Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova, Jackie Pike, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Rose Landry, Hayden Pike, Wyatt Hayes

Additional Tags:

based very loosely on starstruck (2010) disney movie, Alternate Universe, ilya is a college student, Explicit Sexual Content, Service Top Ilya Rozanov, Happy Ending, Praise Kink, Friends With Benefits, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, no angst just ilya being dense, Ilya has a group of friends and is very loved, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane is a singer

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Every night the stars come out to play

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-30 Completed: 2026-02-08 Words: 48,504 Chapters: 2/2

something about the sunshine, baby

Summary

Ilya Rozanov can't understand what's so great about Shane Hollander. He's a conceited, vain, and superficial celebrity who only cares about money and his music. Probably. Ilya can never remember exactly what he dislikes about the man when Hollander looks at him with his mesmerizing eyes and lets him fuck him the way Ilya likes.

Whatever, he's never had such strong principles anyway.

Chapter 1: can you just live a little, let your hair down?

Ilya loves Los Angeles.

It's an endless city with people sprouting from every building, music echoing in every corner, an infinite world of possibilities for being himself. There's hot women, hot men. It's everything it promises to be, and even though it's very different from anything he knows, these last few years have been an incredible experience.

Ilya also loves Svetlana, but not when she's this unbearable.

"I need to look my best," his friend says for the fifth time, applying makeup in the rearview mirror. "Imagine the spotlight falls on me and he sees me."

Ilya doesn’t dignify that with an answer. 

The city rolls by in a luminous blur against the windows–clubs, restaurants, casinos–, and Ilya has to blink to keep from falling asleep. This week his classes have been a bitch and it's Friday, he should be getting drunk. He deserves it. Ilya should be smashed and not here, taking Svetlana to a private concert.

To a concert of the most bland, boring, and graceless person he knows. Ilya doesn't really know him, but he has heard enough about him to know that he never wants to do it.

"Imagine..."

"No," Ilya interrupts, honking the horn as some idiot drives recklessly past him. "I don't want to hear your wet dreams about the most boring human on the planet."

"Shane Hollander isn't boring," Svetlana says sharply. "He's hot. Didn't you see that he was named Sexiest Man Alive?"

Of course Ilya didn't see that nonsense. He has better things to do than read about celebrities, especially when it seems to be the only topic of conversation in this place. Sometimes he can't understand his friend; Svetlana is an intelligent woman and has excellent taste in men—proof enough, himself—, but she's spent the last year obsessed with a pop singer. Or a country singer. Or some American crap, because he hasn't listened to one of his songs even if his life depended on it.

For his own safety, Ilya ends the conversation and turns into the alley marked on the map. He parks next to a building, hidden in its shadow, because Ilya doesn't want to get a ticket for being a good person. 

"I have until twelve," Svetlana says, going over the plan Ilya already knows by heart because, in reality, he doesn't sucks and he loves his friend, even if she’s acting crazy. "Shane gets out at eleven, so that'll give me time to seduce him from afar. Him or anyone who looks like him."

Ilya scoffs.

"Sure, you do that while I rot in the car."

"Don't be dramatic. I'll give you my friend's number, okay? She asked about you this week."

Svetlana's friend is a blonde with a big ass and mischievous eyes, so this will definitely be worth it. He's been trying to sleep with her since the beginning of the semester, but Svetlana forbade him from getting involved with any of her friends after last year's incident. 

Ilya never said he would call Anne; he doesn't understand where people get these ideas.

"Yes," Ilya huffs in annoyance, "but make it two. Robert's been staring at me during philosophy class."

Svetlana rolls her eyes, kisses his cheek, and gets out of the car.

It's barely ten o'clock, what is he supposed to do in the remaining two hours? When his friend explained the plan for the night, she insisted that the line to get into the club was long, that she would have to fight with fans and paparazzi to get in, blah blah blah. That's why Svetlana asked—demanded—him to leave the apartment they both share two hours earlier.

Ilya can't understand what's so great about Shane Hollander.

He's seen his picture two or three times, but he seems like an average guy. Yes, he's a millionaire and has a decent face, Ilya supposes, but he still doesn't seem like much. The guy has probably never had to study until three in the morning and that takes away any greatness he might have.

So, yeah, fuck him. 

As the minutes pass and Ilya begins to feel fidgety, he opens his phone to scroll through social media. It's the last Friday of the month, and Ilya can tell from his friends' stories; they're all partying or eating until they're stuffed. Troy has posted a mirror selfie showing off his abs while Harris drinks behind him. Ilya had been invited to that party, but he preferred to be the friend of the century. Ilya comments on his friend’s post that he's jealous of his next girlfriend. Troy likes the comment within seconds.

This sucks. How much longer is this going to take? Svetlana promised to be in the car by midnight, but as the hours pass and the street behind his becomes less and less crowded, Ilya curses and gets out of the car to go find her.

The club is located in a busy part of Hollywood. Ilya doesn't know the area very well, but he understands enough about the city's nightlife to know that it's impossible to find Svetlana by walking in the front door.

Shit.

Suppressing a frustrated groan, Ilya circles the building looking for an emergency exit. Seriously, he should be out drinking and dancing with someone hot. Like, yesterday. This stupid thing is definitely not worth it, but Svetlana is. Fuck him and his love for his friends. 

A red "Do Not Enter" sign glows above a heavy metal door. Bingo.

He approaches as quietly as possible and tries to move the stiff lever that keeps the door closed. When it doesn't budge, Ilya steps back to kick it because there is still no closed door that he can't open.

Apparently there's a first time for everything, because before Ilya can kick it he feels the door slam against his head, throwing him to the ground.

Ouch. 

“Wha-? Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. No, no. Fuck. Fuck! Are you alright!?”

The pain echoes throughout his body, but a soft, male voice makes him open his eyes.

Ilya's first thought is that he's lucky the alley is practically deserted, because, ouch, pathetic. His second thought is that someone, a man, dared to hit him with the damn door and he's definitely going to hit him back after surviving this unbearable pain.

Ilya blinks in the darkness, straightens up, and finds himself face to face with the man's features. 

Holy shit. 

This is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

He's gorgeous, the kind of attractive guy who stars in movies over here. There are many of those, but this man staring at him has bewitching eyes. Inky, mesmerizing. Ilya has never met anyone like him before, someone who immediately makes his heart change its rhythm of beating and makes his hands yearn for closeness. 

Ilya blinks again and opens his eyes wide when he realizes who the handsome man in front of him is.

Well, shit. How sad. It seems like a contradictory joke of fate; Ilya would be surprised if that weren't the premise of his life. Svetlana is going to die.

"You are Shan…”

In a swift movement, the man's hand covers his mouth. Ilya grimaces in disgust when he notices it's sweaty.

"I will give you front-row tickets to my next concert if you don't scream my name."

"Piss off, dude, I don't want to see your stupid concert."

Ilya slaps the man away and tries to stand up. Immediately, his ass is back on the ground as a sharp pain shoots through his head. Shit.

"Right. Okay, I definitely need to get you to a doctor. What's your name? Wait, don't tell me. Save your strength.”

A hand yanks him up, and Ilya has to grab hold of whatever he can to keep from falling again. It's Hollander's arm, surprisingly muscular and firm, warm. Ilya suppresses the urge to squeeze it. Up close, the man smells of an intoxicating mix of citrus and pine, but Ilya is still confused by the splitting pain in his head and tries to back away.

Shane Hollander is tall. Not taller than him, but he has an imposing physique. A big, muscular one. A frost of freckles randomly adorns the bridge of his nose, as if they had been placed there precisely to harmonize with the rest of his face. His dark hair gleams in the red light of the "Do Not Enter" sign, and his thin lips twist when silence falls between them.

Hollander's hands keep him still.

“Hey, don’t move.”

Perhaps he hit his head harder than he realized, because the man sounds worried, nervous,  as if he cares. Ilya blinks a couple more times, and when the pain subsides, he stands up straight. Fuck. If Hollander is there, that means the concert is over.

"I'm fine. I need to go get Svetlana."

“Who’s Svetlana?”

“My friend. She's at the club. She went to see your concert and—why am I telling you this? Let go of me.”

The man's face twists, and he places his hand firmly on one of his shoulders to keep him from moving. Ilya is starting to get angry. Who does Hollander think he is? Yes, he hit him, and Ilya should definitely hit him back, but shit happens. 

Just because he's like, drop-dead handsome, doesn't mean Ilya's going to interact with him more than necessary.

“I have to take you to the hospital, I’m not going to let you stay here—”

“I’m fine,” Ilya insists, and this time he does take a step back. “I used to get hit all the time, it’s nothing serious.”

Hollander’s eyes widen. Ilya laughs.

“Calm down, dude, I used to play rugby. Tough guys, yes? So I’m fine.”

Hollander doesn't answer and looks at him as if he doesn't understand his words. Ilya's been in the United States for three years; his English is perfectly clear. It's obvious the man understands him, he just isn't interested. What an asshole. Ilya shrugs and starts to walk away.

"Bye."

If Ilya knows his friend, Svetlana must be caught between drinks and people she finds attractive. Shit, he needs to go home and put some ice on his head and—

Hollander's hand catches his arm and stops him.

"Please. You're clearly hurt. I'll take you home and make sure you're okay."

Okay, this is definitely weird. The man's voice is pleading, anxious. It reaches a tone Ilya would definitely like to explore, but that will never happen in this lifetime. Maybe Ilya hit his head and died, but the warmth of Hollander's hand spreads throughout his arm in the most realistic way possible. 

The sound of a notification from Svetlana breaks the silence and makes the man release his arm to allow Ilya to take out his phone.

From: Svetlana ❤️‍🔥 (00.46)

sorry baby

i left with a VERY hot girl

see u tomorrow xoxo

Mystery solved. Now Ilya can go to hell and die in peace so everything can take its natural course. Except for Hollander's ever-watchful eyes still on him.

What the fuck. He's definitely a weird guy, because now he puts his hood up and sunglasses on and he’s looking at him waiting for his answer. Perhaps he's one of those crazy celebrities who kidnap people because their lives lack excitement or whatever. Ilya doubts that's the case; when Hollander scratches his eyebrow, his fingers tremble slightly.

Ilya sighs.

"Look, dude, this is fine. Let's forget about this, yes? You must have more important things to do."

When Hollander shakes his head, strands of hair fall into his eyes. Ilya's mind offers him a useless memory of Hollander doing the same thing in one of the videos Svetlana forced him to watch.

"I hurt you, I have to take responsibility. Let me make sure you get home safely."

Hollander's voice cracks on the last word. It's clear his concern is real, and although Ilya hasn't the faintest idea why, he really wants to go home. The slam of the door was the final straw in a terrible night; he needs to sleep until next Friday.

Fuck it. Even if the last thing he cares about is what Hollander wants, kidnapping or not,  Ilya’s tired.

"Fine. But we have to go in my car because I'm not leaving it stranded in the middle of Hollywood."

Ilya worked two whole summers to buy the best car he could find. Red and sleek; very sexy, like him. He's not going to let someone wreck his car just like that.

"What? You can't drive after being hit like that!" Hollander exclaims, his face contorted in shock. His pretty eyes widen and his mouth twists into a grimace. 

The man is such an expressive person that it unnerves him.

"Excuse me, but did I hit you?" Ilya snarls. "If you want to make sure I get home safe, we'll go in my car. End of discussion."

"I'll drive. Where is it?"

Hollander walks ahead of him, looking annoyed. What the hell is wrong with him? He is the one offering to give him a ride home; nobody's forcing him. Ilya is tempted to tell him to fuck off, but the man walks with such purposeful steps as he points out where his car is parked that Ilya decides to remain silent for the first time in his life.

Fuck, this is the worst night ever. 

During the short walk from the alley behind the club to the vehicle, Hollander shrinks down and stares at the ground, walking quickly without stopping. He's definitely crazy. Ilya observes the commotion in front of the club; a group of women chatting animatedly over merchandise with the face of the man who walks like a freak a few meters away from him.

The world is a strange, strange thing.

When they reach his car, Ilya reluctantly hands Hollander the keys.

"If you steal it from me, I'll get angry and punch you in your stupid face."

The man blinks and takes the keys, looking unimpressed.

"Why would I want another car?"

Another. Of course, because Hollander is a millionaire who gives private concerts for fun and makes hot people stupid. Poor Svetlana.

Ilya huffs but doesn't answer. He gets into the passenger seat, fixes his hair in the rearview mirror, and glances sideways as Hollander sits next to him, starts the engine and looks at him.

It's a shame the man is such an idiotic celebrity because he's genuinely attractive. Ilya has to straighten his back and look straight ahead to avoid suddenly thinking he's a good person or something. Because he isn't. Svetlana explained to him about Hollander’s many properties and the pollution he causes when he travels in his private jet. Ilya remembers this because his friend was outraged, but she ended up defending him by saying something about his difficult life and his crazy fans.

Difficult life? Hollander wouldn't recognize ‘difficult’ if it punched him in the face, and Ilya's hands definitely have the urge. 

“What is your address?” the man says.

Without saying a word, Ilya activates the car's navigation system and waits for it to display "home." Hollander nods and merges into traffic, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

This is definitely the most bizarre thing that's happened to Ilya since he arrived in this city. The most bizarre thing that's ever happened to him, period. A celebrity is driving his car to take him home after slamming the door on him.

Marlow once swallowed a frog, but this is definitely weirder.

When the silence becomes unbearable, Ilya looks at Hollander. His profile is sharp, serious, and focused. He has a well-groomed face; he probably has a beauty routine as exaggerated as Svetlana's. And that's a lot. Hollander exudes an image of being perfect, untouchable and soft, seemingly manufactured for his career. Svetlana says that some people on the internet call him a "babygirl." Ilya has no idea what that means, but he doesn't think that word fits a man his age with a pretty face and a questionable life.

If it did, he could be one too.

"Does it hurt?"

Hollander's voice is tentative, restrained, as if he doesn't want to scare him. Ilya shrugs.

"No."

"I’m glad. What about your friend?"

"She went to have sex. She'll be fine."

The man remains silent, and when Ilya looks at him, he notices Hollander's blushing. His freckles darken and his ears turn pink. Cute, Ilya thinks before mentally slapping himself.

"Oh, don't celebrities have sex?" Ilya says, raising his eyebrows. "Sorry to bring it up."

"What?" Hollander clears his throat. "Of course they do."

"Do you?"

Hollander seems embarrassed and perhaps a little annoyed, but Ilya doesn't care. It's obvious he has sex; from the way Svetlana talks about him, it's highly likely Hollander has his own harem.

The man opens his mouth to tell him all about his sexual escapades or tell him to fuck off, but an unfamiliar sound interrupts him. It's Hollander's phone.

"Shit. Could you answer it? It's in my jacket. I can't stop and—"

"Okay."

It's a modern phone, black and thin, with the name "Hayden" screaming across the screen. Ilya shows it to him, and Hollander signals for him to put it on speaker. As soon as he does, a male voice fills the car.

"Shane, where the hell are you? Your mother's gonna to kill me. I told her you'd be home in time to see the freaking movie, but she's here now and your damn seat is empty. You're supposed to be here by now!"

Ilya doesn't know who Hayden is, but he needs to calm the fuck down now. In response, Hollander lets out a muffled croak and stops at a red light. Then, he hits his forehead against the steering wheel. Hard.

"Shit. I'm going to be a little late. Does she look angry?"

"Not really, but I don't think she liked you going to do that concert. She's been giving me hateful looks from... hi, Yuna. Shit, bye."

The line cuts out, the light turns green, and Hollander lets out a heavy sigh.

What an unglamorous life. Ilya can't wait to tell Svetlana.

Neither of them says a word for the rest of the journey. Hollander sits stiffly, his eyes fixed straight ahead, while Ilya begins to feel the weight of the day. Tomorrow is finally Saturday so he can sleep in and maybe even watch a game. He closes his eyes and imagines the ice-cold beer he definitely deserves, far from stupid and superficial celebrities. Perhaps Svetlana will tell him in great detail about her adventure tonight, or perhaps she will remain missing until the next day as on other occasions.

When Ilya opens his eyes again, Hollander's face is very close and the car is completely still. Through the window, Ilya can see his apartment complex. The car's navigation system indicates that they have arrived at their destination.

"Are you okay?"

Hollander's voice is barely a whisper. When his cool breath brushes against his lips, for an absurd second Ilya thinks Shane Hollander is going to kiss him. It's an impossible idea, and yet. Ilya won't kiss him back because he hates him; but, in reality, he's never had such strong principles. Exceptions are a daily occurrence in his life. Ilya looks at his lips, thin and outlined by a subtle cupid's bow. Perhaps it's sleep clinging to his bones, but he notices the man has a pretty mouth. Pink.

"Hey, you scared me for a second. Are you okay?" Hollander repeats a little louder, evidently worried, and Ilya pulls away. No kiss then. "We're here. They'll pick me up in five minutes."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Twenty minutes since we stopped. I'm sorry I didn't wake you up, I had to call someone from my team to pick me up."

Hollander doesn't seem upset, but there's something in his tone that makes Ilya frown. As if he were a nuisance or an inconvenience. 

"I wasn't the one who asked you to give me a ride."

"I never said you did," Hollander says, straightening up. Under the dim light of the street lamp, his eyes look darker and more captivating. An awkward, shy expression crosses his face. "I need to ask you a favor. Could you… could you please refrain from mentioning this to others?" 

Ilya mimics his posture, confused.

"This?"

"This situation. That I hit you. That we met."

Ah. Obviously, Hollander, a music superstar and one of the most well-known celebrities in the country today, isn't being friendly for no reason. It would be a scandal; front-page news. Ilya could lie and say Hollander is an idiot—wait, that's true. Even so, he would never speak to the press, much less about someone as insignificant as Hollander.  The mere fact that the man hints at it makes the anger bubble up in his chest.

Fuck him, and definitely not in a good way.

"I don't give a shit that we met,” Ilya spits out, making sure to maintain eye contact. Hollander's expression contracts into an expression he can’t understand. Without waiting for his reply, Ilya takes the key out of the ignition and opens the car door. "This has been the most meaningless day of my life. Get out, I need to put ice on my head."

"Do you want me to—?"

"Get out."

Why does fate keep testing him, really? He tried to be a good friend, and this is how the universe rewarded him. With the most beautiful person he's ever seen dressed as the most boring and arrogant celebrity on the planet. What a rip-off. Ilya is tired, he wants to sleep, and he doesn't need to deal with the guilty expression of a stranger.

And he won't.

When the man gets out of the car and Ilya locks the doors, he turns his back and starts walking toward the apartments without asking him about his return home.

"Goodbye, Hollander."

Ilya doesn't look back, to make it even clearer that he's not interested in this at all. For all he cares, Hollander could get mugged. 

Bah, whatever, Ilya’ll probably see it on the news.

Svetlana makes her appearance around three in the afternoon the next day. She looks radiant, happy, and completely satisfied. Ilya has been lying on the sofa since morning, still resentful and sore. Maybe he really should have seen a doctor, but Ilya doesn't want to think about it because his mind hates him and he's already sick of seeing that horrible man's eyes over and over again.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Ilya yawns, sinking even deeper into the sofa. "Listening to you talk relaxes me, sorry."

"Liar," she chides, hands on her hips. "Like I was saying, the girl had these..."

He listens to his friend talk until her voice blends with the noise of the television. Ilya hardly ever hears his native language on a daily basis anymore, so he's not lying when he says that Svetlana's voice relaxes him. The familiar and close tone of it takes him away from the troublesome thoughts that haven't disappeared with sleep.

Ilya hasn't told Svetlana about Shane Hollander. He wanted to as soon as she walked through the door to prove his point that the man is a fool, but the words caught in his throat. The celebrity's face flashes through his eyes like waves crashing in the sea, reminding him of the unfortunate incident they shared.

It's not about loyalty. Ilya couldn't care less about celebrities and their need to control all the narratives about them, but his intuition tells him something different about Shane Hollander. He doesn't want to listen because he genuinely detests the guy, but there was something in his gaze. In his expression, genuinely concerned, not about the situation, but about him. About Ilya.

Perhaps hitting his head did drive him crazy.

Svetlana's story continues until her own scream interrupts her.

"Ah, they're talking about him!"

His friend turns up the volume on the television and jumps excitedly when the image of the man who hit him last night appears in close-up. Ilya feels a tingling sensation which he ignores by sitting up a little straighter.

“... although no one saw him arrive at Club Metro, witnesses confirm that Shane Hollander did secretly appear to sing at the private concert. Partygoers claim that the star left the club immediately, but that the experience of seeing him live was priceless.”

The image they're showing is of a perfectly composed man, singing in front of an awe-inspiring crowd. Ilya frowns. Shane Hollander didn't look nearly as impressive driving his car or asking him for favors. Jerk.

"Oh, it was. I think it was the best night of my life." Svetlana's sigh can only be described as dreamy. “I can't wait to see him again.”

Ilya frowns even more.

"I can't say the same."

"Come on, big baby, I'm sorry I ruined your Friday. How about I give you Julia's number?”

Ilya feigns disinterest avoiding his friend's gaze, but Svetlana knows him too well. More than he would like, but enough so that she doesn't realize what lies hidden beneath the surface of his skin. Svetlana throws herself at him and smiles broadly. 

"I'm sure Robert would be interested in a threesome."

Ilya snorts.

"Me too."

The apartment they share has two bedrooms and a small kitchen, with a living room so cramped it only fits a television and a sofa for the both of them. Ilya can't complain; being away from campus is a blessing. Besides, thanks to the small space they share, they often spend a lot of time together, like today, when they let the afternoon slip by watching a movie and complaining about being hungry.

When the situation becomes unbearable, Ilya has to sacrifice himself and go to the store.

"Will you buy me my favorite snack?" 

Svetlana's eyes are large, pleading, and endearing. He's known her since they were children, through thick and thin. Ilya notices the deep dark circles under her eyes from all the sleepless nights she's spent studying for her marketing degree. She exceeds all expectations in everything she does; he's proud to call her his friend. Obsessed with Shane Hollander or not.

Ilya kisses her forehead before heading out the door.

"No."

"Asshole!"

Ilya doesn't feel like walking to the store, so he shuffles to his car and gets in. Automatically, his brain bombards him with useless images of Shane Hollander's guilty face, his nervous eyes, his stupid freckles, and the scent of his cologne.

Shit.

Ilya hates him, really. What's so great about that man, anyway? Hollander's a celebrity, that's all. There are hundreds like him in this city, and it seems like a new one pops up every day. Yeah, he's attractive if you're into that type of man. Tall, muscular, with an ass that—

An unfamiliar sound interrupts his thoughts.

