Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Human Shane Hollander, Alpha Ilya Rozanov, Werewolf Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Oblivious Shane Hollander, Courting Rituals, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Feral Behavior, Feral Ilya Rozanov, Animal Death, not graphic though, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Good Boy Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Whipped, Scenting, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Cock Slut Shane Hollander, Sexual Overstimulation, Barebacking, Knotting, Hand & Finger Kink, Wet & Messy, Wet Dream, Horny Shane Hollander, Sub Shane Hollander, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Grinding, Touch-Starved Shane Hollander, Come Eating, Frottage, Finger Sucking, Manhandling, Fluff, Domestic Fluff

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-17 Completed: 2026-01-25 Words: 58,215 Chapters: 4/4

walk him like a dog (or a wolf)

Summary

alternate universe where it’s ‘i’m coming to the cottage’ but make it feral werewolf shifter Ilya trying to court an oblivious Shane.

or

Shane trying to enjoy a relaxing time at the cottage only to discover a hot naked man in his living room, instead of the wolf he had previously put there.

 

now translated in russian here!

Notes

i have a bone deep need to see more feral ilya being absolutely obsessed with shane. so here we are.

Chapter 1: something feral this way comes

Shane liked the peace and quiet. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loved the roar of the crowds thundering in his ears when he scored on the ice, he loved the thunder of sticks against the changing room floor as he rallies his team before a game. But when he was playing on the ice, even with the crowds and the chirping from other players, he didn’t really hear it at all because the only thing he was focused on was hockey. Everything became a dull vibration in his ears that he didn't care to acknowledge. 

But he didn't have to do that here, at the cottage. He could just be. And he liked that. No expectations, no anxiety about what he should do or say next, not having to read people’s expressions to desperately scout for clues on what they mean. He can just be Shane and not have to worry about anything else. He can listen to the loons, the gentle breeze rustling the trees, he can swim in the lake and just gently float, water sloshing about his ears. Maybe have dinner with his parents once a week. Maybe twice. Because the summer was his, and his alone.

Except as the days merged together, he noticed the loons stopped singing their little song as often in the evening. In fact everything stopped being as loud as it usually is, which isn’t loud at all, considering how peaceful it is out here. But still, he’s used to hearing bird calls and little chirps from small animals scurrying across his open garden. So the sudden silence was weird. But Shane tried to not to think anything of it - he wasn’t a loon expert, how was he to know what was going on?

And then he started to feel like he was being watched. not in a bad way - well maybe a little bit of a bad way. Having the feeling someone is watching you isn’t the best feeling in the world, and Shane's neck prickles with it, goosebumps arising on his forearms and the back of his thighs. 

He first noticed it when he was taking an afternoon dip in the lake, floating on his back, arms and legs stretched out, keeping him afloat. The water was soft beneath his hands and he felt at peace, eyes drifting shut, nothing to hear except the water lapping at his ears, until he heard an unusually loud twig snapping. 

Sloshing upright, his head snapped to look into the trees to his right. He couldn't see anything, but he couldn't get over the feeling he was being watched. The birds had stopped chirping, and his arms broke out in goosebumps, but not because of the cold water surrounding him. 

There was definitely not anything there, Shane was sure. Almost sure. The cottage was safe, part of his mind drifted to the chance of paparazzi or a superfan. But that wasn't possible, he knew it wasn’t because the season was over and Shane was notoriously boring - to everyone, including the press. Although Shane would disagree, he didn't mind the label - it made life easier. 

But the sharp sound had unsettled him and he didn't know why, so he waded his way out of the water, the chill of the temperature change sending a shiver down his spine. His swim shorts clung to his thighs and ass, moulding to the hard earned muscle there, and Shane would usually be bothered by it but the prickling under his skin sent his legs walking faster up the bank to pick up his towel. Wrapping it round his shoulders, Shane strayed a gaze back to the treeline quickly, seeing nothing but the shadows of the branches packed tightly together. As Shane turns to race back into the house, the red eyes hovering just behind the tree line amongst the shadows follow him up the stoned path, tracing the lines now hidden underneath the towel. 

***

Things get a little weirder after that, and the sense of being watched doesn't ever quite leave Shane, causing him to triple check the locks at night. He has a horrible fear of looking too intently out the windows lining his cottage at night and seeing something. So he does what he does best, he avoids all thought about it and pretends it doesn't exist. No biggie. He's a practiced avoider of all things that could potentially cause his white knuckled grip on himself to slip. He'd be proud of the skill if it wasn't ever so slowly chipping away at him from the inside, leaving him hollow. Nowadays he feels like he is simply going through the motions, the feeling premature at the age of 27, captain of his hockey team and skating above everyone in wide strides. He should be thriving, which Hayden always tries to encourage - you need to live a little man! 

And Shane has tried but how can you truly live when that would involve outing himself in a sport that isn't exactly welcoming of people like him? He wasn’t deaf to the comments sometimes thrown about in the changing rooms, or on the ice. And hiding who he is from the world is hard, and tiring. And also a little upsetting, but he won't think about that. Because this is his time at the cottage, where no worrying is allowed. So he won't think about the heat on the back of his neck every time he goes outside because he is here to relax dammit, and his paranoia for once is not going to get in the way of that.

So he continues to swim in the lake, sunbathe on the smooth rock that juts out of the water, he cooks high protein dinners on his bbq and lazes round his firepit in the evening to read his book - the book he currently can't find. 

He’s sure he had it outside last night, he remembers the chapter he was reading exactly. The book was about the study of evolution, and the chapter was about the development of the shape of human ears, which was actually really interesting. It talked about ear shapes of other animals, like wolves. It had gone into other detail about how wolves used to be bigger on the whole too, like dire wolves. How as they had reduced down in size over thousands of years, their ears had changed slightly too. Shane couldn’t imagine how big a dire wolf would look like next to him, he struggled to imagine it. And he wasn’t short or anything, plus playing ice hockey meant he carried extra muscle than most people. But still, he was intrigued. Not that he’d ever find out anyway. 

Right now he was on his hands and knees outside on his patio, muttering to himself as he swept a hand under his outdoor furniture, hoping his fingers would catch on something book-shaped. He hadn’t even finished the chapter, too tired from all the swimming he did, so he had an early night. But in his tiredness he doesn’t remember what he did with his book, or where he put the damn thing. So here Shane was with his ass in the air as he leaned his chest to the ground to search under his patio sofa. No book. 

Shane stands with his arms folded, scowl etched across his face as he paces angrily around the patio area. After a while he gives up with a groan, storming back into the house to upturn his bedroom in hopes of finding it there, praying that in his tired state he did in fact bring it in. 

So imagine his surprise and confusion when later, after he had come back from a jog on the trail that weaves through the woods to the lakeside, he finds said book lying inconspicuously on the table outside near the fire pit. Like it had been there along, when it most certainly had not. Shane stands staring at it for a solid minute before slowly, carefully, picking it up, as if he was expecting something to jump out of the pages to bite him. His woven leather bookmark was there, nestled into the page he remembers reading last. 

But how did it get here? And where was it in the first place? Shane slowly moves his head from side to side to look across the length of the cottage, all sharp edges and bespoke architecture as it seeps into the trees beyond. Weird. Very weird. But at least he had his book back. Maybe he just completely glazed past it in his frustration-addled brain earlier, which is something he has done before. One time he spent all morning in the locker room before training looking for his shoulder pads before Hayden pointed out that they were on the bench in front of him. But sometimes Shane had so many things on his mind, he didn’t always see what was right in front of him. He was a busy guy so he couldn’t really be blamed for that. Yes, that’s probably it. Unless there are magic forest fairies he doesn’t know about, Shane thinks amusedly.

His grip on the book tightens slightly as he turns to go back into the cottage, ready to shower and maybe have some lunch, casting a cursory glance at the tree line that lies away ahead in front of the patio before heading inside, conveniently missing the paw prints on the ground that trail up to the patio’s steps. 

*** 

The next thing was the dead birds. 

It was when he had come back from visiting his parents for lunch, stepping out of his car, going through in his head all the stuff he needed to do today. Like put away his washed clothes, check he had all the ingredients for dinner, dust the bookshelves either side of the TV, make sure he had enough logs for the fire pit for later. His finger tapped against his shorts-covered thigh as he walked up the neat stone path to the front door as he recited the list in his head. 

It’s only because he had his head down thinking about what the best way was to prepare sea bass that he saw it. A small bird, no bigger than the palm of his hand, laid out in front of his outdoor welcome mat. Dead. It wasn’t bloody, so Shane at first glance thought maybe it was sleeping or something. Do birds sleep? Shane thought, then shaking his head amusedly. No of course they do. They just don’t normally sleep on outdoor mats made for wiping off muddy shoes, Shane supplied to himself absent mindedly. 

As he stepped closer was when he noticed that the bird was definitely dead. Its wings looked soft, brown feathers shining in the sunlight, now limp against its body. He noticed a ring of blood around its neck, not immediately obvious but he saw the darkness of it as he crouched down to nudge the body with a small stick he picked up beside the footpath.

‘What happened to you?’ Shane muttered to himself, his face scrunching up in confusion. 

Did the bird get hurt and come to his house to die in front of it? Or did something put it there? Shane repressed a shudder at the thought. No, not possible, what animal would do that? A cat maybe, but he didn’t have a cat. And he had never seen one about, with the next cottage being miles away. Unless this was a cat who had strayed too far from home and decided to leave an unwelcome, very dead gift at Shane’s door, which he did not appreciate, nudging the limp body again as he tutted in sympathy. Yes, it must have been a cat.

‘Poor thing’, standing with a shake of his head he steps round it, unlocking the front door and disappearing before re-emerging wearing kitchen gloves and with a wad of paper towels from the kitchen. Crouching down, he delicately wraps the bird’s body in the squares of the kitchen towel, before walking down the path and turning towards the back of the house to where the forest rests. 

He digs a hole in the ground with kitchen gloved hands, before placing the bird gently in the shallow hole before covering it with freshly disturbed soil. He pats at the mound gently, before standing back and sighing. He looks down at his yellow gloved hands now covered in dirt, before he carefully removes them, chucking them into the outside bin before heading inside, ready to wash his hands at least three times to get rid of any lingering germs.

*** 

Over the course of the next few days, a new small dead bird appears outside Shane’s front door. And every time he buries them with a wrinkled nose and a heavy heart. He starts trying to look out for the cat that must be leaving them, even leaving out a bowl of milk near the patio door just in case. 

Shane concluded it must be a cat that has strayed too far from home, so he keeps his eyes peeled whenever he leaves the house. He assumed it’s hiding, too shy to reveal itself besides placing small birds on his doorstep. He even Google’s ‘signs a cat is living in your house without you knowing’, but the results don’t match up to explain the dead birds on the welcome mat. As he buries the third bird in the hole in the ground near a tree, he hopes that the cat stops bird snatching to save him the bother. At this rate, there aren’t going to be any birds left.

Then the birds turn into a rabbit. 

It’s when Shane had finished his morning yoga and decided to drink his herbal tea - non caffeinated of course - outside on the wraparound porch, walking out barefoot when he jumps half a foot in the air shrieking out a ‘What the fuck!’ at the sight of a dead rabbit lying across the porch’s steps down into the grass. His mug now half empty with its contents splattered on the wood beneath him.

He stares at it for a couple minutes, swallowing down a wave of nausea as he creeps closer, seeing the rabbit’s neck had been clearly broken, its floppy ears resting against its face. 

‘What happened to you?’ Shane mutters, eyebrows drawing together, not daring to touch it but simply staring at it. When he catches the glassy eyes of the corpse he quickly looks away, stomach turning. He rests his mug on the table and stares out to the tree line with his hands on hips. 

Well this was definitely not a cat find. Shane had the thought that maybe someone was pulling a prank on him, a seriously not funny prank. But he doesn’t know who would, the only people who know the cottage’s whereabouts are his parents and Hayden. And Hayden is on vacation with Jackie and the kids. 

Unless the rabbit broke its neck jumping from the top of the porch step? But the steps aren’t high. A bigger animal? But they never come this far to the cottage. 

 A rustle snaps Shane out of his thoughts, eyes zeroing in on the tall green pine trees swaying gently in the breeze ahead. There was something there, lurking behind the tree line.

‘Whose there?’ Shane says loudly after a moment, heart racing at the idea of someone watching him, hidden behind a tree. 

His first reaction is to run back inside the house, lock the doors and hide under a blanket. But he can’t do that - won't do that. One, because he isn’t a child, and two, the idea of someone killing a poor defenceless rabbit just to mess with him is horrible and sets his temper flaring. Who the hell does that? If Shane finds out who it is, he’s reporting them to the police for animal cruelty. But first he wants them to piss off back to wherever they came from and leave him in peace. First the birds, and now a rabbit? Who the hell do they think they are? Shane’s usually stoic temper flares.

‘I know you’re there! Come out!’ Shane shouts, fists balling at his sides, growing more frustrated with the cowardly behaviour of the animal killing culprit as the seconds pass. Shane doesn’t usually get angry, is known for his sportsmanlike behaviour on and off ice, nicknamed the golden boy of the NHL. But this whole animal killing thing is another matter. And this was meant to be Shane’s uninterrupted summer, which is quickly turning into something from a weird horror movie. Not that Shane could name any, he was more into documentaries himself.

He waits another minute before storming back inside the house, shoving his feet into his sliders and making his way outside again, muttering to himself all the while.

‘Fine, I’ll find you myself.’ He says, eyebrows drawn together and mouth in a tight line of determination. His bravery is a far cry from his usual behaviour, but dammit, he’s annoyed. And this is retribution for killing the rabbit. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he does find them. He knows he has more muscle than the average guy thanks to his rigorous training routine for hockey, but he doesn’t like fighting like some of the other guys do. Yes, he’ll check guys on the ice if he needs to, but Shane isn’t aggressive like people expect ice hockey players to be. In fact he very much avoids all conflict as much as possible. So it’s not like he’ll actually hit the rabbit killer, he’ll just have a strongly worded conversation, and threaten them with trespassing. And maybe report them to the police, is this the sort of thing PETA needs to know about?

Twigs scrape at his ankles as he marches beyond the tree line, leaves rustling in his wake. The wide tree trunks rise above his head, blocking out the late morning sun. The canopy of the forest is thick and dense, casting shadows and making the air feel cooler, more still as it rests heavy on the back of Shane’s neck. 

But he doesn’t take any notice, head turning this way and that, scouting for any sign of movement to lead him to the prankster with a morbid sense of humour. As he moves further in, the quietness of the forest begins to unnerve him, his anger dissipating and transforming into wariness as Shane becomes aware at how deep he’s walked into the forest. 

He comes to a stop in a small clearing, chest heaving with the exertion of walking so fast.

His ankles have scratches from the undergrowth and tangled branches he’s stomped through, the sliders on his feet not doing much in the way of support for his trek as he steps over large rocks and upraised roots. He’s still in his workout clothes from yoga, and a breeze sends shivers down his spine, goosebumps erupting on the exposed skin of his arms and legs. Maybe this was a bad idea. He hadn’t seen anyone in his thunderous stalking through the forest, so maybe they got scared off and legged it. Or maybe it was nothing, which makes Shane feel a little embarrassed at his outburst if it was truly nothing. 

He swallows, eyes flitting across the shadowy trees in the distance, the thick branches spreading out to make seeing beyond a few metres impossible. 

This was stupid. Shane shakes his head quickly before turning around, ready to walk back to the cottage. His impulsivity has served no purpose, beyond potentially exploring more of the forest near his house than he liked. He likes nature, and he always liked the forest. He and his parents have gone on many sunny walks through it, but they’ve never strayed this far. There are beaten trails through it that they follow, but Shane had gone completely off-piece in his frustration in finding whoever it was that was watching him on the porch. And this part of the forest, away from the footpaths that he regularly frequents, feels colder, more foreign. More scary and unknowable. More wild. 

Shane tries to ignore his slowly increasing pulse as he strides back in the direction he came, trying not to break out into a panicked run. He felt a little ridiculous, feeling suddenly so on edge by being in nature, but there’s a reason human beings evolved to live in houses, in packs or villages or whatever. Because there are things that reside in the wilderness that you want to stay clear of, and that feeling had hit him like a truck standing in the forest clearing, very alone and without his phone. 

He moves into a half-walk, half-jog, sandals almost sliding off his feet as he crunches through the undergrowth, stepping over upturned rocks, stumbling through thickets. This was such a bad idea, why did he even go after a noise. This is the exact reason Shane tried to not get angry. Because being angry meant making irrational or regretful decisions. Like high tailing it into the forest wearing unsuitable footwear, all because he thought someone was there. He’d laugh if he wasn’t half terrified of what is lurking in the dark green around him.

Part of him panics that he isn’t going in the right direction, everything suddenly looking identical. But he’s sure he is, he has to be. A nonsensical thought crosses his mind that he could be stuck in the forest forever, running in circles to get out, and never being found. God, what would his parents do? What if he dies in a forest all because of a dead rabbit? What if the rabbit had just broken its neck by accident? 

Shane’s mind is too busy running at a million miles an hour, feet stumbling over themselves to watch where he is going. His foot catches on a root pain across his path like an outstretched arm, sending him flying forwards. He cries out, his hands reaching out in front of him to try and break the fall, but as he tumbles his head catches on a thick, low level branch. The blunt force causes quickly blooming pain to ricochet across his head as he slumps into a curled heap on the forest floor, before unconsciousness hangs its heavy cloak on his eyelids, shuttering them closed.

***

The first thing Shane notices is that there’s a heavy pulsing of pain to the side of his temple. He scrunches his nose, moaning lowly in pain, head turning into the warmth he is cradled against.

His nose sniffs at the hardness of it, where the warmth is emanating. It’s nice, he thinks absentmindedly, it smells like soft cedarwood and a little ambery like those candles Shane likes to sniff at down the home aisle of the supermarket. There’s something else there too he can’t put his finger on, like something that settles the unevenness inside of him with a steady hand. Or a fuzzy warm blanket. Or like warming your feet by the fire, a gentle heat tugging at his insides. He likes it. He wants more of it. He digs his nose into it, swiping his nose gently back and forth as the pain recedes its steady thud slightly against his temples. 

He feels the warmth underneath his cheek start to vibrate, like a deep rumble, and it makes him hum contentedly in response. Wow this is really nice, Shane thinks distantly, I wonder if they sell this in a candle.

He is pulled closer into whatever it is he is nestled against, and the movement brings him back to himself a little. His eyes blink open slowly, squinting as the pain at his head doubles. He is met with a firm naked chest, dotted with little moles. He frowns a little, mind still faraway, pain still beating down behind his eyes. He fidgets slightly, and a rumble vibrates against his cheek again, which Shane realises belatedly is coming from the muscled chest he is curled into. He’s drawn in closer so that his nose is slightly squished against the wonderfully smelling skin beneath him. Drowsily, Shane squints upwards to see the underside of a sharp jaw, a thick neck, the curve of pouty lips, and a mop of blonde curls that he thinks are kind of glowing as his vision blurs at the effort it takes to concentrate to look.

As if sensing him staring, the head above him looks down, and Shane’s breath catches in his throat at the intense, icy blue eyes that gaze at him, framed by long blonde lashes. His lips part in wonder, convinced he is dreaming, as the man above him frowns lightly, plush mouth firming into a line as his eyes trace Shane’s face. 

In the back of Shane’s mind he wonders if he’s died, and that he’s being carried into the afterlife by one of the angels sent down to retrieve him. He wouldn’t mind dying, Shane thinks, if it meant being carried by a grade A hottie, who is seemingly Adonis himself. 

The pain booms loudly then between his eyes and he moans again in pain, eyes squeezing shut to try and dispel some of it. Shane feels so tired, his limbs so heavy yet he feels like he is floating. He could fall asleep so easily, the warming scent of the man carrying him infiltrating his mind in a gentle hug. His eyes open again, half lidded as he tries to look at the man again in wonder, but a hand softly brushes Shane’s hair back from his face, fingers coming to graze at the apple of his cheek, the freckles across his nose. The man drags the inside of his wrist across his forehead, down the side of his face, to swipe under the curve of his jaw. The chest beneath him rumbles again, and the vibrations of it along with the gentle petting sends Shane rocking back into the arms of slumber. 

***

Shane wakes with a groan. He turns instinctively and his face meets the soft feel of his bedsheets, the smell of his detergent wafting up his nose. An emptiness lurks somewhere beneath his skin, making him feel all weird, bereft of something that he can’t name. 

A few beats pass before he shoots up in bed with a start.

He was in the forest. And now he’s in his bed. Shane’s mind races, his heartbeat picking up a notch. As it slowly begins to come back to him, a hand raises to gently probe at the side of his head, hissing slightly at the touch of his fingers against the side of his temple.

Right, the dead rabbit. Shane remembers that, as does he remember striding into the forest before quickly turning back. He remembers falling, his head hurting, and he remembers a man.

A blush spreads across Shane’s cheek at the hazy thought of the handsome man carrying him, being cradled to his chest, the smell of his skin pushed up against Shane’s nose, his never-ending blue eyes gazing down at him, the broad line of his shoulders-wait what?

Shane jerks suddenly - a man? His eyes widen, fingers curling into the bed tightly as if clinging on to a rock ledge. He swallows harshly. There was a man, and he carried him. Shane frantically looks around his room as if expecting someone to jump out with a ‘Boo! We got you!’ But nothing happens. He is alone, in bed, miraculously transported from outside on a journey he does not remember. 

Shane tries to take some calming breaths, one’s he uses in yoga when doing a particularly difficult move, but his heart still races, his mind scrambling to figure out if he did in fact dream of the man or not. 

Did he really hit his head that hard? A finger prods at the bump and he grimaces. Maybe he did. Maybe he hit it so hard, that in his delirium he dreamed up an insanely hot man as he stumbled back to the cottage. Yeah maybe that’s what happened, blame it on the suppressed horniness of never getting laid - and the potential concussion he has given himself. What other explanation can there be? There aren’t any topless men around here - Shane would have definitely noticed (and maybe stared). It’s just Shane. Alone. Like it always is. 

Shane’s heart slows to a more manageable beat, and his chest lightens a bit as he convinces himself that he did in fact make the man up in his head. He exhales shakily, fingers relaxing slightly in their chokehold grip in his sheets. He looks down to find himself still in his workout clothes from earlier, although there a few dried leaves curled into his shirt here and there. His ankles sting lightly from branch scrapes and his feet ache from his walk in his sliders. 

He must have stumbled back into the cottage and tumbled into bed immediately in exhaustion, falling asleep. 

Shane sits there for a little longer, head nodding slightly as he re-affirms it to himself. The man must have been a dream, he thinks half longingly before booting the thought and curling heat arising from said thought out of his brain. 

Shifting slightly, he realises how gritty his skin feels. There are scratch marks on his palms from where he tried to break his fall, some crusted mud under his fingernails, dirt staining his forearms. Gross, he thinks. 

He swings his legs out of bed, seeing bruises slowly forming in little mottled circles on his knees and sighs. He makes his way to his en-suite, body itching for a shower and also something else, nose twitching at the distant notes of cedar wood and amber clinging to his skin.

Chapter 2: is that a wolf i see before me?

Chapter Summary

Shane tries to pretend everything is fine after his tumble in the woods.

Finding a naked man in his living room, however, makes that very hard to do.

Chapter Notes

Shane: losing his mind
Ilya: i must have you

After a trip to the doctors to confirm he does not in fact have a concussion, Shane carries on as normal - or at least tries to. The bump on the side of his head eventually begins to go down after icing it intermittently, on top of plenty of rest and fluids. The scratches on his palms and ankles scab over too, the bruises on his knees quickly fading. 

The only thing that doesn’t fade is the image of the man from his dreams. Instead of blurring with the passing hands of time, the man’s face has sharpened, crystallised to appear even more real than before. He comes to him when Shane is asleep, infiltrating his dreams with ease and steady hands, a warmth curling around Shane’s insides as he welcomes the stranger into his unconsciousness. Sometimes Shane doesn’t even dream of his face, sometimes it’s the touch of his hands as he grips Shane’s hips, pummelling into him from behind as dream-Shane muffles his moans into the pillow, a feather touch of the man’s fingers down his spine, the heavy weight of his chest looming over him, suffocating Shane deliciously. Those kinds of dreams jerk Shane awake with a leaking cock and a stifled gasp, rutting into the sheets desperately. It’s only when he comes in his pajama shorts that embarrassment curls around his gut, and he stuffs the shame that comes with it into a dark corner of his mind. 

He half-hopes they stop, or at least taper off because he is running out of clean pajama bottoms. Shane blames his unwilling multiple year-long abstinence. He won’t lie and say he isn’t pent up, but usually he takes it out on the ice, or in the gym, and there are only so many runs Shane can go on round the lake or yoga sessions he can do to take the edge off. And the edge is most definitely still there and growing sharper by the second. 

He can’t remember the last time he had a secret, rushed encounter with another guy anyway. It’s not exactly something he can do on a regular basis, or seek out. He hasn’t even had proper sex with another guy, his anxiety about being found out or it being leaked to the press too high to let it happen. But that doesn’t mean he can’t imagine it, and in the days after his fall it’s all he can think about, specifically of the man with golden curls and a face carved from marble. Shane read somewhere that every person you see in a dream is someone you’ve seen in real life, but he’s sure he hasn’t seen the man plaguing his subconscious before. He would’ve remembered. 

In an effort to distract himself, he occupies himself with even more vigour. He flies through his book, starting a new one about the life of a famous dictator which is a heavier read than Shane thought. He does meditation out on his porch, he goes on longer runs, his legs pumping with exertion, he swims in the lake. And he still feels like he has eyes watching the back of his head, but he pushes it to the side for now - his mind on other things. 

Things begin to come to a head when he is once again swimming in the lake. He sinks himself under the water, immersing himself as the cold water laps over his head, filling his ears. He holds his breath and his mind goes quiet for a moment, hands making shapes in the water to keep him below the surface. It’s only when his lungs begin to burn that he breaks the water line, shaking his wet hair to send droplets flying, a hand wiping the water out of his eyes. 

He squeezes his eyes closed a few times before opening them again, leaning back to float peacefully, feeling the sun beat down on his face. His eyes drift to the nature around him, admiring the splendour. His gaze follows the trees jutting out into the lake, tracing it backwards until he sees the wolf stood watching him. The sight makes him jolt, seizing upright with a gasp, his heart leaping in his chest. The sudden movement sends water up his nose and into his mouth causing him to choke, chest burning as he splutters for breath.

The giant wolf makes an intimidating figure, cutting the tree line with its shape. Its paws rest on the slowly declining earth that runs into the water, fur gently rustling in a stray breeze. Its dark eyes that gleam red in the sun watch Shane carefully, almost assessingly. Shane is frozen still, not breathing, fear creeping up his spine, blood roaring in his ears.

The wolf is massive, far larger than any wolf he has ever seen on TV, or even in real life. It’s fur an inky black with the tips of his coat shimmering in the sun to look slightly silver. Shane edges backwards slowly but stops suddenly. Can wolves swim? Shane eyes the river bank out of the corner of his vision, trying to calculate how fast he can get to the path and into the house before the wolf clamps him in its jaws.  

Shane knows barely anything about wolves. Don’t they say to never turn your back on them? Or look them in the eye? Shane swallows harshly, trying to tamper down the panic fluttering around in his chest, his limbs previously warm from swimming now cold with fear. 

The wolf doesn’t move, still watching him. Shane doesn’t see any visible signs of aggression, instead the wolf looks oddly calm - not that Shane would know what a calm wolf looks like at first glance. Or at all. Shane slowly moves backwards, eyes never leaving the creature at the tree line. 

At his hesitant movements, the wolf tilts his head slightly, as if amused and a breath stutters in Shane’s throat. Is it possible for a wolf to look amused? Shane’s almost at the bank now, water now sloshing around his knees, his hands out in front of him placatingly. The wolf still doesn’t move, watching as Shane practically stumbles out of the water, picking up his towel and tripping over himself backwards up the path. 

Shane takes a chance then, and turns to run up to the house, locking the back door with a heaving chest, sliding down the cool wood to rest his head against his knees. Since when were there wolves around here? And what was one doing so near his cottage?

***

After that, he begins to see the wolf more often. The second time is when he’s busy in the kitchen poaching an egg for breakfast. He glances up distractedly and gasps at the sight of the wolf again sitting on his hind legs in front of the tree line, watching him. Again. It watches him for a moment more before turning with one last look over its shoulder at Shane, before disappearing into the forest.

The next time, Shane is doing yoga, stretched into a downward dog pose before leaning forward onto the mat into the cobra. He exhales slowly as his head lifts to stare out the window, eyes meeting red ones. The wolf has inched closer than before, lying with its head on its paws, ears twitching, eyes burning into Shane through the floor to ceiling window looking out across the green. 

At first it was terrifying but after the third time of seeing the creature, Shane realised the wolf meant no harm. Instead it seemed to like watching Shane, perfectly content in observing Shane putter about. Its gaze had initially sent prickles along the tops of his arms but now he had grown accustomed to it. Shane assumed that maybe the lone wolf had just strayed from its pack, wandering across the forest to here. Shane realises that the wolf is probably the cause of the dead animals, which have thankfully stopped. He won’t try and think about why that is. Mainly because he has no idea.

Other times he just sees the wolf wondering about, heavy paws thudding against the ground as he’s reading on the couch inside or on the porch. The wolf always turns to look at him though, like checking he’s still there, even curious. He wonders what the wolf eats, probably the dead birds, his mind supplies unhelpfully. But the idea of the wolf going hungry makes something twist in Shane’s belly unpleasantly, so that’s how he finds himself bbqing sausages. He’s going to have some too, Shane reasons to himself, of course. Even though he usually avoids sausages because of the fat content, but he figured it’s something a wolf would eat. He did have a thought to not cook them at all and give them to the wolf raw, but he decided to cook them anyway just in case. He’s definitely overthinking this. Definitely. But Shane ignores it.

Shane wouldn’t really call himself an animal person. He doesn’t mind them of course, but he never grew up with them. But he can see the appeal of having a pet, and he cringes at the idea of considering the wolf as anything like a pet that he would own. He most definitely does not, he’s just grown used to the wolf being a feature of everyday cottage life now. It’s technically a big dog, he reasons as he uses tongs to pick up the cooked sausages off the grill to cool off on a plate. No big deal. He’s feeding the big dog that lurks in his backyard. That’s all. Shane thinks of it as looking out for the wildlife. 

He knows he’s being mysteriously calm about everything, when usually he’d be freaking the fuck out and rocking himself back and forth in a dark corner. But he’s at the cottage, and it’s summer, and he’s spent all season exhausting himself for the sake of winning the Stanley Cup - which he did thank you very much. And if he wants to pretend everything is fine and that the giant wolf wandering about his property is completely normal, then he will. Because what else is he meant to do? Besides jerk off ten times a day to the image of a man with golden curls and blue eyes - and Shane’s cock is getting sore.

After he eats his own dinner, he leaves the sausages in a pile on the grass and goes to sleep, tucking himself into his sheets ready for his mind to be taken over with the thoughts of the mysterious man caressing his skin. 

The next morning the sausages are gone, and a pleasant thrill settles in Shane’s chest and he rubs the feeling away with a heavy palm. Shane doesn’t like waste, that’s all. The wolf must have been hungry though. From then on, the sausages spark something and Shane starts making sure to cook up extra burger patties, even more sausages, once even a steak (Shane cooks the steak rare with blushing cheeks and a face of denial). The wolf eats it all. 

It’s a cool summer evening when Shane is lying against the cushions of his outdoor sofa, perhaps a week after first spotting the wolf, fire blazing to illuminate an orange glow across Shane’s glasses as he reads. He can hear the buzz of winged bugs flying about his ears and he swats them away distractedly, turning the page with the edge of his finger. The sound of gentle thuds on the ground makes him look up with a start.

The wolf’s eyes seem to sparkle in the firelight, and Shane can’t help but tense as it pads closer. The wolf comes closer than Shane expects, and they both seem to watch each other carefully as the wolf slowly makes its way up the steps to where Shane sits. Shane sucks in a breath, words on the page entirely forgotten as the wolf pauses to stand staring at him for a moment. His fingers tighten around the book, fear lurching momentarily before he tampers it down. 

The wolf wouldn’t hurt him, would it? No, he internally shakes his head, it hasn’t so far so why would it now? Maybe it was cold. 

The wolf moves then, and Shane gapes as it settles down on the opposite side of the fire pit, resting its large head on its front legs, ears twitching slightly and eyes still set on Shane across the flickering flames. Shane swears he sees something weirdly human in its gaze as it watches him, which is a thought he brushes away with a shuffle of his shoulders. He looks at the wolf one more time, making sure it’s not baring its teeth or contemplating Shane for its dinner (it can’t be hungry surely after all the food Shane’s been feeding it). With a subtle nod of his head to himself, Shane wiggles to sink further into the pillows, bringing the book closer to his face so he can read the words better, but making sure he can see the top of the wolf’s head above the top of his book. Just in case. 

After a while Shane’s eyes begin to droop, and he sets his book down to look across the fire at the wolf. The wolf stares at him still, gaze wondering the length of Shane hidden under the blanket, making him fidget.

Shane tilts his head back against the pillows to look up at the stars set against the velvet fabric of the night sky. He sighs deeply, body unfurling into the sofa. His body practically sings at how relaxed he feels. This is what the summer was for. Relaxation. And after the last few weeks of dead birds, a dead rabbit, knocking himself out on a branch, dreaming of a hot guy who is most certainly not real, and now a wolf who is becoming some sort of weird companion, he finally feels at peace. Which is funny, all things considering, but Shane will happily take it. Even if there is a wolf staring at him right now. 

And that’s how Shane drifts off, book slowly slipping out of his limp fingers, fire softening to a gentle crackle. 

Shane wakes again sometime later but not really, sleep still clinging heavily to the edges of reality as his eyes drift open only halfway. He seems to be moving through the air, and he half thinks he’s flying until he inhales to smell that same delicious cedarwood and amber smell again. He could almost moan in delight at the warmth coursing through his veins from the scent alone. It makes his head fuzzy, like he’s lazing on a cloud. 

He turns his nose into it, and notices a familiar chest dusted in moles, like from his dreams. 

‘Dream?’ Shane mumbles questioningly, even though he’s pretty sure he isn’t but doesn’t care enough to try and figure it out. The scent is the same, but the face above him is blurry, mind too sleep addled to make it out. The chest vibrates with a familiar grumble, and Shane watches the dark sky above him change into the ceiling of his living room as they seem to move into the house. Fingers come to gently trace the side of his face and Shane unconsciously leans into the touch, exhaling a deep sigh as he snuggles into the chest further, feeling his feet swinging with the motion of being carried. 

The fingers drift down to coax his eyelids closed and Shane lets them.

***

Shane wakes the next morning feeling refreshed, the memory of being carried clearly forgotten as he blends a smoothie together for his breakfast with a ghost of a smile on his face. He woke up feeling good, content even. Well rested. He woke up with more energy than he did in the past week, hence the smoothie and him dressed in his running gear. He was going to go on a run, Shane had decided, and breathe in the fresh morning air. Then later, he’s meeting his mom for lunch, which Shane hopes isn’t too filled with sponsorship talk but knows his mom well enough to know that that hope will be pointless.

He steps outside and goes to make his way down the back porch steps but stops still as his trainers hit the grass slick with morning dew. 

The wolf is there only a few metres away with its front paw lifted strangely, head slightly lowered, watching Shane with sharp eyes. 

