming down to curl into Shane’s hair and guide him along his cock. Shane grew slobbery, his suction wet and echoing through the cottage as he pushed Ilya to an orgasm that made his toes curl and head thrown back against the cushions.

“O bozhe, tvoy rot,” Ilya shakily whispered as he shook through his orgasm. Shane took it all in his mouth, gulping it down with ease.

When Shane popped off of him, Shane grabbed at Ilya’s soft cock to squeeze hard enough for Ilya to open his eyes and look down at him.

“Now stay alive, or you’re never gonna get that again.” 

Ilya smiled so big, and Shane could see no wince across his face this time. It was as if the feelings were so overwhelming and blissful that his pain didn’t matter. 

-

Shane had thought everything would be fine after Ilya’s scare. He forced himself to believe that nothing could be worse than that. He was so high on Ilya’s love and his cock that he couldn’t see the world burning outside. 

And he had been so naive the moment Ilya opened the door the night before they were planning to leave. Ilya came bounding into the cottage with fire in his eyes, his jaw set as he walked into the bedroom and began to pile his and Shane’s clothes into their bags. He didn’t even care whose was whose; his hands stuffed whatever piece of clothing he got his hands on into the bags. 

Shane was barely awake, and as he blinked away the sleep, Ilya turned on the bedside lamp,  causing Shane to wince and throw his hand up to shield himself from the light. 

His eyes focused on Ilya and that grim expression, and Shane stupidly smiled his way as if nothing was happening. 

Ilya was running from something, and Shane didn’t even get suspicious. He sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard, brows furrowing as Ilya continued to throw their belongings together. 

“We need to get going,” Ilya said with a stone-cold voice. 

“Is everything okay?” Shane asked. 

“Yes, I have business in Ottawa that has come up,” Ilya didn’t hesitate to answer. If Shane looked back at it, maybe Ilya had rehearsed those words. He probably expected Shane to ask questions and knew how to deflect them. 

Shane should’ve kept pushing, but his brain was fuzzy with sleep, and all he could do was tiredly take the shirt Ilya gave him to put on. Once it was over his head, Ilya had packed everything needed and placed them near the bedroom door. 

Then he turned around and looked at Shane. He stood there near the doorway, his eyes softening and his tight lips loosening into a frown. Shane had seen it as Ilya admiring him. 

Ilya walked over to the office chair and grabbed Shane’s jacket, then made his way over to Shane’s side of the bed and into Shane’s space. He lightly pressed the jacket to Shane’s chest and sweetly kissed his forehead. 

“I’m sorry moya lyubov.”

And Shane was a puddle, so easily manipulated. 

He got up from the bed, walked to the car, and rubbed at his eyes as he fell into the front seat of his car. He didn’t question when Ilya took off his jacket and shoved it into the backseat along with all his and Shane’s things. He didn’t question when Ilya put the helmet on before getting on his bike.

The roar of life from Ilya’s motorcycle had woken Shane up a bit more, and Ilya allowed Shane to go first as they pulled out and made their way down the dirt road. 

Shane had watched the cottage get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror with Ilya at the centre of it, rolling behind him like a dark horse as the sleek black helmet blended into the darkness. All Shane could see was the headlights and the shine of Ilya’s handlebars. 

The drive was uneventful at first. Shane remembers how dark it still was as he coasted down the highway. Cars were barely out yet, and it was beautiful to watch the colour of the sky change all around him. He played more Pink Floyd, but got bored and switched to the radio. It intrigued him to switch around to some of the French channels, which helped him learn the language a bit. 

“Tu..es…jolie. You are beautiful.” Shane repeated back to the translator on the radio, his smile widening at imagining himself saying that to Ilya. Would he blush just like Shane did? 

It didn’t matter. Because Shane had gotten bored with the French and switched to the Ottawa news channel once he got closer to the city. 

“-in Montreal last night. A car bomb had gone off outside the Raiders motorcycle bar in the downtown core. Three injured, two dead, including an eighteen-year-old boy. Sources say this was a planned terrorist attack from the notorious motorcycle gang the Centaurs. No one was arrested, but police are actively in search of any members affiliated with the gang, in particular the leader, Ilya Rozanov.” 

Shane had almost veered off toward the barrier, his breath shortened and his vision darkened. No, no, he heard it wrong. That’s what he thought at first; the denial had been so strong. 

He changed the station and flipped to another. It was French. 

“La police recherche Ilya Rozanov.” 

Yeah, Ilya’s name stood out in any language. 

It was then that everything fell into place for Shane. Why Ilya had worn his helmet instead of throwing it into the back with their bags. It made sense why Ilya decided not to wear his leather jacket. It had the Centaurs logo on it. He stood out like a sore thumb, and with no jacket and the helmet on, he looked like all the other bikers. 

Bile rose in his throat. But he pushes through. He pushes through because he can’t do anything now. All he could do was glare at the backseat where Ilya’s jacket lay over their overnight bags, his hands shaking and knuckles turning white while they gripped the steering wheel. 

Tears fell, and he refused to wipe them away. Oh, how stupid he was.

Chapter End Notes

The crazy ride starts now. Hold on tight yall.

Shane and Ilya are going to be put through the fucking wringer, I'll tell you that. Next chapter will be really heavy, but I don't want to spoil too much. If you signed up for reading a gang fic, you're gonna get a gang fic.

I'm officially at 10 chapters finished. So, I believe we will have 5 more chapters if my storyline maps out correctly.

Please comment and leave kudos! Share my story! <3

Chapter 7: and then it fades

Chapter Notes

Get ready to experience Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander's worst nightmares coming true!

Warnings for this chapter:
- blood and gore, no anaesthesia
- gun shot wounds, gun violence, heavy gang violence
- Ilya self-destructing
- Shane suffering hardcore

Chapter title is from Warmer by Night Swimming

When Shane parked his car outside of Ilya’s house, his eyes stared forward through the windshield. He glared towards Ilya’s front door instead of the figure getting off the bike in the rearview mirror. Ilya shrugged off the helmet, shaking out his curls before placing the helmet under his armpit as he walked in Shane’s direction. 

Shane wiped at his eyes hastily, worried that Ilya could tell he had been crying. He sniffled and got out of the car, his hands trying not to shake as he closed his car door and finally looked up. 

Ilya didn’t even meet his eyes; he was too busy looking around his front yard as if someone was going to jump out of the bushes. He didn’t notice how tense Shane was, instead focusing on opening the back door and gathering his things. Ilya straightened, and when their eyes finally met, Shane couldn’t find the energy to speak. It’s as if Ilya sucked it out of him once he looked up. 

After a long pause, Shane watched in real time as the gears turned in Ilya’s head. There was a mix of doubt and concern as he looked Shane over. Maybe he already knew Shane had found out. 

No, if he did, Shane wouldn’t be standing aimlessly in his driveway like this. 

“You should stay the night.” 

“I should go home.” 

They spoke at the same time, and both with very different words. A flash of hurt appeared on Ilya’s face, but he hid it well with a bite to his lip. Shane took a step back to grab the handle of his car door, desperate to leave. His brain felt like mush. 

“Shane…” 

“I’m fine, I just-I need my bed tonight, I think.” Shane was always a bad liar, but he didn’t let Ilya look at him any longer. He turned away and reopened his door to fall back into the driver's seat. As he turned the engine back on, Ilya stood looking like a kicked puppy at the side of his car. He looked into Shane’s window, his mouth tugged into a frown.  

“Shane,” Ilya said again, this time in a wobbly voice. It was muffled with the car window between them, but Shane heard it loud and clear. Ilya’s hand moved to rest against Shane’s side mirror, saying Shane’s name one last time to get something out of him. But Shane was already pulling out of the driveway and reversing into the street. 

Shane didn’t look back. Tears blurred his vision once again as he hit the gas as hard as he could and drove home. 

-

Shane couldn’t avoid Ilya. That was impossible. He didn’t realize how much his life had revolved around Ilya’s until he actively tried to get out. This was probably what Harris had been talking about, how that fork in the road made a difference. In the end, since he chose this, there was no going back. 

But a car bomb? Shane had only heard these things in the movies or on true crime shows. He’d look at the news and see violence like that in Chicago or Los Angeles. But here? In Montreal? 

And not only that, but had Ilya planted this bomb? Shane had nightmares of it. A different reenactment played out each night, all with Ilya somewhere in the middle of the crime scene, ready to pull the trigger and play God. 

Ilya wasn’t that type of man; he couldn’t be. 

Shane knew the only closure he would get from this would be to talk to him. Due to them arriving a day earlier than planned, Shane had an extra two days to organize his thoughts before he had to go back to work. It was there that Shane would have to answer to Ilya, and Ilya would have to do the same back.

Throughout all that, Ilya hadn’t even texted him once. He might have known Shane needed space, but it was more likely that he was too busy running from the police and the rival gang. Shane would catch himself staring at his phone when it was settled on his bed or kitchen table, waiting for it to light up with Ilya’s name. He felt sick to his stomach; he couldn't believe he had grown this attached. 

Shane drove to the bar for his shift once the two days passed in a blur. Immediately, he noticed the line of motorcycles where they usually were. They used to give him so much security when he turned into the parking lot, but now he could only gulp down the rocks in his throat and turn his head away with nerves. 

Everyone else was thankfully normal around him when he started work. More importantly, Hayden and Rose were back to their ordinary selves. Shane had leaned on the both of them a lot throughout this chaos, and without them, he didn’t know what he’d do. They distracted him throughout most of the night, Rose with her quirkiness and Hayden with his consistent rambles, when Shane had the chance to sneak to the back.

Ilya didn’t show up until the bar closed. It was a long shift, and Shane was constantly on edge despite the distractions. He’d look over whenever the front doors opened, expecting to see dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes sweeping the crowd. He expected at least Troy, Wyatt, Marleau, or even Luca to show up, but none of them revealed themselves either. 

It was a good call on everyone’s part not to show up in public like this. With such a serious crime on their shoulders, Shane wouldn’t be surprised if they were planning to live in a cellar until things calmed down. Or maybe they’d flee to Vancouver, or somewhere like Saskatchewan, where people went to disappear. 

The air felt different in the bar, Shane realized, the longer the night had dragged on. People whispered more, and their eyes wandered to the empty booth or to the basement door. It was as if Ilya and his gang were going to spawn from the floorboards and appear from the shadows to wreak havoc. They were suddenly a scary ghost story or an urban legend. Yeah, these boys hid for a reason. 

Were these people scared of Ilya now, too? 

Was Shane even scared? He had very little time to look into himself and recover since finding out the news. So many questions were in place, and so many of them needed to be answered. For Shane’s sanity, he couldn’t be scared. He needed to be strong. He needed to puff out his chest and look Ilya in the eye. 

Even when Ilya entered the bar as Shane cleaned one of the glasses behind the bar, Shane gulped down the complicated emotions and looked his way. He immediately felt himself wanting to fold under Ilya’s gaze, but he stiffened up and focused. 

Ilya still sported the cuts on his nose and lip. But the swelling had gone down since last seeing him. He had his regular Centaurs jacket on, the leather shining in the bar light as he walked. Overall, despite having the police breathing down his neck, he looked collected as he waltzed towards the booth. 

Shane followed, shaking off his fears; the glass he was cleaning was left half-smudged on the bar counter. He tried to smother all the questions rising to the surface and dangling from his lips, but the desperation was eating him alive. 

Ilya still hadn’t said a word. He slumped into the booth and fished out his pack of cigarettes. He fiddled with the opening as his eyes dragged over Shane’s form. 

“You are not wearing your jacket,” Ilya pointed out flatly. He finally opened the cigarette pack and plucked out a stick. 

Shane shifted on his feet and tried to decide if he should sit with Ilya or not. The echo of Ilya’s lighter igniting bounced off the walls of the bar. 

“I’m working, it’s not part of the uniform,” Shane’s voice was small. He cleared his throat and decided to walk forward. He got to the other end of the booth, but didn’t sit down. 

Ilya looked to be dissecting Shane. His eyes wandered around Shane’s form with consistency and seriousness. It was as if Shane’s heart was laid out and beating in the middle of the table between them. 

“Did you do it?” Shane’s voice barely went over a whisper. 

“Speak up,” Ilya’s voice was much louder. It didn’t hold any bite to it, but the words were so commanding that it made Shane flinch. 

“Did you do it?” His volume was too loud as he repeated himself, but Shane didn’t care. Ilya wanted him to speak up, so he did. 

Now there was no turning back. 

“What did I do?” Ilya’s expression hadn’t changed, he breathed smoke through his nostrils and stared at Shane as if he were bored. It made anger blossom in Shane’s chest. 

“Don’t do this,” Shane growled out, stepping away from the booth. No, he didn’t want to sit across from Ilya; he didn’t want to be near him. He needed his space; he needed to see every inch of this man as he explained himself. 

“Tell me what exactly I did-” 

“Did you plant the fucking bomb?!” Shane yelled, his voice cracking at the end. His breathing became uneven, and he began to pace. He shook out his hands, feeling the sweat build in his palms.

His words hung in the air, almost as if he had yelled into a deep tunnel, and the only reaction Shane got was a sniffle before Ilya flicked ashes off his cigarette and placed it on the ashtray. 

“You are listening to the news now,” Ilya always knew how to say the wrong words. 

“You can’t do that…you can’t deflect like you always do. Not now!” Shane wanted to cry, and his voice wobbled dangerously. But he kept going. “People died, Ilya, what the fuck are you doing? You’re a gang leader, not-not a fucking terrorist.” 

“I didn’t plant it,” Ilya said. But it fell on deaf ears. Shane couldn’t be stopped in the middle of his ramble. 

“Fuck, h-how do you even get your hands on a fucking bomb, Ilya? How?!” 

“It was a setup!” Ilya yelled, cutting Shane off before he spiralled out of control. Shane was close to crumbling, his hands finding purchase in his hair as he tugged it off his scalp roughly. 

“What?” Shane asked, his ears ringing. 

“Someone from an opposing gang set us up. We do not know who, but they somehow got our jacket and tipped people off to frame me. I was not on that side of the city when it happened.”

Shane blinked, his breathing slowing. But how could he believe Ilya’s words after this? After Ilya had lied to his face and said they needed to get out of Montreal for business in Ottawa? Why did Ilya not come clean to him about the bombing if he had simply been framed? 

Was this all to protect Shane from the reality of being in a gang? Well, now it was backfiring. Now the trust was broken. 

“Why don’t you ever tell me these things? H-how am I ever supposed to believe your word when all you do is lie or shut me out?” Shane’s hands balled into fists at his sides. The panic attack had died down, but the anger was still vibrating inside him. 

“I’m doing this to-” 

“If you say you’re doing this to protect me, I’m walking out,” Shane snapped. Ilya looked taken aback by his outburst, and finally shuffled out of his seat to begin his walk towards Shane, to stand eye to eye. 

“There are bad men out there who want me dead and buried, baby. The less you know, the better,” as Ilya walked forward, Shane took a few steps back to maintain the distance. Ilya looked hurt. 

“And you carry this burden alone? You’re gonna go insane, Ilya—all this paranoia and pain. If you’re scared, you need to tell me. Just fucking…be honest with me. Cause right now all I’m hearing is that you’re a murderer.” 

Ilya flinched, and Shane almost felt bad for saying those words. 

“You want the truth?” Ilya asked, and suddenly Ilya had aged before Shane’s eyes. A shadow cast upon his face, his eyes darkening, and his mouth frowning. Years of guilt fell onto Ilya’s shoulders as he began to speak. 

“My brother died when I was 17 years old. He was a member of the Raiders; they owned a bar here in Ottawa. My brother, his entire life leading to his death, protected me from the gang. But when we moved to Canada, we were surrounded by it. Before he died, he was always on edge, didn’t wear his jacket anywhere, and even took me out of school to protect and train me to fight. He was desperate to keep me alive.” 

Ilya sighed shakily, and Shane could only watch.

“He died in a drive-by shooting outside the Raiders bar. I, uh, I saw it happen. I was very angry at myself for thinking I did not protect my brother enough. I joined the gang, thinking I could get revenge. But I found out two years later that it was all a setup, that the Raiders put a hit on my brother because he was pocketing money from drug deals.” 

Ilya sniffled again, and Shane could see the shine in his eyes reflect off the chandeliers above them.

“I did many bad things and was betrayed by many people. So it is…hard for me to trust. It is hard for me to stop protecting the ones I love.” 

Shane’s breath hitched. Love. Love. Love.

“Ilya…” Shane couldn’t find the words. His brain was stuck on what Ilya had said. From the disturbing truth of his brother's death, to his off-handed declaration of love. What could he possibly say? 

“I am sorry, Shane. I am possessive, and cruel, and I have done some very bad things in my past, but I swear to you I did not plant that bomb. I would not do a stupid thing like that when I have you.” 

Shane’s eyes watered, but Ilya beat him to it. Crystal-like tears began to stream down Ilya’s face, and his bottom lip wobbled dangerously as he turned away to hide from Shane.

“Sorry,” he said again.

Shane rushed forward, the sudden need to be connected to Ilya overwhelming. He crashed into Ilya’s body and forced Ilya’s head down to his neck. As soon as Ilya’s forehead hit Shane’s throat, a hard sob wracked through Ilya’s form.

Shane held him, and they migrated to the booth so Shane could straddle Ilya’s lap and anchor him. Eventually, Shane found himself humming softly, his nose buried in Ilya’s hair as he serenaded the broken man underneath him.

-

It gets easier between the two of them. With Ilya’s heart on his sleeve, he was more vulnerable with Shane. He still hid a lot of his emotions and didn’t talk about the gang, but there were little moments where Shane and he would sit in the bar or at Ilya’s house and just…be together. 

It had been a week since the news about the bomb. Shane never brought it up, because he was too busy living in the bliss of the newer, more present Ilya. It made Shane happy to see Ilya frown or smile more, to see tears and laughter. It made Ilya human. 

It made them real. 

They were at the bar now, Shane was finishing up the cleaning behind the bar when Ilya suddenly turned on the music from the speakers. He smiled wickedly toward Shane, a cigarette kissed between his lips as he swayed his hips and waltzed his way over to the bar. 

Shane smiled and shook his head; the tiredness was weighing on his eyelids, and he was so close to being done. He just needed to put the glasses that he had cleaned away, and then he’d let Ilya drive him home. 

He had stopped bringing his car. Shane was with Ilya, so it became a daily routine to get a ride to and from work. Most of the time, he stayed at Ilya’s place anyway. It was nice to know he didn’t have to wonder where Ilya was now, because he knew the man would eventually pick him up. They had made a comfortable routine. 

“Dance with me,” Ilya said as he shuffled behind Shane; his hands rested upon Shane’s hips, guiding him along with his movements while the music played. He kissed Shane's leather shoulder. He had convinced Shane to wear it for his shifts now, and Shane couldn’t deny how powerful it made him feel. 

“I don’t dance,” Shane answered bluntly. It was too late for shenanigans like this. 

But Ilya wasn’t giving up. He rested his chin on Shane’s shoulder, and Shane could now see the cigarette in his peripheral vision. But Ilya had it clamped between his lips so it didn’t fall. 

“But there is big dancefloor in front of us with no one dancing on it!” Ilya teased, pinching Shane’s hips and tugging him by the apron towards the other side of the bar and onto the open floor. Shane allowed it, his hands safely placing the glass back on top of the bar so his hands could be filled with Ilya. Ilya tossed his cigarette into the ashtray to do the same. 

They began to sway, it was a joke at first. They giggled and Ilya playfully made Shane dip and spin. Shane forced Ilya to spin after him, humming along to the tune. But then the music became background noise, their eyes meeting and nothing mattering but one another. 

With their foreheads pressed together, Shane and Ilya slow-danced. They moved in sync, breathing one another in. It was just them and the music, in their own little world. 

But then tires screeched outside, it was so fast that Ilya and Shane only flinched at the noise. Shane didn’t understand. Why were the boys coming back to the bar so late? 

Two things happened at once. Ilya’s face fell, his eyes widening into the headlights that flashed across the front of the bar. Then someone screamed outside, it was so loud Shane could hear it from where he stood.

“Fuck the Centaurs!” 

Ow. That’s what immediately came into Shane’s mind. He didn’t understand. Pain shot through his entire body, his ears rang, and fireworks were going off all around him.

No, not fireworks. Oh, he wished. 

They were being shot at.

He should have screamed, but nothing came out of him. The messages his brain was sending to his body weren’t working. All he could do was whimper and stare up at the ceiling as shock took over him. 

Oh, he was lying on the ground now. He didn’t know how he got there. They were only dancing moments ago. Their foreheads pressed together, hands entwined-

“Blyat’! No, no!” That was Ilya, his voice a light at the end of the tunnel. Shane focused on it, his eyes desperately searching for a face to match. He tried to call out, but his mouth wasn’t working.

Finally, Ilya came into view. But he had blood in his hair and tears in his eyes. He looked down at Shane like he was dying. 

Was he?

Arms hooked under his armpits. Someone screamed in pain, maybe it was him. Shane couldn’t tell. He was dragged through bullet casings and smoke, and when he looked down at his feet, he nearly threw up.

A snail trail of blood came from his body, leaving a stain on the floor as he was dragged. It reminded him of Pete and Tom, how their blood caked the floors of this bar and had to be mopped up. Now it was his own.

They were behind the bar now. Shane couldn’t see anything but the ceiling, and glass pinched at his back. Had all the glasses he was going to put away been smashed? Was that also why he was bleeding so much? 

He sobbed out Ilya’s name, hoping it had come out of his raw throat.

Ilya was too focused. Shane could see him out of the corner of his eye. He had shoved away the cash register and thrown some objects out from the lower shelves of the bar, and Shane’s eyes widened when he saw a shotgun get pulled out. It must’ve been hidden, only for Ilya and the gang to know of its existence.

So when stuff like this happened, they could retaliate.

Ilya was saying something to him; his voice sounded destroyed. His left bicep was bleeding profusely, and Shane wanted to put pressure on it, but his body just wouldn’t fucking move.

“Is okay, baby,” Shane blinked at Ilya’s words, the lights darkening. 

“-stay with me!” Ilya yelled, his hands on the shotgun as he propped it over the counter and scanned the outside for the shooter. 

‘I’m okay,’ Shane wanted to say. But all that came out was a choke. 

“-with me, don’t close your eyes!” 

Two teeth-rattling shots rang out, followed by two heavy thuds. Then silence. It was so jarring that Shane thought he had dreamed it all, but when he reopened his eyes, he was still lying on the ground.

Ilya had stepped over him at some point; he was on the phone with someone. Shane could see his lips moving frantically as he looked down at Shane and then back up towards the doors of the bar. 

“He needs hospital!" Ilya growled, Shane wheezed.

“Yebat, he will die on this fucking floor, Marleau. I will call-“ 

Someone was yelling so loudly on the other end of the call that Shane could hear it. They weren’t happy with Ilya’s words. 

Shane frowned. He needed help. Why was this a debate? 

‘Help me,’ Shane whispered in his head. 

“Call the fucking doctor then. If you are not here in five minutes, I am calling ambulance. Do you hear me?” 

Shane flinched when a hand was on his forehead. It was Ilya’s, his fingers cool against Shane’s sweaty skin as they brushed away his bangs. They were trembling, and Shane wished he had the energy to grab them.

“Ilya?” Shane sobbed out. It took everything in him to speak.

“Yeah, yes, baby, I am here,” Ilya got off the phone and pocketed it. He left Shane’s vision for a second and came back with a cloth in his hand.  

“Hurts,” Shane croaked. He couldn’t follow Ilya’s movements; he was too fast and it made him dizzy.

But then he cried out, grunting loudly as white-hot pressure rocketed from his left thigh. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” Ilya was grinding his teeth, his eyes wild and bloodshot as they tamed a wound on Shane’s thigh. He wouldn’t look Shane in the eye, now. 

“What…ngh…’appened,” Shane slurred his words. Maybe speaking wasn’t the best, but now that he found his voice, he forced himself to use it. It was either that or sleep.

He couldn’t close his eyes. He knew that if he did, there was a chance that he wouldn’t reopen them.

“Shh, you were shot in thigh and shoulder. We are bringing doctor here, okay?” Ilya had grabbed for a clean cloth and moved up to Shane’s upper half. 

“Call 911,” Shane whimpered. 

Ilya shook his head, and a tear fell down his face. He didn’t answer Shane, instead putting pressure on Shane’s right shoulder.

Shane screamed. More pain pierced through him, his eyes crossed, and his body jerked upwards. Ilya forced him back down to the floor. 

“Stop, stop please!” Shane cried, and Ilya was shaking all over as well; his head was trembling back and forth, and his cheeks were red. Ilya looked ready to explode. Was it due to his pain or Shane’s? Or was it both?

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Ilya sobbed. He kept pressure on the shoulder wound and leaned down.

His wet lips pressed into Shane’s forehead. It was a strange feeling, the deep, aching compression from Ilya’s hands on his wound, with the mix of the loving, soft kiss of his lips upon his head.

“M’gonna die,” Shane whispered. 

“No,” Ilya answered firmly, and Shane blinked as tears fell on his eyelids and cheeks. They were not his own.

“You will not die. Too pretty to die.” 

Shane sobbed. 

He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he did. 

-

Ilya Rozanov stared down at the love of his life. Bleeding, crying, and begging for medical attention. 

And Ilya couldn’t give that to him. He had promised Shane the world; that he’d burn it all down so he could see a smile on his face. 

But he didn’t even have the balls to call an ambulance. 

‘If you call the ambulance, it’s gonna be a full-on investigation, Ilya. You want Shane involved with this shit even more? You’ll be arrested on site.’

Marleau’s words repeated in his mind as he kept pressure on Shane’s wound. It was true, Ilya would be put in jail if he called anyone. He had killed two guys from the Raiders, both of them now spread out at the front of the bar, dead from two shotgun bullets to the face and chest. There was also the fact that the police still believed Ilya was the bomber. 

He needed to think of the bigger picture. How could he protect Shane if he was locked behind bars forever? Who would avenge him? Because this was the work of someone bigger than these two bikers shooting up his bar. He was being targeted by someone powerful. 

They’d kill him in prison, too. Ilya heard stories of past leaders getting that fate. Ilya refused to go out like that. 

So Marleau had convinced him to stay on the floor and keep pressure on Shane’s wounds. Just until he got their regular doctor and made their way over to them. All the boys planned to be here, some to help Shane and Ilya, others to get rid of the bodies and clean up. 

“Shane?” Ilya’s voice was incredibly shaky, and he hated how pale Shane had become. Shane’s bottom lip was trembling consistently, and it was the only movement that made Ilya aware that he was still alive. 

Shane didn’t answer; hot tears were still falling down his cheeks. Ilya’s tears were glistening on his forehead. 

It felt like forever as he kept changing from the shoulder to thigh. He pressed on them an equal amount and cursed at all the blood that stained the once-white shirt and grey pants. And oh, Shane’s jacket. The fabric was black, and Ilya couldn’t see the damage. He was too terrified to try and remove it. 

As Ilya put more pressure on Shane’s thigh, more blood oozed from the wound in a consistent flow. It was particularly bad.

Had the bullet hit an artery? Please, no. 

“Fuck,” Ilya went to grab for his phone, ready to call an ambulance and defy whatever words Marleau had growled at him, but then thunder roared into the parking lot. 

Ilya scrambled for the shotgun, his hands slippery with blood as he propped it over the countertop. Broken glass littered the floor and the bar, all from the glasses Shane had been cleaning before all hell broke loose. 

Maybe it was Ilya’s own wounds and the way his eyes couldn’t focus properly from the adrenaline, but all he could see was shadows and headlights. His grip was shaky, breath coming out in short tufts as he tried to focus. 

“Ilya?!” A voice came from outside. It sounded familiar, but Ilya’s ears were still ringing. 

“Tell me who you fucking are, or I shoot!” Ilya roared, his finger hovering over the trigger. There was no way anyone was walking in that door without announcing who they were. 

“Fuck, it's Marleau! I’ve got the doctor here! Wyatt and Troy, too! Come on, man!” 

Ilya gulped, his skin vibrating as he processed the words. He didn’t even realize how much time had passed, or that Marleau had entered with his hands up. 

“Lower the gun, buddy. Where is he?” Marleau was staring at Ilya intensely. He stepped over the bodies at the door and approached Ilya as if he were taming a lion. 

The doctor came in next. His name was Rex, an older gentleman who had been the doctor for the Centaurs for a while now, even before Ilya had become leader. The man was loyal and well-trusted, and had patched up many of Ilya’s men and Ilya himself. 

“Ilya? You gotta focus, where is Shane?” Marleau called again, and Ilya flinched at how close his friend had gotten. Marleau had placed a hand on the barrel of the shotgun, forcing it to the side so if Ilya did shoot it would rocket into the wall instead of someone’s body. 

The movement awoke Ilya enough to begin talking. 

“Behind the bar with me,” Ilya answered, his head jerking towards Shane’s body on the floor. 

Everyone immediately went into action. Marleau took the gun from Ilya, and then Rex was striding behind the bar with Troy in tow. Wyatt was with the bodies, his expression grimacing as he lightly kicked at one of the men’s arms. 

“Shane?” Rex called out as he frantically put on his gloves and began to assess the wounds. From this new angle, looking down at Shane’s body, Ilya nearly vomited. 

There was too much blood. It coated the floor with a deep, dark crimson. It got into the floorboards, pooling at the sides of the bars counter. 

“He’s responsive but barely. We gotta get him somewhere I can work.” The bar was too narrow for Rex to work at his best, and Ilya knew that. But the thought of moving Shane made his chest throb. There was a greater risk of him bleeding out. 

“Ilya? Man, you gotta fucking focus!” Troy was grabbing Ilya’s shoulders and shaking him; he had been spacing out a lot. Maybe he was losing too much blood as well. 

“Basement,” Ilya answered bluntly. That was enough of a response for the boys, because now they were gathering around Shane to move him. 

It was going to be rough. Marleau had to stay at the front in case anyone else showed up unannounced, so it was just Ilya, Troy, Wyatt, and Rex. They got Shane’s legs together and arms at his sides, keeping him in an easy position before they counted to three and lifted. 

Shane awakened from unconsciousness and screamed, his eyes flying open as they walked him to the basement door. Ilya was near Shane’s ankles, and he sobbed at the sound. 

They couldn’t stop now. Ilya could see that Shane’s screams were painful for Troy and Wyatt to listen to, both men wincing the entire time they made their way down the stairs. 

There was a pool table in the basement, and they laid Shane on top of it. 

As soon as Shane was settled, Rex went back to work. They began to cut off Shane’s pants and shirt, and Ilya surged forward to stop them from cutting at the jacket. 

“Take it off him, don’t fucking cut it!” Ilya growled. He didn’t care about the glare he received from Rex, about the time that was being wasted gingerly taking off Shane’s jacket. Ilya refused to cut it, mostly because he knew Shane would be heartbroken if it were ruined. Troy and Rex lifted Shane by the shoulders so he was forced to sit up, and it caused a low moan to gurgle in Shane’s throat. Ilya ignored it and carefully but swiftly removed the jacket, leaving Shane only in his briefs. 

Rex immediately went to work. The blood still pooled out of both wounds, and he held onto Shane’s pants and used them as a tourniquet. 

As they tightened the pants and Shane moaned with pain, Ilya grunted in his own discomfort. He held onto Shane’s jacket tighter. 

“Ilya, your arm…” Wyatt was at his side, and Ilya didn’t even realize he was swaying until Wyatt had put a hand on him. He brushed him off immediately, eyes locked on Rex working on Shane’s shoulder. 

“M’fine,” Ilya deflected. Wyatt frowned at him but didn’t retaliate. 

“Fuck…” Rex huffed out all of a sudden, and that was not what Ilya wanted to hear. 

“What?” Ilya hissed, walking forward to lean heavily onto the pool table. 

“The bullet is still lodged in his shoulder. It went through his thigh, thank God, but we gotta get this one out,” Rex explained, his fingers lightly prodding at the bullet hole. 

Ilya’s skin went cold. They were working with nothing that the hospital had. Maybe some numbing shots and random surgical instruments, but it wasn’t enough.

“Do you have anything to make him sleep?” Ilya asked. He tried hard to not sound like he was begging, but his heart was beating out of his chest. 

But when Rex looked up at him, his eyes were hollow and cold in the dim basement lighting. The doctor opened his mouth, ready to explain the bad news, but he closed it and looked down in shame. 

Then Ilya knew this would be the worst day of his life. 

“I’m going to need you to hold him down,” Rex said, his hands grabbing for the forceps in his bag. 

Ilya has been shot before. He had a bullet stuck in his shoulder, almost exactly where Shane’s was. He had been laid out on a kitchen table and held down as Rex fished out the bullet. 

He remembers screaming so loud they had to stuff his shirt into his mouth. He remembers passing out from the pain and being happy that he did. 

But this couldn’t happen to his Shane. This can’t happen.

But it was. Ilya shook the thoughts out of his head and regained his focus. Shane was dying; he needed to stay in the present.

He and Wyatt moved to either side of the pool table. Ilya threw Shane’s jacket onto a chair and went to Shane’s injured side, and on the count of three, they forced Shane’s arms to the table and let Rex work.

They didn’t give Shane an option to prepare; he was too out of it for them to explain either. Rex went in with nothing but those tweezers drowned in alcohol.

The screaming erupted across the basement. It stabbed through Ilya’s brain and made him double over like it was painful for him, too.

It was a scream like a mother losing their child. A scream that Ilya had let out when he saw his brother's dead body littered with bullets. It was something so entirely full of pain and suffering that it rattled your bones.

“Is okay, baby. I’m here.” Ilya sobbed, his hands holding onto Shane as hard as he could. Shane was struggling, his back bowed off the pool table uncomfortably, and his hands were attempting to scratch at Ilya’s torso as he pinned him. 

“Fuck, hold him still!” Rex yelped. Shane was slippery with blood and sweat, and it was hard, even though Wyatt and Ilya were stronger than he was. 

“Can we get something for him to bite on?!” Wyatt yelled over Shane’s screams. Ilya searched the room, finding nothing.

“In my bag, there should be another cloth!” Rex pulled out the forceps and stepped back, allowing Ilya to rush over to his bag and grab it. 

“No, no, please, no!” Shane sobbed, his voice wrecked from the screaming. He was crying so hard that spit, sweat, and blood coated his face. He looked up at the ceiling as if the moment was his day of reckoning.

“Malysh, bite down on this, okay?” Ilya tried to let Shane choose, but Shane thrashed his head from side to side wildly, fighting him. 

So all Ilya could do was repeat what happened to him when he was shot. He forced the cloth in, making Shane gag. He cried with Shane, snot running down his face as he pleaded.

“I’m so sorry, so, so, sorry.” 

Shane wasn’t listening. He sobbed and roared into the cloth. 

Ilya went back and grabbed Shane’s arms. Wyatt did the same, his own tears forming in his eyes. 

Rex went back in.

The teeth-rattling screams returned. They were muffled and less loud, but it was like a lobotomy in Ilya’s brain.

“Got it!”