It's insistent and shrill. Ilya looks around thinking maybe someone changed his ringtone, but then, on top of the glove compartment, he finds a phone with its screen on full brightness displaying the name "Hayden".

It's Shane Hollander's phone.

The man must have forgotten it when he left, and for an irrational moment, Ilya fears being accused of theft. The thought lasts three seconds because if they start talking about accusations, Hollander will come out worse.

When the phone rings again, Ilya answers it.

"Hello."

“Hi! Excuse me, this is my phone and, uhm, I think you found it. I lost it yesterday. I've been calling this number all morning. I need to get it back.”

Shane Hollander speaks quickly and clearly, in a tone he didn't use yesterday. Ilya raises his eyebrows, moves the phone away from his face to check that he is still talking to the same person, and then brings it back to his mouth to answer.

"Yes, you left it in my car."

The other line falls completely silent. It almost seems as if the call was dropped, but when Ilya checks again, the contact "Hayden" is still there.

“Hello?”

"Shit, yeah, sorry. I forgot to take it with me after I left. How's your head? Sorry to bother you, but I need to get my phone back. It's really important that I have it."

Now Hollander's tone is clearly desperate, tinged with need. Not even on his worst days has Ilya ever begged anyone, much less a stranger he clearly doesn't get along with. Pfft, idiot. 

Above all, Ilya is an asshole. Svetlana tells him so constantly, his friends tell him so, strangers tell him so. It's an undeniable fact at this point in his life. It's not necessarily his philosophy of life, but it just happens. People wouldn't describe him as kind, but Ilya doesn't confront people for no reason either. He simply reacts to the context, and since Shane Hollander dared to be an imbecile, he needs to be treated as such.

Ilya would like to say that he has completely forgotten about the door thing and Hollander's awkward voice after he insisted on accompanying him home, but he has been thinking about the man and his despicable attitude more than ten times since he woke up.

Besides being an asshole, Ilya is vindictive. After all, he can't be that perfect.

Ilya slumps his weight back in the pilot's seat and stares at his fingernails with disinterest.

"Mmh, a big bother. I have a life, yes?" he says, and smiles sardonically even though the man can’t see him. Ilya could end the call right here and now, but something inside him wants to verify that what happened yesterday was real. “Unfortunately, I have very little free time in my busy schedule. I'm only available now. Take it or leave it.”

The silence is tentative and long, so long that he thinks Shane Hollander is going to tell him to fuck off, but it's finally broken by a sigh. Ilya ignores the pull he feels in the pit of his stomach.

“Okay. Someone can pick it up in an hour, or if you don't mind, you can drop it off now. I can give you my address.”

For someone who asked him to pretend yesterday never happened, the man has no survival instinct. Ilya could be a lunatic, or worse for him, a paparazzi.

To be realistic, Ilya can—should—let this go; he can return to his normal life, study for his next exam, and bring Svetlana her favorite snack. Forget he ever saw Shane Hollander's face and resume his routine as if nothing happened.

He can.

Ilya's not sure he wants to, though.

The evil part of his brain that wants to tell Hollander, in person, that he's an idiot wins, so when Ilya agrees to drop it off, Hollander gives him his address so easily it feels like a trap. 

Oh, one of them is definitely going to get fucked. Probably in a bad way. Hopefully in a goo—no. 

The address Hollander gave him corresponds to an apartment complex in Beverly Hills. It's a place he's only passed through in a flash, but Ilya is beginning to understand that all rich people live the same boring lives. Huge homes, dazzling gardens, their own staff inside the house. He can’t really pay attention to it because the mere thought of seeing Hollander again makes his hands sweat.

Not because Ilya cares, if he's honest. He once met a celebrity, some Hunter something, but Ilya didn't find him impressive at all. Besides, he already knows Hollander. Boring, douche Hollander. 

Ilya doesn't need to get worked up, and yet, he finds that his heart is racing at abnormal rates. Perhaps he really needs to sue the other man for neurological damage.

When Ilya gets out of the car after entering Hollander's personal parking lot—seriously, what the hell—the man is already waiting for him at the entrance. He's wearing a pristine black suit, without creases or wrinkles, that gleams dull under the parking lot lights. He looks impeccable, elegant, sensual.  Who the fuck dresses that well when they're at home?

It's a shame he's a loser because maybe, in another context, they could both have fun.

Ilya feels his mouth go dry and forces a smile.

“Hollander.”

The man raises his head and looks surprised, as if he hadn't just given him permission to enter a minute ago. 

Holy fucking shit.

Perhaps, in some small way, Ilya can understand Svetlana. Shane Hollander looks completely different under the bright lights of the place. He has a serious, captivating, and perfect face that justifies all the magazine covers his friend has forced him to look at. It's disconcerting to see someone so attractive, so much that Ilya feels his feet unsteady when he stops face to face with him.

Ilya needs to say something before he does something stupid like suck his dick in public. Not exactly public, but still. Ilya pulls the phone out of his pocket and holds it out to him.

"Here."

Hollander blinks.

"Hi, thanks. Thank you. And I'm sorry again about the door."

In person, his voice is much softer and huskier. He doesn't resemble the person who spoke to him on the phone earlier, nor the man who gives interviews about how much he loves his fans. Svetlana watches those at least twice a day. 

"Of course you should feel sorry," Ilya huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets and feigning a casual posture. Hollander's dark eyes follow his every move. "Just because you're famous doesn't mean you can hit other people without consequences."

"W-what? Of course not! It was an accident."

"Right."

"I swear, I had to get out of here fast, I didn’t– I'm sorry, really." Hollander's voice trails off desperately in the space they share. Ilya doesn't feel guilty; he deserves it for being an idiot. "I can make it up to you."

Ilya raises his eyebrows.

Shane Hollander has a light pink color running down his cheeks, sliding down his tanned neck. He's staring at him, chin held high, not in a defiant or confrontational way, but as if he wants to prove something. What exactly, Ilya has no idea, but his eyes…

Ilya knows that look. People often give him that look in bars, in coffees, in between classes. It's much more common now that he surrounds himself with young people as horny as he is, so Ilya has learned to recognize what they see in him: he's tall, handsome, broad with a distinct voice. Nobody really cares where Ilya is from, people just want to hear dirty words with a thick accent. And hey, he's all about community service.

Judging by the look the guy gives him, Shane Hollander could use that service. 

Ilya tilts his head.

"How are you going to do that?" 

He notices the man clench his fists and then release his hands at his sides. Nervous, then. Ilya suppresses a smirk.

"From our conversation yesterday, I assume you're not a fan, so I'm ruling out free tickets to my concert."

Svetlana is going to kill him, but Ilya wants to see how far Hollander will go. He shrugs.

"Yes, not a fan."

"Why not?"

"I'm not interested in boring music."

"You think music that achieved one of the highest number of streams in a single day in history is boring?"

"What are you, the president of your own fan club?”

So he's one of those arrogant artists. To a certain extent, that's fine; Ilya is all for being proud of what you do when it's worthwhile. He doesn't think the commercial music Shane Hollander makes is going to revolutionize the world, much less his own. 

When Ilya tells him this, the man snorts in disbelief.

"Whatever. One of my friends is having a party next Friday,” Hollander says. “You can invite your friend, the one who came to my concert, if you want. To make it up to you."

Ilya hides his disappointment at noticing that the blush on the man's cheeks has faded. What a shame. It gave a pleasant color to his freckles, the bridge of his nose, his eyes. Instead, Hollander looks annoyed. 

Ilya can't help but laugh.

"You are bad at criticism."

"What? Fuck you."

Hollander's face becomes much more hostile, but he doesn't look angry. His eyes remain fixed on him, open and honest. This is much better than blushing.

"Oh, that wasn't very family-friendly," Ilya sneers. "Don't you have ten-year-old girls at your concerts? What will their parents say?"

"You really don't know anything about me, huh?" Hollander shakes his head and takes a step forward. "I appreciate you keeping quiet about the accident, and thank you for bringing my phone. You can come to the party if you want, or not. I don't care."

It's obvious Hollander cares deeply, but Ilya chooses not to mention it. Instead, he runs his eyes over the man's body from head to toe, taking in the firmness of his shoulders, his large hands, and his wide hips. Fuck, it really is a shame.

Ilya sighs and takes another step forward. He notices how Hollander's throat moves as he swallows. 

"What if I don't want to come to the party? How else are you going to make it up to me?"

It's a risky move, but Ilya isn't exactly known for being cautious. Shane Hollander might be the most heterosexual celebrity alive, but his eyes tell a different story.

If there's even the slightest chance, Ilya's going to take it. He's just a man, after all.

“What's your name?”

Hollander's breath falls on his lips, a timid whisper. Ilya wants to laugh because he's been focusing on calling Hollander an idiot the whole time and he hasn't realized he's left out his name. Still, he doesn't intend to give in easily.

"Why?"

"Eh, because that's what normal people do."

"Are you a normal person, Hollander?" Ilya asks. When the man shakes his head in denial, he can smell his cologne again. It's the same scent as yesterday, but this time, up close, it's a little more intoxicating. "You look pretty ordinary to me."

"I've noticed."

Fuck, he’s hot. Ilya wants to get closer and closer until the man’s breathless, but he is not going to do anything unless he asks for it. He has the feeling Hollander is thinking the same thing when he leans in slightly, but then straightens up to face him.

“So. Your name.”

“Ilya Rozanov.”

Hollander's eyes widen slightly, but they don't shift their focus. They remain fixed on him, and although Ilya enjoys the attention, the way the man stares at him is unnerving. It's almost as if Hollander wants to know him. Ilya knows he doesn't; what could he and an idiot celebrity possibly have in common?

Ilya wants to back away, but then Hollander speaks again.

“Rozanov, do you want to come up to my apartment? I can offer you something for, um, the trouble of bringing me my phone."

Ilya smirks. He knows all the excuses in the ‘I want to have sex’ book—he doesn't really use them, Ilya prefers honesty—, but he didn't think the man needed them. Hollander could probably snap his fingers and have twenty gorgeous specimens lining up. Starting with Svetlana. 

Perhaps Hollander enjoys these kinds of games. Ilya would like to prolong this situation, maybe let the man beg a little, but the way Hollander is looking at him seems promising and he doesn't want to take any chances. Besides, if Svetlana were aware of this, she would force him to accept.

On behalf of his friend—because he's that committed—and himself, Ilya nods.

"It's the least you can do,” he says with the most serious expression he can muster.

"Woah, why are you being an asshole?"

"I've heard that before, you're nothing special." Ilya sticks his tongue and blows a raspberry. Then, he gestures to the elevator. "Lead the way."

During the walk to his apartment, Hollander stays silent. He opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he wants to say something to break the silence, but Ilya ignores him in favour of observing everything around him. Hollander fails to mention that his apartment is the penthouse of the building, so when the elevator doors open directly into the living room, Ilya can't help but whistle.

“Damn. This singing career pays well.”

Hollander nods and crosses his arms beside him.

“I’ve been in the industry for a couple of years, I know how to save.”

Ilya laughs.

“I can see that. So what, your backup career is real estate?”

It's a spacious apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows and furniture that looks brand new. Ilya doesn't care much for luxury—he's never been surrounded by it, nor does he have any interest in having it—but he can't help being impressed.

When he looks at Hollander, his confused gaze finds him.

“Backup career?”

"When your career as a musician is over, I mean."

Unlike other times, Ilya isn't trying to be rude. He understands how things are around here; nobody lasts very long or has such a prolific career for so many years. It's a genuine question, so Hollander's offended expression throws him off.

“My music career isn’t going to end. Never.”

Against his will, Ilya swallows hard. What on earth is wrong with Hollander? The man speaks in an intense, reverent tone, his movements conveying absolute certainty, a tranquility that only complete self-confidence can provide. He knows what he's saying is impossible, but Ilya believes him. 

He nods once and looks around.

"Right. What do you want to do, Hollander?"

In the light of his apartment, Hollander doesn't seem nervous at all. Combined with the background, Hollander and the situation all seem very real. A vivid nightmare, an impossible dream. Ilya struggles to process that he's in the home of the man who has possessed all the electronics in his house for months. Not his refrigerator because it's not that modern, but Svetlana still has a picture of Hollander taped to it. 

Ilya’s fingers itch to do something more tangible, but the man seems to have other ideas. Hollander rolls up his sleeves and moves towards the kitchen, a large open space that connects to the living room.

“I thought I could make you dinner, as a thank you.”

“Do you always do this, Hollander?”

“Not really. I actually don’t know how—”

“Hook up with strangers,” Ilya clarifies. His voice echoes satisfactorily in the empty apartment, and when Hollander is clearly startled, he smiles curiously. “Or do you only do this with your fans and you’re making an exception for me?”

Hollander presses his lips into a thin line and places both hands on the kitchen counter. They are large, with thick, long fingers. Ilya fleetingly wonders what they are capable of.

"I don't do this with my fans."

"Only strangers, then."

This becomes an obvious statement and translates Hollander's intentions on the same level as he expects, so almost immediately Ilya feels heat slowly rising through his limbs. Wow, he's really lucky. Hollander is a hot, strong guy with a firm ass. Ilya can't wait to squeeze it between his fingers and see what sounds the man makes.

Hollander's voice makes him look up.

"What about you? You sleep with strangers?"

"Oh, all the time. I like hot women and idiotic men. I'm here, aren't I? And I'm not that hungry, if I'm honest. Not for food, at least." 

The adorable blush returns to Hollander's cheeks. They probably do his makeup like that for photoshoots, or at least they should. Ilya will look into it later.

"How do I know you won't talk to the press after this, Rozanov?"

"What, afraid I'll tell everyone you're bad in bed?" Ilya teases, slowly moving toward the man. When Hollander doesn't back down, he tilts his head and looks him up and down. "All publicity is good publicity, they say."

"Are you saying you'll tell everyone about this?"

"Oh, Hollander, when I'm done with you, you will be telling everyone about this."

Hollander grimaces as if the idea seems ridiculous to him. Oh, Ilya can't wait to prove him wrong.

Ilya likes sex because it's fun. He finds it entertaining to watch people melt between his fingers, the unbearable heat surrounding them, and the pleasurable sounds exploding in his ears. It's enjoyable and a playful way to pass the time, especially when Ilya is doing it with hot people.

It's especially intoxicating when he does it with people like Hollander. The man doesn't back down when Ilya gets close enough to circle the counter and stops behind him. He can see his ragged breathing and the nervous movement of his fingers, but Hollander keeps his head held high and proud. 

Fuck, this is going to be the most fun he's had in a long time.

"Was this your plan, Hollander?" Ilya asks, his voice husky and deep. His warm fingers close over the other man's, his thumbs brushing his knuckles. "Did you expect this?"

"Not really," Hollander replies, flexing his fingers to catch Ilya’s as if they were holding hands. His grip is surprisingly firm. Ilya's dick twitches. "I don't know what this is, if I'm being honest, but I guess I want it."

A thrill runs down Ilya’s spine. He hides it by clicking his tongue.

“You guess? What a way to make a man feel desired."

Hollander doesn't respond, at least not with words. He moves away from the kitchen counter and pulls Ilya toward the living room sofa. His steps are purposeful, and when they both sit down on the comfortable surface, Ilya laughs.

"You're not as boring as I thought."

"I'm not boring." Hollander frowns and lets go of his hand. Ilya watches him diligently take off his jacket and place it over the back of the sofa. Then, Hollander turns and moves even closer until their thighs are pressed together. "How do you want to do this, Rozanov?" 

Hollander's movements are clumsy, but his interest in him is evident. Even so, when Ilya leans his head close to his ear, he waits for the man to nod almost imperceptibly before placing a kiss on his cheek. Then, Ilya moves his head, letting his nose brush against his neck. Damn, his perfume smells even more incredible up close. Ilya wants to swim in it.

"Well, I like to please," Ilya murmurs in his ear, making sure to feel the shiver run through Hollander's body. "I don't know what kind of things celebrities like, but if you don’t know, we can try to figure it out. Treat me like I'm your sugar baby, maybe?"

"Please stop."

"Fine. Master, would you like to—?"

"Oh my god, shut up."

"Okay, no master then. Oh, daddy, suck me harder, har—"

Hollander flips Ilya onto his back, pinning his arms above his head and gazing insistently down at him. His hands grip him firmly and he can feel Hollander’s cock hardening in his pants against his ass. Ilya's breath catches in his throat.

"Shut the fuck up, Rozanov."

Hollander's eyes sparkle like thousands of constellations in the dark. He's really impossibly beautiful. Ilya can't help but laugh.

"Okay, then no names. What do you like in bed?"

“Actually, I—” Hollander inhales sharply, his eyebrow twitching in a familiar way, letting go of his arms to absentmindedly scratch his forehead. He’s nervous. “I’m not a virgin, but—being famous, I don’t usually have time to sleep around.”

“Ah, so that’s why you go around slamming doors on people.”

“Fuck off.”

Ilya laughs again and lowers his hands to Hollander’s hips, caressing them with his thumb. The man has a spectacular body: muscular, dynamic, and incredibly sensual. Ilya doesn’t understand Hollander’s perspective. In his opinion, being famous is definitely the best way to get laid. Still, he can be magnanimous from time to time; he has slept with people before who bite off more than they can chew, so Ilya never backs down from a challenge.

“It’s okay, you can lie down. I'll take care of everything else,” Ilya whispers, lifting his face to place a kiss on the crook of Hollander's neck. His arms tremble, but the man stays on top of him. "Trust me."

It occurs to him that it's stupid to ask that when neither of them knows each other. When Hollander nods, Ilya exhales as if he'd been punched.

Oh.

He knows nothing about Hollander except that he's a singer and that he's the object of everyone's affections. Not his, but Ilya's mature enough to recognize that there's something about Hollander that intrigues him.

Despite being unaware of his heartbeat pattern, Ilya has managed to discover certain things about the man in the last twenty-four hours. Hollander apologizes excessively and he is a nervous person, which doesn't seem to be the personality he projects to the world. It's almost like holding a secret in his hands, and even if this only happens once, Ilya is always good in bed. Others recognize his ability to identify what they need, and although Hollander seems inexperienced—which is still a surprise—Ilya will take advantage of every minute Hollander's willing to give him.

"I'll be gentle," Ilya murmurs, wrapping an arm around the man's waist to change positions. Hollander falls onto the sofa with a muffled groan. “Don’t worry.”

"You don't need to be careful, I'm fine."

"Okay, rough then. You want me to fuck you hard, Hollander?"

Ilya runs his fingers along Hollander's profile and stops them above his lips. When the man opens his mouth to say something, Ilya slides two fingers between Hollander's lips. He pushes them in, gliding firmly over his tongue. Ilya's breath catches when Hollander's eyes roll back and he moans.

Fuck. 

Ilya buries his face in Hollander's neck, caressing it with his tongue before doing something foolish like kissing him. He doesn't have many rules when it comes to casual sex, but Ilya prefers to avoid kissing on the mouth. Some people get too carried away, and that way Ilya can set boundaries without closing off other opportunities.

"Oh, fuck, Rozanov," Hollander moans as he bites his chin, pressing his hands firmly against his back. Ilya needs him to touch his skin now. "Could you—?"

Hollander seems to read his thought because his hands travel down to Ilya's waist and venture under his shirt. The man has soft, warm, and burning hands that linger from the small of his back to his neck. When Ilya mimics his action and touches his exposed hips, Hollander digs his nails into his back and grunt.

"Why the fuck are you wearing a suit?" Ilya gasps, losing his temper slightly when he can't open the man's shirt. He needs to rip that damn thing off Hollander now. "Is it part of your celebrity persona?"

"It's not a persona, I am a celebrity."

"Now who's the asshole?"

Hollander laughs, and the sound echoes against his skin. Ilya bites his neck again and, losing patience, he pulls at the man’s shirt with both hands until the buttons give way and the man's bare chest is revealed before his eyes.

Oh, Ilya can definitely understand Svetlana now.

Hollander stares at him, bewildered, but doesn't stop him when Ilya collapses against the burning skin of his torso and traces a path with his tongue down to his belly. Hollander tastes of sweat and arousal. Sweet. Irresistible. Ilya hears the man gasp as he positions his thigh between his legs, and Hollander immediately grinds down against it. He notices how hard the man is and his own cock jumps in his pants.

Ilya needs to touch him or he's going to die.

"Fuck you, I liked that shirt," Hollander says in a whisper, bringing his hands to Ilya’s head. The tips of his fingers caress Ily’s hair like a river, in fluid and unstoppable movements.

Ilya smirks, pretending that the air is not escaping him at an anxious speed, and bites the man’s side.

"Too bad. Can I suck your dick?"

The shaky breath that Hollander lets out reverberates through each bone in his body. His response is a trembling nod and the rolling of his hips to meet Ilya's.

Ilya thinks Hollander is going to kill him. He hasn't felt this horny since high school, and the muffled sighs and moans Hollander starts to make when he finally opens his pants and Ilya takes his cock in his mouth doesn't help. Maybe it's the soft ache when Hollander's dick slide thick and heavy down his throat, or the other man's eyes, wet with lust, that open a little wider when Ilya breathes deeply and lets his mouth sink down the length.

He has no idea, but it's the best blowjob of his life. And Ilya's not even the one receiving it.

Ilya has never seen a cock this gorgeous before in his life. It doesn't surprise him; Hollander has everything else to match. From his firm, tanned thighs to the erotic sounds escaping his throat. Ilya wants to hear more of it, again and again, louder.

When he looks at Hollander's face, the man's eyes are tightly closed and his brow is furrowed, his mouth slightly open. Ilya has the urge to slip his tongue in and find out what his moans sound like against his lips, but he settles for bobbing his head up and down to suck Hollander’s dick the best he knows how.

He wants the man to be thinking about this for weeks. Ilya knows he will.

Hollander’s breath stutters out into a long moan and digs his hands into his hair as he cums. Ilya never takes his eyes off him; it's the greatest thing he's ever seen or felt. The last spurts of cum land on Ilya's tongue and he makes sure to swallow every drop, licking Hollander's dick between sounds so obscene that he feels like he's going to faint.  

Ilya is so hard it hurts.

As Hollander's chest begins to rise and fall at a normal rate, Ilya caresses his skin until he reaches his face. He is beautifully disheveled and his eyes are wide open, staring intently at him. Ilya can feel Hollander suck in air as Ilya brings his face close. At this distance, the man looks even more handsome, untouchable. Perhaps that's what his fame is all about, but Ilya has never cared about such things. He chooses to believe in the trembling in Hollander's hands as they rest on his shoulders, drawing him closer.

Ilya places a kiss on his chest.

“You have perfect tits. Has anyone told you that?” Ilya asks, enjoying the color that floods Hollander's cheeks. “Oh, you’re blushing.” 