Shane’s doe brown eyes widen, gaze tracking down the wolf’s raised leg and zeroing in on its paw, noticing the glint of blood between the pads of its foot. It looks dried but Shane’s throat tightens in concern regardless, feet hesitantly taking him closer to the wolf watching his every move.

‘Are you hurt?’ Shane whispers, his voice cracking on the last word from not having spoken to anyone in days. He clears his throat, before slowly dropping to one knee in front of the animal. 

From this angle the wolf looms larger than it has before, and Shane is struck by just how massive the animal is. The wolf huffs but limps a little closer, nose twitching as it scents the air in front of Shane.

‘Can I see?’ He asks softly, a hand slowly coming out to hover in front of them, centimetres from the wolf’s snout. A fear zips through him at the thought that the wolf could quite easily bite his hand off, but he suppresses it for now. Instead he waits, and watches with bated breath as the wolf’s nose nudges closer, leaning forward to sniff around Shane’s hand. 

The wolf steps forward then to nudge his snout against Shane’s hand, and he has to suppress the urge to jump from the sudden cold wetness of the wolf’s nose against his palm. He sucks in a gasp, his heart almost beating out of his chest as the wolf moves to bump its head against his hand, as if trying to say something. Shane’s hand instinctively goes to pet at the soft fur at the top of its head, at first hesitantly, but as the wolf makes a, what Shane assumes is a contented, chuffing sound deep from its chest, his hand becomes more insistent in stroking the slightly coarse fur. 

His lips part in wonder at the frankly ginormous beast accepting pets from a human.

The image in front of him makes Shane huff out a laugh in disbelief.

‘You’re just a big dog aren’t you?’ He mutters to himself but the wolf looks at him with narrowed eyes as if understanding what he said. Shane’s hand drifts to scratch behind a flicking ear, and the wolf’s chest rumbles, head tilting slightly and eyes half closed. Shane can’t help but smile. 

It’s then he remembers why he’s in this situation in the first place. His eyes flit down to the front left paw that is still hovering above the ground. His hand stops stroking the wolf’s head to drift downwards. He catches the wolf’s eye, looking imploringly.

‘Will you let me take a look?’ Shane asks, waiting a second or two to see if the wolf has a reaction. Even though he doesn't speak wolf, Shane thinks to himself, wanting to hit himself at the idea that the wolf can understand a word he is saying. So instead he slowly reaches for the paw, eyes fixed on the animal in front of him, waiting for him to snap its teeth. Instead the wolf keeps its gaze fixed on Shane. 

Shane gently clutches at the large paw, the thing bigger than Shane’s hand, as he slowly lifts it, neck craning to look under it slightly. He thinks he can see a large thorn sticking out of the bottom, the edges crusted with dried blood. It must be pressing deeper with each step the wolf takes, Shane tuts to himself silently. He drops the paw slowly, looking back up with a frown.

‘Stay there,’ Shane says without thinking, standing up and turning around to walk back inside. Before he crosses the threshold of the door though he turns around one last time, waggling a finger, ‘Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back.’

It’s only when he’s inside filling a glass full of water and ringing a rag under the tap that he realises he’s talking to the wolf like a person. Again. What is he doing? Who is he, Snow White? The next thing he knows, he’ll be running an animal sanctuary from his back porch. But Shane looks up to see the wolf still standing where he left him, and his heart twists. 

Fast walking outside to the wolf, he drops down onto both knees. 

‘Hold still,’ he mutters absently, eyes flitting up to the wolf’s before he grabs hold of the paw again, before tipping some water from the glass in his hand over the bloody paw, using the rag to gently clean away the dried blood. He must catch the edge of the large thorn as the wolf’s front leg jerks back, a soft growl rumbling from its chest. Shane moves backwards with his hands up in surrender, trying to communicate he means no harm.

He gives the wolf a cursory once over and frowns. He won’t be able to get the thorn out like this, the wolf needs to sit down but not on the ground otherwise it’ll be difficult to look underneath the paw. Shane looks back to his living room with a thought, looking back at the wolf for a moment before making up his mind.

***

Getting the wolf to come into the house was the easy part, trying to persuade the wolf to get up on the sofa however was a different story.

Shane is acutely aware of how ludicrous the image is right now - him shepherding a terrifyingly large creature into his home and patting his hand on the sofa covered in old towels, trying to coax the thing up so he can extract the thorn from its foot.

He’d laugh hysterically if he wasn’t so focused on the task at hand. 

‘Come on.’ He tries again, patting a bit harder this time as the wolf looks questioningly at him. God he feels like an idiot. He was meant to be on vacation, and here he was trying to nurse a wolf back to health. He was an ice hockey player for the NHL, not a vet. But he’s too far into it now to back out. 

‘Please?’ He asks softly, eyes wide and imploring. He hopes his desperation comes across to the animal in his tone of voice. Finally, the wolf gingerly gets up on the couch and settles itself down across it, paws laid out in front of Shane. 

Shane breathes a sigh of relief. The wolf looks unimpressed at the gust of air blown his way through Shane’s mouth. Right, back to business. 

Shane turns to pick up a pair of disinfected tweezers, holding them up so the wolf can see them. 

‘Okay,’ Shane says quietly, going to close his mouth before thinking fuck it, if he wants to talk out loud to an animal who can’t respond to make himself feel better about how crazy this situation is, he damn will. 

‘Okay, I’m going to pull it out now, alright? So don’t bite me or anything,’ Shane says seriously to the wolf but the animal simply stares. 

‘I mean it. This face is worth millions,’ Shane points a finger at himself, ‘I have an ad with Rolex after summer, so don’t touch the face. Even if you want to scratch my eyes out, please refrain from doing so.’ 

With that he leans down to gingerly poke at the paw resting against a scratchy blue towel that Shane had found at the back of his closet. 

‘Okay,’ Shane mutters to himself, ‘Okay. Here we go.’ And with that he gently picks up the paw and cranes his head to look underneath it, feeling the coarseness of the towel brushing his cheek. 

‘Okay this is happening,’ Shane says to himself as he spots the large thorn sticking out, ‘this is happening. Right, okay, here we go.’

His hand holding the tweezers leans down to the space between the paw and the sofa, carefully gripping the hard thorn between the tweezers and stilling for a moment to look at the wolf under his lashes. The wolf continues to look down at him with gleaming eyes. The animal almost looks amused. 

Shane rolls his eyes at the thought before focusing on the tweezers again. He snorts aloud, ‘Yeah right.’ He mutters. 

Shane takes a deep breath for courage before quickly yanking the thorn straight out. The movement causes a snarl to emit from the wolf before it quickly cuts off. The thorn is longer than Shane thought, god knows where it came from. 

‘That was wedged in pretty deep huh?’ He asks the wolf with raised eyebrows, waving the thorn in front of him as proof. He wipes the wound with antiseptic before wrapping an old, red rag around the paw to stem any more bleeding, tying it with a knot on the top of its foot.

‘Okay, all done.’ Shane sits back and slaps his hands against his bare knees. He smiles at his work, glancing up to look at the wolf expectedly. 

‘You’re welcome by the way.’ He says, hand coming up to scratch at an ear, more confident than he was before. The wolf leans into the touch with a rumble and Shane smiles softly. He pulls his hand back with a sigh and slumps back into the cushions behind him, watching the wolf with resignation.

‘Guess I’m not going on that run huh?’ He says absently mindedly. He should probably cancel lunch with his mom, Shane thinks. Just in case. He feels bad if he just leaves the wolf, especially now he’s made it sit on his sofa. There’s no way in hell he’s going to try and get it to move now. He’s not leaving a wild animal in his home. Not after how much he spent on decorating. No he’ll stay here and supervise. He calls his mom to tell her that he can’t make lunch, mumbling an excuse at having a cold, to which she says he needs to rest up, that they can have lunch later on that week instead, which Shane agrees to.

He sits there for a few minutes before deciding to get up and shower, content with the knowledge the wolf seemingly isn’t going anywhere if the lowered head resting against the cushions and closed eyes is anything to go by. 

So Shane quietly treks to his en-suite, showering and washing his hair. He takes a moment as he stands under the hot spray to contemplate the morning. There is a wolf in his house. A wolf is in Shane’s house. A wolf is in Shane’s house after he quite literally opened the door for it. Dear God. Shane rests his forehead against the tiled shower wall with a huff. Is this what is going to happen on his holidays now? Has he knocked his head too many times playing hockey that he is now officially crazy and has an affinity for healing wild animals? 

Maybe he needs to take a season off, he thinks as he lathers up shower gel between his hands, palms tracing the planes of his stomach absently. It’s not a crazy idea, he’s been full steam ahead since he got drafted. He’s won multiple Stanley Cups, has countless brand deals, has been to many award shows to present and also to win. Maybe he needs to take a break for a while, maybe the wolf is a sign he’s going a little batshit crazy. His mom might have some questions, and the team might be angry but it might be nice. He could focus on other things. He’s always wanted to start his own charity, maybe if he took a year off he could finally do it. All because he wouldn’t be doing hockey for a bit doesn’t mean he couldn’t do other things. Why the hell not, it’s an idea. Maybe he’ll broach it with his mom when they next have lunch.

Slipping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist, he exits the steamy bathroom to find some clothes. He settles on soft jogging bottoms and an oversized tee, pulling on some white socks, wiggling his toes at how cosy he feels before he remembers the wolf in his living room. He should probably go and check it isn’t tearing up his furniture. 

He opens the bedroom door, padding towards the living area and curving round the kitchen island before coming to a screeching halt, gawking at the sight in front of him.

There is a naked man standing in his living room. 

There is a man. Naked. In his living room. 

‘What the fuck?’ Shane shrieks, stumbling backwards, hands coming to grip the kitchen counter to the side of him. 

At the sound the man turns and Shane gasps loudly, frozen still. It’s the man from his dream. The grade-A hottie, his brain supplies helpfully. The sharp jaw, the blonde curls, the blue eyes, the broad chest. Shane blinks hard a few times to see if he disappears, but the man remains standing there, butt ass naked, holding a towel out in front of him as if he was inspecting it before Shane walked in.

At the sight of Shane losing his mind across the room, the man begins to walk towards him. Shane gapes in shock as the man looms closer before his mind kicks into overdrive. 

He stumbles back, eyes frantically looking for a weapon of defence, hands outstretched in front of him as if trying to ward off the man’s impending approach.

‘Stay back! You-you stay right there! Don’t-,’ Shane grabs at the wet cloth he used to wipe the wolf’s paw outside lying on the kitchen side, waving it pathetically in front of him like a flag. 

‘Don’t come any closer!’ Shane yells, heart racing as the man stalks closer on long muscled legs, thick arms swinging slightly. Shane has to force himself to keep his eyes trained on the man’s approaching face, determined not to look below his chest. He may be terrified, but some things are hard not to stare at. Especially as a closeted gay man who hasn’t felt the touch of another person in over a year. 

As the man nears, his face comes into focus and Shane’s breath stutters slightly as he comes into the light. Up close he’s even more handsome than in his fragmented dreams. He has high cheekbones, strong eyebrows, a mole on his cheek, a gold necklace lying in the centre of his chest that glints in the early afternoon sun peeking out from behind the man’s enormous build. Because the man is huge, taller than Shane, shoulders broad and thickly muscled all over. 

The idea that this man could very much hurt him if he wanted to has Shane stumbling back further before he hits a wall. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth dry, chest heaving in fear as the man inches closer to stand directly in front of him. 

The man’s eyes are fixed on him intensely, almost with a look of reverence which confuses Shane momentarily before he uselessly slaps the man’s chest with the wet cloth in an attempt to get him away from him. 

‘Fuck off! Who-who are you? What are you doing in my house? I’ll call the police!’ Shane shouts, voice only slightly trembling, his fingers clutching at the cloth desperately.

The man only tilts his head as if confused, a large hand coming up between them seemingly going to touch Shane before he slaps it away with his hand, shoulders knocking back into the wall behind him. 

‘Don’t touch me! You-get out of my house!’

The man again says nothing, watching Shane with furrowed brows. The hand Shane smacked away still hovers in the air.

At the man’s lack of words, Shane kicks out a foot to swipe at him but misses in his panic, the naked man glancing down amusedly at the attempt. Shane would be embarrassed at the patheticness of it all if he wasn’t convinced he was going to get murdered - by a hot man nonetheless, but murdered all the same. 

‘Well? Answer me!’ Shane yells in frustration, he can feel his cheeks heat up in anger, scowling. His heart is still racing at a million miles an hour, his mind scrambling of what the fuck is happening, and how this man even got into his house.

Is he a weirdo fan? But why is he naked? Is he a lunatic that has escaped from a hospital? Oh my god, first the wolf, now this? Shane thinks, eyes frantically looking around the room for an exit point. Where did he put his phone? Did he leave it on the couch? 

His eyes flit over to the couch, and he realises the wolf has gone. For fucks sake, Shane thinks, just when I need a guard dog. He turns back to look at the naked man in front of him.

The man just stares at him, before inhaling deeply, leaning forward to sniff Shane. Shane rears backwards but his head hits the wall with a thunk.

‘Don’t-stop that! What are you doing?’ The man leans forward to sniff more at the air around Shane’s face, ignoring Shane slapping his chest frantically. Shane could punch him, he knows he could, he knows he should, but he just can’t get his shaking hand to form a fist. And also the guy surprisingly isn’t doing anything other than trying to sniff him which is confusing. Is this a weird fetish thing murderers have now? 

‘What-stop sniffing me you freak, where are your clothes!’ Shane cries, shooting sideways to get out from being pinned against the wall. 

The man turns with curious eyes to watch Shane stumble backwards, slowly turning to follow. 

‘Are you here to murder me?’ Shane asks, mind racing with so many thoughts he can’t stop them all from tumbling out of his mouth. 

‘If you are, I won’t make it easy for you, you know. Or do you want money? You can have money, I have loads. Is that what you want?’ Shane asks desperately, inching closer to the couch as the man dutifully follows him. 

‘Stop-stop following me! And answer my question! Who are you? And where are your clothes?’ Shane can’t help but ask again. He lets out a panicked shriek as the man inches closer, and Shane seizes backwards, not realising he’s made his way to the edge of the couch, feeling it hit the back of his knees to send him falling back onto it with a panicked grunt. 

He scrambles up to rest on his elbows, eyes wide as the man stares down at him wordlessly. This is it, this is how he dies, Shane thinks. And he didn’t even put up much of a fight. At least he had a good time up until now, sort of. He had a career only some people could dream of, has more trophies than he knows what to do with. Maybe in his next life he should take MMA classes, so that if someone tries to murder him again, he’ll be less pathetic.

The man leans forward and Shane’s eyes squeeze closed as he feels the man loom closer, hot breath fanning over his face, hands coming to frame either side of his arms. Shane waits for a hard punch, or a knife to the gut. He thinks of his parents, wonders how they’ll react to the news their son was murdered without putting up much of a fight. 

He’s busy thinking about what they’d say at his funeral when he feels a heavy huff of air blow his hair into his eyes. His eyes snap open. The man is leaning over him, biceps bulging, and the man is - sniffing his hair? The man inhales deeply before nosing his way down past Shane’s ear, the snuffling making his neck twitch in the ticklish feeling it evokes. The man’s nose traces his jaw, a tongue darting out to give his neck a quick lick. 

Shane tries to jerk away but the man follows. 

What the fuck is happening? Shane thinks with a weird mellowed tone. The panic in his chest cresting into something stagnant, like a wave that never quite meets the shore. 

A strange rumble emits from the man’s chest as he nudges Shane’s head back to sniff over his Adam’s apple. 

‘What are you-,’ Shane starts, licking his dry lips and swallowing harshly at the weirdness of it all. Is this a new thing? Is he going to eat him? Is this cannibal foreplay? Is it a sex thing? Shane wouldn’t know, it’s not like he’s having any.

A low rumble vibrates in the man’s throat and it’s so familiar Shane has to suppress a shiver. The man gazes down at Shane with dark eyes, and Shane brown eyes widen with a startled gasp at the feeling of it. 

Shane tries to shuffle backwards on his elbows but the man’s head surges forward so their noses touch and Shane lets out an embarrassing squeak. His fingers dig into the towel below him, desperately clutching onto something. He wants to pinch himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming. 

The man gazes at him with so much emotion in his eyes that Shane can’t figure out what exactly the man is thinking. Which is terrifying given the current situation. 

Shane clears his throat, deciding that if the man is obviously not going to murder him immediately, and clearly has a thing for sniffing, maybe Shane can sweet talk his way out of whatever situation this is, and promptly leg it to his car to drive off and never come back. Interior design efforts be damned. Shane knows he can be charming, sort of. He doesn’t really know how he is, but he’s been told he can be. Rose has said it to him before, that he has a way of being and talking that is so honest it’s impossible not to like him immediately. She ended the compliment by pinching his cheek, cooing at how cute he is, which maybe isn’t such a good thing. But Shane will cling onto anything right now to get this strange, naked man away from him. 

Seriously, why isn’t he wearing any clothes?

The man’s skin is hot above him, his chest inches away from Shane’s T-shirt clad one. The man’s practically a furnace, and Shane would think he’s burning up if the man did not look so positively pleased with himself, staring down at Shane with a glint in his eye.

Shane tries to move upwards but the man refuses to budge, and Shane huffs in annoyance.

‘Get off me.’ He says with a scowl, one of his hands coming up to push firmly at the man’s naked chest, pointedly ignoring the muscle beneath his fingers, pinky brushing a nipple. Shane pushes harder and the man moves back, albeit reluctantly, to sit on his haunches to straddle Shane’s legs. The man’s hands come up to settle on Shane’s abdomen, almost possessively. 

Shane sits up, still glaring, mouth twisted. The two men stare at each other in silence, Shane in disbelief and the man in quiet contentment. 

‘Well, what do you want?’ Shane questions, voice hard but level, ‘what are you doing in my house?’ He says. 

Again the man just stares at Shane, eyes flitting down to his lips before trailing across the rest of his face. Shane huffs in frustration. And Shane thought he was unsociable. He raises his hands to smack at the man’s grip on his waist, but the man just looks down to observe Shane’s failed attempts to make him move. One of his big hands clutches at Shane’s smacking at him with vigour, pulling it to hover in front of the man’s face. The man seems to study his hand intently, sniffing it with interest lightly before pulling back to simply stare at it, fingers clutching Shane’s hand in a vice grip. That’s when Shane notices a very familiar rag tied round one of the man’s palms. 

Shane’s brows furrow. That’s the rag he tied around the wolf’s paw. Where did this guy get it from? 

‘Where did you-,’ Shane starts but is abruptly cut off by a yelp as the man licks a trail up one of Shane’s fingers with a pleased huff. 

‘What the fuck? Ew that’s gross! What are you doing?’ Shane cries, yanking his hand back to cradle it against his chest. 

‘Are you trying to eat me, you freak?’ Shane says, as the man leans forward, a rumble in his chest. 

Shane uses the opportunity to shuffle back, out from under the man’s legs to sit against the pillows of the couch, knees drawn up in a defensive position. 

The man moves to crawl closer but Shane kicks a foot out. 

‘Stay!’ He says, a hand coming out to reiterate his point. He feels like he’s talking to a toddler. Surprisingly the man listens, but not before the bandaged hand lightly takes hold of Shane’s bare ankle to smooth his fingers over it. 

Shane drops his leg in exasperation at the situation. His eyes are drawn back to the red rag tied across the man’s hands. 

‘Where did you get that?’ Shane points to the cloth, and the man looks down blankly at it before looking up to blink at Shane. 

Shane can feel himself getting more annoyed. Shane never liked too much talking, but this was taking the piss.

‘That rag, where did you get it?’ He asks again, louder. The man only squeezes his ankle in response, grunting softly. 

‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ Shane queries, a realisation hitting him that maybe the man isn’t replying because he doesn’t speak English. 

‘Do you speak English?’ To that the man just stares. He pulls more insistently at Shane’s ankle. 

‘No, no.’ Shane says warningly, feeling like he is trying to talk to a child threatening to have a tantrum down the frozen food aisle in the supermarket. At the shake of his head, the man grunts again, louder. 

The man is weirdly animalistic, Shane thinks. He doesn’t behave like a normal human being, it’s like he’s…feral or something. Which is impossible, humans aren’t feral. But as Shane looks assessingly at the man in front of him, who is still very much naked, the idea doesn’t seem so crazy. 

Another tug at his ankle draws his attention back to the handsome man staring at him, a frown now edging at the man’s strong brows. His blue eyes squinting slightly as he watches Shane. 

‘What?’ Shane huffs, arms crossing, ‘what could you possibly want?’ He snaps. 

Maybe if his body wasn’t burning on adrenaline right now he wouldn’t be so sassy, but this has turned out to be a weird fucking day. And he has no idea what to do besides lean into the buzzing underneath his skin. 

The man grunts, a rumble building up in his chest as the man seems to grow more agitated at Shane being so far away from him. Suddenly the man moves forward to yank Shane closer by the shoulders. 

‘Hey! You-get off me!’ Shane struggles but is pulled unwillingly closer anyway, unceremoniously hauled into the man’s lap.

Shane gapes at the man now inches from him, who now looks pleased with himself, hands softly grazing up and down Shane’s thighs, eyes drifting down to look between them before skirting back up to meet Shane’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Shane snaps, scowling, pushing at the man’s chest before the man grabs his hands with a swift swoop and gathers them in one large hand to rest against the man’s naked chest.

Shane becomes acutely aware of his position as he tries to wiggle away and he feels something long and thick wedge between his ass cheeks, the man grunting softly, eyes sharpening. Shane freezes, swallowing loudly. This has taken an odd turn in events. 

Cheeks burning and pointedly ignoring the weight under his ass, Shane looks down at his hands encased in the stranger’s, the red cloth a startling contrast against the man’s skin. Shane tugs his hands gently, and the man resists at first before he eventually lets them go after he realises Shane isn’t planning on going anywhere. 

Shane picks up the red rag covered hand and holds it up to his face to inspect it. It’s tied the exact same way Shane tied it around the wolf’s injured paw. With furrowed brows, he slowly unravels the rag to reveal a small puncture wound in the middle of the man’s palm, the same as the wolf’s when he extracted the large thorn. 

Shane gulps in disbelief, mind suddenly emptying of all thought except for one. 

He stares blankly at the man’s large palm in an attempt to stall the realisation. The very crazy realisation. The very insane realisation that this man has the exact same injury as the wolf that he saw not only half an hour ago, maybe more. That Shane found this man in the exact same place he left the wolf. That the man is indeed the man from his dreams. That the man is sniffing, huffing and grunting at him like an animal unused to human convention. That there is something startlingly familiar in his blue eyes that Shane recognises from another pair of eyes he has grown familiar with over the past week. 

No. Shane thinks. No, this is not happening. This isn’t real. You’re crazy. You officially need to take a break from hockey because the stress has clearly gotten to you, to the point where you are imagining a wolf has turned into a man. Nope, no way, nope nope nope nope- 

Shane’s inner panicked ramblings are cut off by the man resting his injured hand against the side of Shane’s face, cradling it softly. Shane gawps with parted lips and wide eyes at the man in front of him, a look of tenderness flashing across the man’s face. 

‘You’re-,’ Shane chokes out before he stops. Hesitantly, and every so slowly Shane raises his hand, the man’s eyes flitting to it momentarily before settling his gaze back on Shane’s face. Shane gingerly rests a hand in the soft locks of the man’s hair, just behind his ear. And Shane decides to test something. 

His fingers curl softly into the blonde locks, and he scratches lightly. The reaction is instant, the man leans his head into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as a pleasured grunt rumbles from the man’s chest so loudly Shane can feel it against the fingers scratching the man’s head gently. 

‘Oh my god,’ Shane whispers, sucking in a breath of courage, ‘you’re the wolf.’ 

At Shane’s quiet utterance, the man’s eyes snap open, the piercing blue sending a shiver down Shane’s spine as his world seems to fall around his ears, the man oblivious to Shane’s inner crisis. 

‘Aren’t you?’ Shane mutters, quietly questioning. The man says nothing, eyes flitting between Shane’s, head nudging against Shane’s hand as it stops its movements in his hair.

Shane continues scratching lightly behind the man’s ear automatically, fingers moving to thread through the man’s soft curls, twisting one around his finger as he looks at the man distractedly. 

‘That means you were-,’ Shane cuts himself off with a quiet gasp, feeling his ears go red. So the man from when he hit his head was real. And he did carry him. And Shane has been having incredibly dirty dreams about him all this time. The memory of one of them has him clearing his throat in mortification, hands stilling in the man’s hair, eyes avoiding the man’s as he watches intently, the man’s nose twitching softly before his gaze sharpens, head moving slightly to try and catch his gaze again. 

Shane tries to look anywhere but the man in front of him. He’s very confused. How is this biologically possible? The book he just finished on evolution would say it’s impossible for a man to be able to shift into a wolf, and Shane would normally be inclined to agree blindly. And yet the man in front of him, who has Shane sat on his very naked lap, is evidence of the contrary. Does he call someone? His mom? The police? But then what would happen to the man? Shane shudders at the thought. Nothing good that’s for sure. And he didn’t want to be a guilty party in any human or animal experimentation. Plus it’s not like the man is dangerous really, he’s basically a big puppy with the way he butts Shane’s head for more pets, and the insistent sniffing and huffing around his neck - Shane has a niggling worry in the back of his mind that maybe he stinks which he pushes down for now. Maybe Shane could deal with this. He wasn’t cut out for it, of course, but how hard can it be? 

Surely the man will just, what, turn into a wolf again and leave? And Shane can wave him off with a smile, never to see him again. Yeah. And watch the man’s insanely round and taught ass shift as he walks away-no. Shane shakes his head, groaning. 

None of that.

At Shane’s continued lack of eye contact as he becomes lost in thought, a low whine emits from the man’s throat, the hands on Shane’s thighs moving up, fingers slipping under the thin material of his tee to skirt up and down his sides instead. The touch is just shy of ticklish and has Shane squirming, which only enthuses the man to hold him tighter at the waist, holding him down harder in his lap. 

Which reminds Shane sharply that this man is not wearing any clothes, and the very obvious length under his ass is slowly hardening. 

Shane scrabbles to get off the man’s lap hurriedly, wrestling the man’s iron grip off his waist, which eventually falls. Shane stands between the man’s legs, pointedly only looking at his face and not daring to trail his eyes down further, specifically not to the fine trail of hair leading do-no.

Shane sets his hands on his hips, eyes determined. The man simply looks up at Shane with curious eyes, before his gaze drops down to take a very interested glance down the rest of his body, which Shane tries to ignore besides the heat it sends shooting down his spine. 

‘Right well if you aren’t going to leave, you need clothes.’ Shane says loudly. 

Clothes, which means Shane’s clothes. Does he have anything that will fit the man? Shane isn’t small by any means, but Shane caught the thickness of the man’s thighs, the span of his back, and he thinks that it’ll still be a bit of a tight fit in anything he has. But that doesn’t matter. Shane may be gay, and this man may be the hottest guy he has ever seen, but he’s not an animal. The man will be wearing clothes if he is to remain in his house a moment longer. 

‘Stay there,’ Shane orders, trying to get his point across with drawn eyebrows and a finger pointing at the man, there is no way this man is coming into his bedroom. The man tries to reach out to grab at his finger but Shane retracts it quickly. 

‘No. Stay.’ Shane’s hands trying to mime the impression of staying before he shuffles backwards, watching as the man moves to get off the couch to follow.

Shane groans in frustration, hands coming to tug at his hair. ‘No! Stay. You stay there, okay? Don’t move. Stay.’ 

The man finally seems to get the message and sits back to rest on the couch, but his eyes never cease in tracking Shane”s movements as he does a half jog to his bedroom. 

His hands fumble for the handle on his chest of drawers, for now not caring as he disrupts the carefully folded piles of clothes. He’ll deal with that later. Dress the feral man in his living room first, worry about everything else after. 

He pulls out a pair of dark navy shorts, stretching them experimentally with his hands. They look big enough, Shane thinks. His fingers dig around for a moment longer before he pulls out a T-shirt that he stuffed at the back of his drawer a year ago. It is a black Boston Raiders tee, with yellow lettering. Shane scowls at it, the memory of him losing a bet a year ago and being made to wear it at a bar comes flooding back. After that night he had brought it to the cottage to simply forget about it at the bottom of his drawer, never to be used again. He could have thrown it out, but Shane isn’t wasteful. And it also comes in handy in situations like this. As if this is a situation that anyone has ever encountered before. 

The shirt was a little too big on Shane anyway, which bodes well hopefully. With a sigh, he picks up the shorts too and walks quickly back to the wolf-man in his living room. Leaving his bedroom, he is suddenly met with a brick wall - or a naked, muscled chest. The man stares down at Shane appraisingly, eyes flitting across his face to what he has in his hands, a sound rumbling in his chest softly before his gaze lifts to look at the bedroom behind Shane’s shoulder with interest. 

‘You-you aren’t where I put you! Why have you moved?’ Shane splutters, and the man moves his head to swipe his nose across the underside of Shane’s jaw. 

‘Stop that.’ Although Shane does nothing to stop him, instead letting the man nudge his head back as he huffs at the slope of his neck. The feeling of the man’s warm breath sends little jolts of heat to Shane’s belly, causing him to swallow harshly to try and abate the feeling. Perhaps he is more touch starved than he thought, he thinks distantly. 

As the man’s large hands come to grip at his waist, Shane snaps out of it.

‘Okay, enough of that now-,’ Shane moves his head back but the man follows with a grunt, ‘stop-stop sniffing me!’ Shane yells, a hand coming up to push at the man’s chest, leveling him with what he hopes is an angry stare. 

Instead the man stares, eyes dropping to look at Shane’s hand resting between his pecs, before looking up again to blink at him. 

‘You-put these on. They’re clothes, you need to wear them.’ He shoves the bundle of clothes clutched in his other hand between them, and when the man doesn’t take them, he yanks a hand from his waist to make him. 

The man brings them up to his face and gives them a cautionary sniff, looking at Shane questioningly. Shane rolls his eyes. 

‘Clothes, they are clothes.’ Shane gestures to his own in an attempt to convey meaning. At the man’s continued confusion Shane huffs, hands coming to hang limply at his sides. He moves then, taking the shorts out of the man’s hands to gesture to himself. 

‘These are to wear. Like this.’ Shane lies them across his sweatpants clad legs with a raised brow, hoping the man gets it. The man slowly reaches out to take them, and copies what Shane did and looks up expectedly as he does. 

‘No, you need to actually put them on.’ Shane tries to say, slowly beginning to panic at how on earth he is going to get this man to understand. Giving up, and desperate for this man to be in some semblance of clothed order, Shane takes them back, and crouches in front of the man, stretching the shorts so the man can fit his leg in them. 

As he lowers himself, pointedly looking down at the man’s feet, and not right at what is in front of him, the man’s chest rumbles in interest. Shane can feel the blush already plaguing his cheeks spreading down his neck to his chest. Ignoring that reaction, and all the accompanying heat that comes with it, Shane taps at the man’s foot insistently. 

‘Put your foot in.’ Shane says loudly, still refusing to look up. He can imagine what he looks like, and he can imagine what the man looks like staring down at him - it’s a permanent feature of his many wet dreams about the man, which Shane is trying very hard to forget at this moment in time. 

At another slap of his foot, the man lifts it and Shane grabs it to guide it in through the leg hole of the shorts. Shane moves to tap at the other foot just once and the man follows, clearly understanding the instruction now. 

‘Good, okay.’ Shane mutters to himself, fingers clutching at the waistband stretched between the man’s ankles. He hesitates, realising he didn’t quite think this assisted dressing through. He’s going to have to pull them up his legs - there’s no way the man will understand to do that himself. It’s just easier if Shane does it, he tries to reason with himself. He can feel the man’s hand pet softly at the top of his head.

He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes momentarily before opening them again to look at the man’s feet. He’ll do it fast, that way he won’t even have to look at the man’s very clearly hardening cock that Shane has managed to avoid looking at all this time. 

With a clearing of his throat, Shane’s grip in the shorts tighten before standing up quickly and yanking the shorts upwards, pulling them extra wide to encompass all of him.

Shane’s breath has quickened slightly at the movement, at the entire situation, and he ends up almost nose to nose with him, his fingers still clutched at the waistband of the shorts which now rest at the man’s hips, his skin hot beneath his fingertips. 

Shane stills at the proximity, and the man simply looks at him, nudging his nose slightly with a chuff in his throat. Shane licks his lips distractedly and the man’s eyes laser in on the movement. 

Shane leans away slowly, fingers uncurling from their grip at the waistband, almost mourning the loss. 

Shane stares down at the t-shirt in the man’s hands and doesn’t even bother. Maybe if the man stays longer he’ll make him put it on, right now Shane couldn’t care less. It’ll be too difficult, Shane reasons, it has absolutely nothing to do with anything else, of course. Obviously. So the man will remain topless. 

‘Right okay,’ Shane says, stepping back to look at the man. The shorts are on the small side, doing nothing to hide the bulge of the man’s cock, the hem of the shorts dangerously resting on his upper thigh and taught across his hips. He looks a little ridiculous, but Shane would rather that, than naked. 

‘Okay.’ Shane says to himself. What now? 

Shane guides them back to the living room, which is harder than he thought when the man seems so insistent in wanting to go into his bedroom. But he gets them back on the couch eventually, sitting across from each other. 

The man clearly has no intentions of leaving any time soon, and Shane would usually mind because he likes his space but right now he’s more focused on the absolute insanity happening in front of him. Shane may as well try and learn the man’s name. 

Although considering the man doesn’t seem to understand anything Shane is saying, that could be difficult, but not impossible. And Shane likes a challenge, he thrives off it on the ice - so why not use that energy for success now?

Shane clears his throat, back straightening as he looks at the man sitting across from him. It took a lot of nudging and slapping hands away to make the man sit politely without trying to touch Shane. It’s like the man is fascinated by him for some reason. Although Shane will admit he is also fascinated (and partly scared, maybe just a little bit horny) by the sight of the wild man. But the man’s incessant need to touch him makes it hard for Shane to think straight, and this conversation requires all of Shane’s mental faculties. 

Still, the man has a hand on the couch inches from Shane’s foot, not quite touching, but his outstretched fingers gently brush the socked toes occasionally. Shane will let that slide. 

Shane clears his throat again to get the man’s attention, and the man stops his lingering gaze on other parts of Shane’s body to look at him. The sharp blue eyes always seem to startle him no matter how many times the man looks at him. There’s something in them that makes Shane's spine tingle, fingers twitching, making him want to fidget. Shane tries to suppress it but fails as he wiggles his toes in his cross legged position. 

‘What is your name?’ Shane asks before mentally slapping his forehead. The man doesn’t understand a lick of English, what is he doing. So Shane tries again. 

‘Shane,’ he says loudly, pointing at himself. The man’s gaze drops down to his finger before blinking back up at him. 

‘Shane.’ He repeats, drawing out the sound with another jab of his finger at himself before turning the finger to point at the man across from him. ‘You?’ 

The man blinks. Shane tries not to scream. Maybe he should just start with his name first. 

He tries it for a few more minutes, uselessly sounding out his name into the empty space between them, hoping it lands somewhere in the man’s feral brain. The man watches his lips curl around the sound with interest and Shane hopes he’s paying attention to the sound coming out of them and not just the way his lips look.

He snaps his fingers in front of the man’s eyes to draw back his focus, slightly regretting it as the man’s laser focus on his face catches him off guard. 