Rex whipped his hand out of Shane’s wound, and between the tweezers was the bullet. 

Shane slumped hard against the pool table. Motionless.

“Shane? Shane?!” Ilya cried out, his hands shaking him. But Shane didn’t move.

Ilya quickly went to Shane’s pulse point. Faint but there. 

“I need to stop the bleeding, please, Rozanov, back up!” Rex lightly pushed Ilya out of the way to work. Ilya all but stumbled backwards and fell into a chair.

The world spun.

“Ilya? Hey, Ilya?!” Wyatt shook him, but Ilya didn’t respond. His eyes were locked onto Shane’s deathly pale form slumped in his own blood, the green felt on top of the pool table had mostly turned black and stained.

Shane’s head had flopped towards Ilya; he looked peaceful despite the speckles of blood across his freckles. 

“Hey, Rex, you almost done over there? We’re losing Rozanov!” 

Ilya looked up and glared. He wanted to tell Wyatt to fuck off because all that mattered was Shane. Rex had Shane’s thigh to deal with as well. He could wait.

But words couldn’t be formed; his mouth felt dry. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ilya said, staring into Shane’s closed eyes. He wanted to see them again. He needed to.

“Rex! Troy?!” 

Wyatt sounded scared now, but Ilya couldn’t ask why before he was tipping forward and face-planting onto the floor. 

-

Shane wakes slowly. He doesn’t know where he is.

There’s a ceiling lamp blinding him; it lightly sways as he stares at it. 

There is a moth, too, it flaps against the lightbulb, its soft body making soft ‘tink’ noises as it hits the glass. It reminds him of that night in the bar, when he was riding Ilya and the world disintegrated around them. When he stared up in a blissed out coma, staring at the little moth that flew towards the light. 

He feels pain, but it's a dull ache that Shane doesn’t understand. Carefully, he turns his head. He notices a slight pain when he does that, it jolts from his shoulder, but he perseveres. 

He’s in a basement on top of a pool table, that’s the first thing he notices. The second thing he notices is that he’s only got his briefs on. He can’t look down, the pain too great, but the cool air against his skin is clear enough. He immediately wondered where his jacket had gone, the anxiety stiffening in his gut. But as he searched the room, Ilya was revealed to him; the man was slumped in a chair beside him, staring at him with eyes that had seen horrors.

They weren’t their usual dark and mysterious. Nor were they sparkling with love. They were something Shane had never seen before.

Completely dull. As if his soul was sucked from his body, leaving nothing behind but a shell of a man. 

And he was injured. Shane could see the bandages wrapped around his shoulder and bicep. He was lathered in dried blood. His hands and arms were the worst; it went to his elbows. It dried into a disgusting brown against his skin. 

Shane licked his chapped lips, a shuddering breath passing them as he gathered the energy to speak. 

“I-Ilya?” Shane croaked out. He barely got his name out; his throat felt like he had swallowed glass.

Ilya blinked as if coming out of a dream. He refocused, eyes staring into Shane’s soul.

Ilya’s bottom lip wobbled dangerously. He stayed where he was, leaning forward and running a hand through Shane’s hair. Because of the height of the pool table, he had to reach for Shane. He noticed Ilya wince with pain. 

“Hi, baby,” Ilya choked out. 

“You’re hurt,” Shane points out dumbly. 

Ilya laughs, but it comes out as a sob.

“I’m okay. You’re going to be okay too, da?” 

Shane nods, or tries to. He’s getting sleepy again and blinks as loose tears fall down the sides of his face and into his sideburns. He fights the desire to close his eyes. 

“What happened?” Shane asked.

Ilya bit his lip; his hand never stopped petting Shane’s hair. Shane had a good view of the blood tangled in Ilya’s curls. 

“Attempted drive-by. They are dead now.” 

Shane blinks at the answer; he doesn’t know what to say to that, but he also didn’t know what answer he expected. Shane stares back up at the lone moth and its frantic movements against the light above him, giving it one last look before he closes his eyes again.

There was an empty silence, and Shane had lost track of reality. The hand on his hair attempted to ground him to the moment, but he was floating away.

“I said no one would ever hurt you…” Ilya began to speak. Shane was too tired to acknowledge him, his brain felt foggy. Ilya continued despite his lack of attention, his fingernails scratching Shane’s scalp. 

“I caused this, and I will end this. No one…blyat…no one will hurt you ever again, moya lyubov.” 

Shane wanted to smile, but unconsciousness consumed him instead. 

He fell for a long, long time. His consciousness returned in waves, and his body felt like it was floating on a cloud. Shane called for Ilya many times when the darkness got too much to bear, but he never received an answer. He wanted to open his eyes and search for him, to see that Centaur logo acting as a beacon of light that would lift him back into the real world. But he was falling. 

When he would manage to resurface, his eyes could never adjust. The lights blinded him, the noises were muffled, and it was as if he were underwater. His lips didn’t work, and his limbs felt like cinderblocks. 

Shane thinks he heard crying. Someone was holding him, but the feeling was wrong. Then he knows he got picked up. He could feel hands on his back and under his knees, even his moan of pain and the intense nausea that flowed through him. Throwing up wasn’t an option; he wasn’t lucid enough to feel that.

And when the cool night air hit his face as he was being carried outside, he tried to look up into the sky to count the stars. 

His eyes opened, but his vision was filled with dark spots. Shane could only make out Troy’s grim expression staring down at him. He looked at Shane with so much pity that it was sickening. 

‘Where is Ilya?’ He wanted to say, but as Shane’s lips parted all he could do was moan in pain some more. 

Troy cringed and looked away as if Shane’s presence was too much to bear. Softly, Shane recalls being placed in a car. 

It looked like his car, the seats felt familiar against his skin, and he realized he was wrapped in a jacket. He buried himself deeper into it, bottom lip trembling as he glared at the car's ceiling. 

Darkness flooded his vision again. He tried to claw his way to the surface, but to no avail. 

He fell. 

-

Ilya sat in the chair for a long, long time. Hours passed in a blur because all he could do was stare at Shane’s pale form, lying faded and vulnerable with blood stains and bullet holes piercing his flesh. His once white briefs were now stained into a deep maroon, but Ilya just wasn’t brave enough to touch him. 

Footsteps slowly made their way down the stairs and into the basement. Ilya didn’t look in that direction; he kept his eyes on Shane and the soft up and down of his chest. 

“Fuck,” Marleau breathes out. He sounded exhausted, and his Centaur’s jacket was nowhere to be seen. He had blood and dirt on his clothes and skin. They must’ve gotten rid of the bodies. 

“Where did you put them?” Ilya asked, devoid of emotion. 

Marleau couldn’t take his eyes off Shane, as if he were traumatized at the sight. Ilya would’ve felt protective of that glance if it weren’t for the circumstances. Marleau and the boys haven’t seen any of the old ladies or boyfriends hurt like this before. It was shocking. 

“Far out into the swamp area, they’ll be rotting quicker out there.” Marleau spat out, the venom clear in his tone. 

Ilya nodded. 

“Good,” he answered. 

“Will uh…” Marleau trailed off, his eyes blinking to the floor as he shook his head in disbelief. He turned to Ilya, but Ilya didn’t meet his gaze. “Will he be okay?” Marleau finished, his voice wobbly. 

“Eventually,” Ilya didn’t like his own reply, but it was all he could come up with. English was too hard right now, and all he could do was repeat angry swearwords in Russian in his head, or the rants his brother would yell when shit hit the fan like this. None of them helped him in this situation, because he’s never been so fucking in love before. 

This needed to stop. 

“I need to call Hayden,” Ilya’s voice hasn’t sounded this authoritative in hours. He found it again easily once his mind was made up and the plan solidified in his brain. 

“Hayden Pike? One of the cooks?” Marleau asked with a raised brow. He wasn’t familiar with Hayden, and Ilya hadn’t brought him up until now. It didn’t matter. 

“Yes. Troy will have his number.” Ilya fished for a cigarette in his jacket that was hooked on the chair behind him, but hesitated. Shane shouldn’t be exposed to that right now. 

“Can I ask why?” Marleau pushes. 

Ilya doesn’t answer. Not even thirty seconds go by before Marleau nods to himself with a huff of disappointment, and he walks back up the stairs to get the number. 

While Marleau was upstairs, Ilya slowly turned to stare at the second jacket still slung over the chair with his own. The ‘property of’ stitching was vibrant even in the dim lighting. 

What sickened Ilya was the bullet hole ripped at the shoulder; it was a perfect circle. He grabbed for the jacket with his uninjured arm, and choked at the way the back was completely unscatched because the bullet hadn’t gone through Shane. Due to the black leather, blood wasn’t obvious across it, but it was slippery to the touch along the collar and near the bullet hole. 

Bile rose in Ilya’s throat, and he had to put it down before he started crying again. 

When Marleau comes down with a phone, it already has Hayden’s number punched into it. All Ilya had to do was press call and bring it to his ear. He uses the arm that is not wrapped tightly to his body due to the wound.  

It’s early in the morning by now, maybe 6 am, Hayden should be sleeping…

“Hello?” It's a groggy, half-asleep voice on the other end of the call. But it's Hayden.

“Pike,” Ilya says, his voice calm and collected. 

A pause. Hayden is processing the voice. 

“R-Rozanov?” Hayden’s voice is shaky and concerned, the sleep falling from the tone quickly. Maybe he knew something was wrong by the sound of Ilya’s voice. 

“I need you to come to the bar as soon as possible. Bring Shane’s car.” 

Another pause. Ilya tried not to get impatient with the other man, but his patience was running thin. He had been through so much tonight, it felt like he’d walked through a warzone. He couldn’t handle these awkward silences. 

“Pike?” Ilya spoke up again, his voice rising to shake out whatever emotions Pike was going through. It seemed to do the trick, because there was frantic shuffling on the other end of the phone. 

“Y-yeah, uh, give me twenty minutes!” Something crashed on the other end, but Ilya had heard enough. He ended the call silently, his hand moving back toward Marleau so he could take the phone again. 

“Pike will be here in twenty minutes, driving Shane’s car. We will meet him outside.” 

“Roz, your wounds-” 

“Marleau,” Ilya interrupted Marleau’s concerns, his voice sharp as he began to attempt to stand up. He was still a little light-headed, but with a few painkillers in him and his wounds cleaned, he knew he could push through. 

He needed to get Shane the fuck out of here. That was the number one priority. 

Marleau kept his mouth shut. Ilya could see it in his friend's eyes, how much he wanted to retaliate against Ilya’s words and actions. But Ilya was the leader, end of story; if he made these decisions, then they were final. Even if it got him killed. 

He leaned heavily on the railing as he made his way up the stairs; his breathing was still short and distorted, but he soldiered on. When Ilya got to the top of the stairs, he hobbled over to the bar counter and sat himself on one of the stools. 

Morning light shone through the front windows; most of them were shattered from the bullets. It was beautiful to see the broken shards of glass reflecting off the sunrise. It promised a better day. 

Ilya heard the slide of a glass on the counter and looked up. He stared down at a double shot of vodka placed between his stained hands. He wordlessly took it, tipped it towards Wyatt, who had given it to him, and then downed it in two large gulps. 

Now all they did was wait. No one said anything to Ilya for fear that he would snap at them, so they aimlessly cleaned around him. Resetting overturned chairs, throwing out furniture with bullet holes or burns in them, and cleaning glass off the tabletops and booths. It was as quiet as Ilya could handle, and he focused on the bottom of his glass until he heard the sound of a car engine.

Troy lifted his head and looked outside; all the boys were on high alert, even though they were warned of Hayden’s arrival. But their bodies immediately deflated once they recognized Shane’s gold Mazda parked in front of the bar. 

Ilya got up before Hayden could walk inside. He bit his tongue and held his head high as he forced the pain out of his system to walk forward. He clumsily shoved out the front doors of the bar, having to stop himself for a moment to readjust. Then he met Hayden at the car.

Hayden was getting out of the vehicle when he spotted Ilya. It was almost comedic how his jaw instantly dropped at the sight of him. Ilya knew he looked terrible, all Shane’s and his blood mixed on his arms, elbows, and torso. He knew he had some in his hair, and the bandages were wrapped around his bicep, shoulder, and stomach to keep him from moving too much. He looked like Frankenstein’s monster put back together again.

“What the fuck happened?” Hayden was concerned, and Ilya knew it wasn’t for him. The way Hayden’s eyes frantically searched behind and around Ilya, and the more Hayden absorbed the surroundings of the bar, the more intense his expression got.

“Where’s Shane?” It was impressive how Hayden’s voice went deeper and scarier. He looked like a bubbly guy every time Ilya had seen him speaking with Shane. But now, in front of Ilya and being faced with a shocking discovery, Hayden Pike looked ready to kill someone.

Good.

“Do you want to know what the reality of being in a gang is? Look at me,” Ilya held one of his arms out, allowing Hayden to take it all in. He wanted him to see each blood stain and wound across his body. He needed Hayden to be hit hard with the facts. 

Hayden’s face morphed in rage, and Ilya could see the way his eyes hardened and lips thinned out. The realization of something catastrophic formed in his brain. In a flash, Hayden charged forward and attempted to tackle Ilya to the ground. 

“What the fuck did you do to him?!” Hayden growled out, his hands gripping Ilya’s shoulders and shoving him backwards. Ilya winced, but Troy, Wyatt, and Marleau were on him in a second. 

Marleau and Troy held Hayden back while Wyatt checked on Ilya; they all awaited Ilya’s response. 

“You think I hurt him?” Ilya asked. The evidence was all over him; Ilya couldn’t blame Hayden for thinking that way. 

“It wouldn’t be the fucking first time!” Hayden shoots back, and it cuts deep like it was meant to. 

Ilya nods, absorbing the emotional and physical pain that hit him. 

“It was a drive-by shooting. He was caught in the middle.” 

Hayden looks devastated, and his eyes lowered to the ground as they filled with tears. His mouth moves, but nothing comes out, and he stops fighting against Marleau and Troy’s grip. 

“Is he…?” Hayden can’t finish; the words lodge in his throat.

“Alive? Yes,” Ilya doesn’t bother watching Hayden deflate with relief. Instead, he turns on his heel and shakes off Wyatt’s attempts at stabilizing him. Ilya nods his head toward the direction of the basement, silently telling everyone to follow, including Hayden. 

God, he needed a cigarette. 

Many footsteps follow him, and Ilya grips the railing hard as he steps down into the basement where his sleeping beauty is. Shane is exactly where they left him, not even his head had moved. He looks dead, like another corpse for them to throw into the swamp lands. 

“F-fuck,” Hayden’s gasp hits the air hard, and he rockets past Ilya to get to Shane. A sob shakes Hayden’s shoulders as he leans forward, pressing his chest into the blood-stained felt on the pool table to place a shaky hand on Shane’s bicep. 

“Shane?” Hayden whispers, his eyes wide and begging for a response. Ilya cringes and looks away, the sight being too intimate for him. Hayden had been friends with Shane for a very long time. Ilya had heard stories from Shane when they were at their special spot. When they’d shoot hockey pucks at Hayden’s garage door, or set up a net in the middle of the street to play with the neighbourhood kids. They had a deep connection, and one Ilya had shaken tremendously as soon as he came into the picture. 

Ilya takes a deep breath, reminding himself why he sent Hayden here, truly, in the first place. 

“Do you still want to be part of this gang, now that you see your friend lying on this table half dead?” Ilya is very serious, and he sucks in a breath before mustering up the courage to look at Hayden after speaking. 

Hayden pauses, his eyes grow distant as he thinks. That second of hesitancy is enough for Ilya. 

“Tell me what your decision is right now. If you don’t want to, then you take him now and never come back,” Ilya kept his chin held high, and he could see each phase of emotion filtering through Hayden’s eyes. He could read that man like a book. 

First, a shy nod. Ilya sees Hayden jerk his head up and down ever so slightly. The nodding continues and grows more pronounced.

“Say it,” Ilya says. He needed the words coming out of Hayden Pike’s mouth.

“I want to be a part of the Centaurs,” Hayden doesn’t miss a beat. He rises from his position where he knelt over the pool table, squaring his shoulders. 

“Good,” Ilya approves. He can see the other men around them looking extremely confused, and Marleau was biting his tongue from behind Hayden. Ilya did not have time to explain.

“Your first task is to keep Shane the fuck away from me.” 

There is silence after Ilya’s words. It’s a level of shock that blankets the room. Ilya sees every head turn towards Shane’s still form. Ilya forced his eyes on Hayden only. He couldn’t back down from this. 

“He will try to get to me, and you will not let that happen. You will take care of him during his recovery, and I will get Rex to do regular visits. He will ask you about me, and you will simply tell him the truth: I have moved to Montreal in fear that he will get killed.” 

“Roz-“ 

Troy’s voice tries to butt in, but Ilya’s death-glare that was snapped toward him caused him to shut his mouth instantly. Ilya didn’t have the time to debate this. Shane was in danger with him; this was clear. 

He couldn’t stay with him during his recovery. Ilya has done nothing but give Shane pain and suffering since they first met. Bringing rival gang members into the bar to beat in front of him, smashing a guy's face in for flirting with Shane. What kind of man did that? The answer was jealous, pathetic, and not a real man at all.

Ilya was a coward, and now he needed to embrace it. The truth was, he couldn’t love someone. Not as the leader of the Centaurs. Shane will hate him; he’ll kick and scream his way to Ilya, but he’ll get over it eventually. Maybe he’ll find himself another man, one who will treat him right. 

“What if he gets really bad? He’s been shot and didn’t get proper medical care…there could be infections!” Hayden tried to hide the panic in his tone.

Ilya shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. 

“Then you will call Rex or me and make sure it gets dealt with.” 

Hayden looked at Ilya like he was a stranger. His eyes hardened, and that rage filled them once again. Hayden stepped forward in a challenge; they were almost nose to nose.

And now none of the other guys stopped him, as if they wanted Hayden to swing at him. 

Fine. He deserved it.

“And if he fucking dies? Hm? What then?” Haden’s voice is dripping with venom, all saved to spit at Ilya.

Ilya’s jaw tightens; he doesn’t stop the staring contest with Hayden. He could do this all day, even when he’s barely on his feet from being shot twice.

“You won't let that happen.” 

Hayden stepped away, suddenly gaining some common sense. He knew fighting Ilya wasn’t going to be a good decision. 

“Now take him home in his car. He is high on pain medication, and we will give you some on the way out.” Ilya was back to business.

The boys were hesitant, and their faces showed it all. As Ilya bossed them around and told them to grab Shane and bring him to Hayden’s car, none of them acknowledged him. Of course, they did what he said, but their eyes never met Ilya’s, and they wouldn’t dare nod their heads to his words.

Ilya deserved that. He knew Shane was important to those boys, too, but this needed to happen.

Troy was the one who picked Shane’s frail body up the stairs and into Shane’s backseat. Ilya trailed behind them, observing how Troy stared down at Shane with pity. He was ever-so delicate when he placed Shane down into the backseat of his beat-up Mazda, and he gave Shane’s body one last longing glance before closing the door.

Hayden didn’t get into the car right away. He was standing near Ilya and glaring at the backseat like there was a monster inside it. 

“You’re asking me to lie to my friend, you know that, right?” Hayden was grim.

Ilya finally pulled out a cigarette and happily hugged it between his lips, lighting it. He took in a long, drawn-out drag and forced Hayden to wait impatiently for his response.

“What? About you joining the gang? You said yes, Pike, I did not make you do anything.” 

Hayden’s eye twitched, and he looked down at the ground.

“I think you knew I’d say yes,” Hayden finally found his voice after the comment. 

“Mm, yes and no. I show you your best friend bleeding and give you an understanding of reality. Are you telling me you can’t do this, Pike?” 

With no other words spoken, Hayden shook his head in defeat. He took his time walking to the other side of the car, where the driver's seat was. When he opened the door, that’s when he looked up to lock eyes with Ilya. 

It was a silent understanding. A quiet agreement between them both. As Ilya puffed on his cigarette, Hayden nodded his way and then slumped into the car. 

Ilya didn’t leave the parking lot until Hayden had pulled out and disappeared down the road. The taillights are a blurred pair of dots along the horizon. Ilya said his goodbyes in his head, wishing Shane the best and that he’d find peace. 

It was time to consume himself with revenge.

Chapter End Notes

Please don't hate me lol, I was serious about them going through the wringer. Ilya fucking sucks, and he thinks he's doing these things to protect Shane because of the trauma he went through with his brother.

And...uh...things only get worse! Haha, so sorry. I love heavy angst.

Also, people were saying RIP Luca in my comments and I was so confused but realized I had the age of the teen that died in the bombing be 18 which is the same age as Luca...I promise you he's not dead I wouldn't do that to y'all!

See you next weekend! We all need a break from this angst.

Chapter 8: you've lost a lot of blood

Chapter Notes

This entire chapter is based off of Bella's depression spiral in New Moon. All my real ones will be able to find the parallels in this!

Warnings for this chapter:
- dubious consent
- drug use (consensual, but also dubious)
- injury recovery, heavy depression

Chapter title is from You've Lost a Lot of Blood by Julia Wolf.

He falls in and out of consciousness like waves lapping at the sand of a beach. 

He’s sitting on the dock at his cottage in Sudbury, but he’s not a young boy anymore; instead, it’s him now. He’s staring down at the water sloshing against the dock, his bare feet dangling over the edge as he sways with the waves. 

“How’s the water?!” 

A thick Russian accent, one that doesn’t fit with the dream. Ilya has never been to Sudbury or his cottage, but he’s swimming in front of him all of a sudden. He looks beautiful with the way his strong shoulders cut through the dark lake as he paddles over to Shane’s form. 

“You’re in it!” Shane teases. Ilya grows closer and closer until he places his hands on either side of Shane’s knees, caging him in. 

The cross necklace catches the sunlight perfectly. Ilya’s damp lashes flutter up at Shane with so much love that Shane can barely bear it. 

“But I want to know how you like it,” Ilya points out stubbornly. Shane sees himself dipping his toes into the water, and Ilya grabs his bare knees and kisses each one before looking back up with wide puppy eyes. He purses his lips and uses Shane’s knees as leverage to lift himself slightly out of the water. 

“Gimme kiss.” 

Shane leans forward, and Ilya’s face grows closer and closer. But the kiss never comes; Shane’s suddenly pulled into the dark lake water, and everything goes black. 

-

He wakes up and stares at his ceiling. He’s in his own home, not the bar, not Ilya’s house. He frowns and tries to move to look around, but pain shoots up his leg when he tries to swing it over the edge. 

As soon as he cries out, footsteps come barreling up the stairs. The door bursts open, and Shane hates that he deflates when he sees Hayden staring back at him with alarm. 

His vision fades in and out, the pain so great that he collapses back onto the mattress. Hayden is saying something, but it’s echoed and warped. 

He falls back into the water. 

-

He’s in the middle of the lake, and his entire body is underwater except for his eyes. He feels like an alligator in the water as he swims toward the shore. 

There is a figure on his cottage dock, and they’re waving. Shane tries to swim harder to get to them, but it starts to feel like he’s swimming in glue. 

“Come home, Shane!” Ilya’s voice calls, the figure slowly forming to reveal him. It was as if Shane's childhood cottage was their home, as if Ilya were there with him, as if they could ever have a normal life where this occurred. 

Maybe those words meant something deeper. 

Shane abruptly stopped swimming, and suddenly, his feet felt like they had anchors tied to them. 

He drowns. 

-

The next time he wakes, Hayden is already sitting at his bedside. Shane stays still, remembering what happened the last time he tried to move. 

He’s forced to look at Hayden’s depressed expression, and his gaze is complicated as he stares down at Shane’s body. 

“Where’s Ilya?” Shane asks, because he can’t take it any longer. 

Hayden stays silent, and his eyes break away from Shane’s to glare at the floor. He works his jaw back and forth, and Shane can only watch and wait for what he thought was a simple answer. 

“He’s not here,” Hayden answers. His voice is detached from emotion, as if he were a robot and this was his rehearsed response. 

Shane wants to react, but the energy of talking knocks the wind out of him. Hayden notices, his eyes dancing across Shane’s body with a wince. Shane wonders how bad his injuries really were. He was never conscious enough to ask Ilya when they were still in the basement. 

Shane closes his eyes, expecting to rest them for only a few moments. That’s all he wanted to do. But then he’s pulled under again. 

-

A moan passes his lips; it's short and breathless as Ilya pushes into him. Shane is on his side in Ilya’s cottage this time, Ilya spooning him from behind as he sheaths his cock in slowly. Shane whimpers at the stretch. 

Once adjusted, he looks back and stares into Ilya’s eyes. They’re hooded and heavy, lashes blinking drunkenly towards Shane. Ilya looks as if he is under a spell; his mouth is slightly hung open in a trance as he humps into Shane. 

“How did we let this happen?” Shane croaks out. He sees his hand coming out to cup Ilya’s pec. It's frantic and hungry, and once he’s done squeezing Ilya’s chest, he moves to grab his jaw next. Ilya leans into it, eyes fluttering. 

“Because we’re young and stupid,” Ilya answers. 

But then things start to change; Ilya’s thrusts start to hurt, his hands grow too large, and his grip gets angry and rough. Shane tries to gasp and moan through the pain, but he soon has had enough. 

When he looks over to tell Ilya to stop, that it’s too painful, too much, he’s met with Pete’s eyes staring back at him. The man smiles, and it’s the same one he did when leaning into Shane’s space that one night, when he begged Shane to ride his bike. 

Shane cries, and then he buries himself in the blankets, praying to wake up from this nightmare. 

-

“Shane! Shane, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay!” 

It takes Shane a minute to understand it’s Hayden attempting to soothe him. Another spike of pain comes from Shane’s shoulder and thigh, and he writhes on the mattress with sweat coating his entire body. 

He finally focuses on Hayden, and he sucks in his lips to stop himself from crying out in more pain. Shane feels small and pathetic under Hayden’s heavy gaze, and his friend looks down at him with so much concern. 

“Is Ilya okay?” Of course, the first thing Shane asks is about Ilya. His voice was still hoarse as he looked up at Hayden with wide, shining eyes. 

And Hayden couldn’t hide the grimace that soured his expression when Ilya was mentioned. It made a shiver run down Shane’s spine. 

“He’s fine, Shane. Don’t worry about him.” Hayden got up from where he was sitting, the bed jerking back into place. Just that small movement made Shane wince as it shifted his leg. 

Hayden wasn’t looking at him any longer. 

“We got shot,” Shane stated, the exhaustion already tugging him into sleep. He powered through. 

“Yeah, buddy, I know,” Hayden spoke in a drained tone, his eyes moving away from Shane as if he couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. 

Shane’s fingers twitched at his side. He slowly lifted the uninjured arm, which was shakily coming into view. He didn’t know what he was reaching for, maybe Hayden, maybe the hope that Ilya would appear and grab his hand in his. 

Hayden just stared at it outstretched in front of him; he didn’t take it or acknowledge the desperation. Eventually, Shane couldn’t hold it up any longer, and it slumped back at his side. 

“You need to eat something.” Hayden turned away from him to look at the bedroom door as if he yearned to escape this conversation. Shane didn’t react to Hayden’s words, because the thought of food made his stomach swoop. 

Shane mumbled something, but suddenly his body turned back into stone. He couldn’t move it; his eyes unfocused. He was falling again. 

“I’m here, Shane,” Hayden whispered. He sounded fucking heartbroken. 

Shane went under. 

-

“He hasn’t gotten up in days.” 

“His body and mind are in recovery mode. It’s better with him like this.” 

“But he hasn’t eaten; he hasn’t fucking moved.” 

“Once I get the IV going, he should be more conscious.” 

Shane winced when, moments later, he felt a pinch behind his hand. He twitched, and a hand soothed his uninjured shoulder. 

He couldn’t open his eyes; his lips felt so chapped, and his tongue was a dried-up raisin in his mouth. His throat was still incredibly sore. 

Who was Hayden talking to? A doctor? Was he moved to a hospital? 

Movement. The bed shifted back into place as a body left Shane’s side. 

“Call me in 24 hours. Give me an update,” the unknown voice said. 

Shane went back into the comfortable darkness. 

-

When he opened his eyes this time, he was immediately more aware of his surroundings. 

The sensations throughout his body were different; he could feel the tips of his toes and his fingertips. His mouth didn’t feel like a desert, and when he opened his eyes, his head shifted more easily from side to side. 

No one was in the room with him. It was his room, not a hospital room, as he had thought. When he looked to his left, he noticed an IV attached to the back of his hand. It was hooked on top of the headboard so it could drain into his body. 

Shane shifted, a deep moan passing his lips when the pain shot through his body. His leg and shoulder screamed at him, particularly his shoulder. 

He bit through the pain and eventually made it so his back was pressed to the headboard. He was sitting up now, and he fought the dizziness by closing his eyes and adjusting to the new level. 

Breathing through it, Shane slowly reopened his eyes to review his injuries. The first thing he saw was the thick bandage on his left thigh. It looked freshly cleaned, and it was snug against his skin. The hand with the IV shakily came out to brush along the gauze, the skin on his thigh jumping at the slightest intrusion. 

He looked to his right, the angle awkward due to the wound across his shoulder. The pain pulsed from it without him even moving, so Shane didn’t extend a hand to touch the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. 

Sitting there for a few minutes, reviewing his surroundings, Shane gradually realized he really, really had to pee. 

It wasn’t going to be a walk in the park; that was certain. But Shane felt so beaten down and pathetic, that he wouldn’t dare call out for Hayden or Ilya. This unexpected strength in him was welcoming, and he was hungry to push it to the limit.

He first removed the IV. The pain was sharp but quick as the little needle fired out of him. He ripped it off with the medical tape in one go, and the burn afterwards was short. When that part was over with, he concentrated all his strength on his uninjured arm. It shook violently at first as he tested it, the elbow threatening to give out as soon as he lowered his weight on it. But Shane was determined to prove himself, so he took a short break and then went back to stiffening his left arm and forcing himself forward. 

He grit his teeth so hard he was sure it shaved off a few inches. The need to cry out into the air was overwhelming as Shane lifted his legs and shakily swung them over the edge of the bed. His left thigh trembled when he got his feet on the floor, and a thick layer of sweat already blanketed his entire body. 

Pushing forward, Shane tensed his core muscles to keep his upper body upright. Then, with a deep breath, he lifted himself off the mattress. 

And proceeded to crumble in a heap of pain on the floor. 

The loud thud vibrated across the floor. The lamp at his bedside, as well as the IV bag, shook violently. Shane saw black spots in his vision, and he fought to stay awake. 

But the pain was excruciating. It felt like all the muscles in his left thigh had been torn to pieces, and his shoulder felt disconnected from his body. Both were ripped to shreds by the bullet holes. 

“Shane?!” Hayden’s panicked voice echoed across the house. He could hear his friend bounding up the stairs and flying down the hallway. 

The door flung open, and Hayden’s eyes were wide as he stared at the scene in front of him. 

Shane couldn’t look at Hayden. Instead, he tried to get his legs out from under him so he could lean against the bedframe. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hayden’s demeanour quickly changed to a deep, tired look. He walked over, his hands coming out to help, but Shane swatted the aid away with frustration. 

“No!” Shane yelled, his voice louder than he anticipated. It was the first time he raised it in days, and it tore through his throat with discomfort. 

Shane regretted his tone as soon as it came out, though. He slumped his back harshly into the bedframe, now sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him. Blood was blossoming on the bullet wound and seeping through the gauze on his thigh. He imagined it was doing the same to his shoulder. 

“No…just let me sit here. Please,” Shane went for a much softer approach and changed his attitude. He tried to remind himself that Hayden was only helping. 

Hayden stayed where he was. He didn’t push or pry; his friend stood by his side and allowed him to catch his breath. 

Then, when the anxiety went down, Hayden made his way over and sat down beside Shane. 

Side by side now, Shane fisted his right hand into the floorboards, the other lying limp near his good thigh. It was close to Hayden’s leg, where the man sat silently. 

A few moments passed, and then Shane got the courage to speak. 

“I need to pee,” Shane grumbled. 

Hayden snorted and looked at him with an amused smile and a shake of his head. 

“And you couldn’t have told me?” Hayden asked; he had a lightness to his tone, and it was not at all judgmental or cruel. 

Shane tried to shrug, but it jostled his bad shoulder and made him wince. He hated everything.

“I wanted to do it myself.” Shane knew it sounded stupid, but he didn’t care. 

“I know you want to get back on your feet, buddy. I want you to as well. But you’ve been bedridden for a week now…go easy on yourself.” Hayden always had some words of wisdom. Shane knew he was right. 

“I feel so fucking pathetic,” Shane admitted. He wanted to punch something, but he was too crippled to follow through. 

After a pause, Hayden didn’t speak and neither did Shane. They sat with Shane’s last words. 

“You’re not,” Hayden concluded with a stiff voice. He got up from the floor, now standing beside Shane with a hand out. Shane looked at the aide with sad eyes, but knew it was either Hayden dragging him to the washroom or him peeing where he sat. 

So, he reluctantly grabbed Hayden’s hand. It was hard, and he had to shuffle back onto the bed to get a better angle before Hayden was able to lift him by his armpits. Shane moaned and cried out in pain, and Hayden silently allowed it. He didn’t coo or try to comfort Shane, which felt good. 

It was a struggle, and Shane was a sweaty mess by the time Hayden plopped him on the toilet. It was not graceful at all, but Shane was just happy he could pee. 

“I’ll be outside the door, okay? Don’t try to get up yourself, please?” Hayden gave Shane an awkward thumbs-up before walking out of the bathroom and closing the door. 

Now Shane had to shuffle off his underwear, luckily, he had boxers on instead of the tight briefs, which he didn’t want to know how that changed. It was loose enough where he was able to wiggle the boxers over the thick bandage on his thigh and get the fabric to his knees. 

Then he sat there and peed like he was 80 years old, too weak to stand and grab his dick. He huffed and puffed, sweat dripping down his temple. 

“Fuck this,” Shane whimpered, his chin moving up to the bathroom ceiling with despair. 

When he was done, he continued to sit on the toilet. His hands gripped the tub beside him, and Shane tried desperately to hold the tears back. No, he had cried too much. 

“You done in there, bud?” Hayden called from the other side of the door. Barely five minutes of alone time. 

Shane sighed and stared down at himself and the bloodied bandage on his thigh that needed changing.

“Give me a sec!” He called. There was no sense delaying the inevitable, so he shuffled into his boxers and sat clothed on the toilet seat once he managed to tug them back on. 

“Okay!” Shane announced when he was done huffing from overexertion. 

The door opened immediately. Hayden walked into the room and tried to hide the grimace. Shane couldn’t look his friend in the eye as Hayden struggled to hook his arms around Shane’s middle and tug him upwards. 

As soon as they got in front of the mirror so Shane could wash his hands, Shane’s eyes widened at the sight of himself.  

He was deathly pale; it looked like he had been exhumed from his grave. Dark, sickly circles were under his eyes. They were puffy and red-rimmed with deep, sleepless creases. He looked gaunt with the shadow of his cheekbones. His hair was a mess; he needed a haircut and a desperate comb-through. 