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not exactly calm either.”

Ilya’s gut tightens when the man's hand wanders between their bodies down to his pants.

He gasps as Hollander puts his hand inside his pants and wraps it around his cock. He knows he won't last long, but Ilya is too turned on to care. His skin is burning hot and Hollander’s ragged breathing hits his ear, drowning out everything else.

"You're good at this," Hollander admits. "Do you have a lot of practice?"

His voice sounds a little worn out and agitated, and Ilya can't help but imagine what it would sound like after he fucks him. 

"I'm in college and I have an foreign accent. I'm basically you with, ah, less money," Ilya moans as Hollander increases the pressure on his cock and then releases it. "I have enough experience."

"From Russia, right?" Hollander says, and they both grunt as Ilya raises his hips to increase the friction against the man's hand. "I managed to catch a few words."

"When?"

"When you were sucking me off."

Ilya hadn't realized he was speaking Russian, probably concentrating on the delicious sounds that flowed from Hollander's mouth. Now he's not concentrating on the words either, because he prefers to watch the man's blood-filled lips move around them.

Ilya doesn't feel able to answer when Hollander pulls his hand out of his pants, spits on it, and puts it back in. Holy shit. Immediately, the man settles into a rhythm that makes the delicious friction a one-way trip. Ilya closes his eyes and grunts, fucking Hollander's hand with uneven thrusts. 

Ilya needs Hollander closer. He needs the man to turn around and let him fuck him against the huge window overlooking the bustling city. At vertiginous speed, Ilya imagines thousands of different scenarios as he moves harder, faster, gripping tight and desperately to Hollander’s arm. The man breathing is erratic against his mouth, which at some point has come close enough to overwhelm him. 

Hollander doesn't kiss him, but it's close. Ilya feels his heart stop as he imagines him headfirst on the bed, ass in the air, begging him to fuck him. A trail of saliva falls from Hollander’s open lips directly into Ilya's mouth and he grunts so loudly that his throat hurts. Fuck everything, he needs him to kiss him. He needs him to—

When Ilya cums, all he can perceive are Hollander's infinite and mesmerizing eyes staring at him.

It's an out-of-body, all-consuming, and suffocating experience. It's the hardest he's ever cum; Ilya loses all sense of himself, and just for a moment, he wants Hollander to lie on top of him and melt his body into his. The man continues, panting, stroking his cock until the sensation overwhelms him and Ilya has to hold onto his strong arms. Hollander removes his hand from his pants and licks the fluid between his fingers, running his tongue over them.

What the fuck. 

When his breathing calms down and the sounds of the world return to his ears, Ilya straightens up and immediately misses the warmth of Hollander's body. The man is still slightly flushed and has a red mark on his collarbone. Ilya moistens his lips with his tongue.

"Not so bad for a virgin."

"I'm not a virgin," Hollander replies, frowning. "I've had sex before."

The image of Hollander, naked and yearning, amidst grunts and gasps that aren't meant for him, throws Ilya off balance a little, so he laughs. A good orgasm always makes him a bit crazy. Chemicals in his brain and all that.

When a moment of silence passes, Hollander mimics his posture beside him and raises his eyebrows.

"What are you studying?"

Ilya tilts his head for a moment, confused, but then he remembers their earlier conversation, when Hollander had his hand in his pants. This makes him glance at the man's crotch, bulging and suggestive beneath the fabric of his trousers.

"Psychology," Ilya replies distractedly, moving his hand to the man's thigh. He gestures towards the space between his legs and smiles provocatively. "Want help with that?"

Hollander blinks, blushes again, and unzips his pants.

Best day of my fucking life.

When the hour passes, Ilya's jaw hurts as he takes the glass of water that Hollander offers him before leaving his apartment. He'd never been very interested in blowjobs, not when he is not at the end of them, but something in Hollander's pleading, dreamy eyes compelled him to get on his knees again.

Because of that, he spends the rest of the afternoon caressing every surface of Hollander's skin with his lips, who moves restlessly beneath his mouth and moans with pleasurable sounds. It's so addictive, so much, that he finds it hard to get up from the sofa and say that he has to leave. Now, the sky is already dark and he has heard his phone vibrate at least ten times, with likely messages from Svetlana complaining about his strange disappearance after the cryptic message he left her saying he would arrive later.

Ilya closes his jacket and looks at Hollander, who stares at him with an expression he can’t decipher.

"If every time you screw things up you end up like this, you must have an exciting life, Hollander," Ilya says lightly. "I take back what I said about you being boring."

The man nods once, but doesn't seem to register his words. His eyebrow twitches in that familiar movement Ilya now recognizes as anxiety, so he sighs.

"I won't tell anyone about this, don't worry," Ilya forces out, his voice a little strangled. He hopes it sounds as sincere as he feels. "I don't care that you're a celebrity.  If you were bad in bed, I'd tell you. Not to the press or the internet. You. And maybe to Svetlana.”

Ilya does his best to ignore the burning, warm sensation that arises deep within his insides when Hollander laughs. 

“Right, your friend. Does she really put up with your bullshit?”

"She's your fan, I put up with her bullshit."

Hollander shakes his head, clearly more relaxed than before, and Ilya inhales deeply. Perhaps this is the last time he'll see the man, at least this close, which is a shame because Ilya would really like to hear his ragged breathing again. And to fuck him against the window. And in bed. 

"You can still bring her to my friend’s party," Hollander says suddenly, in an amused tone. "We can ignore this incident and pretend I haven't compensated you yet."

"Ouch, 'incident.' Was it really that bad?"

Ilya pretends to be hurt and puts a hand over his heart. Hollander laughs again, and it's such a harmonious sound that it resonates through the corridors of Ilya’s mind, flooding every empty space.

"No, but I still think you should bring your friend. She's a fan, isn't she?"

“Ah, you want to fuck her.”

To say that Hollander's expression is scandalized is an understatement. 

“What? Of course not.”

Ilya laughs.

“Okay, then. You want to fuck me.”

Hollander doesn't respond and takes a step forward. He has that adorable blush again, darkening his freckles and highlighting his eyes. Ilya has to look it up online to see if the guy's a model because it's impossible he isn't. A waste, really.

"If you go to the party, we could analyze it."

"Analyze it. I'm sure your conquests are swooning over you and your complicated words."

"You're a college student, suck it up."

"I never said I didn't like complicated words."

For the first time in a long time, Ilya feels a genuine connection with the jerk in front of him. It's definitely the hormone rush. Hollander tilts his head and gives him a small, private smile. Maybe it's been a long time since Ilya's had sex and he needs another orgasm to shake off the feeling. Probably. Whatever.

"Okay, I'm leaving," Ilya says, not wanting to prolong this any further. He doesn't want the situation to get confused; it's not like him to behave this way. "See you around. I'm not promising you I'll appear, but maybe miracles do happen. Who knows."

"Yeah, who kno—wait, how will you know where or when it is?"

"I have my ways. Don't get your hopes up, though."

Ilya winks at Hollander, who looks at him with a confused expression, but doesn't elaborate. He needs to get out of this fucking apartment now or he's going to explode.

Before the elevator doors close in his face, Ilya hears Hollander's soft, crystalline voice say,

"Goodbye, Rozanov."

Every day of the following week, Ilya dreams of Hollander's dark eyes haunting him in every corner of his mind.

Ilya is furious.

He's had a shitty week. He twisted his ankle running on Monday; on Tuesday it rained more than expected and all his notes were ruined on his way home; on Wednesday Svetlana lost her key and he had to pay a damn locksmith because Ilya had already lost his own key three days earlier; and on Thursday he met up with Julia to fuck and forget the nagging thoughts that kept him awake at night, but the woman's eyes were too light and her hair too blonde.

So he's furious. Enraged, even. Ilya feels like he's three seconds away from screaming every moment that passes, and as always, everything conspires against him because he sees Shane Hollander's face everywhere.

It's stupid, really. Ilya doesn't know if he was deliberately ignoring it before or if the world decided to make him even more famous overnight, but it seems he can't escape him. 

Shane Hollander is on the giant billboard outside his college. Shane Hollander is on the cover of the magazine they sell on the way to his apartment. Shane Hollander is on the radio promoting his upcoming single.

Shane fucking Hollander.

The whole thing has become ridiculous, psychotic. Ilya can't quite understand why he's so angry—usually, after a good orgasm, he feels a pleasurable tingling for days—but it's easier to give in to the bad mood than to figure out why.

Troy certainly disagrees.

"Man, if you don't stop making that face, I'm going to have to hit you."

Ilya ignores his friend and pretends to listen to the lecture he should have finished twenty minutes ago, but Shane Hollander's videos keep interrupting his social media feed and he can't help but watch them. The library is practically empty, so Ilya isn't worried about someone looking over his shoulder and discovering him watching videos of the most boring man on the planet.

Because, according to all the research Ilya’s done online, the man deserves that title.

When he left Hollander’s penthouse exactly a week ago, Ilya decided he was going to appreciate this experience for what it was: an experience. It's not every day he gets to sleep with a celebrity, but it's not exactly the highlight of his life either. He wasn't going to attend the party because it didn't really make sense for him, so Ilya decided to investigate Hollander for fun instead, just to see what the hell all the fuss was about.

Worst mistake of his fucking life.

Apparently, Shane Hollander is a big deal. The website that lists all his achievements is two pages long and ends with "among others." Grammy Record-Breaker. Songwriter Hall of Fame. Highest-Grossing Tour Ever. Billboard 200 Milestone. Like what the actual fuck. Ilya spent hours reviewing all the available information about a seemingly historical man, who, to his surprise, does not only make music for teenagers, but also has a wide repertoire.

Ilya wants to say that it's not impressive, but he can't stop reading all the information that the internet provides. It's an interesting contrast, especially when Ilya's mind relives the image of the man cumming in his mouth over and over again.

Shane Hollander, the musical phenomenon, is a polite, proper, and highly inspirational man.

Ilya does not know that person. 

Now, after spending all week reading about him, Ilya has turned to his digital archive. Hollander has thousands of interviews, of all kinds and lengths, all with millions of views and comments that make him laugh out loud. 

If people thought of Ilya that way, he would be swimming in beautiful bodies and lustful faces. That's why he can't help but relive every word Hollander said to him, from how he didn't have time to sleep with others to his anxious expression when he asked him not to talk about what they did with other people.

It's obvious that if Ilya were to come out and say he had sex with Shane Hollander, the internet would explode. He doesn't know if it would be in a good or bad way, but Ilya's sure he doesn’t want to find out.

"I'm focused on my music right now," Hollander says in the interview, looking directly into the camera. He uses that same voice he used when he called him to ask for his phone. "I don't have time for a relationship, but I appreciate the endless love from my fans."

Ilya rolls his eyes and opens the comments, which jump off the screen as if they were a hundred Svetlanas.

@wopy261

shane's voice is so addicting, in his songs and even when he’s just talking!

@eliknowsbest

i have been a shane fan for 7 years and he is so incredibly sweet, talented, and gorgeous. i love him so so much THATS MY BABY

@edroberston4541

his face card is lethalll

@romlandscape

I love how bright Shane is about things. Sometimes I wish I was his friend or his girlfriend or his rug

@hollandertits6

HE’S SO SEXYYY FUUUUCKKKK

@meetmeatmidnight77

He is so down to earth and sweet and we should stop speculating about the drama between him and Scott Hunter, it must be annoying for him…

Ilya raises his eyebrows at the sight of that familiar name, but he doesn't have time to open another tab in his browser because Troy bounces a balled-up piece of notepaper off Ilya's face.

"I'm talking to you, shithead," Troy complains, and when he makes a move to look at his computer screen, Ilya slams it shut. His friend throws up his hands in defeat. "Hey, I'm not interested in seeing your new girlfriend. I just want you to listen to me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"About your face. You had the stupidest grin I've ever seen on you, which definitely means a girl. Or a guy. Did you already fuck Robert?"

Troy smiles that probing smile that says he wants to get under his skin, but Ilya knows the drill. He invented it, in fact, so he crosses his arms and grinds even wider.

"Why? Did you give up on chasing Harris?"

“Ha, ha, fuck you,” Troy snarls, slamming his messy notes shut. “I was telling you that I got invited to a party on the rich side of town. Maybe it’s your chance to fuck a millionaire.”

Hollander's eyes snap back to his mind like a whip and Ilya straightens up.

"Who invited you?"

"Some guy who's hooking up with Harris."

Troy seems indifferent to his own words, but Ilya has seen him crying outside a party after Harris left with someone else. Troy can't fool him. His friend has been in love with the guy since freshman year of college, and although he knows Troy is trying his best to pretend he's not interested, Ilya can see he's more hurt than he's willing to admit. 

It's not his business anyway. Ilya is too busy trying to escape Hollander's ghostly moans in his ear.

"Yeah, no thanks. I have an exam next week."

"We both do, dude. That doesn't mean we can't have some fun. I invited Svetlana and Jackie too. Come on, today is Friday, don't be a wimp. Or do you have something else in mind?"

Now, Ilya absolutely has to go. If he doesn't go to that stupid party, it would mean admitting he's become obsessed with a man he can't have. Not that Ilya's obsessed with Hollander, no. Not at all. He's not interested in the way Hollander pretends to be the reincarnation of a saint or the polite celebrity he's supposed to be.

Ilya's interested in making him cum between his fingers, between his legs, against the bed. But that's not going to happen. 

"I'll go if you shut your idiot face," Ilya reluctantly agrees. 

He listens to Troy celebrating silently, rolls his eyes and reopens his laptop. Immediately, Hollander's frozen face appears. Ilya feigns concentration and presses play on the video.

"Would you like to have a partner?" asks the interviewer's voice off-camera.

"Who wouldn't?" Hollander laughs, but it's an unfamiliar sound. Ilya realizes that every move the man makes is calculated. "It's important to have companionship and good relationships; it makes us better people."

Damn bastard. Hollander seems relaxed, calm, and completely in control of the conversation. Ilya doesn't know how much of the interview is genuine, but he's still surprised by Hollander's ability to deflect the conversation.

At the end of the video, Hollander winks and Ilya forces himself to close the video tab. Enough internet for today.

Ilya and Troy spend the rest of the morning studying without speaking, and when lunchtime arrives, Svetlana accompanies them to a cafe with a blue-eyed girl who keeps staring at Ilya.

Ilya can't stop looking at the photograph of Hollander on Svetlana's phone case.

"Do you have to have him there?" Ilya snarls, biting into his burger angrily.

Svetlana laughs, knowing exactly what Ilya means.

"Yeah, he goes everywhere with me."

"Who are you talking about?" the girl next to his friend asks in a high-pitched voice.

Her name's Kerry, maybe. Or Kathy. Ilya wasn't listening the first time Svetlana introduced them, but she seems like a nice girl. Ilya glances again at Hollander's insufferable smile on his friend's phone.

"He's talking about Shane," Svetlana says with a mocking smile. "His arch-nemesis."

"He's nothing to me. I'm not five years old."

"Ooh, look at him, so nonchalant and superior to the rest of us mortals."

"I think he's hot," Troy says, even though no one asked for his opinion. Ilya rolls his eyes. "He's got... something. Maybe it's his pecs."

"Did you see they made him a Calvin Klein ambassador?" the girl adds, officially becoming his arch-nemesis too. "I think I'll pre-order his underwear line."

This is definitely hell. Ilya's lips burn at the memory of Hollander's skin beneath them, of his cock sliding into his mouth. And now Hollander's going to be in ads all over Los Angeles practically naked? Kill me. 

Maybe Ilya did something wrong in his past life. Or in this one. Or the next. Even so, nothing justifies this level of torture. Today he'll drink his weight in the cheapest alcohol he can find so he'll never think again of Hollander's real laugh, so different from the one in the video he saw. 

"Hey, do you think Callaghan's going to be a jerk and ask questions about the book no one's read?" Troy groans suddenly, effectively changing the subject. 

No one mentions Hollander again for the rest of lunch, but Ilya still thinks he hears his voice in the background noise of the cafeteria.

Harris's supposed lover's party—Troy's words, not Ilya's—is at a three-story club with a neon sign and an impossible crowd. Everyone around him seems stuck-up and rich, but Ilya doesn't turn down free invitations. The problem is that alcohol isn't and Svetlana has been dancing for an hour with Jackie, so Ilya is stuck with Kerry. Kelly. Keithlyn. 

"It must be difficult," the girl says, placing one of her pale hands on his shoulder, "being so far from Russia. You must miss it. Say something to me in your language."

Ilya sighs. He doesn't have to be a jerk to the girl because he's the one who's had a terrible week, so he forces himself to utter a flattering phrase in Russian even though Kelly doesn't understand him.

"Oh, that was very sensual. You're amazing, Ilya. I've seen you at Troy’s games, and I find it incredible that you don't play rugby anymore, because you have spectacular shoulders. And I always say that…"

The woman's voice blends into the loud music and conversations around him, so Ilya takes a sip of his soda—damn Troy who left him as the designated driver just because he wants to spend the night getting drunk and chasing Harris—and nods occasionally to make the girl think he's listening.

After much deliberation, Ilya concludes that he's angry with Hollander. Because of him, Ilya can't play along with the woman in front of him, nor can he return the flirtatious comments the bartender has been making since Ilya sat down at the bar.

So yeah, Ilya's fucked. Maybe Hollander lied to him and he's always sleeping with strangers to steal their life force or something. In repeated comments on his videos, his fans call him a "sex god." It's hard to imagine an eager man like Hollander in that position—though Ilya agrees he looks damn good moaning to fit that description—but maybe it was all an act.

Perhaps Hollander is experienced and lied to his face. Perhaps Ilya is going crazy. 

Who the fuck know, really. He just wants to get drunk.

"Ilya!" Jackie shouts over the music, approaching him. She's holding onto the arm of a guy with blue eyes and a stupid smile. "Look, I want to introduce you to someone."

Jackie is a physiotherapy student two years older than him. She has boundless energy, a raucous laugh, and an athletic build, which is why Svetlana once tried to seduce her, without much success. Now they both laugh when they remember it, and Ilya can enjoy her company because the woman is amazing.

"This is Hayden," Jackie says, throwing her arms around the man’s neck with obvious excitement. "Hayden, this is Ilya Rozanov, my friend."

Ilya looks him up and down to make sure he's not a disappointment, but the man's eyes are fixed on Jackie with the same goofy grin from before. Ah, love. That's the kind of reaction Jackie evokes in people. He prays the man doesn't get his hopes up; Jackie tends to change her mind quickly.

"Nice to meet you," says the man, Hayden, still without looking at him. "Jackie, let's dance."

He seems like an idiot, but Ilya isn't going to blame him because it might just be a projection of his own bad mood. When Jackie gives him a loud kiss on the mouth and drags him back to the dance floor, Ilya turns to look at Svetlana's friend.

"Jackie is funny," the woman exclaims immediately, but her expression says otherwise. "Do you like her?"

Ilya refrains from rolling his eyes.

"Yes, she's my friend."

"Really? How much do you like her?"

Ilya loses patience and is about to tell her not to meddle in matters that don't concern her, when a movement behind Keitlyn distracts him. It's a man with black hair and a loose t-shirt who orders a ginger ale from the bartender. He has his back to Svetlana's friend, but when he turns around for a moment to take his order, Ilya sees him.

It's Shane Hollander.

Immediately, Ilya sits up straight and cranes his neck to follow his movements as he disappears into the crowd. Fuck, he looks spectacular. Beautiful and dazzling. Shit. What the hell is Hollander doing in a place like this? Then he remembers.

“My friend is having a party next Friday.”

Of course. Ilya is at the party Hollander had originally invited him to, and because fate hates him, it puts Ilya in the same place to reinforce that idea. Fate. It's an intriguing concept he doesn't believe in, but when he feels a tingle of anticipation, Ilya reconsiders. What are the chances of being in the same place as Hollander, in a city as big as Los Angeles? 

He has no idea, but Ilya needs to find out.

Ilya leaves the woman talking alone and pushes through the crowd to find Hollander. Away from the bar, the lights dim and a red shadow predominates, blending all the faces and bodies moving on the dance floor. Even so, among the sea of strangers, Ilya can locate Shane Hollander as if a ray of light pierced the ceiling and the darkness of the night.

The man is surrounded by people Ilya doesn't recognize, and although he isn't speaking, he participates in the conversation by nodding. Hollander is wearing a dark t-shirt and his hair is styled back in a way Ilya has never seen before. He holds in his hands a glass of ginger ale, which he casually drinks while his friends talk loudly amid laughter.

Fuck, he looks cute.

Ilya doesn't know how long he stands watching him interact with others, but the moment Hollander seems to apologize and stands up to go somewhere more secluded, Ilya follows him.

When Hollander enters the club's bathroom, Ilya takes a deep breath and waits a few seconds. He can't quite put his finger on what he wants amidst a stream of heightened, confused thoughts, but Ilya can only tell he wants to see Hollander, at least for a moment. Touch him, with a bit of luck. Breathe near his neck again. Ilya needs to know if he smells the same as he did a week ago, if he's real and not that fabricated persona he projects in all the interviews Ilya watched obsessively.

As he pushes the door open, Ilya finds Hollander washing his hands. The man immediately looks at him, a mix of emotions flooding his face, but then he manages a small, shy smile.

"Hey, Rozanov. You're here."

Fuck. Ilya's mind is completely blank, so he takes a step closer to him and nods.

Hollander doesn't seem as surprised as he feels. Had he already seen Ilya at the bar? Perhaps he knew he was there since Ilya arrived. Why didn't he approach him sooner? A dizzying whirlwind crosses his mind, leaving him with only the desire to raise his hand and touch’s Hollander face. It is then that Ilya realizes he is wearing eyeliner.

"You look pretty," Ilya says before he can stop himself. Then he clears his throat. "Nice eyeliner."

"Fuck you," Hollander laughs, and it's that sound he knows. Half air, half sound, completely genuine. "I don't like the feeling of makeup, but a friend made me wear it. She makes us all wear it when we go out dancing, really."

Ilya hums and looks at Hollander's features. It's obvious that they retouch certain things in his interviews, but he can't help but notice that his skin looks exactly the same in person as it does in the commercials. Perfect Hollander.

"I thought you weren't coming," Hollander adds when the silence stretches out and Ilya has spent too much time watching him. "I'm impressed you made it."

"It was not planned. It was a coincidence. A friend invited me to this party."

"Oh."

Hollander makes a face and shakes his head as if to deny it, but Ilya is distracted by his scent. It's a different smell than the other day; he’s using a perfume. It smells clean and a little woody, but Ilya can still detect the scent of Hollander's skin.

Ilya takes another step forward and Hollander does not back down.