‘Shane. Say it.’ Hands gesturing out in front of him, trying to encourage the man to copy. The man again says nothing. Shane huffs, head falling into his hands in despair.

Then he hears a guttural sound, like trying to drive a car with the handbrake still on. Shane’s head shoots up and he watches as the man tries to move his mouth in the same way Shane did. 

Shane perks up considerably, heart leaping in excitement that he may have actually gotten through to the strange wolf-man from the forest. 

The man struggles for a second more before he makes out a sound that is definitely not Shane’s name but is on its way to be. Shane can’t help the smile that begins to break out on his face, and at that the man seems to try harder. 

‘Jane.’

The man repeats it, but the thickness of his accent and the scratchy timber of his throat, which Shane can guess is from years, if not a lifetime of un-use, makes it sound like he is saying Jane.

‘No, no not Jane,’ Shane says slowly, pointing at himself again more insistently, excitedly, ‘Shane, with a sh’ he tries again, lips curving exaggeratedly as he sounds out the beginning of his name. The tall man’s gaze hones in on the shape of them as they move. 

Shane stares at him expectedly, and the intensity of it has Shane wanting to fidget, eyes desperate to look away but unable to, entranced by the blue in the wild man’s eyes. Shane moves to grab at the man’s hand and lifts it to rest against Shane’s chest, near his heart. The man’s eyes widen slightly at the touch, watching how Shane’s hands clutch at his. 

Shane repeats his name, hoping the man can feel the vibrations in his chest at the word, to figure out how to say it correctly. 

The man’s eyes flit between the hand resting against Shane’s heart and his face, gaze searching and careful. Shane tries again and the man’s fingers twitch against his chest, warmth burning through his T-shirt. He hopes his heart isn’t beating too fast, that would be embarrassing, he thinks distantly. Neither say anything for a minute or so, Shane desperately waiting for something to come out of the man’s mouth again.

‘Shane.’ 

The man says it softly, quietly, like he’s testing it out. The sound seems to roll so beautifully off the man’s tongue, Shane sucks in a breath at the heat it sends down his spine to sit somewhere deep inside. Shane can’t help but grin at the man and nod enthusiastically.

‘Yes! Shane, I’m Shane. That’s my name.’ Shane says with glee, fingers clutching at the hand resting on his chest in poorly restrained excitement. After a morning of chaos, it’s nice to finally feel like he’s getting somewhere. 

‘Shane.’ The man repeats it louder this time, more meaningful, tracking Shane’s reaction to it. Shane nods aggressively again, dropping the man’s hand to point at himself.

‘Yes, I’m Shane.’ 

The man repeats the name quietly again, almost to himself. Shane steadies a breath, trying to ease his racing heart at the dramatic improvement of the day. 

Shane then moves his hand to gently rest at the man’s chest now, leveling him with a questioning look. The man’s hands immediately come up to cradle it to keep it there, the man’s chest vibrating softly with a rumble in his throat. 

‘What’s your name?’ Shane asks softly, doe eyes imploring. 

The man watches him for a second, and Shane can feel his steady heartbeat beneath his hand. 

The man’s mouth opens slightly, before closing, grunting. Shane nods encouragingly, leaning forward in anticipation. 

‘Ilya.’ The man says quietly, the gruffness of his throat catching on the softly spoken word. 

‘Lily?’ Shane thinks he hears, repeating it back as a question. The man frowns and shakes his head slightly. 

‘Il-ya.’ He emphasises, leaning forward slightly too. Shane can feel the vibration of the word under his hand, travelling up his arm, sending something lovely curling in his chest. 

‘Ilya.’ Shane repeats and the man looks pleased, eyes twinkling, and mouth curling softly. He nods once, pulling Shane closer. Shane lets him, too excited by the turn of events - the man said his name! He knows Shane’s name! Shane did something besides freak out! 

‘Ilya,’ Shane says with a little laugh, smiling, and the man looks at him with a soft look in his eye. The wolf-man brings Shane’s hand to hover in front of them before he raises his own to fit their hands together in the space between them. Ilya’s hands are only slightly bigger, fingertips peeking out above Shane’s, his fingers calloused in places like Shane’s are from holding a hockey stick. His throat rumbling as he replies.

‘Shane.’ 

***

They spend the rest of the day repeating their names back to each other, with Ilya following Shane around like a lost puppy, finger snagging into the back of his T-shirt like a leash. 

Shane finds it a little annoying, what with Ilya being in the way, constantly having to move around him. Ilya even tries to follow him into the bathroom the first few times, refusing to budge as Shane pushes at him. 

‘No, you are not coming in here!’ 

Ilya doesn’t seem to understand but moves anyway, and Shane can see the shadow of him standing right outside the door as he pees. He huffs and rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness but Ilya seems content to simply follow him wherever he goes, sniffing at his shoulder, huffing at his hair, giving out little grunts and rumbles here and there. 

Shane feeds him. Sausages of course, he doesn’t try with vegetables. Do wolves eat vegetables? 

Except Ilya eats with his fingers, making Shane wince at the mess, until he becomes thoroughly distracted at the way Ilya’s tongue curls around the greasy digits to lick them clean. Shane pretends that Ilya doesn’t catch him watching with dark eyes. 

Shane isn’t sure what is going to happen now. But because he doesn’t know, and is frankly too overwhelmed by the day’s events, he doesn’t bother to try and figure that out. Instead he goes about his day with a shadow. A very large, attractive shadow whose eyes burn a hole in the side of Shane’s face whenever he’s not looking.

Shane finds that Ilya seems to like man handling him too, which was apparent from the off but even more-so now Ilya realises Shane isn’t trying to run away from him. It’s simple things like nudging him on the sofa to get closer, sometimes pulling at his waist if Shane walks too quickly, leaving too big a gap between them. And it’s not even been a full day yet. 

Shane tries to teach Ilya new phrases at lunchtime but all Ilya responds with is, ‘Shane.’ So he gives up - for now. That can be a tomorrow problem.

They end the evening on the sofa, Shane having removed the old towels and putting them in the washing machine, now okay with Ilya sitting on it now he’s wearing clothes. Well, some clothes. 

So that’s where they are now, watching a documentary about the pharmaceutical industry. 

Shane had plonked himself at the other end of the sofa, deliberately far away from Ilya. But as he’s become more immersed in the TV, Ilya inches closer until Shane realises Ilya is right next to him. He turns with a questioning look. Ilya just stares at him, not even attempting to look at the screen, the heat of his naked thigh burning against Shane’s clothed one. Shane’s nose twitches at a faint waft of cedarwood and amber. Shane thought he’d be more interested in the screen, given he doesn’t know anything about human invention, but it seems that the only thing Ilya is interested in, is Shane. Which is hard to handle when Shane doesn’t like being looked at anyway, is notoriously bad at eye contact, and fidgets under scrutiny. 

Especially because it’s the way Ilya looks at him. It’s intense, the heat of it, like Ilya is watching him like a predator does before it leaps out to bite. Especially considering Ilya technically is a predator, being a wolf and all. Tracking his every move, half-curious and half-calculating. Like he’s documenting every reaction Shane makes to something either Ilya does or something around the house, or on TV. Shane can’t imagine why - if anything, he should be staring at Ilya. Ilya’s the biological phenomenon here, not Shane. But meeting Ilya’s gaze is unnerving, it makes Shane feel exposed in a way he’s never felt before. And Shane likes routine, he does not like deviating away from that. And Ilya is definitely not anything to do with the definition of routine. At all. 

But Shane kind of likes the heat of Ilya’s gaze, even if it makes him curl his shoulders shyly and a blush to break out on his face at the intensity of it. And Ilya won’t stop, so there’s no point in trying. Because all of Shane’s complaints fall on deaf ears. 

Shane yawns, the day hitting him suddenly like a ton of bricks. He fumbles for the remote, switching it off tiredly before rising with a stretch. His arms reach out above his head and his spine curves, causing the hem of his T-shirt to rise, revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his sweatpants. Shane yawns again with scrunched up eyes, entirely oblivious to Ilya zeroing in on the exposed skin with interest, eyes flashing. 

‘Time for bed.’ Shane mutters, walking to check the locks on the doors and tapping the remote so the automatic blinds come down on his windows. Ilya, like he has done for the entire day, follows Shane, watching with interest as he locks up. It’s when Shane is brushing his teeth, avoiding Ilya’s gaze in the mirror that he realises he needs to sort out sleeping arrangements. He assumes Ilya is not going back outside tonight, especially now lacking his wolf form.

He leans to spit in the sink, glancing up to watch Ilya tap at the mirror cautiously, frowning at his reflection. Shane huffs out a laugh. Maybe some modern inventions do interest him after all. 

Shane gets Ilya to brush his teeth, or more like Shane brushes his teeth for him with bright red cheeks, muttering to himself all the while whilst Ilya simply stares down at him as Shane sticks a toothbrush in his mouth. Ilya may be half wolf and clearly does not brush his teeth in wolf form, but this is Shane’s house. And in Shane’s house they brush their teeth. 

After that, Shane leads Ilya into the guest bedroom down the hall, gesturing at it.

‘You’ll sleep in here, okay?’ 

Ilya looks from Shane, to the bed, back to Shane again. To emphasise his point, Shane nudges Ilya backwards and pushes his hands down on Ilya’s very broad and muscled shoulders to make him sit on the edge of the bed. Ilya allows himself to be moved, which Shane is surprised at but nonetheless pleased at the obedience. 

Where was this willingness to follow orders earlier, he thinks to himself dryly. 

‘Now sleep.’ Shane orders, pointing at the pillow. He pats at Ilya’s shoulders for good measure before spinning on his heel and closing the door behind him, refusing to look back. 

It’s when Shane settles into his own empty bed that a hysterical laugh bubbles out of him, a hand coming to slap across his mouth. 

What the fuck has my life become? He asks himself. He squeezes his eyes closed before staring up at his ceiling. He tucks the cover under his chin, feeling weirdly cold all of a sudden. The bed feels too empty, too vast. The feeling makes him curl up slightly, turning his head into the pillow, back to the door. 

He needs to sleep, Shane thinks tiredly. Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow to find this was all a weird dream. A very long, detailed dream. A small hidden part of him that he refuses to acknowledge, hopes it isn’t. 

He hums softly, eyes drooping, falling into a fitful sleep.

***

It’s dark outside when Shane’s eyes flutter open again, humming questioningly as he is jostled from behind, warmth suddenly cocooning around him. Large hands come to curl around his waist and pull him backwards gently into a warm chest. He feels an arm move under his head, nudging his face into the crook of it, his nose filling with cedarwood and amber as he nuzzles further into it, still not quite awake. 

His body seems to relax instantly, his legs tangling with slightly longer ones, and the warmth at his back rumbles softly like a lullaby Shane’s subconscious recognises all too well. 

He shuffles backwards sleepily in an attempt to get closer to it, and the hand at his waist tightens, a nose skimming the back of his neck. 

Shane whines softly, eyes closing and slowly being lulled back into his dreams but still clinging on to the edges of wakefulness. It’s only when he feels a gentle nip at the back of his neck that his body goes limp, ceasing its fidgets.

‘Sleep.’ A gruff voice rumbles in his ear, and with the soft command filling his mind, Shane obeys, and lets himself be carried off on the wings of slumber. 

Chapter End Notes

the end turned into a real Tarzan and Jane moment (ha JANE u get it). next chapter is porn okay I swear, stay tuned!

Chapter 3: come let me hold thee

Chapter Summary

Shane adapts to Ilya’s presence and learns how much of a gentleman Ilya can be - a feral one granted - but a gentleman nonetheless, amongst other things.

Chapter Notes

ugh wow I really love writing about love (and also Shane being a cockslut - whoops). anywho, enjoy!

Shane wakes to an empty bed, which he expects although his mind swears there was more warmth in it than there is right now. His arm unconsciously sweeps out to the empty space beside him, as if searching for something. He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow, inhaling deeply to let out a muffled, tired sigh. He moans softly at the smell of amber and cedarwood infiltrating his senses. He had a surprisingly dreamless sleep, the first in a while, which shows how tired he is, especially considering-

Shane’s eyes shoot open, jerking upright in bed, hair mussed, now wide awake. Ilya. Wolf-man. There is a half wolf, half man person, an Ilya in his house, sleeping in his guest room. Shane scrambles to look at the clock on the far wall. It’s almost ten in the morning, Shane has horrendously overslept past his usual rising time of 8am. 

He rips the covers of himself to jump out of bed before pausing. What if it was all a dream? Shane pinches his arm hard. Nope, he still feels the same. Frazzled, but very much awake. He stands there a moment longer, hands curled at his sides anxiously and swallows, before creeping out of his room and down the hall to the guest bedroom. The door is closed and Shane can’t figure out if that is a good or a bad thing. 

He stands there like an idiot for a minute, hand hovering above the handle, feet fidgeting. He’s just checking on the man, he reasons, he’s technically a guest. Shane is being a good host. Also he wants to double check he’s still real. 

The longer he stands there, the more doubtful he becomes of his sanity. So with a deep breath, he gently pushes the door open to peek inside. The bedroom is empty. Shane frowns lightly, pushing the door open further to look inside properly. The sheets are unmade, which would suggest that Ilya was in fact not a figment of Shane’s imagination. He nears the bed and delicately places a hand on the mattress. The space is cold. If Ilya is real, like the sheets indicate, he hasn’t been in the bedroom for a while. 

Where has he gone?

Shane wanders round the cottage looking for him, but not daring to say his name out loud. Saying his name aloud made the situation too real, and also made Shane feel a little silly. He ignores the little glimmer of hurt that flares up in his chest at the idea of Ilya leaving without saying goodbye. 

Shane scowls at himself, don’t be so ridiculous. You barely know the man-wolf-whatever. 

As Shane unlocks the backdoor, his mind supplies the final answer - man. Which Ilya certainly is, what with his height, his muscles, the cut of his jaw, his thick coc-. 

Shane shakes his head furiously to dispel the thought, ignoring the lick of heat that jolts up his spine. Away with that. Besides, he didn’t even get a good look at it - a very deliberate move on Shane’s part. A sensible move, a polite one. Because normal people don’t go around gawking at other people’s genitals. But then Ilya wasn’t normal. 

He steps outside, the breeze ruffling his sleep messy hair, his eyes squinting in the morning sun. His hands come to rest on his hips, eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of wolfish movement. Maybe he did imagine everything, maybe it was just a really weird psychotic episode brought on by hitting his head in the forest. 

Shane stands there for a few more minutes contemplating before giving up and turning around to head back inside, trying to ignore the disappointment leeching at his heart, before he hears twigs snapping, and a gentle rhythmic thudding against the ground. He spins on his heel to see the same black wolf, Ilya his mind supplies, walking towards him. Shane wonders where he’s been, but then he realises that the wolf-man has spent probably his entire life up until now in the forest. So the expectation for him to stay where Shane put him does seem unreasonable.

As Ilya draws closer, Shane notices something in the wolf’s mouth, the previously blooming smile falling off instantly as he recognises what it is.

A rabbit.

Oh hell no. Not again.

‘What the hell is that? Absolutely not. No.’ Shane yells from up on the porch as Ilya pads closer to the beginning of the first step up to where Shane stands.

Ilya looks at him and tilts his head slightly in confusion, ears twitching with the breeze that ruffles Shane’s t-shirt, goosebumps breaking out across the tops of his arms. It’s potentially disconcerting at how quickly at ease Shane is with conversing and yelling at a wolf whose massive head comes to Shane’s chest. But now Shane feels like he has some power here, even if it has barely been a day since he discovered the wolf in front of him can turn into a man. A very attractive man. Plus, he will absolutely not tolerate another helpless animal being snapped up by Ilya’s jaws just for it to be plonked on Shane’s back door step. They’re on a first name basis now. So, yelling was allowed.

‘Put it down, now!’ Shane demands, a finger jabbing at the ground, trying not to look as the breeze causes the dead rabbit’s ears to flap softly.

Ilya stares at him, the dead rabbit still hanging from his wolfish jaws. 

‘Now, Ilya. Down. Drop it.’ Shane says, his voice hardening to leave no room for doubt. Is this what having a puppy is like? He wonders, even though Ilya is clearly anything but. He feels like he’s scolding a child, the image laughable. 

At Shane’s tone and thunderous glare, Ilya very slowly lowers his head, before letting the rabbit flop onto the ground with a resounding thud. The wolf licks its snout, watching Shane carefully.

Shane grimaces at the sight of another dead rabbit on his back porch. Again, because of Ilya. 

At least the wolf has the decency to look a little regretful. But then Ilya begins to push the rabbit towards Shane. Shane jerks backwards on instinct, but Ilya continues to use his snout to move the limp body of the small animal towards him, before looking up expectedly at Shane. 

‘What?’ Shane snaps, hands folding against his chest, unimpressed. 

Ilya growls at him then. It’s not an aggressive one with snarling teeth, but it’s a growl nonetheless. As if Ilya is stomping his foot, but in wolf form. Regardless it makes Shane take a step back cautiously, eyes widening.

At the sight of Shane putting more space between them, the wolf whines softly, nudging the rabbit again insistently. 

Shane blinks in disbelief as realisation settles. ‘You want me to take it?’ 

The wolf growls softly in response, sitting back on its hind legs to look at Shane. 

‘You want me to,’ Shane’s gaze dips down to look at the dead rabbit, ‘take your dead rabbit?’ 

Ilya huffs in response. 

Shane is at a loss for words. Is this a wolf thing? Or an Ilya thing? Why the hell does he want him to take a dead rabbit. Does he want him to cook it for him? There is no way in hell Shane is doing that. But Ilya growls again, longer this time so Shane decides he could at least be polite. 

Shane steps forward, watching wolf Ilya with careful eyes. He stands on the step above the rabbit, looking down at it pointedly before looking into the wolf’s dark eyes. 

‘Thank you?’ It comes out as more of a question, but Shane tries to make it sound enthusiastic. He’s not sure if he succeeds. 

But Ilya seems content with whatever he thinks Shane says, ears twitching and tail behind him swishing against the grass for a moment before it stops. Shane’s lips quirk into a half smile at the sight of it. 

Shane clears his throat, ignoring the fondness blooming in his ribs to point at the rabbit again with a stern finger. 

‘Okay, well now I’ve seen it, you can take it back.’ Shane reasons, his hand in a flapping motion towards the trees in an attempt to translate. Ilya looks at him questioningly. 

‘Ilya, take it back. I don’t want it on my porch.’ Shane says louder, more insistently. At the lack of movement and the presence of the rabbit still remaining on the step, Shane stomps his foot lightly.

‘Ilya! Get rid of it!’ It comes out as an unintentional whine, and Shane is half mortified at how whingey he sounds, especially as he’s directing it towards a wolf who has no idea what he’s saying. But the rabbit is creepy, and gross, and whatever germs is on the carcass is contaminating the wood of his porch step. 

Ilya shifts then with a huff, head dropping to gently cradle the rabbit's body in his wide jaws, pausing to look at Shane.

Shane sighs in relief, forcing a smile across his face. ‘Yes, thank you.’ His hands wave towards the trees again and Ilya turns towards the tree line, trotting to disappear into it but not before turning to look back once more before he does.

Shane’s hand comes up to squeeze at the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly. 

***

Shane’s blending a smoothie when he looks up to see Ilya standing at the entrance to the kitchen, watching him silently and notably, naked. Again. 

Shane fights the blush erupting on his cheeks and the way his fingers twitch against the blender, instead focusing on leveling Ilya with an exasperated look. 

‘Where are the clothes I gave you?’ Referring to the shorts and t-shirt from yesterday. He hoped Ilya would’ve gotten the message and kept them to get changed back into whenever he re-emerged again out of his wolf form. Apparently not. 

Ilya stands there proudly, chest puffing out slightly as he watches Shane struggling not to stare. He looks almost godly in the morning sun shimmering through the big windows lining the wall, giving a view across the garden. 

Shane huffs and rounds the kitchen side, averting his eyes entirely on the bottom half of the naked Ilya.

‘Your shorts, where are your shorts?’ He asks again, pointing down to his own shorts. But the motion only draws Ilya’s gaze downwards, refusing to budge as it traces the shape of Shane’s legs darkly. Shane fidgets under the scrutiny. 

Shane strides past him, deliberately giving Ilya a wide berth, eyes scanning the floor for a sign of the navy shorts he lent him. He ignores the looming presence of Ilya following behind him. 

He finds the shorts in a crumpled pile on the back porch. Shane huffs out a sigh in disbelief. Perfect, great to see how much Ilya thinks about wearing clothes. Shane bends down to pick them up, holding them out in front of him as he straightens up. As he does, he suddenly becomes aware of a very warm, very naked presence at his back. Notably, Ilya’s chest pressed against him from behind, and a half hard cock nudging at Shane’s lower back, a nose coming to trace a line down the back of his neck.

Shane yelps, spinning around to face the man standing behind him silently. Ilya looks down at him with dark eyes, hands coming to grip softly at Shane’s waist, chest vibrating with what Shane recognises as a soft growl, a sound he didn’t even think humans could make. But then Ilya wasn’t entirely human. Shane still grips at the shorts tightly, now clutched between them, his pulse quickening at the proximity. Ilya leans forward so their noses brush and Shane gasps softly. Their mouths are so close, Shane would only have to lean forward barely a few centimetres to feel them on his. His toes curl in his socks at the thought, Ilya’s hot breath fanning his face. 

Another rumble vibrates from Ilya’s chest and his fingers tighten at the dip in Shane’s waist. The blue eyes swirl with something possessive, something bold, and it has something hot unfurling deep inside Shane’s body that he can’t quite describe. There’s a promise in Ilya’s eyes that Shane should recognise as trouble. And he does, but he also can’t help but want it. 

A bird chirps somewhere distantly but it is enough to make Shane blink rapidly as he remembers himself. He moves back like he’s been burnt, his arm shooting out to push the shorts at Ilya’s chest, eyes averted and cheeks scarlet. Shane clears his throat, willing all previous not so innocent thoughts of Ilya away with the breeze that rustles his hair. He can feel Ilya take the shorts, his fingers brushing his softly, feeling more than seeing Ilya’s heavy gaze burning a mark into the side of Shane’s face.

‘Put-put the shorts on.’ Shane mumbles, before practically running back inside. Ilya stares after him, his hands curling into the shorts tightly, biceps bulging at the instinct to chase.

***

After that incident, Shane endeavours to put more space between them. Not because he particularly wants to, deep down he craves Ilya’s presence, but because it’s the right thing to do. They don’t know each other, they are practically strangers, Ilya is feral and non verbal besides grunting out Shane’s name occasionally.

So yes it’s sensible. And Shane is known for being sensible. Some would call it boring, Shane would disagree. So for the rest of the day, Shane tries to teach Ilya more words. And also some basic house rules if he is going to be inviting himself in from now on like he did earlier. Which Shane doesn’t mind, but he has to establish some sense of boundaries.

They spend the morning sitting across from each other, a bowl of tortilla chips between them which Shane encourages Ilya to pick at - which he does, ravenously, after trying one, with Shane sounding out vowels slowly with his mouth. 

So far they’ve established what yes and no mean. Which Ilya repeats with a twist of an amused smile, making Shane roll his eyes. That was easy. Ilya also learns the word for shorts, which Shane has stressed is very important. Shane establishes through broken phrases and dramatic reenactment that Ilya must be wearing shorts at all times in the house. No nudity in common areas. Shane hates that he’s establishing house rules like Ilya’s his roommate. He’s known him for two days. But if Ilya is going to be in the house, Shane wants it to be as close to normal as possible so he doesn’t feel like he’s one step away from a mental asylum.

Ilya also learns the word for TV, food, water, amongst other things. He picks it up fast, which Shane is thankful for. Although that doesn’t mean Ilya is using the words in conversation, he still does a lot of grunting and one word answers. But they are getting there. Plus Shane won’t lie and say he doesn’t exactly hate the gruffness with which Ilya speaks like a caveman. Or the way he says his name like he’s teasing sometimes, eyes dark and with a smirk. So that’s how they spend their morning, and by lunch Shane is exhausted. 

Opening the fridge, Shane scans the inside of it for a meal they both could eat. Shane is still meant to be eating healthy even if it is his vacation, but this has been a stressful few weeks, and he’s not sure if Ilya would enjoy his salads and smoothies. Something tells him he wouldn’t. But it does give Shane an idea. So he places an online grocery order, a very large grocery order, with specific instructions to leave it at the end of the driveway, obviously. He’s seen the way Ilya tensed at the sight of a squirrel perched on top of the sofa outside earlier that day, jerking forward from his spot sat at kitchen island with a snarl, so Shane doesn’t want to think about what he’d do if he saw a human at the door if he’s that aggressive with a squirrel.

His phone buzzes with the notification that the food has been delivered. Interestingly, Ilya seems unimpressed in learning about mobile technology. When Shane tried to show it to him earlier he just looked at him with an impressed quirk of his eyebrows, before turning around and continued watching the TV, some car racing thing on that had Ilya entranced. 

He walks towards the front door, but finds Ilya already there, standing at the window by the front door, not moving.

‘Ilya? What are you doing?’

As Shane draws closer, he realises Ilya’s teeth are bared, a steady growl slipping through his gritted teeth, his chest rumbling, biceps bulging, the line of shoulders tense. He looks ready to pounce. 

Shane’s eyes widen and a hand comes out to touch Ilya’s shoulder but he hesitates, his hand instead hovering just above Ilya’s warm skin. 

He looks out the window and sees the delivery guy putting out the last crate of groceries onto the driveway. Oh shit. This was exactly what Shane was trying to avoid, he just didn’t think about Ilya having better hearing than he thought - clearly having heard the truck pull up to the house, even if it is all the way down the driveway. 

Ilya snarls into action. His hands seize the door handle, ready to yank the front door open and charge at the poor unsuspecting delivery driver. But Shane isn’t known for having the highest IQ in the NHL for nothing, and besides being a great fucking player and captain, his reflexes are no joke - even though they didn’t really come in handy the time Ilya transformed in his living room, but Shane doesn’t think about that embarrassing moment. Shane slams his shoulder into the front door just as Ilya hauls it open a crack. Shane grunts at the impact, and he suddenly feels like he’s back on the ice, checking an arrogant player. Except this time, he’s refraining a feral man from wreaking havoc for some, what Shane can guess, nonsense territorial instincts. Which isn’t exactly unfamiliar, considering Shane plays a sport for a living that some guys think is a pissing contest for their male ego. Sometimes it’s a puck, this time it’s what - the driveway? 

The door slams shut, and Ilya turns with a snarl to look at Shane, fury making his blue eyes look lethal. Shane would be terrified if he wasn’t so annoyed. 

Instead Shane glares back, shoulder still pressed heavily against the front door, an ache beginning to make its known there at the impact. 

‘Stop it! Fucking asshole, put the teeth away.’ Shane hisses, but the tension in Ilya’s body remains, although he does stop baring his teeth, chest heaving. Shane’s sudden movement to prevent Ilya from high tailing it to unnecessary destruction has brought them chest to chest, and the small space between them crackles with tension.

‘What exactly do you plan on doing, huh? Besides looking like a fucking manaic,’ Shane admonishes with gritted teeth, scowling at Ilya, feeling the vibrations of Ilya’s constant string of growls against his chest. 

‘Stop it.’ Shane orders and Ilya’s growling tapers off, looking at Shane with less fury and more quiet observation. 

Shane rolls his eyes, ‘Better. Now move away from the door.’ He pushes his chest into Ilya’s to get the message across but Ilya doesn’t budge. Not surprising. Instead Ilya’s hand comes up to trace the crease between Shane’s brow with surprising gentleness. His finger smooths it out, and Shane’s face automatically relaxes but he looks at Ilya questioningly. 

Ilya seems more content now that Shane isn’t staring daggers, so he shifts back a little, hand falling from the handle. Shane notices a  flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, the delivery guy now getting into the truck and slamming the door. So does Ilya, his head snapping to watch, instantly tensing up again with the instinct to charge. 

Shane doesn’t think, grabbing at Ilya’s jaw to turn his face back to his, leaning in so close their noses brush. Neither say anything, Ilya’s eyes widening as Shane for once takes him at a surprise. Shane almost jerks backwards at the proximity, reflexively sucking in a breath and heartbeat skipping a little. Instead he tightens his hold on Ilya’s jaw, fingers curling below it, against the smooth expanse of Ilya’s neck with a determined gaze. 

Shane can feel Ilya’s fingers ghost at his waist, hovering above his t-shirt. 

‘Ilya.’ Shane says, tone firm, leaving no room for question. The name settles between them like a heavy blanket, encasing them in a world far from the hallway they stand in with the crates of food outside somewhere. 

Shane doesn’t even realise he’s leaned in so their lips are a hairbreadth apart until Ilya’s fingers grip at his hips, tight enough Shane’s sure they’ll leave bruises. The touch makes Shane blink, coming back to himself with a harsh swallow. 

He clears his throat, pulling back, hand softening its grip on Ilya’s jaw before dropping to rest above Ilya’s heart, the smooth expanse of his chest warm beneath his palm. He ignores Ilya’s slightly racing heart beneath his fingertips. 

Shane drops his gaze to stare at the gold necklace Ilya never seems to take off. He wonders where he got it from absently. Ignoring Ilya’s heavy stare, Shane pats at his chest once, and sidles round Ilya’s intimidating figure to slip outside, closing the door firmly behind him to collect the groceries left at the end of his drive. 

Once back inside, with Ilya wordlessly taking the crates Shane dumps on the ground in the entryway to catch his breath, Shane stands opposite Ilya across the kitchen island, an array of food between them. 

Shane has everything, from punnets of berries, fresh vegetables, bread, bags of chips in multiple flavours, he even bought ice cream - not to eat himself of course, but out of interest for whether Ilya would like it. Packets of meat, sausages, burgers, steak, chicken, stacked up neatly in his fridge. He even bought pasta, something he tries to avoid in his diet. He has things neatly arranged on the counter, eyes flitting up to look at Ilya to find him already staring. 

Shane fidgets, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to ground himself. Focus. This is about food, even if Ilya is looking at him like he would much rather be eating him. 

So Shane has Ilya try all the things he’s set out. It turns out Ilya loves pickled food, especially pickles and pickled beetroot, although the smell has Shane wrinkling his nose. It wasn’t even a food group he previously thought or eaten much of, only buying it because it was one of the food groups the grocery website highlighted. Ilya’s affinity for them made Shane think he’d be well suited to a Slavic diet potentially - don’t they eat a lot of pickled things? He makes a note to himself to look up some recipes later.

Ilya also loves sour cream and chive chips - practically inhaling the bag, he also likes ice cream (go figure). He’s not too keen on strawberries as a fruit, but likes it as a jam, sucking it off his fingers with vigour. Shane quickly learns in their taste testing session that Ilya eats a lot. Like a lot. Which technically shouldn’t surprise Shane considering the man is half wolf, but still Ilya seems to never not be hungry. And even more annoyingly, it doesn’t show at all. Not that Shane has been looking deliberately. But usually if Shane eats as much as Ilya has in such a short amount of time, especially the richness of some of it, he’d be so painfully bloated he’d have to lie down and think about his life decisions.

Not Ilya.

Shane can’t help but stare in disbelief as Ilya simply burps (which Shane smacks him on the arm for, disgusting), and looks at Shane as if to ask, what’s next? His abs still very much intact, which makes Shane grumble. If only he had wolf metabolism.

And that’s how they spend their afternoon. 

Afterwards, Ilya takes a nap on the couch which makes Shane laugh at the image of the tall man with a cheek squished against a cushion, snoring loudly. The sight of him hits Shane in the chest with how attractive he is - which Shane knew already, he’s not blind - but there’s something about Ilya looking so soft and at peace that has his heart thudding. 

Shane also notices what looks like his own worn t-shirt that he slept in last night under the cushion Ilya has his nose buried in. But he leaves it, not daring to remove it if Ilya’s tight grip on it even in sleep, is anything to go by. Shane uses that time to clean up, call his mom to confirm he will be seeing her for lunch next week. He also convinces his parents to stay away from his cottage for the time being, claiming the cold is worse than he thought and doesn’t want to share his germs. He can’t help but glance at Ilya asleep as the lie rolls smoothly off his tongue. 

Shane comes back from putting a load of laundry on to find the couch empty, a pair of shorts lying on the indent where Ilya had been lying, and the back door open. Shane mutters to himself, folding the shorts neatly to leave them by the open door, closing it with a click, trying but failing to suppress the fond roll of his eyes.

It’s later in the evening, where Shane is currently stirring a bubbling pot of pasta that Ilya appears again. He’s wearing shorts this time, thank god, but Shane notices the grime immediately. There’s a smudge of dirt on Ilya’s cheek, and he can see mud marking up his palms and his knees. There’s a twig nestled in his curls too. What the hell has this man been doing in the forest?

Shane drops the fork he’s been using to stir the pasta with a loud clank against the marble countertop.

‘What,’ Shane begins in disbelief, ‘the hell have you been doing?’ 

Ilya simply grins and holds out his hands in front of him to show Shane what’s he holding in a gentle grip - previously hidden from view.

He holds a bunch of flowers. Wildflowers from the forest, which Ilya has picked himself, or better yet yanked from the ground considering the dirt under his fingernails. 

They were beautiful, colours of soft blues, purples, white, yellow, gentle green. Shane doesn’t know anything about flowers, but the bunch that Ilya holds are gorgeous. 

And by Ilya’s outstretched arm and insistent, watching gaze, Shane realises Ilya picked them for him. Ilya picked flowers for Shane. The thought has Shane’s heart doing somersaults, hand coming to palm at his chest in an attempt to make it calm down. 

No one’s ever done that for him before. Well, he’s received bouquets from fans and once from his parents when he bought his first condo with his own money. But never with the intention of them meaning anything other than a ‘good job!’ 

Shane rounds the counter slowly to stand in front of Ilya, flowers outstretched. He raises a hand to carefully wrap around the bunched stems, just above Ilya’s. Shane swallows, gaze flitting up to Ilya shyly.

‘Are these for me?’ Shane asks softly, not daring to look at Ilya as he mutters it. 

‘You.’ Ilya grunts out, pressing the flowers into Shane’s chest. 

‘Oh.’ Shane manages pathetically, clutching at them more firmly, taking the offered flowers from Ilya’s grasp. Shane studies them and can feel a small smile creeping across his face. He looks up then and Ilya stares down at him, one would almost fondly, which is impossible because they’ve known each other properly only two days really. But Ilya’s eyes are soft as they look at Shane, evidently pleased at him accepting his gift.

Shane’s breath catches in his throat as he can’t help but look away. Ilya raises a large hand to push hair behind Shane’s ear and he blushes, clearing his throat to glance down at the flowers again.

‘I-thank you. They-they’re lovely. Thank you.’ Shane chokes out, shooting Ilya a quick smile before turning his back to look at the cupboards. He tells himself he’s trying to remember if he owns a vase, when really he’s trying not to implode from the emotion surging in his throat, making his ears burn at the thought of being perceived in such a delicate way. 