Shane refused to look at himself for long; it was too hard to watch. He didn’t even recognize himself. 

Hayden, still as silent as ever, merely watched and waited for Shane to turn off the sink and nod for him to help him back to the bed. 

-

At the two-week mark, the infection started. 

It began with shivers; they went through Shane’s body, down to his toes and up his arms. He was already exhausted, but when his shoulder started to pulse more than it usually did, he felt like a corpse. 

The shivers meant a fever was brewing, and Hayden had quickly called the doctor as soon as Shane had trembled and collapsed when he had tried to take his meds. 

Rex, the doctor, had taken one look at him and immediately went to work. He loosened the bandage on his shoulder, and whatever was revealed to him made his breath hitch and his eyes close for a millisecond too long. Hayden, who was looking over Rex’s shoulder, gagged. 

“Okay, we’ve gotta drain out this pus and change your bandages more frequently. I’m going to get you on much harder drugs for this one…I’m sorry, Shane.” 

Shane only nodded; all the words were so hard to focus on. 

He was in a daze, mixed with pain and sweat. His body was consistently hot, and he kicked away the sheets to keep himself bare aside from his boxers on the bed. Shane would tremble so badly that Hayden would rush up to the room after hearing the bed shake, thinking he was trying to get out. 

Vaguely, he’d remember Hayden trying to calm him. 

Shane would have fever dreams, too, worse than the ones he had at the start of his recovery. These had monstrous beings surrounding him consistently. Sometimes they’d have Ilya’s face warped into an evil smile, sometimes it was a demon-like figure, so dark and jet-black from the shadows. It would stand over Shane’s bed, speaking in Ilya’s thick Russian accent. 

The worst was the hallucinations that Ilya would be beside him in bed. 

One time, Shane had woken up and blinked sluggishly at the ceiling. He thought he felt a shift beside him. When he looked, it was Ilya lying there. He had no emotion on his features, just a dark look and subtle frown. 

When Shane called his name, Ilya shushed him. His hand came out, grabbed Shane’s shoulder, and lightly pushed him back onto the bed. 

“Sleep now, malysh.” 

And then Ilya would get on top of him and strangle him. Shane would kick and scream. In his dream, he didn’t have any injuries, but the fight was still not in him. He’d do everything in his power to get Ilya off of him, begging through gasped breaths to let him go to no avail. 

Shane, without fail, always woke up screaming when he’d break out of the fever dream. 

Hayden was beginning to lose his mind, too, Shane could tell. Even with the little consciousness he had, he could hear the shake in Hayden’s voice and see the fear in his eyes through the fog. He’d beg Shane to calm down and stay alert, but he’d be an echoed voice in the back of Shane’s mind every time. 

Eventually, when the fever did break, Shane couldn’t look Hayden in the eye any longer. He had become nonverbal. The deep-rooted exhaustion and consistent aching pain had eaten him alive. 

And still, he would reach for his phone, which was settled beside him on the bedside table. With every ounce of energy he had left in him, he’d text Ilya and ask where he was. 

-

Ilya sits in the basement of the bar and stares at the open space where the pool table used to sit. They couldn’t get the stains out, and Ilya didn’t want to see it any longer. 

Ilya had been sitting in the basement ever since the shooting. Even though the bar was closed, he didn’t want to sit at the booth and risk people seeing him. 

He had disappeared. He planned to fall off the map for a little while, just while he healed and they fixed up the bar. He had spent a lot of time in Montreal trying to find the bastards who had orchestrated the shooting and the bombing. 

It’s been three weeks since he saw Shane almost die. Three weeks of him wreaking havoc through the Montreal and Ottawa underground gangs. He left no stone unturned and craved for blood on his hands. 

Today, Hayden was coming in. He was always coming to the bar and asking for Ilya, and every time he was away in Montreal. Now he was here, and Ilya loathed whatever was in store for him. 

The basement door opened, and Hayden waltzed down the stairs loudly. Ilya heard every creak and thud, and Troy was in tow. He had probably let Hayden in. 

Once he was standing in front of Ilya, they didn’t say a word to one another. Ilya was nursing a cigarette in his mouth, and he allowed the smoke to rise across his face and act as a mask for how nervous he really felt. 

Hayden huffed and raised his hands in defeat. He shook his head before speaking. 

“Aren’t you going to ask how he is?” 

Ilya blinked up through the smoke. Hayden looked like a ghost. 

“What would you like, Hayden?” Ilya asked. As usual, he held no emotion.

Hayden scoffed and shook his head again. He turned away to look at Troy, but Troy had a stone expression on his face. 

“He won’t stop asking about you,” Hayden admitted. He sounded exhausted. 

“I told you he would-” 

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of fucking lying to him! Did you know he tried crawling out of the house last week? He wanted to drive to the bar to see if he could talk to you since you weren’t answering his calls. Or did you know he got an infection in his shoulder? He has been screaming awake from night terrors, and I have to change the bedsheets twice a day because he sweats through them so fast. His fever broke only yesterday.” 

“Is he alive?” Ilya questioned. Hayden blinked at him in astonishment. 

“Yes, but-” 

“Then that is all I need to know. Anything else?” Ilya stood up from his chair and smothered his cigarette in the ashtray beside him. The smoke dissipated around them, and now Ilya had a better look at Hayden’s rage-filled expression. He had tired lines across his eyes and forehead, like he had been permanently furrowing them. 

Ilya felt his heart clench, and he wished he could cut it out and throw it in the grave that he had dug for his enemies. Because he wanted to run to Shane’s home, scoop him up, and never let him go. But then a flash of Ilya’s brother appeared in Ilya’s mind: how he made sure to keep Ilya at a safe enough distance so that if he died Ilya wouldn’t be with him to die as well. And how he had failed. 

Ilya had to see his body and his brother's lifeless eyes. All because he couldn't stay away from the gang, all because Ilya was stubborn, and his brother was too scared to separate from him.  

He needed to do the same with Shane. Separation was imperative for this to work, for Ilya to get revenge without someone finding his weak spot. Because Shane was his weakness, and if Shane died because Ilya was too reckless, then Ilya would die too. 

“When do I get my license and bike?” Hayden changed the subject, and he didn’t meet Ilya’s eyes anymore, as if he were embarrassed to ask. 

Ilya had promised Hayden many things, all to be given to him if he took care of Shane and continued to keep Shane away from Ilya. It was working, and overall, Ilya was impressed, even if he didn’t appreciate being chewed out like this. 

“Mm, yes. Your license will be made this week. You will get bike and license at the end of the month. Da?” Ilya went straight to business; he was tired of seeing Hayden’s face. It just reminded him of how close but so far he was from Shane. Just one man away from seeing Shane’s beautiful face. 

With a short pause, Hayden looked Ilya up and down before nodding. He stepped back towards the basement steps and was in the middle of turning around when he stopped himself to look back at Ilya. 

“When he’s healed, I can’t stop him from coming here. You know that, right?” 

Hayden was right, and Ilya didn’t expect him to. He was still working on how he was going to handle Shane once he healed, but right now, Ilya had bigger issues. 

“I understand. Thank you for checking in, Pike.” 

Ilya could see that Hayden wanted to say more by the way he stayed where he was and clenched his fists at his sides. But the conversation was adjourned; Ilya had nothing else to say to him.  

Thankfully, because in the end Hayden was a smart guy, he turned away and made his way up the stairs and out of the bar. 

-

As time passed, Shane got better. Rex had given him a cane after the first month, and Shane had celebrated when he managed to get to the washroom by himself for the first time. He’d still need help getting into the shower. Hayden would help him in fully clothed and then they’d close the shower curtain for Shane to have some kind of decency. Shane also couldn’t get down the stairs by himself. He’d have to scoot his butt down each step with the cane in one hand and the other holding onto the railing or wall. 

But he wasn’t bedridden anymore, and that was something. 

The infection set him back a lot, and the muscles in Shane’s shoulder and thigh would twitch heavily at random times during the day. He’d have to sit with his teeth gritted together as his muscles involuntarily pulsed from phantom pains. 

But he was on his feet again. 

Shane sat on the couch, the cane leaning beside him as he watched some hockey recaps on the TV. His phone was settled on his good thigh, and he was giving it a long stare. Today, he was going to finally call Wiebe and see how things were going with the bar. 

He wouldn’t have called Wiebe at all, but Ilya still wasn’t answering. He didn’t have any of the other boys' numbers either, not even Harris. So, Shane had no choice. 

He hit Wiebe’s contact and shakily moved the phone to his ear. 

An answer on the third ring. 

“Hello?” 

“H-Hi, uhm, Mr. Wiebe? It’s Shane…uh, Shane Hollander?” 

Shane cringed at how awkward he sounded. A month of him all alone with his thoughts and just Hayden to amuse him made his social skills disintegrate. 

A long pause on the other end. Shane thought Wiebe had disconnected the call at first and looked at the screen in confusion. 

“Shane, yes, hi.” Wiebe didn’t sound at all pleased. Shane powered through it; maybe he was overthinking. 

“Hi, I’m sorry for calling. I know there is…a lot happening at the bar. I just wanted to let you know that I can still help out with the dishes or something whenever you open up again. Ilya hasn’t been answering my texts, and I’m-”

“Shane,” Wiebe interrupted Shane’s tangent. Shane stiffened and listened. 

“I’m sorry, but we won’t be moving forward with you any longer.” 

“What?” Shane sat up and didn’t care that his voice was sharp. 

“Truly, Shane, you were a hard-working guy. But this is for your own good.” 

Before Shane could reply or defend himself, the call ended. 

He sits there in a shocked silence. His hand shakily places his phone back onto the couch, and slowly, the rage builds inside of him. 

This was his punishment for falling in love with a gang leader. He’s done nothing but love and support Ilya, and when shit hits the fan, he’s left in the dust? 

Not on his watch. 

Suddenly, the pain still leaking from his wounds became numb; he’s running on pure rage and determination as he grips his cane and hoists himself off the couch. 

Hobbling quietly to the kitchen, he sees his car keys on the kitchen counter and snatches them. Hayden was upstairs showering before his shift and thought Shane was too immobile to try to escape again. 

But he underestimated Shane. They all did. 

Shane bit down the twinge of protest his leg gave when he walked faster towards the front door. He was itching to get out. That would be his first obstacle, and if he managed to sneak out without Hayden knowing, it would be easier from here. 

Hopefully.

He lurched the door open and hissed as he forced his leg to walk down the stairs. He had to hold the railing in a death grip, but he successfully made it down to his car without falling. Again, he knew it was only due to the pure anger boiling in his blood. 

Hayden hadn’t noticed, so Shane clambered ungracefully into his car and started it. He huffed with relief that it was almost at a full tank, which meant he could get to his destination even faster. 

Peeling out of the driveway, Shane kept one hand settled on the ache of his thigh and the other on the wheel. His shoulder screamed at him, but he ignored it all. He’d suffer the consequences later. 

20 minutes. It was a drive Shane knew awfully well, either from him driving himself or from sitting on the back of Ilya’s bike. In record time, he got to the bar just as it should’ve opened. 

Men were at work; there were familiar motorcycles parked at the front, but none were Ilya’s. Shane was now able to tell which one was his. 

But he saw Marleau’s and Luca’s, and his eyes narrowed. 

They all looked up from their smoke break and watched Shane pull beside the bikes. It was comical watching Luca’s expression in particular; the kid’s eyes widened, and he whipped his head towards Marleau in panic. 

Marleau’s expression was unreadable. He stamped out his cigarette and stalked his way over to Shane’s car as Shane scrambled out of it. He kept his cane in the passenger seat, so he leaned heavily onto the hood as he glared at Marleau’s approach. 

“Go home, Hollander,” Marleau barked. No hellos or how are yous. No, ‘I’m glad you’re not dead.’ 

“Fuck off. Where is Ilya?” Shane growled out. He tried to stand tall, but he was leaning on his bad shoulder; it made him dizzy. He knew he couldn’t stand without the aid of his cane, but his ego refused the help. He was pathetically holding onto his car for dear life. 

Marleau could see how much pain he was in; he looked Shane over from head to toe with a grim expression. No matter how much Shane tried to hide it, he was an open book to these guys. Luca was looking at him from behind Marleau with sad eyes.

“Go. Home,” Marleau pushed.

Shane gets bold and attempts to walk towards Marleau. He almost breathes out a sigh of relief when his bad leg doesn’t immediately collapse under his weight when he steps forward. He pushes himself further, his body almost crashing into Marleau’s as he attempts to intimidate him. 

“Fuck you. I need this job, okay? You’re all fucking cowards for leaving me like this. Where are Wiebe and Ilya?” Shane holds his ground. He sways dramatically but refuses Marleau’s help as he puffs out his chest and glares into his eyes. The other bikers are snickering in the background, all but Luca, who looks terrified. 

Marleau doesn’t look amused either. His expression grows darker the more Shane talks, and Shane almost hopes he retaliates. But instead, Marleau leans forward so they are nose to nose. It’s not sexual; it's one hundred percent a reminder of dominance. He’s trying to shake Shane, and Shane refuses to give up, even in his state. 

“You’re going to die if you go near any of us. Do you understand that? Can you get that through your thick fucking head, Hollander?” 

Someone snorts at the side. It doesn’t matter; none of those guys exist to Shane. 

“Did he tell you to say that to me?” Shane scoffs and shakes his head before continuing. “He’s the biggest coward out of all of you. He can’t even break up with me to my face?” 

The tears sting at the back of Shane’s eyes, and it's unavoidable. As soon as he said it out loud, it cracked a hole in his heart. The reality of it all was heavy on his shoulders, and he stumbled backwards and caught himself on his car again. Everything screamed. 

“Go home, Shane,” Marleau said once more, his voice still dripping with venom. Shane finally got a good look at the audience that had gathered around them. Some bikers and old ladies, and then Luca, who was the only one who seemed to care that he was dying inside. 

Shane allowed the tears to build, and he blinked them away. He refused to crumble in front of all these followers. They were sheep, and Ilya was the herding dog nipping at their heels to keep them in place. 

Nodding through the tears, Shane struggled to get into the car without wincing. He saw stars when he slumped into his seat, but he powered through it and turned on the car. Everyone was watching him except Marleau, who had turned his back on him and walked into the bar. 

Shane glared at his back, littered with patches. The Centaur logo mocked him. 

His tires screeched as he slammed the car into reverse. He sped out into the street. 

He drove, and drove, and drove. Shane didn’t stop until he reached their special spot. 

No one was there. It was just the lonely willow tree and the singular tire marks from Ilya’s bike indented into the grass. Shane parked a few feet away from the tree once he reached the back of the abandoned house, and then he got out with his cane and practically collapsed onto the ground underneath it. 

That’s when he began to cry. He sobbed so hard that it jolted through his entire body. He curled into a ball and welcomed the stretch of pain in his shoulder and thigh. It reminded him of the consequences that brought him to this point in his life. 

He was there for a long time. The darkness eventually blanketed him, and the ache in his muscles and exhaustion took over his body, and he had slept for hours under the tree. 

He knew he needed to go home. His phone was in his car, and Shane dreaded looking at it. He was sure Hayden was worried sick and probably felt responsible for Shane’s fit. 

It was really hard to get up. He had to take a breather against the tree trunk once he managed to get up. Once he was recharged enough, he pushed himself off the tree and stumbled his way to the car. He white-knuckled his cane the whole way, and by the time he was against his door, he was sweating buckets. 

He shouldn’t be driving. But that was the risk he took. The rage had fueled Shane toward that bar to get answers, and the grief powered Shane to get to his and Ilya’s spot. Now he was all worn out, and he felt nauseous, slumping into the car. The world spun. 

On cue, his phone lit up on the passenger seat. Hayden’s name flashed on the screen. 

With a long sigh, Shane shakily put his cane down and grabbed for the phone.

“Where the fuck are you?!” Hayden yelled loud enough to cause Shane to move the phone away from his ear with a wince. This wasn’t what he needed right now. 

“Hello?! Shane?!” 

Shane didn’t realize he hadn’t answered Hayden yet. He stuttered out a response. 

“Y-yeah, I’m coming home, okay?” 

A huff came from the other end. Shane visualized the anger on Hayden’s face. 

“I’m hearing that you charged at Marleau and made a scene at the bar? You can barely fucking walk, Shane. What the fuck are you doing?!” 

It took everything in Shane not to hang up on Hayden. Why was all this his fault? 

“Well, if you had told me where Ilya was, I wouldn’t have to find out-” 

“He’s gone, Shane!” 

Shane stiffened; Hayden’s words rang in his ear. 

“What?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Gone can mean many things. 

“He left for Montreal! He’s doing this to protect you, okay? So stop trying to find him, and stop going to the bar. It’s over.” 

Now Shane hangs up. He throws his phone as hard as he can into the passenger seat, and it bounces off the cushion and into the window, nearly smashing it. 

His breathing becomes irregular and fast, and his vision blurs. The panic attack drowns him immediately, and all Shane can do is lean into his seat and stare out toward the willow tree through his windshield. It comes in and out of focus, his cries filling the car's interior. 

It felt like the world was against him. Why had everyone turned on him? Was this all because of Ilya? Because he wanted to protect Shane? 

Shane didn’t need protection. He signed up for this; he willingly fell in love with Ilya and knew the consequences. Every warning sign for him was a call to keep going, to dive headfirst and not care where he lands. 

Slowly, his breathing evened out. Shane stared off into the darkness and watched the willow tree bend with the gust of wind. The water rippled, and frogs croaked. He focused on the nature around him. Eventually, he started the car and sped off. 

-

Shane didn’t speak to Hayden for a month. It was mostly Shane’s stubbornness that caused it to go on this long, but Shane didn’t care. Shane was pissed off at everyone around him. All these people were trying to control his life. Ilya was the ringleader amongst them all. 

Hayden tried to talk to Shane. He’d still attempt to help him if he tripped or stumbled a little too hard. But Shane would brush him off and turn his chin away from him. 

He was getting better and stronger. Gradually, he was less weak in his limbs. It was hard not to limp all the time, and even if it was bad for him, Shane tried not to use the cane as much as possible. He had some good falls, and Hayden would have to awkwardly help him up as Shane glared into nothing because he refused to look at him. 

And as the month passed, Shane saw the results. Soon he was changing his own bandages, and colour began to fill in his cheeks. Finally, he felt more independent.  

But Hayden was still breathing down his neck; ever since Shane had escaped the house and confronted Marleau, Hayden hadn’t left Shane’s side. It was obvious someone had told him off; Shane wasn’t stupid. 

Or maybe he was. Shane had the shock of his life when he awoke in the middle of the night to the familiar thunder of a motorcycle in his driveway. Jacki had come over and asked Shane if she could borrow the car, saying that Hayden had sold their car unexpectedly, which should have been the first red flag. She even offered to take him out for a bit to “get away from Hayden,” but Shane had declined. He was still wallowing in his own self-pity. But once the unmistakable engine noises hit his ears, he rolled into a sitting position where he was lying in bed.

He also immediately envisioned Ilya.

Shane grabbed his phone to check and see if he had received any messages as he ran down the steps. His thigh protested at the fast pace. He didn’t care; he could see the flash of headlights through the front door, and they called to him. 

But when he flung open the door, he was met with Hayden getting off a bike instead. Not only that, but he had on a familiar leather jacket.

Shane blinked in surprise, he didn’t know what to say. Was this why Hayden sold the car? And why hadn't he told Jacki? 

“Hayd’s?” Shane called out as he stepped onto the porch. Hayden looked just as surprised as he was, his friend jumping comically high when he saw Shane through his headlights.

“Fuck…Shane, what are you doing here? I thought Jacki was taking you out for the night?” 

Shane’s expression of shock turned into hurt. 

“She offered, but I wanted to stay in. When the fuck did you get a bike?” Shane hobbled forward; he was now paying for his run down the stairs. He barely made it to the front wheel of the bike before Hayden stepped away from him with a nervous face. Shane stopped and glared.

“And what, you’ve got a jacket now too? Hayden did you-“ Shane grabbed playfully at Hayden’s shoulder to take a look at the back of the jacket, and he got a flash of the Centaurs logo before Hayden rudely ripped his touch away from him and took another few steps back. 

But it was too late. It had been revealed. And all the pieces quickly fell into place for Shane. 

“What the fuck?” Shane was breathless; the sight of the damn logo made him dizzy. Was Hayden a member of the gang? When had that happened? 

But Shane knew when. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. How Hayden had been his own personal guard dog for weeks, and made the excuse that he didn’t have work either. Shane had brushed it off, but when he tried to escape and confronted Marleau, Hayden looked almost scared for the next few weeks. It was as if he had been threatened to keep Shane in his place. 

Shane felt like he was going to vomit. 

“Shane I-“ 

“How long?” Shane cut Hayden off. He didn’t want to hear the begging, pleading and excuses. He wanted the truth, for once in his fucking life. 

Hayden looked like he had been kicked; his face was scrunched with guilt. Good.

“The night of the shooting, I came and got you and…and Ilya asked me to protect you while he was gone.” 

Shane laughed; he actually full-belly laughed at the words coming out of Hayden’s mouth. And they just kept on coming.

“In exchange, I protect you and keep you away from Ilya and…I get a membership.” 

Shane shook his head in disbelief, and he stumbled away from the bike and Hayden. He had nowhere to go but in the house, but he didn’t even want to go in there. That meant Hayden cornering him and trying to explain himself. 

He had explained enough. Shane was done.

So with only his phone in his hands, he silently walked past Hayden and his stupid fucking bike, down the driveway, and towards nowhere. 

“Shane, come on, buddy, what the fuck are you doing? You don’t even have shoes on! Stop being ridiculous!” Hayden yelled after him. But Shane just kept on walking. 

He could hear Hayden easily catch up to him due to his injuries, and he hissed when Hayden grabbed his arm a little too roughly. It was the one connected to the hurt shoulder, and the weird angle sent needles piercing into Shan’s skin.

Hayden let go as if he had been burned, but he composed himself.

“Can we just…talk? I can’t let you-“ 

“What? You can’t let me what, Hayden? Leave? Are you going to call Ilya and tell him I escaped? Are you going to get your membership taken away? Your fancy bike and new jacket?” 

Hayden blinked at him, his jaw tightening.

“Fuck you. We had all the time in the world to talk, and you only want to because you got caught. Go to hell.” Shane jerked away from Hayden and started typing on his phone. He wasn’t entirely stupid; he knew he couldn’t just walk aimlessly down the streets of Ottawa with only pajamas on. 

He brought the phone to his ear, and Hayden looked even more nervous.

“Who are you calling? Shane, stop, okay? He’s not going to an-“

“Mom?” Shane interrupted Hayden’s words, revealing who he had called. Hayden deflated, his expression turning guilty.

“Shane? Why are you calling so late? Are you okay?” 

It was not great to be calling his mom at this time of night, but he had no one else to trust. He’d handle her concerns later; now, he needed to get the fuck away from Hayden Pike.

“Yeah, mom, I just…I’m sorry; it’s stupid. I got in a huge fight with Hayden, and I-I need you to pick me up.” 

“Oh…honey,” Yuna Hollander sounded as worried as she could be. There was rustling on the other end of the phone, and she must’ve gotten up to get ready. 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” 

Shane nodded as tears swam in his eyes. He didn’t break eye contact with Hayden, instead standing his ground with his chin held high in defiance. He realized a second later that his mom needed a verbal reply. 

“Okay, see you soon,” he answered shakily. 

Then the line went dead. Shane didn’t take the phone away from his ear; he kept the pressure on the side of his head for comfort. He was also shaking so badly that he was worried it would drop from his grip when he lowered it. 

Hayden looked so sickeningly betrayed, as if Shane had called the cops on him. Slowly, he stepped away from Shane and began to walk backwards towards the house. 

“I’m sorry, Shane.” Hayden’s voice wavered. His eyes were shining in the moonlight, and the street lamps above them made sharp lines across his face. 

Shane bit his lip hard and turned away from his friend, finally dropping his phone to his side. He could hear the small sigh leave Hayden’s lips, and then the retreat of his motorcycle boots on the pavement. 

Shane didn’t break down. He refused to cry on the street like this, like some cowardly low-life. His bottom lip was throbbing with pain, but it helped remove the pain from his shoulder and thigh. All he could do for comfort was tightly fold his arms across his middle and stare up into the street lamp above him. 

No moths fluttered overhead like in the bar, only little speckles of mosquitoes. 

A car revealed itself a few minutes later, and faster than Shane expected. Maybe he had spaced-out from how hard he was trying not to break. The car jolted to a stop in front of him, and his mom was firing off multiple questions due to his state, but they all blurred together. He focused on getting into the passenger seat. 

“Oh, baby, oh, Shane, sweetie you don’t even have shoes on! What did Hayden do? You never-” 

The sounds of those endearing words, the ones Ilya would use on him, finally cracked Shane in half. With a force he didn’t know was possible, a sob ripped from his throat and filled the air. 

“Shane…” His mom whispered in shock, her hands coming up to his face. She guided him towards her shoulder, and it was an awkward position as he leaned against the middle console of the car, but the maternal love consumed him so heavily that the strain on his injured shoulder and thigh meant nothing. 

“I-I just wanna go home, Momma,” he sobbed out. 

He felt six years old again, when he’d fall and scrape his knee. But this time, he was in his twenties, an adult, and with two bullet wounds in his body. 

“Okay, baby, we’ll go home.” 

And they did. With careful hands, his mom guided him back into his seat and helped clip on his seatbelt. Then she drove off, passing Hayden’s house as they went. Shane couldn’t tell if Hayden was staring back at him through the front doorway, or if he had left and gone to bed as if nothing had happened. 

As his mom got on the highway, Shane rolled down the window and rested his cheek on the door. The air whipped around him and combed through his hair, as if he were sitting on the back of Ilya’s bike again. 

He closed his eyes and imagined he was back sitting on that Harley Davidson. The wind smacked against his face and whistled through his ears, and it caused the stray tears to get caught in the breeze. 

They fell faster, tickling his cheeks. 

-

His parents were surprisingly understanding of his silence. They didn’t push or pry; instead, they gave him space to breathe. He sat mostly in his childhood bedroom, attempting to heal physically and mentally. 

Shane still hadn’t told his mom and dad about his injuries. He was almost healed now, except for the muscles that were still out of whack. He’d scar, but at least he didn’t have to wear bulky bandages anymore. 

It was strange being back in his childhood room. There was so much hockey memorabilia, and being back in the middle of it reminded him of how much he had changed. All the Ottawa Senators and Montreal Canadiens merchandise, flags, hats and jerseys hung on hooks. There was a calendar nailed to the wall that was still from the previous year, and his favourite hockey stick leaned against the wall in the corner, collecting dust. His room was solidified in time. At a time when he didn’t know Ilya Rozanov and the Centaurs existed.

Eventually, staring at his old room got too much, and his parents kept looking at him with sad eyes. So he decided to go out and forget the life he had. It started on the weekends only. After wallowing in self-pity, he’d sneak out of the house on Saturdays. He’d go to bars downtown and sit like an idiot all alone at the back, waiting for nothing. He’d chug two beers to get buzzed and search for men to fuck him. 

It usually caused him to go home empty-handed, because he wasn’t bringing anyone to his god damn parents' house. And whenever a man would react to his presence, he’d immediately chicken out and back away. 

Shane grew frustrated. He hated that Ilya had such a tight grip on his life, and the man wasn’t even around to police it. Shane reminded himself every time he sat at a bar that he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Fuck whoever he wanted. But he couldn’t jump over that last hurdle, the one where hands wandered and tongues mixed. 

Maybe it was too reckless of him, but he didn’t care. He started to get bolder, the angrier he got. Shane would walk downtown in the Byward Market, aimlessly waiting to see if someone, anyone, would come up to him and start a fight or fuck. He’d bump into people more, or his eyes would linger uncomfortably long as men passed him. He wanted them to treat him like shit, to call him names for being too weird and lonely.

He wanted trouble; it called to him. He craved to be punished for his sins of falling in love and desiring a lifestyle so reckless. 

But finally, Shane got his resurrection. 

While walking down one of the side streets in Byward, his eyes zeroed in on the familiar motorcycle immediately. There, across the middle of the gas tank, was the red stripe of paint like a beacon of light. 

His eyes drifted to the handlebars, and there, standing beside the bike, was none other than Pete. This time, with a Raiders logo stitched to the back of his leather jacket. He hadn’t changed much other than the new patch; he still had the thick moustache, buff build, and numerous tattoos. 

And Shane wanted to devour that man. 

His pace quickened as well as his heartbeat, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t chicken out, not this time. Not when he had the ultimate danger in front of him. 

Fuck you, Ilya. He thought to himself. 

Pete was playing with something on the handlebars, and as Shane approached, he looked up offhandedly and didn’t react. But then a spark flashed in his eyes. 

Fear, that’s what it was. 

“No, no fucking way,” Pete growls. He does a funny thing then, his eyes quickly roam around him as if he were preparing for someone to jump out and attack him. 

Ah, he must think Shane was still with…him. 

“Whoa, hey, chill out. I’m just saying hi,” Shane put his hands out and kept his distance. 

Pete’s shoulders dropped a bit, but he still looked on edge. He raised a brow and raked his eyes across Shane’s form, and it made Shane shiver. That’s what he wanted. 

“Where’s your boy, huh?” Pete’s chin raises in a challenge, and Shane takes a chance and steps forward. He sees it as a win when Pete doesn’t step back. 

“We uh…” Shane shrugs, trying not to show all the pain and sadness he’s been letting out over the past few months. “We broke up.” 

Pete’s face goes through many different emotions, all of them darkened by the shadows in the night. Shane can see the hint of surprise, then confusion, and lastly, lust. 

Pete’s eyes roamed longer across Shane’s body, a smirk building on his face. 

Shane took another step forward. His shoes were hanging off the edge of the curb, and Pete was close enough to touch. But he kept his hands in his pockets, staying patient. 

“And so you’re out and about looking for another bad boy to hang off of? Hm?” Pete is getting bold now, and any hint of fear has left him. He looks smug as he steps into Shane’s space. He was so tall that he didn’t even have to look up to stare into Shane’s eyes, even though Shane was on the curb. In fact, he still had to look down. 

And Shane’s skin crawled. He forced that feeling to mean he was aroused. 

“I wanna go for a ride,” Shane blurts out to push things along. Pete’s brows raise at the bluntness of Shane’s words, but he doesn’t seem deterred. 

“Do you now?” Pete teased. He finally raised his rose and skull hands to grab at Shane’s hips, and he tugged Shane playfully forward. It caused Shane to fumble off balance and lean heavily into Pete’s body. He breathed in his musk, and Pete hummed with delight as he squeezed harshly at Shane’s waist. 

Shane’s thigh and shoulder throbbed.

“I’ll need a kiss as payment before you get on her.” Pete’s voice is low and predatory, and Shane breathes out shakily. He regains his balance on the curb and then forces himself to circle his arms around Pete’s neck to pull him into a sloppy kiss. 

It’s wrong and rough. Pete’s moustache and tongue get into his mouth. But he doesn’t flinch away. He needs this. 

When they pull away, Pete looks like he’s in heaven. His eyes sparkle as they part, and then he’s lifting Shane off the curb and onto the pavement where the bike was. 

“Let’s go for a ride then, handsome,” Pete says, his large thighs swinging over the bike and settling down. He kicks the kickstand out and balances it before Shane gets on, his hands holding tightly onto the handlebars, waiting. 

He looks at Shane once, and it’s almost like he’s waiting for Shane to chicken out. But no, Shane had gotten this far; he couldn’t back out now.

And he wanted to drown out the memories of him on Ilya’s bike. This was it. 

The seat felt familiar as he straddled Pete’s bike and leaned into him. He didn’t have that large, bulky helmet Ilya had gotten him, so he smushed his cheek into Pete’s shoulder and hugged himself close. Pete hummed and chuckled, enjoying Shane’s eagerness. 

They flew off, and Shane immediately noticed how much more reckless Pete was. He went in between cars, across bike lanes, through stop signs, weaving and barely breaking. Shane’s heart was in his throat as Ilya’s voice mocked him. 

“He has had many accidents and ripped off mechanics. They fix his bike fast, and he gives them nothing.” 

Shane held onto Pete tighter, his eyes squeezing shut as the wind picked up once they hit the back roads. He remembers how he asked Ilya why he didn’t take Shane on a ride, and how he answered so seriously. 

“Because is not safe.” 

Well, here he was. Shane had laughed in Ilya’s face when he said that, but as Pete went impossibly faster, the bike shaking underneath Shane’s ass, he realized it wasn’t a laughing matter. He didn't feel safe. This wasn't Ilya. 

‘Why wouldn’t I be safe with you?’ He had blurted out to Ilya. Because it was true. Well, up until the shooting. 

Shane couldn’t breathe all of a sudden; the air was too tight around his body, Pete’s body felt wrong against his…too large and cold. A chill went down his spine, and flashes of trees and street lights blinded him. 

‘Why wouldn’t I be safe with you?’

He whimpered; his brain wouldn’t stop repeating it. He dug his face harder into Pete’s shoulder. They went around a bend, and Shane swore his knee almost touched the road; that’s how far they tipped. 

When Pete flung them back into place, he didn’t slow down once. He was unfazed by the erratic driving. He didn’t care. 

Panic grew in Shane’s chest; it became overwhelming the faster they whipped past houses and trees and grew further and further from the downtown core. 

“Stop!” He shouted, but the mix of the wind and the rattle of the motorcycle engine was too loud for Pete to hear. 

“Stop! Stop!” 

Pete’s head jerked to the side; he wasn’t looking at the road. He didn’t lighten his hand on the throttle. 

“Stop! Please stop!” Shane cried out, tears leaked from his eyes and fell onto his face as the wind battered across his skin. They were going so fast that the liquid flung off his cheeks and behind him. 

Finally, Pete understood him. He yanked the bike to the side of the road and skidded to a stop in the gravel. They slid sideways slightly due to the loose ground, and Shane continued to grip tightly onto Pete’s middle until they came to a complete stop. 

His breathing was heavy and loud; it filled the air over the bike's idle. As soon as Shane realized they were at a complete stop, he flung himself off the bike. His vision blurred at the sides and formed into tunnel vision as he fumbled to the ground and fell to his knees.  

He knelt there on his hands and knees, desperately trying to claw his way out of the panic attack. His throat tightened, his eyes watered, and his cheeks were throbbing from windburn as he stared forward at the dust that hung in the air from the motorcycle’s tires. 

“Whoa, you okay, baby?” 

As soon as Shane heard the pet name, his breathing slowed. It dragged him back into reality and reminded him where he was and why he was doing this. This was just a little hiccup; he got overwhelmed too quickly and wasn’t used to not having a helmet. He could still fix this. 

“Shane?” Pete walked forward, and as soon as Shane saw his motorcycle boots in his vision, he surged upwards and grabbed onto the lapels of Pete’s leather jacket. Shane pulled him into a rough and hungry kiss, one full of desperation and pain. 