"So you weren't coming, then?" the man murmurs in the space they share.

When Ilya meets his eyes—dark, endless, and striking—, he feels a familiar warmth spread through his body. It's bubbling and vibrant, heralding his arousal. So Hollander hasn't stolen his life force, his ability to feel horny. Good for him. Still, Ilya has no desire to return to the bar to seduce Svetlana's friend.

He feels possessed by Hollander's gaze.

"Not really," Ilya admits, because honesty is the only policy he knows how to handle. "But I wanted to."

Hollander makes a confused noise.

"What wouldn't let you?"

Ilya has always been transparent when it comes to sex. He doesn't like it when others get their hopes up about things Ilya would never give, and he doesn't understand the pleasure some people get from faking love when it doesn't exist. 

Ilya likes the people he fucks and he likes that they know it.

“You drive me insane,” Ilya murmurs, closing the space between them until his face is next to Hollander’s ear. The man immediately tilts his head, giving him access to his long, tanned neck. “And I think I like it.”

He avoids mentioning that perhaps he likes him a little too much, but Ilya omits it because he's sure it's the circumstances. He's been bombarded with images and information about Hollander all week, even in his dreams, and hasn't been able to touch him once. In a normal situation, Ilya would have fucked the man in every way he could, but now he's had to settle for his imagination.

When he places a fleeting kiss on his neck, Ilya curses that this isn't a normal situation. Hollander's skin is warm, fiery, and inviting. 

"Is that a bad thing?" Hollander's voice sounds strangled, a little choked.

"Not for me. For you, maybe."

It's definitely a bad thing for him too because Ilya has never wanted to touch anyone that much. He kisses his neck again and listens to Hollander's breath catch in his throat. It's a thousand times better than the memories that had mingled desperately with his imagination. Ilya wants more.

Hollander tilts his head back to look at him, and Ilya's heart stops for a moment. The man has a beautiful face, without a doubt.

"You think...?"

At that moment, the bathroom door bursts open and Hollander backs away from him with such force that Ilya freezes. The man who appears is someone he's seen before, he’s Jackie's new love interest.

"Oh, there you are," the man gasps, but he isn't talking to Ilya. He stares directly at Hollander, his eyes wide. "The entrance is full of big men with even bigger cameras."

"Oh, fuck," Hollander says immediately, an anxious expression swallowing up any pleasantness they might have shared moments before. Then he looks at Ilya and says again, "Oh, fuck."

The man who has just appeared seems to notice Ilya’s presence and looks at him in surprise.

"Who are you?"

Ilya raises his eyebrows at his skeptical tone and crosses his arms.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Hayden something, Jackie had said earlier. Ah, that must be the guy who called Hollander in a panic when he was driving him home. It seems that despair is his natural state, so Ilya ignores him and looks at Hollander.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

“The paparazzi found me.”

Hollander has the same blank expression that Ilya saw a week ago, when he made him promise not to tell anyone what had happened between them.

"We have to get out of here, now," Hayden insists, still desperate. "I called JJ, but he can't get here for another hour."

"And Wilson?"

"Stuck in Montebello. We're screwed. We'd have to call a taxi, but they won't be able to..."

"I have my car," Ilya interrupts. When the two men stare at him, he shrugs. "I can lend it to you, Hollander, if you need it. On the condition that you pay me back later."

He adds the last words just to see him smile, and it works because Hollander blushes and gives him a light shove.

"Fuck you. Are you serious?"

"Yes."

Hollander looks into his eyes, searching for something beyond his comprehension, so Ilya holds his gaze seriously and nods.

He seems to have found it, because Hollander sighs and walks toward the door.

"I'm leaving, Hayden. Not a word of this to anyone."

"Not even Jackie," Ilya adds, only because he can and because the man's distraught expression is priceless. "See you."

Hayden opens his mouth to say something, but the sound is lost as they both leave the bathroom. Thank goodness. Ilya's going to have to tell Jackie to get better taste.

The darkness of the club seems to be on their side, because Hollander grabs him by the wrist and guides him blindly until they reach the back of the building. Without any trouble, the man opens the emergency exit and they both step out into the cold night.

“Ah, you have experience doing this,” Ilya smiles, remembering the night they met, but Hollander doesn't respond. He looks around and flinches slightly when two girls walk by laughing, but they don't notice them. Ilya frowns. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Where’s your car?”

Hollander’s voice sounds anxious, so Ilya lets the question go for now and points out the street where he parked it. Again, Hollander wraps one of his slender hands around Ilya’s arm and pulls him toward his destination. Ilya looks at Hollander’s arm with a raised eyebrow, but he prefers not to think about how now he moves so easily but has never let others handle him before.

"Give me your keys," Hollander demands.

"If you crash it, I swear to God—"

"Please."

Shit. Svetlana's going to kill him when she finds out someone else drove his car without a hitch because Ilya never lets her use it—anyone, really—, but maybe the blow will be less severe if she knows it's Hollander.

"Fine," Ilya sighs, tossing him the keys. "But you owe me."

"I'll find a way to make it up to you, don't worry."

They both get into the car and Hollander quickly navigates the vehicle toward the main street. He drives with his shoulders slumped and his head down, just enough so it doesn't obstruct his vision. As they pass outside the club, Ilya can see at least three groups of men with cameras waiting to see who comes out.

"What the fuck," Ilya exhales, and immediately turns back to Hollander. "Are they here for you? Are you sure?"

It seems like a lot of work for one person, but Ilya can't say it's unexpected. Svetlana spends every day checking the man's social media to see if he's posted anything.

"Unfortunately, yes."

Hollander's tone is one of utter defeat. His face is illuminated only by the dim streetlights, and his eyes are fixed on the road ahead.

"It's not always like this," Hollander continues, "well, it is, but lately it's been worse because... duck down!"

Hollander's surprisingly strong hand finds his neck and pushes him down. Ilya gasps in surprise, and if he wants to be honest, a little turned on.

"What's your problem?"

"I can't believe it. Fuck. A van's following us. Can you put your hood up?"

Hollander speeds up a bit, and even though Ilya wants to refuse, he follows the command, deciding he'll get his revenge later. 

"Are you busy right now?" Hollander asks. 

"Oh?" Ilya smiles, tilting his head slightly. Through the window, he notices how fast the car is moving, but in the side mirror, Ilya can still see a black van following them. "That sounds promising."

"Shut up. I need to make a detour if we want to lose the paparazzi. It might take me a while to get back to town if I want to make sure no one's waiting for me when I return."

Ilya thinks of all the exciting things they can do to pass the time. Although Hollander doesn't see him, he smiles even more.

"No, I'm not busy, Mr. Celebrity."

"Shut up," Hollander repeats, but Ilya can hear the smile in his voice too.

The next time Ilya looks up after a few minutes, they're no longer on the main road. Nor are they in the city, because of the leafy trees surrounding them and the narrow lane Hollander is driving on. There are no streetlights or signs. Ilya blinks.

“Oh, you’re going to murder me.”

Hollander, who has remained silent the entire time, looks at him with a raised eyebrow. He seems relaxed, and when Ilya checks the side mirror, there are no cars following them.

“Maybe, are you scared?” the man says mockingly.

“That depends.” 

Ilya shifts into a more comfortable position.

“On?”

“On whether you’re turned on by the idea of me hitting you, because chances are I’ll defend myself.”

Hollander stares at him in disbelief and blushes. Ah, it's definitely better than Ilya remembers.

"You're an idiot."

"I'm not hearing you say no, Hollander."

Hollander doesn't answer, and Ilya laughs. Oh, is this the interview guy? He doesn't seem like it, and Ilya can't help but feel a huge sense of satisfaction. This Hollander is bold and audacious. He likes it.

The car stops as they reach the end of the lane, and a gate at least two meters high rises up in front of them. Without hesitation, Hollander rolls down the window and touches a panel Ilya hadn't noticed. As soon as he types in some numbers, the gate creaks open.

Holy shit.

A house appears before them. It's luxurious, square, and has glass walls that warmly illuminate a seemingly cozy interior. It seems to blend in with the surrounding trees, and when Hollander parks next to it, Ilya closes his mouth to avoid looking ridiculous.

"This is one of my properties, don't worry," Hollander says, taking the key out of the ignition and handing it to him. "We'll stay here for a few hours, and when things calm down, Hayden will let me know and we can come back."

One of his properties. Of course. It's obvious because Shane Hollander is a huge music star who probably owns half of Los Angeles.

Ilya nods and gets out of the car.

"I will stick to the idea that real estate is a good option for a second career."

"I guess so," Hollander says as they walk toward the house. "This cottage is in my parents' names, so no one's tracked me down here before. The paparazzi won't bother us."

Hollander says that with a smile, but Ilya still feels a little sorry for him. Being famous seems like a nightmare. That pity vanishes instantly when Ilya sees the inside of the house—a cottage, Hollander said, though it doesn't quite match the definition Ilya has in mind of that word—large, spacious, and luxurious. There's a lit fireplace and a warm breeze coming from the air conditioning, probably, or from heaven. Perhaps Hollander owns that too.

"Are you hungry?" Hollander asks, moving toward an open kitchen with modern appliances and an island almost as big as a dining table. "I haven't been here for a couple of weeks, so I've... fuck, nothing, sorry."

"That's fine," Ilya replies, following him. "I'm more interested in knowing what is going on."

"Ah," the man says, looking at him. The warm light softens his features, makes his eyes brighter. “I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because I got you into this and..."

"I offered, Hollander," Ilya clarifies, even though he doesn't think it's necessary. The man is making that guilty face again and he needs him to stop now. "Don't you have people in your life who do you favors?"

"I thought you said I had to make it up to you somehow."

Ilya laughs and slowly moves closer to him. When Hollander doesn't back away, he allows himself to stop just inches from his face.

"Yes, but it's beneficial for both of us."

Hollander's face is truly perfect. Ilya examines every part of it, trying to memorize it, forcing himself not to forget how the blush highlights his freckles.

When the man leans in to kiss him, Ilya gently pulls back.

"No, sorry."

"What?" Hollander says, puzzled. "Why not?"

"No kisses. That's my rule for one-night stands."

"Technically, this is a second night," the man counters. "What, do you think you're going to fall in love with someone if you kiss them or something?"

His heart leaps, which Ilya thinks is answer enough, but he doesn't share it with Hollander. Instead, he moves closer to his neck and places a wet kiss on its curve.

"There are more intimate things than kisses," Hollander continued, frowning. "You had my dick in your mouth. Don't you think that's more important?"

Ilya wants to laugh at his whiny tone, but chooses a more entertaining path.

"Really? Why don't you prove it to me, then?"

"What?"

"If you think it's more important, prove it."

Hollander’s shoulders twitch.

Ilya places one last kiss on his neck before the man returns the favor, tilting his neck forward to allow Hollander's mouth to trace a path downward. His lips burn, awakening every nerve ending, and though Ilya wants to maintain an indifferent demeanor just for the fun of it, He can't help but get hard quickly when Hollander drops to his knees and places a hand on his belt.

Fuck.

"Is this okay?"

Hollander's voice sounds like he's run a marathon. Ilya finds himself out of breath too, so he nods awkwardly and curses again when Hollander looks up from between his eyelashes. In one swift motion, the man unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants, revealing his cock that is now bobbing next to Hollander’s flushed cheek.

Oh, fuck.

Ilya is just a man. Most of the dreams that plagued him this week were related to this very moment, so his mind conjured up all sorts of images that might fill the void left by the other man's absence. Still, Hollander's mouth is better than any fantasy he could have imagined. When he takes him in his mouth, Ilya moans instantly.

It's a glorious feeling. Ilya's hand tangles in Hollander's soft, dark hair, but he does so to gently stroke it, not to guide him. He doesn't know if he's done this before, so Ilya avoids moving his hips and lets him set the pace.

Hollander's hands grip his thighs, two burning flames holding him in place as he sucks him down, his tongue moving around his cock as he pulls off with a slurp. It's an obscene sound that explodes throughout his body, and Ilya can't help but bury his hand even deeper into Hollander's head, reaching his neck and squeezing it.

Hollander answers with a noise, deep in his throat, sexy and warm that Ilya needs to hear it again. Again. He needs to hear it all around his cock, on every surface of his skin, against his mouth, close to his ear when Ilya is fucking him nonstop.

The image of Hollander's nose deep buried in the dark, wiry hairs at the base of his dick is one Ilya will never forget.

"Fuck, you look beautiful like this."

When Hollander makes a questioning sound that vibrates around his cock, Ilya realizes he didn't say it in English. He doesn't usually speak Russian when he's fucking someone, too focused on pleasing the other person and in the actions of his own body. 

Maybe Hollander is really messing with his head.

Ignoring the bewilderment feeling that disturbs him, Ilya gently moves Hollander's head to guide him. Immediately, the man sinks down and pulls back up in a rhythm that feels specifically designed to ruin Ilya. It's fast and a little clumsy, but when he sees a line of saliva slide down Hollander's neck, Ilya realizes this is the best blowjob of his life.

He doesn't want it to ever end.

Ilya gasps, a little desperate, as Hollander moans around him and closes his eyes. He's enjoying it. Genuinely, judging by his obvious erection even though the man is kneeling. Ilya's hands yearn to touch him again. It is a desire so intense that Ilya opens his mouth to anticipate the pull he feels from his insides, but he doesn't manage to warn Hollander before he comes inside his mouth.

It's almost like a punch to the gut, so Ilya stabilizes himself by pulling Hollander's hair as he feels the delicious waves wash over him as he orgasms.

Ilya is about to close his eyes when he hears Hollander grunt, digging his nails into his thighs as he pulls his head back, and sees him swallow through a choked cough. At the same time, Hollander doubles over and opens his mouth, his lips glistening with saliva and cum. He’s still for a moment, his whole body stuttering with a sigh.

When Hollander sits up straight, his hardness is still there but it shrunk a little.

My fucking god. 

Ilya’s dick is pulsing in time with his heart as he tries to steady his breathing.

“Did you just…?” Ilya gasps, breathless. Hollander’s eyes are wide, honest, and fixed on him. He’s so beautiful that Ilya doesn’t know what to do except help him to his feet and wrap an arm around his waist. “If you don’t want this, you have to say so now.”

“Fuck off,” Hollander replies, and gives a little jump to wrap his legs around Ilya’s waist. It’s a strong, warm, wonderful grip. “My room is the first door on the right.”

The man doesn't have to repeat himself. Ilya holds Hollander by his ass, giving him the squeeze he's been craving all week. It's as firm as he imagined. Ilya laughs as he walks down the brightly lit hallway toward the bedroom.

"I'm so happy right now."

"Will you shut up?" Hollander growls, digging his hands into Ilya's hair and pulling hard. Ilya ignores the way his cock twitches. "This is so embarrassing for me."

"Please, if I had a coin for every person who cums while sucking me off, I'd be as rich as you."

Hollander pulls his hair again.

"I'm going to fucking kill you. You have to mention that now?"

Oh, Hollander is so fun. Ilya tightens his grip as if the man were about to vanish, and pushes open the bedroom door. He's not interested in observing anything around him; Ilya is only focused on the king-size bed in the middle of the room.

"How do you want to do this?" Ilya says, placing Hollander on the bed. The man falls backward, his hair obscuring part of his face, so Ilya brushes it aside with one hand. "It's up to you."

Hollander swallows loudly.

"The times I've done it," he says slowly, "the other person has..."

He makes a vague movement with his hand, and Ilya suppresses a smile in response to the blush dusting Hollander's cheeks.

"I understand," Ilya replies, "you got fucked."

"Do you have to say it like that?"

"I don't know any other way to say it."

The image of Hollander with a faceless person, moaning and making noises of pleasure, deeply unsettles him. Ilya doesn't quite understand why; he's never had a problem with other people's sexual partners. It would be hypocritical of him, but that doesn't stop him from feeling a primal urge of jealousy.

Which is stupid. Hollander isn't his, and he's not going to. This is just a fling; Ilya does it all the time. It's fun, detached, casual.

"It doesn't matter," Hollander sighs, and cups Ilya's face in his warm hands. He freezes. "I trust you're going to fuck me good."

Ilya blinks and has to clench his fist against the soft comforter to steady himself.

"How are you so sure?"

"Don't you have a bank full of coins from people satisfied with your performance?"

Ilya laughs.

"Oh, Mr. Celebrity, what would the internet say if they heard you speak?"

Hollander rolls his eyes and briefly runs his fingers over Ilya's bare chest. A ghostly touch that sends goosebumps through his body.

"I guess they'd confirm their theory that I'm the god of sex or something."

"You're not really that person you pretend to be, huh?"

Hollander's features are taken up in a confused expression and Ilya fears he might have misspoken, but then the man's eyes widen and he laughs. Being beneath him, Ilya can feel the vibration of his body against his own.

"So you investigated me," Hollander says, lifting himself slightly from the bed to bring his mouth to Ilya's chin. He closes his eyes and melts into the contact. "Did you find anything interesting?"

"Just stupid stuff that confirms my theory that you're boring."

"I didn't take you for a liar, Ilya.”

His name coming from the man's mouth sounds like a slap. Ilya exhales sharply and is immediately overwhelmed by the need to feel Hollander closer. He puts his hands on the man's waist and pulls his shirt up, trying to take it off.

"Wait," Hollander says, stopping to straighten up on the bed. Ilya falls onto his lap and bites his lip to keep from groaning when he feels Hollander’s hard cock against his ass. "I need..."

Again, the man vaguely gestures toward a door Ilya hadn't noticed. They need to work on their verbal communication, but for now, Ilya lets it slide and nods.

"Okay, I'll wait."

When Ilya moves aside to sit next to him, Hollander stands up and walks briskly toward what appears to be the bathroom.

Ilya slumps back on the bed and sighs.

Holy shit. 

Is he really going to sleep with Shane Hollander? The one and only Shane Hollander, the one who seems to control every aspect of Ilya’s life, even appearing behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. Ilya doesn't want to think about what will happen after, when he'll never see him again except on a screen, with a personality that isn't his own. Ilya is going to have him under his hands, panting and sweating, and then he will let him slip away like water through his fingers.

Will he?

Ilya doesn't know if he wants to. He doesn't know if he has a choice, either, because this is clearly more complicated than a one-night stand. Or a two-night stand. Ilya thinks about all the times Svetlana has been annoyed because the man's fans seem to know no boundaries, he thinks about the anxiety that seems to surround Hollander when they're not bantering with each other, he thinks about the stupid Hayden's despair at the man's actions.

Ilya closes his eyes and breathes shakily.

He doesn't really know Hollander's circumstances. He knows his pretty eyes, his attentive gaze, and the pleasant sounds he makes when Ilya is in charge, so that's all that matters. Nothing else.

When the bathroom door opens again, Hollander appears naked except for a towel around his waist and his clothes neatly folded in one hand.

Ilya smiles in disbelief and raises his eyebrows.

"Are you still upset that I ripped your shirt?"

"No," Hollander huffs, leaving his clothes on a dark piece of furniture and walking over to the bed. "I just like things a certain way."

"Okay," Ilya replies, because he always appreciates someone who knows what they want. "Come here."

Ilya pats his lap and Shane sits on it, frowning.

"I'm not a dog."

"But you came, didn't you?" Ilya laughs, wrapping his arms around his waist again to spin him around and place him on his back on the bed. Hollander is surprisingly light; Ilya doesn't really want to let go, but he loosens his grip to stroke the man’s thigh, leaving kisses on his skin. "Don't worry, I'll treat you like a good boy."

Hollander's hips automatically jerk up as if he's been electrocuted. They both freeze for a second, and then Ilya grins.

"Oh, you like that?" Ilya murmurs, opening his mouth to run his tongue over one of his nipples as he moves higher. He circles the dark part of it slowly, enjoying how it hardens beneath his touch. "That's why you became famous, huh? You like the attention, the compliments."

"Shut up."

Despite his words, Hollander's eyes are tightly closed and he raises his chest as if he doesn't want to lose contact with Ilya’s mouth.

"Mmh, I don't think you'd like that. Do you like listening to me talk, Hollander? Do you want me to tell you how good you are, how much I liked your mouth before?"

"I—"

"Do you want me to tell you that I'm dying to see your face when you come? You have a beautiful face, Hollander. So pretty. So kissable."

"Why don't you?" Hollander gasps, opening his eyes to look directly at him.

"I have to leave something for you to come back, don't I?"

Hollander doesn't answer, but that's okay. Ilya covers every inch of his skin with his lips, his saliva, his teeth. He enjoys the way the blood rushes to the surface without breaking it, turning it a pinkish color that he'll definitely enjoy later. Ilya moves his hips over Hollander’s, listening to the pleasurable sounds the man makes.

After a moment, Ilya opens Hollander's towel and sees his glorious nakedness on the bed. Fuck, the man has an incredible body. His pink, swollen, and delicious cock bounces gently against his stomach, and Ilya can't help but groan.

"Why are you still dressed?" Hollander complains, yanking his t-shirt over his head forcing Ilya to raise his arms to pull it off. Then, Hollander throws it on the floor and quickly moves his hands to his belt.

Ilya breathes a laugh.

"You're good at this."

"I haven't seen your dick in a week, it's been too long." 

Shit. Ilya hadn't considered that maybe the man was going through the same thing as him, because, why would he be? It doesn't matter. They both have the same goal here, so Ilya helps him take off his pants and kicks them off when they fall to his ankles. 

Hollander stares at his cock and pants raggedly.

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah, that's what we're trying to do,” Ilya laughs. “Do you have condoms and lube?"

"Uh," Hollander says eloquently, a blush spreading across his face to his neck. "Just lube. I—I've never actually brought—"

"Never mind," Ilya interrupts, not interested in the details. He just needs to get his cock in Hollander soon, or he'll die. "I've got a condom in my wallet."

"It's not good to do that."

"It works for me. Hollander, where's your lube?"

"Top drawer of the nightstand.”

Ilya stands up and salutes Hollander, who rolls his eyes and covers his face with his arm. As if struck by lightning, Ilya goes to find the condom and then blindly tosses his wallet somewhere in the room. When he pulls the lubricant out from the nightstand, Ilya laughs.

"Have you been happy these days, Hollander?"

"Shut the fuck up, I have the right to use my lubricant in my own house."

"That would make a, how do you say it? Ah, a great headline."

Ilya climbs over to cover Hollander's body completely with his own and enjoys the mixture of annoyance and embarrassment that spreads across Hollander's face. It's adorable.

"Why are you ashamed? It is hot."

"No."

"I can imagine, Hollander," Ilya says, opening the lubricant and pouring a generous amount onto his fingers. "You, all alone, touching yourself. Will you show me someday?"

"If you're there, then I wouldn't be alone."