Shane’s been chased by women before, some men, but he always knew they never wanted Shane for anything other than his name, his money, the chance to say they slept with the Shane Hollander, captain of the Metro Voyagers, notorious golden boy, the toughest nut to crack. Everyone saw him as a challenge to break, to win. No one had ever expressed interest in wanting Shane for Shane. And all these years he had pretended it didn’t bother him, that he didn’t care because he had no time for romance, for dating, for love. But that doesn’t mean convincing himself of that did anything to fill the cracks slowly splitting him open over the years. Doesn’t everyone want to be loved? To be seen? All because Shane may not be the most open about it, or the most interesting person in the world compared to his teammates, or a person able to smooth talk their way into people’s beds, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want that too. That he wants to be loved and to love someone else - without fear of his career imploding. Because Shane did, and standing there trying to blink quickly looming tears, clutching at the bouquet Ilya picked specifically for him when he doesn’t really know him at all, but made for him because he wanted to, staring at the handles on his kitchen cupboards, has made Shane realise that he can’t quite deny it anymore. 

Shane is practically a stranger to Ilya, and Ilya to him in a conventional sense. But nothing about any of this was conventional. Ilya was an anomaly amongst men. And it’s only been two days but Ilya has opened a door inside of Shane that he has previously kept bolted, letting sunlight shine through to warm his bones, his heart. For Shane to see a possibility, a crazy idea that Shane could be happy. Not that Shane isn’t happy, he is. But he has never been loved romantically, not like his mom loves his dad, and Shane would like to be. But he knows that the likelihood of that happening whilst still playing hockey is incredibly small. 

And whilst Ilya doesn’t love Shane, the thought ridiculous, Ilya looks at him like the idea isn’t as impossible as Shane previously thought. Ilya makes it look so easy, and he probably doesn’t even know what he is doing, Shane tries to reason. Maybe this is how it worked in Ilya’s pack before he appeared on Shane’s porch, or with wolves in general. Which is fine, Shane thinks, it’s nice to express yourself so openly. Shane should maybe try it sometime, if he ever stopped being an anxious coward about anything that requires heartfelt emotion. Shane looked down at the flowers again, hand coming up to rub a petal gently between his fingers. He sniffs, furiously blinking to get rid of the urge to cry. All this over flowers. How ridiculous. The stress and exhaustion of the hockey season must really be getting to him. 

A gentle brush at his back has Shane realising he is still standing with his back to Ilya, not saying anything. 

‘Shane?’ Ilya asks softly, the timbre of his voice warming Shane’s heart. Shane’s eyes flutter close against his will at the sound, before remembering where he is. He clears his throat loudly. 

‘I-I need to find a vase for them.’ Shane says, busying himself with looking in the cupboards. He doesn’t find one, but he finds a large wide drinking glass that he fills with water, placing the flowers in them with gently shaking fingers.

He gathers the courage to look up then, at Ilya. He plasters a smile on his face and hopes it is enough, but Ilya frowns with worried eyes. Shane’s fingers fidget with the glass in front of him under the scrutiny, eyes flitting to look past Ilya’s shoulder aimlessly. 

Ilya moves slowly then, like approaching a wild animal, which would make Shane snort if he wasn’t feeling like an exposed live wire. 

Ilya gently turns Shane to face him, and Shane lets himself be moved, still refusing to look at the man trying to meet his gaze. Ilya huffs softly in frustration at Shane’s stubbornness, and grips his chin between strong hands to tilt Shane’s face to his, forcing him to look at him. 

Ilya’s thumb strokes at the corner of Shane’s lips, Ilya watching him carefully with a frown. Shane doesn’t speak, he can’t because he knows his voice will crack and then he’ll probably start crying like a baby. So Shane swallows it down like he always does, but that doesn’t stop his brown eyes from glistening with the unshed tears he refuses to let fall. It’s a hard thing to do when Ilya is holding him with such gentle hands, like Shane is precious, and looking at him with such softness it makes Shane want to fidget. 

Ilya hums, a soft sound, hand tightening and moving to grip his jaw as Shane tries again to avert his eyes. The forced eye contact makes Shane’s tightly controlled emotions waver, and it’s terrifying that Ilya can do such a thing. A man who is only now learning to be more human than wolf has the power to make Shane feel like he is unravelling. 

Shane briefly closes his eyes to push back the tidal wave of emotion rising, blinking them back open to meet Ilya’s. Ilya’s frown deepens and uses his grip on Shane’s jaw to draw him forwards, tucking Shane under his chin, hands coming to rub his back soothingly, lips brushing Shane’s hair. Ilya softly pets him, and Shane slumps, tension bleeding out as he sighs brokenly into Ilya’s chest. 

A rumble vibrates against his cheek and Shane’s eyes flutter closed. A hand reaches up to play with his hair softly and Shane can’t help the muffled moan that spills out at the touch, Shane’s hands coming up to hesitantly rest at Ilya’s back. Ilya’s hand on Shane’s back pauses for a moment before continuing its soothing patterns. 

Ilya’s chest vibrates but not with a grumble that Shane has now memorised, but with words. Shane shifts back, wide eyes zeroing in on Ilya.

Ilya clears his throat, gazing down at Shane, fingers carding through Shane’s hair. Shane’s fingers tighten into the hard muscle of Ilya’s back in anticipation.

Ilya leans forward to trace his nose along the line of Shane’s jaw, the intimate warmth of it making Shane shudder. Ilya leans back again before slowly, almost hesitantly, repeating the sentence that Shane previously missed. 

‘We are okay.’ The words are scratchy and thick, and it takes Shane a moment to understand what he said. Shane’s heart squeezes at the ‘we’, the gentle concern in Ilya’s eyes and his determination in speaking aloud. Shane thinks distantly that Ilya’s accent sounds a little like the Russian players he’s competed against on the ice. 

All Shane can do is nod, and Ilya’s finger traces a line down the side of his face, now pleased with Shane’s improved mood. Which is when Shane realises Ilya is covered in dirt, the twig and dried leaves in Ilya’s hair catching in the kitchen light. 

‘You need a shower.’ Shane whispers with a laugh, hand coming to pluck out the twig amongst Ilya’s golden curls, bringing it in front of Ilya’s face with a small smile. He doesn’t dare speak any louder, worried it will break the fragile thing forming between them that neither can see, only feel. 

Shane licks his thumb to wipe at the bit of dirt on Ilya’s cheek, ears burning as Ilya simply stares at him, eyes zeroed in on Shane’s lips after he removes his saliva slick thumb to rub at his face. 

The sound of a pot boiling over has Shane’s eyes widening, spinning around in Ilya’s arms to look at the pot of pasta now overflowing with violent bubbling water. 

‘Shit!’ He cries, leaping to the hob and removing the pan from the heat. He hears an amused huff and looks up to see Ilya smiling at him, which makes Shane huff in response, rolling his eyes with a smile.

The pasta is probably overcooked, which will have to do. But first Ilya needs a shower.

After finally showing Ilya how to use the shower (the first time Shane turned it on Ilya had snarled, trying to whack the water with a heavy slap as if it would make it stop, which was amusing), Shane plates up the spaghetti into two bowls. 

He doesn’t usually have such a carb heavy meal, but he doesn’t really care about that right now. 

He places them on the dining table, bowls facing opposite each other and looks up to see Ilya in the fresh pair of lounge shorts Shane had pulled out for him. His wet curls glisten like liquid gold in the warm kitchen lighting, and Shane sucks in a breath at the vision before him. 

Ilya nears him and leans towards him, Shane standing and watching him confusedly, until Ilya shakes his hair like a dog - right in Shane’s face. Shane splutters and shoves him away. 

‘Asshole!’ He yells, wiping at his face now speckled in water. Ilya smirks, pleased. 

Shane motions for him to sit, as he sets himself down opposite and hears his stomach grumble in anticipation. He picks up his knife and fork ready to devour the meal in front of him when he hears the chair beside him scrape against the floor, looking up to see Ilya slump down beside him. Not in the place Shane had set opposite. 

Shane gapes at him as Ilya settles in with a wiggle of his shoulders and a pleased sigh, spreading his thighs so the one closest to Shane nudges his own, keeping it there so they remain touching. 

‘What are you doing?’ Shane asks, watching as Ilya picks up his fork, inspecting it for a moment, before copying how Shane is holding it in his own hand. Ilya raises his eyebrows in question at Shane’s staring, Shane’s fork stuck in midair with spaghetti swirled around it. 

Ilya ignores him, which is nothing new, and proceeds to wrap spaghetti noodles round his fork, impressively picking up the art of using a fork incredibly quickly, and shoving it in his mouth, slurping obnoxiously.

At Shane’s continued staring, Ilya nudges Shane’s bowl with a finger in a silent gesture to eat, thigh knocking more insistently against his. Shane doesn’t move immediately which must bug Ilya who grunts, swivelling pasta and sauced meat on his own fork and holding it to Shane’s mouth with an expectant gaze. 

Shane’s lips part in confusion at the gesture, looking down at the fork in front of his mouth in disbelief, but Ilya takes it as Shane saying yes to him feeding him. So Ilya proceeds to nudge the fork into Shane’s mouth, which makes Shane jerk back in his chair, his own fork falling into his bowl and Ilya’s clacking against his teeth, mouth full of noodles and sauce. 

‘I can feed myself!’ Shane tries to say but it is muffled by the food Ilya stuffed in there. He chews quickly to repeat the indignation at a very amused looking Ilya. 

Shane picks up his fork with a grumble and burning cheeks, deliberately not looking at Ilya as he shovels spaghetti into his mouth. He’s so focused on staring at his bowl of food that he doesn’t notice Ilya leaning closer until fingers grasp his chin to turn Shane to look at him with a heavy gaze. Shane stares with wide eyes, swallowing hard around the food suddenly lodged in his throat. 

Ilya leans closer, lips impossibly close and Shane holds his breath, suddenly very nervous but twitching in anticipation. But then Ilya does the unexpected and he swipes his thumb at the corner of Shane’s mouth, withdrawing to show it covered in sauce. Shane blushes further at the fact he’s been sitting there with sauce on his face, but also at the hidden disappointment that he thought Ilya was going to do something else, like kiss him. 

Ilya’s dark eyes never leave his as he brings the sauce-covered thumb up to his lips before sucking it into his mouth, Shane glimpses a pink tongue as it wraps around the digit, almost seductively, licking off the sauce. 

Shane can feel his cock twitch, and his thighs squeeze together in an attempt to stop the lick of desire from spreading, gulping hard. But it’s like Ilya can tell what predicament his lewd thumb sucking has put Shane in, because his nostrils flare and his already dark gaze sharpens with razor-like clarity, roving across his face before dropping to Shane’s crotch momentarily before flitting back up to rest on his face, thumb still in his mouth. 

Shane tries to remain nonchalant at the blatant, near-pornographic display in front of him, but he can tell he’s failing. So in a panic, he tucks his chair closer to the table, hand coming to rest against the side of his face closest to Ilya in a deliberate attempt to block Ilya out of his line of vision. 

He stuffs his mouth with more spaghetti to think about something other than the dirty images slowly gaining focus in his mind of Ilya doing that to other parts of his body. He can feel his cock slowly hardening, so he swallows quickly, practically inhaling his food (indigestion be damned) and leaping up from the table with an empty bowl, shoving it on the counter with a clatter and running off in the direction of his bedroom. 

He shouts an unintelligible ‘I’m going to shower!’ behind his shoulder to Ilya who remains sitting at the dining table, thumb still between his lips. His eyes flashing red and calculating as he watches Shane flee, before they fall to the way Shane’s shorts hug his ass as he disappears, trying to restrain himself to not give chase to the man who is clearly begging him to. Whether he knows it or not. 

 ***

Shane gets his head caught in his t-shirt with how fast he yanks his clothes off in a panic. Ilya has a way of making Shane feel like he is losing control, and Ilya does it with such ease it’s embarrassing. 

Shane feels like a horny teenager instead of the 27 year old man that he actually is. He’s been around hot people before, but Ilya is a different level of hot. And Ilya is just - Ilya. And existing in such close quarters with him and being the subject of Ilya’s very intense gaze is unnerving. He feels like when he was learning to skate as a child. Slipping and sliding all over the place like bambi on ice. 

Shane takes a deep breath, looking at himself naked in the bathroom mirror. He fixes a determined look on his face, finger raising to point at his reflection.

‘This stops now. Get yourself together man.’ Shane orders at his reflection, trying to sound firm but it just sounds ridiculous, cringing at referring to himself as ‘man’. But seriously, it really does need to stop. Shane is beginning to feel like a creep with the feelings Ilya evokes. It’s only been two days! It can’t be like this for the rest of summer, it can’t. Shane will combust. Shane will literally die. 

His head drops to hang between his shoulders, blowing out a raspberry. Maybe he’s just tired and overwhelmed. Which would make sense. A lot has happened, stuff that has never happened to anyone before - Shane knows this because he googled it earlier that day. 

Shane nods to himself before spinning round to turn on the shower, hand testing the temperature before standing underneath it. He tilts his head back with a groan, the hot water doing wonderful things to his tensed muscles - he can practically feel the tension being washed away and swirling around the drain at his feet. 

As he suds himself up with shower gel, his mind drifts as his hands trace his pecs. To Ilya. Shane blames the steam filling the bathroom that makes his head kind of fuzzy, the hot water raining down on his skin, at how relaxed he feels under its spray. 

He thinks of Ilya’s chest as he fondles his own, how firm it feels under his hands, the hard planes of his abdomen, the strong thighs. How large Ilya’s hands are but how gentle they feel against his waist or hips. The plush shape of his mouth as it says his name. The quirk of his eyebrows as he teases Shane with a glance that promises trouble. How easily he seems to move Shane wherever he wants. Shane swallows, his soapy hands drifting lower. 

He thinks about the dreams he’s had of Ilya with blushing cheeks, and he begins to wonder what Ilya would actually be like in bed. Would he be rough? Would he be gentle? Would he hold Shane down and make him take it? His thick cock fucking into him with no remorse? Shane could imagine it, has imagined it, is imagining it. It makes his mouth water. Shane wonders what Ilya would taste like, if he could fit his cock in his mouth, how Ilya would tighten his grip in his hair to fuck his face, hips pumping as Shane peers up at him innocently. 

Fuck. Shane’s hard. His cock leaks at the thought of Ilya grunting, fucking him like the animal he half is. Shane’s hand can’t help but drift down to wrap a fist around himself, gasping at the delicious pressure against his neglected cock. He imagines how much bigger Ilya’s hand would look around it. Would he tease? Make Shane beg for it? 

His forehead comes to rest against the cool tiles with a thunk, head full of all the filthy things Ilya would do and say to him. It doesn’t take much after that for Shane to paint the tiles with his cum, jerking himself off desperately, finishing with a muffled whine of Ilya’s name against his palm. He comes so hard that stars burst behind his eyelids, mind going momentarily blank. 

Shane stands there with slightly shaky legs, leaning all his weight on the tiles as he recovers, breathing heavily. He blinks, coming back to himself, feeling the water beat down between his shoulder blades. He grimaces as he lets the shower’s spray clean off the cum in his hand, swishing at the wall to remove any incriminating evidence. He hurriedly finishes washing himself, suppressing the fact he just got himself off in the shower to a man who is practically in the next room. 

He towels himself off, realising he left his pajamas in his bedroom. With a towel wrapped low at his waist he opens the bathroom door, only to yelp at the sight of Ilya standing in the doorway, the steam from the shower parting round his looming figure as it escapes into the bedroom beyond. 

Shane’s doe eyes look up at Ilya in shock, frozen under his heavy gaze. Ilya’s nostrils flare, muscles bulging with restraint, hands coming up to rest either side of the doorframe, trapping Shane in the bathroom doorway. 

Shane swallows, fingers fidgeting at the edge of the towel around his waist, acutely aware he is almost naked in front of Ilya. 

At Shane’s twitching fingers, Ilya’s eyes drops down to trace a droplet of water cutting a path down Shane’s neck, down the planes of his chest, his abs, to disappear beneath the towel. Ilya’s jaw clenches at the sight of it. Shane’s lips part as Ilya’s eyes track his way back up to Shane’s face, something dark swirling in his blown out pupils, the icy blue only a thin rim amongst the black. The promise in them sends a wave of heat to pool under Shane’s naval, his spent cock giving a weak twitch. 

‘Did you-Did you need to use the bathroom?’ Shane manages to whisper hoarsely, eyes never leaving Ilya’s. Ilya continues to stare him down, lips in a tight line. At his lack of response, Shane tries to edge round him, going to duck underneath his arm, but gasps as Ilya’s hand shoots out to grab at one of Shane’s wrists, yanking it up to hover in front of Ilya’s face.

Shane swallows, fingers flexing in Ilya’s iron grip. Ilya looks at Shane darkly before shifting his gaze to Shane’s hand. Ilya brings it closer to his face and Shane watches as Ilya sucks Shane’s middle and forefinger into his mouth, the same fingers that only minutes ago Shane had wrapped around his cock before he came all over the shower wall and in his hand. Ilya’s tongue wraps around his fingers, the wet heat of it almost ticklish as Ilya sucks down to his knuckles, as if trying to taste the cum Shane washed off his fingers. 

Shane can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but watch as Ilya refuses to break eye contact as he licks at the fingers in his mouth. Shane’s fingers in his mouth. He knows his cheeks are burning, like they always do when he’s close to Ilya. The image alone is filthy, and Shane’s mind scrambles to right itself against the onslaught of horny it brings. If he hadn't orgasmed in the shower, he’d be as hard as a rock right now. Ilya moans softly around his fingers, before releasing them with a pop, kissing the pads of them. 

Shane stands there gawping at him like an idiot - an incredibly turned on idiot. Ilya lets Shane take his fingers back, curling them against his chest, his rabbiting heart. Blood roars in Shane’s ears as he tries to figure out what the fuck just happened but Ilya just watches him with deliciously dark intent. Shane licks his lips, and the movement has Ilya looking down at them, a poorly restrained growl crawling up his throat.

Shane gasps, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed with the whole situation, and quickly ducks under Ilya’s arm, grabbing at his clothes that lie on the dresser near him and retreating back into the bathroom, slamming the door in Ilya’s face. Shane stands there, leaning against it, his heart racing and chest heaving, clutching his pajamas to his chest like a lifeline. What the fuck just happened?

***

Things are only a little awkward after that, and if Shane had anything to do with it, it would remain that way forever. But Ilya behaved like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t sucked Shane’s fingers into his mouth like a pornstar and given Shane a horny mental crisis - more than he has already. But Shane has lived his life avoiding hard conversations, conversations that he should probably have, so he too acts like nothing happened. Even if mentally he is on the verge of pulling his hair out. 

So they carry on. Ilya learns new words, parroting out ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ just to have Shane glare at him. Shane teaches him how to unload the dishwasher (he may as well make Ilya be useful around the house, no idle hands here). Ilya tries vodka - which was a gift from Shane’s dad which Shane has never tried, but found Ilya holding the bottle up to the light one afternoon, watching as the clear liquid shimmered in the daylight with interest. And Shane quickly discovers that Ilya very much enjoys it, humming appreciatively as it slides down his throat, not even grimacing at the burn. It’s kinda hot, but Shane ignores that thought. 

Ilya learns that Shane likes to fold his clothes. Shane learns that Ilya likes to watch car racing on the TV, body leaned forward in interest as loud cars make zoomies round a race track. Shane can’t see the appeal. Shane learns that Ilya likes to feed him, even though Shane tries not to make a habit out of letting him do it - he’s not a baby. Shane also learns Ilya’s routine. He’ll have breakfast with Shane, and disappear for a few hours in wolf form over lunch and appear back in the late afternoon, where Shane will force him to have a shower. Then Ilya will simply follow Shane about the house, watching him do stuff, sometimes joining in. He comes on Shane’s runs on the forest trails - although the first time he did it was in wolf form and gave Shane no warning, proceeding to scare the everloving shit out of him as a large wolf came bounding through the trees excitedly. It certainly made Shane run faster. Ilya joined him in the lake, although Shane had to get him to stop chasing the birds that perch by the water. Shane learns the hard way that Ilya is a very fast swimmer when he wants something. He also learns that Ilya is crap at yoga, which gives Shane a sense of satisfaction that Ilya isn’t good at everything he tries, which had started to get a little annoying. The one time Ilya had tried to do yoga with him, he promptly became more interested in staring at Shane’s ass in downward dog instead of participating. Not that Shane saw, being focused on his breathing as he stretched.

Shane also ordered Ilya clothes, because he logically can't keep wearing Shane’s. Although since the clothes arrived - only basic stuff, a pair of trainers and some sliders - Ilya has notably not been wearing most of it. Instead he continues to wear Shane’s clothes, which would be mildly annoying if Shane didn’t kind of like the fact that Ilya prefers to wear his clothes. Plus Ilya looked good in them. But they will have to work on that because Shane didn’t buy him the clothes for nothing. 

On a broader note, Shane learns that Ilya loves to tease him. Like splashing him in the lake deliberately, pulling his ankle under the water - which Shane told him off for because he could seriously drown, or deliberately cutting Shane off on their runs together and looking back with a cheeky grin at Shane’s outraged shout. Shane’s called him a little shit and asshole so many times, Ilya starts answering to it with a smirk. They start to have relatively coherent conversations, which mainly involves Shane talking at Ilya and Ilya smiling, offering one word grunts here and there, seemingly content to just listen to Shane ramble on about whatever he is focused on at that point in time.

There is not a repeat of what happened outside Shane’s bathroom again. Mainly because Shane has given himself a no jerking off ban after it. Not because he’s scared or anything, but because as Ilya is technically sort of his roommate now, it seems impolite to jerk off with him now living in the house. That’s all. But that doesn’t stop the loaded looks Ilya throws his way, or the heated touches Ilya traces against Shane’s skin as he moves past him or just to simply touch him because he wants to. Shane accepts it all with blushing cheeks and a face of denial. Ilya continues to bring him flowers when he notices the ones in the vase - Shane ordered one online - begin to wilt.

As the days pass, Ilya also somehow learns the word for pretty, which Shane discovers when he’s reading his book in bed one night and Ilya appears at the foot of his bed, shirtless as usual. 

‘Pretty.’ 

At the low timber of Ilya’s voice, Shane looks up questioningly, glasses perched on his nose. Ilya stands there looking at him with an unreadable emotion in his eyes, a hand gently holding Shane’s foot hidden under the duvet.  

‘Huh?’ Shane supplies intelligently, eyes wide. 

Ilya’s hand squeezes at Shane’s foot, eyes never leaving Shane’s as he repeats it with the same gravelly tone. 

‘Pretty.’ 

Shane’s face sets on fire at the compliment. Pretty or pretty boy is something Shane isn’t exactly unused to hearing, mostly on the ice or in the locker room, thrown as an insult with a mouth curved in a jeer or nasty smile. But Ilya doesn’t mean it that way. Not with the way he is looking at Shane with quiet admiration. Ilya means it genuinely, because he actually thinks Shane is pretty. The realisation causes Shane to splutter under Ilya’s steady gaze and caressing of his foot, a warmth cocooning around his heart at the word. 

‘Where did you learn that word?’ Shane asks, but all Ilya does is shrug in response like it doesn’t matter. It does matter, Shane thinks, because he definitely hasn’t taught him it. But Shane’s thoughts of trying to figure out when and where Ilya is learning extra vocabulary without Shane’s supervision quickly dissipate as Ilya rounds the bed and gets cosy under the covers beside him. 

Ilya’s penchant for sharing a bed is something Shane is still trying to get used to. The first time it happened, Shane had embarrassingly squawked like a bird for Ilya to get out. Ilya, as always, just silently stared at him, before yanking Shane into his chest and shushing him. As if Shane was the one being unreasonable. Shane had been left speechless at the demand, Ilya tucking him into the side with ease, sniffing at his hair momentarily before digging his nose to rest at the crook in Shane’s neck from behind.

‘Ilya-,’ Shane had tried to say, but had again been rudely interrupted by Ilya squeezing at Shane’s hips, large hands like a brand through his pajama shorts. 

‘Sleep, Shane.’ The gruffness of it tickled his skin and sent a shiver down his spine, and his heart stuttered in his chest at the sound of the gentle command and the way his name sounds rolling off Ilya’s tongue. 

So Shane adapted, because it was clear Ilya was not going to stop. And Shane didn’t mind the large, warm presence insistent on cuddling him to sleep, although he’d never admit that out loud. The bed feels less startlingly vast and empty now, less alone. Shane always knew he liked his own space, he still does, but he won’t deny that sharing a bed with Ilya has meant he’s been sleeping better than he ever has before. 

But with deeper sleep, comes dreams. In this case, dreams of Ilya, like the one Shane is currently immersed in with dangerous detail.

Shane lies sprawled out against his bedsheets, skin glimmering with sweat, body jolting with the force of Ilya’s thrusts. Ilya looms above him like the predator he is, necklace swinging against his chest in time with his hips fucking his thick cock into Shane’s hole. Shane clutches at the sheets below him, choking on a moan as Ilya nails his prostate, his cock leaking so much a puddle of precum pools at Shane’s bellybutton. 

Shane blinks up at Ilya with half lidded eyes, saliva drooling out the corner of his mouth as Ilya snarls down at him, yanking his legs over his shoulders and leaning forwards so they are chest to chest. The change in position means Ilya’s cock feels so much deeper, and Shane feels full to the brim with it, hole clenching around it greedily. Shane moans loudly, fingers scrambling at Ilya’s sweat slick shoulders for purchase as he is jostled on his cock. Ilya growls, hand coming to grip at Shane’s jaw, the other pressing down by Shane’s ear to make Ilya the only thing Shane can feel, can see, can taste. Shane whines at the relentless pace, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He can practically feel Ilya’s cock in his throat. 

Ilya’s grip on his jaw tightens and Shane forces his eyes open to focus on the man peering down at him, broad form blocking out all other surroundings to just be Ilya Ilya Ilya. 

Ilya leans in closer, their noses brushing, panting into each other’s mouths as he growls out a possessive, ‘Mine.’

Shane doesn’t really feel himself wake up, hips moving of their own accord as they grind down against the hardness pressed between his thighs. He moans softly, eyebrows scrunching, mouth parting on a gasp as the firmness against his cock presses up harder, providing more delicious pressure against his leaking length, a wet patch forming on his pajama shorts as his hips kick forward, frantically chasing his release. 

Hands clamp down on his waist, and Shane whines, eyes still screwed shut and half-asleep as he feels them help move his hips. He turns his head to greedily inhale the scent of cedarwood and amber, feeling drunk off it as it makes his hips jerk, a keen falling from his lips, drool slipping out in his desperation to come. 

‘Ilya,’ he gasps out, muffled against the pillow, still clinging to the dream of Ilya fucking him so nicely. At the word, the heavy hands on his hips tighten, fingers digging into his hips and the sweet pain of it makes Shane moan in delight. He gasps again as he can feel himself cresting towards his orgasm, hips working faster to grind his cock against the weight between his legs, hands coming to clutch at whatever is in front of him, his hands finding the rounded line of shoulders. 

A hot breath at his ear has him moaning, his skin sensitive in his sleep-addled horny brain. His hips grind down harder, moving back and forth desperately, the hands at his waist helping him move, pressing him down on it. It’s when a snarl vibrates against his ear that Shane comes with a drawn out moan, fingers curling onto the shoulders he clings to, drool sliding down his chin, mouth open. His hips jerk once, twice before stilling. His body falls limp, like a marionette doll with her strings cut, and he blearily opens his eyes halfway, before they snap open properly with a gasp. 

Ilya looks at him with barely restrained arousal, jaw tight, hands gripping his hips in an iron hold, his thick thigh between Shane’s legs, which Shane realises is what he has been humping against in his post wet-dream franticness to cum. His face burns with embarrassment, looking down to see a large wet patch in the front of his shorts, feeling the cum cooling against his lower stomach, and then his eyes zero in on the bulge straining in Ilya’s own shorts. It’s long and thick, and he can see a small stain near where he assumes his cock has been leaking in response to Shane’s grinding. 

Oh my god, Shane thinks. Oh my god oh my god-

Shane’s panicked internal monologue comes to a screeching halt as he looks up at Ilya again. He half expects to see disgust, considering Shane had rutted on him like a bitch in heat without even asking first. Instead what greets him is a look that is so intense, and teeming with desire that it makes Shane’s heart stutter and cock twitch in his shorts. And it’s aimed at him. 

Ilya slowly releases his grip on Shane’s hips, coming to hover in the space in front of them, looking at Shane with careful eyes. Watching. 

Shane is freaking out, obviously. But he is also very aware of Ilya’s hard neglected cock straining in his shorts. Which is because of Shane. Shane did that. Shane. And call him conceited but the thought that Shane grinding on Ilya’s leg like a panting dog has caused that, has Shane feeling a little proud. And it also makes him responsible. So really, to be polite, Shane should help him out. Like Ilya helped him out, kinda - providing a thigh to grind on is helping right? Even if Shane wasn’t aware of what he was doing. He’s returning the favour. A favour he very gladly wants to take part in.

Shane has also just woken up, so his brain hasn’t really kicked in yet, or his common sense. 

So his hand reaches out to grab at Ilya’s cock through his shorts, saliva filling his fuzzy mind at the idea of finally touching the cock that has been plaguing his dreams and waking thoughts, when Ilya’s hand shoots out to catch it before it can score a touchdown. 

Shane blinks up at Ilya in confusion, and Ilya’s grip tightens on his wrist. Shane watches as his jaw clicks with tension, his mouth in a firm line, Ilya’s eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose. 

‘Shane.’ Ilya chokes out through gritted teeth, accent thick. Shane recoils. 

Has Shane read it wrong? Does Ilya not want him to touch him? Is Ilya not interested in him like that after all? Shame curls in his gut at the idea that Ilya does not in fact want Shane to touch him at all. He yanks his wrist out of Ilya’s grip like he’s been burnt, eyes looking anywhere but the man in front of him, trying to quell the embarrassed tears threatening to fall. He sits up, legs tangling in the sheets as he climbs over Ilya in a panic, batting away Ilya’s hands as they try to get him to stop his movements. 

Shane ignores the call of his name, hurrying into the bathroom and locking the door with a slam, finally letting the embarrassed tears fall. He scrubs at his face aggressively, finally, clearly awake. His chest constricts with panicked breaths and he has to do his yoga breathing to keep the panic attack at bay, forehead thudding against the door in frustration. Ilya must be so disgusted by him, for Shane to do that when he is asleep. Regardless of the arousal that Shane thought he saw, he must have been wrong. The outright rejection stings harsher than it should, and Shane tries to push it down like he does with everything else. 

***

Shane avoids Ilya that morning, not even being able to look him in the eye without being reminded of the rejection and all the shame that comes with it. Shane makes breakfast without him and quickly eats it on the back porch, so by the time Ilya appears Shane is already washing up, his back to him. Ilya stands next to him silently for a minute, and Shane can feel his eyes burning into him but he ignores him, scrubbing more insistently at the plate in his hands. 

He hears Ilya leave the house, and as soon as he hears the door click, he exhales heavily, his head knocking back, eyes squeezed shut.

Everything’s fine. Everything is totally fine. This is just an awkward moment in their weird friendship, Shane thinks. He crossed over the line and Ilya made that clear. That won’t be happening again, because Ilya isn’t interested in him like that clearly. Even if the thought has a stone sinking to the bottom of his gut. His eyes catch on the vase of pretty flowers Ilya picked for him yesterday as he dries his hands.

Maybe the reason Shane feels so confused and strangely sad at the thought of Ilya rejecting him is because he hasn’t taken the time to really understand him. Shane has spent no end of hours teaching Ilya about human life, but he knows next to nothing about Ilya’s own wolfish one. Not that Ilya has ever offered any of that information up. He just seems happy to sniff at Shane constantly and eat all the food in the fridge. So maybe the solution is to find out for himself, maybe that way Shane can recover a bit of his dignity from this morning, and regain the ability to look Ilya in the eye again. And also to not feel so rejected, especially if it can be explained by Ilya’s shifter origins. Maybe Shane is missing something, and he just needs to do some independent learning to find out what that is.

So with Ilya gone on his usual forest escapades, Shane decides to research. Which is how he finds himself falling through endless Reddit threads on werewolves, shapeshifters, something called ‘furries’ which has Shane’s eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, and onto a thread about alpha and omegas. A permanent blush has taken residence across Shane’s face as he scrolls. It seems that alphas and omegas are the most compatible with each other, and he gapes at some of the descriptions on what happens to an omega’s body when aroused. Well at least they wouldn’t need to use lube, Shane thinks absently. Maybe Ilya is only attracted to omegas, Shane wonders, maybe that’s why he behaved the way he did this morning, because Shane isn’t an omega or whatever. If only he had a slick producing hole, he thinks with a snort, before shaking his head at the thought.

It’s when he gets onto a thread about alphas and their features that has Shane taking pause. Dominant, physically imposing, more muscle mass, possessive, marks its territory by scenting (which Shane figures out is that sniffing thing Ilya does - to him, because Ilya sure as hell isn’t pissing on anything, Shane would’ve noticed), amongst other things. Definitely Ilya. He even reads about courting, something wolves-shifters do to tell someone (or another wolf, Shane guesses) they like them. An image of a dead rabbit hops across the forefront of Shane’s mind before he flits it away. But Shane comes to a screeching halt when he reads the word knot. He gets halfway through an in-depth paragraph about its uses when Shane sends his phone flying across the room in mortification, thighs unconsciously squeezing together. 

Shane buries his head into the sofa cushion, willing his heart to stop racing at the idea of Ilya having a knot. Shane’s mind unhelpfully supplies him with multiple images of Ilya’s cock, and what it would look and feel like to be knotted by him. Would that even be humanly possible? Especially after now he has a better clue of how big it is after this morning's embarrassment. Shane sits upright suddenly, swallowing harshly, his own cock hardening at all the filthy images racing through his mind like a merry-go-round on steroids. He needs to get out. He needs to do something. So Shane grabs his trunks and makes his way to the lake. He’ll swim the horniness off, he decides. Like being baptised. He’ll cleanse himself in the lake and hope it cleanses his mind too. And with that, Shane walks determinedly down to the bank, wading in before diving forwards to immerse himself in the cold water. 

He’s there for about five minutes swimming aimlessly, mind adrift elsewhere, when he sees Ilya standing at the riverbank, naked. Shane stops and watches him with wary eyes.

He can’t make out what Ilya’s stare means from all the way in the water, but his fists are clenched at his sides, curls being swept aside by the breeze. Shane lowers himself into the water so only the upper part of his face peeks out.

Then Ilya wades into the water, eyes fixed on Shane. Shane’s gaze dares to drop down to Ilya’s soft thick cock against his will. It’s huge, Shane can tell even from a distance, but Shane already knows that from feeling it against his ass, like the first time he saw Ilya. The memory makes his ears burn. He tries to spy anything resembling what he read a knot would look like before he realises he is blatantly staring. His eyes flit back up to Ilya’s face quickly.

With the speed at which Ilya moves, the water is now up to his waist and he is much closer than he was before. He’s close enough that Shane can see Ilya’s lip quirk in a smirk, obviously having caught Shane’s staring, which is a contrast to his eyes, which lie dark and heavy on Shane’s exposed skin above the water - and there isn’t a lot of it. 

Shane swims backwards slightly, keeping the lower half of his head in the water so only the top of his head peeks out, the tip of his nose kissing the top of the water. He looks up at Ilya, his doe brown eyes shining in the sunlight. 

Ilya stops in front of him, staring down at Shane. The view from below is obscene, Ilya’s chest framing his face, biceps massive. Shane spies a large vein that travels up the length of one of them with interest, before looking back at Ilya. 

Slowly, Shane rises his head out of the water, but doesn’t stand, kicking his feet to swim himself out deeper, and Ilya follows. Shane looks at him in anticipation, wondering what Ilya wants, if he’s going to say anything to address what happened earlier.