Pete moaned with content, his hands finding purchase on Shane’s biceps. They began to make out, and Pete’s hands wandered to Shane’s waist to tug him impossibly closer. Their hard cocks rubbed together, and Shane whimpered.

“You wanna fuck here, baby?” So needy…” Pete mumbled as soon as they parted for air. He was looking at Shane like he wanted to bend him over the bike right here and now, and Shane almost wished he’d do it. 

“Let’s go back to mine, yeah?” Pete kissed Shane again, and they made out for a few more moments before Pete guided Shane back to the bike. Shane didn’t protest; his mind was happily blank with the need to be fucked. Pete could take him wherever he wanted. 

The reckless driving didn’t end due to his panic attack, but Pete was a little more considerate. He’d slow down at stop signs instead of blasting through them, and when they were at stop lights, he’d place a hand on Shane’s thigh. It kept Shane’s mind focused on what he came here for, and away from the curly-headed man who plagued his brain. 

Pete’s house was old and run-down. It was near King Edward Street, which was one of the sketchier parts of town. But Shane didn’t care; he didn’t need anything fancy to get what he wanted out of this. As long as there was a bed. 

They make their way into the house and up the stairs. Shane’s eyes burn from the mixture of weed and cigarette smoke, and the place is filthy with motorcycle gear and drugs. It heightened his nerves, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving forward. 

When they got to the room, Shane was happy to see it didn’t look terrible. There was only a mattress on the floor with white, unmade sheets wrinkled on top of it, but it would do. It was next to an old radiator stuck to the wall, and Shane’s eyes trailed down to the one box of condoms settled between the mattress and radiator. He tried hard not to roll his eyes at how presumptuous it was. 

They made out again, lips crashing together and tongues mixing. Shane eagerly took off his pants and shirt, as did Pete. Once they were both naked, Pete practically threw Shane onto the mattress. It didn’t bounce, and Shane’s wounds ached at the roughness. Good. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Pete huffed out, his hands and lips tracing up Shane’s legs towards his cock as he took him all in. Shane laid back on the bed and allowed it, his eyes locked onto the ceiling fan above him. He removed himself from the situation entirely, instead closing his eyes to focus on the feelings. 

Pete was good with his hands and mouth; he made Shane moan and squirm under him as he fucked him open and sucked him off. His moustache was rough against his hole and cock, sending shivers down Shane’s spine. Once Shane’s thighs started to shake, Pete pulled off and looked at Shane with a devilish grin. 

Then he got up, walked to his dresser, and pulled out a bag of pills. 

“You want some of this?” Pete asked as he began to lay them on a tray that was on top of the dresser and crush them with the back of a lighter. Shane was annoyed at being left wet and hard, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued. 

If he wanted to be bad, he might as well go the whole way. 

“Sure,” Shane said as confidently as he could. Pete snorted some of it and then brought the tray to where Shane lay. He sat down next to Shane, near his shoulders, and then brought the tray to Shane’s face. 

“Snort it,” he said. Shane tried to ignore how stern he sounded. He felt pressured, but he stamped it down. 

He snorted it, and the feeling was disgusting. It made him shiver as the drug flew into his system and absorbed itself inside him. He shivered violently, failing to play it cool. 

Pete chuckled and settled the tray beside them so he could continue to suck hickeys into Shane's chest and shoulders. He didn’t question the deep scar; in fact, he kissed past it and didn’t look twice. 

The drugs kicked in almost immediately, and Shane let out a long, deep sigh as the world began to buzz around him. It felt like he was back on the motorcycle again, and he reached beside him to fist his hands as if he were holding onto the handlebars. His back arched off the bed as Pete did something with his fingers. 

His tongue felt like a rock in his mouth as the high grew and grew. Pete came into his vision, and Shane could barely focus on him; everything was so blurry and strange. 

“I-” he tried to speak, but nothing came out. All the other words were a whine. 

“Shh, I know, baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

Shane closed his eyes, giving in completely.

Chapter End Notes

Well, I did warn you its gonna get worse...

I'm thankful for everyone commenting and sharing this story, it means a lot!

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See you next week

Chapter 9: stay by my side

Chapter Notes

Warnings for this chapter:
- threats of rape
- non-consensual touching
- kidnapping and blackmail
- more heavy gang violence
- some gore

Chapter title is from All Summer Long by Ally Nicholas

There is a flash and a click. Shane doesn’t understand what’s happening. There is a hand on him, too, and it squeezes hard across his sensitive skin. He groans and attempts to whack the hand away, but his left hand is stuck above his head.

He tries to tug again, his foggy brain not understanding. Another flash and click occurs, and Shane realizes it’s from a camera. From the whir sound afterwards, it sounded like a Polaroid camera. 

His eyelids felt heavy, and he gradually opened them to review his surroundings. Just as he looked up, a flash from the camera blinded him and made him turn his head into his armpit with a wince. 

“What the fuck?” Shane croaked out in confusion. He blinked away the flash in his vision, his eyes slowly adjusting and then zeroing in on the pair of handcuffs locking his left wrist to the radiator beside him.

He jerked, immediately resisting. There was a hand pinning him to the bed, trying to keep him still. It curled into the middle of Shane’s chest, making it hard to breathe and wriggle. Shane whipped his head upwards to see the intrusion. 

He stared into Pete’s eyes.

Pete, the man who had flirted with Shane at the bar many months ago. The guy with the rose and skull tattoos across the back of his hands. The same man who was almost beaten to a bloody pulp on Ilya’s bar floor because he dared to even look at Shane. 

And now here Shane was, lying underneath him, naked and handcuffed in his bed.

“Let me go,” Shane gritted out, trying not to sound scared or angry. His voice was groggy with sleep and coming down from the high of the drugs. 

God, what had Pete given him?

Pete smiled down at him, but it was different compared to last night. This smile held resentment in it; his eyes were dark with rage that Shane had never even seen in Ilya before. 

“Pose for me,” Pete replied bluntly. His voice was low and stripped of emotion as he brought the Polaroid up to his eye. He centred the camera where he liked it, then took one hand off to grab at Shane’s throat.

With Shane’s loose hand, he slapped Pete away. He was done playing nice.

But so was Pete, because Shane almost got whiplash from how hard Pete backhanded him across the cheek.

“Fucking stay still!” Pete growled like a feral dog, and spit flew from his mouth and landed on Shane’s cheek. Shane flinched, his hand trying to come out to soothe the burn in his cheek, but Pete slapped it away and placed his hand back on his throat to take the picture. 

“That one’s just for me,” Pete announced as he placed the picture beside him on the bed. He was straddling Shane’s naked body, forcing him to lie straight across the bed. Being forced in this position made Shane immediately uncomfortable; all he could do was shakily look up at him, his bottom lip wobbling and tears building in his eyes. 

No, he couldn’t cry. This was the danger he wanted. Wasn’t it? 

“I’m gonna send these to Rozanov. I think he’d love these, hm?” Pete teased as he gathered a pile of the Polaroids beside him. He shook them in Shane’s face, and Shane couldn’t get a good look at them. All he could see was the flash of his bare skin. 

“Why are you doing this?” Shane whispered. He was too scared to raise his voice again; he didn’t want to get hit.

Pete pretended to be busy flipping through the pictures, admiring his own work. He made Shane wait, his words hanging in the stale, smoke-filled air. 

When Pete was done reviewing the photos, his eyes flickered up to meet Shane’s.

“It’s a big fuck you for ruining my plans.” He shook the photos in his hands for emphasis, as if Shane knew what he meant.

“What do you mean?” Shane pushed for information. He knew he needed to gather something, to keep Pete talking and confessing. 

Or maybe it didn’t matter what Pete said or what Shane did; maybe he was already a dead man. 

Pete sat back on Shane’s thighs, and Shane winced at the pressure on his scar. Pete ignored it, instead glaring down at Shane intensely.

“That bomb was meant for Ilya, you know?” Pete’s words shot through Shane, and when he heard the word bomb, his breath hitched instantly. What did Pete know about that? 

Pete got up off his thighs, the Polaroids still in his hands as he walked over and placed them on the dresser. He turned around and leaned against it, his eyes now a heavy weight on Shane’s naked form. Pete wasn’t naked anymore; he was fully dressed with his stupid leather jacket on. 

“That bomb was meant to blow that guy the fuck up. It was strong enough to lift a car. I needed him gone. But they told me the wrong fucking address like rookies.” 

Shane’s blood turned to ice. 

Pete had planted the bomb. 

The tears fell now, and everything became too overwhelming for him. The months leading to this moment passed in his head hard and fast, making him dizzy. He felt sick to his stomach, and as the tears fell down his cheeks, he roared at Pete.

“You fucking monster!” 

Pete laughed in his face, his hand punching into the dresser with amusement as he lifted off of it and strode towards Shane again. Shane continued to cry at him. 

“You-you fucking monster. People died, people-“ 

Pete slapped his hand hard against Shane’s mouth, silencing his yells. He kept it there, his fingers curled into the side of Shane’s face, nails digging in harshly while he leaned forward. He was so close that his nose brushed Shane’s.

“If I’m a monster, Rozanov is the fucking devil.” 

Shane screamed under Pete’s hand and tried to thrash; his wrist clanged against the radiator, his shoulder protesting the movements. He didn’t care; he was fighting for his life now. 

“Stop fucking struggling, or I’ll fuck you till you can’t move!” Pete growled, his body a deep weight on top of him. Shane cried at the threat, his thighs tensing together in case Pere tried to rip them apart.

“You’d like that, though, wouldn’t you? You were begging for it last night, all high on those little pills.” Pete used the hand that wasn’t holding Shane’s mouth to brush lovingly through Shane’s bangs. The soft touch made Shane flinch. It was filled with deceit. 

“I swear, I didn’t even have this part planned. I knew I wanted to get revenge on Rozanov for fucking up my life, but I thought you outsmarted me when you weren’t at Pike’s anymore. I thought you went into hiding like him and that my dream of getting to Rozanov through his bitch was ruined.”

Shane’s eyes narrowed at the degradation. He stopped his thrashing as he listened to Pete’s explanation. 

He muffled out a question, but it wasn’t audible through Pete’s hand. Generously, Pete let go of his mouth.

“What was that, baby?” Pete asked.

Shane gulped, blinking away more tears. 

“H-he doesn’t give a fuck about me. I don’t even have the jacket anymore. He broke up with me, I swear-“ 

Pete laughed again; he laughed so hard his eyes wrinkled at the corners and his moustache curled upwards. His breath stunk of alcohol and cigarettes.

“You think just cause you aren’t prancing around the streets with Rozanov’s name on your back that you don’t mean shit to him? He’s separating himself from you because he doesn’t want you to get hurt. But you’re too stupid to stay away from this life, huh?” 

Pete could read him like a book, apparently. There was no sense hiding any longer. All Shane could do was release his muscles and limply disintegrate into the mattress.

“It looks like you already got hurt, though, huh? I’m a pretty smart guy, Shane, and I can connect the dots.” Pete’s hands trailed to Shane’s thigh and pressed right on top of the deep scar left from the bullet. Then, he brushed his fingertips up Shane’s naked torso until he could press them against the scar on Shane’s shoulder.

“Two bullets to the arm and thigh. Those boys didn’t go easy on you two. I told them not to…after the bombing failed, I knew I had to do something else. So I said shoot but don’t kill. It’ll leave enough trauma so Rozanov will separate himself from you, thinking he saved your life. And holy shit, it worked!” 

This has been a plan since the start. Pete looking all fearful and surprised to see Shane when he had walked up to him last night was just an act. He was waiting for Shane to fall into his trap as soon as he set it. As soon as Ilya left Shane, all Pete had to do was wait patiently for Shane to come crawling back looking for trouble and self-destruction. It took trial and error, and maybe he hadn’t originally expected Shane to come to him in particular, but it all fell into place horrifically in the end. 

“I know, there were lots of ways this could’ve turned out. But I thought, either he fucking dies and I take over as the leader of the Centaurs and make you mine, or I hurt his bitch, threaten him, and then fight him to become the leader. I don’t care what happens in between.” 

Shane wanted to punch Pete. He wanted to grab him by the throat and throw him off of him. How fucking dare he?

Pete leaned forward with a big smile across his face, and half his teeth were hidden by the curl of his moustache.  

“And you fell right into my trap, little mouse.” 

Shane answered by building up as much saliva in his mouth as he could and spitting directly into Pete’s face. 

Pete gasped and flew backwards, letting out a yell of disgust. He wiped at his face roughly, his lips curling into a snarl.

But as soon as he was about to lunge forward, a phone rang throughout the room. It was settled on the dresser, so Pete was forced to remove himself from Shane and walk over to it. He looked at Shane once with a murderous glare before disappearing out of the room. 

As soon as Pete left, Shane desperately tried to get out of the handcuffs. His free hand pushed at the cuff on his wrist, but his thumb was in the way. It wouldn’t budge.

“Cmon,” Shane cried out, his body flipping onto his stomach. He got his knees under him and began to pull as hard as possible on the radiator. But nothing happened. 

Footsteps began to thunder back towards the room. Shane immediately stopped, but continued to sit up and glare at Pete when he reentered.

“You won't get out, I promise you that. I’ve got some calls to make, and I’ll be downstairs. If you scream, I won't hesitate to call some of my boys over to take some turns on you.” 

Shane froze, his eyes going wide with fear at the threat. No, no… he definitely couldn’t escape now. 

Pete smiled at the look on his face and walked right back out of the room. 

All Shane could do was slump back into the mattress and cry. 

-

Ilya knew Shane had left Hayden a month ago to move back in with his parents. He got the call from Hayden the night it happened, and all he did was thank Hayden for the information and end the call. 

It was even better like this. Now, nothing connected Shane with the gang. Just him and his parents, back to square one. Ilya felt he could breathe a little better, and frequented the bar in Ottawa now that it was fixed up. He never stayed long and still spent most of his days drowning in depression and alcohol in the bar's basement, but he told himself it was better than seeing Shane hurt again. 

He had nightmares about that night. They got so bad that he swore he never slept anymore. If he lay in bed, all he worried about was closing his eyes and seeing Shane’s crying face. 

Or, hearing his terrifying scream. The scream that ripped through Shane’s throat as if they had taken his soul out of his body- Ilya didn’t have to sleep to hear it; that scream was everywhere: when he revved his bike, when he smoked a cigarette, when he opened a door. It was carved into his brain. 

He lied to Marleau, Troy, and Wyatt. He told them he was better; he let them think he was unfazed by Shane’s departure. Ilya was good at hiding the sorrow, and that was the most important part of all this. If he suffered alone, that was better than bringing other people down with him. 

Pulling into the bar with Marleau and Troy behind him, he was surprised to see a small crowd formed around the front entrance to the bar. They were talking in hushed, panicked tones. It was unusual, and at first, Ilya was concerned there was a break-in. 

But then Luca broke through the center of the crowd, and his face looked shell-shocked. 

Ilya parked the bike and flicked down the kickstand. Marleau and Troy were quick to follow, and as he got off the bike, Luca skidded to a stop in front of him. 

His mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out; he fumbled and floundered like a fish out of water. 

What had happened to cause such a reaction? 

“Spit it out, Haas,” Ilya grumbled. Marleau and Troy were making their way to the front of the bar, attempting to settle the crowd.

Luca looked back at them, then whipped his head to stare at Ilya again. His eyes were wide, as if he had seen something horrific. 

“There’s pictures…Ilya, I don’t know who has him but-” 

Ilya went numb; his whole body stiffened. Luca didn’t have to say the name. 

He strode forward, brushing past Luca as he rushed towards the crowd. It felt like he was walking in slow motion; the bar kept moving further and further away from him. He couldn’t get there fast enough. 

The crowd looked at Ilya as if he were going to war, their eyes filled with fear as they formed a path for Ilya to walk through. Marleau and Troy were at the door, and Marleau was ripping something off of it with a growl. 

Ilya got closer, and Troy noticed he was near. His eyes were already wide, and his reaction was similar to Luca’s. 

“Ilya…” 

Ilya ignored Troy and shoved them away to have a look for himself. 

Polaroids littered the front door, and there were at least ten of them. The photos were as clear as day, and they made a lump form in his throat. 

All the photos were of Shane. All of them were of him asleep or half-dazed with hickeys littering his throat. Something was wrong; his one arm was held up out of the picture, and it looked like he was being pinned down. 

Some were blank underneath the photographs, but others had ‘property of Rozanov’ written with black permanent marker, and one had ‘slut.’ 

But one in particular held Ilya’s eye. It had a phone number. 

He frantically ripped them all off the door; his hands couldn’t work fast enough. His breathing grew shallow, and someone was calling his name. He didn’t care; he needed to hide these photos from sight, for Shane. 

Once they were all gone, Ilya opened the bar door and rushed to the basement. He didn’t stop moving until he was at a desk, and that’s when his lip began to wobble as he spread the photos out before him. 

There was only a lamp to illuminate the pictures, and Ilya would rather be shot ten times over than have to look at these. His fingernails dug into the top of the desk with pain, but he refused to look away. 

He thought separating himself from Shane would work. He was so stupid. 

“Ilya…” It was Marleau, his friend, walking slowly towards Ilya as if approaching a wild animal. Ilya didn’t notice he was holding another Polaroid until he stopped beside him. 

“I will call this number. You will listen to it. Find out anything you can about who did this. We-” 

“It was Pete,” Marleau answered shakily. Ilya’s eyes shot up to meet him, surprised at the quick response. What made him think-

Marleau handed him the photograph he held. 

And there, in the corner of the photograph, holding Shane down into the mattress…was a rose-covered hand. 

Ilya’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. The hunger built inside of him, the deep, animalistic desire for blood. 

He silently grabbed his phone and dialled the number. With a shaky thumb, he pressed the call button and immediately put it on speaker. 

All the boys were downstairs now. Luca, Wyatt, Troy, and Marleau. All of them with grim expressions on their faces. 

The phone rang twice before it was answered.

“Rozanov, good to hear from you!” The voice was too chipper and alive; the man must be pretty proud of himself for wreaking havoc upon Ilya’s life. 

“Where is he?” Ilya asked. There was no sense beating around the bush. He wasn’t going to play Pete’s games. 

“Right to the point, eh? Understandable. I’m on speaker, I’m assuming?” 

Ilya gulped, his eyes roaming across all of his boy's faces. They were all equally ready to fight; he just needed to say the word. 

“Where. Is. He.” 

A long sigh came from the other end. 

“In my bed, didn’t you see the photos?” 

Ilya nearly crushed the phone in his hand. 

“I will kill you, Peter…” Ilya warned, as if he had any leverage, as if he could make such a threat. 

“Mhm, no, you won’t. Not if you want your boy dead in a dumpster somewhere.” 

Someone swore under their breath across from Ilya. It sounded like Luca. He tried not to react. 

“What do you want?” Ilya asked. It was time to play the game. He had no choice. 

There was a shuffle on the other end of the phone; it sounded like Pete was getting comfortable. Ilya hoped to god that he wasn’t doing anything to Shane as they were on call. He strained his ears to try to hear muffled crying or sounds of struggle, but there was nothing. 

“I want your leadership. I want your patches. I want everything.” 

Troy was the one to react next; he swore and curled his hands in his hair. Ilya stared at his phone like it was going to grow hands and strangle him. 

“My men are loyal. They will not follow you,” Ilya spoke clearly and assertively. 

“Then I’ll kill them. Fine by me. But you know the deal, Rozanov. If someone questions your leadership, you need to act accordingly. I’ve got your bitch in my bed, tied up and waiting for you to answer me. So, what will it be?” 

Ilya was close to shutting down; he could feel the overwhelming need to collapse hanging above his head. But he kept his head high and thought fast on his feet. 

“Meet me outside my bar tonight. 9 o’clock. You will bring Shane, and we will-” 

“No! No. You don’t get to make the rules!” Pete yelled, his voice echoing throughout the basement. Ilya hated how fear built in his gut, how much this man had him already wrapped around his finger. 

“I make the rules; do you hear me? I have the upper hand here, not you!” Pete was right, and his tone was stern as he put Ilya in his place. 

For once in his life, Ilya felt small. 

“You will meet me at the old Raiders bar in Orléans tonight, and its knives only for the fight. You bring yourself and no one else. And maybe, if you’re good, I’ll bring your boy…” 

Ilya looked up, gauging the other boys' reactions. None looked impressed with the answer Pete had given, but they were just as tied up as Ilya. 

“Okay. But I need proof that he is alive.” Ilya was nervous, but he needed to request the second part. He couldn’t wait until tonight and risk his life only to find out Shane was dead all along. 

“You’re a smart guy, Ilya,” Pete acknowledged, and Ilya didn’t understand what he was talking about. But then there was shuffling on the other end again, the sound of boots on the floor echoing throughout the house. 

“Say hi to your boyfriend, Shane.” 

A thick, endless pause. Ilya held his breath. You could hear a pin drop in the basement. 

“Ilya?” Shane’s voice was wrecked, but it was him; he was alive. 

The sigh of relief was unavoidable from Ilya’s mouth, and without thinking he began to talk. 

“I will find you, my love. Do you understand me? I will find-”

“You’re such a fucking sap, Rozanov. He can’t hear you. I’ve left the room.” 

Ilya gulped and held back the tears. 

“So that’s a deal then? Will we meet tonight?” 

Ilya glared down at the phone in his grip. 

“Yes, we have a deal.” 

“Great!” Pete spoke enthusiastically, but then continued with a warning. 

“But Rozanov? If you play any games with me, I’ve got some friends of mine on speed dial who would love to come to my house and fuck your boy. We’ll leave nothing for you; I promise you. Don’t ever fucking doubt me, you got that?” 

Ilya closed his eyes and desperately tried not to picture that scene. 

Shane’s scream came back to him. The scream that shattered Ilya’s world in half. 

“I understand,” Ilya spoke as if he were being threatened by his father, as if his brother were alive again and telling him to never step foot in the Raiders bar again. But here he was, going back. And here he was, a small, pathetic human once again. 

There were no goodbyes; Pete ended the call after that. Ilya slumped hard against the desk, and someone gathered a chair for him to fall into. He stared off into nothing, absorbing the conversation and what had just happened. 

“He’s alive, Roz. While you’re with Pete, if he doesn’t bring him, we’ll find out where he lives and get to Shane. We’ll pull him out before he realizes. Okay? Hey, listen!” Marleau was shaking Ilya all of a sudden. Ilya had heard every word, but it was hard to react. He felt so numb. 

“You can’t break on us now, Roz,” Wyatt spoke up desperately. He was right; now was not the time to fall apart. He could fall apart later, with Shane breathing in his arms. 

“Is good plan, but we do not know if he has anyone else working with him. You need to be quiet about it.” 

All the boys surrounding Ilya nodded. As the silence grew with so much unsaid, Ilya blinked away his tears and spoke up again. 

“If I do not make it-” 

“Ilya, no.” Troy placed a firm hand on Ilya’s shoulder, stopping him from going any further with the negative words. 

“You’re gonna win, you’re gonna kill this guy, and we’ll dump him in the swamp where he belongs.” 

Ilya nodded, but as he soaked in the words, he realized that killing Pete would be a mercy. He did not deserve such a fate, such a privilege to be killed. No, Ilya’s thoughts ran wild with all the possibilities if he won this fight. 

No mercy. 

-

It was exactly 9 PM when Ilya drove into the parking lot of the Raiders bar. There was not a car or motorcycle in sight. 

Just one, of course. The red stripe reflected across Ilya’s headlights as he pulled up in front of it. He turned off his engine, but didn’t get off the bike. 

Pete stood beside his steed; he didn’t look scared- no, he held himself with pride as he stared Ilya down. He was twirling his keys around his pointer finger, smoking a cigarette. 

“Very punctual,” Pete acknowledged as he halted his keys mid-twirl and pocketed them. He was illuminated by Ilya’s headlights, which were still on. He looked haunting, but as he grew closer, Ilya noticed the bloody scab on his bottom lip. 

Good. He hoped it was Shane fighting like hell.  

“You didn’t bring him,” Ilya pointed out instead, his eyes dancing across the parking lot as if he’d find Shane lurking in the shadows. While he reviewed the situation, he thumbed his phone, which was snugly settled in his leather jacket's pocket and was on call with Marleau. The boys would go into action now. 

“He’d get in the way,” Pete shrugged, and then, without another word, swiftly grabbed the knife from the inside of his jacket and flew forward with a roar. 

They crashed together, Ilya grabbing Pete’s wrist, which held the knife. Pete was strong, and he pushed forward, causing Ilya to stumble backwards. Ilya allowed it but quickly pivoted sideways. Pete wasn’t expecting that and fell flat on his face. 

Ilya whipped out the knife in his back pocket, glinting in the shine of his headlights. He didn’t wait for Pete to regain his footing, instead rocketing forward and throwing the knife down blindly. 

It sheathed into Pete’s shoulder. Pete roared with pain, and Ilya grunted at the abrupt white-hot pain in his side. 

He didn’t have time to inspect his own wounds. Their bodies tangled together as they wrestled for dominance, dust and gravel floating around them as they fought. 

Pete managed to get a foot between him and Ilya, and he kicked as hard as he could. 

It sent Ilya flying backwards. He hit his head hard on the ground below, and his vision blurred. 

Shane’s screams continued to echo in his head. They blinded him. 

Pete hurtled forward and dropped his body on top of Ilya’s, pinning him to the ground. Ilya barely got his hands out in front of him before the knife came flying down. He stopped it just inches from his chest and forcibly moved it so it was away from his heart. 

Then they were at a standstill, both of them fighting to see who would give up first. Ilya held Pete’s hands tightly, and he got nervous when the knife kept lowering more and more towards his skin. 

Pete smiled like a lion at him; his eyes were almost black. 

“You know, when I planted that bomb, I thought it would be better to see your stupid face in the news with the word dead in the headlines. Then I’d finally get to have your life, your bike, your bitch. But I’m happy to watch you slowly die in front of me instead.” 

Pete leaned forward even more to whisper the next part.

“And after that, I’ll fuck Shane with your blood still on my hands.” 

Ilya forced the shock to run off of him like water. He didn’t react, keeping his face neutral as he processed the information. Pete wanted him to be so shocked he’d drop the knife and let it pierce through his body. 

So, without showing fear, Ilya instead allowed himself to go completely lax. He was playing Pete’s game. 

He released Pete’s hold and cried out in pain as the knife stabbed through his shoulder. But it caused Pete to become unbalanced. He was not expecting Ilya to let go so abruptly.

After that, Ilya went into action. 

It was surprisingly silent when Ilya shoved Pete off of him. Pete had such a strong hold of his knife that it went flying out of Ilya’s shoulder, making him gasp for breath. He was on autopilot now, the pain a second thought as he drove forward and began to punch the living shit out of Pete. His knuckles bled and bruised, and he heard the wet crunch of bone breaking. He didn’t stop until Pete’s breaths started to come out as wheezes. 

Then he stood up, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. He stiffened his thighs and kept himself upright. He enjoyed the view of Pete lying beneath him, broken and bloody for the second time. 

“Where is Shane?” Ilya asked. He didn’t growl or sound desperate; he regained the confidence he had lost. He spoke in his authoritative, leadership voice. 

Pete gargled and gasped; it was something close to a laugh. 

“Just kill me, motherfucker,” Pete wheezed. 

With that, Ilya used his motorcycle boots to step onto Pete’s shoulder; he put half of his weight down onto the man, right over the stab wound. Pete screamed in agony. 

“You have lost. Now tell me where Shane is, Peter.”

Peter looked up through swollen eyelids, his face almost unrecognizable. When he smiled up at Ilya like a maniac, he was missing a tooth. 

“Like I said, in my bed.” 

Ilya’s face soured, and with that, he punched Pete so hard that he was knocked out cold. He’d find Shane without his guidance. 

-

Shane felt like he was rotting in this unknown bed. His shoulder ached terribly; all his bones and muscles did. He felt hungover from the drugs he was given, and his cheek felt swollen and hot from when Pete had slapped him. He hadn’t showered, and he still had dried cum on his stomach. 

He was happy that Pete had actually used a condom, at least. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if he felt cum leaking from his hole all day. 

No matter what, he felt disgusting. 

His thoughts would wander to Ilya’s voice. He remembered when Pete had come barreling back into the room with the phone in his hands and a shark-like grin across his face. 

“Say hi to your boyfriend, Shane,” Pete had sung. Shane blinked up at him in confusion and curled into a ball upon the bed. As the phone was forced into his face, Shane read the phone number and froze. 

“Ilya?” 

The sigh of relief that came from the other end had Shane spiralling. His eyes fluttered, and he refused to look up at Pete. All he could think about was Ilya, and he was speechless. 

“I will find you, my love. Do you-” 

Pete snatched the phone away and took it off speaker. Shane could only imagine the rest of the words Ilya tried to preach to him. Shane held onto them the entire time he lay on the bed, shivering and naked and beaten down. He dreamed of Ilya finding him and waltzing into the house like a knight in shining armour. He’d whisk him away and apologize for all his wrongdoings, and they’d live happily ever after. 

Maybe the drugs weren’t fully out of Shane’s system yet. 

He heard muffled shouts from downstairs afterwards. He tried to listen, but Pete was too far away. Shane almost wanted to break Pete’s rules and shout at the top of his lungs for Ilya to find him. But he knew there would be no hope. 

When the call ended, Pete’s footsteps marched up the stairs, and he reappeared in the room. He walked up to the bed and sat himself down beside Shane as if nothing had ever happened. His smile was warm, but his eyes were evil. 

“I’m gonna meet your little boyfriend tonight. Then I’m gonna kill him and take over the Centaurs. How do you like the sound of that?” 

Shane just glared forward. He wouldn’t give Pete any more tears. 

Pete didn’t like that, though, and he grabbed Shane’s chin hard and forced him to make eye contact. It was a bruising grip, and Shane struggled against it with a grunt. 

“Kiss me good luck?” Pete teased, showing his teeth. 

Shane wanted so badly to spit in his face again. 

His hesitancy made Pete roll his eyes, but it didn’t stop him from lunging forward to give Shane a bruising kiss. 

Shane decided to bite Pete’s lip as hard as he could. 

A bad move. Pete yelped and grabbed Shane’s hair; he pulled it as hard as he could, and the back of Shane’s head smashed against the wall behind him. Pete held him there, breathing heavily with a bloody lip. 

Shane sneered. He could taste the metal on his tongue. 

“Fucking bitch,” Pete growled before letting go. He got up and stomped out of the bedroom and down the stairs, and was gone with the sound of the door slamming shut and the muffled thunder of his motorcycle starting and speeding off. 

After that, Shane lost track of time. All he could do was stare at the bedsheets in front of him as the sun dimmed and morphed into moonlight. He couldn’t feel his wrist anymore, and he was dehydrated and sore. 

His eyes began to close, and Shane was scared he’d end up sleeping for eternity. 

But then a crash came from downstairs, and it sounded like a bull had burst into the house as things got knocked over and thrown around. Shane stiffened and tried to sit up, but he was too weak to move. 

Many different footsteps came up the stairs next. And Shane prepared for Pete’s face to reveal itself and smile at him in triumph with remnants of Ilya’s blood on his hands. 

Instead, it was his knight. 

Shane blinked and was concerned that he was hallucinating. Ilya is stunned to a stop, too, his eyes wide as he looks Shane over. Once they recognized one another, they both broke at the same time.

“Ilya…oh, Ilya!” Shane sobbed and gasped, and if he wasn’t so dehydrated, he was sure tears would be falling. 

“Shane, bozhe moy, Shane,” Ilya mumbled as he approached. 

Shane could see blood soaked into his shirt under his jacket, and there was blood caked across his knuckles and fingers. He had a scrape lining his cheekbone, and he was covered in dirt. 

Shane was sure he didn’t look any better. They were both a mess. 

Ilya was careful with Shane, and delicately looked Shane over with hard eyes and a wobbly lip. He looked exhausted, and if Shane didn’t feel the same way he would’ve reached up and soothed a hand down Ilya’s face.

“Roz?!” A voice came from down the hall, and Shane stiffened. Ilya quickly gathered the sheets that were just out of Shane’s reach and covered him. It was immediately comforting not to be bare on the mattress anymore.

Wyatt rushed into the room, and as soon as he laid eyes on the scene in front of him, he stopped in his tracks. 

“Shane…” Wyatt spoke breathlessly.

“We need to get him out of these fucking cuffs, try and find a key or find something to break them!” Ilya said sternly, his eyes never leaving Shane’s. He sat protectively between Shane and Wyatt, blocking the other man from seeing anything, even though Shane was now covered.

Wyatt nodded silently and rushed back out of the room.

“Moy lyubov…” Ilya whispered like a prayer, his hands ghosting over Shane’s body but refusing to touch as if Shane would break.

“I’m so sorry,” Shane sobbed out; his voice sounded like he was scraping it against sandpaper. 

Ilya immediately scrunched his face up in confusion and shook his head. His hand finally made contact with Shane’s cheek, his eyes hardening at the bruise blooming across it.

“Do not say sorry. What are you sorry for? I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, my love. For leaving you. I thought I was…” Ilya couldn’t continue because he was going to cry. 

“You thought you were protecting me; I see that now. I-I was so angry, I wanted to hurt you by sleeping with Pete, and I’m sorry.” 

Ilya shook his head. He cupped the back of Shane’s head and leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together. 

“We will talk about this later, okay? We need to get you out of here and safe.” 

Shane nodded, enjoying the heat radiating off of Ilya’s body. They sat as close as they could get until Wyatt finally returned with Troy in tow. They held multiple objects, and all of them looked like they could chop Shane’s hand off.

Ilya noticed Shane’s nervous stare, and Ilya pressed a kiss to Shane’s forehead before grabbing the least scary thing. He slowly began to saw through the chain, which was flimsy and already beaten down from Shane’s consistent struggling. It gave out in a few moments, and as soon as Shane was free, he fell into Ilya’s arms like a dead weight. 

They held one another and sobbed. Shane could hear Ilya’s cries on his shoulder, the short gasps of breath and whispers of incoherent Russian. Shane squeezed his eyes shut, absorbing the moment. 

“We will go now, moye serdtse, okay? Where are your clothes? ” Ilya croaked out, his hands leaving Shane as he got off the mattress. Shane kept the sheets wrapped under his armpits and tried to stand up and follow him, but his legs collapsed beneath him. He didn’t know how long he had been stuck sitting in the same position. 

“I-I don’t know. He probably dumped them somewhere; he wanted me naked…” Shane gulped through the rocks in his throat, Ilya helping him sit back down on the mattress to recover. Many of the boys searched the room. They opened the dresser and searched the washroom, some looking across the floor, to no avail.

“We need to go…” Marleau admitted, his expression looking guilty as he flickered his gaze from Shane to Ilya. They couldn’t stay here and waste their time finding Shane’s clothes. 

“I’m sorry, baby, I will carry you, da?” Ilya’s voice was so soft- something Shane had never heard before. It made him melt into the mattress, and all he could do was nod. 

Shane apologized as Ilya scooped him into his arms and began to carry him out. Ilya quickly shushed him, not wanting to hear it. The sheet was bunched in his arms, cocooning Shane. 