Ilya huffs a laugh.

"You could send me a video, then."

"Do you always talk so much?" Hollander complains, but lifts his hips as Ilya strokes his ass with one hand. He diligently parts his cheeks and hears him gasp. "Fuck, Rozanov."

"I haven't done anything yet."

"You try to stay calm when a stranger is about to finger you."

Ilya pauses for a moment, observes the man's expression of genuine concern, and rubs his fingers together to warm the lube.

"What's your favorite color?" Ilya asks.

Hollander makes a confused noise and peers at him through his eyelashes.

"What?"

"What's your favorite color?" Ilya repeats.

"Uh, I don't know. Blue, maybe?"

"Okay, mine's yellow. Now we're not strangers."

The lube is warm when Ilya presses a finger into Hollander, the man's chest rising and falling at an irregular rate. He hisses as Ilya feels his rim out with just the thumb, but it immediately turns into a moan. Ilya takes the encouragement and runs with it, sliding slowly in and out.

Ilya has never understood why some people are bad in bed. Yes, he understands that there's nervousness and that some people are malicious and take advantage of others, but it's quite simple to tell when someone is having a good time. It's about listening, observing the muscle contractions, timing the seconds, feeling the pressure.

Hollander is extremely easy to read.

The man opens beneath his fingers like a flower, enveloping the room in a rhythmic symphony of gasps, moans, and grunts. Ilya has the impression of being drunk; his mind is clouded and his movements want to escape his control. Hollander feels tight and hot around his fingers, swallowing him as if he needs him. 

Ilya nods even though no one has asked him anything; the feeling is mutual.

One finger becomes two, then three, and when Hollander manages to relax, Ilya opens his legs a little wider and positions himself between them. When his hands find what they've been searching for, Hollander's thighs begin to tremble.

"What the hell, Rozanov, how are you so good at this?" Hollander whimpers, frantically moving his hands around him as if he wanted to grab onto something but couldn't.

"Practice."

“Fuck, your fingers—”

It's truly ecstatic to watch Hollander's face overflow with emotion. He looks beautiful, untouchable, and divine. Ilya slowly withdraws his fingers, squeezes his ass to elicit another delicious sound, and tears open the condom.

The sound of it makes Hollander look at him, at his dick.

Ilya is painfully hard, so he feels like he’s in a hazy dream as he slides the condom down his cock. He pours more lube onto his fingers and takes his member in his hand, pumping it repeatedly under Hollander's watchful gaze. Then, Ilyal lines himself up between his cheeks using both hands and looks at the man. 

Hollander has a fucked-up look illuminated by the brightest eyes Ilya has ever seen. It takes all his willpower not to come here and now.

“Are you okay?”

Ilya's question is answered by Hollander's leg, which hooks to his waist and pulls him towards him.

"Just fuck me already, for God's sake."

Hollander's honesty is gratifying and exciting. Ilya can't help but chuckle, leaning in to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"You have a horrendous vocabulary for someone who was awarded Most Influential Celebrity of the Decade."

It's a real award; Ilya looked into it because it sounded ridiculous and he thought it was absurd that they would give it to Hollander, but his smiling photo holding a plaque did indeed appear online.

Hollander's eyes widen.

"How do you know that I—oh my fucking god."

Hollander barely manages to finish speaking, his voice choked, as Ilya slowly begins to insert his cock into his hole. The man seems about to freak out, so Ilya kisses his face again and brings his wrists above his head to hold them there.

"Relax. I'll take care of you, yes?"

Ilya savors the sensation of Hollander clenching around him as he sinks in, inch by inch, never taking his eyes off the man's expression. The heat is overwhelming; it completely disarms him and makes him moan against Hollander's mouth. It's the best feeling he's ever experienced. Hollander whimpers and jolts when he bottoms out entirely.

“There you go, you are doing great,” Ilya whispers into Hollander’s ear as the man turns his head to hide his expression. “Take it like the good boy you are.”

The response is almost automatic. His words elicit a low moan from Hollander's chest as his hips stutter. Ilya releases his hands and places them on his hips for better control of his movements and starts up a slow cadence of thrusts.

Ilya likes it fast, hard, slow, or gentle. It usually depends on the other person's preferences, which they often discuss so Ilya can maintain as much control as possible. Now Ilya can't think, can't breathe; a flame burns from his insides and sets his limbs ablaze.

“Rozanov,” Hollander cries out, trying to meet his thrusts but he can’t keep up. 

The pace is clumsy, but Ilya doesn’t care. He moves his mouth to Hollander’s face to kiss it everywhere; his eyes, his chin, his forehead, his freckles. Ilya needs him always. He can't leave him, he can't not experience this again. The thought is so consuming that Ilya raises his hands to intertwine his fingers with Hollander's, holding him beneath him.

“Rozanov, shit, I’m close,” Hollander chokes out as Ilya keeps his pace, hips snapping with slaps of skin. “I need you, fuck, I—”

Ilya now understands why Hollander is a celebrity. His eyes are half-closed, his expression lost in the sensation, his mouth slightly open between ragged breaths. It is a divine vision, a fantasy made real. Ilya realizes is the opportunity of a lifetime to share the same air as Hollander, and for the first time in his life, he thanks fate for the chance to see the man's wreck face.

Fuck. 

IIya unties his clasped hands and wraps one hand around Hollander’s cock. It’s heavy and impossibly hard, so as soon as he touches it, Hollander's response is a strangled sound. Ilya begins to stroke it, fast and hard, until both of their breaths merge into a desperate song.

"Is it that good?" Ilya murmurs, searching for the man's eyes. When he finds them, Hollander looks back at him, consumed by lust. “Tell me what you need, I'll give it to you."

Hollander's response is a guttural sound from his throat as he comes. It's an image seared into Ilya's memory, one he's certain will haunt him for the rest of his life. Ilya sees him spilling over his own abdomen, and it's such a glorious sight that he immediately comes with him, momentarily paralyzed by the force of his orgasm. It seems to go on forever as he fucks Hollander through it, a revelation hitting him with such energy that he has to stop to control his ragged breathing.

Ilya inhales and exhales until his head stops spinning, then immediately opens his eyes to check on Hollander. The man is completely wrecked, his face flushed and his hair a mess. He looks totally fucked out. Cute.

"Are you okay?"

Hollander blinks and stares at him for a few seconds.

"I think I'm dead."

"Good," Ilya laughs, and slowly pulls out of the man. He backs out of bed and takes off the condom. "Is that your bathroom?"

Hollander makes a vague sound of affirmation and exhales a sigh so long it makes him smile. Ilya isn't a big fan of aftercare, but he understands the importance of being considerate. He walks quickly to the bathroom, throws away the condom, and grabs a hand towel to wet it.

Usually, this is the moment when Ilya would thank the other person for the good time, help them clean up, and leave satisfied and relaxed. This time, when he comes back to the bedroom, he can't tear his eyes away from Hollander's body, sprawled out like a starfish on the bed. He doesn't seem self-conscious about his naked body, and they've certainly done more intimate things tonight, so Ilya moves closer to him and begins to clean his abdomen. 

Hollander jumps when the cold cloth touches his skin.

"Holy shit, you scared me."

"Sorry. Are you okay?" Ilya asks again, sliding the cloth over his skin. Then he makes him lift his leg to clean his ass, but Hollander tries to stop him. "What?"

The man's face burns an adorable shade of red.

"It's embarrassing."

"I don't understand. You find it embarrassing that I touch your ass?" Ilya asks, frowning as Hollander blushes even more. "Has no one ever done it for you before?"

"You're really weird, did you know that?"

"You are weird. Do you only fuck with inconsiderate jerks?"

Hollander doesn't respond, but he stops moving and lets Ilya clean him up meticulously. Then he tosses the cloth somewhere in the room—Ilya's not that considerate—and helps Hollander to his feet.

"We can change the sheets if you want."

"Wow, the whole experience," Hollander whispers as if it were a secret, then laughs. "I don't mind. I don't think I could move if I wanted to. We can go to sleep now."

"You want me to sleep with you?"

Ilya doesn't stay overnight. He has a well-rehearsed routine of arriving home, putting on comfortable clothes, and resting until the next day to enjoy the pleasurable buzz that a good orgasm brings. His hookups don't usually ask him to either, but judging by Hollander's face, now he's the weird one.

“Unless you want to sleep in the fucking car, then yes,” Hollander says, a little exasperated. He hisses as he moves, but he easily makes his way to the bed and lies down. Then, Hollander looks at him expectantly, both eyebrows raised. "Are you going to sleep in the car?"

Jesus, the guy is so... It's incredible how different Hollander is from everything he thought he was. Ilya wants to bite his hand to keep from screaming, but decides to laugh heartily and he moves closer to him.

"Nice bed," Ilya says, sinking down onto the pillows. There are about five different kinds, a detail as irrelevant as it is unnecessary. "Don't you think you forgot to buy a pillow?"

"You talk too much," Hollander says, clapping his hands briefly to turn off the light. Fucking millionaires.

"It wasn't what you thought a little while ago."

Into the darkness, a hand slams against Ilya’s chest. Hard.

"Ouch."

"Shut the fuck up."

The hand stays there, a ghostly caress. Ilya closes his eyes and sighs. It's such a strange situation, so abnormal, yet so comfortable. The weight of the day settles on his eyelids. Immediately, his brain grants him the memory of Hollander coming, of Hollander moaning, of Hollander clinging to his arms. 

Now the images are not exhausting or haunting, but they illuminate Ilya's mind to the point of making him smile.

Before falling asleep, Ilya feels a fleeting warmth on his forehead. Hollander's scent envelops him, as does a burning, firm arm. Ilya falls asleep before he can ask what it is that about.

There's a source of heat driving him crazy. Ilya doesn't want to wake up—he feels tired as if he's been awake for weeks—but he's been trying to ignore the warmth for long enough, and it's no use. He tosses and turns in the bed until the sheets slip off his face, and he's immediately greeted by an unfamiliar environment.

The room he's in is large. It has high ceilings and windows instead of walls, so he can see the hot sun leaving yellowish traces on the carpet. Ilya is lying on a bed bigger and more comfortable than his will ever be, and the source of heat is a muscular, tanned arm clinging tightly to him.

Shane Hollander.

Fuck. This wasn't just another vivid dream; it was real. It is real. Ilya follows the path of the arm that connects to the man's shoulder and meets his face.

Oh, fuck.

Hollander sleeps peacefully, his arms wrapped around Ilya's waist, his face pressed against his skin as if it were something they did every day. Ilya traces Hollander's features carefully with his eyes, making sure to remember every detail. Upturned nose, long eyelashes, thin lips, and freckles. So many tiny ones scattered beautifully across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks. A violet mark blooms on the side of his neck, recently made by Ilya.

Oh, fuck.

It's hard to believe it actually happened, not so much because it's "Hollander, the celebrity," but because it's "Hollander, the man with the pretty dick he hasn't been able to stop thinking about for a week." 

Ilya thinks it's infuriating that Hollander has so much power over him; it's infuriating that this is where it all ends.

He cannot bear the weight of what it means to never see Hollander again except in every aspect of his life but in person, so Ilya carefully detaches himself from the man and stands up to go inspect the house.

In the daylight, Ilya observes the kitchen, dining room, and living room furniture, highlighted by the view. Everything is green, bright, and woody, massive. It's almost ten times larger than the apartment he shares with Svetlana.

Oh, fuck, Svetlana.

Ilya left her a concise message saying they needed to find another driver because he was leaving, and never looked at his phone again. He doesn't think she'll get angry; she understood. Probably. Ilya doesn't really care, because Svetlana has done worse things to her, like bringing Shane Hollander into his life.

Even so, Ilya reaches for his phone, which he'd discarded on the kitchen island sometime during the night so he could properly grope Hollander, and turns on the screen. Text notifications and the time flashes before his eyes… and holy fuck, how is it eleven in the morning already?

From: Svetlana ❤️‍🔥 (11.05)

i hope u r alive

5 more messages

 

from: JACKIE AND THE FOUR 🐎☠️ (10.43)

Harris D: ilyas gonna kill you all lol

30+ more messages

 

from: Troy неудачник (00.59)

i hope the pussy is THAT good u bitch

Ilya is still shocked by the amount of time he slept—he never sleeps past nine in the morning, it's just who he is—so he ignores his friends in order to satisfy the hunger that is beginning to growl.

What could such an ostentatious and seemingly technologically advanced kitchen as Hollander's possibly have?

Apparently nothing, because after checking all the drawers and only finding oats, Ilya opens the refrigerator and finds a carton of eggs and some spinach. Fucking spinach. How does Hollander maintain those muscles on grass alone? Ilya doesn't have much to say about that because he and Svetlana eat instant noodles three days a week, but whatever. Hollander is a millionaire; he can afford better food.

When Hollander appears in the kitchen a few minutes later, he finds Ilya while he is cooking all the eggs from the carton scrambled with spinach.

“Hey.”

Ilya lifts his head and looks at him, a little dazed. The man is only wearing underwear and his hair is wet from the shower, so Ilya can see his bare skin glistening in the sun. Shit. He looks even more handsome than yesterday; his face is sleepy and his body is covered in marks from Ilya's mouth.

"Hey," he replies in a low tone. Ilya clears his throat and points to the frying pan. "Eggs."

"I see. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Hollander has an uncomfortable expression, but Ilya still can't string two coherent words together in English. How can someone look so good when they wake up?

"Rozanov, the eggs."

"Huh?"

"They're going to burn," Hollander says, but now his tone is laced with humor. "Do you know how to cook?"

"Of course I do," Ilya replies automatically, shaking his head to clear his shock. Hollander is just like everyone else, nothing special. No matter how bright his eyes sparkle or how warm his laugh is, he's the same as everyone else. "I'm starting to think you don't, because you don't have a single decent ingredient in this kitchen."

"Actually, no," Hollander shrugs. "I'm on a specific diet."

"So what, you never cook for yourself?"

"No, my chef does."

Ilya tries not to be rude, but he can't stop the laugh dancing on his lips.

"Right, a chef. Is Shane Hollander too important to chop his own lettuce?"

"Why are you such an asshole?" Hollander snarls, leaning against the island and crossing his arms. Ilya keeps his eyes fixed on his face; he's not about to give in to his pecs. "I have a busy life."

"I imagine being The Most Boring Man of All Time takes a lot of energy."

“Fuck you.

“You first.”

Hollander's eyes sparkle with humor and Ilya decides that everything else can go to hell.

And what if he likes Hollander a little more than he should? Sue him. Ilya is an asshole, inconsiderate, and vindictive—everything everyone else says—but he also deserves nice things.

Hollander is the nicest thing he's seen in a long time.

“I had a good time last night,” Hollander suddenly says, making Ilya look at him. He no longer seems uncomfortable, just nervous. “Thanks, uh, for your kindness.”

Ilya wants to tell him that he's not kind, but he gets distracted by Hollander's bulky chest rising and falling at a steady pace.

“Yes,” Ilya replies. Then he adds, “You shouldn’t hook up with idiots.”

“I don’t have time for that, but thanks anyway.”

Ilya can't stand it any longer. His chest tightens with the weight of this potentially being the last time, because he wants more, all the time, everywhere. Ilya turns off the stove and walks slowly toward Hollander.

“Maybe,” Ilya begins. Ah, Hollander always smells so good? As he reaches him, Ilya tentatively extends a hand to touch him. The man nods. “Maybe we can make an arrangement.”

The touch of Hollander's smooth, warm skin makes him sigh. Ilya strokes his hip with his thumb. Hollander has great hips, meaty and soft. Ilya wants to bite them.

"You said you rarely get to have casual sex," Ilya mentions. "You had a good time, I had a good time. Why not do something out of it?"

"Something like what?"

"Be creative, Hollander."

Ilya starts kissing his jaw. His mouth opens wide, wet, slow. It's a wonderful feeling to touch him again, and Ilya feels a little drunk when Hollander arches his back to give him more space and get closer to him.

"What, friends with benefits? Except we're not friends."

"I think I can make an exception and focus on the benefits part,” Ilya murmurs against his skin and lightly bites his earlobe. Hollander gasps.

"What are the benefits for you?"

"You."

Hollander shivers beneath his breath, and Ilya drinks every twitch. He tastes so delicious that when he falls silent for a few seconds, Ilya loses track of the conversation. It doesn't matter—he'll survive, he thinks, he hopes—if Hollander rejects his proposal. Ilya isn't a coward, and he never has been, especially in this situation. He'd rather lose a little dignity than pass up the chance to see a man like Hollander come again. 

Hollander clears his throat.

"Okay. But I have a condition."

"Yes, Hollander, I'm not going to tell anyone—”

"You have to kiss me."

Ilya stays still. Shane's voice has a hint of desperation and travels a little faster than mouth, but Ilya understands him perfectly. It's a punch to the gut, one that grows rapidly, engulfed in flames that Ilya prefers to call desire because he has no other word for it. He doesn't need one.

He smirks.

"Oh? Do you really want my kisses?"

"Shut up, Rozanov. In or out?"

"Oh, definitely in."

A light flashes before Hollander's eyes, and immediately Ilya feels his firm hands pushing him until his back touches the window.

Then, Hollander kisses him.

At first it's tentative, a timid brush against his mouth. When Hollander opens his wet, tempting mouth, Ilya plunges his tongue in, searing the curve that gives rise to all his words. Instantly, Hollander moans and wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate and burning with desire.

Hollander kisses him like he’s starving and Ilya can do nothing but get devoured, surrendering himself voluntarily again and again. 

It was such a stupid rule; Ilya regrets having mentioned it. How many times could he have kissed him since yesterday? Ilya can't stay still, so he traces the shape of Hollander's neck, the curves of his chest. Ilya opens his hand and presses his palm against his pectoral to feel the thump of his heart.

Hollander moans against Ilya's mouth as he bites his lips, gripping his back tightly. Ilya grunts, holds him a little tighter, and kisses him again. Fuck. Ilya needs to kiss Hollander while he's fucking him, so he can swallow and lick all his whimpers and groans.

"Wait," Hollander says, pulling back to meet his gaze. He's flushed and panting. "You have to understand that if we do this, I mean it when I say you can't tell anyone. No pictures, no cryptic messages online, no hints to your friends. Nothing."

Ilya believes that if Hollander asked him to sell his soul to the devil, he would do it, but the man doesn't need to know that.

"I understand, I'm not stupid."

"I'm serious," Hollander emphasizes, and this time his face loses all enthusiasm and is replaced by a looming anxiety. "This is more complicated than it seems. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I wouldn't understand?" Ilya snorts, making a face. "You're so special that no one else can share your experience. Only the great Shane Hollander has had to keep a secret, huh?

The man looks at him as if he'd been slapped. Fuck, Ilya's just being an idiot, but he understands Hollander and his concern. He's not the kiss-and-tell type. Not when he's already declared his hatred for Hollander to every corner of the universe.

“Look, dude, I get it.”

“Don't fucking call me dude when you had your dick in my ass.”

Ilya laughs.

"You don't know me, I understand, but I'm not interested in you at all. No, I don't want your fame, your money, or your recognition. You could be the king of Mars himself and I still wouldn't be interested in you."

"Why Mars?" Hollander asks, tilting his head against the palm of his hand when Ilya strokes his cheek.

"You look like you get along well with aliens."

The man stares at him, dumbfounded, and bursts out laughing.

Ilya kisses him again, swallowing that wonderful sound that will nourish him for weeks. Hollander doesn't seem to understand, but Ilya will take a fucking vow of silence if it means touching him again.

"Okay," Hollander said, breaking the kiss. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"You're the worst man on the planet."

"I think meeting you inspired me, actually."

Hollander laughs again and does something Ilya doesn't expect. He hugs him.

Oh. 

People don't touch him often, not like that. Svetlana loves him, he knows it, but she doesn't prefer physical contact. His flings cling to his back when Ilya brings them to orgasm and his friends pat his shoulder when he says something funny, but it all seems strictly calculated. With an expiration date. Hollander holds him firm, steady, warm, and endless, as if he'll never let go. Ilya can't remember the last time he was held like this, or if anyone ever did at all.

Ilya can't stand it, so he moves his face until he finds Hollander's lips and crashes against him. He kisses him again and again, wetting his mouth with gasps and grunts. Hollander reciprocates with the same enthusiasm. Ilya can only imagine Hollander has kissed a lot of people. He's annoyingly good at it, but it doesn't matter; Ilya is just as good as him, and he'll prove it as many times as necessary.

"So," Hollander says after a while, tilting his head so Ilya can press kisses along the strong column of his throat. "Friends with benefits. How does it work?"

"I fuck you, we're happy."

Hollander buries his fingers in his hair and gives it a tug. Ilya's cock jumps intrigued in his pants, but he ignores it so he can memorize the scent of Hollander's neck.

"That's not what I mean."

"I know. We can get together whenever we have time or we are horny. Or anytime, really. I'm interested in collecting as many benefits as possible."

Hollander moans as Ilya grazes the length of his neck with his teeth.

"You have such a, ah, way with words sometimes."

Ilya makes a face.

"Because I know English, duh," Ilya replies. "I'm a smart college student. It's more than you can say."

During his private investigation, Ilya discovered that Hollander didn't attend any college except a music school. Who the hell cares about college when you have an ear for music and every award in existence?

"You should put that on a T-shirt," Hollander snorts with amusement. "Anyway, our arrangement. I already told you I have a busy life, but we can agree on something at the beginning of each week."

"Each week? Oh, you're a sex demon," Ilya says, enjoying the bubbling sensation in his chest. This is the most fun he's had in a while; he can't wait to see Hollander again. "Okay. Where’s your phone? Give it to me."

Letting Hollander go feels like the loss of his life force, but Ilya masks it by watching the man's ass sway with every step he takes. A magnificent ass, indeed.

Ilya is so damn lucky.

Hollander hands him his phone, and Ilya jots down his number, saving the contact as ‘The hottest person you know.’ The man rolls his eyes but accepts it without a word. When it's Ilya's turn, Hollander saves his number as ‘The Most Boring Man of All Time’.

Ilya laughs.

"We're saving our contacts with the biggest lies ever told, aren't we?" Hollander says with feigned innocence. "Now, can we eat? I'm starving."

"Call your che... ah! Hollander, so violent."

They both eat the cold eggs while chatting about their upcoming meetings. Hollander mentions he has a couple of concerts in Europe next week, and Ilya has an exam, so they check their schedules amid laughter and teasing. It's surprisingly comfortable and easy. Ilya smiles at Hollander's relaxed posture and recalls the man's tension when he saw the paparazzi outside the club.

"What was that yesterday?" Ilya asks, because if it happens again, he definitely needs to know what the hell is going on. "Is it always like this?" 