Ilya swims closer, but not touching Shane although he easily could. The air crackles with something that teeters on the edge, precariously balanced. Neither say anything. And then Ilya moves, lowering himself into the water so they are eye level.

He slowly reaches an arm out, face scanning Shane’s for any slight hint of discomfort, of anything that would make Ilya stop. He finds none except Shane’s soft brown eyes blinking at him. Ilya gently grabs at Shane’s wrist, and pulls. And Shane lets him, body moving through the water like air, the water rippling around him.

Ilya doesn’t stop pulling at Shane until they are chest to chest. Their legs brushing as the current pushes them together. Ilya’s hand slides up from Shane’s wrist to over his shoulders, fingers brushing a nipple, causing Shane to suck in a breath, hand dipping under the water again to rest at his waist. Ilya observes the path his hand takes with a heavy stare, before flitting up to meet Shane’s.The other hand rises out of the water to stroke at Shane’s cheek softly, before coming to clutch at his chin, tilting Shane’s head back slightly. 

Shane takes this moment to let his mouth open in a soft whisper. 

‘I’m sorry about earlier.’ Shane’s eyes drop down to rest at Ilya’s collarbones before lifting again to look at Ilya’s eyebrows furrow in confusion at the sentence. 

Shane’s hands come up to distractedly trace shapes on Ilya’s chest, leaving a wet trail in their wake. Shane doesn’t stop talking softly into the small space between them, not caring that Ilya probably won’t understand him, only needing to get it off his chest.

‘I crossed over a line, and I’m sorry for putting you in that position. I really am-,’ 

Ilya cuts him off by gently shaking the chin he has gripped between his fingers, bringing him a centimetre closer to look at him. Shane glances at him with wide eyes and Ilya mutters something under his breath that Shane can’t make out.

Ilya frowns at him before they soften inexplicably, his mouth parting to speak gently, voice coarse and deep, its rumble reaching out to caress Shane’s heart. 

‘Shane. No more sorry. Stop.’

Shane’s mouth parts as he blinks at him. ‘But-,’

‘Shane.’ Ilya mutters again with a slight shake of his head, thumb coming up to press into the middle of Shane’s mouth, silencing him. Shane’s hand drifts up to clutch at the thick forearm between them. Shane has an urge to suck the thumb into his mouth but he restrains himself, instead he watches the man in front of him curiously. His heart clenches at the raw emotion swirling in Ilya’s eyes, all directed at him. Ilya’s gaze flits down to Shane’s mouth, thumb swiping at his lip as Ilya becomes lost in thought for a moment. 

Then a switch flips, and Ilya’s focus sharpens on Shane, his hand tightening so subtly it would be imperceptible if Shane’s body had not become so attuned to Ilya’s in the past week. A growl claws its way up Ilya’s throat before it is cut off abruptly as he seemingly makes up his mind. 

Ilya uses his grip on Shane to draw him closer and Shane can feel his heart stutter for a moment at the proximity, as they become so close their lips are a centimetre apart. And then Ilya closes the distance. 

Shane can’t help but gasp as Ilya’s lips meet his in a gentle kiss, Shane’s fingers clutching at the forearm that holds his head. At the gasp, Ilya deepens it easily, tongue dipping in to lick into his mouth and Shane responds with a quiet moan. At the sound, Ilya’s grip at his waist tightens to pull Shane closer, if that is even possible. Shane’s hands move to slide up the line of Ilya’s shoulders before curling in his hair, as Ilya moves his hand to cradle his jaw, allowing him to tilt Shane’s head so he can deepen the kiss. Shane can feel his brain beginning to melt at the warmth of it, the feel of Ilya’s lips on him, his tongue teasing, his teeth gently nipping at his bottom lip. His fingers tighten in Ilya’s curls, hearing him groan against his lips. The kiss slowly becomes more frantic, Shane kissing back with the same fervor Ilya offers, Ilya’s hand on his waist sliding to press against the small of his back, pushing their hips together, Shane feeling Ilya’s hard cock rest against his hip. 

Shane moans at the heavy feel of it, and he kisses Ilya harder, tongues teasing each other, making Ilya growl into his mouth. Eventually they pull back, gasping for air, foreheads pressed against each other. Shane feels all fuzzy, body buzzing with a warmth as they stand in the cold water. He belatedly thinks that’s the best kiss he’s ever had.

Ilya nudges his forehead against Shane’s, finger tracing Shane’s kiss swollen lips with fervence.

‘I-,’ Ilya begins but huffs in frustration, mind trying to translate into words what he wants to say, but struggling. Shane simply waits, the hand clutching Ilya’s forearm squeezing reassuringly. 

‘You are gentle.’ Ilya tries again, pausing between each word with concentration, eyes closing as he attempts to convey meaning through a language he is still a stranger to. 

Shane watches with wide eyes as more words tumble out of Ilya’s equally swollen mouth. 

‘Deserve soft, gentle. Care. Like,’ Ilya licks his lips as he tries to find the word, ‘flowers.’ 

Shane’s mouth parts in wonder as Ilya continues, the most he has ever spoken ever since Shane first saw him in his living room. The hand in Ilya’s hair begins to card through his curls comfortingly, and it seems to do the trick as the furrow between Ilya’s brow softens slightly. 

‘I am not-gentle. I am-,’ Ilya takes his hand under Shane’s jaw to rest against the water between them, palm upturned to the sky. 

‘My hands are rough. Not gentle. Not nice like flowers.’ He says quietly, accent catching on the soft vowel sounds. 

Shane frowns at the words, a hand coming to lie on top of Ilya’s on top of the water, his fingers tracing the lines of his palms, the coarseness of the pads of Ilya’s fingertips. 

‘You deserve gentle hands. Gentle touch.’ Ilya finishes, swallowing hard, eyes finally flitting up to meet Shane’s hesitantly. 

Shane’s hand tracing the lines of Ilya’s palm comes to grip at the large hand that Ilya talks about so disdainfully, clutching it to his chest, cradling it against his heart. 

Ilya watches the action silently, before looking back to Shane.

Shane takes a steadying breath, courage filling his lungs in a way they never have before, but can only be possible because of Ilya. 

Because all of his life, Shane has deliberately lived in the dark, never daring to turn on the light in hopes it could maybe change the way he is, which he always knew was impossible because it was never anything he could help in the first place. But a part of him really hoped that maybe something would change, that he would wake up one day and start liking women, start being normal, not only in his sexuality but personality too. That he’d suddenly like the taste of beer, or that he would suddenly love going to loud bars and shouting over the music with his teammates. Or that he would stop being so scared of everything. Be easier to talk to. That he would get the jokes people make on first try, something that comes so easily to everyone else but not to him. Stop being boring. That he would stop being scared about the truth of who he was, and who he is, and who he likes to be. But he realises in that moment, with Ilya’s softly spoken words and warming touch, and careful eyes, that there isn’t anything wrong with him. Because Ilya doesn’t see any of the flaws that Shane has spent his entire adult life hyperfixating on, he sees something else that has Shane reeling. He sees Shane, and he likes it. He admires it with such ferocity that Ilya thinks he himself is undeserving. Which is ridiculous. But the thought of thinking Ilya is ridiculous makes Shane also realise he himself is being ridiculous. That the hollowness that has been eating him from the inside out has slowly chewed its way to the surface, except to be sent scurrying away in fear at the sight of Ilya and his fierce eyes full of devotion. And Shane realises that being in denial just can’t work anymore. Not that it was working at all before, but now Shane knows it isn’t. Because for the first time in Shane’s life, he feels seen. And usually being perceived in such a way would have sent him folding into himself like a piece of origami paper. But standing there in the water, he realises he likes Ilya. A lot. And he wants him to know that. Shane has never been good with words, has been told he isn’t very good at the emotional stuff, but for Ilya he is willing to try. 

‘Your hands are rough, yes.’ Shane begins, and Ilya’s body tenses. 

‘But they are also gentle,’ He continues, splaying Ilya’s fingers across his chest. ‘They are careful, because they pick beautiful flowers, which I like.’ Shane emphasises each word carefully, slowly, in hopes Ilya understands.

‘They are soft when they touch me.’ Shane squeezes at the hand resting against his skin, and Ilya’s eyes flit down to where he can feel Shane’s heartbeat beneath his fingers, hand twitching slightly. 

‘They make me feel safe when they hold me.’ Shane whispers, bringing the hand resting against his chest to his lips, watching Ilya as he kisses each finger. Ilya’s lips part in wonder. 

He rests Ilya’s hand against the side of his face, both hands clutching at the thick wrist, eyes gazing at the man across from him hoping the emotion he is feeling is being translated not only in his words, but in his eyes.

‘Your hands are rough, but they are also gentle. And I want both the roughness and the gentleness. I want them both. Because-,’ Shane closes his eyes for a moment before locking on Ilya’s intently.

‘Because I want you. Ilya.’ Shane finishes his piece with steady eyes although his voice shakes a little at the end of it, overwhelmed with the emotion threatening to unfurl in his chest as he awaits Ilya’s answer. 

Ilya gazes at him carefully, eyes flitting over Shane’s face, looking at the hand cradled against Shane’s cheek so gently, so tenderly. 

Shane does not have to wait long for his answer. 

Ilya crashes their lips together with a low growl, teeth clacking, tongue immediately dominating Shane’s mouth, eliciting a whine deep in Shane’s chest. He pulls back momentarily leaving Shane gasping at the whiplash, before he proceeds to kiss all over Shane’s face. His chin, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the freckles dusted across his face, his forehead, the corner of his lips, all the while muttering loudly. 

‘I also want. Have always-,’ He growls again, capturing Shane’s lips into another hungry kiss, the hand previously resting at Shane’s back drifting down to brush at his ass, causing a gasp to escape Shane’s lips. 

‘Shane. I want you. Shane. Have always wanted. When I see-when I saw you. First time.’ Ilya mutters into Shane’s mouth. 

Shane leans into Ilya, hands desperately clawing him closer. They kiss like they are starving, as if afraid the other will disappear beneath their fingertips. 

Ilya’s palm finally squeezes a handful of Shane’s ass and Shane groans, pushing back into the possessive grip. At Shane’s eager response, Ilya snarls into his mouth, hiking Shane up his body, and Shane’s legs immediately wrap around Ilya’s waist, hard cock restrained by his swimming trunks pressing up against Ilya’s belly. Large hands clutch at Shane’s thighs tightly, Shane’s forearms resting on Ilya’s shoulders as Ilya strides towards the smooth flat rock that juts out of the water to the side of them. 

Shane grinds his cock against Ilya’s abs with a whine, lips leaving his to trace hot kisses along Ilya’s jaw. Ilya groans at the feel of Shane’s hot breath fanning against his neck. 

They reach the rock, and Ilya leans down to lie Shane against it, pulling back to stare down at him. Shane is sure he looks a mess, swollen lips, heaving chest, doe eyes glassy with desire, cock straining against the wet material of his trunks as the water laps around his upper thighs. But Ilya looks down at him like he wants to devour him, and the intensity swirling in those blue orbs makes Shane squirm shyly. 

Shane reaches a hand out to gently skirt his fingers against Ilya’s abs, admiring the hard planes of them before he glances up at Ilya under his eyelashes. Ilya’s biceps bulge and his jaw is taught with the struggle to restrain himself. But Shane doesn’t want him to, so he traces his hands up to Ilya’s wide shoulders and tugs. Ilya immediately leans closer, nose dragging a path up Shane’s neck with a growl, teeth coming to lightly nip under his jaw which makes Shane gasp, hands coming down to grip at Shane’s hips, just shy of where his cock lies leaking in his shorts. 

‘You smell-,’ Ilya cuts himself off with a growl, lathing his tongue against the underside of Shane’s jaw, making him moan, fingers clutching at his shoulders to keep him close.

‘Smell so good. It is-you smell like way you look at me. When you think I not see.’ Ilya grumbles against his neck, but Shane isn’t really listening although he is trying. Too distracted by Ilya’s lips on his neck as they come to suck at an earlobe, hands pulling his hips to grind against his. 

‘But I smell you. Humans not smell, no scent, but you do, you have. I smell when you want me. When sad, when happy. It is-it drives me-,’ but Ilya never finishes because Shane’s hands yank at his face to draw his lips to his in a filthy, needy kiss. Shane’s hips jerk against the hard planes of Ilya’s stomach, desperately seeking release but failing, letting Ilya lick into his mouth with a dominant touch.

Ilya’s hands on his body burn like a brand on his skin, he can feel them everywhere. And Shane wants more, needs more. 

So his hands pull at Ilya’s hips to feel his naked hard cock bump against his own through his shorts and they both groan at the contact. Shane drifts his fingers down, hovering in the air for a moment, before finally wrapping a hand around Ilya’s cock - like how he wanted to do this morning. Ilya pulls back from the kiss, head coming down to rest in the crook of Shane’s shoulder with a strangled groan.

Shane braves a look down then and sucks in a gasp at the cock in his hands, tip thick and leaking with precum that makes his mouth water, long length pulsing in his hands, flushed red with need. The cock he’s dreamed about is in his hands - some dreams do come true, Shane thinks distantly before it is shrouded in the swirling desire taking over his brain to give him one thought only. 

He wants to make Ilya fall apart. 

His fist tightens around Ilya’s cock and he begins to drag his hand up and down, feeling every vein along the length, the way it twitches in his hand. 

‘Shane.’ Ilya groans out thickly, gripping his jaw to draw him in for a hard kiss. 

Shane’s fingers leave Ilya’s cock to fumble with his own wet shorts, and without a word Ilya’s hands join his trembling fingers to yank his shorts down to sit under the curve of his ass. Shane’s leaking cock springs free to slap against his belly and Ilya growls at the sight. 

Shane doesn’t give him any time to react as he holds both of their cocks in his hands with a tight grip. Whilst Shane isn’t small by any means, the size difference is startling. They both look down at the sight, foreheads nudging each other, as Shane begins a delicious drag, their cocks pressed against each other, precum dripping down Shane’s knuckles. 

They moan in unison at the feeling of it, Shane moaning out a ‘Fuck,’ into the small space between them. He watches his hands move up and down, before his head tilts back as Ilya tracks kisses up his neck before reaching his lips. 

Ilya pulls back from the kiss with a wet sound, and Shane watches as he leans away to look down at their cocks clutched together with Shane’s hands, and proceeds to let a string of spit hang from his mouth, letting it drip over both of their cockheads that are glistening with precum.

And Shane loses his mind. His thighs twitch, as does his cock, hands moving faster, moaning out, ‘Oh my god, Ilya that was-,’ 

But then Ilya looks up with a smirk and dark eyes, which makes Shane forget what he was going to say. So instead he focuses on making them cum, and the hot drag against their cocks, aided by Ilya’s spit, has Shane’s toes curling in the water, orgasm drawing nearer. 

It’s when Ilya sucks a nipple into his mouth, biting down on it lightly, that Shane comes all over his fist, all over Ilya’s cock, with a keen. His hips twitch to ride out the wave, hand still jerking up and down. Belatedly he realises Ilya cums too, as his fingers dig harder into Shane’s skin, muffling a snarl into Shane’s chest, grumbling out a strained, ‘Shane.’

Ilya lets out a groan and looks down at the mess, the cum dribbling down past Shane’s knuckles, his spent cock twitching at the sight. 

Shane tries to catch his breath, leaning back onto the rock he lies against it with quivering thighs, heart fluttering in his chest. Ilya is still looking down at their spent cocks, which Shane slowly releases. 

Shane opens his mouth to speak but his tongue feels too thick, clumsy as they try to curl around useless words. His concentration is thwarted, however, when Ilya takes hold of Shane’s hand covered in both of their cum, and licks it off. He sucks each finger into his mouth, eyes never leaving Shane’s wide ones, thick tongue tracing the rivulets of cum across Shane’s palm. 

Shane gapes at him, cock involuntarily twitching against his thigh, breath catching in his chest as he forces himself to swallow around the saliva pooling in his mouth. Heat curls around his spine at the obscene sight. Ilya hums around one of his fingers, cheeks hollowing, throat bobbing as he swallows. He even goes so far to lick up the tracks of cum that dripped down past Shane’s wrist. 

Ilya tongues the last of it with a satisfied smirk, before a hand clutches at Shane’s jaw to drag him upwards to meet him. Shane’s limp (and spectacularly horny) body rises to meet him, letting Ilya kiss him hard, his tongue slipping into his mouth to lick against his as Shane tastes himself and Ilya on his tongue. He moans at the heat it evokes underneath his skin, hands sinking into Ilya’s hair as he seeks more. 

Ilya pulls back and Shane can’t help but chase his lips with a whine and glazed eyes, a string of spit between their lips snapping. 

‘You can’t just-you can’t just do that,’ Shane begins around gasping breaths, eyes flitting between Ilya’s, the sentence coming out as more of a lisp from how swollen his lips are, before he gives up. Ilya looks too pleased with himself to argue. Plus it was fucking hot. The stuff that wet dreams are made of. 

Ilya’s chest rumbles with an appreciative growl, thumb coming to press into the plushness of Shane’s lower lip. Shane automatically sucks it into his mouth, eyes going cloudy, blinking up at Ilya as his tongue wraps around the digit with a muffled keen. 

Ilya presses his thumb in further to press down on Shane’s tongue, the rest of his hand hooking on his jaw to force his mouth to hang open, spit dribbling off his tongue and down his chin. 

Dark heat burns in Ilya’s eyes as he watches Shane obediently let him play with his mouth. He tracks the drool at the corner of Shane’s lips, and can’t help but imagine what it would look like with his cock lying on his tongue instead of his thumb. 

Shane’s thighs clench together at the look on Ilya’s face. 

‘Pretty mouth.’ Ilya grunts out, accent thick around the word, eyes never leaving Shane’s lips. 

‘Pretty everywhere. Always so pretty.’ He continues, eyes lowering to admire Shane’s body before finally settling on his face. The praise has Shane flushing, his fingers twitching against the rock, trying to ignore how much of an effect Ilya’s praise is having on him. 

Ilya slowly removes his thumb, letting Shane’s mouth close with a gentle push of his hand at his chin. He leans in to place a gentle kiss on Shane’s mouth, before leaning back to gaze at him softly, fingers tracing the freckles dotted across the bridge of Shane’s nose. 

‘You have…stars here.’ Ilya whispers, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to think of a word better to describe the freckles under his delicate touch. 

‘Freckles.’ Shane whispers back, and Ilya looks at him, watching the way his mouth moves. 

So Shane repeats the word again, watching Ilya’s beautiful face break out into a smile. 

‘Freckles,’ Ilya says with awe, eyes looking at them so intensely, with so much fondness, that it takes Shane by surprise. 

‘Freckles,’ Ilya repeats it like he is ingraining it into his memory forever along with the image of them on Shane’s face. ‘I like. Pretty freckles.’ 

Shane’s heart clenches at the raw honesty of Ilya’s voice, of his words. They are so simple, yet they shake Shane’s composure like an earthquake. Shane hadn’t ever really been fond of his freckles, they were just always there. Sometimes they were annoying - freckles to Shane felt like something only a child would have. On commercials sometimes, they covered them up with concealer which Shane didn’t have a problem with, whatever they needed to do to sell the product was fine with him. But Ilya looked at them like they were the best thing he had ever seen, he thinks they’re pretty. And the gentleness that Ilya traces them with has Shane swallowing harshly, as he begins to think that maybe the freckles which he has always sort of thought of as a nuisance, may not be after all.

***

It’s later when they make their way back up to the cottage, Shane shivering both from the cold wetness of his skin and also the after shock of his orgasm, Ilya herding him inside with a hand at the small of his back, a kiss on the back of his neck. 

They had eaten dinner and showered (separately, even though Ilya grumbled at that), and were currently lazing on the couch watching some action film Ilya had chosen. Not that Ilya knew anything about film, or what it was even about. After the events in the lake, Ilya had become even more touchy than before, which Shane had thought was impossible.

But there seems to be a very key difference between Ilya restraining himself and not. And now they had broken the very physical barrier of cumming over each other’s dicks, Ilya had no qualms at touching Shane at all times.

The touches weren’t all dirty promises that some were, most were just gentle, grounding ones. Shane didn’t feel smothered by them. They were just tugs of his t-shirt, a finger hooking into the waistband of his shorts as Ilya moves past him in the kitchen, a hand playing with his hair, a kiss on the back of his neck as Shane leans forward to turn on the TV. It feels domestic, couple-y, and Shane is aware of just how fast their relationship has progressed. But he’s not complaining. He’d be a fool to, especially when he enjoys the tactile touches Ilya effortlessly gives out. It makes Shane’s fingers itch to return them. What happened earlier in the lake has cracked him open like an egg, and Shane realises the fear and trepidation that usually accompanied all thoughts of attraction and feelings towards Ilya have vanished. 

Which is how they find themselves cuddled up on the sofa as Shane winces at the gun fight on the screen in front of them, bright flashing lights of the film glowing against their faces. He really doesn’t know why Ilya put this on, but he had been transfixed by the bright colours on the titled cover on the TV, and had jabbed at the buttons to make it play. 

Ilya has one of his arms slung around the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly tracing the line of Shane’s shoulder under his black t-shirt, as Shane lies nestled under his chin, cheek against his chest, their legs are outstretched on the bit of the couch that juts out, tangled together. And Shane is bored, uninterested in the movie as some guys shoot at each other. Ilya seems transfixed though, muscles tensing at each fight scene, eyes glued to the screen.

Shane’s head slides further down Ilya’s chest in bored unrest, and he can feel Ilya’s fingers sink into his hair, playing with the strands. The gentle petting has Shane rubbing the side of his face against Ilya’s chest like a cat, a pleased, quiet moan spilling from his lips. He settles his cheek above Ilya’s bellybutton, facing the TV. The position means Ilya’s crotch is in Shane’s direct eye line. The fine trail of hair leading down to the shorts sitting low on his hips gives him an idea.

He slowly nudges his face further down, pausing ever so often to try and not attract Ilya’s attention. But at a particularly brutal fight scene on the TV, he hears Ilya grunt in sympathy as a guy gets his face whacked against a window, and Shane knows he isn’t paying any notice to him.

Shane’s nose brushes the waistband of Ilya’s shorts in his new position. He wouldn’t usually dare be so bold regarding anything sexual, and he usually isn’t. But Ilya has him losing all inhibitions, and Shane wants to indulge in his tightly repressed desires that he keeps under lock and key. And fuck it, he wants Ilya’s cock in his mouth. Sue him. It’s been a long week.

He hears Ilya mutter something under his breath as a guy goes flying through a glass ceiling in the movie and decides to get to work. 

He tilts his head to press a kiss below Ilya’s navel, lingering for a moment as Ilya’s fingers still in his hair. 

He shuffles down further, leaving a trail of wet presses of his mouth against Ilya’s skin, feeling the muscles tense beneath his lips. His fingers come to tease at the waistband of his shorts, licking a trail just above them and he hears Ilya suppress a growl, fingers slowly tightening in his hair. 

His fingers edge under the waistband, dragging it lower so Ilya’s thick cock springs out, already half hard at Shane’s teasing. Shane lets the waistband snap back in place, not taking Ilya’s cock completely out, instead leaving the shorts to rest halfway down the length. Shane can feel Ilya’s gaze burning a hole into the back of his head and he bites his lip to try and not smile. 

He wiggles closer, ignoring the rumble of his name falling off Ilya’s tongue and the tightening hands in his hair. Shane rests his head right above Ilya’s hard cock, and sticks his tongue out to give a kitten lick over the head. He swallows Ilya’s salty precum with a pleased hum, as Ilya muffles a gasp above him. 

He begins to lap at the head slowly, tracing his tongue to flick under the ridge of the cockhead to feel Ilya’s hips jerk, chasing Shane’s mouth with a groan. 

After a few more teasing licks as Shane gets comfortable, he decides to have a little mercy. He inches closer to suck the head in his mouth, and both of Ilya’s hands come to grip at his hair - not pushing or pulling, simply resting to let Shane know of his presence. The head of Ilya’s cock is thick, a pleasant mouthful, and Shane’s mouth waters around it as he thinks of how big Ilya is all over. He lets saliva pool in his mouth as he hums around the cock in his mouth, Ilya emitting a hiss somewhere behind him.

Shane lets off it with a pop, tongue lathing down the rest of the half exposed length, tracing a vein. 

‘Shane.’ Ilya grits out, sounding pained. Shane moves back up to take the head back into his mouth, shifting his head slightly to glance up at Ilya under his lashes. He can only imagine what he looks like with Ilya’s cock in his mouth. Though he gets an idea at how Ilya mutters out a thick accented ‘fuck’, gritting his teeth as if to snarl but instead his head tips back against the couch, chest rising and falling. At the sound of Shane spitting on his cock, Ilya’s head shoots back up to gaze down at him with dark eyes and lips parted in awe.

Shane feels like a slut, and is very aware he is behaving like one. But he’s horny, has been for the past week, months, years, without proper release. And now a man sculpted like Adonis likes him, is sat with him, with the biggest cock Shane has ever seen, a cock that Shane knows is very interested in him. As is the man looking down at him, and the knowledge makes Shane’s skin practically sing, sending his brain mushy with the concept of the power he has over this feral wolfish man. 

He turns his head back, so Ilya can’t see his face or how his mouth drags further down his cock. His fingers fumble to push the shorts down further and Ilya’s hips lift to help and soon they fall to his ankles. Shane shoots forward to lick a stripe down the shaft all the way to his balls, sucking one after the other into his mouth just to hear Ilya let out a guttural moan. Then he takes the head back between his swollen lips and slides his mouth down past the ridge of the head to swallow more of the shaft. 

‘Fuck, Shane.’ Ilya groans, but it’s muffled as cotton starts to fill Shane’s ears, too involved in fucking his mouth along the length of Ilya’s cock, inhaling the musk that is Ilya that it makes Shane feel a little wild with his desire to taste more of it. 

He hasn’t sucked a lot of dicks in his time, and he hasn’t yet mastered the art of deep throating, so Shane can only get halfway down Ilya’s cock before it hits the back of his throat, making him choke. The pressure of his throat convulsing around the length has Ilya groaning, a snarl slipping past his gritted teeth, fingers gripping Shane’s hair so tightly delicious prickles of pain erupt across Shane’s head, making him moan. The vibrations of the sound send Ilya’s hips jerking upwards, pushing more of his cock down Shane’s throat and he can feel himself gag before he furiously breathes through his nose, before drawing his mouth back up to tease at the head. 

Ilya’s cock is wet with Shane’s spit, his fingers circling the base wet with it. It’s filthy, and Shane loves it. He twists his fingers shaped in a ring up and down around the part of Ilya’s cock he can’t manage to swallow before taking Ilya’s cock in his mouth again, head bobbing with hollowed cheeks. 

He can feel Ilya’s thighs tense beneath him, suppressing the urge to fuck into Shane’s hot, wet mouth. At another choke around Ilya’s cock, Shane feels Ilya’s fingers tighten in his hair to yank his head up. Shane comes off his cock with a gasp, a string of spit connecting his swollen lips to the head of Ilya’s cock. Ilya wrenches Shane’s head up to make him turn to face him, and at the sight of Shane’s flushed cheeks, glazed eyes and slick lips, the string of spit still connecting to his cock, a growl rips from his throat, his eyes dark and looming in their gaze. 

Shane simply stares up at him with parted lips, panting. He tries to lean forward to take Ilya’s cock back in his mouth but Ilya doesn’t let him, tutting at him lightly with a shake of his head, a smirk gracing his lips. The tight fist he has in Shane’s hair makes him feel light headed, ears ringing softly, thighs rubbing together, his own neglected cock leaking in his boxers.

Instead Ilya takes hold of his cock as Shane watches with intense focus, when Ilya slaps the head of his cock against his parted spit slick lips. Shane’s mouth immediately opens on instinct, whining when Ilya doesn’t feed it between his lips like Shane wants him to. He even sticks his tongue out to in attempt to get Ilya to fuck his mouth again, but Ilya ignores it. Instead he slaps his cock against the pink tongue, chucking lowly. 

‘Hungry.’ Ilya says lowly, sharp eyes feeling like a sultry caress on Shane’s skin, and his eyes flutter.

Finally, finally Ilya uses the grip he has on Shane’s hair to move him closer to his cock, holding the base of it to feed it into Shane’s mouth with a hiss. Shane suckles at it hungrily, eyes flitting to look up at Ilya, pupils blown, cheeks hollowing as Ilya slides his cock further down his throat. 

‘So fucking hungry.’ Ilya mutters with a smirk. And he is, Shane would agree. So he decides to show Ilya just how fucking hungry he is. 

He fucks his mouth on Ilya’s cock with pure devotion, tongue swirling around the length, swallowing as it kisses the back of his throat, hands coming down to fondle Ilya’s balls. The sounds are obscene, which would be muffled by the TV if Ilya hadn’t scrambled for the remote to turn it off, throwing it over the couch somewhere. Shane will grumble at him later for that. Shane makes sure to flick his gaze up at Ilya, which seems to send Ilya a little feral, jaw clicking, eyes darkening. 

It’s when Shane spits on his cock again, digging his tongue into the slit before sliding down on his cock that Ilya’s head kicks back to rest against the couch again, sweat glistening on his collarbones, eyebrows furrowed, hands tightening in his hair. 

His hips keep twitching, thighs permanently tense, and Shane knows he’s close. The thought of tasting his cum has him moaning around the length, bobbing his head up and down Ilya’s cock faster, letting saliva drip down to coat his balls. Ilya moans in response.

‘Fuck Shane, I-,’ He tries to tug Shane’s head off his cock but Shane doubles down, making sure to take Ilya’s cock as far as he can to swallow loudly around it as Ilya finally comes undone. He comes with a snarl, and Shane hums in delight at the feeling of Ilya coating his tongue, brain floating happily as he swallows it down. Once Ilya finishes, Shane lets the cock fall from his lips with a pop, before his tongue tracks the line of cum that spilled out down his shaft. Ilya hisses at the overstimulation, hand yanking hard on Shane’s hair, and Shane lets him, licking his lips. 

Ilya stares at him with half lidded eyes, tracking the bit of cum at the side of Shane’s mouth, doe eyes glassy and vacant, slowly blinking up at him.

Growling, he pulls Shane towards him to straddle his lap, hands gripping his face as Ilya kisses him hard, tongue darting to taste himself on Shane’s tongue. Shane whines, hips grinding down in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure of his neglected cock. 

Ilya pulls back slightly to wipe away the cum at the corner of his mouth, sucking it into his mouth before slowly drawing back in to give Shane a slow, filthy kiss, muttering into his mouth.

‘Look very pretty with cock in your mouth. My cock.’ 

Shane’s thighs try to clench together but are unable due to them being wedged apart by Ilya’s, cock twitching. He moans in response, gasping for breath as Ilya leans back again to look at him appraisingly. His eyes flit down to Shane’s crotch, cock straining against the material of his shorts, wet patch slowly growing against the dark fabric, Shane’s hips twitching back and forth, trying to chase a pleasure that is just out of reach with not enough friction. 

Ilya watches for a moment with a dark smirk, before he turns Shane to lie down on the sofa, crawling over him to dip down and kiss him softly, before pushing up Shane’s t-shirt to lathe a tongue across a nipple. Shane’s back arches into the touch, fingers coming to tangle in Ilya’s curls with a whine. Ilya lightly bites down before switching to the other one to give it the same treatment. Shane hiccups over a gasp of pleasure.

Ilya moves down further, before Shane feels a tongue suck at the leaking cockhead straining against his shorts, hidden by the material. Shane lets out a cry, hips surging upwards towards the heat of Ilya’s mouth but Ilya holds them down with a heavy grip. 

‘Ilya-,’ Shane slurs desperately but is cut off by the man shushing him softly.

Ilya pulls Shane’s shorts down quickly along with his boxers, and the cool air against his leaking, sensitive cock makes him gasp before it is cut off by a loud moan as Ilya swallows his cock down with one grand swoop. There’s no preamble or teasing like Shane did with Ilya, but Shane knows he wouldn’t be able to stand it if there was. And it’s like Ilya knew exactly what he needed without him even having to say it. 

The feel of Ilya’s hot mouth swallowing around his length has his thighs jerking around Ilya’s head, body curling inwards, fingers gripping at his hair tightly. Ilya bobs his head like a seasoned professional, and Shane can already feel his orgasm hurtling closer at an embarrassing speed. He almost wants to ask where the fuck Ilya learnt to suck dick like that as someone who had lived primarily in wolf form up until now, but that’s too complex a thought for right now, and Shane’s head is blissfully empty except Ilya. Shane can feel tears collect on his lashes at the intensity of the impending orgasm, the suction of Ilya’s mouth around his cock, how overwhelmed his senses are. 

It’s when Ilya presses the dry pad of his thumb against Shane’s twitching hole that Shane loses it. 

The only sounds come out are garbled strings of ‘Ilya Ilya Ilya-,’ as Shane’s fingers try to pull him off. He fails, gasping, as he comes down Ilya’s throat, thighs trapping Ilya’s head between them as Shane’s head falls back to slump against the surface of the couch, brain empty and body limp.

Ilya slowly pulls off with a hum, the vibration of it around Shane’s spent cock making his whole body twitch. Ilya crawls back up Shane’s body, licking his lips. Shane blinks blearily up at him, hands coming to wrap weakly around Ilya’s neck, dragging him down in a sweet kiss. He can taste his cum but Shane doesn’t mind, softly moaning. Ilya leaves kisses over his face, hands coming to pet his hair with a gentle touch.

‘So good.’ Ilya grumbles out, nose brushing Shane’s, and Shane eyes drift close with a half smile gracing his lips, shoulders curling inwards shyly. 

‘You’re good too,’ He slurs out, tongue thick, jaw aching slightly, ‘for a wolf man.’ He finishes with a tired teasing smile. 

Ilya playfully growls in response, nipping at the end of Shane’s nose lightly, making Shane huff out a laugh. 

‘For wolf, yes? You like wolf?’ Ilya mutters out cheekily but as Shane struggles to keep his eyes open he can sense the dangerously filthy intent behind the question. So Shane decides to tease him right back.

He closes his eyes with a shrug, fighting to keep a smile off his face. 

‘Wolf is okay, I guess.’ He doesn’t have to crack his eyes open to see Ilya’s unimpressed glare and furrowed brow. 

‘Okay?’ Ilya repeats incredulously, as if he doesn’t understand the word. Shane hums in response, not being able to stop the cheeky smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Ilya’s chest rumbles, nose coming to trace a line against Shane’s jaw before biting down on Shane’s earlobe, licking the curve of the shell of his ear before speaking gruffly into his ear. 

‘You will regret.’ The vibrations of the words huffed against his skin sends a shiver down Shane’s spine, making his toes curl. Shane’s eyes flutter open to turn his head to look at Ilya, his heavy gaze covering Shane’s skin like a warm blanket. 

Shane’s hands come to cradle Ilya’s face, bringing their faces close so he can gently kiss Ilya’s lips before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it with a pop. Shane wiggles his shoulders deeper into the couch before smiling softly.

‘Prove it.’ He whispers, finger tracing the curve of Ilya’s eyebrows. Shane can see Ilya’s brain working to translate the phrase, eyebrows furrowing slightly. 

Shane smiles, pulling Ilya to lie on his chest, Shane’s back slumped against the back of the couch, legs tangling together, eyes drifting closed with a sigh.