Truly, his knight. But instead of shining armour, he was coated in black leather. 

“I will never leave you again, ever,” Ilya mumbled into Shane’s hair as they descended the stairs. 

“I-I can’t get on the bike like this…” Shane said with concern as they made their way to the front door. Shane mildly observed his surroundings and noticed the boys had turned the whole place upside down. They left nothing unturned. 

“Is okay; we have your car.” 

Shane didn’t understand. He had left it at his parents’ house and had taken the bus downtown. How did they…

As Ilya made his way outside with Shane still cradled in his arms, Hayden Pike stood in the driveway next to Shane’s car. Shane’s keys were in his hands, and when their eyes met, Hayden’s eyes instantly filled with tears. 

“Fuck, Shane…” Hayden walked forward, his body stiff while he watched Ilya carry Shane to the passenger side. He sprang into action when he realized Ilya wouldn’t be able to open the door, and he stumbled forward and grabbed the handle to open it. 

“Shane, I…” Hayden sounded beyond guilty, and Shane had so many words he wanted to say to his friend. But everything was happening at once. He was quickly being deposited in the passenger seat, Ilya forcing Hayden away from the car so he could close the door. Shane wrapped the sheet tighter around him. 

As Ilya made his way to the driver's side, Shane rolled down the window. He needed to say something, anything. 

“This isn’t your fault, okay? I-I’m stupid and reckless, and I should’ve been happy for you when-” 

“Shane,” Hayden interrupted him, his eyes still wide with unshed tears as he leaned against the car and crouched down to look at Shane in the window. He looked just as tired and wrecked as everyone else. “We all pushed you away. I, especially, your best friend. I’m…I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Shane’s bottom lip wobbled; if he had the energy, he would’ve grabbed one of Hayden’s hands that rested on the window. Instead, he nodded and sat back into his seat. 

Hayden stepped away, and Shane watched all the boys stand on Pete’s driveway as Ilya reversed out onto the street. All of them looked like they had been in the trenches, and they stared into the windshield of the car with exhaustion and relief. 

They all cared about him. The lies they had told Shane, the ones made to protect him, had become senseless. Because they really did care. Shane felt warmth grow in his chest, realizing that they all dropped everything once they found out he was in danger. 

Ilya drove them to his house, and he was quick to help Shane inside. Shane refused to be picked up again, and with the help of Ilya and him leaning heavily on the other man’s shoulder, Shane made it into the house and up to the bedroom. 

“Rex will be here soon,” Ilya mumbled as he paced around the room; he couldn’t stay still. He would walk to the bathroom, flip the switch on, then off, then walk out and check the house. Shane could hear his heavy feet on the floorboards. 

And when Ilya came back into the room, Shane couldn’t help but notice that the bloody patch on Ilya’s undershirt had gotten bigger. 

“You’re hurt,” Shane pointed out, his hand shakily coming out to beckon Ilya closer. Ilya followed Shane’s eyeline and winced, turning away instead of moving into Shane’s arms. 

“I am fine, he cut me, is all,” Ilya undermined the situation immediately, and Shane wasn’t having it. 

“No, you’re amped up with all this adrenaline and…and you need a shower.” Shane couldn’t help but laugh; he needed one, too. 

Ilya stared at him, his expression morphing from stern to lighthearted. A smirk spread across his face. 

And then they laughed together. They laughed ridiculously long, and maybe they were high off the amount of weed smoke that coated Pete’s house, or just that happy to be together again. It didn’t matter; the feeling of laughter was so euphoric it made Shane feel like he was floating. 

Shane was able to walk a bit better now, and they made their way to Ilya’s bathroom. There was a large stand-up shower at the corner of the room, and Shane practically preened at the sight. He needed water, soap, and Ilya’s touch. All at once. 

Shane got into the shower first, and he watched from the other side of the glass as Ilya got undressed. Under the spray and the fog, Shane could see the vibrant bruises and cuts that littered Ilya’s chest and biceps. There was one gnarly one at his shoulder, and it was still bleeding sluggishly. 

And across one of the biceps was a deep scar similar to Shane’s own where the bullets had hit Ilya, as well. 

As soon as Ilya walked under the spray, Shane latched onto him. They held one another tightly, chins resting on shoulders as they breathed one another in. Shane couldn’t help but look down at the dirt and blood that circled the drain. Most of it was from Ilya. And the stab across his shoulder made Shane lightheaded.  

“Did you kill him?” Shane asked. The anger built inside him as he reviewed all the evidence of Ilya’s fight.

There was a short pause; the only sound was the pounding of the water. 

“No, killing would be mercy,” Ilya answered. Shane didn’t know what that meant, but he was too tired to care right now. He reminded himself that Ilya was in his arms, and that was what mattered. Pete could be floating in the swamp somewhere or limping downtown Ottawa; Shane couldn’t care less. He had Ilya now. He had the gang. 

But Pete’s confession hung over Shane’s head; it was so disturbing and painful. Shane had forgotten about it when Ilya had arrived due to how dehydrated and confused he was, but now that he had his brain back…he needed to say something. 

“Pete…he planted the bomb and framed you,” Shane spoke as evenly as he could, and he could barely hear himself under the spray. 

Ilya stared off into the tile wall behind Shane, slowly blinking. It took a few moments before he answered. 

“I know-he told me before I beat him,” Ilya confessed darkly. It caused a shiver to go down Shane’s spine. 

“What are you going to do with him?” Shane couldn’t help but push for more answers. He didn’t look Ilya in the eye, and rested his cheek upon Ilya’s shoulder to smell him and remind himself that he was safe. 

There was a long pause, and it lasted forever before Shane realized that Ilya wasn’t going to answer him. Shane should’ve expected that. 

“Rex will be here soon; we should get out,” Ilya said after they washed what they could. The stab on Ilya’s shoulder was consistently leaking blood even after they turned off the shower, and Shane winced with concern. 

“You’re bleeding too much, Ilya we need to-” 

Ilya cupped Shane’s cheek, silencing him before they stepped out of the shower. Ilya walked to the towels and grabbed a fluffy white one for Shane. Ilya only dried his lower half. 

The blood dripped down his pecs and towards his abs. 

“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane walked over, his hands brushing over the blood running down his stomach. He was starting to get mad again, all of it directed at Pete for trying to kill Ilya. If Ilya wasn’t going to kill Pete, Shane would. He wouldn’t hesitate. 

The front door opened, and Shane flinched at the sound. Ilya steadied him, his cheeks losing their colour excessively. 

“We’re in the bathroom!” Shane yelled. He placed a hand on Ilya’s bicep and guided him to the toilet seat. Shane knew it wasn’t good when Ilya blindly complied without protesting. 

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and finally Rex entered the bathroom. He immediately went to work, lightly moving Shane out of the way to get to Ilya. He worked fast, and his hands were calculated and swift as he moved.

Ilya slumped against the toilet seat, his teeth grinding together as Rex prodded at the wound. 

“You shouldn’t see this, Shane, go-” 

“No. No fucking way am I leaving you,” Shane growled out before Ilya could say anything else. Even if he felt queasy due to the blood and gore, he refused to run away from this. 

Ilya didn’t fight, and Shane shuffled closer to him and grabbed for a hand. They held hands as Rex worked, and when things got too painful, Ilya would squeeze Shane’s fingers and groan. 

He needed stitches; Rex had mumbled the words as he grabbed for his supplies. Shane whipped his head back up to Ilya, expecting horror to strike upon his face, but all he saw was a stone expression. 

This has happened too many times before. With the way Rex walked in the room so quickly, as if he had made this trip multiple times. How he worked with quick precision, and then Ilya reacting with irritation but no surprise. 

Shane held him through it. Only then did Ilya show emotion. His left eye would twitch when the needle went into his skin, or he’d blink rapidly and suck his teeth. He breathed through it shakily, his eyes locked into nothing. Shane felt completely helpless. 

Was this how Ilya felt when Shane was laid out on the floor with bullet holes in his body? It was probably more profound than what Shane was feeling right now, but it surely was similar. Shane wanted to cry and punch something at the same time. 

Finally, Rex was done. It felt like time was slowed; each press of the needle and each stitch along Ilya’s shoulder made shivers run down Shane’s spine. He had just gotten back to feeling good, and he was back at square one. 

“You need to rest now, the both of you,” Rex murmured with disappointment as he checked Shane’s cheek next. It needed only ice, and then he would be okay. 

It was more the mental images that would scar Shane for life. The visuals of Pete lying overtop of him, kissing him, slapping him. The confession of the bomb that made Shane dizzy. The waiting game to see if Ilya or Pete would walk through the door after the fight. 

Shane helped Ilya to the bed, and as soon as they hit the mattress, they were glued to one another. Every body part was touching in some way, and they yearned to become one, to swallow one another up so they could never get hurt again. 

Because of Ilya’s shoulder, Shane moved to press his cheek to Ilya’s stomach instead. He stared down at his fuzzy belly button, listening to the sounds of his body and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. 

Softly, Ilya gravitated his hand to Shane’s hair and began to comb through it. It was dry now and probably looked wild since he hadn’t brushed it. But Ilya was there to twirl it between his fingers and ease the tension from his body. 

Minutes, maybe hours, passed. Shane didn’t remember. He assumed Ilya had fallen asleep when his fingers stopped moving, and then he spoke. 

“Would you run away with me?” 

Shane’s brows furrow immediately, and he lifts his head to look up at Ilya. Ilya’s hand returns to petting his hair. 

“Where would we go?” Shane asks, his breath stuck in his throat. Ilya’s question was so…permanent. To run away, to plan a future. He didn’t know what to say. 

Ilya shrugs at Shane, his one shoulder doing the work as his other lay limp and covered in bandages. He didn’t look fazed by the question, as if this wasn’t something that sounded like forever. 

“You say you want to go to Vancouver, yes? We will go on a roadtrip.” 

Shane can’t help but laugh, it’s small and lighthearted so as to not tease Ilya in his state, but he was way too surprised. Had Ilya been given too many painkillers? 

“That’s like…a four-day drive!” 

But as Shane spoke, Ilya continued to look stern. He was so serious, and stared at Shane with stone eyes. He moved from combing Shane’s hair to caressing his bruised cheek with his thumb. 

“We take our time; we look at…view. Be tourists. We will go through four provinces, so lots to see, and I can teach you how to ride the bike.” 

Shane was speechless at the detail of the answer. He didn’t realize how much Ilya had thought about this. 

That’s when Shane understood this wasn’t a joke. 

“Yes,” Shane blurts out. He doesn’t think, because thinking has gotten him into too much trouble these past few months. In Ilya’s arms, he knew wherever they went and whatever they did was safe. 

Ilya’s eyes brighten even in his exhaustion. He cups Shane’s chin. 

“Okay to…running away? Or to riding bike?” 

Shane smiles so big his cheeks hurt, the bruised one burning in particular. But he doesn’t care. 

“Both…everything, just, yes,” he answers as he sits up and leans forward to connect his lips with Ilya’s. The kiss was strong and meaningful, and Shane huffed with irritation when Ilya pulled away. 

“And your parents? Hayden?” Ilya didn’t believe him. Shane could see nerves building in Ilya’s expression. He wouldn’t stop caressing Shane’s face, his other hand resting on Shane’s hip.

Shane is the one to shrug now. 

“My parents always wanted to move back to Vancouver. Maybe this will be their final push. And Hayden…he’ll be fine. Jacki keeps him level-headed, she’s the best thing in the world for him.” 

Ilya doesn’t answer; he still looks unsure. It’s like he was waiting for Shane to pull back and retract his words. 

“We can visit each other too…right?” Shane finishes. Because his and Hayden’s friendship was forever, too, even if they were across the country from one another. 

And then Ilya does something beautiful. He produces the most genuine smile Shane has ever seen. It starts small as he processes Shane’s sincerity, his eyes scanning Shane’s face for signs of regret. But when he sees none, his lips curl upwards until the corners of his eyes wrinkle. 

And Ilya called Shane pretty. 

There were more questions Shane wanted to ask. But he was so high off the adrenaline and love that he had no energy left to press. There was no way Ilya could just…leave the Centaurs. Shane didn’t know much about motorcycle gang culture, but he did know that Ilya was their leader and that police were looking for him. 

Ilya couldn’t leave without consequences; that was certain. 

At that thought, Shane went back into their previous position and buried himself deeper into Ilya’s stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to sleep. 

-

After they had slept for almost twelve hours straight, they took time to recover. Finally, they were healing together and not apart. They were stuck to one another, never leaving each other's side for more than a minute. 

Shane was in heaven; he dreamed of Ilya’s hands back on him, and it had come true. The desires that flooded him were intoxicating, and the lust revived itself inside him intensely. 

But there was Ilya’s shoulder. Shane would see him wince now and then. When he’d move funny on the couch as they watched TV, or if he’d reach too far while making something in the kitchen. Even beaten, bruised, and cut up, Ilya Rozanov looked ravishing. It was a blessing and a curse to be back together. 

But Shane could see that Ilya was the same as him. His pets weren’t as heavy; his hold was less strong when he gripped Shane’s waist or held his hips. The dominance was gone, diluted into hesitancy. Ilya was scared of hurting him, and Shane understood why. 

But they were reborn. This was a new chapter in their lives. Shane looked forward, not back. He could see the guilt across Ilya’s face every time he looked at Shane after the incident. He wanted that changed back to love, lust, and deep affection. 

He tried making out with Ilya first. Their first heated session was on the couch, and it ended with Shane rubbing himself on top of Ilya and gasping. But Ilya stilled his hips and turned his chin away with a breathless chuckle. The guilt returned in his eyes, and the sparkle of lust flickered away. 

So Shane had to awkwardly unstraddle Ilya’s lap and curl himself beside him instead. Their hard-on’s died quickly. 

Shane stayed patient, but kept trying. His next plan was to tease Ilya until the poor man crumbled. He’d wear Ilya’s shirts around the house, and when that only got him a small purr in reaction from Ilya, Shane took it a step further and wore only underwear underneath. 

Ilya was making lunch in the kitchen; they had woken up late, and it had become their usual routine. It felt good to sleep in each other’s arms with no impending threats or responsibilities. Once Ilya had gotten up, Shane showered and prepped himself before shrugging on one of Ilya’s simple black t-shirts and pulling up his tight briefs. It hugged his ass deliciously when Shane reviewed it in the mirror, and the shirt ended just above his cheeks. It swam heavily around his shoulders and the neckline, and it made him feel small. 

Walking into the kitchen, Ilya didn’t notice at first. He was flipping bacon in the frying pan when he shifted his eyes toward Shane. As soon as he stepped beside Ilya and reached up to grab a coffee mug in the cabinet, he could see Ilya’s eyes narrow. 

Shane could feel the way Ilya’s eyes dragged down his body and stopped at his waistline. He hid his smirk into his armpit before retrieving the cup and walking off to the coffee maker across from Ilya. 

He acted normally, pretending nothing was happening. Just like when Shane was making drinks at a bar, he felt Ilya’s eyes on the back of his neck. 

Then, the brush of feet on the ground. 

And then, the press of Ilya’s body to Shane’s back. His half-hard cock digging into Shane’s ass. 

Shane couldn’t help but greedily grind back into it. He had given up his act quickly once Ilya had given him the attention he desperately craved. 

“You’re going to ruin me, baby,” Ilya murmurs into Shane’s shoulder. His hands were on Shane’s waist, but they weren’t tight enough. 

Shane inhaled and pressed back harder. Ilya’s grip tightened, but only to keep Shane from grinding back more. 

“We are both healing. We should not be so…active.” Ilya’s breath was hot against Shane’s ear, and Shane knew it was taking everything in Ilya to not tug down his underwear and fuck him where they stood. 

“You don’t wanna fuck me?” Shane asked innocently and made sure to look back at Ilya with the biggest puppy eyes he could muster. Ilya looked nearly ready to collapse. 

“You know I do, malysh,” Ilya hissed through gritted teeth, his hands pulsing on Shane’s waist before letting go and stepping back. Shane sighed and spun around, the puppy eyes morphing into sadness due to the denial. 

“What are you scared of? I want this…you aren’t going to hurt me!” Shane pleaded, his hands flying up at his sides. He hated breaking like this, especially after all they’ve been through. But he wanted the normal again; he couldn’t bear to look at Ilya and see guilt. 

Ilya looked defeated and tired, his hands shoving themselves into the pockets of his sweatpants. Visibly, Shane could see the tent disappearing in Ilya’s pants. 

“I have hurt you a lot, and I need time to…” Ilya trailed off, and Shane’s heart broke when he saw tears shine in Ilya’s eyes. 

Shane stepped forward and reached for him. Ilya didn’t move and allowed Shane’s hands to wrap around his waist. 

“What do you need? Please, tell me. If you need me to forgive you, I already have.” Shane was speaking with pure desperation but kept his voice soft and calming for Ilya to latch onto. 

Ilya nodded, but then the nod changed to a head shake. He was looking away now and refused to meet Shane’s eyes. It stung. 

“I need to forgive myself, too,” Ilya said, his voice shaky. 

Shane immediately pulled Ilya into a hug. They held one another tight as Ilya quietly cried into Shane’s shoulder. Now Shane felt stupid wearing only an oversized t-shirt and underwear, and hated that he was being too pushy with Ilya. Shane never considered that it may not be Ilya waiting for Shane to be ready, but Ilya not being ready himself. 

“Can we watch the hockey game tonight? Maybe make popcorn? It’s Toronto against Ottawa…” Shane tried to move the subject away from the sexual tension and guilt, and slowly Ilya removed his head from Shane’s shoulder to look at him. His eyes were red, but he wouldn’t dare shed any more tears. All Ilya did was sniffle, roll his shoulders back, and then nod. 

“I will make dinner too. We will have tuna melts.” 

Shane smiled, allowing Ilya to unhook his arms from around him to continue his cooking. Shane silently inspected Ilya as he worked, enjoying the domestic bliss of it all. Life wasn’t all about sex now. They had plenty of time for that, if they had forever. 

-

Two days after the incident, Ilya told Shane he had something he needed to do. 

Shane was up and off the couch before Ilya could turn around and make his way to the door. He didn’t hesitate to move forward and grab Ilya’s hand, stopping him. 

“Not without me,” Shane urged, keeping Ilya still. 

Ilya looked pained, and his eyes flickered over to Shane. They looked boiling with anger, like they were preparing for battle again. 

Shane couldn’t let Ilya walk into chaos. If he wanted to be forever with him, then he was going to have to do everything with Shane at his side, even death. 

“It has to do with Pete, Shane,” Ilya spoke as if that would deter Shane; instead, it sparked his interest. 

“What about him?” Shane pushed. 

He expected Ilya to shake away his touch and ignore the question, but instead Ilya raised his head and finally met Shane’s eyes, his hands coming up to rest on Shane’s biceps. 

“He needs to be taught a lesson. Today is the day,” Ilya was as honest as he could be. It was refreshing, but shocking. Shane didn’t know how to reply and stupidly stood in front of Ilya, his mouth moving but nothing coming out. 

“Don’t try to protect me from this,” Shane began to speak, his tone strong as he held his ground. “Remember when you asked me if I’d run away with you? Well, I can’t do that if you’re out there getting hurt.” 

Ilya huffed, and he shook his head. But he wasn’t immediately fighting back. He settled his gaze on the floor, lost in thought.

“I have to do this. This is the last thing before…” Ilya trailed off, and Shane blinked towards him in confusion. Ilya struggled to find the words. “This will be over soon, I promise you.” 

Shane nodded, but there was no way he was letting Ilya walk through that door. He was the one to grab Ilya’s chin this time, his grip soft but sincere as he forced Ilya to look at him while he spoke. 

“Prove to me we’re forever, then. Take me with you, and show me that you’re done.” 

Ilya’s face changed in front of Shane’s eyes; he looked at Shane differently all of a sudden. There wasn’t that consistent guilt and wariness. He stared into Shane’s eyes, then shook his head with disbelief. 

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Ilya whispered in awe. 

Then he told Shane what was going to happen. 

-

They pulled into the parking lot after dinner, Shane hugging Ilya’s middle and Ilya casually driving up to the front of the building.

There was a crowd gathered around one of the street lamps. Some regulars from the bar, but mostly bikers with the Centaur logo stitched on the back. Shane kept his eyes on it the whole time, straining to see what the entertainment was. 

He knew already; Ilya had told him. But he still needed to see it. 

“You can go in-” 

“No,” Shane interrupted Ilya before he could try to change his mind. Shane hopped off the bike and took off his helmet, setting it on the seat when Ilya kicked out the kickstand. As soon as the bike was balanced, Shane began to walk across the parking lot. 

The crowd didn’t notice him at first, and as Shane grew closer, he could hear the muffled growls and gurgles from the front. Shane kept going, his pace the same. He didn’t rush himself and allowed himself to enjoy this moment instead of fearing it.   

Ilya was beside him now; he didn’t touch him. The two of them walked until they reached the crowd, and gradually they parted in the middle to reveal what they were looking at. 

It was Pete. The man was curled up as much as he could, but there were chains wrapped around his naked body. His face was fucked up and swollen with all kinds of bruises, cuts, and scabs. His nose was obviously broken, as well as his cheek. It was all mostly covered by a dog muzzle tightly strapped to his mouth, so his yells for help were muffled. 

Shane’s eyes wandered back down, and then he noticed it. There, tied around Pete’s neck, was a sign. It rested above the chains and laid across Pete’s stomach as clear as day. It read: 

‘I AM THE MONTREAL BOMBER’

Shane gulped roughly, and when Pete noticed him standing with Ilya, the man became feral with rage. But he was all bark and no bite with the muzzle across his face and cloth stuffed in his mouth.

Shane wasn’t scared of Pete. Not anymore. 

Ilya was fishing for something along the inside of his jacket. He pulled out a hefty bundle of cash wrapped in elastic and then nonchalantly passed it to the older woman beside him. 

“We will all leave. Then you call 911, da?” 

The woman nodded; she didn’t look troubled by his words at all and happily pocketed the cash in her back pocket. 

Shane stole one last look over to Pete as Ilya grabbed his hand and motioned for them to go. With all the bravery and rage he had in him, Shane nodded Pete’s way, then spun on his heels and allowed Ilya to tug him under his arm as they walked back to the bike.

Chapter End Notes

We are looking at one, possibly two more chapters left guys! I'm halfway done Chapter 10 at the moment and I'm thinking the 11th will most likely be an Epilogue. I'm sad to see this story come to a close, but I'm honestly so proud of myself for keeping up with the updates and seeing the finish line.

I hope you guys are still enjoying, it's been very dark but I'm assuming no one came for fluff haha.

Let me know your thoughts and drop a 'fuck Pete!' in the comments lmao!

Chapter 10: like a moth, I fly to the light

Chapter Notes

to make up for the absolute hell I put Shane and Ilya through (and for the one last piece of hell Shane will be going through) I give you all a very smutty first half of this chapter.

I'm not entirely sure if I like how this turned out, either, I'm surprised how hard it is to wrap up this book!

Warnings:
- presumed character death
- heavy violence
- a LOT of smut >:)

Chapter title is from Deja Vu by Sundazer

They heard nothing about Pete. Ilya wasn’t questioned; in fact, no one was. It was as if Pete was never there. Shane wouldn’t dare ask how they got away with it—but trusted Ilya to handle the situation. 

But handling the situation meant leaving for lots and lots of meetings. Shane had quickly moved into Ilya’s home once Pete was taken care of, and Shane had expected to be met with consistent sex and cuddling, but it was getting ridiculous how many times Ilya would give Shane a small frown before explaining that he had to go to the bar. Most nights since Pete, Shane would spend alone. And when Ilya was home, he was still hesitating and tiptoeing around Shane. 

It was one of those nights again. Shane was alone and sitting on the couch watching hockey highlights. The hockey players on the TV eventually blurred together, and he couldn’t focus properly. All he could think about was Ilya and the desperate need for contact. 

Not just soft touches and feather-like kisses. Not even a hot make-out session. Shane could have that any day with Ilya. No, he wanted to be fucked thoroughly. He wanted to cry under Ilya’s grip as he was fucked stupid. 

And he knew Ilya wanted it, too. Shane at first respected Ilya’s boundaries, but the touches continued to linger, and whenever Shane teased him he’d see the heavy restraint in Ilya’s eyes. 

So, he began to formulate a plan in his brain. As the Toronto Maple Leafs lost their third game in a row, Shane’s plan became a reality. He was going to make this happen. 

The first step was prep, of course. He heaved himself off the couch, turned off the TV, and marched his way to the shower. In there, he did his usual prep, getting as clean as possible before exiting the shower. Amongst the steam, he wiped off the condensation on the mirror and had a long, thorough look at himself. 

There was determination in his eyes. He was getting fucked tonight. 

The second part was gathering the supplies. All he needed was lube, his phone, and the lovely dildo he had still buried in his suitcase from when he moved to Ilya’s. He had been too shy to reveal it to Ilya, mostly because of the uneasiness Ilya had been feeling towards sex lately, but now it was the perfect surprise. 

It was a thick, black dildo. Very simple in length and look, but it got the job done. It was the same one Shane had used the first time he had masturbated to the thought of Ilya and it felt weird holding it in his hands with new intentions. Shane got the lube from the bedside table next, and then placed all his items on the bed. 

He had already prepped in the shower, so this was the hard part. Shane wasn’t one to send nudes or raunchy videos; he liked the real thing always. But with Ilya, he felt so greedy and deviant. He wanted to veer away from the morals and routines he used to have. 

Before he could think too much into it, Shane snatched the dildo and quickly lubed it up. He had to walk around aimlessly for a few seconds and realized he had no idea where he was actually going to shoot the video. A mirror would be best, but Ilya only had a half-length one in his bathroom and a small one in his room. 

But there was a full-length one in the front hallway. 

Shane blushed, but pushed the busy thoughts out of his mind and walked out towards the hallway. With the lube and his phone in one hand, and the dildo in another, he made it to the mirror and reviewed the scene. 

It was perfect. He’d be able to ride the dildo with his entire body in the shot. He could have his back to the mirror and video over his shoulder, or face it and show off his hard cock. There were many options. But Shane decided to go with riding it with his back to the mirror so Ilya could see the dark toy entering him in full view. 

He suctioned the dildo to the floor and shakily got over top of it, he played with his rim for a few seconds, feeling breathless as the hard silicon breached his entrance; it was slick and slimy along his hole. Ever so slowly, he managed to sink into it with ease. This cock was definitely not as big as Ilya’s, and it almost hurt not to be filled the way he wanted to. 

Soon. He said to himself. 

Once he was fully seated, he grabbed for his phone and flipped on the camera. Now he was forced to look at himself in the mirror from the phone’s camera, and he nearly gasped. It was sexy; he was sexy. 

Ilya was going to lose his fucking mind. 

Taking in a deep breath, Shane pressed record and began to slowly ride the dildo. He didn’t do any theatrics, no loud moans or pornographic whines. He wanted Ilya to see him at his true self: completely and utterly hungry for him. 

As soon as the video hit thirty seconds, Shane ended it. His thighs shook as he forced himself to stop rocking so he could open the message app. He tapped on Ilya’s name, and once the video came into view, he couldn’t help but freeze as his thumb hovered over it. 

This was the final piece to his plan. After this, Ilya would react terribly or perfectly. He took in a shaky inhale and then quickly sent the video before he could overthink it. Shane reminded himself of Ilya’s yearning gaze over the past few days and how much he wanted him. This was Shane’s invitation. 

He put the phone in front of him, and he was forced to look at his rock-hard cock still standing straight and red below him. He was neglecting it for a reason, and Shane continued to do so as he began to slowly bounce on the dildo. He waited impatiently for the reply, and tried to keep his mind off the screen. 

It was getting hard to contain himself, Shane realized that quite quickly as his breathing grew harder and his moans slipped past his lips. He wasn’t normally in this position, since he never really had a house to himself, so with his thighs spread out in the middle of the hallway like this…it felt wrong, and so incredibly hot. 

He flinched embarrassingly hard when his phone buzzed across the floor. Shane groaned and forced himself to stop. When he looked down, his eyes widened to see Ilya’s name flash on the screen. He was calling him. 

With shaky hands, he grabbed the phone to answer it. 

“I was in the middle of church, and you send a video like that?” 

Ilya spoke before Shane could say hello. His voice was rough and controlling, and it had Shane seeing stars already. 

There was a silence on the other end, and Shane realized Ilya was waiting impatiently for a verbal reply. Shane gulped, gathering saliva in his mouth before answering. 

“I want you, please.” It was the only words Shane could build the courage to speak. The dildo was so close to his prostate, if he moved just a little further-

“Fuck-“ Ilya growled out, and Shane’s breath hitched in his throat. He sounded frustrated and angry, and Shane almost gave up the whole act to apologize when he heard movement in the background of Ilya’s call. Laughter and glasses were clinking; then someone yelled ‘Hey, Roz!' 

Abruptly, the line goes dead, and now Shane feels like an idiot. 

He refuses to stare at himself in the mirror, the humility eating him alive as he winces and gets off the dildo. Shane stares at the phone a little longer, hoping for a text or a flash of Ilya’s name, but there is nothing. 

So he gets up on shaky knees, his dick soft between his legs. Shane snatches the dildo and makes the walk of shame to the bedroom. 

As soon as he gets in the room, he washes off the dildo and puts the toy in the bedside drawer. Now that Ilya knows it exists, there is no point in hiding it in his bag anymore. 

He’ll probably need it more now that he wasn’t going to get any. 

He should probably clean himself up, but all Shane has the energy to do is put on his briefs and flop into bed. He lies there, blinking into nothing as his brain goes through all the different scenarios in his head. Would Ilya disappear again? Will he show up angry and demand that Shane get out of his house? 

Eventually, he sits up in bed and tries to distract himself with reading. He gets under the covers, grabs his reading glasses, and one of his books on hockey. He reads it offhandedly, and he hates that his brain is so busy that it takes him five minutes to finish one page. 

But then, the front door bursts open. Shane was so in his own head that he didn’t hear the thunder of Ilya’s motorcycle pulling into the driveway. He flinches and almost drops the book. 

Shane takes a deep breath and sits up in bed with the book lying on his lap. He keeps his glasses on, his eyes now narrowed at the bedroom door. He curled his knees into himself as heavy motorcycle boots thumped through the house and towards the bedroom. 

But Ilya doesn’t bang through the bedroom door and scream. Instead, his footfalls slow, and he begins a casual walk into the room wearing his usual biker attire. It's just as menacing. 

Shane tries to lock eyes with him, but Ilya is too busy looking around the room. His gaze lands on the en-suite bathroom, then trails to the bed near Shane’s feet, and finally to the closet. 

Shane gulps loudly. 

“Where is it?” Ilya demands sharply. 

Shane doesn’t understand at first. He blinks owlishly toward Ilya with a frown. 

“W-what?” He asks, his voice small as he shifts the book off his lap to beside him. 

“The dildo- where is it?” Ilya’s voice is the complete opposite. He holds his ground, and when his eyes finally meet Shane’s, they’re solid and dominant. 

Shane blushes, the heat heavy on his cheeks as Ilya continues to stare into his soul. Shane can’t help but look down, and he freezes at the obvious tent in Ilya’s pants. 

Oh. 

That makes him start moving, and Shane leans over the bed to open the bedside table. The drawer reveals the dildo still sad and slick with remnants of lube, and he carefully takes it out and shows it to Ilya with a guarded expression. 

Shane is shocked when Ilya strides forward and takes it from him. He begins to inspect it carefully. It’s strange seeing Ilya holding his dildo, especially when it was just inside him. 

“Did you cum on it?” Ilya doesn’t look up from glaring at the toy as he asks. 

Shane, now breathless, shakes his head. 

Ilya nods, his mouth formed in a concentrated frown. Then he furrows his brows and shakes his head. He raises the dildo, showing it to Shane as if he didn’t know it existed. 

“Is not enough? Hm?” 

Shane blinks and nods because it’s true. Nothing was better than Ilya’s cock. But he can’t find his voice to tell him that.  

Ilya continues. 

“While you were fucking yourself on this, you had to beg me to come fuck you?” 

Shane nods again. 

“Speak.” Ilya raises his voice, and it goes straight to Shane’s cock. 

“Y-yes.” 

Shane closes his eyes, hating that he stuttered. He was so turned on that his cock actually hurt due to how hard it was. But he didn’t keep his eyes closed for long, shooting them open to watch as Ilya began to move. 

He strode to the side of the bed, and Shane followed like he was hypnotized. He leaned towards Ilya’s crotch, hands grabbing for his belt. 

But then the dildo was placed in his face, and Shane flinched upwards in surprise. 

“You want cock so badly, here.” Ilya moves the dildo further, forcing Shane to grab it. Shane pouts immediately because no, he didn’t want the dildo…he wanted Ilya.

And Ilya knew that.

“I want you,” Shane persisted, but Ilya clicked his tongue and turned away. It was painful to watch as the distance grew between them, and Shane huffed when Ilya went to one of the accent chairs in the corner of the room to sit himself down. 

He looked delicious with his legs spread. He still wore his clunky boots, dark jeans, and classic leather jacket. He was a vision. 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” Shane is desperate, his hands pressing the dildo to the mattress. He stared into Ilya’s eyes and tried to find a shift of weakness. But Ilya stayed stern.

“We will see. I want to see you; now show me.” 

Shane’s grip swiftly tightened against the dildo again. He realized there was no sense fighting what Ilya wanted. Because in the end, this was what Shane desired as well. 

He shuffled so he was lying horizontally on the bed, facing Ilya. Before he got comfortable, Shane reached for the lube settled in the bedside table, but a sharp sound of disapproval came from Ilya, and it made him pause.

“No lube, you were just fucking yourself on it before I came here. If you need lube, suck it off.” 

“I-“ 

“What? I know you can suck cock, so suck.” 

Shane’s cheeks are consistently heated, his eyes wide as he moves back into position. Ilya’s eyes never leave him, and he looks patient while Shane spreads his legs and lies on his back. 

For the show, and to see if he could make Ilya squirm, Shane complied with Ilya’s commands. He made sure his legs were spread enough for Ilya to see his face and hole at the same time, and then brought the fake cock to his lips.

Shyly, he kissed the tip. The embarrassment bloomed in his chest, but he smothered it and went a bit further. Shane was kissing it, and then it progressed to licking. His arousal grew at being watched, and the shame of it all was just as sexy. It fueled Shane’s moans as he finally sucked the dildo down his throat and began to bob his head.

Ilya and he never broke eye contact. Shane made sure to lift his knees higher towards his chest so Ilya could get a better view of his entrance as he worked his mouth on the dildo. He was sure the sight was super fucking erotic.

But Ilya was playing it off well. Shane could see short twitches in his brow, or the way his hands would tighten around his knees and thighs as he rubbed on them. Ilya still hadn’t touched his own cock as he watched, as if he were torturing himself as well. 

Determination was fierce inside Shane, and he became sloppy with the blowjob. Drool fell from his mouth around the toy, the spit landing on his collarbones and chest. He’d gurgle and moan around it as he slurped and tongued the fake shaft. 