Hollander shrugs, immediately understanding what he means.

"Not always. I'm not as famous as I used to be, but I've been in talks to do a movie, and they want to trap me in some scandal so I'll lose the role."

Ilya recalls a gossip website he read about Hollander's supposed new film. It was just speculation, but the person who wrote it mentioned the plot and the renowned director in charge of producing the film.

"Ah, the cowboy movie," Ilya nods, eating the last of his eggs. "What do cowboys have to do with a gay romance?"

"They're not gay, they're—how do you know that?"

Fuck. Ilya just made it clear he's been obsessed with Hollander all week. He could lie and say Svetlana told him about it, but honesty is more fun. So is Hollander blushing.

"I wanted to see how boring you are, and the internet is an endless source of entertainment," Ilya replies, flashing a mocking smile. "Especially your list of exes. Zero is a pretty round number."

Like clockwork, Hollander's cheeks flush red.

"Fuck off, my life is private."

"So private you don't share it with anyone?"

"For your information, I've had partners before."

A strange unease spreads from Ilya’s insides and rises up his chest until it slightly suffocates him. It's a bit foolish, if Ilya is honest with himself. He shares nothing with Hollander. Arrangement or not, the man owes Ilya nothing. He can't pretend to control the past, much less the present, but Ilya also can't control the feeling of jitter that gnaws at his limbs.

Hollander let him fuck him so well that now Ilya is stupid. Shit.

Ilya opens his mouth to make a lighthearted, nonchalant joke, but Hollander's phone rings.

"Oh, hi, mom," the man says when he answers. "Yes, sorry, I overslept. I'm meeting Hayden at the studio and... oh, okay, I understand. See you there. Bye, love you."

Hollander uses that tone again, careful and polished. He shakes his head to avoid recalling the obscenities the man likes to say or hear. For his part, Ilya has to face the real world after the fuck of his life, so he yawns, stretching his arms to his sides, and then looks at Hollander.

"I guess we have to go."

"Hayden's coming to get me here, actually," Hollander says with a grimace. "There are paparazzi at the studio and I need to record a song today."

"Ah, exciting life."

Hollander rolls his eyes and leans in for a quick kiss. It's such a domestic gesture that Ilya bites the man's lip to make him groan into his mouth, so it's a familiar situation that he can handle. 

Ilya thinks he'll go crazy otherwise.

The walk to his car feels like torture, but Ilya maintains his composure reminding himself that circumstances are different now. By some divine grace, Ilya will have Hollander in his arms again. Now a universe of possibilities has opened up before his eyes, and he will take advantage of every single one of them.

"I hope you arrive safely," Hollander says as Ilya gets into the car, looking at him with his arms crossed and an awkward expression. The light from outside gives his features a beautiful color. "And, uh, thanks again." 

"Didn't any of your many, many partners ever tell you that saying thank you after sex is weird?"

“Fuck you.”

“Soon, I hope,” Ilya laughs, and starts the car's engine. “See you, Hollander.”

“Bye, Rozanov.”

Ilya burns Hollander's bright eyes into his mind one last time and looks ahead, beginning to move forward through the leafy trees towards the main road.

He's halfway home when Ilya realizes he didn't ask Hollander for a goodbye kiss. Fuck. Next time, that will be the first thing he does when he sees him.

Lucky him. 

Ilya smiles.

Chapter 2: while one is alive, one must love as much as one can

Chapter Notes

Ilya likes to win.

He likes it when he plays cards with his friends and gets a good hand, when he gets a perfect score on a recently taken exam, and when his intuition matches reality.

Ilya likes that, inexplicably, Shane Hollander feels like winning. 

Three weeks have passed since that day in the cottage and they both decided to get together to help each other release tension, as Hollander calls it. Ilya would call it the best fuck of his life, but it's the same thing.

Ilya has only seen the man once, as Hollander had several busy days in Europe promoting his new single—one that Ilya refuses to listen to. Even so, the time they met, they had sex quickly and desperately, and then discussed the limits and expectations of this arrangement. Hollander did seem a little hesitant and embarrassed when they discussed how he liked to be fucked, but Ilya quickly discovered that the man was more shameless and filthy than he appeared. 

Once they both gained confidence, Hollander didn't hold back. That led them to move their conversation to text, so now he and Ilya talk practically every day.

It's like winning, definitely.

"One hundred percent… rope bunny!?"

His group of friends bursts into laughter at Troy's furious red face, as he stares at his phone in disbelief.

"This can't be right!" Troy insists, shaking his head violently. "I don't even like shirts that are too tight."

"The test doesn't lie, love," Svetlana says with twinkling eyes and a mischievous smile. "Cold hard facts."

"All because you got ‘experimentalist’."

"Don't be a sore loser."

"There's nothing wrong with being a rope bunny," Harris chimes in with a gentle smile. "I got one hundred percent rigger."

The group falls silent and then bursts into laughter again. The apartment he shares with Svetlana vibrates with the energy of a celebration, and Ilya figures his own birthday is a good time to break the communal rule of "no noise after eleven." His friends are sitting in a tight circle, each with their drink and a birthday hat that Jackie forces everyone to wear.

It's fun, if Ilya is honest with himself. He didn't enjoy his birthdays after his mother die and before college, but his friends know how to make someone feel appreciated. It is a general rule in their group that everyone gets together one afternoon before the official birthday and, together, they wait for the clock to strike twelve.

"Match made in hell, or whatever it's called," Jackie laughs, falling on top of Ilya when her happiness gets the better of her. He smiles and pats her back gently. "Well, I think I'm drunk now. Who wants to play spin the bottle?"

"Let's play truth or dare," Troy says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I want to get some truths out."

"I hope you talk about yourself," Ilya remarks, rolling his eyes. "What, are we twelve years old?"

"Don't be grumpy," Jackie says. "You're only turning twenty-five, it's not your retirement."

"Yeah, piss off," Troy decides, sticking his tongue out at him. Ilya ignores him, taking a swig of his vodka and fixing his gaze on anything but his friend. "Okay, I'll start. Ilya, truth or dare?"

It's an expected move from Troy. Ilya wouldn't be surprised if this party is just an excuse to get to this point, but he's not worried either. Troy is always meddling in other people's business, so Ilya decides to play along for fun. He already knows what Troy's going to ask anyway.

"True."

"Who's the person you text every day and smile like an idiot to?"

Ilya stays still under the watchful gaze of his friends and feigns a worried expression. He waits for a moment to pass to create tension, and then he answers,

“Your mom.”

The laughter of his friends is a pleasant chorus that makes Ilya raise his glass towards Troy's angry face as if he wanted to make a toast.

"Hey, that's not fair!”

Amid Troy's indignant complaints about the truthful answers he's supposed to give in a game as serious as Truth or Dare, Ilya laughs with his friends. Then, he continues playing and dares Jackie to call Hayden to tell him she wants an open relationship.

Ilya isn't worried about what Troy thinks because he's predictable; Ilya has noticed every curious glance he gives when his phone vibrates more than three times on the table, when Hollander calls him between classes, or when the man's texts interrupt their afternoon of watching rugby. He's not hiding the fact that he's talking to someone, but Ilya doesn't have to explain himself either.

Because, fuck, talking to Shane Hollander is more fun than Ilya expected.

Hollander translates that bubbly, sharp personality into texts that make Ilya laugh like an idiot against his will, because who could have bet that this boring man was actually the best thing that could have ever happened to him? Hollander is quick, curious about Ilya's simple life, and eager to talk about everything and nothing at the same time.

Ilya finds himself looking at his phone most of the time these days, even when there's no notification. 

Just in case.

"I think Ilya," Harris says, answering a question Ilya hadn't heard. "He has the best body of all of us."

“What a way to kick me when I'm already down," Troy whines. "You know I'm the only one still on the team, right? I've got more muscle than Marlow."

"Marlow already graduated," Jackie reminds him. "And you definitely have less muscle than him."

"I've got more than your boyfriend."

"Don't say that when Hayden can't defend himself."

"Why don't you defend him?"

"I'm not going to lie, I took an oath when..."

Ilya immediately blocks out the noise and sensations when his phone vibrates in his hand. It's a quarter past midnight and Hollander's name flashes across the screen, promising an incoming call. The man has been busy all day in the studio, so Ilya only received an update on his breakfast—a gray thing with about three almonds—and Ilya is eager to know how his day went. 

Not because he cares, but for his personal amusement. It's his birthday, after all.

Without saying a word and taking advantage of the distraction of Svetlana kissing Harris, Ilya gets up and walks toward his room before answering the call. He thinks he hears Troy yell something like "sucker," but he couldn't care less. Ilya can't take seriously a man who's been drooling over the same guy for three years.

"Hello?"

As soon as Ilya answers the call, a melodious voice travels through the speaker into his ear. It's clear, smooth, and sings "Happy Birthday" in French, which Hollander enunciates as if it were his country's national anthem. Ilya finds it wonderful. 

He doesn't know what his life has come to, but it's endlessly entertaining.

"Woah," Ilya says when the man finishes, biting his lip to suppress a grin. "Just when I thought that song couldn't get any worse."

"Asshole," Hollander replies, his voice muffled by the distance. "Happy birthday. How's the party going?"

Hollander's voice sounds a little tired, but Ilya assumes it's because he's up later than usual. The man keeps a very strict schedule, which Hollander imposes on himself to encourage discipline. Ilya insists he's the most boring star on the planet.

"Well, the cake was good. Troy gave me a rugby ball because he still hasn't gotten over me quitting the team, so I'll have something to keep me entertained over the summer."

Hollander hums and it sounds like he's stirring.

"Are you in bed?" Ilya asks.

"Yeah, I finished recording a while ago. I was reading a book."

"A book, how exciting."

"Shut up," Hollander snarls, but Ilya can feel his smile. "A rugby ball, huh? You could teach me how to play."

"So I can break your bones and your team can sue me? No, thanks. I can still jump on you and crush you, though, if that's what you want."

"Yes, that's what I want," Hollander says, and as always, his honesty turns Ilya on because that's just how life is. Hollander breathes and Ilya needs to pounce on him or he'll die. "Are you available Tuesday?"

"After three. You?"

"Five is fine. See you at the Beverly Hills apartment, okay?"

"Which one of the ten that you have?"

"Fuck off," Hollander laughs, and Ilya clutches his phone to suppress the urge to touch him. "Happy birthday again. Hope you have a good night with your friends."

"Yes, see you."

"Soon."

Ilya waits a few seconds until Hollander's breathing subsides and puts the phone back in his pocket. 

Tuesday at five. Just two days. Time can't seem to pass quickly enough, but that's okay. Ilya isn't usually impatient about his hookups. He has a life, after all, but Ilya still wants to touch him. The last time seems like ages ago. Hollander must look handsome lying down reading a book like the nerd he is.

There's no point in torturing himself thinking about what he can't have now, so Ilya shakes his head and sighs. When he turns around to go back to the room, Ilya finds Svetlana with her arms crossed against the door.

"Shit, you scared me."

“Sorry. I thought it might be your brother or someone unpleasant, but from what I see, everything's fine.”

Svetlana doesn't seem bothered, so she probably didn't overhear more than she should have. Ilya can’t remember if he said anything that would give him away. He is touched that his friend cares about him and his feelings regarding his only remaining family member, but Ilya still raises his eyebrows and looks at Svetlana incredulously.

“Now you're, eh, eavesdropping on my conversations?”

“No, but Troy is right to ask. Who's the person you text every day and from whom you accept calls on your birthday?”

Ilya snorts and shakes his head.

"Can't a man sleep with someone without being questioned?" 

Svetlana's eyes are usually full of affection for him, but now her curiosity overrides any other feeling. Fuck. Ilya can understand her interest and accept—to a certain extent—that he hasn't behaved normally regarding his fling with Hollander, but it's a combination of factors. The man is something Ilya has never witnessed before; a boring celebrity, an idiot he can't see every day, a source of unlimited entertainment.

The fact that Hollander has the most intriguing eyes in the world and an ass to worship doesn't help at all.

“I’m not questioning you, you idiot,” Svetlana laughs, approaching him to pat his shoulder. “I just find it curious that you haven’t mentioned this person to me. Or that you’ve slept with them more than three times in a row, because I know it’s the same person you stood us up for that night at the club.”

Ilya hasn't slept with Hollander three times yet. He will because Ilya has no choice; he might die if he ignores his desires. Ilya can't tell Svetlana this because she'll laugh in his face, and even though he wants to tell her not to be nosy, he understands that it all comes from a place of love. Unlike Troy.

“I’m respecting their privacy.”

This seems to surprise Svetlana more than anything.

“Oh, you are being considerate? I never thought I’d live to see this day. Are you in love or something?”

“What? Of course not. Let’s get back to the party before Jackie gets even more drunk and breaks our TV.”

“Don’t even mention it. That can’t happen again.”

Svetlana is being ridiculous; Ilya can't be in love. He doesn't even really know Hollander that well. Yes, Ilya discovered a lot about him the last time they were together—like the man has a particular way of doing things that Ilya finds both amusing and endearing—but it doesn't mean anything. Ilya loves running his hands over his body, and Hollander loves moaning into his mouth. That is all. 

Everyone wins.

On Monday, his official birthday, Ilya studies all morning in the library, then he has classes, and afterwards he has to survive a lab that kicks his ass so hard that Ilya has to eat a cupcake to get through it. Ilya receives greetings from his classmates and his former rugby teammates, who once again invite him to rejoin the team.

"I don't understand why you're playing hard to get," Troy complains as they walk towards his apartment. "You're good, fast, strong. We need you."

"Are you trying to recruit me or seduce me?"

Troy laughs good-naturedly and puts an arm around Ilya's shoulder.

"You wish. I have higher standards," Troy laughs. Then he pauses and says, "Regarding that, I have something to tell you. But you have to promise me you won't tell anyone."

Ilya and Troy met during their first year of university, at a party where Troy got drunk before everyone else and started crying about some guy named Harris. Despite that ridiculous incident—which Svetlana still laughs about—Ilya likes his friend. He knows him and knows he's a good person.

Because he knows him, Ilya immediately finds it suspicious that Troy would ask him to keep a secret. Ilya narrows his eyes and looks at him.

"Yes."

"You remember the guy who was dating Harris, the one from that party? Well, never mind. He knows... you can't tell anyone because—"

"For God's sake, I don't care, just tell me."

"He knows Shane Hollander, and I told him if he could set me up, you know, so we could meet. I think he and I have a lot in common. Imagine if I slept with him and we ended up as a couple—it would be, like, the real deal."

Ilya doesn't know how it happens, but suddenly his heart stops, his feet become unsteady, and he falls flat on his face right there in the street.

"Dude, are you okay?!"

Troy's arm stops him from hurting himself more than necessary, but Ilya feels his friend has already done enough. Troy and Hollander? Troy Barrett, one of his best friends, and Shane Hollander, the best fuck of his life? No. No, no, no.

No, because it doesn't make sense. Not because Ilya is jealous or anything, because he isn't, but Ilya knows firsthand the kind of things Troy likes and knows Hollander wouldn't enjoy them. Probably not. It's a favor to everyone, really. Hollander and Troy can't be a couple because it would be unnatural. For everyone, for them, for Ilya.

And what if they get married? It would be ridiculous. Svetlana would die. Ilya would die, but for different reasons. And does anyone want to think about poor Harris?

"Ilya, are you okay?" Troy asks again, looking at him with a worried expression. "Did you hit yourself? You look awful."

"I think," Ilya says in a whisper, "You should be honest with Harris."

"What?"

"I'll help you," Ilya says louder, clearing his throat and straightening up. "You have to confess your love. Live your life. You, eh, deserve to be happy with him."

Troy blinks, confused for a moment, but then his eyes quickly fill with tears.

"Dude, man, you're amazing," Troy sobs, giving him a tight hug. "Thank you. No one's ever said that to me. Do you really think he likes me?"

"Definitely."

"I love you. Like, really. You are the best friend ever."

Ilya doesn't respond, too focused on the wave of relief that washes over him as Troy begins to plan aloud how he'll confess his love to Harris. Ilya nods to let him know he's listening, but his mind keeps replaying his friend's words.

“Imagine if I slept with him and we ended up as a couple—it would be, like, the real deal.”

Yeah, right. Ilya loves Troy, but he and Hollander will never have anything in common, nor would they make a great couple. Shane Hollander needs someone different, someone more suitable.

Ilya isn't interested in taking that place, but until that someone appears, he'll defend whatever position he holds for as long as the arrangement lasts.

He likes to win, after all.

Ilya arrives at Hollander's apartment on Tuesday around five thirty in the afternoon. The man is on a call, dressed in sweatpants and no shirt. Hollander speaks rapidly in French, gesturing with his hands and making angry faces. Fuck, he's so hot. 

Ilya enters the living room and sits on the sofa with a familiar air. He stares intently at Hollander, studying his body language and the way his muscles contract with each step. He's truly beautiful. Svetlana is still obsessed, so Ilya still sees Hollander's face more than his own, but now it's never enough, he supposes. Now, looking at him, Ilya feels it's been far too long since he's seen him in person.

"Hi, sorry," Hollander says, approaching Ilya to sit beside him. "Annoying people wanting more than I'm going to give."

"Of course, Mr. Businessman," Ilya whispers, bringing his face closer to Hollander's. He smells wonderful. "You destroy whoever you want."

"It’s not about—"

"You look great," Ilya interrupts, brushing his nose against his cheek. He hears Hollander gasp softly and smiles. "Is this outfit for my birthday?"

The man responds by giving him a kiss that quickly consumes all his thoughts. Ilya returns the gesture, holding his face in both hands to pull him even closer.

It's truly amazing how Hollander has changed since the first time he saw him. Now that he knows Ilya won't sell him out to the press or the internet at the slightest inconvenience, Hollander is confident, daring, and sensual. 

And his kisses, fuck. Ilya smiles into the kiss and doesn't know how he managed to go so long without this. Perhaps Hollander really is bewitching him as he did with Svetlana and all those other people. 

If the woman were to kiss Hollander, it might be her last shred of sanity. The thought reminds him of his conversation with Troy yesterday, and Ilya feels a twinge of discomfort that he releases by biting Hollaner's lip. The man groans into his mouth and licks his lips before pulling away to look at him.

"Sorry, I didn't have time to change."

Ilya smirks.

"Oh, but it only takes thirty seconds to take your pants off."

"Shut up," Hollander grins. "Happy belated birthday. How was your party? Besides the cake."

Within the world of wonder that comes with knowing Hollander, Ilya has discovered that he likes to talk. Hollander often asks questions that others would remain silent about, and his messages are constant conversations between ideas and memories that he freely offers. Ilya doesn't mind; Hollander is intelligent and has a beautiful voice, so it's definitely beneficial. For what purpose, Ilya doesn't know, but he'll enjoy it while he can.

"It was fine. We drank and updated our BDSM test results like we do every time we get together. Then Jackie started throwing up, so that was it."

Hollander's eyebrows rise in surprise.

“The what?” 

"The BDSM test. You know, bondage, dom-"

"I know what BDSM means. I didn't know there was a test, though," Hollander says, clearly flustered. He pauses for a moment and speaks again. "Every time you get together? Seems excessive."

Ilya laughs and, taking advantage of the contact Hollander offers, lets his head fall onto his shoulder.

"So that means you've never done it?" Ilya asks. "Given the nature of our relationship, I think it's important that I know your results."

"Probably vanilla."

"I want to see that with my own eyes."

"Jerk," Hollander says, and Ilya feels his breath on one of his ears. "What were your results?"

Now, this is a conversation Ilya is interested in. Slowly, he moves his hands up Hollander's thigh to his waist. His fingers burn as they brush against his bare skin, but Ilya doesn't stop. He needs to touch Hollander or his cock will explode. Or his heart, judging by the irregular thumping echoing in his head.

"Same as always," Ilya says, lifting his head to kiss Hollander's nose. "One hundred percent brat tamer."

"What does that mean?"

"I like my partners submissive but defiant," Ilya says, enjoying the shiver he feels when Hollander's hands find his head. "Bold."

Hollander breathes heavily and tugs at his hair until Ilya looks at him.

"What are the odds my results will be one hundred percent brat?"

Ilya hit the jackpot, really. Win, win, win. 

He throws himself at Hollander with an open, wet kiss that allows the other man to caress his tongue with his own. Hollander's body responds to his every touch, with gasps and impatient movements. The man keeps his mouth pressed tightly against Ilya's, as if he never wants to separate or stop. 

During their conversation about their preferences, Hollander confessed that his favorite part of sex was kissing. Ilya has no complaints; he's always enjoyed fulfilling his obligations.

Ilya savors Hollander's mouth slowly, calmly, committing to memory the pattern of the man's teeth as Ilya runs his tongue over them. He caresses his chest, his back, traces invisible letters on his prickling skin. Hollander breathes softly against his face, and Ilya makes sure to hold him firmly in his arms, irrationally afraid of letting him go.

"I have your birthday present," Hollander grumbles against his mouth, "Do you want it?"

Ilya can't think of anything he wouldn't want from Hollander, so he nods. 

The man smiles, and without moving his face away, he does something that makes Ilya's soul leap from his chest: Hollander takes his hands and slams them against his ass. Hard.

"Want to open it?"

Fucking god. Ilya groans involuntarily and flips them over with ease, flattening himself against Hollander's chest. 

Hollander does nothing out of the ordinary—for Ilya, at least—but something about the man makes Ilya go a little crazy. It's the way he says it, the tone he uses, the expression on his face, or the sparkle in his eyes. Ilya wants to absorb every one of Hollander's unique qualities and carry them with him always. He feels his cock hardening so quickly his head spins, and Ilya has to kiss him to get his breath back.

Ilya needs Hollander right now.

Ilya appreciates the flexibility of Hollander's sweatpants and slips his hand inside to stroke his ass skin to skin.

"This is the best day of my life," Ilya smiles. "When did you decide to become an expert at gifts?"

"About an hour ago," Hollander chuckles softly. "Want to check?"

"Check?" 

Ilya watches Hollander's eyes twinkle with a mischievous glint. He doesn't understand what the man is referring to, except that when Ilya moves his hand to the center of his ass and parts his cheeks to find—

"Holy fuck," Ilya gasp, feeling Hollander's hole receive him without any resistance, swallowing the digit he gently presses in. "You were fingering yourself without me?"

"Actually, I have a..." Hollander moans as Ilya inserts another finger. "A dildo."

"Good for you," Ilya sighs, enjoying the pressure against his fingers as Hollander rises and drops slowly, fucking himself with them. "And for me. Can I claim my present now?"

"You're taking too long.”

Ilya laughs and stands up from the sofa, effortlessly carrying Hollander. The man takes his face in his warm hands and kisses him impatiently, devouring him mercilessly.