‘But not right now. Now we sleep.’ He mutters tiredly, a hand coming to rest on Ilya’s chest, being lulled slowly into slumber by the gentle thud of Ilya’s heart beating below his palm. Ilya’s hands move to drag him in further, an arm coiling around Shane’s waist tightly, as if he’s afraid Shane is going anywhere fenced in against the sofa. 

Shane has almost surrendered to exhaustion’s embrace when he feels Ilya kiss his forehead, muttering softly against his skin.

‘Sleep, pretty Shane.’ 

Oh, Shane thinks, pretty Shane, that’s nice. 

It’s the last thought he has as he finally gives in to the tugs of slumber, falling backwards into a dreamless sleep, safe in Ilya’s arms.

Chapter 4: my hands are full of thine love

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya’s relationship progresses to new bounds, as do their hearts.

Chapter Notes

rip Shane’s ass

Pandora's box of horniness is opened from then on. As someone who had spent the better half of his life repressing all sexual urges, Shane embraces it with open arms (and legs). Not that he’s having sex with Ilya - yet. But for the next couple of days they live in honey soaked bliss, with Shane having nowhere to be and Ilya having nothing to do besides wander into the forest on his daily wolf duties, and make Shane cum. Which he does, a lot. It becomes apparent very quickly that Ilya really enjoys doing so. To an obsessive extent.

Shane is also similarly obsessed of course, but Ilya is just another level of dirty that surpasses all of Shane’s expectations and imagination. Shane thinks it’s something to do with him being half wolf. Ilya’s laser focus on giving Shane as many orgasms as possible with his hands and mouth is done with almost feral devotion. The look Ilya gets in his eyes would be frightening if Shane didn’t know what it meant when directed at him. 

Shane also learns that Ilya being a little shit also extends to the more carnal activities they find themselves participating in. One example being when Hayden called him as they were lying on the couch watching something that Shane now can’t remember, when his phone had begun to ring. Ilya had refused to budge initially, arm tight around Shane’s waist, locking Shane’s legs between his in a freakishly strong grip. He finally let go after Shane’s insistent smacking and deathly glare. But that didn't mean that Ilya was happy about not having Shane’s full attention, looking at the phone pressed to Shane’s ear with utter disdain. 

Ilya kept trying to grab at him so Shane had resorted to perching on the back of the couch, knees level with Ilya’s head. Shane had been too busy trying to hear what Hayden was saying over the screaming kids in the background to notice Ilya’s face had darkened with mischief. 

Shane had been in the middle of a sentence when he felt Ilya’s chin suddenly hook itself on his knee. He carried on, sending a quick quizzical glance down at Ilya’s round blue eyes blinking up at him innocently. Shane rolled his eyes. 

He feels Ilya place a loud kiss against his knee but he ignored it, although Shane couldn’t help but swallow nervously.

He smacked away a slowly snaking hand up his thigh, sending a quick glare at Ilya who simply blinks up at him. 

Shane mouths ‘stop it’, but Ilya dramatically furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Shane doesn’t believe for a second Ilya doesn’t understand - the man may have only just started learning English, but he knows exactly what he is doing. 

As the creeping hand makes another appearance to leave a trail of heat in its wake, Shane tells Hayden to give him a second.

He levels Ilya with a glare, muffling the speaker with his hand. ‘Ilya.’ 

‘Shane.’ He repeats back, acting as if he wasn’t being a horny nuisance. 

Shane rolls his eyes and smacks his shoulder again for good measure, before continuing the conversation with Hayden. Ilya was unperturbed. 

Which is how Shane found himself battling for breath as Ilya sucked Shane’s cock down his hot, wet throat. His fingers clutched at Ilya’s shoulder, thighs trying to close but being shoved open by Ilya’s hands, Ilya humming mischievously around the length which had Shane trying to muffle a whine, attempting to keep his voice level. The phone call didn’t last long after that, and it was only minutes after that Ilya had Shane coming down his throat, withdrawing with a smirk, licking his lips. 

Shane put him in time out for all of five minutes before jumping him in return. Ilya was then left speechless himself with how Shane quite literally sucked the soul out of his dick in return.

Or there had been the time Shane had been in the middle of showering and Ilya had barged in like a wolf possessed, grumbling to himself as he realised Shane was not in fact hiding from him but just busy showering. Even after the realisation Ilya still refused to leave, possessive hands petting at Shane’s wet skin as if to physically affirm to himself that Shane was unharmed. Ilya’s insistence on watching him shower was how Shane ended up trembling against the shower wall, Ilya fingering him open three knuckles deep, his teeth nipping at his ear, the wolf man smirking as Shane came untouched against Ilya’s stomach with an overwhelmed whine, clinging on to him for dear life. Shane had trouble walking on his shaking legs afterwards. Ilya had to help him dry himself off, which the man had clearly loved as he wrapped him up in a towel and kissed his forehead, growling out a ‘Good boy,’ into Shane’s damp skin. 

The blush that had spread across Shane’s cheeks took an awfully long time to go down after that comment.

Although he got back at him in other ways of course. Shane learns that he might have an oral fixation with how much he likes having Ilya’s cock in his mouth. Ilya seems to know that too, with the way he sinks his fingers to rest on Shane’s tongue as they watch TV when he sees Shane chewing on the string of his hoodie. Shane suckles on them with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. Which is how he ended up on an evening sinking between Ilya’s parted legs and sucking at his cock like a popsicle. He’s gotten better at taking Ilya deeper than the first time, which Ilya takes full advantage of with a fist in his hair to keep him still as he thrusts his hips into Shane’s slack mouth, dripping with spit.

The feeling of Ilya using his mouth as a cock sleeve makes his eyes roll back with a whine, the vibrations making Ilya groan, drawing back to slap the head against Shane’s drooling tongue with a hiss. Shane blinks up at him wetly and that’s all it takes for Ilya to fuck into his mouth again with a curse, fingers spreading in his hair to keep him still, thighs bracketing Shane’s head tense with the promise of an impending orgasm. Shane’s ruts against the couch, toes curling at the obscene wet sounds resonating in the living room, all coming from Ilya using Shane’s mouth. And Shane loves it. He looks up at Ilya, doe eyes shining in the soft lamp light, spit dripping down his chin, his neck, as Ilya continues to fuck his cock into his mouth. The image of Shane makes Ilya cum, withdrawing quickly to tap the head of his cock on his tongue, making Shane keen as he feels Ilya’s salty cum fill his mouth. Ilya pulls back suddenly, still jerking his cock to prolong his orgasm, watching as Shane’s face becomes covered in ropes of his release like a pretty picture. Shane’s eyes flutter close at the feeling of it, licking his lips as he swallows the cum sitting on his tongue with a hum. 

They do things other than that of course. A soft domesticity hangs its coat on the back of the door of Shane’s cottage, and he hopes it stays there forever. Even though he knows summer has to end at some point, and the precariousness of their future together is a reality Shane will have to acknowledge eventually. But for now Shane is content with just enjoying spending time with Ilya. In all its forms. 

He has Ilya try new foods, Shane even orders frozen pelmeni from a European food store. Ilya had inhaled them with so much enthusiasm, Shane was surprised the man didn’t choke. There are no more attempted murders on delivery drivers, except Ilya does pace at the front door as Shane leaves the house to go and retrieve the groceries at the bottom of the drive, growling unhappily. Shane isn’t really sure what harm Ilya thinks will befall him if he steps outside without him at his back, but he’s come to accept there are some things about Ilya that maybe he will never understand.

Shane knows Ilya isn’t entirely human, that he will think differently to him, behave differently. Which Shane is reminded of constantly as days pass. One thing he learns Ilya likes to do is herd him. As if Shane is a stray lamb veering off from the rest of the pack, and Ilya is the sheep dog nosing him back into the fold. Or the wolf in this case, except in a more affectionate way compared to traditional parables. Shane only knows what it is because he looked it up, and noted that it was a common behaviour in domesticated dogs, and wolves. So Ilya in this case. Sometimes it’s subtle, Ilya gently nudging Shane’s hip with his fingers, a hand at the small of his back, sometimes he even butts his nose against the side of Shane’s face or the back of his head. Other times he will literally press his chest against Shane’s back or sides, hands gripped on his waist, and steer Shane to where he wants. Sometimes Shane doesn’t mind it, likes the lingering physical contact that Ilya also seems to love, it’s like doing it relaxes something inside of Ilya’s brain. Which is fine, Shane is glad it makes Ilya happy, but that doesn’t mean it gets a little annoying. 

Like if Shane is taking too long to come to bed after he’s locked up, and Ilya has finished prowling along the edge of the treeline facing the house, and brushed his shoulder against the bark of the trees and the inside walls of the house. Shane also learned through a google dive that that particular behaviour is Ilya scent marking the territory against any potential threat. Shane doesn’t bother trying to reason with the wolf man that there is no danger in the forest or surrounding area - besides Ilya of course. If anything, he’s the predator. The first time Shane came outside to ask what he was doing, a behaviour he only really started doing after the conversation in the lake, Ilya had growled and practically carried Shane inside, depositing him on the sofa with a stern ‘Stay,’ and a huff of his hair. Shane learnt his lesson in trying to interrupt Ilya when he’s in one of his more feral moods. 

One evening after Ilya had completed his rounds, he had come into the bedroom expecting to find Shane tucked up in bed, or maybe in the bathroom doing his skincare - Shane had to tell Ilya very strictly he could not eat his face cream after Ilya had tried to lick a glob of it off Shane’s face when he was about to rub it in. Except not finding Shane in either room, Ilya had come storming out looking like he was on the edge of a breakdown, muscles tense and spine ramrod straight, movements frantic as he practically crashed through the house to find Shane with his back to him, faffing with the kitchen tap. 

Shane distractedly looked up at his arrival before re-focusing his attention on the dripping tap with a furrowed brow. His hands continue to fiddle with the tap handle, pressing it harder to make it stop dripping, completely oblivious to the panicked rumble slowly abating in Ilya’s chest, shoulders relaxing a touch at the sight of him. 

‘Tap is dripping,’ Shane mumbles to Ilya, but mostly to himself. He feels Ilya appear beside him, staring but unmoving. At another firm press of the tap handle, the slow dripping seems to cease, making Shane let out a pleased hum. 

He turns slightly to face Ilya, looking up before pausing at the intense look in his eye, the tight line of his mouth. Shane frowns in concern.

‘You okay?’ He asks quietly, but Ilya only grunts, his hands flexing like he’s holding himself back from touching Shane. His whole body tremors with tension, Shane can see the heavy rise and fall of Ilya’s chest. 

‘Ilya?’ He tries to prompt, hand almost hesitantly touching Ilya’s abdomen, before gently splaying his fingers against the hard planes of his abs. At the touch Shane feels a little tension bleed out from under his hand, and Shane’s eyes momentarily flit down in confusion at the feeling before drawing his gaze back up. Ilya’s eyes track across his face silently, before his mouth opens slightly to say something so quietly Shane has to strain to hear.

‘Sleep now.’ 

Shane blinks, replying slowly. ‘Yes, yes I know.’ 

They had found themselves usually going to bed at the same time every evening together, and Shane enjoys the routine but it seems Ilya likes it even more than him, following it with ruthless obsession - if Ilya’s tight facial expressions were anything to go by.

‘Now.’ Ilya repeats, tone hard and leaving no room for argument. 

Shane’s lips part in startled curiosity at the unhappy glint in Ilya’s eyes. The sternness of the one word command would be amusing if it didn’t send a prickle of heat down his spine. Shane has found that when Ilya feels an emotion particularly strongly, like arousal, anger, fondness, fear, his vocabulary seems to revert to the feral one he began with, when Shane had first started teaching him words.

‘I was just-,’ Shane’s explanation is cut off by Ilya moving to the other side of him, hands coming up to Shane’s waist to forcefully move them forwards towards the bedroom. Shane stumbles as he almost trips over Ilya’s feet as he is half carried half walked across the kitchen, Ilya’s hands tightening around his waist to keep him upright.

‘Ilya! I can walk, what are you doing-,’ Shane, outraged at the blatant manhandling, but also a little turned on at just how easily Ilya can move him however he wants, twists his head to glare up at him but Ilya crowds closer to make it impossible. Ilya’s broad chest plasters itself to Shane’s back, the touch burning through his t-shirt, as the man leans down to speak lowly into Shane’s ear. 

‘Sleep. Now.’ The words are more growl than intelligible language, Ilya’s sharp teeth catching on the shell of Shane’s ear. Shane swallows, failing to suppress a small shudder at the heat of Ilya’s breath fanning his neck. 

‘O-okay, yes, fine.’ Shane acquiesces quietly, fighting the arousal curling in his belly as he hears a content grumble vibrating against his back as Ilya herds him into the bedroom. Shane thought Ilya would back off now they are in the bedroom, but Ilya continues to push him towards the bed with insistent hands. Shane can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes his lips as he is quite literally shepherded into bed. 

‘Wait a second, I haven’t even washed my face-Ilya!’ Shane begins to laugh, but is cut off as Ilya pushes him onto the bed, twisting Shane’s waist so he slumps onto the sheets on his back. 

Shane goes to sit up, now sprawled on the bed, looking up at Ilya in disbelief. Ilya simply stares down at him, looking a little less feral than he did in the kitchen but still not entirely happy. Then Ilya’s hand grabs at the hem of Shane’s t-shirt to yank it over his head and Shane yells out in surprise, leaving him only in his pajama shorts. As Ilya turns to fling the t-shirt on the floor, he turns back to be greeted with a gawping Shane, hair rumpled from the shock clothing removal, eyes wide and blinking up at him like a baby deer. It makes Ilya want to simultaneously bite and hide Shane away from the rest of the world, encase him into his ribs, his heart, for Shane to be his forever and no one else’s. 

‘Ilya-,’ Shane tries again but instead is silenced by Ilya manhandling him up the bed and under the covers. Ilya straddles him, pulling the cover up to rest underneath Shane’s chin, his large hands petting him as he rumbles contentedly at the sight of Shane finally snuggled up in bed - where he should have been in the first place. He finishes his routine by running his nose under Shane’s jaw down to his neck, leaving a wet kiss against his hammering pulse.

Shane watches as Ilya comes under the cover, feet tangling with his, an arm reaching under the pillow cradling Shane’s head before he is abruptly yanked into Ilya’s chest. Ilya gently arranges Shane so his head lies on his chest, tucked under his chin as Ilya drops a kiss on the top of his head. 

Shane’s mouth opens to say something else but is quickly shushed softly by Ilya, who sweeps the pad of his thumb from the centre of Shane’s eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose repeatedly in a settling gesture. And it works, Shane’s eyes fluttering closed against his will at the butterfly touch. Shane sighs, relaxing into Ilya’s firm embrace. Shane tries to mumble something but it trails off, head filling with the amber and cedarwood scent he realises belongs to Ilya, but can only really be noticed when he digs his nose into his skin. Or in moments like these, when their bodies are so intertwined it is hard to know when one of them starts and the other ends. 

Shane nuzzles his cheek against Ilya’s chest tiredly, humming. He can skip skincare for one night, he thinks distantly, because he is tired.

A hand slowly drags up and down his bare back, Ilya’s fingers tracing the bumps of his spine, before it settles on the nape of his neck for a moment.

At first the fingers are light, like butterfly wings, but then suddenly the hand is tightening Shane’s nape in a strong but painless grip, a bit like a scruff, as he mutters in Shane’s ear, ‘Sleep, Shane.’

Shane feels himself go boneless under the possessive hold, and has no choice but to follow Ilya’s demand, willingly. 

***

Another thing Shane notices is Ilya’s tendency to leave marks. Ilya loves giving hickies, to the point Shane had to tell him to cut it out, or at least leave them where no one can see because he looked like he had been mauled. Ilya was too pleased with his work to even attempt to look guilty. 

And Ilya did listen, sort of. He still liked to suck a bruise behind Shane’s ear, or on the side of his neck where Ilya always sticks his nose in to sniff. But with the green light (and plea) from Shane to do them elsewhere if he is going to do them at all, Ilya had taken the opening with open arms, and an open mouth with sharp teeth. Once he realised how sensitive the inside of Shane’s thighs were, Ilya would camp out between his legs to simply lick, nip and suck his way down them, leaving an array of small and large bruises across Shane’s quivering skin. He especially liked sucking bruises into the jut of Shane’s hip, nose tracing them with a mumble about scent, which Shane never caught because he was too busy gasping at the feel of Ilya’s tongue teasing across his skin.

Shane left some marks on Ilya too, but not as many - he wasn’t an animal. Although one time he had been a little zealous in his teasing before he sucked Ilya off, and ended up sucking a constellation of small hickies zigzagging across Ilya’s chest down to his cock. Shane had been embarrassed when he saw Ilya admiring them in the mirror, until he realised just how much Ilya liked them. Which was a lot. Like a lot. Ilya had practically paraded around the house with his chest puffed out and an annoying smile on his face all day, fingers tracing them at every opportunity. Although Shane didn’t know who he was showing them off to considering it was just them. But he let Ilya indulge himself. 

It was the run up to lunch with his parents that Shane had to tell Ilya he had to steer clear of Shane’s neck completely. They were tangled up on the couch after lunch, Ilya having returned from his wolfish wanderings and now insistent on practically lying on top of Shane to ensure they were touching in every way possible. 

Ilya had tried to nudge his way back in with soft kisses and wandering hands which almost worked in distracting him, until Shane had grabbed Ilya by the hair tightly and yanked his head back making Ilya grunt, levelling him with a glare. 

‘I already said no marks.’ Shane’s tone was final and cold, his glare cutting and expectant, using the grip in Ilya’s hair to shake him lightly. The tone was a rare occurrence, not just for Ilya but for anyone that knows Shane. So Shane expected Ilya to rear back apologetically, what he did not expect was Ilya’s pupil to dilate and to break out into a toothy grin, tongue coming to lick a line across the white teeth hungrily. 

Ilya hummed, eyes twinkling. ‘You are like angry kitten. I like.’ 

Shane gaped, before quickly scowling and unintentionally proving Ilya’s point.

‘I am not an angry kitten,’ Shane splutters out indignantly, ‘I am a man.’ 

Ilya grins wider, leaning against Shane’s weakened grip in his hair to lightly nip at the tip of his freckled nose. Ilya presses his forehead against his, eyes gazing at Shane mischievously.

‘Yes, man but also angry kitten. With teeth. Very cute. Very pretty. I like both. Angry kitten more.’ Ilya says simply, cutting off any further retort from Shane with a deep kiss. Shane’s breath hitches as Ilya licks into his mouth, moaning into the kiss and sinking deeper into the couch beneath him, tugging Ilya with him. 

Between kisses, Shane tries to mutter out a retort although it comes out as more of a sigh. Ilya hums questioningly, teasingly, smiling into the kiss, hands squeezing around their grip on Shane’s thighs. Shane never responds, hands sinking into Ilya’s curls to pull him impossibly closer, thigh hooking around Ilya’s hips to grind their cocks together. The reprimand and all further thought lost between the folds of the sofa and the gasps muttered into each other's mouths. 

***

Shane’s dressing himself for lunch with his mom, Ilya sat on the bed silently watching, gaze trailing the line of Shane’s thick thighs as he pulls jeans up his legs, when Shane can feel himself to ramble nervously. 

‘So I’m meeting my parents for lunch, which I know you know because I told you, but I won’t be gone long. Mom wants to talk about sponsorships, and next season, which will be after summer, not that I expect you to know that. Which I also kind of forgot about too. But yeah, it’ll only be a few hours and you can’t come, obviously. Because my parents don’t know about you, and I kinda wanna keep it that way, not that I don’t want you to meet them, I do, but it’s complicated, what with the whole wolf thing right? Besides I don’t really know what this-well like you know, what it is-,’ 

Shane’s so busy mumbling away to himself that Ilya suddenly appearing in front of him makes him jolt back, sentence cutting off. 

Shane’s fingers that were previously fumbling at putting a shirt button through its hole fall down to his sides, looking down to watch Ilya’s large hands deftly push the button through, and continuing down the shirt to do the others. Shane swallows nervously, but not entirely sure why he feels like butterflies are swarming in his stomach at the idea of lunch with his parents. They were his parents, they had lunch all the time. Why is this time any different?

Yet the answer stood in front of him, watching him carefully with concerned eyes, a hand coming to pet at the side of his face in an attempt to comfort him. Shane’s eyes threaten to close at the gentle touch across his brow, blowing out a fragile breath. 

‘Shane,’ Ilya says softly, delicately, ‘We are okay. You are okay, yes? Why you worry? You come back again. This I know.’ 

Shane’s eyes open to see a flash of worry darken Ilya’s eyes for a moment, the hand on his face coming to rest under his chin. Shane tries to smile but fails, and Ilya tenses at the feigned attempt of happiness. 

Shane shakes his head lightly, confused at himself and the anxiety slowly sinking into his bones. Has he become agoraphobic? 

‘Yes, yes I know. I’m okay, I am, I’m okay. I’ll come back, I won't be gone long, it’s just that-I feel weird.’ Shane settles on the word with a twist of his mouth, knowing that it isn’t the right one but Shane didn’t know which one was. He felt dangerously untethered, the only thing anchoring him down to not float off was Ilya’s hand grasping his chin. 

‘Weird?’ Ilya tries the word out on his tongue, rolling it around in his mouth to figure out its meaning with scrunched up eyebrows. Shane knocks his forehead to lean against Ilya’s warm naked chest with a groan. Ilya’s hands immediately come to rub between his shoulder blades. 

‘I just feel-,’ Shane pauses to try and figure out what he wants to say and how to say it so it makes sense. Ilya waits patiently, dropping a kiss in his hair as gentle encouragement.

‘I don’t want this summer to end, and I know it will, I know. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but meeting my parents for lunch means I can’t. That eventually I’m going to have to figure out what the fuck we’re going to do, and I’m going to have to go back to hockey, which is everything to me but-,’ Shane lets the sentence taper off into silence. 

Because finishing it would mean acknowledging something that sits at the centre of Shane’s chest, something that Shane knows is also there sitting on Ilya’s chest too, but saying it out loud felt like too much at that moment. Mainly because it would make everything ten times harder than it already is. 

The reality that Shane can’t go back to ‘normal’, even when that version of normal wasn’t really normal to begin with, because it included a version of Shane that wasn’t real. And Ilya made that startlingly apparent. Because Shane was falling, hard. And it was frightening at just how easy it felt to do so, but also freeing because Shane for the first time in his life, was exactly where he wanted to be without the fear that the world is going to implode. The honesty of simply being himself, and dare he even think the phrase loving who he wants, and realising it wasn’t actually the end of the world he always thought it was, was nice. And Shane knew that returning to the Metros, returning to Montreal, leaving the cottage would change that. Not only because he’d essentially have to go back into the closet he had only just crawled himself out of but also because that meant most likely leaving Ilya. 

Even the idea of it left a bitter taste in his mouth and his heart sinking to his feet. And Shane could not do that, he realises, nose nudging at Ilya’s chest. Shane could not leave Ilya. Why would he? Something possessive curls in Shane’s chest at the idea of it. And maybe it was Ilya standing with him as Shane thinks about it, or maybe it was the entire summer and how Ilya had seamlessly made himself part of it, or maybe it was the fact that Shane had simply grown tired of pretending that he didn’t want the things everyone else had and could have, but Shane knew he couldn’t go on as he was before, without Ilya. He wouldn’t. Fuck everyone else. 

Because everything he felt about Ilya felt like what love would feel like. Not that Shane has any experience in that specific field. But if love were to be anything, it would be what he has with Ilya. Shane knows it, he knows it with such clarity that it should scare him, yet it doesn’t. Instead it settles inside of him like it was always there, familiar yet unknown to Shane until now, like it had been waiting in the wings patiently for the right time to make itself known. The reality was that Shane is in love with Ilya. 

There it was. And it was so simple. Yet Shane knew that it would make everything else complicated.

So he’ll need a plan. And Shane was good at plans. He thrived off them. It was the reason he was team captain and a beast on the ice. And that served as a reminder that Shane could do it. He could-he would make it work, because it had to. They had no other choice. Besides, Shane found it hard to believe that Ilya would simply let him leave anyway and return to Montreal without him. The feeling was mutual, Shane knew with overwhelming clarity. He just had to figure out the specifics. But first he had to go to lunch. 

Shane takes a deep breath and leans back to meet Ilya’s concerned eyes. Shane cups the side of his face with his palm, tilting his head to admire the man across from him. Ilya leans into it, but Shane can see the question lingering on his lips, unspoken. Instead Shane kisses him softly. 

‘We’re okay,’ Shane whispers into the small space between them when he pulls back slightly, ‘we’re going to be okay.’ And he says it with such finality that Shane actually believes his own words. Ilya seems to too, as he captures Shane’s lips again, dragging him closer.

Shane eventually makes it to the car after being thoroughly scented by Ilya for the better half of five minutes. But he won’t complain, any excuse to be touched and sniffed at by a hot guy is good enough for him.

Part of him is worried he’ll come back to the house on fire or something ridiculous as he drives off, but he tampers that superstition down. Ilya wouldn’t dare. Not if he wanted to keep his balls intact. 

Lunch with his parents at their cottage is nice as always, in fact it does a good job in reminding Shane that life exists outside of the space Ilya and he have carved out for themselves, in a good way of course. His mom had outlined the sponsorship expectations with Rolex, his schedule after summer, amongst other things. He talks to his dad about a recent video on YouTube before he tries to nonchalantly bring up his career. Except Shane has never been very good at being subtle. 

‘I’m gay.’ He blurts out. 

The glass pauses halfway to his dad’s lips for a beat, before his dad proceeds to continue taking a gulp, setting the drink down gently on the woven coaster. His mom looks up from her plate with wide eyes before settling into something softer. Shane swallows nervously, fingers tangling together anxiously under the table, eyes flitting between his parents with bated breath. 

Okay maybe he could have gone about it a different way. But screw it, it’s too late to take it back. 

Except everything he expected to happen, doesn’t. There are no horrified stares, garbled questions demanding what was wrong with him, no hatred. Instead there is only love. Which Shane should’ve realised was always going to be the only answer, but then for a long time he thought the only answer to living was to lie. 

So excuse him if his perception of reality has been a little warped up until now. 

‘Okay.’ His dad says easily. Shane balks for a moment. 

‘Okay?’ He parrots back, shoulders slumped. 

‘Well,’ his mom leans back in her chair to shrug her shoulders, turning to look at his dad momentarily before gazing back at Shane, ‘We kinda figured. Well, guessed, sort of.’ 

Yuna finishes the sentence with a flippant wave of her hand, and Shane blinks. Perhaps the closet was in fact made of glass. Which would be a funny thought if Shane’s mind wasn’t whirring with a hundred different things. 

At Shane’s apparent looming crisis, Yuna leans across the table to brush the back of her hand against his cheek with a smile, but concern creases at the corners of her eyes. 

‘Shane. Has something happened?’

Which is how Shane manages to elusively refer to Ilya in a way that is successfully vague but also specific enough that his parents understand that he is in a relationship with a man. And that Shane is worried. 

‘So…this boyfriend of yours-,’ His mom begins before being cut off by Shane with blushing cheeks. 

‘He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just, um,’ Shane tries to find the right word because technically they weren’t officially boyfriends, he doubts Ilya would even understand what that meant. But he knows that Ilya considers Shane his in the same way Shane considers Ilya. So they are, but technically Shane wasn’t sure.

‘He’s-he’s not my boyfriend, yet.’ Shane fumbles. His mom nods, amused.

‘Okay. Does he not live in Montreal?’

Shane almost snorts but covers it with a cough. 

‘Erm no he doesn’t. He lives in-,’ Shane pauses for a second, the word forest comes to mind but he goes for the next best thing, ‘Ottawa.’ 

‘Oh,’ Yuna brightens, ‘What does he do?’

‘Mom-,’

‘What? I want to know about the guy you’re dating!’

‘Yuna.’ His dad taps his wife’s arm gently, motioning his head towards Shane. 

‘Fine, fine! But I’ll get it out of you, especially if we are going to meet him eventually.’

‘Mom!’ Shane cries out, scandalised at the idea of his parents trying to meet Ilya, and also his mom’s typical nosiness. 

‘So what seems to be the problem?’ His dad asks gently with an encouraging smile, successfully diverting the conversation back to where it started. 

‘I don’t want to hide it. I don’t want to hide him. I don’t want to hide.’ Shane breathes out, fingers fiddling with the placemat in front of him. He looks up to see his parents gazing at him sadly. 

‘Has someone-,’ Yuna begins carefully, ‘Has someone said something to you? Someone on the Metros?’ 

Shane can practically see the Yuna Hollander hockey managers hate to see looming in their door with each word, her eyes sharpening. 

‘No, not directly.’ Shane says lamely.

‘Directly?’ Yuna repeats it back, voice rising in volume in question, and Shane can see his dad hold onto her leg in an effort to calm her down. 

‘No, mom-,’ Shane sighs, gaze going to the ceiling before landing on his mom practically breathing fire. 

‘Not directly to my face, because no one knows. But hockey isn’t exactly the most welcoming to people,’ Shane hesitates before finishing, ‘to people like me. And I don't expect a kind reception if I show up with a boyfriend.’ 

Yuna is quiet for a moment and he can see the cogs turning as his mom thinks, plans, ruminates. It’s comforting to see that his mom is on the same page without Shane having to spell out the painful truth. 

‘Okay,’ Yuna murmurs, eyes tracing the table between them, lost in thought before she looks up at Shane with a determined gaze. 

‘Okay. We’ll think of a plan. Give me a few days. I have some ideas.’ Yuna finishes, and Shane nods gratefully with a smile. 

‘Thanks, mom.’ He mutters and she smiles back. 

So he leaves lunch with a full belly and full heart, but not before having a tearful heart-to-heart with his mom in the back garden.

It’s only when he says to make sure to text if they are going to come over that his mom whips around with knowing eyes.

‘He’s at the cottage?!’ 

Shane sprints back to his car. 

He drives back to the cottage feeling simultaneously overwhelmed but also at peace. It’s as the cottage comes into view that his heart leaps in his throat at the idea of seeing Ilya. It had only been a few hours but it felt like so much more time had passed. Maybe he should worry about becoming co-dependent, but right now he doesn’t care. 

Still, he tries to take a steadying breath as he closes the car door with a slam, he could at least attempt to not give the appearance of desperation. All that goes out the window when he opens the front door to find Ilya already standing there waiting for him. 

He can’t help the way his face brightens immediately, ‘Ilya-,’ he begins to say but it cuts off as Ilya backs him into the now closed front door. 

The wood is cold at his back but Ilya’s hands are warm as they snake around his waist. He nudges closer, nose tracing under his jaw, swiping furiously down his throat to nip at his collarbones, a rumble vibrating from his chest all the while. 

‘You are back.’ Ilya grumbles into his throat, the sound muffled and ticklish against his skin. Shane swallows at the feel of Ilya’s hands possessively passing over his sides, his waist, squeezing at his ass for a moment before tracing a line up his spine. As if he’s trying to make sure Shane is real and in front of him, instead of a figment of his imagination. 

‘Yes,’ Shane says breathily, head tilting back against the front door behind him to give Ilya more room to tongue and nip at his throat. 

‘Good.’ The word is growled into his throat and Shane can feel himself getting light headed. 

Shane’s hands come to curl into Ilya’s blonde hair, pulling him into a kiss. Ilya tugs at Shane’s bottom lip with his teeth, letting it snap back with a pop, before coaxing his lips open to sweep his tongue across the sensitive roof of his mouth. 

Shane whines at the feeling, clutching at Ilya with whatever Shane can get his hands, almost frantic. 

‘Missed you,’ Shane lisps out between swollen lips, knocking his head against the door to gaze at Ilya with half lidded glassy eyes. Ilya can’t help but snarl at the image, capturing Shane’s mouth into another starving kiss, before trailing his mouth under his jaw and down his throat again. He settles himself in the crook of Shane’s neck, dragging his hot tongue over the spot repeatedly. The feel of it has Shane’s cock twitching. 

‘You smell-,’ Ilya cuts himself off with an irritated growl, nose digging in to where Shane’s pulse lies, rabbiting under the surface at his touch. 

‘What do I-what do I smell like?’ Shane stutters out around lilting breaths. 

Ilya hums distractedly, lips sucking a mark behind Shane’s ear to hear him moan softly. 

‘Bad, right now.’

‘Hey!’ Shane laughs breathily and Ilya chuckles in response, the sound sinking deep into Shane to make him feel all warm and giddy. 

‘But I fix.’ The response is rough, and Ilya continues his ministrations rougher than before, like a man possessed, and possessive of the man he has trapped against the door. 

Shane gasps at the feel of it, the tight grip Ilya has on him traps him between the door and his body. The suffocation is delicious and has Shane’s spine tingling. 

After another minute of aggressive nose dragging, licking, and sucking at his neck and jaw, Ilya pulls back with dark eyes to look at Shane, finally satisfied. 

‘Better.’ Ilya swoops in to place a lingering soft kiss on Shane’s lips before pulling back, finger tracing his mouth. 

‘What do I smell like? You said before you can smell me, what do I smell like? Do I smell bad?’ Shane asks softly, almost out of breath, eyes watching Ilya’s face as he tears his gaze from Shane’s lips to look at him. 

Ilya smiles fondly, the finger on his lips tapping it once, twice, before pulling back to rest at the back of Shane’s neck.

‘Your scent?’

Shane nods, suddenly nervous that Ilya is going to say he smells awful, but then that wouldn’t really explain why Ilya is so obsessed with sniffing him. Unless he likes bad smells?

Ilya hums, head tilting backwards in thought as he tries to translate the thoughts in his head into words.

‘When you come back, you smell bad. Too many smells. Not all bad, but I don’t like. Like,’ Ilya frowns in concentration, and Shane brushes his curls back comfortingly as he thinks.

‘Is like I can’t smell you. I lose you. You are not here but you are. You smell like stranger. I like when you smell like me, or like you. You have nice scent, Shane scent. I like.’ Ilya finishes, eyes flitting between Shane’s nervously, as if he’s worried Shane will laugh.

Shane only smiles shyly, gaze dropping to Ilya’s neck, hands coming up to play with the golden chain around Ilya’s neck. 

‘You think I smell nice?’ He asks softly, insides singing with glee at the compliment. He skirts his eyes up to glance at Ilya under his lashes, and the curly haired man sucks in a breath. 

‘Yes.’ Ilya swallows, not knowing how else to emphasise really how delectable Shane smells. It was like a siren call at first, which is how Ilya found himself snout to the ground, until he found him.

Shane grins, pleased, and Ilya’s chest rumbles in delight at the happiness in Shane’s eyes, in his scent, at his words. 

‘What do I smell like?’ Shane asks, doe eyes curious and head tilting in question. Ilya’s grip on his hips tightens. 

Ilya doesn’t know how to put it into words. He’s not sure if he could anyway, even if he tried. It was hard to describe, because words did not seem like enough to Ilya, even with his limited vocabulary. It was about memories, feelings. Things Ilya had forgotten for so long, that he didn’t realise even existed until he set his eyes on Shane for the first time, watching him hum to himself as he swept leaves off the back porch - completely unaware of Ilya lurking beyond the trees.

So Ilya settles for a word he thinks will do a good enough job, even though he knows it will be an understatement in how much Shane’s scent and himself alone means to him.

‘Warm.’ Ilya says quietly, and Shane blinks.

‘I smell…warm? Like an oven? Or a radiator?’ Shane wanders, eyebrows furrowing. 

Ilya shakes his head fondly, thinking again how to describe it. 

‘No not like those things. I do not know radiator. Warm, like,’ Ilya swallows around his hesitation, ‘like home.’ 