Ilya’s voice rose above the obscene noises.

“So sad that you cannot make it cum. It is just sad plastic. But is what you wanted, hm?” 

Shane took the dildo out of his mouth, whining as a string of spit connected him and the tip. It fell to his skin slowly, and he could feel the tingle of his lips from how much he had stretched it around the dildo. 

“I’ll be so good, please fuck me…” Shane whined. He didn’t care anymore; he wanted to beg Ilya to fuck him. 

Ilya shook his head, and Shane nearly collapsed. 

“You can have the real thing if you cum on your toy, Shane,” Ilya replied. 

Shane bowed his head in shame, accepting the consequences. He gripped the dildo harder in his hands and decided to go for the position that would get him there the fastest. It was the same one he did when the thoughts of Ilya plagued his mind many months ago. 

He was still horizontal on the bed, and he shuffled onto his side before curling his knees closer to his chest. Once they were in position, he brought the dildo behind him and towards his entrance. He had to lift one knee higher to get better access, and Shane’s eyes lowered with a moan as he slowly sank the toy inch by inch inside of him.

The stretch was still delicious even though it wasn’t Ilya. This dildo has brought him to orgasm more times than Ilya ever did. He’s had it since he graduated from high school. He knew with confidence that if he got in the right mindset, he’d be able to cum on it. 

So Shane closed his eyes and focused. His lips parted as he began to work the dildo back and forth. He lowered one knee back to meet the other, curling them further towards his chest. The awkward angle of him having to reach behind himself was good, it allowed the dildo to meet his prostate in five pumps.

Once it did, he made a show of it. Shane cried out, a whine passing his lips as his eyes flew open to look at Ilya. Ilya had his chin resting in his palm, elbow on the armchair. It was as if he were watching a boring movie. 

That wouldn’t do. Shane went faster, his back arching to press his ass back on the dildo. The slick sounds from the lube along his hole filled the air and mixed with his huffs and moans. He couldn’t believe Ilya hadn’t charged him already.

He should be getting close by now. Shane was at the right angle, and the cock was pressing on his prostate. But maybe it was Ilya’s eyes on him that were dampening the orgasm still boiling in his gut. He couldn’t get over the edge. It was right at his fingertips.

With a frustrated grunt, he tore the dildo out of him and moved to a different position. He got up on his knees, and kept himself sideways so Ilya could see his swinging cock and the dildo inside of him at the same time. Then, Shane sank on top of it until his ass hit the mattress below. He began to grind down on it, feeling like a dog in heat as he humped back and forth across the bed. The bed springs squeaked with the pressure and movement, and his moans filled the air once again.

Ilya continued to stare blankly.

But Shane could still see the tent in his jeans. That was the only way he could tell that Ilya was aroused. 

Feverishly, he chased the orgasm. He was dripping in sweat, eyes wild and lips glistening with spit as he rode the fake cock into the mattress. He braced his hands behind him, sheathing the dildo further into himself with a new angle. 

Ilya spoke for the first time in a while. 

“Yebat’, I need a cigarette.” 

Ilya turns away, his eyes looking out the window beside the chair. Shane startles to a stop, surprised at the complete disregard, and watches as Ilya proceeds to get up from the chair, fish for his cigarette and lighter inside his jacket, and then light it. 

He opens the window to let the smoke out, leaning against the wall. His hand comes out to lightly move the curtain to look outside, the smoke billowing around him.

Shane feels white-hot desperation now. He’s confused. The arousal of watching Ilya ignore him was there, but the desperate need to feel desired was fighting for dominance in his brain. 

He began to beg as his hips twitched on the toy.  

“Ilya, please, please I need-“ 

“Enough of that. You have what you need right there, yes?” Ilya interrupted him, still not looking his way. He removed his hand from the curtain to pluck the cigarette from his lips and breathe the smoke out into the outdoors.

Shane shakes his head and sobs. 

“Mm, yes, I remember you said that was not enough.” Ilya shakes his head in disappointment. He flicks some ashes out the window and continues, his voice lowering dangerously. “You made me jealous of a piece of plastic.”

Guilt ate away at Shane’s chest, and he lowered his head and choked. He stopped his movements, the cock still snug inside of him. 

“I’m sorry; I just wanted you to fuck me.” Shane felt overstimulated, tears welling up in his eyes. 

But then Ilya looked up and finally, finally met his eyes. He sucked on the cigarette, Shane watching as the end of it illuminated with fire as he sucked in the toxins. Then he removed it, cocked his chin to the side to exhale out the window, and answered. 

“No sorrys. You are being a good boy so far. You can do it.” 

A sob sneaks its way out of Shane, and he nods before restarting his efforts. He decides to try out another position, this time with his back on the bed and his knees bent so Ilya could see his hole. He stayed up on his elbows, one hand coming down to guide the dildo back inside of him. 

An idea sparked in his mind as he began to pump the dildo. If Ilya was so jealous of this toy, he needed to make him so possessive that he wouldn’t stand for Shane to come on the fake cock. Shane needed to put on a better show. He needed to be vocal. 

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane whined, his eyes closing and hips twitching. He pretended Ilya was the cock inside of him. 

“Neugh, fuck me,” Shane continued, falling onto his back and using one hand to hook behind one of his knees so the angle was better. He stretched himself on the cock and watched as it entered him. 

His squeals were working on himself, too, and Shane could feel the orgasm growing closer. He pumped the dildo harder and faster, and his thighs began to shake. 

“Make me cum, Ilya, oh fuck you’re gonna make me cum. I love your cock, I love-“ 

There is suddenly the rush of boots on the floor and then hands all over him. Shane’s orgasm was swiftly ruined as the dildo was removed from his hole. Shane’s eyes snap upwards, and he gasps as Ilya’s hands grab his thighs and manhandle him to the edge of the bed. 

Shane’s hole is pressed to Ilya’s clothed crotch now, and the rough texture against his already abused entrance causes Shane to cry out. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and all Shane can do is lift them above his head and fist them into the duvet. 

Ilya looks menacing, his pupils blown and top lip curled into a snarl as he begins to frantically undo his belt.

“A filthy whore, hm? Any cock will do, but you will only cum on one, da?” 

Shane moans and nods, watching as Ilya spits and slicks up his cock once he shuffles it out of his briefs. He removes his jacket and throws it behind him, now only wearing a muscle shirt with his pants tugged down just below his ass. 

Shane loves it like this. He fantasizes all the time about Ilya being fully clothed and him completely naked and begging. It was something about it that made it more submissive for Shane, to be so incredibly open and needy. Always ready for Ilya. 

Ilya pushes in, and their moans become in sync as Ilya’s balls finally connect with Shane’s taint. They sit with the feeling for a few seconds, and then Ilya picks up a brutal pace. The bed rattles, and Shane begins to babble incoherently into his armpit as Ilya’s thrusts grow erratic. Skin slapped on skin, the slick sound of spit and remnants of lube between them. Shane was doused in a layer of sweat, and Ilya was huffing into his face with wild eyes. 

“You gonna cum, malysh?” Ilya growls. Shane feels dumb off Ilya’s cock, and all he can do is nod along with Ilya’s questions. Ilya is superhuman against Shane; his thrusts never falter, and this causes Shane’s body to be forced upwards across the bed. 

Shane’s moans grow louder and higher, and his back bows off the bed with one last shout as Ilya fucks him through the craziest orgasm of his life. His thighs shake tremendously, and Ilya has to slow his pace to grab hold of them. His thumbs dig into Shane’s inner thighs, and then he changes his pace to slow but hard. 

It’s strange; the ethereal feeling never leaves him. With Ilya’s cock punching him in the gut, it drags out the orgasm until Shane is moaning all over again. He hiccups as overwhelming tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and Ilya hums with approval. 

Ilya’s almost there; with each deep thrust inside Shane, he grunts louder and louder. His eyes cross, and then he’s sheathing himself inside of Shane with a deep, guttural groan. 

And all of a sudden, Shane is coming again. The second orgasm rocks through him so shockingly that all he can do is stare up at the ceiling with his mouth wide open in a silent scream. Ilya is surprised as well, and he looks down at the mess of cum on Shane’s stomach with a moan. 

“Such a good boy, baby. Fucking beautiful.” 

Shane whines in response, and then Ilya leans down to his face. He mouths across Shane’s cheeks, his eyes, kissing softly around his lips. The gesture relaxes him. 

It’s hard to understand what happens after that. Shane was in and out of consciousness while Ilya pampered him with warm cloths and massages. Slowly but surely, Shane came back into his body and found himself spooning with Ilya underneath the covers. 

“Are you okay, Shane?” Ilya asks from behind him, noticing Shane’s consciousness resurfacing. He moves onto his elbow so he can look down at Shane, and Shane shuffles so he can look up into Ilya’s eyes with the warmest smile across his face. 

“M’okay…I’m perfect. Everything is perfect.” Shane responds as he zeros in on the cross dangling from Ilya’s neck. He grabs it with shaky fingers and admires how it shines golden in the light before he snuggles back into Ilya’s chest. 

-

Things went back to normal. They frequented the bar again, but this time with Shane in Ilya’s arms, snuggled into the booth at the back instead of cleaning glasses and serving drinks. Ilya had convinced Shane to take it easy for the next few months, and Shane had no reason to protest. 

It was like living in a fairytale. Shane had gone through all the blood, sweat, and tears to end up here in his own little heaven. He’d sit awake at night with Ilya wrapped around him, and he’d think about how he wouldn’t have changed anything that happened to get to this point. 

Everything happened for a reason. He was stronger now. All the things Pete had done had forced Shane to remove himself from the protective shell he had curled into his entire life. He used it as armour instead, and walked with his head held high no matter where he was. 

Ilya still went away to church and left Shane with Harris. That was normal, and Shane understood that it wouldn’t change. He wouldn’t disclose what he said in those meetings either, but Shane was in too much of a bliss to care. 

Sometimes Shane would have questions on the tip of his tongue when the boys would come up from the basement, trying to contain grim expressions. But as soon as Shane saw Ilya, he’d melt into his arms and force the anxiety to roll off of him. 

It was a cold day in Ottawa, and Shane shivered as soon as he woke up. Ilya wasn’t beside him; rather, when Shane turned his head, he was met with a note laid out on Ilya’s pillow. 

A surprise is waiting in Montreal. I’ve packed your bags. Leave as soon as you can to miss traffic. I will see you there, my love. - Ilya 

Shane smiled widely, a sense of giddiness coursing through his system as he reread the note in Ilya’s sloppy handwriting. He looked up from the paper to see a backpack lying neatly by the closet; it was already stuffed with Shane’s clothes. 

He gets up and does his regular morning routine. If he left too early, he’d be stuck in the work traffic, so he planned to leave around noon. He was thorough in the shower and picky about the way his hair looked. He didn’t know what was waiting for him in Montreal, but he felt he was going to burst with excitement. 

They hadn’t been to Montreal since…the incident. Shane missed Ilya’s cottage and the way it reminded him of his own when he was younger. It felt more like home than where they lived now. Shane yearned to hear the sloshing of the lake water and the calls from the loons in the night. 

He left a little before 12 because he couldn’t wait any longer. He got in his beat-up Mazda with his backpack thrown into the passenger seat before pulling out of the driveway and starting his journey. Shane blasted Radiohead and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he tried to drown out his nerves and busy thoughts. He kept looking at himself in the rearview mirror and checking if his hair was still in place. 

Which made him realize rather quickly that he was also being followed. Shane had just gotten over the bridge into Gatineau when he noticed the car. It had followed him as soon as he got out of Britannia, and Shane had tried to test if his theory was true by changing lanes to see if it was going to pass him. But it stayed tailing him, and Shane immediately felt dread in the pit of his stomach. 

He wasn’t going to let whoever it was get all the way to Ilya’s cottage. So Shane pulled into a gas station and parked at the side to make it look like he was going into the convenience store. He noticed the car parked across the street near a pharmacy, watching him. 

Shane wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t the same Shane who would cower and call Ilya for help. This time, he puffed his chest out and strode across the street towards the car. He didn’t know what he was doing; he didn’t have a weapon on him to do any threatening, but he wasn’t going to allow this to happen. Everything was going so well, and the fairytale couldn’t end now. 

He rapped his fist on the driver's side window. It was too tinted to see who it was, and Shane kept slightly back from the window in case there was going to be a gun involved. He doubted it. They were out in public in broad daylight. 

But he nearly gasped when the window opened to reveal Hayden Pike staring at him with a weary smile. He looked guilty, and his hands left the wheel in surrender. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Shane grumbled, his shoulders relaxing as the impending threat dissolved. He stepped into Hayden’s view, blocking him from exiting the vehicle. Shane didn’t even know whose car this was. Hayden didn’t own a car anymore. 

“Listen, okay? I-I was told to make sure you got to Montreal safely. Ilya was worried you’d…” Hayden trailed off, his eyes moving away from Shane’s face. He didn’t look happy with himself that he was caught. 

“Why do I need a bodyguard to go to Montreal? I know how to get there, Hayd’s.” Shane shook his head, stepping back to glare at Hayden even more. He was going to chew Ilya out later when he saw him. This was ridiculous. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s not that, I-” Hayden was a stuttering mess, and Shane hated how he was trying to find his words carefully. He was hiding something. 

“What is it? Tell me now.” Shane kept his stance, raising a brow at Hayden in annoyance. He should be on the highway right now, cruising to the sound of Creep with the windows down. Not standing here with his best friend, looking like he was going to sweat through his leather jacket. 

“N-nothing, buddy! I can’t leave you. So just-just get back in the car and I’ll be with you until Montreal. Okay?” 

Shane shook his head. He was at a loss for words. He expected to be kept in the dark about some things, but this was excessive. Why did Hayden need to make sure Shane went to Montreal? Was there something wrong in Ottawa that he couldn’t see? 

Shane slowly moved his head to the horizon, looking over the river towards Ottawa. Towards the bar and Ilya’s house. 

He nearly choked when he saw the curl of deep, black smoke fill the grey skies. It was similar to the smoke leaking from Ilya’s cigarette when he set it on the ashtray. It spiralled up into the clouds, so dark it was shocking. 

Shane knew almost immediately. He felt it in his bones like he was dumped in ice. That was the bar. And it was on fire. 

Hayden noticed Shane’s expression and the way the colour drained from his face. He followed Shane’s gaze and cursed roughly under his breath before frantically attempting to open the car door. 

But by the time he opened it, Shane was already running across the street towards his own car. He could hear Hayden screaming Shane’s name and fumbling back into his car, but Shane was on autopilot. No, he had to get to the bar. Ilya could wait. Hayden’s explanation could wait. 

He flew out of the gas station, and his tires skidded across the asphalt as he drove like a madman. He could see Hayden hot on his heels in the car behind him, his hand grabbing for something on his passenger seat. 

Shane forced his eyes forward. Getting in a car accident wouldn’t help this situation. He focused on the road ahead, the smoke creeping closer and closer across his windshield. His throat clogged with scared breaths, and all he could do was push on. 

Shane saw the flames as soon as he turned onto the bar's street.

They were so vibrant and almost beautiful. So orange and yellow, and such a deep contrast to the boring greys and whites of the sky. If he weren’t speeding towards his worst nightmare, he’d be mesmerized. 

He peeled into the parking lot, his turn so rough that his tires caught across the gravel and swerved. Once he stopped, he froze with fear at the sight before him.

The entire bar was engulfed in flames. Orange, blue, yellow, red, black. He could hear the whistle and roar of the fire from inside his car, and the flames shot out of the windows of the bar forcefully. 

Shane fell out of the car and was immediately met with a wall of heat. People were panicking around him, men and women with biker jackets running around or standing in complete shock. One of the old ladies caught his eye, and she stumbled over to him with tears in her eyes. 

“Oh, Shane. Shane, I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t be here, don’t-” 

Shane’s eyes narrowed at the frantic words spoken to him. He didn’t fully register them at first, but once he realized what she was saying, his knees almost buckled below him. 

“Is he…no, no he-” Shane searched the crowds, his hands coming out to grab onto something…anything. The woman held him up, and she sobbed with him. 

“They tried to get him out. He was in the basement…” 

Shane shook his head. No. Ilya was in Montreal waiting for him. There was supposed to be a surprise. Shane imagined Ilya standing at the dock near the lake, his eyes looking over the water as it reflected off his skin. He would turn around as Shane waltzed down the backyard, and his necklace would glimmer in the sun as he smiled his way. 

He glared towards the bar and the howling of the flames. People were staring at him with pity and pain, and Shane didn’t want any of it. He wanted Ilya. 

So he ran. 

He charged toward the bar. His eyes focused on the front door blown open with flames curling out into the daylight. The heat grew and grew across his face, and Shane didn’t care. People were giving up too easily. Ilya was in there, and he needed Shane to save him. 

But then he was suddenly flying through the air. Someone had body-checked him from the side so hard that Shane saw stars. He fell onto the gravel, his breath leaving his lungs all at once. 

Shane gulped it back down and used it to let out the most anguished, rage-filled scream he could muster. He propelled forward and bulldozed through whoever was in front of him. He saw flashes of familiar faces, people yelling at him and trying to hold him down. But he had become a whole new person. The desire to save the love of his life gave him superhuman strength. 

He punched someone in the face, then dove towards the door. He was stopped again, and someone grabbed him under his armpits and nearly lifted him off the ground in their attempt to keep him away from the flames. He grabbed at whoever's hair was in front of him, pulling as hard as he could until he was dropped. Then he used his fists to punch his way forward. 

The entrance to the bar was so close. Shane reached out, but the flames grabbed hold of his hand tauntingly. The pain across his palm and wrist was immense, but nothing was worse than feeling the loss of Ilya. His heart was broken in two, and it was enough that all the pain became background noise. 

“Shane! Fuck, stop it! You weren’t supposed to find out like this!” It was Wyatt’s voice attempting to break through the fog in Shane’s brain. He was holding Shane back, his breath heavy against his ear. 

Shane didn’t understand what that meant. Did they not want Shane to find out Ilya had died in the fire? He would’ve found out eventually. 

“Ilya!” Shane cried out toward the burning building. He elbowed Wyatt in the ribs, sending his friend curling forward with a grunt, the impact causing him to let Shane go. 

Shane persevered. He ran back toward the window this time. Maybe he could jump in and crawl near the wall. Then he could get to the basement- 

“Shane!” Marleau’s voice now. He had a bloody nose as he stumbled in front of Shane. Shane wondered if he had done that in his rage to get to Ilya. Probably. 

“Get the fuck away from me! He-he’s not dead!” Shane tried to throw another punch, but Marleau had let out a frustrated yell and ducked low to tackle Shane in the middle. Shane lost his breath again as he was thrown to the ground. 

He stared up at the sky that was being polluted by the dark swirls from the fire. The flames continued to howl and roar around him, mixing with Shane’s screams of desperation as he tried to get Marleau off of him. 

“Stop, Shane! It’s okay, c’mon buddy! Don’t-” 

Shane thrashed and screamed, his fingernails clawing at Marleau’s cheek. It cut deep, and Marleau let out a yell of rage and frustration so loud that it made Shane’s ears ring. 

Then everything went black. All he saw was Marleau’s fist coming down on his face. 

-

He’s in a car.

It’s not his car. Or maybe it is. He doesn’t really know. 

He doesn’t really care.

The world fell off his shoulders. All meaning evaporated around him. He became a shell of himself as he fell in and out of consciousness. In the darkness of his mind, a silhouette of black leather and curly hair stood just out of his reach. Every time he moved forward to grab Ilya, he was thrown back into consciousness. 

He didn’t want to see the world. He didn’t want to feel the leather car seats against his skin. He didn’t want to hear the soft conversation in the front seat. He didn’t want to see the sunlight flicker across the car's ceiling. He didn’t want to breathe. Not if Ilya wasn’t here to breathe with him.

Curling into himself, he lay on his side and blinked at the back of the passenger seat. Someone said his name. He didn’t acknowledge them. 

Shane doesn't remember how much time had passed before the car stopped. Time had become nothing to him. He had no time left. 

No one forced him out of the car. No one touched him. Shane could hear an argument starting. Angry words were being thrown around, and if Shane cared, he would’ve tried to guess who was who. 

Then the door closest to him opened. He didn’t move to get up. Whoever it was can move him if they want to. He was compliant now. 

“Moya lyubov?” 

Shane blinked. 

“Shane, baby?” 

Shane blinked again. It sounded like Ilya’s voice.

He closed his eyes. Maybe it was the Ilya in his head. Maybe this Ilya was standing near the lake as he did in his dreams. This Ilya will beckon him to the docks to watch the sunset. 

Someone grabbed him now. He was dead weight in their arms as they lifted him off the backseat to sit up. Shane blinked his eyes open to see who it was, and his blood ran cold. 

The sunlight was a halo behind Ilya Rozanov’s head as the man leaned into the backseat to stare at him. He had wide, scared eyes. There were no burns littered across his skin, not even a scrape. He was entirely, one hundred percent, alive and unharmed. 

And that’s when the rage built in Shane’s head again. What the fuck was going on? 

He shoved Ilya back. It was so hard and unexpected that Ilya fell onto his ass outside of the car. 

Shane fell out as well, only to raise a fist and punch Ilya square in the jaw. His knuckles were already bruised and bloody, but he didn’t care. He had been lied to again.

“Whoa, Shane! Shane, please, baby, relax!” Ilya scrambled backwards across the dirt. Blood dripped from his nose as he found his feet and stumbled up on two feet. 

“You have no fucking idea how much pain you’ve put me through. You-you can’t die. You can’t ever fucking leave me, don’t you get that?!” Shane stomped forward and grabbed at Ilya’s lapels, shaking him ruthlessly as tears blurred his vision.

“I know, I’m so sorry, baby. You-you weren’t supposed to know. I was here waiting for you. I promise you. The fire was made to make everyone but you and the boys think I was dead!” 

Shane froze, his hands loosening around Ilya’s jacket as he absorbed the words. 

“What?” Shane asked breathlessly.

“I swear to you, Shane…” Hayden was standing near the car as he spoke up, his tone full of shame. “I-I was following you to Ilya’s cottage to make sure you wouldn’t come back and see the fire. We needed to do it today. The cops were already on Ilya, and they were planning to raid the bar. It needed to happen…” 

Shane stared at his best friend, tears still flowing down his cheeks. Hayden had a black eye and a scratch deep across his throat. Did Shane do that?

“I still don’t know why you didn’t just tell me. I thought… I thought you were…” Shane couldn’t finish his words as he addressed them to Ilya. Ilya nodded as if he understood. 

“We will go inside. Just you and me, and we will talk. I will explain everything, okay?” 

Shane’s bottom lip wobbled. He finally reviewed his surroundings and noticed that they were outside Ilya’s cottage. Troy was standing beside Hayden. He sported a busted lip and was favouring his right side.

“Okay?” Ilya spoke again, guiding Shane away from his observations. Shane blinked forward and nodded with a shaky breath. He would let Ilya explain; then he’d hit later if needed. 

They walked into the cottage and left Hayden and Troy to guard the outside in case anyone followed. Both boys stared at Shane with sorrow as he passed them. He wanted to talk to them, too, eventually.

Ilya had his hand in Shane’s the entire time they entered the cottage. He didn’t let go as he walked down the hallway and towards the back. The large bay windows looked out towards the lake, and Shane could see the sun peeking over the trees. It was almost night, and it brought tears to his eyes to see the view with Ilya at his side. 

He wished they weren’t in these circumstances. 

“I found out the police were on me two days after we tied Pete to the pole,” Ilya began, his eyes scanning the outdoors from the windows. He was chewing the inside of his cheek with nerves and had let go of Shane’s hand to give him space as he explained. Shane stayed silent, allowing Ilya to continue.

“They have sniffed around before, so I did not think anything of it. But then they kept showing up at the bar, asking for me.” 

Shane stiffened and tried not to show fear at the words being spoken. There was a mix of emotions bubbling towards the surface of Shane’s mind, and he didn’t know which would take control when Ilya was finished explaining. 

“I stayed away or kept myself in the basement. I managed to avoid them. But soon I saw them following me. The same license plate all day, same man. And then…” Ilya trailed off to shake his head, a memory appearing in his brain by the looks of it. 

“Then I found out they had tapped into my phone. This was…this was last night at church. Someone had found us at a bar we had not been to before, and they would have only known if they had read my messages between the boys.” 

Shane was taken aback. This had gotten so serious, so quickly. He had a feeling that it was risky for Ilya to put Pete on display outside the Centaurs bar. But when Pete had disappeared, he thought they were in the clear. It turns out it was the opposite. 

“They were planning something…there was…something in the air. Cop cars were reported outside of the bar throughout the night, with cameras set up. My people said they heard that the police were going to raid the bar tonight.” 

Ilya finally looked at him, and his eyes were wet. 

“I could not call you, Shane. I could not text you, I could not see you. They were on me. All I could do was sneak away to the cottage while the boys handled things.” 

Shane gulped. He hated seeing Ilya cry like this, but he couldn’t feel sorry for him yet. The anger from being lied to once again was eating away at him. 

“Why couldn’t you have made one of the guys tell me your plans then? There was no other way to do this?” Shane tried to sound soft as he spoke his frustrations. They were both delicate at the moment. 

“We did not think you would find out about the fire until I told you. We were stupid to think you wouldn’t have gotten suspicious. I underestimate you time and time again, malysh.” 

Shane nodded, sucking in his bottom lip to stop tears from escaping. He turned his gaze away as Ilya began to explain further. 

“I had planned this…fake death for a while.” 

That made Shane freeze. 

“I-I thought of it after you and I had gotten shot. It was nothing at the start, I only thought of ways I could do it without harming me or you.” 

Shane’s only sign that he was listening was the rapid blink of his eyes and shallow breath from his nose. Ilya kept his distance from him. 

“The police knew my schedule; they knew everything. I made sure they saw me leave the bar. Then I snuck out the back and laid in one of the guys' truck beds with my motorcycle. Every single person thought I was stuck in that bar, including the cops.” 

Ilya took a step forward towards Shane. Shane didn’t move away. 

“I told them to burn the bar to the ground. So we can start new. Both of us.” 

When Ilya reached for Shane’s hand, Shane didn’t pull away. He kept it limp, but allowed Ilya to squeeze his palm with his. It was a desperate grip, one full of love. Shane believed in love, too; he really did. He should’ve expected this sooner: the consequences of leaving the gang. Ilya had to be dead or in jail. That was it. There were only two roads in the leader of the Centaurs' life. 

“H-how will the police believe you are in there? They can’t just…they can’t believe it based on seeing you walk in. They’re smarter than that.” Shane hated to point it out, but the last thing he wanted was for them to feel like they could finally breathe again just for ten cop cars to pull into the cottage and arrest them. 

“Dental records.” 

Shane looked up with surprise. He immediately narrowed his eyes toward Ilya’s mouth but could see the man had his front teeth. Did he not understand how dental records worked?

Ilya opened his mouth wide, and there, in the back on both sides, was a pair of missing molars. 

Shane gasped and flew his hands up to grab at either side of Ilya’s face to review the damage. They had been pulled roughly, and they were red and swollen. Shane had to take a step back, his hands falling back to his sides as he absorbed what was just revealed. 

“Like your hockey players, yes?” Ilya teases, his smile wide and playful despite the situation. Shane couldn’t help but snort out a laugh as well; the shock slowly began to wear off. 

“God…you’re such a fucking idiot, Ilya. I thought I fucking lost you, and now you’re here with two missing molars and dare to laugh-” 

Ilya walked into his space, and Shane forgot what he was ranting about. They reattached to one another as the hunger grew in their chests. Shane wanted to glue Ilya to his side, to chain him to his wrists so they could never ever be apart again. 

“No more hiding, no more lies, no more gangs. Just me and you, baby,” Ilya coos, his hand gentle and soft as it combs through Shane’s hair. Shane leans into the touch and gives in instantly. 

-

Hayden and Troy had gone back to Ottawa for a final clean-up. They were also planning to bring some of the other boys back if it was confirmed that the police had gotten off their backs. 

It was just Shane and Ilya for the night, and at the moment Ilya was between Shane’s legs, his hands hooked beneath Shane’s knees as he licked into him. It was hot and wet, Ilya’s tongue prodding at his hole, his lips sucking and nibbling along the ring of muscle. Shane was lost in the stars. 

“Please, please, Ilya…” Shane whined, his hands coming out to palm Ilya’s curls. He couldn’t cum now; he needed to drag this out just a little longer. 

Ilya hummed once against Shane’s hole, his smile wide as he crawled back up Shane’s torso. He left kisses across Shane’s skin, the touch feather-light and full of meaning.

“Want to see you,” Shane sighed out, his thighs locking around Ilya’s waist to keep him in place. His hands were greedy as they touched and felt every piece of Ilya. He squeezed the man’s pecs and biceps, massaged his side and shoulders, pressed his ass and back. It was as if Shane was making sure this was real. 

Because he expected to wake up from this dream. What if he blinked and let go of Ilya once, and he’d all of a sudden be back lying in the bar's parking lot with Marleau pinning him down and begging him not to run headfirst into the flames? Shane was terrified because he knew if he really did wake up, he’d dive into the flames again without thinking. 

It was probably bad to think of someone as your lifeline. It wasn’t healthy to see a single human become your breath, your pulse, and your heart. But Shane found out that Ilya thought the same. Ilya had died for Shane. That was what this was. Ilya had died to be reborn as a different man. All for Shane.

And Shane would do the same. He would’ve run into the hot flames and gotten burnt to a crisp just so he could meet Ilya in heaven or hell or just ashes on the ground beside one another. They were one another’s endgame. 

“Where did you go?” 

Shane blinked, his vision refocusing on Ilya. He was still looming over him, but his eyes were narrowed in concern as he searched Shane’s face. 

“I’m…I’m glad you’re here; that’s all.” 

Shane’s response causes Ilya to melt. There’s a flash of guilt, but it gets washed away with love and affection as Shane pulls Ilya in for a bruising kiss. 

They make out for a few minutes, exchanging spit and moans into one another’s mouths. Eventually, Ilya’s hand snakes down to begin fingering Shane open. 

“F-fuck,” Shane whimpers out, his face scrunching in bliss as the fingers stretch him perfectly. Shane humps downward to chase the feeling of being full. 

“So needy for me.” Ilya’s voice is low, and it rumbles through Shane’s chest. He curls into Ilya. Shane wants nothing more than to be devoured by that man. 

It doesn’t take long for Ilya to prep him; the urge to become one is too great. With tenderness and ease, Ilya enters Shane. His cock slips in, and Shane eats him up greatfully. 

Ilya’s thrusts are quick, and they hit Shane’s prostate instantly. They huff and puff into one another’s mouths, and Shane closes his eyes to consume himself with the feeling. 

He flinches when a hot wetness lands across his cheek. His eyes burst open, confused as to why Ilya was crying. Shane searched Ilya’s eyes first, seeing no sorrow. 

But then he looked down and saw the deep crimson slipping from Ilya’s nose. Ilya didn’t even notice until the second drop of blood fell from his nose and landed on Shane’s chin. 

“Blyat!” Ilya growled, his body instantly detaching itself from Shane as he pinched his nose and scrambled off the bed. The nose was dripping terribly now, and he left a trail of blood across the wood flooring while he rushed into the washroom. 

Shane tried not to think of Ilya’s blood on his face, or of it now dripping onto his naked chest. He focused on Ilya and rushed out of the bed to follow him. 

Ilya was holding his chin up toward the ceiling, toilet paper stuffed up his nose as he groaned and moaned with frustration. He didn’t sound in pain, which was a good start. 

“Shit…Ilya, I’m sorry.” Shane didn’t know what to do. He battled with his feelings as he watched Ilya attempt to tame the drizzle of blood. It had only bled a little right after Shane had punched him, but apparently their…activity had aggravated it. 

“No, no, do not apologize,” Ilya sounded nasally with the toilet paper up his nose. He slowly removed it and stuffed a new mound up there. The bleeding was already going down. 

Shane moved a little closer. Once he got to the mirror, he looked at himself and winced. 

He wasn’t hard anymore, that was for sure. Ilya’s blood smeared across Shane’s cheek and chin, and a drop of it was also trailing down between his pecs. Shane tried not to gag at the sight. He fucking hated blood. 

“Here,” Ilya said. He had taken another roll of toilet paper and wetted it, then carefully began to dab the blood off Shane’s face first. 

They looked at each other now, and Shane couldn’t help but smile fondly at the other man. Ilya looked funny with the stuffed nose and dried blood around his upper lip. 

“What are you smiling at, hm?” Ilya teased, his brow raising while he grabbed another strand of toilet paper to clean Shane’s chin next. 

Shane continued smirking; it was a shy tug at the corner of his lips. Ilya’s calm presence dampened the guilt and worry in Shane’s gut. 

“At least I know my boyfriend is not just pretty anymore. He also has very strong punch.”

Ilya meant it as another tease, but Shane’s smile faltered. Just as he was feeling better, he immediately went back to feeling bad about his behaviour. Yes, Ilya had done him wrong. But he had never laid a hand on Shane. Not once. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered, his voice shaky as he shakily moved a hand up to brush one of Ilya’s ringlets away from his forehead. 

Ilya shook his head, his hands coming up to cup at either side of Shane’s jaw. He moved them so their foreheads touched. They stood there, feeling one another’s skin touching for a few moments before Ilya leaned in to meet Shane in a kiss. It was soft, and Shane could feel the tickle of the toilet paper that was still shoved up Ilya’s nostrils. 

He separated himself from Ilya, his face scrunched up in a grimace. He couldn’t help it. This was gross. 

“Can we shower?” Shane asked, his head tilting towards the shower. Ilya took a look at himself in the mirror, inspecting his nose for a few moments before deciding that he could remove the toilet paper from his nostrils. No blood gushed out in response, which was a win. 

“Yes, we should shower,” Ilya agreed, his smile appearing as he met Shane’s eyes in the mirror. They both looked a mess, Shane with Ilya’s blood still dried on his chest, and Ilya with it dried on his upper lip. 

Hopefully, this was the last of the bloodshed. Shane never wanted to see his or Ilya’s blood ever again. 

-

“I swear to you, Rozanov, don’t ever die again or this entire gang is getting sent to Rex’s. That boy has a wicked swing!” Marleau groans as he slumps into the couch. They had all shown up in increments throughout the next day, and each time Shane winced at the new injury flashed across the boys’ faces. 

Marleau looked particularly brutal. He had a cut across his brow, a massive, swollen bruise on his cheekbone, and a cut scabbed over in the middle of it. It looked like Shane had clawed his face half to death. Shane didn’t realize he had that much rage built up inside of him. 

“Marleau, I-” Shane tried to apologize from his place under Ilya’s arm as they shared one of the lounge chairs, but Marleau put a hand out to stop him. 

“No apologies needed, Hollander. I’m just glad you gave Roz a bent nose, too.” 

All the boys laughed along at Marleau’s joke. He was partially right. Ilya’s nose wasn’t broken, but the bleeding had come and gone throughout the night. The first nosebleed during sex was enough to kill the arousal for the both of them, but it had been nice to be in one another’s arms with no expectations. 