What can Ilya really do? Ilya isn't in love, as Svetlana says, but surely if Hollander kisses someone else like that, that person would definitely fall for him. That's why Ilya can't let Troy interfere; he's thinking about Harris and his heart.

He's such a good friend.

Ilya savors every second Hollander, lying on his back on the bed, opens between his hands like a flower, kissing every inch of his skin and caressing him the way he knows Hollander likes. Ilya whispers in his ear all the compliments that race from his tongue faster than his mind, and kisses away every moan, groan, and grunt.

An hour later, they are both wrapped in each other's legs and under Hollander's sheets. Ilya has his eyes closed and counts the seconds it takes the man to inhale and exhale, enjoying the delicious weariness that settles on his joints.

"You're twenty-five now, aren't you?"

Hollander's voice sounds tired but light. Ilya opens one eye and sees him staring at the ceiling, his hands clasped across his chest.

"Yes."

"We'll be the same age," Hollander says, turning his head to look at him. "My birthday is next month." 

"Ah, I'll find you a gift too, then."

"Actually, that wasn't your birthday present. The official one, at least," Hollander says, blushing slightly. "I have another, but I don't know if you'll want it. I don't know the limits of our..." 

Hollander gestures vaguely in the air, gesturing to himself and to Ilya. In response, he raises his eyebrows.

“Limits?”

The man seems to want to explain, but instead decides to get out of bed with a grunt to go get a box from the closet. Hollander has a spectacular backside and an ass that jiggles when he walks. It's sinful, really. Ilya wants to bite it.

When Hollander returns and stands in front of him, Ilya stares at the box, his eyes wide.

"What the hell is that?"

Hollander's face turns a dark red.

"A laptop. You told me yours crashed while you were writing a paper. You were upset and being in college is hard enough, and I..." Hollander seems to choke, so he clears his throat and stands a little straighter. "It's just a gift. You have an exam soon, right? You need good equipment to study."

Ilya blinks, at a loss for words for the first time in a long time.

The people who love him take care of him. It’s a fact. Svetlana often leaves him an extra smoothie in the mornings, Troy never fails to keep him informed of all the details of his games because he knows he's still interested in the team's performance, Harris often sends him videos that remind him of Ilya, and Jackie makes sure to have all the difficult conversations that he avoids.

It's a dynamic Ilya didn't know before university, and it's remained within that closed circle for several years. His friends. Nobody else. 

Hollander doesn't know him. He has no reason to worry about him; they've only seen each other five times in total (counting the time with the slammed door because Ilya is fond of that moment), and all the times they've met have been to have sex. Nothing more. Why would Hollander remember a complaint from Ilya amidst all the crap they talk about?

Now, Hollander looks at him with a doubtful expression and bright, large, honest eyes. It's obvious that his gift is just that, a gift. He's not trying to buy or manipulate him. Ilya doesn't know what to do with the wave of feelings swirling in his chest—confusion, desire, and an unfamiliar affection—so he nods once.

"Yes, I have an exam next Thursday," he says, glancing back at the box. It's an expensive brand that surely means nothing to Hollander. He still feels the discomfort of vulnerability, so Ilya has to say, "Thank you, but I won't be giving you such a nice gift, I hope you know that. Besides, I'll return the laptop when I can afford a new one."

“Sure.”

“I also thought you didn't want me to call you 'sugar daddy.'"

Hollander stares at him for a second, then clicks his tongue.

"No, I don't."

"Fine, daddy."

Ilya laughs when Hollander's face contorts into an annoyed grimace. He's such an adorably funny man.

"What if I call you daddy?"

Ilya's laughter catches in his throat, and although Hollander's expression remains irritated, he feels the need to feel him closer. Without thinking too much, Ilya takes the box, puts it on the nightstand and pulls Hollander's hand so that the man falls onto his chest. Up close, Ilya can stroke his flushed cheek and plant a loud kiss against it.

“Not my style, but we can make exceptions if it's something you like."

Ilya knows that this is not something Hollander likes; they already had that conversation last time. No 'daddy', no unexpected situations, no lack of kisses. Yes to eating his ass, yes to being a little rough, and yes to dirty talk.

There are always more wins than losses with Hollander. Ilya leaves a trail of kisses from his cheek to his collarbone. The man's weight on his naked body is firm and warm, safe.

Suddenly, Hollander asks,

"What position did you play when you played rugby?"

“Flanker. I was captain of the team too,” Ilya replies, smelling Hollander’s skin. Fuck, does the man bathe in cologne? It’s not normal for his sweat to smell so good. “Lots of instructions, decisions, and motivation for my teammates.”

Hollander hums and moves on top of him, deliberately pressing his hip against his. Ilya can feel himself starting to get hard again.

"Did you like playing rugby, Captain?"

Hollander's words travel straight to his crotch and Ilya has to take a deep breath to keep himself from fucking him right there and now.

"Yes."

"You like being in charge, Ilya?" Hollander whispers hurriedly as he places his hands on his thighs, squeezing them firmly. Hearing his name from the man's lips is always thrilling. "I don't like losing control, but you seem like a good captain. Perhaps within these four walls I can accept it."

"Yes, yes, yes."

Hollander laughs, narrowing his already amused eyes as Ilya turns them around until he's on top.

"Oh, you're excited?"

"Everything you do excites me," Ilya says without thinking, and when Hollander's eyes widen in surprise, he realizes it's not something he's never said before. Bah, never mind. Go big or go home or whatever Troy is always saying. "Why don't we celebrate my birthday one last time?"

The blowjob Hollander gives him makes Ilya's legs tremble and stars appear in his eyes.

He needs to get the best birthday present for Hollander, because Ilya always wins.

Svetlana is acting strange.

Ilya knows his friend like the back of his hand, so when Svetlana doesn't mention Shane Hollander for the third day in a row, Ilya knows something's up.

It's not that he counts the number of times Hollander's name comes up in his life, but it's impossible not to when the man seems to be following him everywhere. His Research Methods professor loves Hollander; Ilya thinks it's the height of absurdity.

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (15.42)

Do you think I should participate in a sketch on a late-night talk show?

Ilya looks at Hollander's message as he goes up the stairs to his apartment and snorts in amusement.

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (15.42)

No. 

 

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (15.42)

Why not :(

I can be funny

 

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (15.43)

😂

 

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (15.44)

отвали

The translator said that was "fuck off", get it?

 

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (15.44)

If that appears in your sketch, you should consider real estate as a career.

Ilya rolls his eyes with a smile and turns the key to enter his apartment. His classes finished a little early today, so Ilya plans to cook Svetlana dinner to ambush her and force her to tell him what the hell is wrong, because if he's honest, Ilya hasn't been able to figure it out on his own.

And he's usually very good at reading Svetlana. Which could mean two things: either she's screwed up badly or she's in love. Ilya doesn't know which is worse.

"Hey, I'm home!" Ilya announces, dropping the bags in the kitchen. "I bought meat for... what's going on?"

Svetlana Vetrova, Shane Hollander's number one fan, is tearing up his posters while sitting on the sofa with tears in her eyes. It's a completely abnormal sight, so much so that Ilya wonders if he's dreaming. When Svetlana sobs, reality solidifies around him, causing him to approach his friend with a frown.

"Hey, did something bad happen?" Ilya asks, crouching down next to his friend. "Have you finally come to your senses?"

Svetlana doesn't even glare at him. This is definitely serious.

"Leave me alone."

"I don't think I'll do that. You didn't mention Hollander once this week, and now you're tearing down his posters? Tell me what happened."

When her friend lifts her head, Ilya swallows hard. Svetlana looks utterly devastated, her lips drooping and her shoulders slumped. Ilya has never seen her like this.

"You're scaring me."

"I can't tell you," Svetlana sobs, crumpling the Hollander poster in her hands. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

Ilya has a secret of his own—his phone vibrates at that moment as if Hollander knows he's thinking about him—but this is different. His friend is genuinely crying, her eyes red and swollen. Ilya needs to know what happened so he can help her and take that tragic look off her face.

"Svetlana, you have to tell me," he insists. "This is important. I have to do something. If someone did this to you—"

"It wasn't like that," Svetlana murmurs. She resembles her childhood self, like when her father would scold her more forcefully than necessary. As if she had lost a battle. "You can't do anything."

“About what?”

"She just doesn't love me."

Oh. 

Ilya feels a heat rising through his limbs, uncomfortable and painful. He recognizes it as the helplessness of not being able to solve Svetlana's problems, of not being able to make her happy as she deserves.

The heaviness in Svetlana's words is uncharacteristic of her; Ilya doesn't know who she's referring to, but it's clear it's someone recent. Ilya would realize this if she'd been in love much longer.

Irrationally, Hollander's image flashes in his mind. Ilya looks at the poster and frowns.

"What does that boring man have to do with all this?"

Svetlana sighs.

"That's why I can't tell you."

"Is the other girl in love with him, or something?"

His friend's silence is deafening. Ilya feels even more confused because, aren't all of Hollander's fans in love with him? And it's a fact that the man doesn't love them back, at least not like that. Ilya would know; he's spent a month in paradise, also known as the space between Hollander's legs.

Svetlana shakes her head and starts crying again, but this time she extends her phone towards him so he can see the screen. It's the headline of a magazine about celebrity rumors.

SHANE HOLLANDER AND ROSE LANDRY HINTS THEIR ENGAGEMENT STATUS IN NEW INTERVIEW

Yesterday, Shane Hollander and Rose Landry made their debut on Late Nite Show, where they shared big news about the singer’s forthcoming album, The cottage, the actress' new movie You can't catch me—and their relationship.

On the show, they discussed commentary about their relationship.

“We’re really good friends and we don’t really pay attention to what people have to say,” Hollander said. “We’re a team. Rose handles the internet, I just spend time with the people I trust and love. I’ve been in the music industry for over 10 years. I know how it works, I know how to survive. Rose is the same.”

“He has a whole entourage of girls following him around,” Landry said. “I think it’s a little disconcerting, but sharing my life with him means sharing it with his fans. We’re a team, like Shane said. He supports me in everything I do and I support him. We’ll soon be exploring new paths together, and I think that will strengthen our relationship.”

Is that new path an engagement, as everyone in the media is saying? A source close to the actress commented that “Shane has made few public appearances because they both spend a lot of time locked away in their apartment. It’s adorable.”

Wedding bells are ringing, and along with the album the singer will release next semester, they’re being hailed as the couple of the decade. 

Ilya believes that if he opens his jaw any wider, his mouth will dislocate.

What the actual fuck.

He reads the article over and over, obsessively and carefully. He's aware that Svetlana's eyes are on him, waiting for his reaction, but Ilya is completely paralyzed.

“Sharing my life with him means sharing it with his fans.”

What the actual shit, really, because yesterday Ilya fucked Hollander on the couch so hard that he had to carry him to the bathtub and then put his pajamas on him. This doesn't make sense no matter how Ilya looks at it.

Hollander can do whatever he wants; they're not a couple. They have an arrangement that has no commitments and no strings attached, but still. Ilya likes to know when his hookups are seeing other people, like in relationships. Ilya hasn't slept with anyone since meeting Hollander, and even though he never thought the man would follow his steps, he'd like to know this kind of thing.

One problem at a time. Ilya takes a deep breath and looks at his friend, who still has tears in her eyes.

"Are you in love with Rose Landry?"

Ilya has no idea who that is, but he doesn't think he wants to know.

"Yes," Svetlana cries, her shoulders shaking with each sob. "But she's marrying Shane Hollander. She told me they were friends, and now they're getting married? Fuck!"

Svetlana throws herself onto his shoulders and cries uncontrollably, so Ilya does what he does best. He wraps her in a hug so tight he tries to absorb all her sadness as he rocks her back and forth.

Hollander has never mentioned anyone named Rose Landry, but to be fair, Ilya doesn't know anything about his friends. Hollander is the one asking all the questions, making sure to ask Ilya how his day was before telling him about his own activities.

He forgot to mention he's getting married. Motherfucker.

Ilya weighs his options while his friend calms down. Hollander doesn't seem like the type to lie; he hasn't been in all the time they've known each other, especially after Ilya insisted that honesty was the only policy he followed. It is. It always has been. 

That makes Ilya pull out his phone and check his messages.

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (15.45)

:(

Hey, what time can you come tomorrow? I get off the photoshoot at two in the afternoon.

Tomorrow is Hollander's birthday. Ilya thought he'd want to party with his friends, but the man insisted they could spend the afternoon together because his parents were out of town and he would be celebrating over the weekend. 

Ilya has the perfect gift. He'd been thinking about it all month, racking his brains to find the perfect option. Time has allowed him to get to know Hollander better—whom he's seen at least twice a week lately—which has solidified his choice.

Well, that depends on his answer. If the man is going to marry Rose Landry, Ilya would be sad. Not because he wouldn't see Hollander anymore, but because he has a very nice present.

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (16.02)

You and Rose Landry?

Ilya doesn't want to sound like a jealous boyfriend, firstly because he'd be a perfect boyfriend, and secondly because being jealous isn't something he practices. Ilya believes in free choice and in being a slut. Also, he is not Hollander’s boyfriend.

Still, his heart beats unevenly when the word "read" appears on the screen, followed by the three dots that indicate Hollander is typing.

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (16.02)

Shit, they already posted it????

Don't worry, it's not real, I'll explain tomorrow

So, what time?

 

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (16.02)

Three in the afternoon is fine.

 

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (16.02)

OK, see you :)

 

When Svetlana breaks the hug to sit back down on the sofa, Ilya puts his phone away and looks at her. It's not real. The feeling of relief he feels is indescribable, especially since Ilya doesn't want to admit it. It's unnecessary. Now the main focus is Svetlana and discovering what she's been hiding from him.

Besides being a vengeful asshole, Ilya is a hypocrite. It suits him, after all.

"So, Rose Landry," Ilya begins, slowly and deliberately. "Where did you meet her?"

"At a party. The party you ditched us at, actually. After Jackie left with Hayden, I stayed dancing with her. Fuck, she's amazing. Rose is incredible and... and... and now she's getting married."

It's astonishing how many tears are flowing from Svetlana's eyes. The last time Ilya saw her cry like this was when they moved to California and she had to leave her cat with her father. Never over a man or a woman.

"Okay," Ilya says, unsure how to proceed. "You love her. Does she love you?"

"No. I don't know. We've been talking since that day, and she told me about Shane—you can imagine I almost had a heart attack—and that they were friends and all that. But now, a wedding? How can I compete with Shane Hollander?"

Svetlana is never insecure about herself. She wears a superior and distant expression most of the time she's around others, partly because she is, and partly because she possesses a vanity that gives her enough confidence to believe she belongs in many social groups. Ilya agrees because Svetlana is everything she thinks she is and more, which makes it all the more baffling that she believes she can't beat Shane Hollander.

Especially since Ilya knows from Hollander himself that he's gay. That doesn't mean he can't be dating Rose Landry, apparently. Fake or not.

"Who is she, anyway? I've never heard her name."

Svetlana looks at him like he's stupid.

"Rose Landry is a very famous actress. She was in that movie you like, what's it called? The blonde who loses her memory and falls in love with her childhood friend again and again."

Is that Rose Landry? She's a beautiful woman, then, because Ilya has seen that movie many times. He's cried a few times, but that's between him and his pillow. Who is he supposed to be, a robot? That shit is sad and he’s going to suffer accordingly.

"Maybe it's fake," Ilya says, repeating Hollander's words, even though her friend doesn't know it. "The internet and the press take everything out of context. Aren't you supposed to know about these things?"

"A relationship for publicity," Svetlana says suddenly, as if she's had a revelation. She stands up, and color rushes back to her face. "You're right. I have to talk to Rose and... wait. You can't tell anyone about this. She doesn't want people commenting on her life and if—"

"I won't say anything," Ilya promises, wanting to laugh at how many times he's said that this year. "I just want you to be okay."

"I will be," Svetlana replies, knowing this is the end of the conversation. "Anyway, are you making dinner?"

Ilya spends the entire afternoon with his mind far from his apartment. He thinks about Hollander and his life, especially about all the words that come out of the man's mouth. They're always about what he eats, something funny he saw, or his thoughts on life in general. Never about being a singer, his hounding fans, or the pressure. He must feel it. Hollander isn't the god everyone thinks he is; Ilya can see through his cracks, hints of what he's not saying. 

Ilya wants to know more. Not because he's interested in his celebrity status, but because he cares about Hollander. 

It's a less frightening thought than it seems.

On Hollander's birthday, the sun shines bright and hot. Ilya feels foolish walking down the street with a bouquet of pink flowers he bought as a present, but he still holds his head high and proud. Ilya takes his gifts seriously.

When the elevator doors open in the penthouse, Hollander is waiting for him with a small smile. He looks so handsome and so utterly gorgeous that Ilya feels an urge to slap himself. Instead, he takes a stride to kiss him. Hollander makes a surprised noise against his mouth, but eagerly returns the kiss.

"Happy birthday," Ilya says, holding him close. "Now you're officially one of the old-timers."

Hollander's eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Who taught you that word?"

"I read it in the news next to your name."

Hollander rolls his eyes and Ilya kisses him again, this time slowly and deliberately. It's Friday, so only four days have passed since they last saw each other. Ilya feels like it's been years.

"What do you have there?" Hollander asks, turning away from him to go inside the apartment. 

"My bag and some flowers. Birthday flowers, a family tradition."

"Oh. A family tradition?"

Ilya notices that his apartment looks exactly the same as always. Doesn't Hollander have any friends who could decorate his place? Jackie always makes a huge fuss about birthdays. Maybe she can get Hayden into that habit, since she hasn't broken up with him yet.

"Yes, my mother taught me that tradition. I told my friends, and now we all do it," Ilya smiles, extending the flowers toward Hollander and his face flushed.

The man takes them and snorts.

"That explains the flowers Hayden got. I think he was a little offended, you know, because his girlfriend gave them to him."

"Hayden's an idiot."

"He's not, he just has a small world sometimes," Hollander says distractedly, looking at the flowers. When he looks back at Ilya, his eyes seem to hold something he can't quite understand. "Thanks, they're lovely. And thanks to your mother, I guess. She sounds like a lovely person. Does she live here?"

“Not anymore.”

Ilya doesn't dwell on the subject because it still hurts in places he doesn't want to explore. Ilya takes a step toward Hollander and hugs him; as always these days, the man seems to read him completely, because he doesn't ask anything and strokes the back of his neck with a gentle touch.

"So, birthday," Ilya says, grabbing Hollander by the waist and lifting him up. The man yelps in surprise and wraps his legs around him. "What are your plans?"

"You, dinner, you again."

And the one being celebrated isn't even him. Hollander is really amazing. Ilya laughs and leads him straight to his room. He knows the space well enough to move around easily; even with Hollander's mouth on his, Ilya drops his bag by the door and takes him to the bed.

"You know," Hollander sighs as his back hits the bed, "I can empty a drawer for you. That way you won't have to carry your clothes around everywhere.” 

"Okay," Ilya says, focused on kissing the man's neck. He must have showered recently; Hollander's skin smells clean, like soap, like the saliva Ilya leaves behind when he licks it. He can't wait any longer. "I have your present."

Hollander's eyes widen in surprise.

"I thought you were joking when you said you'd give me a gift."

"I don't joke around."

Hollander laughs, and Ilya's body, on top of his, vibrates slightly. He looks so handsome when he finds something funny, so full of life and vivacity. 

"It's literally all you do," Hollander says, then stops laughing abruptly. "Or at least I hope so."

Ilya rolls his eyes and kisses him breathlessly. It's obvious that he jokes at every opportunity he can because Hollander's laugh must do the same thing as the fairies in that movie that Troy forced him to watch. That's a conversation for another time.

"So, present?"

"Yeah, why not?"

He thought about it so much his head hurt, yes, but it's also incredibly obvious. It's been right under his nose the whole time, an idea that solidifies when Ilya moves away from Hollander to the end of the bed. Then, Ilya starts taking Hollander's shoes off.

"Have you ever heard of body worship?"

He listens to Hollander gasps and smiles.

"I thought about getting you something, but it's hard to give a gift to someone who already has everything," Ilya continued, removing both shoes to take off his socks. "Then I remembered how much you love it when I tell you how amazing you are. Amazingly self-centered, if you ask me."

"Hey, I don't—"

"Because you are. Both, but more amazing than self-centered. And, fuck, you have a beautiful body."

Hollander winces slightly when Ilya pulls his hands away from his skin, but then he's touching him again to remove his pants.

"And I like seeing that you're aware of that. I've seen your videos, your interviews. You know you're the most attractively handsome person in the room, and I agree. You're the most beautiful man I've ever met."

Now that Ilya has opened his mouth, he finds the words gliding out like honey, like traitorous automatons eager to confess all his secrets. It doesn't matter. Ilya wants Hollander to know how he sees him, to know that his attraction to him is genuine.

"I think I've hit the jackpot with you," Ilya whispers against his skin, letting his warm breath brush against his now-bare legs. "As a birthday present, I want to kiss every single inch of your body. Would you let me?"

Ilya raises his head and looks Hollander in the eyes, who seems agitated and a little desperate. The man nods once, twice, three times until his hair partially covers his forehead.

"Yeah, yes. Where do you want me to put my hands? Can I touch you?"

The dedication the man puts into everything is endearing. Ilya kisses his knee.

"Wherever you want, it doesn't matter."

Hollander's body is muscular and firm, soft in all the right places. Ilya slides his hands up his legs to his waist, pulling his shirt off. Soon Hollander is naked beneath him, still and with wide eyes. Ilya places a kiss between the two galaxies that always watch him. Then on his temple. Ilya slides his lips down to his cheeks and marks his kisses on his freckles.

"Pretty face."

Ilya cups part of Hollander's neck to pull him closer to his mouth and kisses him wetly, hungrily. He feels his pulse beneath his tongue and licks his way down to his collarbone. His skin awakens beneath his touch, and Hollander stirs, restless. Ilya doesn't mind; he likes it when the man demonstrates every sensation that blossoms within him. Hollander has a small scar on his right side, the result of a time he jumped off a swing too hard. Ilya places a kiss on it and bites the space beneath his armpit.

Then he brings his mouth to his chest, right over Hollander’s heart. Ilya lets his tongue trace a wet kiss.

He knows it's torturous, at a maddening pace judging by the man's tightly closed eyes, but Ilya enjoys the subtle movement of his hips and the slight trembling of his legs. Hollander is trying to control his reactions.

When Ilya moves toward his stomach and lightly bites the space between his groin and thigh, Hollander jumps.

“Sorry,” Hollander says immediately. “I’m not good at this, I can’t stay still.”