Shane sucks in a breath, eyes widening at the confession as Ilya watches him carefully. Ilya sees the emotion swirling in Shane’s brown eyes and breathes out slowly, knowing that he succeeded in getting Shane to understand. 

Because that’s the only way he can put it. Shane smelt warm, a gentle warmth. Not one that had Ilya feeling like he was burning from the inside out, but warm. A warmth he has lacked for so long, a comforting one, like nestling into the side of someone you love, dragging a foot up their leg to cuddle in closer, or laughing nose to nose. It covered his skin, his mind, his heart in a soft blanket, keeping it steady. It wasn’t too sweet, or too bitter, it didn’t make Ilya’s nose wrinkle, which most smells did. It was the kind of smell that once it passes you, your head turns to follow it, eyes frantically trying to figure out where it came from, because it wasn’t too strong to overwhelm nor was it too weak to get lost amongst the crowds. It was steady, and it was constant, and it was warm. And Ilya has been cold for what feels like an eternity. 

The first time he scented it in the air, he froze, wolf ears twitching, muscles popping with the urge to run after it. It was subtle, being carried on the breeze like a fleeting touch but had dug its fingers into his brain and stayed there. It was then that something woke up from its seemingly endless slumber, raising its head sleepily to turn and look, nose scrunching. He was no longer simply a wolf driven by instinct and the sharp snap of his jaws, he was something else that he had not been in a long time. 

And when he found it, he couldn’t leave it alone. He couldn’t leave Shane alone. Because the man inside of him had woken up, and with it came everything that he thought he had forgotten. Lost snippets of a life before that stumble confusedly around his mind, shards of voices cutting across his ears, a ghost of a hug from arms that he remembers were not there for long. It was jarring, and it was overwhelming. So Ilya had simply watched for a time, because getting any closer to the man who had him teetering on the edge of everything felt too dangerous. But then over time, he had creeped closer, daring to make noise, to leave tracks (and other things that he learnt later Shane really did not appreciate). Up until now, where he holds Shane in his arms, who is looking up at him with awe and such delight, and such love that it has Ilya’s mind scrambling, nose twitching at the air as Shane’s scent blooms like a flower in spring. 

Ilya is not good with words, nor understanding everything he feels as he continues to adapt to the human side of himself that has been buried for countless years. The wolf part of him has not left him even in his exposure to the world through two legs. No matter how much time he spends with Shane, the feral beast continues to lurk in the corners of his mind, prowling to the forefront every once in a while. And Ilya embraces it each time, because sometimes his baser self is better at articulating what he wants, isn’t so careful - which is necessary at times. And he knows Shane likes it, he goes all starry eyed and Ilya pretends to not notice the arousal seeping from his pores (although not all the time, sometimes he notices with intent). 

So yes, Shane is warm, and home. And that is enough.

Shane yanks him down in a kiss that has Ilya knocking into him in Shane’s frantic rush to drag him closer. 

‘So you,’ Shane murmurs between desperate kisses, ‘you scent me to smell all that? That’s why you do it?’ 

Ilya isn’t entirely sure what Shane means, his mind fuzzy as Shane licks into his mouth, tugging at his lip with a whine, hands clawing at his back to bring him closer. 

‘Yes,’ Ilya murmurs back, kissing the corner of Shane’s mouth before fingers grab at his jaw to tilt him back to Shane’s mouth, Ilya lets himself be pulled with a groan. 

‘I want you to smell like me too. Is also why.’ Ilya mutters into Shane’s mouth, Ilya’s finger tugging Shane’s mouth open wider to lick into it filthily. His other hand slides under Shane’s t-shirt, palm smoothing up the muscled expanse of Shane’s abdomen. 

‘Fuck, oh my god,’ Shane whines out, overwhelmed as Ilya dips down to suck at a nipple. Shane never thought that someone wanting to smell like you and them wanting you to smell like them was such a turn on. But it made Shane feel so claimed, bound to Ilya in a way that he knew no one else could ever understand. The carnality of it had his cock twitching and his heart soaring.

‘Is that what I smell? Amber and,’ He gasps as Ilya takes the bud of his nipple between his teeth and tugs. 

‘Cedarwood?’ He finishes half gasping, half moaning. Ilya tugs his top over his head before licking a strip up Shane’s chest to capture his lips again. 

Ilya growls into Shane’s panting mouth. ‘Yes,’ before shoving a hand down Shane’s unbuttoned jeans to curl around his hard cock. Shane moans into the touch, fingers scrambling at the waistband of Ilya’s shorts to do the same. 

They come at the same time, groaning into each other’s open mouths, their cum coating Ilya’s fist as he jerks them both off with his big hands. They both slump into the door, Ilya a heavy weight against Shane as a hand comes up to bracket his face.

Ilya kisses Shane softly, before whispering, ‘I miss you too.’

***

Shane decides he may as well show Ilya what he does when he isn’t at the cottage during summer. He doesn’t want Ilya to think he’s some loser who lives by himself out in the forest, jobless and friendless. Not that Ilya would care, but still. So he puts on last season's highlights on YouTube, only expecting to show Ilya a clip or two so he can point at himself and say ‘That’s me, I play hockey,’ and then switch it over to something else. 

Except Ilya had been way more interested than Shane thought he would be. So here they were, Shane watching Ilya leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes tracking Shane skate across the ice on screen. His muscles tense each time Shane gets checked into the boards, a little growl making itself known between Ilya’s lips. He seems enraptured with the game, jabbing the remote control to play the next video, and the next.

‘Is good. I watch.’ Ilya replies simply when Shane says he doesn’t have to watch anymore, Ilya holding the remote control out of reach, eyes never leaving the screen.

Well at least he doesn’t think it’s boring, Shane thinks. That would be embarrassing, if he did. It was nice. And watching Ilya watch him has Shane thinking about what Ilya would look like on the ice instead. He has the build for it, the aggression, the speed. Shane could see him doing well. Perhaps in another life they could have been playing against each other, checking the other into the boards with a smirk, or maybe they’d be on the same team, sliding the puck across the ice to each other, showering together in the locker room. Shane thinks about Ilya in the showers, hands tracing his body, soap bubbles sliding across wet skin. Shane has to stop that train of thought very quickly to not get too distracted. 

Ilya looks at him from the corner of his eye with a knowing smirk as a blush threatens to break out on Shane’s face, thighs fidgeting. 

‘You look good. Very strong.’ Ilya grunts out, gaze cutting from the screen to look at Shane properly. 

Shane nods shyly, fingers tugging at a loose thread on the blanket underneath him.

‘Thanks. I’m the captain, actually, of my team.’ He replies, still looking down.

‘Captain?’ Ilya repeats with a frown. Shane looks up.

‘Yeah,’ he begins to explain with hand gestures, ‘like, I lead them. I’m in charge, the boss, pack leader or whatever. Kind of, but we’re a team so not really. But yeah.’ Shane cringes at his poor explanation, but Ilya’s eyes lighten with interest, crawling closer on the couch to straddle Shane’s thighs.

Shane looks up with wide eyes, the loose blanket thread beneath him forgotten. 

‘Hmm, really? That is captain? You are captain?’ He asks with a smirk, eyes darkening as he stares down at Shane from his position above him.

‘Yes,’ Shane swallows, wondering what Ilya is planning with the glint in his eyes. He sucks in a breath as Ilya leans in.

‘Well, I give captain reward then, yes? For hard work.’ 

Shane doesn’t have a chance to reply, or catch his breath as Ilya swoops down to capture his lips, pulling them down further onto the couch with wandering hands and mouth. The season highlight of Shane raising the Stanley Cup above his head playing on the TV as Ilya keeps his promise and makes him see stars. 

***

It’s later when Shane is lying boneless on the couch, Ilya whispering soft praises and sweet kisses against his skin, that the Metro victory highlights on the TV roll into something else.

Shane barely notices it, eyes shut and head fuzzy from the two orgasms Ilya wrung out of him with his tongue and fingers. But Ilya does.

Ilya’s head snaps to the side to watch the screen, body tensing above Shane. It’s when the hands at his waist tightens to a painful grip, that Shane’s eyes flutter open to realise the vibrations against his skin is from the slowly building snarl creeping up Ilya’s throat. 

Shane flits his eyes to the screen in confusion, until he sees himself slumped unresponsive on the ice. The camera zooms out to a shot of Hayden trying to throw a punch at Marlow but missing, and then he watches the medics run onto the ice with a gurney. 

Oh. 

Shane had almost forgotten about that, a phantom pain along his collarbone aching suddenly at seeing for the first time what he looked like after being brutally checked by Marlow. It was weird to watch himself be knocked unconscious and wheeled off the ice, because he obviously doesn’t remember any of it. Even being in the hospital afterwards was a blur, being so doped up on painkillers for his broken collarbone.

Ilya looks furious. The snarl is never ending, Ilya slowly rising to sit upright, eyes locked on the image of Shane being wheeled off with a neck brace. 

Shane touches Ilya’s cheek with a gentle hand, to whisper, ‘Hey, it’s okay.’ 

At the touch, Ilya whips his head down to look at him, nostrils flaring with rage, chest heaving. His muscles are locked as if ready to pounce. And if Shane knew it wasn’t directed at him, he’d be terrified. Good thing Ilya doesn’t know where Marlow lives.

Shane smiles placatingly, the hand on Ilya’s cheek petting softly.

‘I’m okay now. That was last year.’ 

Ilya doesn’t seem to register his words, too busy growling away at himself, eyes flitting over Shane, his own hands coming to gently pet Shane everywhere - his sides, his hips, his stomach, his neck, up to his face.

‘He hurt you?’ 

The question is thick with a growl, gruffly spoken as Ilya’s eyes look at him searchingly. 

‘Yeah, but it was an accident.’ Shane shrugs with one shoulder, but Ilya does not find anything about Shane being injured as nonchalant. 

Ilya leans down to snuffle at the curve of his neck where it meets his shoulder, muttering out a harsh, ‘I find him,’ against the skin.

Shane can’t help the soft laugh that spills out upon hearing Ilya’s murderous promise. Ilya pulls back to look unimpressed with a pout. 

‘Why you laugh? Is not funny, he hurt you.’ Ilya frowns harder, and Shane muffles the giggle, tilting his head slightly as he looks up at him.

‘No it’s not that, it’s just—he didn’t mean to. It’s part of the game, it happens. You can’t kill him for trying to win.’ Shane tries to reason but Ilya is unperturbed, gazing up at the ceiling for a moment to understand what Shane is saying. 

‘Part of game? Like rule?’ Ilya looks down at him now, arms crossed and leaning back heavier to sit on Shane’s lower half.

‘Well it isn’t a rule to give people a concussion and broken collarbone, but you can check people. Everyone gets their bell rung eventually, it’s part of it.’ 

Ilya only looks more confused. ‘Bell rung? Who is ringing bells?’ Before he catches the other part of Shane’s sentence. 

‘Broken? He broke you? Hurt badly?’ Shane swallows as Ilya repeats the words back to him, voice rising in volume, eyes darkening, and Shane knows he has to defuse the situation as soon as possible before Ilya gets any further worked up. 

Shane’s hands come to cradle his face, drawing him down so they are nose to nose.

‘Ilya it was a long time ago, I’m fine now. All healed. Nothing to worry about, Marlow apologised. He said sorry, no biggie.’ He says gently, before dropping a quick kiss on Ilya’s mouth. 

‘He is Marlow?’ Ilya mutters to himself, locking the information away like a man on a murderous mission, and Shane tightens his grip on his face. 

‘Ilya stop. You do not need to fight anyone, okay? Just—it’s fine. I’m good now.’ Shane tries to say brightly but Ilya only quirks an eyebrow, mouth still tight.

‘I do not fight. I only win.’ Ilya says simply, chest puffing out slightly and Shane rolls his eyes fondly but nods in agreement anyway.

‘Yes of course, asshole.’ 

At Shane’s agreement, Ilya hums to himself, pleased, fingers tracing the freckles dusted across Shane’s cheeks. 

‘When I see Marlow I will ring bell too. Make nice song for you.’ He says with finality and before Shane can respond to tell him off, Ilya shuts him up with a kiss.

***

It’s in the evening when they are sat stretched out on the patio sofa outside, the firepit blazing, that Shane decides to broach a subject that has been niggling at him for the past few days. 

Ilya lies with his head in his lap, a rare sight of vulnerability from the man but Shane had insistently nudged him down there because he wanted to. And also so Shane could play with his curls, which he’s found he really likes doing, and so does Ilya, considering the borderline purr that rumbles from his chest like a broken record when he does.

So Shane thought this time was as good as any. 

‘Where were you before you came here? To the cottage I mean?’ Shane almost says to me, but refrains, not wanting to complicate the meaning of his question. 

Ilya’s chest rumbles stop momentarily, as he shifts slightly. 

‘Where I was?’ He says quietly.

‘Yeah. Were you always in the forest?’ Shane queries softly back, fingers never ceasing their playing with Ilya’s hair. Shane feels like he’s at risk of crossing a line, but he wants to know. Ilya knows so much about Shane, yet Shane knows so little about who Ilya actually is. Sure he knows his likes and dislikes, his habits, his favourite words, the way his eyes glint at being called an asshole. But he doesn’t really know Ilya beyond that. And he wants to. It only seems right.

Ilya is quiet for a while, before he tilts his head to nudge his nose into the skin of Shane’s exposed thigh, inhaling deeply before speaking again. 

‘No. Not always.’ 

Shane’s hands still in his hair before resuming. So Ilya wasn’t always a wolf wandering about the forest? Shane kind of assumed he was, once with his parents and now as an adult. But apparently not.

‘Why not always? Where were you before?’ 

Ilya clears his throat with a grunt, hand coming to trace shapes across Shane’s knee distractedly. 

‘It is confused. I do not-I do not remember all. But some. I was in forest for long time, I forget when or how. I was not here for long time.’ Ilya hedges, trying to explain.

Shane sits, listening and waiting patiently, warm fingers scratching at Ilya’s scalp encouragingly. 

‘When I was in forest, there was no me. Just wolf. Only when I see you, I begin to remember. It is strange. Like being asleep and waking up. Not knowing how you arrive. Or how long it has been. Like hidden somewhere. Like rabbit.’ Ilya continues quietly, shoulders shifting as if trying to burrow himself deeper into Shane’s lap.

Shane’s eyebrows draw together slightly at the idea of Ilya wandering the forest, unaware of where he is or how he got there. It was a difficult concept to imagine, Ilya as a wolf, but not as Ilya. Just another wild animal, so different to the man with his head cradled in his lap.

‘What do you remember?’ Shane speaks softly, afraid that speaking too loudly will break the bubble slowly forming around them against the outside world.

He can feel Ilya’s throat bob against his leg. 

‘I was,’ Ilya’s hand stretches out to cut at the air near the ground, miming. He can feel Ilya’s body tighten in the stress of trying to articulate himself clearly.

‘Small? You were a child?’ Shane guesses, a hand coming to rub softly at Ilya’s shoulder. At the touch, he can feel tension begin to bleed from the man beneath him with a heavy sigh.

‘Yes. I was child, I think. There was a nice woman, pretty, with nice smile. She had nice laugh, she holds me. She feels warm, and then,’ Ilya cuts himself off, head knocking against Shane’s thigh in an attempt to settle himself. 

‘Then she is gone.’ He whispers and Shane’s heart clenches. 

‘I think, forever. I remember pain, I am sad, I have this necklace,’ Ilya’s fingers drift down to trace the delicate gold chain with a careful touch. 

‘Then there is anger. Bad faces, bad words, I am small. I feel small. People talk in words I not understand. Like TV sometimes.’ Ilya using the word small Shane had supplied earlier with a painful grimace.

‘I do not feel held. I do not feel warm, is all cold. I am cold. No one there. Just me. And then I see trees. Lots. And then,’ Ilya pauses, and Shane waits with his heart in his throat.

‘There is nothing. It ends. I am nothing.’

I am nothing.

Shane feels and hears the crack that splits his heart in two. On instinct, he nudges his nose behind the shell of Ilya’s ear, like Ilya himself so often does to him, before dropping a kiss against the pulse beneath his skin on his neck. He tilts Ilya’s head towards him and sees Ilya blinking furiously, trying to keep the tears from falling, which makes Shane’s broken heart ache further. 

He cradles Ilya’s head in his palms, and places a gentle kiss on his forehead, brushing his lips to kiss his closed eyelids. Ilya breaths deeply, hands coming to rest on Shane’s wrists tightly. 

‘I’m sorry.’ Shane whispers. Although the word alone is nothing compared to the holes pricking Ilya’s memories, the hollowness of his voice as he recounts memories with sharp edges and blurred glass. The idea of not knowing what happened to you and where you came from is terrifying, and Shane doesn’t know how Ilya stands it.

Ilya hums in acknowledgment as Shane leans back. 

‘It is fine. That is gone. It is different now. I not remember before, but I remember now. You help me remember things. Feel things. I like. Is not always sad. Also good.’ Ilya murmurs and Shane smiles sadly down at him, finger tracing the edge of his lips. 

‘Yes I know. I’m glad you’re beginning to remember, I’m glad-,’ Shane hesitates before thinking fuck it. 

‘I’m glad you’re here now. With me.’ Shane finishes gently.

Ilya smiles, a genuine one, and reaches a hand up to mirror Shane’s cradling hand against his face on Shane.

‘I am glad too. With you.’ 

***

The night at the fire pit marks a step in their budding relationship. Shane no longer feels nervous admitting his attraction to Ilya, or saying that he likes it when he does certain things. Things he would only think to himself and not dare say out loud. But now the filter has been bulldozed down with Ilya at the wheel.

It also helps that Ilya remains his teasing self, earning eye rolls from Shane and mutterings of ‘asshole’. So really it’s the same but also not. 

Ilya is also more open in sharing things, although he still says them sparsely and with a gruff voice. But he whispers things as they lie curled together underneath the sheets as memories come back to him in pieces, but also he says things that make Shane blush, compliments Ilya clearly thinks nothing of but means the world to Shane.

One thing they haven’t done though, is have sex, which Shane has become more painfully aware of as the days pass. They do other things of course, but Ilya is yet to actually fuck Shane. And with each minute, each hour, each day that goes by where that doesn’t happen, Shane begins to wonder why. 

At first he thinks it’s because Ilya doesn’t want to but the thought is so ridiculous he pushes it away with a snort. No, it can’t be that. Ilya’s hands constantly drift down to his ass, whether he’s aware of it or not. He makes Shane cum with singular focus each time, but even after he does there’s something there that lingers. Like an appetite not quite satisfied. A restraint simmering under the surface, even amongst the harsh grip of Ilya’s hands on his hips, the easy way Ilya moves Shane however he wants. Shane has sometimes been tempted to just guide Ilya’s cock to his hole, like guiding a dog on a leash, but Ilya is always careful to not let his cock linger too close to where Shane desperately wants it. 

And Shane wants Ilya to let the beast out of its cage. He just wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. Which is saying something considering how upfront Ilya is with wanting him. But this is different somehow. It feels more binding. 

Shane thinks back to his earlier dubious web searches and flushes. Was it because Shane wasn’t an omega? Did Ilya not think he could handle it? Knot and all. Shane hadn’t seen the knot fully formed but he had felt and seen the bump of it at the base of Ilya’s cock, squeezing it always had Ilya cursing under his breath, made his cock twitch.

Shane pouts at the thought of Ilya holding himself back, frowning. He could take it, not that he’s ever had sex with another man, but he sure as hell has the enthusiasm to get him there. Plus he’s captain of the Metros, he didn’t get there by not being competitive as fuck. And he knows what he wants. Only this time, it’s not the Stanley cup. This time, it’s Ilya’s alpha cock. And he’s going to be ready for it. 

And because he’s Shane Hollander he tries to make a plan. Or half of one at least. So he gets Ilya to finger him open for the first couple days which Ilya happily does when Shane is rutting against his thigh like a puppy, whimpering about how ‘I want to feel your fingers, please Ilya.’ 

Shane is hoping if he gets Ilya to keep him wet and loose, he won’t worry about breaking him as much. Although Shane wouldn’t exactly mind being fucked dumb by Ilya’s huge alpha cock and his knot. A man can dream - which Shane does a lot of. 

So Shane waits a few more days, trying to figure out the best way to go about bringing it up in conversation. Ilya can tell something is on his mind, but no amount of gentle nudging and frowns flung his way makes Shane break. He can tell he isn’t being subtle with his nerves, constantly fidgeting, fingers playing with loose threads or the lobe of his ear. Ilya tries to corner him multiple times but Shane wiggles out of his grasp with a hurried excuse, and he can tell Ilya is getting to the end of his tether. Which means he should probably say something soon, ideally before Ilya goes feral.

Which is how Shane ended up, again, going about it in the worst way possible. But he’s stressed out, overthinking, anxious, and also not very good at tempering his thoughts in a palatable way to standard convention. It’s not his fault. Plus Ilya’s steady gaze is unnerving, it makes him feel blown wide open to the wolves - literally.

So it’s when Shane is anxiously wiping over the same patch of kitchen counter that he’s already cleaned with his eyes cast downwards and Ilya sat across from him polishing off a plate of pelmeni, that he decides to bring it up. 

‘You have a knot.’ 

As soon as he says it, Shane wants to crawl inside of himself with embarrassment. It doesn’t even come out as a question. He was too busy trying to decide on the right tone to say ‘Do you have a knot?’, that he completely misses out the ‘do’ and torpedoes the lilt of his voice to make it sound more like a statement of fact.

He resists the urge to clap a hand across his mouth in an attempt to stuff the words back in. Instead he closes his eyes briefly, face cringing before looking at Ilya across from him. 

At the mention of the word knot, Ilya’s head flings up in shock, the last pelmeni hanging out of his mouth. 

Shane tries again, ignoring the blush crawling across his cheeks that makes his freckles more pronounced.

‘I mean,’ he clears his throat, hands tugging the dish towel between his fingers, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, ‘I mean, you have a um, you have a knot, right? Because you are a,’ Shane averts his eyes as Ilya slowly swallows the pelmeni, hands coming to lie flat on the kitchen counter, watching Shane with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. 

‘Because you’re a wolf guy-man-person…’ Shane tapers off, unsure and now incredibly embarrassed at how badly he has managed to fuck this up. 

Ilya blinks.

‘You have a knot, right?’ Shane tries again, giving up and deciding straightforward is best. He already knows the answer, but he wants Ilya to say it, just to be sure. It would be embarrassing if he didn’t and Reddit had lied to him - it wouldn’t be the first time. 

Ilya for the first time, looks hesitant, a little on edge but not in a feral way that Shane is used to, but careful. Almost embarrassed. 

Shane pointedly stares down at Ilya’s crotch across the counter to establish his point. Ilya looks down with him, before meeting Shane’s eyes in the middle. The hands on the marble countertop tense ever so slightly. 

‘Yes,’ The answer is hoarse, thick as it is choked up from Ilya’s throat. The tone wavering a little. ‘Knot.’

Shane nods, looking down at the counter, mind racing to think of what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. 

‘Shane?’ At his name he jerks his head up to see Ilya is now standing up, looking concerned. A hand hangs by his side, whilst the other hovers above the counter, fingers outstretched as if restraining himself. 

‘Yeah?’ He responds dumbly, washcloth twisting in his hands. Ilya’s frown deepens as he slowly edges round the kitchen island towards him, looking at the cloth being choked to death in Shane’s grip.

‘You are…scared?’ Ilya asks hesitatingly, hands now hovering around him but afraid to touch. Ilya looks almost a little hurt, a fear of rejection simmering beneath his pupils.

Shane drops the cloth on the counter with a start. ‘No, no I’m not scared, I just—,’ he begins but fumbles, huffing in frustration. He wants to tug his hair out, annoyed at himself and at the whole situation. 

Ilya tilts his head a fraction, waiting. And then it all comes tumbling out.

‘I want to know why you won’t—why you won’t have sex with me. And I wondered if it was because of that. Is it? Or is it because I’m not an omega? Because I read that alphas and omegas are the most compatible, and obviously I’m not an omega or anything. I’m just me, so I get it if you don’t want to, you know fuck me or whatever. That’s totally fine,’ It was not totally fine Shane thinks but ignores that for now, ‘but I’d rather you just be honest.’ 

It all comes out in one breath, words tripping over themselves as Shane dares to glance up at Ilya whose mouth is now hanging open in shock, eyes wide. Shane breathes heavily to calm his hammering pulse.

The fear of rejection wobbles in the back of Shane’s mind, even after everything he and Ilya have shared, have done together, the thought of Ilya turning around and saying he doesn’t want Shane like that would break him. He can feel an it’s okay if you don’t want me dancing on the tip of his tongue, making his mouth bitter, until Ilya speaks. 

‘Shane.’ He says roughly, hands coming to gently hold Shane’s arms. Shane bites his lips, preparing himself for the worst. 

‘Where you see this?’ It’s said with a frown, but Ilya’s tone is gentle, and it does wonders in drawing Shane back from the edge a little. The precipice was beginning to look awfully scary. 

Shane clears his throat, eyes flitting past Ilya’s shoulder to look out through the window. ‘I did some—I looked it up. A while ago. Not on purpose, but I wanted to know more about you in a wolf way, in case there was anything I needed to know. I’m sorry.’ 

Ilya nudges his face back to meet his with coaxing fingers under his chin. Ilya smiles fondly, almost sad. 

‘No sorry. You say sorry when no need. You read things, yes? And then you worry. It is fine to ask, it is okay.’ Ilya rumbles out, fingers stroking at his chin. 

Shane’s fingers twist into the waistband of Ilya’s sweatpants in comfort, nodding along softly, before one of Ilya’s gently pulls his lip from being ravaged by his teeth. 

‘I have knot yes.’ Ilya agrees easily before inhaling heavily, gaze heavy as he continues, ‘I not know omega things? I do not know this.’ Ilya shakes his head slightly. 

Shane listens with rapt attention, the rest of the world blurring out around the edges as Ilya continues to speak, as Ilya draws him closer, hand wrapping around his waist like a claim. Ilya’s hand on his chin drifts up to stroke his cheek with the back of his knuckles.

‘But I know this— I want you. I feel warm inside? I not know word for this.’ Ilya’s mouth scrunches momentarily as he struggles to find another word, but gives up.

‘It’s okay,’ Shane whispers softly, hands coming to stroke at Ilya’s shoulders. At the touch, the tension there softens slightly. Ilya sighs through his nose harshly, levelling Shane with a heavy look.

‘Shane. I want to fuck you. Very much. Too much. I worry I hurt you. You make me feel—,’ Ilya’s brow scrunches, ‘no control. Like I am wolf again, and I like but also it scares me. I do not want to hurt you. Ever. And I worry if we do, I will.’

Shane’s eyes widen at the revelation. His heart clenches at the raw concern bleeding into Ilya’s voice, his words, the way his hand never stops its gentle caress of his face. Ilya was scared he’d hurt him. The idea was ridiculous, but watching Ilya now, Shane realises that to him, the idea certainly wasn’t. 

‘Hey,’ Shane starts, forehead nudging against Ilya’s and Ilya looks at him warily, and Shane almost reels back at the realisation that Ilya is afraid. He is afraid Shane will reject him. God they were both idiots. 

As if Shane would reject him for having a massive fucking cock. Amongst other things, of course.

‘You could never hurt me. Ever, and you never have. And if you did, I’d claw your face off,’ Shane playfully gnashes his teeth with a smile and Ilya huffs out a laugh, fingers coming to trace the plump lips. 

‘And,’ Shane licks his lips, ‘I don’t want you to be afraid of losing control. I want you to. I don’t want you to hold back, from me or from what you feel. I’m not afraid. You don’t need to be either.’ 

A hand comes to play with the curls at the nape of Ilya’s neck, their noses brushing, and Ilya’s hand at his waist tightens at the words. Shane leans forward to quickly peck Ilya’s lips, smiling as Ilya chases him. Shane’s fingers come to trace the sharp edge of Ilya’s eyebrow, down the side of his face to trace his lips, the shell of his ear, before landing to rest against his chest. 

‘I want you to fuck me. Very much. Ideally with your knot.’ He says helpfully to spell it out, watching with glee as Ilya’s eyes darken, growling before capturing Shane’s lips in a rough kiss. 

Ilya leans back an inch, canines pulling on Shane’s lip. 

‘Naughty Shane.’ He growls out before sliding his hands under Shane’s thighs and lifting him to sit on the counter. The display of strength has Shane gasping in delight, a giggle erupting from his mouth as Ilya continues to plunder it.

‘You ask for dangerous thing. I might give.’ He murmurs into Shane’s mouth, leaning down to nip his teeth across the jut of his jaw.

Shane sinks his fingers into the golden curls to yank his head back with an unimpressed raise of his eyebrows, a smirk curling his lips as Ilya’s pupils dilate at the rough touch.

‘Might?’ Shane questions cheekily and Ilya shoots him a smile that is all sharp teeth.

‘If polite good boy, I give anything.’ Ilya grins back, pulling against Shane’s hold in his hair to try and kiss him but Shane leans further back. Ilya grumbles at the distance, hands coming to clutch at Shane’s ass to drag him to the edge of the countertop instead. 

‘You want me to say please?’ Shane murmurs, lips brushing Ilya’s at how close they are. Ilya’s hands knead into the fat of his ass through his shorts, grunting in response, too distracted at having Shane so near to respond. 

So Shane decides to tease. He tilts his head to suck Ilya’s earlobe into his mouth to hear Ilya growl softly, grip on his ass tightening.

Shane’s hot breath fans against the shell of Ilya’s ear with his next words, tone almost a sultry sigh.

‘Want you to fuck me alpha, please?’ 

And Ilya loses it. The snarl that rips from his chest is deafening, and he yanks Shane’s legs to wrap around his waist, hands under his ass as he carries him towards the bedroom with single minded focus of showing Shane just how much of an alpha he is. 

They make it to the bedroom in a blur, Shane being thrown onto the bed roughly. He scrambles to sit at the top of the bed, knees up in front of him, fingers digging into the sheets as his chest heaves in anticipation. Shane can feel excitement fluttering in his ribs, his cock already half hard at the sight of Ilya standing looming at the end of the bed, muscles bulging, a hand hovering above the bedsheets. 

Ilya’s nostrils flare, seemingly scenting Shane’s obvious arousal, his eyes swirling with what looks like a dark red but Shane thinks it's the low lights of the bedroom. Ilya looks ready to pounce, like a predator finally having cornered its prey. 

Shane has unintentionally ran from Ilya in his rush to sit by the pillows, reverting Ilya to his baser instincts to chase at the sight of Shane fleeing from him, even if it is only a metre or so. 

Shane bites his lips and Ilya’s eyes snap to follow the movement. Shane can hear the rumble building in the man’s chest. Slowly, Ilya’s muscles unlock to press a knee on the bed, the gold necklace resting in the middle of his chest glinting. He watches Shane carefully, as he slowly places a hand on the bed, crawling up the bed silently, head tilted downwards slightly so the arch of Ilya’s eyebrows make his eyes look sharper, possessive. Shane can see the muscles in his back shift with the movements, rippling under his skin. Ilya is all wolf. All predator. All for Shane.

He sucks in a breath, toes curling into the sheets, knees shifting as he feels the arousal prickling under his skin at the vision coming towards him. 

Shane’s too busy staring, heat rapidly pooling under his naval, eyes fixed on Ilya’s in a trance to notice the hand sliding to wrap around his naked ankle. He yelps in surprise as Ilya uses the hold to yank him down the bed, sliding across the sheets to lie under him. Shane gasps for breath, chest heaving and head slightly spinning at the sudden movement, eyes wide and blinking up at the feral man above him. 

Ilya hums, pleased, large veiny hands coming to rest by Shane’s ears, wide shoulders blocking out the light, the walls, the rest of the bedroom so all Shane can see is Ilya Ilya Ilya. 

Ilya brackets Shane’s side with his thick thighs, settling his weight across Shane’s hips.

Shane’s gaze narrows in on Ilya’s lips, and he licks his own lips at the sight. Ilya smirks, and Shane shudders at the dark promise stretching the mouth wide. He wants to reach out and touch, but something tells him to wait. To wait for Ilya to come to him.  

Ilya admires him for a beat longer, before slowly inching down, bracketing Shane with his imposing frame, as his lips come to meet Shane’s in a slow, deep kiss. The touch is a jolting difference from the atmosphere cloaking them both like a heavy blanket, and it makes Shane forget for a moment as he sighs into it, letting Ilya part his lips with a gentle trace of his tongue, moaning as he deepens it further. Shane’s hands come to curl into Ilya’s hair, as Shane tilts his head to let Ilya in further. 

The longer they kiss, the further away Shane’s mind drifts, like a leaf being carried away by the gentle breeze, dancing, twirling across the sky. He feels Ilya’s hands move up to grip his wrists gently but firmly, pinning them down on the bed by his ears. Ilya kisses him one last time before slowly pulling back, humming down at the vision below him, Shane with swollen lips and glassy eyes. 

He presses his weight into the grip on Shane’s wrists for a moment in a silent command of stay, before he slowly moves down Shane’s body, eyes fixed on his as he leans down to lift Shane’s t shirt, pressing wet kisses against his slightly trembling skin, exposing more of Shane’s stomach as he goes. 

Ilya can feel the breaths stuttering out against the sensitive skin by his ribs and he smiles against Shane’s stomach teasingly. God, Shane thinks, they’ve barely started and already he feels like a ticking time bomb. He’d be more embarrassed if he didn’t know that Ilya absolutely loved how easily he can take Shane apart, how quick it is to feel the shivers trembling under his skin, the quiet gasps slipping past swollen lips as he sucks the bud of a nipple into his mouth. 

Ilya has Shane’s t-shirt tucked around his armpits, stretched taught across his upper chest as he gently bites at the nipple in his mouth before he traces kisses across his chest to the other. 

Shane gasps out a soft fuck as Ilya torments him, sucking at the nipple in his mouth hard before tugging Shane’s t shirt over his head, throwing it behind them carelessly. Ilya lathes his tongue up Shane’s throat, tracing the jut of his jaw, before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin of Shane’s neck - the soft part that connects his throat and his shoulder - hard. The feeling of Ilya’s sharp canines digging into his skin hard enough to leave a mark has Shane moaning loudly, chest pushing into the one above as a sharp, deliciously sweet pain zig zags across his neck and shoulder. His cock twitches at the feeling, heat unfurling in his ribs.

Shane moans out a ‘Fuck, Ilya,’ and Ilya growls against his skin, releasing his bite on his neck to lathe his tongue soothingly across the teeth marks left behind. Then Ilya is kissing him again and Shane loses himself in it, panting into his mouth as his hands come up to trace the hard muscle of Ilya’s chest. 

He distantly feels Ilya remove his shorts and boxers, and his own fingers come up to push Ilya’s shorts down too but the man quickly catches his fingers with one hand. 

‘Ah, ah, ah. I am not finished.’ Ilya grumbles, pulling back slightly to smirk down at Shane. Shane almost whines in discontent, wiggling slightly as he can’t help the pout gracing his face.

Ilya tuts, before hooking a thumb into Shane’d mouth, watching darkly as Shane automatically sucks it deeper, tongue curling around the digit. Shane’s eyes threaten to flutter closed at the comforting weight on his tongue, but Ilya removes it before he can. Shane finally lets the whine out that’s been stuck in his throat and it makes Ilya huff out a laugh. 