“I was never happier than when I saw Shane’s fist connect with Ilya’s face!” Troy chuckled, his hand coming out to pat Ilya’s shoulder from beside him. Ilya shrugged it off with a pout. 

“Fuck off, Barrett,” Ilya grumbled. But there was no bite to it. He knew he deserved it. 

“So what’s next for the lovebirds?” Wyatt asked, his arm hanging over Luca’s shoulder. The whole gang was here now, and Shane suddenly realized that every eye in the room had landed on him and Ilya at the question. Shane gulped and looked to Ilya for an answer. He noticed the twinkle in his boyfriend's eyes. Ilya scanned the faces of each of the boys awaiting his response. 

Ilya squeezed Shane’s shoulder and answered. 

Chapter End Notes

Alright, well...so sorry for the cliffhanger. I'm actually not sure I like it at all lol but I genuinely didn't want to fuck up this posting schedule since we've only got one chapter left. I hope this wasn't too bad to read lol

I felt it was much needed for Shane to beat up as much people as possible in this chapter, including Ilya, since they fucking deserve it lol. Now they know not to fuck with him ever again.

See you next weekend for the final chapter!! It's bittersweet

Chapter 11: epilogue: somehow I knew we'd survive

Chapter Notes

We are finally here! The end!

I'm sorry for the late update on the last chapter, but I've started a new job and I needed to prioritize that. But also, this has a crazy ass 14k word count, so I hope you can forgive me with this very long chapter.

This chapter is completely dedicated to my childhood growing up in Ontario, and the road trips I had to Sudbury. Canada and Ontario is a beautiful place, and its burning at the moment. Throughout writing this chapter I thought of the Indigenous communities effected by the fires, and I hope I can share how beautiful Canada is through my writing.

Chapter title is Language by Spirit Blue.

The sun was rising across the lake when they decided it was time to leave Montreal, the cottage, and their lives behind. Shane got all his things from Ilya already, and they packed light. Ilya had also gotten little storage compartments bolted to the side of his motorcycle so they could put all their stuff in them. It didn’t take long to stuff their lives inside two little boxes on the side of Ilya’s bike, and then it was time to leave. 

They had said their goodbyes to the other boys last night, and Shane had watched their rear lights disappear into the forest as they grew further and further away. He had to admit that his chest tightened the further his friends had gone. Ilya had looked sad, too, although he never admitted it. The cottage was blanketed in a heavy silence when everyone had left, and they both felt it. 

Shane was waiting outside. He had locked up the storage compartments on the bike as Ilya did one last sweep of the cottage. 

When the door opened, he appeared looking as handsome as he always did. He showed no sign of sadness or exhaustion. Ilya held his head high on his shoulders as he walked down the steps towards Shane. 

And there, in his grip, were two helmets. Shane blinked in confusion at first, until Ilya was right in front of him and handing Shane his own. The other was an open-faced helmet, unlike Shane’s which covered his entire head. The only things hidden for Ilya would be his ears and his hair. 

“When did you decide to wear one?” Shane teased as he grabbed his own from Ilya. 

Ilya shrugged as he shuffled on his helmet; it looked good on him and was a sleek black like Shane’s. It matched his dark leather outfit. He had a motorcycle jacket on, and it now had the Harley-Davidson logo on the back instead of the Centaurs. Shane had a matching one. 

The helmet wasn’t nearly as much protection as Shane’s, but Ilya looked extremely handsome in it as he shifted the helmet into place and finally met Shane’s eyes. They stared at one another for a breath, and then Ilya answered. 

“I decided I want to live a little longer.” 

Ilya’s answer almost made Shane melt, and it sounded fake. He had never thought Ilya Rozanov would care about his own protection. But here he was. Shane hid his giant smile by putting on his own helmet, and stepped back to allow Ilya to double-check the storage compartments before swinging onto the bike. Shane wiggled his helmet into place and then swung a leg over to slot himself behind Ilya. He moulded Ilya's body effortlessly. 

“Ready?” Ilya asked, his eyes staring off towards the cottage. From here they could still see slivers of the lake through the windows, and Shane felt tears blur his vision. 

But soon he’d be seeing the Ocean, not just a lake. 

“Yeah,” Shane answered. He tried to hide the shakiness in his tone as Ilya started up the bike and revved it twice as a goodbye to the cottage before reversing out and driving off. 

The trees whipped around them, and it was a beautiful sight to watch the sun leak through them as it rose higher into the sky. It glimmered in Shane’s vision, and he winked in a greeting to the daylight through his visor. 

The choppy gravel turned into slick highway pavement, and then they were flying. Ilya was fast, and Shane didn’t feel fear inside him as he had with Pete. Wrapping his arms around Ilya’s middle was the safest he could possibly be. 

Ilya didn’t weave through traffic as well; he kept a safe distance from cars and trucks and was in no rush. They had over a week's journey ahead of them through Canada. Ilya had also made it clear he wanted them to take their time and enjoy the road trip. 

Suddenly, a rumble came from behind Shane. He had thought it was Ilya’s bike at first, but then it doubled and then tripled. Shane whipped his head behind him, and his eyes widened as he saw the familiar bikes rolling a few meters behind them in the same lane. 

Hayden and Marleau’s bikes. That’s what Shane noticed first. He didn’t want to distract Ilya, but tightened his hold on Ilya’s biker jacket so he could continue to look back. He smiled so big his cheeks hurt. 

And then, from two cars away, two more bikes appeared. They changed lanes and then sped up to meet Ilya at his handlebars. Two people were on one, and one on another. 

Harris and Troy smiled widely at them, Wyatt sticking his tongue out. Shane laughed loudly in surprise and pure happiness. 

“Woo!” Ilya yelled through the wind, and Shane tightened his thighs across the seat before lifting his arms up into the air. They were caught in the wind, but it was a good kind of pressure. He raised his fists into the sky with peace signs. He only wished the wind didn’t block him from saying all the things he wanted to say in the moment. 

‘Thank you. Come visit us. I love you all.’ He thought to himself. Tears fell down his cheeks as they fell behind Ilya, and gradually left at the next highway exit. They waved them off one by one, and Shane held onto Ilya with one hand as he waved until he couldn’t see them any longer. 

The tears didn’t catch in the wind this time; they were stuck in his helmet and across his cheeks. He sniffled and burrowed his head deep into Ilya’s shoulder, but never stopped smiling. 

-

Their first night was in Sudbury. Shane knew he had mentioned his dreams to Ilya when he had been sick, and told Ilya about his childhood cottage and the beautiful lakes that stretched across the land. Shane didn’t even know Ilya had driven to Sudbury until they reached the French River trading post. 

It was a cute little shop on the side of the highway. Made of wood and smelling of fudge and maple syrup, it was something locked inside Shane’s memory forever. He remembers when he was a kid, he’d rush to the back where the stuffed animals were. His mom would give him a raised brow when he’d return with a different animal every time. beavers, moose, bears. His mom would say yes every single time to them. 

“No way!” Shane gasped as Ilya pulled into the parking lot. Shane immediately shrugged off his helmet and grinned up towards the familiar surroundings. 

“What? Do you know this place?” Ilya genuinely looked confused, as if he hadn’t taken Shane through time and back into his childhood. 

“I went here all the time when I was a kid!” Shane slid off the bike too fast due to how excited he was, and Ilya chided him as he circled Shane’s waist to steady him. 

“C’mon! I gotta show you the stuffed animals!” He waited impatiently for Ilya to get off the bike, and then promptly grabbed his boyfriend's hand and rushed them into the store. 

They didn’t stick out too much. Many bikers stopped here. The ladies at the front counter barely gave them a look before Shane was guiding Ilya towards the toy collection. It was amazing how his memory returned in a flash, and he could immediately map out the whole place. 

Shane didn’t let go of Ilya’s hand until he was grabbing for a Loon stuffie on the shelf. His hands curved around the plush middle of the toy, and his smile grew as he raised it upwards to show it off. 

Ilya smiled, his eyes moving around the stuffed toy. He grabbed it gingerly from Shane’s hand to inspect it more. 

“Does not look very scary now,” Ilya teased. His large hands looked even larger wrapped around the toy. 

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” Shane was extremely amused by Ilya’s observation, and he wanted to kiss all over his face. But he held himself back, waiting to see the answer.

Ilya looked up with a raised brow, nodded to himself, and then walked towards the front of the store. Shane stayed where he was for a moment, surprised at Ilya’s actions, but then noticed Ilya walking to the cash register with the toy still in his grip. 

He allowed Ilya to buy the toy and took his time walking to the front, Shane’s eyes glazing over the shelves filled with different Canadian merchandise. Snow globes, hats, many irrelevant little knick-knacks that you bought for a person to show you cared. 

When Shane got to the front, Ilya was patiently waiting for him. He opened the door, and they made their way back towards the motorcycle.

“You didn’t have to get that for me, you know?” Shane blushed when Ilya snapped the tag off the plush and gave it another thorough look. Ilya shrugged and met Shane’s eyes.

“Is not for you. Is for her.” 

Shane’s brows rose when Ilya nodded towards the bike. Ilya proceeded to grab some cords from inside one of the storage compartments at the back of the motorcycle. They had overpacked them, mostly in case one of them snapped while they were camping, so they had some to spare. Shane was mesmerized as Ilya strapped the little loon to the back cage on the bike so it was looking behind them. 

“It will protect us and her when we drive. It will use its scary wolf noise.” 

Shane burst out laughing, his hands reaching out to pet the loon’s little head. Ilya’s hand came down soothingly across his lower back, watching. 

Then they were back on the road. It wasn’t hard to find a campground. When they got there, barely anyone was there. Just them, the loon plush, and the stupid tent they now had to build. 

Shane wasn’t entirely excited about camping. He knew it would save them money, and he was looking forward to cuddling in the tent…but he preferred the cottage. 

He tried not to think too much about it. Shane focused on the sweet smell of cedar around him, the nature so loud with the mix of water against the shore and trees rustling with the wind. As the sun began to set, they managed to successfully set up the tent. 

“Ramen for dinner?” Ilya asks as he gathers logs for the fire. Shane hums in agreement and slumps down in front of the tent. His butt was already numb from the long drive, and he knew it was only gonna get worse.

“Tired?” Ilya asked after a few beats of silence. Shane watched Ilya work with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” Shane licked his lips, sitting up to watch closely as Ilya ignited the fire easily. The orange and yellow flames licked towards the sky, flaking pieces of ash near Shane’s feet.

“But happy?” Ilya pries with a hint of worry in his tone. Shane meets Ilya’s eyes and gives him a genuine smile.

“Very,” Shane whispers. He doesn’t know if he could say it louder or his voice would wobble. 

-

Next was Thunder Bay. It was a long, long drive. One that had to be chopped up with a lunch in Sault Ste. Marie. They got up at the crack of dawn, the sunlight barely peeking over the lake as they packed their belongings and listened to the trills of the tree frogs. The sky was almost orange when Ilya revved his engine and wheeled them off to their next destination. 

Sault. Ste. Marie was beautiful, and they had to go over a large bridge that looked over the lake. It stretched forever, the wind barely out as the sun heated Shane’s back. 

They walked around, dipped their toes in the water, and went grocery shopping. A lot of boring stuff. Shane was just happy to be off the bike for a bit. But Ilya was strict on time, and when they fooled around enough, he gathered them back on the bike and moved towards their overnight location. 

When they finally did reach Thunder Bay, the stars were already out. The trees whipped around them as they searched for a camping ground, and Ilya had eventually found the perfect spot. 

Right near the water. It was similar to the one they had in Sudbury, but the ground was soft like sand, and they were deep in the woods. It felt strange hearing nothing but the chirping of bugs and rustling of leaves. 

“This is beautiful,” Shane mumbled with astonishment. Ilya was finishing getting the tent together, and Shane should be helping, but he was mesmerized by the lake and the hills around him. The moon was incredibly bright and full, and its reflection took up half the lake. 

He didn’t receive an answer, and Shane thought Ilya was too focused on building the tent. He could hear the ruffling behind him as he worked. 

But then Ilya walked past him and was as naked as the day he was born. His back muscles and the dimples across his ass had deep shadows from the moonlight that Shane focused on. 

Ilya didn’t look back; he walked right into the lake until he was waist-high. Then, he finally turned to face Shane with a devilish grin. 

“There’s nobody here for miles!” Ilya called when he noticed Shane hesitating. Shane rolled his eyes at him. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m more worried that one of us is gonna drown and there will be no one to help us.” 

Ilya’s smile softened a bit; his eyes looked black in the darkness, and water lapped gently against his hips as he waited for Shane to give in. 

“I would never let you drown.” Ilya sounded so serious all of a sudden. Shane was shocked at how quickly Ilya could get protective, even when there wasn’t an imminent threat. 

To reassure Ilya and get him out of his head, Shane began to strip. He made sure to fold his clothes and put them on top of one of their bags so they didn't get wet. Then, when he was fully naked, he teased Ilya more by grabbing at his clothes next to fold and put near his. 

When Shane turned back around, Ilya was low in the water like an alligator. His hair was wet and slicked back, and his nose was dipped under the water as he swam and watched Shane mysteriously. The moonlight shone so bright that it showed slivers of Ilya’s backside and arms from under the lake's surface. 

Shane slowly approached the water. He dipped his toes and suppressed the shiver due to the cold. Taking a deep breath, he walked further into the water and didn’t stop until he was waist-high. Then, Ilya swam over and circled his arms around his waist with a grin. 

They were in the moon’s spotlight, now completely engulfed in its white glow. Ilya looked heavenly, his cheekbones prominent, collarbones slick, and hair already curling at the ends when out of the water. 

They grew closer to one another, body on body. Ilya was humming under his breath with the waves. Shane couldn’t look away from him, completely entranced. 

Then Ilya grabbed a handful of Shane’s ass, fingertips already grazing Shane’s hole. It made Shane huff out a breath of surprise, and stumble closer into Ilya.

“We’re not fucking in the water,” Shane grumbled, his face souring as he looked down at the murky lake. He’d go insane from thinking about what could be crawling up his ass alongside Ilya’s dick. It was also already sore from the long bike ride. 

“Mhm, but it is easier to do this,” Ilya suddenly grabbed behind Shane’s thighs and lifted him so he was almost fully out of the water. The buoyancy kept him from falling as he wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist, and it allowed Ilya to grip him with no strain. 

Shane felt his cock jump.

“No. No fricken way. We can make out but-“ 

“Oh, really? Just make out? I am sure it will not excavate."  

Shane huffed out a laugh. 

“It’s escalate. And yeah, the thought of getting parasites up my ass is enough to keep this strictly to kissing.” 

Ilya’s brows raised high into his forehead. Even though Shane wasn’t impressed, he still kept his legs around Ilya. He enjoyed the feeling, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“You think parasites aren’t already up there? You are still naked in lake.” Ilya wasn’t helping the situation.

Shane began to wiggle out of Ilya’s grip, but Ilya tightened his hands against Shane’s thighs to keep him still. That also didn’t help Shane’s cock, and it fattened up more.

“Stop, Ilya, that’s gross. Just…let me down, and you can fuck me in the tent, okay?” Shane stopped his struggling, realizing Ilya was too strong and giving up. He raised his arms to wrap around Ilya’s neck instead, their eyes meeting again.

“Mmm, okay.” Ilya didn’t have to think long about Shane’s words. Swiftly, he began to walk towards the shore with Shane still in his arms.

“I can walk, you know? And I’m gonna get heavy soon!” Shane gripped Ilya’s neck tighter in fear that he was going to be dropped. He really didn’t want to get his hair wet. But Ilya never loosened his grip. Shane was continuously held tightly in Ilya’s grasp as he marched out of the water and towards the tent. They were both dripping wet.

“Okay, okay! Put me down!” Shane wiggled free, and Ilya dropped him gracefully in front of the tent. It was done, but Shane hesitated. He didn’t want to get it wet inside. 

“Here,” Ilya noticed immediately, because he was a good boyfriend, and Ilya’s shirt was shoved into Shane’s hands to dry off with. Ilya used his pants and never touched Shane’s clothes. 

“You can use my shirt if you want…” Shane was only being polite, but Ilya was shaking his head before Shane could finish. He threw the pants back onto the ground and began to crawl into the tent.

“You will not like them wet. Mine will dry,” Ilya explained. Shane was amazed by how much Ilya knew about him. Their whole relationship has felt like a blur of emotions, but still, Ilya remembered the little things. 

“They won’t dry like that,” Shane mumbled. He couldn’t help himself as he grabbed for Ilya’s now wet pants and shirt and went to the motorcycle. He hung the two garments over each of the handlebars so they’d be able to dry faster. 

When he turned around, the sight before him made him salivate. 

Ilya’s body was seen through the tent, the moonlight still lighting the way. He was lying on his back with his hands propped behind his head, causing his biceps to flex in the shadows. As Shane trailed his eyes down his body, they caught the shine of the cross necklace and the dampness of Ilya’s chest. 

Then there was his cock, so long and already dripping precum as it stood tall and stiff upon his hip. 

Like a wolf roaming through the forest, Shane stalked towards the tent while licking his canines for a feast. 

-

When they finally crossed into Manitoba, the landscape began to flatten. It had a different kind of beauty compared to Quebec and Ontario, and it was one Shane had never seen before. 

The highway was smooth, unlike Sudbury’s rocky edges. The grey from Toronto and Ottawa evaporated into endless green as they roared off down the highway. Shane had flipped up his visor to watch the farmer’s fields. They were going to ride into Winnipeg soon. 

But then the bike started to make a strange rattling noise. It started when Ilya hit a particularly steep bump, and Shane looked down at the back wheels with a frown. 

They made it a few more miles before Ilya finally pulled over at a gas station. 

“That doesn’t sound good,” Shane mumbled as he shrugged off his helmet and searched Ilya’s expression. Ilya didn’t take off his helmet just yet; instead, he kneeled down to look at the insides of the bike with a frown. 

As time passed, Shane got antsy. Ilya wasn’t saying anything. He got off the bike carefully and stepped back to watch Ilya work. Ilya started by shrugging off his jacket, unclipping his helmet, and then went into the storage boxes to grab a mini tool box. 

More time passed, and Ilya was very focused. Shane felt bad for just staring, but he didn’t want to pry. So, he fished for his wallet in the box, gave the Loon plush a soft pet on the crown of its head, and went to the gas station to grab them a drink and some food. 

When he returned, Ilya already had oil and grease caked up his arms. His white tank top was slathered with black, and his fingers were darkened as well. 

“Is it bad?” Shane asked, because he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Ilya clicked his tongue in response and finally got out from under the bike to look at Shane. 

He looked fucking ravishing. The sweat caked his curls and caused them to stick to his forehead. When Ilya wiped at it, a smear of grease darkened his temple. 

“No, not bad. Not good, either. But can be fixed.” 

Shane nodded, gulping loudly. He gave Ilya some Gatorade and took a seat on the curb as Ilya chugged the bottle. 

This was pure torture, watching Ilya’s Adams apple move with the heavy gulps. How filthy he was, how tight that fucking tank top was. 

Shane wanted to swallow him whole. 

Ilya didn’t even realize what he was doing to Shane. He continued on like it was nothing, placing the Gatorade beside him as he went back to fixing the bike. He’d swear under his breath in Russian if something didn’t go the way he wanted to, metal clanked, and the bike shifted. 

And Shane’s pants tightened. He was going to combust. 

“There,” Ilya huffed out all of a sudden. It felt like hours had gone by before Ilya removed himself from the bike and sat back on his knees. Grease coated his arms, little patches of it reaching his elbows. His shirt was the same, and his pecs looked fucking amazing in it, especially covered in grease. 

He got up and walked towards Shane, huffing in exhaustion as he took another swig of the Gatorade. Shane didn’t speak. He couldn’t. 

“It was something loose in gas tank. It should be fine. I will check when we get farther away.” Ilya got up and finally inspected his state. He frowned at the grime and looked at Shane apologetically. As if he needed to apologize. 

“I’m sorry, baby; I will clean up in the bathroom before we go. Da?” 

Shane nodded. He felt as if he had swallowed his tongue. His Gatorade bottle was hiding his painfully hard erection. 

He was confused. He hated getting dirty; he hated the feeling of being dirty. He had refused to let Ilya fuck him in the lake, but now he’s looking at his boyfriend like a piece of meat because he has grease caked across his torso and arms. How did that make sense? 

Shane decided, as Ilya began to head towards the washrooms at the side of the gas station, that he didn’t give a fuck. He didn’t need to make sense of it. 

He needed Ilya to fuck him. He needed Ilya to make him just as dirty as he was. 

As Ilya disappeared into the washroom, Shane got up from the curb. He locked the storage boxes on the bike, and then strode towards where Ilya had entered. He felt like a famished dog, desperate for a meal. 

He tried the door, but it was locked. He knocked on it feverishly.

“Ilya, it’s me!” Shane called out, keeping his voice calm. 

A short pause, and then the door opened. Ilya was holding paper towels in his hand. He hadn’t even gotten to dampening them before Shane got to the door. Good. 

Shane forced his way inside and shoved Ilya against the tiled wall across the bathroom. He didn’t care about the lock- not yet, at least; he needed to share his intentions. 

“Shane, what?” Ilya asked innocently, but then his mouth hung open when Shane knelt down on the filthy bathroom floor to undo his belt.

“I’m all dirty,” Ilya huffed out, his hands hovering near Shane’s head, but not touching. Shane looked up and then answered by swallowing Ilya down until his head hit the back of Shane’s throat.

“Fuck, baby,” Ilya moaned out, his hands fisting against the wall. Shane whined around Ilya’s cock and grabbed at one of Ilya’s wrists. He guided Ilya’s greasy hand to Shane’s throat, forcing him to cup it and feel the way his cock slid into Shane.

“So fucking dirty,” Ilya growled, his eyelids fluttering as Shake choked and gurgled. Spit fell from the corners of his mouth, and the grease from Ilya’s hands smeared across his throat and jawline while Ilya held him.

When Ilya’s thighs began to shake, Shane pulled off with a pop. Ilya looked stunning, staring down at him, Shane hungrily slid his hands up Ilya’s front, his fingers catching against the end of Ilya’s tank top. It moved up with his hands and bunched just at the bottom of Ilya’s pecs.

“I want you to fuck me. Right here,” Shane gasped out as he kissed up Ilya’s torso. When he reached Ilya’s lips, Ilya cupped both hands along his jaw. Shane moaned with encouragement. 

Then, he stepped back and undid his pants. He pushed them down below his ass and shuffled to the sink. There, he leaned forward and displayed himself for Ilya.

Ilya, with the patience of a saint, bit his lip and marvelled at Shane's position. Slowly, he walked towards the bathroom door with his jeans still undone and cock out. He locked it, and then made his way to Shane.

Greedily, he made sure to touch every part of Shane’s ass and hips. Shane could feel the wet smear of the grease and moaned with the sensation. He closed his eyes as Ilya leaned into him and pressed his chest to Shane’s back.

Then, because Ilya was smart and not high off the horny need for a fuck, Ilya turned on the faucet and washed two of his fingers. Shane huffed out a laugh as the grease blackened the porcelain white of the sink, and slowly Ilya’s fingers were cleaned. 

When they were good enough, Ilya happily plunged them into Shane’s hole using only his spit. Shane moaned loudly, his eyes looking up to watch himself in the mirror.

His throat and cheeks were covered in the dark grease. His hair was messy. Ilya’s curly hair was behind him, the man looking down and admiring his fingers entering Shane’s hole.

Shane smiled at his reflection. Licking his lips as Ilya pulled out his fingers and carefully entered him. When he was slotted to the hilt, Ilya placed his hands on either side of the counter, encasing Shane and looking over Shane’s shoulder with a smirk. 

They never broke eye contact from that bathroom mirror. The grease was coated across the sink and countertop. It was stained along Shane’s shirt and throat. It was the hottest thing Shane had experienced. 

And not once did he worry about the clean-up. 

-

“Left hand is clutch, you will hold onto it when starting the bike. Right hand is front brake; this lever here.”

Shane straddled Ilya’s motorcycle in the middle of a field. They were somewhere in the middle of Saskatchewan. Ilya stood in front of him, both feet planted on either side of the front wheel as he talked Shane through how to ride his bike. His hands grabbed Shane’s, guiding them towards the handlebars as he explained the anatomy. 

“Right hand is also throttle. Rev it toward you; do not go too hard, or you will fly forward.” 

Ilya was stern as he explained. He had promised that Shane would learn eventually during their road trip, and it was only when they got to the giant flattened planes of Saskatchewan that he decided they had enough ground to work with. No obstacles, no people, just them. 

He held Shane’s hands delicately and manoeuvred his fingers across the handlebars at each place he spoke about. Shane’s pointer and middle finger pressed against the brake and clutch, testing their strength. Ilya hovered. 

“Slowly squeeze brake, not too hard, da? Do not worry too much about rear brake at your right foot, press lightly on it. More power is on your right lever” 

Shane looked down, his boots feeling the brake on his right side. It was easy to press down on it. Then he looked to his left where the gear shift was. He knew to press down, and he’d go forward. 

“You go slow, da? No crazy moves.” Ilya stepped back, his arms coming out to fold against his chest. “Now show me a brake.” 

Shane didn’t know why he was blushing; maybe it was because of how serious Ilya was looking at him. His eyes had a hold on Shane’s body, and he was observing every piece of him. It made Shane squirm on the seat. 

He pressed his fingers into the right lever, pumping twice to show Ilya he knew where it was. Simultaneously, he pressed on the rear brake with his right foot. 

“Soft with right brake, remember.” Ilya nodded towards Shane’s feet, and Shane nodded back. 

“Show me going forward.” 

Shane gripped the right handlebar, revving it twice. He flicked his wrist backward, and Ilya nodded in approval. 

“Most important. Front wheel is shaking, you cannot stop. Where is kill switch?” 

Shane used his right thumb to press up on the switch embedded in the handlebar. The soft click rang through the air, and Ilya nodded again. 

“Can I go now?” Shane asked impatiently. He couldn’t stand the hard stare of his boyfriend any longer. It was a stare Ilya should save for the bedroom.

Ilya moved towards him again. He placed his hands on top of Shane’s across the handlebars. He held him there with that same stern stare. Shane was a puddle. 

“You will go in a circle around me. No riding out into field. Just circles. You need to get used to weight of the bike.” 

Shane reviewed the field around them. There was enough flat ground that he could work with. Ilya had chosen a good place. He wished he could fly off towards the horizon as Ilya did, but he knew he needed to pace himself. 

“No funny business. No showing off. That is for me to do, ponyal?”

“Understood,” Shane answered back in English. He was getting good at understanding Ilya’s Russian. He had a little dictionary stuffed in the front pocket of his backpack. 

Ilya took ten steps back. A safe distance, and slightly to the side in case Shane revved forward too fast. He nodded, and then waited. 

Shane turned the key and flicked off the kill switch. The bike immediately rumbled to life. He would never get tired of the feeling. It shook through his ass and up his spine, and it was an entirely new sensation with his hands gripping the handlebars. It sent tremors through his fingertips, up his arms, and into his shoulders. His whole body was vibrating. 

It was overwhelming, but Shane stabilized his breath. He let it out. Inhale, exhale. Then, when he was ready, he tightened his grip on the handlebars, recentered his feet on the pedals, and then slowly and carefully brought the throttle back. 

The bike jolted forward and instantly stopped when Shane got scared and let it go. The bike was back to a soft idle. Shane looked to Ilya, who took another step back. He didn’t look scared and still held his stern expression. He was watching carefully. 

Shane tried again. He went even lighter, and slowly, as soft as butter, the bike began to roll forward. The engine roared as he worked through it, and then, while it moved forward, he began to turn the handlebars to the right. 

Now he was moving in a circle around Ilya. It was stop-and-go, and sometimes he’d jolt a little out of formation, but by the third rotation he was able to keep a consistent pace. 

“Look at you go, malysh!” Ilya beamed, his eyes still watching protectively, but a smile broke across his face as he moved his body with Shane’s circles. He made sure his back was never to Shane, and Shane was moving at a slow enough pace that wasn’t getting dizzy. 

At the praise, Shane went a little faster. Ilya was still smiling, but stopped following Shane with his body. Instead, he stood still and watched with only his eyes. Shane enjoyed seeing the flash of the Harley-Davidson logo on his back, or the look Ilya would give when they met eyes over his shoulder. 

He grew too cocky, though, because of course he did. Ilya’s smile was just so big and proud; Shane wanted to see more of it. So, he revved the throttle a little too hard and went flying out of his circle toward the open field. 

Ilya shouted something, but Shane didn’t hear him. He was locked into the feeling of adrenaline. He revved the bike a bit more, and he enjoyed how his breath locked inside his throat as he flew down the field. 

But then he hit a bump he wasn’t expecting. There was a patch of tall grass, and it sent him flying upwards. Shane’s chest almost hit the handlebars as he was jolted around across the bike. He swiftly let go and rolled as the bike tumbled to its side behind him. 

“Yebat! Shane!” 

Shane shook out the stars in his vision, staring at the dirt on his hands. He promptly began to laugh hysterically into the ground. He had never felt so alive. 

Feet stomped through the field, and suddenly Ilya’s hands were all over him. They pressed against Shane’s legs, then up to squeeze his hips, arms, and finally cup his jaw. They searched for injuries, and Ilya’s eyes were wild when they met Shane’s. Shane was still giggling. 

“Chort voz’mi, baby. I told you nothing crazy!” 

Then they simply stared at one another. Ilya was still hovering on top of Shane, hands cupping his face. Ilya looked more traumatized than Shane was. 

To remedy the situation, Shane leaned up and smashed his lips into Ilya’s. Ilya let out a surprised huff at the contact, but leaned into the kiss instantly. They made out with heavy hands and strings of spit, and Shane managed to roll them across the grass until he was straddling Ilya’s hips.

“I should turn off the bike,” Ilya mumbled against Shane’s lips. Shane pulled away, finally taking in his surroundings since the tumble. 

The bike was still idling behind them. Ilya had been too concerned for Shane to care about it. It was settled on its side, the handlebars cocked to the side. It looked unharmed. 

Now Shane felt bad. The adrenaline wore off and changed into guilt. The endorphins that had shot around Shane’s brain were like a drug. He had spaced out as soon as he went full throttle, the wind in his hair and caressing his cheeks was a feeling like no other. And he had been the one revving the engine this time. 

He got off Ilya’s lap, allowing the man to get up and walk over to the bike. Ilya took his time checking it over, brushing off dirt and grass, then propping it up with the kickstand and running his hands down the handlebars. Whatever he accessed was good enough, because he nodded to himself and walked back to Shane.

Shane still hadn’t moved. But Ilya noticed the guilty expression on his face. He let out a soft chuckle and knelt down to his level.

“Is the bike okay?” Shane asked in a weary voice. He picked at his fingers with nerves. 

Ilya cocked his head to the side, watching Shane. 

“Bike is fine. Are you okay?” Ilya turned the question on him. Even though he had checked Shane over, he still asked.

“Yeah…that was…” Shane trailed off; he didn’t know how to describe-

“A rush?” Ilya finished for him. Shane looked up and slowly nodded. 

“You are too reckless. It reminds me of myself. I do not want you to break that beautiful face.” Ilya stood back up and moved a hand out for Shane to take. 

Instead, Shane gave Ilya a look at the compliment. He still wasn’t used to Ilya calling him beautiful and pretty; Shane wasn’t sure if he ever would be. 

In response, when he grabbed Ilya's hand, he pulled as hard as he could, causing Ilya to tumble forward and lose his balance. He fell hard with an ‘ompf!’ Right beside Shane. 

Then Shane straddled him again and happily sat on Ilya’s chest. 

“You are a brat, too!” Ilya groans out, his hands coming out to grab hold of Shane’s waist. Shane didn’t have his entire body weight on Ilya’s chest, making sure to lock his knees so he was hovering. Ilya looked like he was in heaven nonetheless. 

Scooting back so Shane had a better angle, he leaned down and kissed Ilya sloppily. Ilya hummed into it, his hands wandering to squeeze Shane’s ass.

“Now can I ride you?” Shane asked with a mischievous grin. For good measure, he shuffled until his ass was fully over Ilya’s groin. He began to grind down on him.

“Mhm, in the dirt?” Ilya questions. They don’t stop kissing.

“No one’s here. And it’s not like we haven’t fucked outside before.” Shane made a good point; he knows he did. But when he moved to grab for Ilya’s belt buckle, he was surprised to feel Ilya’s hands stop him.

“We are close to the motel. I would like to fuck you in a bed, moya lyubov.” 

Shane couldn’t complain about that. They had been on the road for many, many hours. They also had been camping in the fields for the past couple of days. It would be nice to have a bed. Shane could feel his muscles aching from sitting on the motorcycle for so long. His ass was numb more than not, and his thighs cramped. There would be running water, too. 

“Fine, then we can shower, and you can fuck me?” Shane got up off Ilya’s body, the man looking up at him with a very amused grin. 

“What?” Shane asked, his hand coming out to help Ilya up. Ilya took it, and once he was on two feet, he kept his hand stuck to Shane’s and pulled him in closer. That grin was still there.

“So vulgar. Is that all I am to you now? A piece of meat?”

Shane rolled his eyes and shoved at Ilya’s chest. He began to walk towards the bike. Ilya sauntered behind him.

“If we go any further on this bike, I’m not going to be able to feel my ass for weeks,” Shane grumbled, but it was playful. He loved every second of this trip.

Ilya caught up to him and snaked his arms around Shane’s waist, his grip tightening so he could tug Shane closer against his body. They were next to his bike, and both allowed the breeze to brush over them and across the endless field. 

It was really beautiful here. Much more beautiful than Ottawa. Yes, there was a lot of nothing. But that’s what Shane loved the most. No people to hurt them, no one to judge or stare. Just them. 

“So you want me to fuck you so it will hurt even more to sit the next time we are on bike?” Ilya is relentless with the teasing, and Shane couldn’t roll his eyes any harder. 

He decided not to answer; instead, he untangled himself from Ilya’s arms and shoved the man towards the bike so they could get to the hotel.

-

Nothing was special about the motel. It wasn’t fancy, nor was it incredibly run-down. It was cute and tucked away in the middle of nowhere. Lots of trucks lined the side of the roads, from truck drivers who had long nights on the road and desired a bed. Other than that, the parking lot was empty. 

Their door was baby blue when Ilya got the keys to the room. The rusted letters 1410 barely held onto the front of it. When they entered, the room didn’t look sketchy at all. It simply seemed stuck in the 80s with the ugly floral bedding and bad wallpaper peeling at the corners from the heavy heat. 

It was a blessing for the night, no matter what. Shane was itching for a shower. It looked like they couldn’t do it together, so he was calling dibs first.

“Can I shower first?” Shane asked, already making his way to the bathroom across the room. Ilya had brought in only one bag and had set it down on the table near the window.

“Mhm, guess I cannot join?” It was like Ilya was reading Shane’s mind. Because he did want Ilya to join, he barely showered alone anymore. But as soon as he stepped into the bathroom and assessed the layout, he knew there would be no way. 

There wasn’t a tub, just an ugly green shower with an even uglier glass door to keep the water out. He could barely turn in the washroom, let alone have a whole other person in there. 

A shame. But maybe this was a good thing. They did need their own space. Even if it was only for a few minutes.

A huff of disappointment came from behind him, and Shane blinked over his shoulder to see Ilya looming behind him and inspecting the bathroom. He didn’t look impressed. 

“I’m sorry, solnyshko. It was the only hotel on our route-“

“No, no, don't apologize. I like it, really. This is part of the experience.” Shane cut Ilya off to immediately reassure him. He didn’t want apologies; this was perfect. 

Ilya gave him a weary smile and a soft caress across the cheekbone before walking back towards the bed. Shane grabbed his pajamas and closed the door to have some peace in the shower. 

It felt delicious to be under the cool shower head. The water pelted across his face and body like a deep massage, and he exhaled into the air with relief. He used the shitty shampoo and body wash that the motel provided. It was better than what he had before. He made note to take it with them when they left, as well. 

Shane didn’t want to take too long. He was surprised as the minutes ticked by that Ilya didn’t come bursting through the bathroom door and squeeze his way into the shower, no matter how tight the space was. But Shane didn’t hear any movement at all from outside the bathroom, probably due to how heavily the water was pounding into his ears. 

Once he had washed the essentials and his hair, and done some prep for the night's activities, he got out of the shower and happily wrapped himself in the towel. 

Shane was mid-grab for his pajamas when he decided not to put them on. A mischievous idea popped into his brain, and he decided to brush his teeth and then waltz out into the room with only the towel wrapped around his waist. 

He was surprised to see Ilya wasn’t lounging on the bed when he walked in. Shane swept his gaze across the room and narrowed his eyes toward the open hotel room door. 

Immediately, he wanted to cover himself thinking that someone had broken in. But then he could see Ilya’s shoulder and a cigarette hanging from his hand in the doorway. He was smoking on the porch out front. 

Shane shifted, moving a few steps towards the door. They were facing a field of nothing, and no cars were out front. He wasn’t scared someone would see him.

Ilya heard his feet against the floor, and he made a funny movement with his eyes. They looked nonchalantly towards Shane at first, but then he snapped them back in surprise at the towel. 

“You are a tease,” Ilya purred as he sucked on the cigarette. But he wasn’t moving from his seat. Shane wanted him to move. 

So, he loosened the towel and allowed it to fall to his feet. He was only three steps from the open door of the motel room. It was like a jolt of electricity went through Ilya’s body because he flinched upwards, and his cigarette flicked into the parking lot as he rushed inside with a string of swear words. 

“Someone could have seen you naked! You cannot just do that!” Ilya growled, his hands gluing themselves to Shane’s thighs and hoisting him up and towards the bed. Shane giggled into Ilya’s shoulder.

“No one’s here! I think I only gave some mosquitoes a show!” Shane teased, but he let out a huff as he was thrown onto the bed. Ilya didn’t follow; rather, he stood at the end of the bed with his hands on his hips.

“No one gets to see this body but me,” Ilya spoke sternly, his hands scrambling for his shirt as he lifted it above his head. Shane stayed where he was on the bed, watching as Ilya began to undo his pants next. 

“I will shower now. I want you prepped when I get back, yes?” Ilya’s voice was like honey as he commanded Shane’s next actions. Shane was, in return, a puddle. 

Shane nodded, and Ilya accepted the response and walked away toward the bathroom. Shane was very happy to watch his ass as he left. 

When the bathroom door closed, Shane got to work. Ilya had set their bags close to the bed, so he grabbed for the lube and settled himself back down across the mattress. He spread his legs along the floral bedspread, knees bending to reveal his hole to the air. He breathed out as he rubbed his fingers across his hole, teasing himself. 

He heard the shower turn on, and Shane imagined the water rolling off Ilya’s back, and droplets hanging off his curls as he washed down his hard body. The visuals were enough for him to eagerly push his fingers into himself. A soft groan fell from his lips as his mouth hung open, his eyes blown wide as they stared up at the popcorn ceiling. 

His fingers pumped in and out. Shane forced himself to take it slow and gentle. He kept it at two digits so he could scissor and tug. When he felt comfortable enough, he managed to wiggle a third in. His back arched off the bed, and his remaining hand flew up to grip the pillow as he curled his knees closer to his chest. The stretch and tug at his rim was delicious. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Ilya’s voice rose through the heated air, and Shane gasped in shock. He didn’t hear the shower shut off or the door open. He was so blissed out from his own touch and the feeling of the bed underneath him. 

Ilya stood at the end of the bed. He didn’t bother with a towel, but it looked like he had dried most of himself off. His hair still dripped across his shoulders. 

Shane stilled his fingers, but kept his knees stiff to his chest so Ilya had a good view. He lifted his head off the bed to smirk Ilya’s way. 

“You gonna fuck me on a proper bed now, Rozanov?” Shane asked, his tone confident. He wiggled his hips for good measure, causing his fingers to go further inside of him. 

Ilya absorbed the sight and then stalked towards Shane on all fours. His hands came out to press against the mattress first, next was his right knee, and lastly his left. His damp curls hung in a curtain across his eyes, and he looked starving as he showed his teeth and began to crawl. 

Shane whimpered, his fingers leaving his hole. He pressed his arms above his head and tightened his hands into the pillows for purchase. 

Ilya started at Shane’s feet. He kissed the tops of each foot, and then began to nip along his shins, kissing around his knee, then along the inside of the other. He took his time, and Shane was a shaking mess by the time he got to his cock. 

But Ilya was evil, and he dodged his groin. He nipped at Shane’s hipbones, then licked up his bellybutton towards the valley between his pecs. Shane huffed, keeping his hands where they were. He wanted to push Ilya down to his cock, or throw Ilya off and ride him into the mattress. The teasing was relentless.

“Tell me you are mine.” Ilya’s voice was a low rumble, and it sent shockwaves through Shane’s body. Shane couldn’t suppress the whine that left his lips, his eyes wild as he looked down to meet Ilya’s hard and possessive gaze. 

Shane dared to remove a hand from the pillows above him. He brought it down to softly cup Ilya’s jaw, his thumb brushing up and down Ilya’s cheek soothingly. 

Flashes of the ‘property of’ jacket came into Shane’s vision. How powerful he had felt as soon as he shrugged on the clothing. With Ilya’s last name stitched onto his back, Shane felt untouchable, even if it ended up not being true. But it was a blissful facade, and he enjoyed cocooning himself in the jacket as if it were a barrier between him and the real world. 

He missed it. And he wondered what happened to it after the shooting. 

“I’m yours,” Shane whispered as if they were in a crowd. Only for Ilya to hear, even though they were lying in their bed.

Ilya closed his eyes at the reassurance, and he pressed his cheek further into Shane’s hands. He began to move his arms up and down Shane’s body, taking advantage of every dip and crevice.

“Please,” Shane tried to hide the whine in his throat, but the desperation grew inside of him like a hot fire. Ilya’s chest was pressed against his cock, and it was the only sense of relief he could get. Shane yearned for more. He wanted…he wanted…

“Fuck me, please,” Shane gasped out. Both his hands tangled themselves in Ilya’s curls as he tried to lift Ilya towards his head. Ilya followed with a chuckle, and finally their lips collided in a hungry mess of tongue and teeth. 

“You’re mine,” Ilya whispered into the kiss. Shane hummed in agreement, his legs wrapping around Ilya’s waist and keeping him in place. Ilya looked down at their cocks as they brushed together, his damp hair tickling Shane’s nose. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” Ilya reviewed, his voice rough like sandpaper. Shane wanted to speak, to beg, and plead. But the words were lodged in his throat; all he could do was rut upwards to chase the feeling. 

Ilya hushed him, a large hand coming down to halt Shane’s movements. His other hand wrapped around his cock, and teasingly began to press the tip into Shane’s hole. 

“Oh, fuck…” Shane spoke breathlessly, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as Ilya began to breach his entrance. He succumbed to Ilya’s cock immediately, his body relaxing into the mattress so it could take Ilya all in.

Ilya praised him with a soft kiss. He started with shallow thrusts, the tip entering and leaving Shane. Shane whined higher, and he removed one of his hands that rested on Ilya’s chest, migrating it to Ilya’s throat and squeezing.

Ilya groaned, the pressure making him thrust deeper and faster. It was just what Shane needed, and he kept hold of Ilya’s throat while he fucked him with wild abandon. 

Their orgasms grew in sync. Shane watched how Ilya’s chest inflated and deflated faster and faster, how his cheeks reddened and hair stuck to his forehead from sweat. Ilya sucked in his top lip, and Shane removed the hand from his throat to force two fingers into Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya’s hips twitched forward, and then he was cumming with a muffled wail. Shane kept his fingers stuck in Ilya’s mouth, allowing the other man to suck and come down from his high. 

“That was so hot,” Shane breathed out, his cock still hard and standing below him. He didn’t care. Ilya was a vision.

“You are evil,” Ilya growled while he slipped out of Shane. Protests sat at the tip of Shane’s tongue, but then all of a sudden Ilya was cupping his hands beneath Shane’s knees and shoving them all the way up to Shane’s ears.

“Oh my god,” Shane huffed shakily. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, and the feeling of Ilya’s cum leaking out of him was overwhelming. He took a deep breath and moved his hands to grip the pillows above him.

“Tak krasivo…” Ilya said under his breath as if he were stunned. Shane wiggled with discomfort, but then froze when Ilya leaned down and swiftly licked a strip from his hole to his balls.

“Ilya,” Shane moaned low, his knees clamping together around his chest. He started to breathe heavily with Ilya’s frantic and generous licks. His tongue was heavy on his hole, and it wiggled inside of him and moved out to swipe and suck into his taint.

Shane took a chance and moved his thighs so they weren’t crushing his cock. Ilya took that movement as a signal for him to change the position again, and Shane squealed when Ilya got up and moved so Shane was nearly half off the bed. His lower back and ass were in the air and being held by Ilya’s strong arms, and Shane had only his shoulders on the bed. 

“Fuck, holy fuck,” Shane cried out, the angle intense and so fucking hot. He could see Ilya tonguing his hole and looking down at him. He enjoyed how hard Ilya’s grip was on his thighs and ass so he didn’t fall back onto the bed. 

And Shane had a better angle to grip his cock. He tugged it fast, his orgasm crawling down his spine. 

“Fuck, baby, ah!” Shane squealed one last time before he was cumming. Due to the angle, his cum shot downwards and coated his chest and his own mouth. That earned a low moan from Ilya.

“Look at you,” Ilya praised as he slowly lowered Shane back to the mattress. He kissed quickly up Shane’s body until he got to the cum stained across Shane’s pecs. He licked and sucked at it happily. 

Then he got the cum splattered on Shane’s lips, and instead of licking it away, he licked it right into Shane’s mouth. 

Shane moaned and circled his arms around Ilya’s neck, pulling him in more. The taste wasn’t sweet or salty; it was just right. 

When they finally parted, Shane felt like a boneless mess. 

“Now we need to shower all over again,” Shane pointed out, his expression souring at how slick he was with sweat and other liquids. Not to mention the cum still leaking out of his hole. 

Jesus, and when they finally get a bed…they dirty it before it’s even slept on. 

-

When the tires of the bike passed over the border between Saskatchewan and Alberta, Shane’s old jacket started to plague his mind. 

He held it off for the rest of their drive through Saskatchewan. Shane enjoyed the loneliness that the province brought, how you couldn’t see anything for miles. Just plain, barren land, filled with farmers' crops and swaying grass. But then it started to dawn on him how far away from home they truly were, and the jacket was part of it. 

Stopping in Medicine Hat for lunch, they found a fish and chips stand and got takeout. The South Saskatchewan River went right through the city, and there were many places to sit and relax, so Ilya parked the motorcycle underneath a tree, and they laid out a blanket to eat their lunch on. 

It was peaceful. The wind wasn’t rough today, so the river almost looked like it wasn’t moving. 

Shane tried to focus on it, the stillness of his surroundings. But the questions he wanted to ask itched at the back of his head. The jacket. 

“You have not touched your food,” Ilya spoke up with a mouthful of fish. Shane would’ve chided him for speaking with his mouth full, but instead he gingerly took the takeout container off his lap and turned towards Ilya with a frown. 

Ilya’s eyes hardened, and he slowed his chewing to watch Shane’s movements. 

“Do you know what happened to my jacket?” Shane finally asked. His breath was even, and he tried not to show his nerves. 

Ilya’s reaction was strange. He finished chewing and then set his takeout beside him. He took his time answering as he wiped off the grease from the fish onto a napkin. 

He looked up into Shane’s eyes; they held a lot of trauma in them. The shooting, his brothers’ shooting, the kidnapping, the bombing. Shane saw it all flashing across Ilya’s eyes, and he immediately regretted asking. He knew the jacket was not just his; it was Ilya’s. And the reason Shane didn’t wear it anymore caused many open wounds that were still in the middle of healing. 

Before he could blurt out an apology and tell Ilya to forget he even asked, Ilya got up from his place on the blanket. Shane watched him silently. He began to pick anxiously at the bottoms of his pants from where he sat. 

Ilya fiddled around with the storage boxes on the bike. He had to take almost everything out: the tent, their bags, some food, blankets. Shane was about to ask Ilya what the hell he was doing, when, all of a sudden, he saw it. 

The leather shone in the sunlight, but Shane immediately noticed it wasn’t as shiny as when he wore it. It was worn and had seen better days, and the leather was cracked. 

But it was his jacket. Shane nearly wept at the sight of it. And when Ilya shook it out and revealed the front to him, Shane’s breath caught in his throat at the bullet hole stuck in the one shoulder. 

“How…” Shane didn’t have words; he was stuck in his place on the ground while Ilya walked towards him. Ilya looked scared, as if he were back at the bullet-ridden bar and had to slowly approach an injured Shane. 

Carefully, Ilya extended the jacket towards Shane. With shaky hands, Shane grabbed it and instantly brought it to his nose to smell. 

It smelt of cigarettes and damp cedar. It smelt of the lingering gun smoke that had attacked Shane’s senses and made his eyes water as he lay staring up at the ceiling of the bar. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had this?” Shane didn’t sound angry, just curious as he cradled the jacket in his arms. Ilya wasn’t looking at him, almost as if he were ashamed. 

“I did not want you to think…bad thoughts.” 

At Ilya’s admission, Shane’s eyes watered. He gripped the jacket tighter against his chest and then leaned forward to grab at Ilya’s hand to tug him back down to his level. Ilya followed submissively, but his eyes still refused to meet Shane’s. 

“Hey,” Shane let go of Ilya’s hand to press against his cheekbone. Ilya leaned into it instantly. 

“It has good and bad memories attached to it, but I seriously thought it didn’t make the shooting.” Saying the shooting out loud was strange on Shane’s tongue, and he realized he hadn’t spoken about it so offhandedly before. He kept his thumb moving across Ilya’s cheek for a few more strokes, and then removed it to shake out the jacket and bring it up between them. 

Ilya stared at it like a nun would a cross. 

“I could not throw it away. For you and me. It is special.” Ilya’s voice was shaky as he continued his truth, and Shane listened carefully while inspecting the jacket. 

His heart tightened at the sight of small splatters of stained blood. It wasn’t obvious due to the black leather, but some of it caught in the sunlight. The hole wasn’t large on the shoulder, but Shane could see the frays and cracks of the leather. His shoulder twinged with phantom pain at the sight. 

“I’m sorry I hid it from you, malysh.” Ilya brought a hand out to cup Shane’s knee. 

Shane shook his head, and he placed the jacket back down between them and focused his attention on Ilya. He grabbed his boyfriend's hand and held it. 

“I loved being your property, you know…even though it sounds so wrong,” Shane confessed with a heavy tongue. He was surprised he managed to do it with a straight face. 

Ilya looked pained at Shane’s words, and Shane hated the sour expression Ilya revealed. 

“Ilya…” Shane began to speak, his hand reached for the man again, but Ilya shook his head. Shane froze in his movements.

“You were like object. I got off to you wearing it, I had you turn away from me as I was fucking you just to see my name on your back. I feel…evil.” 

Shane understood why Ilya felt that. But Harris had explained the jacket so beautifully when Shane had asked the first time. How it was a shell of protection, and a symbol of power. 

“But I felt so powerful, Ilya. I felt like no one could touch me. All eyes were on me because they were jealous of me, because they knew I was yours.” 

Ilya shook his head again; he refused to listen. Frustratedly, Shane leaned forward and pushed Ilya down onto the ground. Ilya fell easily, submitting once again to Shane’s touch. 

Straddling Ilya, the jacket forgotten behind them, he placed both hands on either side of Ilya’s head to look down at him. Ilya’s eyes were wide as they looked at Shane, and his hands hovered but never touched Shane’s hips. 

“Listen to me,” Shane began, his fingers digging into the dirt below him. “Every second I wore that jacket, I grew more and more in love with you. Not because you owned me, but because I was yours. No matter what happened to me, I felt stronger in it. Like I could survive anything and anyone. Because Rozanov was on my back.” 

When Shane finished, Ilya had blinked tears from his eyes. They slipped down to his ears. 

“I won’t wear it now, since that’s behind us, but..I swear to God, Ilya, I loved every second of it. Because it was you and your love, not because I was owned.” 

Ilya nodded and sniffled. Shane leaned down and sealed his words with a kiss. 

Finally, Ilya melted into his touch and gripped at his hips. 

-

“I have found a place to get the bike fixed.” 

They were in another hotel. It was a little better than the one they had in Saskatchewan. Because they were in the big city of Calgary, they didn’t feel comfortable camping anywhere. So they settled on a random hotel downtown. 

Shane was lying on the bed, his eyes were closed when Ilya spoke, and he reopened them to give Ilya a confused look. 

He remembers when they were in Manitoba, and the bike had begun to rattle a bit, how Shane had popped the biggest boner of his life watching Ilya attempt to fix it. He had thought Ilya had done the job, but apparently not.

“Is it that bad? I don’t hear the rattling anymore.” Shane got up from where he lay and scooted to the side of the bed. Ilya shrugged, preoccupied with finding and grabbing his wallet from one of their bags. 

“I don’t want to risk it. I will be back; you stay here and relax, da?” 

Shane wanted to protest, but his eyelids felt heavy as soon as he slumped into the bed. Also, he truly didn’t want to sit on the bike any longer. It was nice, of course, but his ass was numb, and his back was sore. He needed to be lying down for as long as possible.

“Okay. Be safe, please?” Shane made grabby hands, his lips pursing for a kiss. With a fond smile, Ilya waltzed over to give Shane what he desired. He kissed him softly, his fingers tangling with Shane’s for a few seconds before they parted. 

Ilya exited, and Shane wished he could hear the rumble of the motorcycle as his boyfriend left. But they weren’t in a motel like they were in Saskatchewan. He could only listen to the echo of Ilya’s motorcycle boots as he grew further and further away. 

He waited for Ilya’s return. Shane had gotten his car fixed a few times, and it depended on how bad it was. Sometimes it took an hour if the mechanic wasn’t busy; sometimes it took several. But a motorcycle was different. It shouldn’t take long, right? 

Shane must’ve been wrong. Or, Ilya was doing more than getting the bike fixed. Shane checked the time; they had arrived at the hotel around noon, and it was now four o’clock. 

Fidgeting, Shane reached for his phone. He hated feeling so attached like this, so overprotective. Ilya was stronger than he was in many ways; he could handle whatever came at him. 

But also, not everything was a threat; not everything was live or die. They weren’t in that life anymore, and Shane needed to remember that.Ilya could have just been out shopping and gotten sidetracked and not looked at the time. 

Possessively, Shane wondered why Ilya then wouldn’t have invited him. 

The hours continued to tick by, and it was six o’clock when those familiar heavy boots echoed throughout the hallway and stopped at Shane’s door. 

Shane immediately got up from where he was sitting at the desk. He held his breath, waiting for the blood and the bruises and the stumble of Ilya’s body into the room. 

But Ilya walked in completely unscathed. And holding a box of…cookies?

“Where the fuck were you?” Shane tried not to raise his voice, but it trembled with fear. He strode towards his boyfriend, his hands tensing into fists at his sides. Shane tried not to reach out and strangle him.

Ilya looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He shifted on his feet, and then sheepishly gave Shane the box of cookies. 

It was impossible to stay mad at Ilya.

“Bike took longer than I thought, and there was a famous bakery near the shop. I got lots of cookies.” 

Shane bit his lip. He hated how he wanted to smile at Ilya’s explanation. He held his ground.

“You couldn’t have called me? Texted me?” 

Ilya frowned, realizing his mistake. He didn’t answer, so Shane sighed and placed the cookies on top of the TV stand. Once his hands weren’t occupied by sweets, he grabbed Ilya’s hips and pulled him into him.

“I just worry, you know? I got scared that something had happened. I’m still on fight or flight…” 

Ilya hummed and nodded. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple, and Shane melted instantly.

“I am sorry, my love. I got carried away. Please forgive me?” 

Shane smiled, his nose nuzzling Ilya’s. They met into a kiss, and Shane happily slipped a tongue into Ilya’s mouth. 

“What kind of cookies did you get?” Shane asked when they eventually parted. 

Ilya’s eyes lit up, and he turned to begin showing off each fancy cookie he purchased. And Shane watched, not even hearing which cookie was which. He only stared at Ilya and the happiness that shone off of him. 

-

They were met with heavy forest and large mountains when they got near Banff, and Shane felt he was stuck in a movie. The air smelt of pine and lake water, and he’d never seen anything more beautiful. He was constantly looking around him, and with bravery he’d lift his chest off Ilya’s back and put his hands at the edges of the seat for security. It allowed him to move his head around more and enjoy the view. 

It was a privilege to watch Ilya’s hair flow in the wind underneath his helmet. Shane enjoyed breaking off from the landscape to stare at the square in Ilya’s shoulders and the grip of his hands across the handlebars. In front of him was the large road ahead of them, and in the mist above the clouds, the very top of the mountains peeked out. 

Shane was about to close his eyes and focus on the air whipping around him as Ilya turned around a bend in the forest. But then Ilya let out a loud yelp, and the bike jerked roughly to the side of the road. Shane gasped and flew forward to press his chest back into Ilya. He held on as tight as he could, his thighs tensing around the seat, pinching himself down and awaiting the crash. The bike shook and swivelled, but Ilya was a pro, and he didn’t let them fall. 

When they stopped, it was on the side of a ditch. Ilya had managed not to throw them right into it, but it was pretty damn close. They caught their breaths, and the longer the time passed, the more confused Shane got. He expected Ilya to frantically check him for injuries, and babble with apologies. But he was stock still across Shane’s front. 

Shane blinked up after the shock wore off, and then he followed Ilya’s gaze to the other side of the road. 

There, stood as tall as a pickup truck, was a moose. Its large snout was turned towards them as it stood still and waited for their next move. 

And then there was movement behind it. Shane’s breath hitched in his throat when a calf revealed itself from the mothers side. It was chewing lightly on some grass and, when noticing its mother's lack of movement, looked up and met Shane’s eyes. 

“Holy shit,” Shane breathed out. He wasn’t scared. Even though he had never seen a moose in his life, and the sheer size of them was daunting, he didn’t fear for his life. These two massive animals were a thing of beauty, and he guessed that Ilya had almost hit them. 

Thank god he didn’t. They wouldn’t have won. Shane had to shake his head to force the images of their broken bodies on the road as the moose pranced away unharmed. 

The moose decided they weren’t a threat eventually. Shane didn’t speak, and neither did Ilya. They sat with the bike in a soft idle, watching the mother and calf begin to eat the grass below them. Gradually, the mother made its way into the trees with the baby in tow. 

“That was…” Shane couldn’t describe the feelings that were coming over him. He finally broke his gaze from the moose to look at Ilya. 

And Ilya had eyes still blown wide with terror, his breathing shallow and rough through his nose. He had a death grip on the handlebars. 

“Hey,” Shane leaned forward to put pressure on Ilya’s back. He didn’t receive a response. “Hey,” he said again, this time lightly grabbing at Ilya’s chin to guide his eyes away from the mammal. It took a moment, but finally Ilya’s eyes snapped towards Shane’s. 

“Are you okay?” Shane asked. He felt worry bloom in his chest. He was so entranced by the view of the mother and baby that he didn’t realize Ilya was traumatized. 

Ilya gave Shane a very stiff, singular nod. It wasn’t encouraging.

“Baby…” Shane kept his hand on Ilya’s jaw and settled his chin on Ilya’s shoulder. He kept Ilya encased across his body, touching him in any way he could to bring him back down to Earth.

It took a few more moments of silence; Shane was patient and observant. Ilya spoke with a shaky, unsure tone. 

“I cannot believe I was scared of a bird when those things existed.” 

Shane burst out into laughter. He tried to muffle it into Ilya’s shoulder as his boyfriend smiled lazily back at him. The tension slowly released in Ilya’s shoulders. 

“I’ve never seen a moose either. Good thing we didn’t hit them…” Shane regretted saying the last part. Ilya’s smile faltered, and Shane could see the distance in Ilya’s eyes as he imagined what could’ve happened. 

“They’re beautiful though, aren’t they?” Shane continued with an attempt to distract the bad thoughts. He looked back towards the forest where the mother and calf were still chewing at leaves and grass. They hadn’t gone far, but they weren’t looking at Ilya and Shane any longer. They had moved on to their grazing. 

They stared at the duo for a few moments, then Shane felt Ilya turn to look at him. Shane moved his gaze to meet Ilya’s eyes and was surprised to see the fondness that filled them. 

Ilya looked Shane over, his eyes dancing down his form and then moving back up to finish at Shane’s eyes again. 

“Not as beautiful as you, moya lyubov.” 

Shane rolled his eyes, but the blush across his cheeks was prominent enough for Ilya to break into a smug smile and start the motorcycle back up. Shane went back to hugging Ilya’s middle tightly, and he kissed Ilya's cheek as a go-ahead for Ilya to start driving again. 

Then they were off, and as they sped away, Shane caught the mother moose's eyes shifting up to meet his. 

- 

One of the things on their road trip bucket list was a hike. They had the boots and the supplies already from camping, so all they needed to do was find the perfect place. 

The Battle Buffs in Kamloops was what called to them. 

Ilya parked the bike at one of the trail entrances, and they moved some stuff around in their backpacks for water, bathing suits, and towels in case they reached a waterfall. Then, with hands entwined, they began their hike into the mountains. 

It was uneven and rocky the higher they got, but they both had steady hands against one another. Neither of them let the other fall, and it was a team effort as they got further and further away from the bike. It was the middle of the day in the week, so it was mostly just them hiking the trail. It felt intimate. 

“Wow,” Shane breathed out as they turned a corner. When the trees parted, they revealed a giant lake. He hadn’t realized they were up this high. And the water was such a vibrant shade of blue that it looked fake. 

Shane stepped forward, and Ilya let his hand go so he could take in his surroundings. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. All these new smells reached him, and Shane felt his lungs open with desire, feeding into the nature. 

He heard a shuffle behind him; he reached for Ilya’s hand, but all he grabbed was air. So, he turned to see where Ilya had gone. 

What was revealed to him made him gasp. His hands flew to his mouth, and suddenly every beautiful thing around him darkened into the background. He zeroed in on Ilya Rozanov, the love of his life, bending on one knee with a little red box cupped in his hands. It opened, and snug in the middle of it was a thick golden ring. 

“Ilya…” Shane shook out. His voice trailed off, and he waited for Ilya to say the words. 

“Shane Hollander. We have not known each other very long, but I feel I have known you for a lifetime. I, uh…” Ilya had never sounded so nervous, and his tone was calculated, as if he had recited these words to himself a million times over. Shane tried to smother a laugh of amusement. 

“I had lots of words, lots of I love yous, but English is really hard right now when you are looking at me like that.” Ilya looked down at the ring, as if Shane’s stare was physically hurting him. 

“Say it to me in Russian, then.” Shane blurted out without even thinking. He had still been reading a bit of Russian from time to time, but not enough to understand all the words Ilya would surely say. But he wanted Ilya to have his moment, too. 

“You will not understand.” 

“That’s okay. I will eventually.” 

Ilya blinked, his hands trembling as they continued to hold the ring out to him. He nodded once, and then began. 

“ya lyublyu tebya uzhe mnogo mesyatsev, no kazhetsya, budto proshla tselaya zhizn'. Do vstrechi s toboy moya zhizn' byla polna opasnostey i zlosti. No stoilo mne vstretit' tebya — i ya bol'she ne khotel takoy zhizni. Ty napolnila moyu zhizn' smyslom. Blagodarya tebe mne zakhotelos' zhit' tak, kak khoteli by dlya menya mama i brat. Poetomu, yesli ty soglasna byt' so mnoy, ya khochu byt' s toboy vechno.” 

“I have loved you for many months, but it feels like a lifetime. My life was danger and anger before I met you. All of a sudden, when I met you, I did not want that life anymore. You gave my life meaning. You made me want to live how my mama and brother would have wanted me to live. So, if you will have me, I would like to have you forever.” 

The silence was heavy after Ilya finished. Shane listened, his bottom lip wobbling with each word that he couldn’t translate. But he knew they held as much love as possible. They carved themselves into his memory, sticking into his brain for him to search in his dictionary later. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d let the Russian stay with him forever as a mystery. 

“Will you marry me, Shane Hollander?” Ilya finally asked. 

His skin was buzzing all over; he felt like he was dancing in the clouds, and really, he kind of was. In the mountains of Kamloops, British Columbia, he was being proposed to. 

“Y-yes. Fuck, oh my god, yes!” Shane yelled with joy, his body lurching forward to tackle Ilya to the ground. Ilya chuckled and placed a hand behind him to catch them, the ring still held tightly in his other hand, the box snapping closed to keep it safe. 

They kissed, and it was one of the best kisses they had ever had. No tongue, no spit. Just pure pressure against one another. 

“Can I put it on you?” Ilya asked when they finally parted. Shane huffed out a laugh, completely forgetting about the ring for a few moments. He had been so high off the love and the Russian. He nodded eagerly and sat back onto the dirt ground with a trembling hand out for Ilya to grab. 

Ilya’s hands were trembling, too. It took Ilya a few tries, him missing Shane’s ring finger as they shook. They laughed at each other’s nerves, tears blurring Shane’s vision as Ilya finally caught his finger and slid the ring into place. 

He stared in awe, his hand moving up to watch the gold catch the sunlight. Shane couldn’t stop laughing in delight and surprise. 

“One more thing,” Ilya interrupted Shane’s admiration, and Shane watched as Ilya grabbed at his ring finger to shift it to the side. Shane was confused at first, but then the light caught something engraved on the side of the ring. 

‘Rozanov’ was etched into the gold. 

Shane nearly fell backwards, but Ilya caught him with concern.

“You cannot wear the jacket anymore. I know how much you wanted to wear my name again, so…” 

“I love it,” Shane interrupted Ilya’s frantic explanation. Ilya’s expression softened at the words, his hand coming out to play with the ring on Shane’s finger. He twirled it, and it fit perfectly. 

“I love it so fucking much,” Shane trembled out as he took Ilya’s hand in his and interlaced the fingers. He was mesmerized by the way the ring caught the light so beautifully. The ‘Rozanov’ was etched on the side of the ring that was facing Shane, so every time he put his hand out to look, the engraving would catch the light and reveal Ilya’s name. 

It was better than the jacket. Better than something he couldn’t see on his back.

Eventually, they got back down to the bike. The sun was at its peak, and they were beginning to sweat a little too much for comfort. As they walked to the bike hand in hand, the realization dawned on Shane, and he stopped in his tracks. 

Ilya wasn’t expecting him to stop, and he got tugged to a halt when Shane didn’t follow. He looked back with a raised brow. 

“Calgary. When you got the bike fixed. Was that when…?” 

Ilya’s mouth slowly turned upwards into a sly smirk; he chuckled and shook his head with disbelief. 

“You are smart. Yes, I had to make an excuse. I thought getting cookies was also a good excuse. I bought the ring in advance, guessed your size, and when I picked it up, they had to engrave it. It took longer than I thought.” 

Shane rolled his eyes; Ilya was a complete romantic. Shane was seeing a side to him that he didn’t think existed. Yes, Ilya was loving to him when they were in the gang, but he never saw the mushy side, the side that was so incredibly in love that it was sickening. 

“And do I get to pick out your ring?” Shane asked, his smile widening as he moved towards Ilya again and tugged at Ilya’s ring finger. It was disgustingly bare. That needed to change. 

“Mhm, yes. If you would like.” 

They got back on the bike, ready to go to their next destination. Shane had placed his hand on Ilya’s shoulder, his other arm wrapping around Ilya’s middle. He needed to watch the ring shine in the light from underneath his visor as they sped down the roads. 

-

For a night, they stopped in Whistler. It was there that Ilya found a jeweller to take his ring size. Shane picked out a black ring, one that matched Ilya’s leather attire and dark look. He requested that his first name, ‘Shane,’ be engraved on the side of Ilya’s ring, facing him as Shane’s did. 

Then, that same night, they snagged the fanciest hotel room they could. There, Shane pressed Ilya down into the mattress with his hand wrapped around his throat. This time, with the ring glaring into the moonlight. As Shane rode Ilya into the mattress, Ilya was a whimpering, babbling mess. A mixture of Russian and English spewed out of his mouth, and his hand reached out to cup Shane’s wrist, which was connected to the hand holding his throat. 

Shane had never seen anything so beautiful. Ilya’s dark ring was a deep void in the night, and Shane’s was the complete opposite. A beacon against a dark sky. They looked good together, and Shane had come so hard he saw stars. 

Whistler wasn’t far from their final destination of Vancouver. As they reached it, Shane felt his throat tighten. It felt as if they were closing another chapter in their lives. First leaving Ottawa, Montreal, and the gang, now finishing the road trip that ended with them engaged. It was a strange feeling, and different emotions mixed together. 

The trees grew larger, and Shane was amazed by the sheer size of them. He’d crank his neck up high to try to catch the tops of them, to no avail. The shadows and light flickered together across the road as Ilya sped onward. 

When the trees broke, they revealed the city and the ocean below. The city tucked between the mountains, and beyond it, the endless water. Shane could smell the salt beneath his helmet, and he flicked open his visor to take a deep breath. 

As they got closer, with the Ocean in the background as the wind whipped around them, Shane moved his hand up to stare at the ring.

It winked at him, telling him he was home.

Chapter End Notes

It's finally done, holy shit!

Yes, I love cheesiness. Yes, they got engaged very early, yes I believe they'd do that in this universe cause they're so down bad for one another.

Thanks for riding along with me. I always loved motorcycles, and daydreamed about making a fic with them in it. I'm so proud of myself for finishing this and making it how I wanted it to be!

Leave comments. I will try to answer them since this is the last of the book! Thank you so so so much again for the support. Check out my other Hollanov stories on my Ao3 account if you miss me :)