Ilya rises to sit back up straight, ignoring Shane’s dripping cock, fingers skirting down the planes of his stomach. ‘You lie down and look pretty, yes? And enjoy.’ And then Ilya is moving downwards to lie between Shane’s legs, hooking a thigh over his shoulder and smirking up at him. He doesn’t break eye contact as he begins to kiss the sensitive flesh of Shane’s inner thigh on his shoulder, lovingly, worshipping. A gentle nip of his teeth makes Shane twitch, his cock steadily dripping precum, fingers tangling in the sheets with the need for Ilya to do something.

‘Please,’ he whispers out hoarsely and he sees Ilya fail to suppress a smirk against the skin of his inner thigh. His mouth is so close to where Shane wants it but he knows he can’t touch. The command unspoken but understood through Ilya’s eyes alone. Ilya moves then, still painfully slowly, not fast enough for Shane’s liking. Ilya is torturing him, and he knows it. The little shit is enjoying it all too much.

But what Shane doesn’t expect is the hot tongue that swipes across his hole. He chokes on a breath, thighs trying to close around Ilya’s head in shock but big hands force them open again, pinning them to the bed. His hands shoot from twisting the sheets between his fingers to settle in Ilya’s hair, not a tight grip, more of a comforting touch for himself. His eyes snap down to the head between his thighs, and Ilya looks up with a knowing glint, not breaking eye contact as his tongue licks across Shane’s hole again. A broken moan slips past Shane’s lips at the feel of it, his hole clenching on nothing as Ilya continues his teasing, tongue circling his rim, before fucking his tongue past the rim, making Shane’s hole ridiculously wet with his saliva.

Shane’s grip in Ilya’s hair tightens, back bowing off the bed as a symphony of desperate, overwhelmed sounds fall from his lips. Ilya continues to suck at his hole like a man starved, eating him out with ferocious need, chest rumbling with a growl. The vibrations of it against his hole makes Shane cry out. The pleasure is dizzying, Shane’s ears are ringing slightly, and he thinks he could come like this if Ilya kept it up. It’s when Ilya sinks a finger with his tongue that Shane keens. 

‘Oh fuck, oh fuck, Ilya—Ilya,’ Shane garbles out, words coming out on a whine as one finger becomes two, both pressing against his prostate incessantly, milking it. His eyes squeeze shut, stars sparking on the back of his eyelids at the onslaught of sensations wracking his body. Ilya’s gaze never falters. The pleasure mounts quickly, and Shane can barely breath, heart thundering, toes curling as his orgasm looms.

‘Fuck, Ilya,’ Shane sobs out, ‘I’m gonna—oh my god-,’ and Ilya snarls against his skin, removing his mouth from Shane’s ass to speak.

‘Come for me, want to see little kitten make a mess.’ Ilya growls it more than says it, accent thick, three fingers now fucking into Shane with no remorse, milking the spongy tissue inside of him that has Shane careening towards the egde.

The words have Shane’s eyes rolling back, thighs trembling, mouth parted in a silent cry as he comes all over himself, a rope of cum hitting his chin with the intensity of the orgasm that leaves Shane twitching. 

Ilya watches it all with possessive eyes, pressing against Shane’s prostate a few more times to see the spent cock resting on Shane’s stomach weakly, as Shane shudders and whines, shoulders curling inwards at the overstimulation, thighs jerking around Ilya’s head. 

The sight of Shane so overwhelmed and subconsciously trying to run away, shoulders attempting to wiggle up the bed, has something possessive settling deep in Ilya’s chest. The thought that Shane is this way because of him, and only him, because Shane deserves everything. Everything. And Ilya will always give it to him.

So Ilya lowers his head to suck at Shane’s twitching hole around his fingers, before his fingers start up again, gently at first.

Shane begins to babble incoherently, trying to twist away but Ilya uses his spare hand to pin Shane’s hips to the bed. Ilya leans back, fingers leaving Shane’s hole briefly to spread one of Shane’s cheeks, the fat spilling out of his hand making Ilya’s hard cock trapped in his shorts twitch at just how soft Shane is in the right places. Practically begging to be worshipped, devoured, loved. 

Pulling Shane’s cheek to the side makes his empty hole gape slightly from the loss of Ilya’s fingers, the sight of it making Ilya groan. And then he spits, right into Shane’s gaping hole, seeing the shimmer of some of his saliva on the rim, Ilya rubs it in, claiming his hole.

‘Oh god,’ Shane mewls, head turning to rub his cheek into the sheets beneath him as he hears it, as he feels Ilya’s spit drip down into his hole. Amazingly, he can feel his cock already hardening again. It’s almost painful, the pleasure reheating Shane’s insides and turning them into mush. But Shane has learnt he likes a little pain, especially when it feels so deliciously good. 

‘So open for me, hmm? So hungry.’ Ilya mutters, eyes watching as his fingers sink into Shane’s hole up to the first knuckle before withdrawing, watching Shane’s hole clench in response. Shane’s thighs shift, quivering around Ilya’s head, one of Shane’s hands in Ilya’s hair leaving to cover his eyes, hiding.

‘Don’t-don’t say it like that,’ Shane moans out, embarrassed at the teasing touch of Ilya’s fingers, playing with his hole in horny fascination, but also ridiculously turned on.

‘Is true, no?’ Ilya’s eyes flit up to smirk at Shane to see him hiding his burning face under his hand. That will not do. His fingers still one knuckle deep in Shane’s hole.

He slides the hand pinning Shane’s jerking hips to the bed to slap at the inside of Shane’s thigh, making the man jolt with a gasp.

‘Look at me. No hide.’ Ilya says sternly, and he watches as Shane removes his hand to peek down at him, cheeks and chest red, biting his lip. Ilya hums, ‘Better. Stay.’ Shane seems to blush deeper, and it makes Ilya want to bite him, lovingly of course. 

Ilya begins to fuck him properly with his fingers, spitting on Shane’s rim again to ease the slide, watching in delight as he coaxes Shane’s cock back to full hardness. He licks a trail slowly up Shane’s perineum to lathe at his balls. Shane moans, chest heaving, fingers clutching at the sheets. It’s when Ilya sucks the head of his cock into his mouth that Shane cries out. 

After cumming untouched, the feeling of the hot wet suction of Ilya’s mouth has him reeling, cock more sensitive than ever after the first mind numbing orgasm. His hands fly to Ilya’s hair again, tugging at the curls between his fingers. He can feel Ilya dig his tongue into his slit and he squeezes his eyes shut, breath catching in his throat on a moan as Ilya’s fingers hit his prostate. 

‘Oh fuck, Ilya,’ Shane almost sobs, body curling inwards but also wanting to run away from the onslaught of pleasure prickling under his skin, like molten lava dripping down his spine.

‘It’s too much-too much, I can’t-,’ Shane lisps out, babbling on a whine as his second orgasm rises quickly, so fast after he just had his first. At Shane’s pleas, Ilya hollows his cheeks, sinking down further Shane’s length, the feeling of him swallowing around it has Shane’s eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth agape at the duel sensation of Ilya sucking him off whilst fingerfucking him so hard his ass jiggles with the impact. 

He tries to tug Ilya off his cock with a muffled sob as he feels his orgasm looming but Ilya growls in retaliation and the vibrations of it around his cock has Shane careening off the edge. Shane comes with an overwhelmed moan, tears gathering on his lashline like little stars. He shudders at the feeling of Ilya swallowing it all down his throat, going limp as Ilya finally, finally pulls off his cock with a smirk. 

Shane’s head knocks back against the mattress, sinking into the bed utterly boneless. Ilya kisses his hip, fingers slowly pulling out as he crawls up to capture Shane’s lips in a deep, possessive kiss.

Shane whines at the taste of himself on Ilya’s tongue, letting him in greedily as his tongue comes out to lick against his. ‘Such a good boy, good little kitten. Did so well.’ Ilya murmurs against his lips, hands coming to land on Shane’s waist. 

The praise has Shane sinking deeper into the cosy headspace Ilya always carves out for him at times like this, body singing in delight. Ilya leans back to admire him, and Shane blinks his eyes open at the loss of Ilya’s lips against his, gaze unfocused. 

A hand traces his face gently, and it makes Shane want to purr, if that was biologically possible. Ilya kisses his nose, and then his forehead. 

Which is when Shane remembers how they got here in the first place. 

He tries to speak but his tongue is clumsy, so it takes him a couple of seconds to remember how to form words. 

‘Wan-want your cock now. Want you to fuck me.’ He mumbles out, tone almost whiney as his hands drift down to tug down at the waistband of Ilya’s shorts like a kitten clawing for food. 

One of Ilya’s fingers comes to hook into his mouth, pulling it open slightly, smirking down at him.

At Ilya’s lack of movement, and the very obvious lack of Shane getting fucked Shane’s eyebrows scrunch, another whine building in his throat. 

‘Wan’ it,’ he tries to say around Ilya’s finger keeping his mouth open. Ilya unhooks his finger to let Shane speak properly, pleading. ‘Want it, give me it. Please?’ And because Shane’s a demon who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it he tacks on an ‘want alpha to fuck me now.’ 

He watches as Ilya’s nostrils flare, a hand coming to clutch his jaw tightly, pupils blown wide. Shane takes the opportunity to sneak his hands past the waistband of Ilya’s shorts to wrap a hand around the heavy, thick cock that always has Shane’s mouth watering. Ilya tenses.

‘You want alpha cock?’ Ilya snarls out, leaning in so they are nose to nose. Shane nods frantically, eyes wide.

‘Want alpha to fuck you?’ He asks again with the same intensity. Shane can feel his mind whirring in excitement.

‘Y-yes,’ Shane stutters out, hand tightening around Ilya’s cock, eyes flitting down to Ilya’s lips before skirting back up to see Ilya grit his sharp teeth in a predatory smile. 

The only thing in Shane’s mind is a horny mess of ohfuckohfuckohfuck as Ilya leans impossibly closer to whisper darkly.

‘Then alpha will give.’

Shane gasps as Ilya kisses him with a snarl, yanking his shorts down to lie crumpled on the floor, hands coming to hook under Shane’s thighs and pressing them to his chest. 

Shane looks down at the sight of Ilya’s hard cock, swinging heavily, head glistening in precum. He swallows, toes curling at the idea of that being inside of him. Which is when the rational side of his brain kicks in.

‘Lube-lube we need-lube in the drawer.’ He stutters out breathlessly, and Ilya after so many occasions of fingering Shane open all over the house (once in the lake), leans over to yank the bedside drawer, fumbling for a moment before returning to Shane’s line of vision victorious, lube bottle in hand. 

Ilya pops the cap off and then drizzles it carelessly from a high angle right onto Shane’s hole. The sharp coldness of it on his skin, where he is most sensitive, has him gasping in shock, but Ilya only smirks. Shane almost tells him off before Ilya squirts some in his hand, coating his cock in it, his hand jerking it slowly with a hiss.

The sight of Ilya looming above him on his knees, cock in hand, has Shane’s cock perking up in interest, the feeling of his cock twitching painful, oversensitive, but begging for more. 

Ilya places a hand against the back of Shane’s thigh, pushing it up against his chest again to slap his cock against Shane’s puffy hole with a murmured curse, eyes fixed on the sight of Shane’s hole clenching at each slap of his cock. 

‘So pretty.’ Ilya mumbles to himself, gaze fixed downwards, making Shane blush even harder - he’s sure his face is now a very attractive shade of a tomato. 

At another wet slap against his hole, Shane whines softly, Ilya’s eyes snapping up to him with a dark quirk of his eyebrows. Shane squirms under the intensity. He wants Ilya to kiss him, the need suddenly overhauling every other thought and feeling. And Ilya seems to understand, leaning close to place a hand on his throat - not squeezing, just resting there. A reminder of who Shane belongs to, but also because it makes him go all starry eyed like a baby deer. 

Ilya kisses him and Shane moans into it, fingers clutching on to Ilya’s shoulder blades. The kiss begins soft, gentle but soon descends into something more carnal, more desperate. 

It’s when Shane feels Ilya’s cock nudge against his hole that he whines again, hips canting upwards to chase it. 

Ilya pulls back to look at him carefully, but Shane is too far gone, whining as he chases after his lips.The hand on his throat tightens for a moment and Shane’s breath catches as he blinks up at Ilya.

‘You still want?’ Ilya asks softly, other hand brushing the hair off Shane’s forehead. 

Shane bites his lips for a moment before whispering back, fond, ‘Yes, I still want.’

Ilya nods, humming before kissing Shane softly once more before leaning back, taking his cock in one hand to nudge at his hole more purposefully, hand still pressing Shane’s thigh to his chest. He skates his gaze back up to lock eyes with Shane, ‘You say if too much, yes?’ 

Shane jerks his head in a nod, unintentionally holding his breath in anticipation, toes curling, pulse thundering in his ears, hard cock twitching against his abdomen. His heart feels like it’s in his throat. Because this isn’t just sex - well physically it was - but it was also a lot more. The moreness of it settles over them like morning dew on blades of summer grass.

Ilya moves to lean over him, slinging Shane’s ankle past his shoulder, hand coming down to brace at the side of his head, the other around his cock, nudging against Shane’s hole. Shane gently cradles Ilya’s face in his, nudging his gaze up from where it rests on Shane’s hole to meet his eyes, kissing him softly before letting their foreheads nudge together. They both breathe deeply, Shane’s fingers trembling slightly at how the room narrows down to just them. Shane blinks up at Ilya and Ilya gazes down at him with so much love that he has to blink back unexpected tears.

Ilya bumps his forehead against Shane’s softly. ‘Breathe, Shane. Relax.’ And the reminder has Shane releasing a shaky breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, making a conscious effort to get rid of the tension in his body. He takes another deep breath and Ilya kisses the tip of his nose. ‘Good boy.’ 

The praise sinks into Shane’s body like a hug, momentarily distracting him before he feels Ilya begin to slowly push in. Ilya watches him carefully for any signs of discomfort. Ilya opened him so well earlier, the slide so wet but the stretch still burns as Ilya pushes the head past his rim. Shane squeezes his eyes shut, telling himself to breathe, failing to not gasp at the overwhelming feeling of Ilya everywhere. Ilya groans, and Shane opens his eyes to the borderline pained look on Ilya’s face, lips parted as his gaze flits down to where they are connected. 

Ilya pushes in deeper, and Shane can’t help but moan out a muttered ‘Fuck,’ making Ilya look up.

‘Okay?’ Ilya asks softly but strained, still slowly pushing his cock into the tight grip of Shane’s hole. Shane nods distractedly, Jesus how much more of Ilya’s cock is there? Shane obviously knew it was big, had felt the ache it leaves in his jaw when he takes it down his throat, but this was different. It felt like Ilya was carving out a space for himself with his cock, and Shane distantly thinks that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be the same again.

‘Words, Shane.’ Ilya prompts, pausing at the silence, the only sound both of them panting. The leg not propped on Ilya’s shoulder, comes to hook around Ilya’s waist. 

‘Yes, fuck, please.’ Shane pleads breathily, head kicking back against the sheets, throat exposed, a loud moan cracking through his parted mouth as Ilya fills him entirely with a smooth roll of his hips and a groan.

‘God-,’ Shane chokes, ‘Fuck so big.’ Ilya smirks at the comment, grinding his hips teasingly to feel Shane’s hole clench around him and a broken moan spill from Shane’s swollen lips. 

‘Hmm, yes.’ Ilya agrees, chest puffing out at the confirmation that Shane likes how thick his cock is. All man. All alpha. And now he was claiming what was his.

Ilya’s head drops to press open-mouthed up his neck, catching Shane’s lips in a filthy kiss, tongue dominating his mouth. Shane keens into it, the leg wrapped around Ilya’s waist dragging him closer, body shuddering as it drives Ilya’s cock deeper, nudging just shy of his prostate. Ilya pulls back, the string of spit connecting their lips snapping.

He hisses as he slowly rolls his hips experimentally, watching Shane’s rim clench around him, transfixed. He turns his head to drop a quick kiss to the side of Shane’s ankle that rests by his ear, settling both hands on either side of Shane’s head, fencing him in. He shifts to rise to his knees fully, steadying himself. 

‘Okay,’ Ilya says to himself shakily, ‘okay,’ slowly withdrawing his cock to the tip. Shane thinks it’s sweet to see Ilya as overwhelmed as Shane is. A fond smile begins to spread across his lips before his mouth drops open in a silent, choked cry as Ilya snaps his hips forward brutally, flesh smacking together with a wet smack and beginning a brutally, feral pace.

Shane can’t help it as his eyes roll back into his skull, body jerking with the force of the thrusts, Ilya snarling above him as his hips slam into Shane, cock nailing his prostate each time. Shane’s nails dig into Ilya’s back, scratching, scrabbling for purchase as Ilya fucks into him like the animal he is. 

‘God-,’ Shane chokes out as he feels like he can taste Ilya’s cock in his throat, fucked into silence except gasping and moaning. He’s so full, Ilya’s cock reaching so deep, so thick as it fucks into him almost punishingly. His body feels like an exposed nerve ending, thoroughly overwhelmed with every touch, every thrust, every sound of Ilya’s hips smacking against his ass, the vision of Ilya above him, sweat glistening across his collarbone and necklace swinging against his chest, brow furrowed as he fucks Shane like his life depends on it. Shane’s hard cock slapping his stomach with each thrust, a puddle of precum leaking down the sides to stain the sheet beneath. 

Ilya seems to lose his grasp on the English language, reverting back to his baser self, the only sounds spilling from his mouth being growls and snarls, grunting as he fucks Shane, pushing him up the bed with each thrust, the leg propped on his shoulder shaking with each thrust. It slips off Ilya’s sweat slick shoulder and Shane’s world tilts as Ilya flips him over like he weighs nothing. 

Large hands come up to pull Shane’s hips into the air, Shane scrambling to steady himself, elbows coming to prop himself up, head dizzy at the change in position but also from the effect of Ilya’s cock. Ilya wastes no time, slamming back into Shane in a single thrust, hips snapping at an inhuman pace which has Shane collapsing onto the bed with a cry. His chest lies flat on the bed but Ilya’s iron grip on his hips keeps them in the air where he wants them, Shane’s back arching to create a vision sent from the heavens. A sharp crack of Ilya’s hand coming down on his ass as he fucks him has Shane moaning brokenly, now drooling into the sheets, eyes unfocused, fingers clenching at the sheets as Ilya uses him. 

Soft uh uh uh’s echo above the sound of slick skin on skin, the growls vibrating from Ilya’s chest, and Shane realises the needy sounds are coming from him, spilling from his mouth as his eyes helplessly roll back. The position means Ilya’s cock reaches even deeper inside of him, the aim at his prostate pushing Shane into the mattress, moans muffled.

Ilya’s fingers dig into the dimples of Shane’s back, lips pulled back to show gritted teeth as he watches how Shane’s ass ripples with each snap of his hips. A hand smooths over the roundness of it, tracing over the dip of his waist. And Ilya’s already fraying control snaps. Ilya’s mind is far from the human body he inhabits, his wolf completely at the forefront, driven by instinct, to claim the man below him as his. 

‘Mine,’ Ilya snarls out, hips pausing to grind his cock into Shane to hear Shane moan loudly, sobbing out a ‘Fuck, yours, Ilya.’

‘Yes, Ilya’s.’ He agrees with a grunt, hips resuming their pace, liking how his name sounds falling off Shane’s lips in the throes of pleasure. Pleasure that Ilya is giving to him - only Ilya. Shane looks so pretty like this, he looks pretty always, but with the muscles in his back shifting under the warm light of the bedroom, head down ass up so Ilya can use him like a fleshlight, Ilya thinks he looks beautiful. He is exactly where Ilya wants him, where he should be. Beneath Ilya and taking whatever he gives him. 

Ilya can feel the knot at the base of his cock swelling, and the idea of plugging Shane up with his cum renews his pace with increased vigour, pulling on Shane’s hips to see the glistening rim cling to his cock desperately as he withdraws his cock on each thrust, hungry. Filling Shane with his cum also makes him think of other things. 

Like Shane round with his pups, and it doesn’t matter in that moment that Shane can’t biologically do that because Ilya’s mind has left the realm of biological possibility to fixate on breeding Shane full, Ilya staking his claim in the most instinctual way possible. 

He snarls at the thought of Shane carrying his pups, hips soft, belly round. Shane with a bloated belly full of cum, hanging off Ilya’s knot. Ilya would make sure it takes, he wouldn’t let Shane off it, he’d carry Shane round with him on it, make him sleep with Ilya’s cock inside him. And Ilya knows it would, because he’s a virile, strong alpha in his prime. And Shane was his. 

‘Going to breed you. Fill you with my pups.’ Ilya growls out, chest heaving and a guttural groan rips out of his throat at the feeling of Shane’s hole clenching so tightly round his cock it has Ilya collapsing over Shane, pressing him deeper into the bed. The new angle has Shane seeing stars, ass raised but otherwise crumpled on the sheets in overwhelming pleasure. Ilya presses him into the mattress, which gives Shane the friction his neglected cock so desperately needs.

At Ilya’s promise, Shane chokes on a whine, heat surging through his body at the idea of Ilya breeding him so thoroughly he ends up pregnant. His eyes cross momentarily at the change in angle but also at Ilya’s words, which continue to stream out.

‘Breed you full of my cum. Keep you full. Carry them well, our pups.’ He snarls into Shane’s ear, now right above him, necklace a cool marker on the back of Shane’s neck, his cheek pressed into the bed, head turned to the side to hear him.

‘Yes, yes want it-,’ Shane wails as Ilya grips the nape of his neck with a hand and presses the side of his face deeper into the mattress, pinning him down as if to ensure Shane isn’t going anywhere, though it’s not like he could or would. The hold is possessive and heavy, reminding Shane just how strong and big Ilya is, how imposing. How he fills the doorframe with his build, how he looms over Shane even though he is not that much taller, how his eyes alone hold so much power, always watching, always observing. How his big hands guide Shane wherever he wants to be, how he holds him gently as they sleep, but also how he fucks him like the slut he knows Shane is. 

‘Want my pups?’ Ilya growls, and Shane tries to nod but can’t because of Ilya’s strong grip on the back of his neck. So instead he babbles out in agreement, the idea of existing only for Ilya to use, to breed, to pump full of cum has his brain short circuiting.

‘Yes, fuck, want your pups, want your cum, please, breed me breed me breed-,’ Shane chants but breaks off with a choked moan as Ilya’s hand drifts under his belly to press down below his bellybutton as Shane realises Ilya’s fucking him so well his cock is leaving an imprint, bulging his stomach with its length. Ilya presses down on it, the feel of his cock fucking into Shane and branding him so viscerally. 

‘I keep you full. All mine.’ It’s snarled out between Shane’s shoulderblades, the words punctuated by brutal thrusts, the thickness of Ilya’s growing knot catching at his rim. The words are slightly muffled but Shane hears them, can feel the promise of Ilya’s knot nudging against his hole. And he breaks.

It’s the feel of Ilya’s hand pressing down, the feel of Ilya’s cock never ceasing its relentless thrusts into his puffy and used hole, the feel of Ilya everywhere, the feel of being worshipped, loved, adored. The pressure that has been building steadily and has Shane wobbling on the edge for the entire time Ilya has been fucking him, bursts and he comes untouched with a cry into the sheets, thighs trembling, choking on silent sobs, eyes rolled back, drooling. His ears are ringing, his eyes glazed as his mind floats far away, he blearily blinks back the stars floating in his vision. He comes back slowly, slumped into the bed except for his hips which Ilya keeps propped up, the hold on his neck gone as Ilya has leaned back again, body jolting as Ilya groans at the feel of Shane cumming around his cock, hips rabbiting forward, knot thickening. 

Ilya begins to nudge his knot more insistently against Shane’s rim, using his hips to fuck forwards and letting it stretch his hole slightly each time, preparing. Ilya watches Shane’s rim stretch around it, hypnotised.

Shane reaches an arm back weakly, softly moaning into the sheets, hips trying to jump away from Ilya’s continuous thrusts in overstimulation but Ilya drags them back every time. Shane feels wrung out, mind hazy, the pleasure of Ilya’s thrusts sharpening into something more tinged with pain, a fizzy kind that zaps along his skin like an exposed nerve. 

His hands fumble for Ilya’s and Ilya catches it, Shane squeezes and Ilya understands. Ilya’s thrusts slow to a stop as he leans down to press a gentle kiss against Shane’s shoulder before dropping a kiss against Shane’s knuckles, hand clutched in Ilya’s. Ilya brushes a thumb across the back of Shane’s hand, before gently turning him over so he’s on his back, wet doe eyes blinking up at him, dazed. Ilya tracks the cum drying across Shane’s abs and traces it with a finger before slotting it in his mouth to suck off the taste of Shane with a hum. Shane’s arms raise a little and Ilya goes to him willingly. Ilya trails kisses against Shane’s skin, from his shoulder up to his face, to his lips as they share a gentle, sweet, soft kiss. Ilya pets at the side of Shane’s face as he gently enters Shane again, causing him to gasp, lips parting so Ilya can dip his tongue into his mouth. 

‘Doing so well, baby.’ Ilya whispers into his mouth, voice hoarse from the snarling and growling, hips slowly rocking, Shane’s thighs coming up to bracket his waist. The pet name and the praise has Shane’s shoulders curling shyly but Ilya grips his chin to stop him shying away. Ilya’s body covers his, chest to chest, skin to skin, breathing into the small gap left between their lips. 

‘Still good?’ He asks gently, watching as Shane’s eyes droop before looking at him, eyes lidded. Shane’s breath hitches at the feel of Ilya’s knot bumping against his rim. He nods, before Ilya prompts, ‘Words, Shane.’ 

‘Y-yes,’ he manages hoarsely, ‘Wan-want your knot.’ He mumbles, trembling fingers coming to stroke Ilya’s cheek. Ilya swears softly, hips rocking in deeper, making Shane gasp out a moan.

‘Good boy,’ Ilya praises, the hand on Shane’s chin moving to grip his jaw, thumb resting at the corner of his lips, ‘Then I give.’

At that, Ilya thrusts harder, beginning to fuck his knot into Shane with short thrusts. Shane’s lashes flutter at the feeling, lips parting on a rushed breath, a little whine. 

‘So good,’ Ilya praises against his skin, pressing a kiss at the side of Shane’s mouth. Shane tilts his head at the touch and Ilya slots his lips against his in a deep kiss that Shane melts into. Ilya uses the distraction to fuck his knot fully into Shane, the thickness popping through the rim with a sharp twist of his hips and a hard thrust. Shane’s cry is muffled into the kiss, nails digging into Ilya’s back. Shane’s chest heaves, eyes squeezing shut at the pressure, the fullness so overwhelming his mind empties. If he had any more cum left in him, he’s sure it would be spilling it out, but instead his wrung out cock weakly twitches against his stomach. 

Ilya drops kisses across his face in comfort, hips grinding, dropping his head to rest at Shane’s shoulder with a groan at the tight vice of Shane around him, clenching to practically milk his knot. He starts to thrust slowly, short pulses of his hips, kissing up Shane’s neck, licking the bite mark he left earlier. 

‘Hmph-oh fuck, Ilya,’ Shane breathes out eyes threatening to roll back at the sensation. His thighs squeeze around Ilya’s waist, Shane gaze stuck on Ilya’s face above him, the only thing he can see - the only thing he wants to see.

‘So good,’ Shane slurs out, cockdrunk, eyes never leaving Ilya’s and that’s how Ilya cums - looking at Shane. Looking at his freckles, his flushed cheeks, his doe brown eyes that remind him of a deer, the soft curve of his upper lip, his fluttering eyelashes. And Ilya wouldn’t want to cum any other way. Ilya groans as his hips jerk forwards, cum filling Shane, Shane moaning at the feeling of it, the warmth of it. 

There’s so much of it, Shane can feel it begin to leak out around Ilya’s knot stuffing him full. Ilya gasps as Shane clenches down around him, breathing heavily as his hips stutter forwards as he finishes. 

Ilya slumps forward, body heavy on top of Shane, snuffling his nose into the crook of his neck, dropping a kiss there before exhaling heavily. Shane’s fingers come to card through Ilya’s curls, eyes half open as he feels Ilya still cumming inside him. Breeding him. Eventually the steady stream of Ilya’s cum stops, and Ilya rolls them to lie on their sides carefully, slinging Shane’s leg over his hip, an arm cradling his head, holding him close. Shane hums happily, snuggling closer but both of them hissing as the movement makes Ilya’s knot tug on his rim. Ilya settles a hand on his hip to still his wiggling.

‘Careful, be still.’ He rumbles out softly, a knuckle tracing down the line of Shane’s nose. 

Shane leans his cheek heavily against the bicep under his head, turning slightly to drop a kiss there before blinking up at Ilya sleepily. ‘When does it go down?’ He mumbles, eyes threatening to fall closed. He feels exhausted all of a sudden, the intensity of their fucking, the emotions of it, crashing into him at all once. He feels like he’s floating on a cloud as Ilya’s fingers trace gentle shapes along his spine.

‘Not yet. We wait a bit.’ Ilya replies softly, nudging his nose against Shane’s, dipping down to fit his mouth to his. Shane hums into the kiss. It’s a slow and lazy one, because they have all the time in the world, changing from deepening it with their tongues to soft pecks. Shane traces his fingertips up the line of Ilya’s side as he pulls back slightly.

‘Does this mean you can’t fuck me again later?’ He asks sleepily with a ghost of a teasing smile. He cracks an eye open to see Ilya’s eyes widen slightly in shock for a second before they glimmer with heat, an amused smirk gracing his lips. 

‘You think I am finished?’ He asks softly but he punctuates the reply with a grind of his hips against Shane’s hole that has his lips parting on a breathy moan. ‘I will fuck you many times. You will regret this question.’ He whispers the promise against Shane’s parted lips, taking one between his teeth to tug at it before letting it go with a snap.

Shane’s breath hitches before levelling Ilya with a deliberate flutter of his lashes, gaze sultry and trying. He’s aware he’s poking the beast, but it’s a beast he loves. And he loves when the beast takes what he wants. 

‘Prove it.’ 

He doesn’t need to say anything else, Ilya dragging his face closer with a growl, mouth slanting over his in a filthy kiss as he hikes Shane’s leg on his waist into the air between them, hand under his knee as he thrusts his hips sharply into Shane to hear him whine. More cum leaks out around his cock stuffed in Shane’s hole like a promise, like a brand, a reminder of what Shane had dared to doubt.

***

It is later, when the sun has spread across the sky with colours of bright orange and pink.

Shane sits watching the sunset across the lake, birds with their wings splayed wide, floating across the sky. A gentle breeze rustles the trees, cradles Shane’s face for a moment before it drifts past him, his eyes fluttering closed at the feel of it. It is peaceful and it is quiet. Just like how Shane liked it. But it was missing something. 

A heavy weight dropping round his shoulders has him looking up, and he smiles - the thing that was missing now found. Ilya stands next to him, hands fussing at the blanket he is busy wrapping around Shane before he comes to sit beside him, thighs touching. Ilya passes him a steaming mug of herbal tea, but not before blowing on it softly as he hands it over. Shane rearranges the blanket to cover Ilya’s shoulders too, snuggling closer, the mug of tea warming his hands. 

Ilya’s arm comes to wrap around his shoulders, tucking him into his side, dropping a kiss on the top of his head to press his cheek into his hair, looking out across the lake, at the water rippling as a bird skims its surface, how the colours of the sky kiss the line of the horizon. Shane sighs, a hand coming to rub back and forth against Ilya’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips. They sit there silently for a while, just watching the day roll over into night as the sun begins to say goodnight. 

Shane’s phone had been buzzing incessantly throughout the day with texts from his mom, Shane spared them a glance earlier, and gathered his mom had thought of a plan. But he didn’t open them, not yet. That was not for today. 

Shane moves slowly out from under Ilya’s chin to look at him, the glow of the departing sun making Ilya look golden, his eyelashes like threads of gold, his eyes a soft blue as they look back at him. Shane leans closer to softly kiss him, pulling back so their noses touch. Shane’s hand on Ilya’s chest lies flat above his heart. 

‘I love you.’ Shane says it softly, the words themselves delicate but infused with everything. Because Ilya was everything, and he was more. He was everything Shane thought he could never have and yet here he was. A wolf in his back garden. A man in his heart. 

A hand comes to trace the shell of Shane’s ear, before it comes to rest against his own heart, fingers spread wide. Ilya smiles quietly, nudging his nose against his.

‘I love you too.’ Ilya says just as softly, words just as heavy. 

Love was a word Ilya didn’t know previously since his life began as a wolf with nothing seemingly before it. It wasn't something Shane had ever said aloud either. But it wasn’t until he heard it on the TV that he wondered what it meant. The person in the film said it so flippantly, but when Ilya had carefully recited the word into the search bar of Shane’s phone in a quiet, solitary moment through its speaker, he learnt it was much more than that. The phone had spoken back its answer but it was vague at first. So he made Shane and him watch another film that wasn’t about guns, but this time he asked for one about love. Shane had been confused at first because Ilya had never expressed an interest in anything besides action and sports up until then, but he had found one anyway. So they watched it and Ilya watched transfixed as he started to understand what love meant. So he began to watch more of them, learning how to spell it so he could look it up in the film search bar on the TV. He watched them when Shane was sleeping, always making sure to crawl back into bed before he woke. He watched another when Shane left to meet his mom. Sometimes he’d skip right to the end when the two people found each other again, eyes focused and ears pricked to hear what love was to them. 

And so he began to understand, but not entirely. But it wasn’t until he was looking at Shane one morning, Shane laughing about the size of a blueberry. It’s huge, where the hell did this come from, what did they put in the fertiliser? It’s a blueberry on steroids, Ilya look - and Shane had held up the fat berry between his fingers with a laugh, his eyes scrunching at the corners that Ilya finally understood, fully, completely what love is. 

And it felt so familiar and so easy, that Ilya realised it had been there all along, it was just that now he had a word for the feeling inside of him whenever he thought about Shane, every time he looked at him, or scented him coming round the corner, or simply held him. He realised that his wolf knew before he did, tracking the feeling through the forest to find Shane. Because loving Shane came so naturally, like it was fated. That every trail, every turn, every shard of the past Ilya stepped over with stumbling and bloodied feet, led to Shane.  

So Ilya repeats it into the small space between them. ‘I love you.’ 

Shane smiles, and says it back again, ‘I love you.’

They meet in the middle for a kiss, pulling back to rest their foreheads against each other, the glow of the watercolour sky blocked out with the shapes of their noses, their lips. They smile in sync, hands tracing each other’s bodies in a whispering caress, love trailing a finger around their hearts in a touch so light it felt like a sigh, like the soft breeze rustling their hair.

Looking at Ilya, Shane knew that the world could wait. Just for a little while. Because Shane liked the peace and quiet, and he liked it with Ilya. So that’s how he wanted it to be for now. Everything else can come later. That whilst the future beckons, the present sits between their tangled fingers, and that is all they need.

So with Ilya holding him close, they both turn to look at the sun slowly nudging behind the horizon, its colours bleeding beautifully in its wake.

Chapter End Notes

I really struggled in trying to tie up the loose end of ‘what’s next’ for the gays so I deliberately didn’t focus on that (hence why the convo with Shane’s parents is so vague) because cba man I just want to write about two losers in love.

Saying that, hope you enjoyed the final chapter! I loved writing it. So much so idk if I’ll be able to leave this universe alone forever. Soooo I may return with a one shot or two in the future but who knows when as I’m planning another hollanov au (royal, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage) - cue evil laugh.