Ilya thinks of making fun of him, but Hollander has that twitch above his eyebrow that he already recognizes as anxiety. Ilya grabs him by the chin and touches his mouth.

“There’s nothing you can do to make me stop wanting you.” Ilya kisses him and continues. “You can tell me what you think, you know.”

“It’s just that—I can’t,” the man says, propping himself up on his elbows to look at him closely. “I know I said yes to dirty talk, but this is too much.”

Ilya looks into his honest, shy yet confident eyes.

“I can do it anyway, but I—”

"No, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. Do you push yourself every time someone tells you to do something, even if you don't like it?"

The silence is defeating. Ilya has to sit down and take a deep breath to keep from getting angry on behalf of the man.

"Fuck, Hollander." 

"What? It's just the way my life is."

Hollander doesn't seem bothered at all, as if it were a common occurrence. Ilya can't allow it, not in front of him anyway.

"Not here," Ilya says seriously, without taking his eyes off him. "Not between you and me, okay?"

Hollander's silence gnaws at Ilya from his fingertips to the depths of his bones. He wasn't lying when he said the man was handsome, but Ilya knows that Hollander's greatest asset is his attitude, his intelligence, his overwhelming presence that charms everyone and demands respect.

How can he allow others to do whatever they want with him?

Hollander sighs and sits down next to him; then, he presses a soft kiss to his temple. Ilya blinks.

"I don't do things I don't want to," Hollander whispers. "Not all the time, anyway. My mom was my manager for many years and taught me to stand up for myself."

"So?"

"Some habits are stronger, I guess."

Ilya looks at him and knows he is telling the truth. He takes Hollader’s hand and intertwines his fingers, presses a kiss to each of his knuckles.

"I understand that," he says in an equally low voice. Then he remembers Svetlana's crying, and everything makes sense. "Is that what your new wife is all about?"

Hollander's face takes on a strange expression.

"Don't call her that."

"Sorry, fiancée."

"It's about the new movie," Hollander explains, giving him a nudge with his shoulder. "I got the part, but I need Rose's popularity to get into the market or something. She and my mom are overseeing that, so I'm not worried. I'll let people believe what they want."

"Her popularity?" Ilya snorts incredulously. "Everyone in the world knows you."

"Yes, but not in the cinema. The producer needs them to believe I can do it."

Hollander's life is strange. It was strange when Ilya listened to Svetlana elucidate all these things to him, but it's even stranger to hear the man himself explain what the hell his whole world is about. It's almost a fantasy, an illusion that Ilya could lose at any moment.

Hollander's hand on his gives it a light squeeze.

"Can I be a little more greedy and ask for another birthday present?"

"Sure," Ilya says. "Anything you want."

"Could you call me by my name? I think we know each other well enough to say our first names."

Being Hollander feels like a constant win, but it also feels like a punch in the gut. Ilya can't help wanting to feel it again.

"Yes. Shane."

The name slips out a little shakily, but Hollander smiles.

"Happy birthday to me."

Hollander—no, Shane—takes his face in his hands and kisses him slowly. It's barely a touch, a ghostly caress, an invisible affection.

"I'm sorry you found out about Rose from someone else and not from me. I completely forgot, if I'm honest. We did that interview a month ago."

“A friend told me,” Ilya says, immediately biting his tongue because he promised Svetlana he wouldn’t mention it. “Who is she?”

“Rose’s a friend of mine from years ago, the one who put my eyeliner on that night, remember?” Shane replies, draping his arm around Ilya’s shoulder. He seems more relaxed, so Ilya slumps down next to him on the mattress. “We met at a terribly boring party. I was alone, and she helped me escape from an insufferable publicist. We became friends when I saw her kissing a waitress.”

Ilya laughs. She seems perfect for Svetlana, then.

“She’s the first person I ever came out to,” Shane continues, his eyes shining with affection. “Rose helped me get through the whole thing, to understand that there were actually a lot of people in the industry just like me. It’s not so terrible now that I’m older.”

Ilya can’t imagine everyone watching his every move, keeping an eye on who he’s with and who he’s not. He remembers the moment he confessed to his mother that he wasn’t just attracted to women; he remembers how scared and helpless he felt.

"You're very brave," Ilya replies. A universal, indisputable truth. He feels the urge to touch him, so he brings his mouth to Shane's forehead and gives him a loud kiss that makes Shane chuckle. "You probably have a song about that, right?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Svetlana says all your songs work for a specific moment. I guess I'll start listening to your albums. You have one coming out soon, don't you?"

Shane freezes, and a delicious red blush rises across the bridge of his nose. 

"Don't do that."

"Why?"

"It's embarrassing. You know me now, it would be weird."

"Please, are you going to tell me your parents don't listen to your music?" Ilya huffs, poking him in the side. Shane lets out a yelp. "Don't be such a crybaby."

"No."

"I will listen to it anyway."

"I'll kick you."

"Go ahead, try it."

Shane grunts and lunges mercilessly at him. When he's not relaxed, his body becomes heavy and his limbs stiff; he's strong, but Ilya played rugby for most of his life. He knows how to bear the weight of others and how to win a fight effortlessly. Shane's legs find him and he tries to push him off the bed, but this only allows Ilya to position himself between his legs. He turns him over easily and straddles Shane, relishing the look of frustration on his face.

"We can practice another day, if you want to beat me," Ilya smirks.

“Fuck you, Rozanov.”

“No, no. You have to say my name.”

“Okay, Ilya, fuck you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Shane lifts his hips to throw Ilya off balance, causing him to fall on top of him. Immediately, Shane's mouth captures him in a passionate kiss.

It tastes of laughter and renewed trust, of a space they've both created. It's something Ilya has never experienced before, but one he readily recognizes as his own. His and Shane's. Ilya kisses the man, longing to remember this, to keep it from ending. He can't understand it yet, but Ilya isn't impatient. Not with this. Shane seems to light up under his hands, the sun he's been missing for years.

"It's a fact," Shane gasps as he pulls away, his pupils dilated. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"Is that what they call handjobs now?"

Shane pushes him away with a bubbly laugh and stands up to walk to the bathroom.

Like a now second nature, Ilya follows him. 

They both clean themselves up amid laughter, playful shoves, and racing heartbeats. Ilya enjoys rubbing Shane's smooth skin beneath his hands, exploring every nook and cranny he can reach. The bathroom is large and spacious, unlike the shower in his apartment where Ilya can barely stand up.

When Ilya opens his bag and takes out a pair of underwear, Shane points to an empty drawer where he can put his things.

"I also left the shirt that you forgot the other day."

"You don't have to," Ilya says, but moves to the closet anyway. He blinks curiously when he sees the black fabric of the shirt that Harris gave him for his birthday last year. No one has ever made room for it in their house before. "But thanks."

Shane blushes and shrugs as if it's nothing. Ilya gives him a quick kiss.

It's still early, so they both sit on the sofa to talk. Shane tells him a little more about Rose, and Ilya likes her more and more. Then, he's shocked when Shane tells him he hasn't had any cake.

"But how do you make wishes?" Ilya says, raising an eyebrow. "You need cake."

"I'm on a special diet."

"And that excludes cake? No, that's not normal," he huffs. "My mother used to say that eating cake was almost as important as having a birthday."

Shane tilts his head and leans against his chest, looking at him. Ilya wraps an arm around him without thinking twice.

"Tell me about your mom."

Ilya hasn't spoken about his mother in a long time, mainly because he's far from everyone who remembers her. Svetlana did know her in person, but she understands the pain that comes with every word and memory. Despite that, talking to Shane is easy. Ilya finds himself thinking about his mother's kind face, her melodious laughter, and her loving hands.

"She was funny and beautiful. She had many friends and always wanted me to be happy," Ilya murmurs slowly. "She always tried."

"And are you?"

“What?”

"Happy."

Ilya looks at the man. Shane has a smile that lights up his whole face, his eyes, his spirit. Ilya has friends, Svetlana, a degree to finish. He has Shane Hollander in his arms and a t-shirt in his drawer.

He can't think of any other way to be happy.

"Most of the time."

"Good, that's good," Shane says, then frowns. "I apologize to your mom about the cake."

"I don't forgive you."

Ilya smiles as Shane laughs and rubs his face against his chest.

"Sorry. It's just the sugar; I can eat everything else."

"Okay, that's easy then."

Ilya stands up, pulling Shane along with him. It's still a few hours before nightfall, but the golden light falling on the apartment is enchanting. Shane settles onto a stool by the island while Ilya checks the refrigerator and drawers.

"There's a recipe Svetlana learned a few years ago; it's foolproof when you're broke and when you're short on time," Ilya explains, knowing Shane's eyes are fixed on him. "Egg, oil, flour, chocolate, and milk. All measured with a spoon. Three minutes in the microwave and voilà!"

"You've got the spirit of a vlogger."

Ilya snorts, amused.

"No thanks, I'll let you show off in front of the cameras."

"I'm not showing off!"

He stays silent as he mixes the ingredients because defending himself would mean admitting the hours Ilya has spent watching his interviews. And under no circumstances can he do that.

"So you got hired for your cowboy movie. Good for you. Excited, yes?"

Shane nods.

"Yeah, Scott Hunter is a good actor, and I've admired him for a long time."

Ilya pauses for a moment. Scott Hunter? Where has he heard that name before?

"Recording doesn't start until September, so I'll be pretty busy the second half of the year," Shane continues. "We won't see each other much because the album will need promotion."

"Yeah, celebrity life. I think I've gotten used to it,” Ilya says and the man rolls his eyes.

Ilya finishes stirring the ingredients in a mug and then puts it in the microwave. He times it and turns to look at Shane with his arms outstretched.

"Almost done, birthday boy."

"Wow, the full service," Shane laughs, standing up to meet him midway. When the man puts his arms around him, Ilya feels his warmth. "Flowers, cake. How many times have you done this exactly?"

"What?" Ilya asks, placing a kiss on Shane's furrowed brow.

"How many times have you done this for people you sleep with?"

It's a strange question, but Ilya takes the time to think it over because he always takes Shane's questions seriously. He doesn't quite understand what Shane means by "this," but Ilya has never slept with the same person repeatedly before. It might sound like he's a jerk, but Ilya usually loses interest in them after that.

Shane is a novelty in many ways. Ilya has fucked him a thousand different ways and can't stand not touching him anymore; Ilya lets him rest on his chest and listens to him talk until his head spins. In fact, he likes it. Ilya thinks about Shane almost all the time, about everything he does.

Maybe that's what being friends with benefits is all about. Ilya has never had one before; the time he suggested it to Shane, he wanted to get into his pants no matter what, but now he has no regrets. The man is entertaining, impressive, sensual.

How could Ilya not do this for him?

Shane is waiting for his answer, so Ilya leans in and kisses him slowly, gently.

"I'm not interested in the others. I'm interested in you, it's your birthday, isn't it?" At that moment, the microwave beeps. "Oh, it's done. Are you ready for the best cake ever?"

Shane's eyes glow differently when Ilya takes out the steaming mug, puts a spoon in it, and holds it out towards him.

“Happy birthday, Shane.”

Ilya doesn't believe in destiny, but he does believe in winning everything that comes his way. He doesn't believe in relationships because he doesn't think anyone could love him that way. Ilya is aware of the contradictions that walk all over him, of the inflexibility that sometimes makes others walk away. But three months have passed and Shane is still there, because he wants to be, because Ilya wants him to be.

He doesn't know what it means, but Ilya blinks to ward off the overwhelming feeling of happiness when Shane tastes the cake and exclaims with joy.

"If you get tired of psychology, you should be a ch—mmph!"

Ilya interrupts him with a kiss that tastes of chocolate and a different, but better present.

"Shut up and eat your cake."

Shane laughs, and the sound echoes through all the doubts and firsts Ilya thought he'd never have.

Ilya loves his degree because he chose it, but apparently he never makes good decisions. His head aches from reading so many papers, and although most of his classes will be graded on essays, there's only so many words he can type before his fingers itch. The end of the semester is always a bitch.

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (10.09)

Good luck with your essay :)

1 image attachment

Ilya smiles when he sees Shane wearing a cowboy hat and makeup that makes his face look different but still handsome.

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (10.09)

I do not need luck, I need words. 

Fuck English.

 

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (10.10)

When classes are over, you won't need words

You can speak Russian as much as you want or take a vow of silence!!

 

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (10.10)

And how are you going to understand me?

 

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (10.10)

Body language ;)

Ilya sighs with amusement and looks back at his laptop, the document open with a hundred words left to write. He's so close to being free. Then, Ilya plans to sleep until the year 2030 and not be a human being until the next semester starts.

That's what Ilya thinks, but his phone lights up with a message from the group chat he has with his friends.

from: JACKIE AND THE FOUR 🐎☠️ (10.43)

Troy неудачник: who is ready to GET FUCKED UP

Harris D: i still have one exam left :’(

Troy неудачник: boo u whore

Jackie baby: I AM

Troy неудачник: 2nite at rozy and sve’s apartment 🫵

Me: ????

Jackie baby: can i bring hayden

Me: No.

Jackie baby: 😣

Svetlana ❤️‍🔥: Yes you can

Svetlana ❤️‍🔥: But I am also bringing someone so you guys need to get real cool about a bunch of stuff really fucking quick 

Troy неудачник: WHAT DJSFNSDFDLSLDFS 

Troy неудачник: my baby is so grown up

Harris D: Okay now im gonna go

Troy неудачник: fuck you

Jackie baby: Don't threaten him with a good time

Harris D: 🖕

Ilya laughs and feels a warm sensation of joy spread through his chest in support of his friend. A few weeks ago, Svetlana arrived covered in hickeys, beaming from ear to ear, and told Ilya that she and Rose had made their relationship official. That meant a social media presence, accompanying her to events, and enduring whatever the internet might say. Svetlana is the toughest person Ilya knows; so far, she couldn't care less.

Shane is also happy for his friend, but for different reasons. He no longer has to do interviews pretending he might be attracted to Rose, nor does he have to worry about being accepted into the film industry; he's already been asked to present some awards next season. Ilya ate his ass for almost an hour in celebration.

Everyone wins.

Suddenly, a notification from Svetlana pops up in his inbox and Ilya feels the color drain from his cheeks.

From: Svetlana ❤️‍🔥 (10.59)

Hey a heads-up

Rose wants to invite Shane over so Hayden feels more comfortable

Is that okay?

Ilya blinks, reads the message over and over, then looks around.

The apartment is a mess; Svetlana has spent the whole week with Rose, and Ilya has gone completely mad with all the essays he's had to write. Fuck, Shane Hollander here? Among his friends? With fucking Hayden? And Troy?

Ilya thinks this is a recipe for disaster.

To: Svetlana ❤️‍🔥 (11.00)

Sure.

If that makes you happy.

 

From: Svetlana ❤️‍🔥 (11.00)

It does, thank you!! 

See you later.

 

Holy fucking shit.

That's all the motivation Ilya needs. He takes a deep breath, gulps down the last of his energy drink, and starts moving his hands across the keyboard as if possessed. He hasn't slept a night and some of his sentences aren't grammatically correct, but whatever. Mr. Turner sees him raising his hand to speak up in every class; that has to be enough.

When he finishes writing his essay it's only noon, but Ilya still has to clean up. He moves frantically around the room picking up the dirty clothes, folding the clean ones he'd been too lazy to put away, and throwing out the leftover instant noodles from yesterday.

He's usually pretty clean, but Ilya's tired. And frustrated because he hasn't seen Hollander in a week. It's always been easy for Ilya to find someone to fuck and relieve his stress, but he doesn't want to. He wants Shane riding him until he's exhausted and Ilya has to take over. 

That's how things are now, and he needs them to stay that way.

And he'll see Shane today. At his home, hanging out with his friends. Ilya doesn't know what will come of it, but it wasn't even a possibility in his wildest dreams. What happened to Mr. "Don't tell anyone"?

It doesn't really matter, Ilya is grateful anyway.

At five in the afternoon, his apartment is cleaner than it's ever been—Ilya even mopped behind the refrigerator because you never know—and his body protests with every move he makes. Ilya will spend the entire summer lying down, sunbathing, and getting a tan. He deserves it. Harris always says it suits him perfectly.

He doesn't have the energy to eat, so after a long shower, Ilya puts on comfortable clothes and sets a twenty-minute alarm for a nap to replenish his spirit and wake up refreshed. Ilya lies down on the sofa because it's not as comfortable as his bed, but he must be more tired than he realizes because his eyes close heavily and he falls asleep immediately.

A warm touch on his forehead wakes him up.

His apartment is shrouded in darkness except for the small lamp by the window. Svetlana's eyes are close to his face.

"Hey," she says softly. "It's already night. I don't want to wake you, but we have guests."

Night? But Ilya set an alarm, the loudest one possible. He sits up from the sofa with a grunt—he'll definitely ruin his back if he keeps sleeping here—but all traces of discomfort vanish when he sees them.

Beside Svetlana stands a stunning woman. She's a little taller than his friend and has light eyes that gaze at him curiously. She must be Rose, a fact Ilya confirms when she smiles at him and becomes the spitting image of the character from his favorite movie.

She's stylish, and her long nails flutter in the air when she greets him. Behind his friend and the woman is Shane Hollander.

In the darkness his expression is barely perceptible, but Ilya has seen him countless times in the dark. He has seen him overwhelmed with desire, sleep clinging to his eyelashes. Ilya could draw his face with his eyes closed, relying solely on memory.

"This is Rose, my girlfriend," Svetlana says with the biggest smile Ilya has ever seen. "And this is Shane."

Shane, as if he were just some random person, and as if Svetlana hadn't just taken his picture out of the refrigerator two days ago.

Ilya clears his throat and stands up, still a little groggy from sleep.

"Uh, hello."

"You're very handsome, even more so than Svetlana mentioned," Rose laughs, tossing her glossy hair. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Well, it's almost ten, so the others will be here soon," Svetlana says, clapping her hands lightly. "We brought drinks and snacks. Wash your face and help us out."

Ilya restrains himself from huffing in annoyance; he doesn't like it when Svetlana treats him like a child. But he's a considerate friend, and he is in a good mood because he finished all his work for the semester, so Ilya will let it slide. That, and because Shane's eyes are on him, watching his every move.

When Ilya returns to the living room wearing a different t-shirt and with no trace of sleep on his face, Shane is sitting awkwardly on the sofa while the women chat and laugh.

He looks so adorable that he wants to bite him. Ilya sits next to him and smiles at him.

"Welcome to my home."

"Thank you," Shane says in a strange voice, looking at his hands. "It's nice."

"If you didn't look like you were dying, I think it would be nicer.”

"Be kind, Ilya. If you ruin this for me, I'll kill you," Svetlana warns from the kitchen, speaking quickly in Russian so their guests won't understand her.

Rose laughs and wraps his friend in a hug.

"I love your accent."

Ilya stops himself from rolling his eyes and looks back at Shane, who is still focused on his hands. Something must have changed in Ilya's brain, chemically speaking; before, he only thought about himself and about situations in a light and superficial way. Now, when Ilya looks at the man, he can sense the anxious thoughts hanging from his tense shoulders and his withdrawn expression. Ilya can understand that this is a new and uncomfortable situation for him. He needs to make Shane feel better, to make him smile, to make him feel at ease.

"Hey," Ilya whispers, touching his knee with his own. "I'm really surprised you're here."

Shane looks at him.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure whether to accept Rose's invitation or not. I texted you, but you didn't reply," the man says with a sigh. "Did you finish your essay?"

“It’s okay, I'm glad you're here. And I didn't understand a damn thing I wrote, but I finished."

"You're smart, you'll do fine," Shane says, smiling privately. "I can always hire you to be my secretary or something."

"Hot."

"Shut up."

"Ilya," Svetlana calls, startling him. "Put on some music and stop bothering Shane."

"I didn't—"

"Do it."

Ilya does roll his eyes this time, but he listens to his friend. The important thing is that he feels Shane's smile behind him, even if it's at his expense.

His friends—and Hayden—all arrive together ten minutes later. Ilya deliberately sits near Shane to scare them off if necessary. Especially Troy, who's a coward who hasn't been able to confess to Harris how much he loves him and is still very much single.

Ilya can't let him make a pass at Shane; he won't be able to hide his expression of disgust.

The scene unfolds in a truly hilarious way. Jackie is the first to enter; she screams with excitement when she sees Rose holding hands with Svetlana, and the sound only gets worse when she sees Shane sitting on the sofa looking like he wants to die. Following her, Troy and Harris open their eyes so wide they look like they're about to explode.

"I can't believe it, this is the best night of my life!" Jackie shouts, jumping up to hug her friends. Then she hurries over and wraps Shane in an awkward hug. "Hayden has told me so much about you, it's a pleasure to meet you!"

"Hello too, Jackie," Ilya says when Shane doesn't answer. "I'm glad to know you can be a normal person."

The woman laughs loudly and sits on his lap, planting a noisy kiss on his cheek.

"Look at you, sitting with the superstar you hate. You're so grown up."

The next scream comes from Harris, who apparently hadn't seen Shane. Troy and Hayden enter the apartment with identical expressions, but for different reasons. Troy because he can’t believe the new two additions to their group of friends, and Hayden because he is bothered by how Ilya is hugging his girlfriend. Ilya feels like telling him to fuck off because he's known Jackie for a long time, but Shane's body heat reminds him that the guy is his friend. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Harris yells so loudly that Ilya decides to start saving up for when they get a noise ticket. “You’re shitting me, right? Svetlana and Rose Landry? I think I’m going to faint. And my fucking god, Shane Hollander is here too.”

Ilya wants to punch all his friends for being such freaks. And, good heavens, now it's Hayden's turn to speak. Things really can get worse.

"Hey, guys. Thanks for inviting me," the man says, sitting down next to Ilya. Someone save me. "This is my friend, Shane, who—"

"The one who's Svetlana's biggest obsession ever," Troy laughs, accepting the drink Rose offers him.

"Not anymore," Svetlana says, sticking her tongue out. 

When Jackie gets up to give Hayden a quick kiss and settles into his lap, Ilya turns to look at Shane. He can watch in real time as the man transforms into this person who speaks differently, laughs shallowly, and seems unattainable.

"Ouch," Shane says in a soft, slightly seductive voice. Ilya frowns. "It's always a pain to lose a fan."

His friends laugh, clearly charmed by this person Ilya doesn't know. There's no point in getting upset about something he doesn't even understand, so Ilya stands up to give his seat to Harris and helps Svetlana pass the drinks to the others.

At some point during the evening, his friends begin to behave like normal adults, chatting amongst themselves with laughter and jokes that Ilya doesn't join in on, too preoccupied with staring at Shane. Jackie relentlessly questions him and Rose, except that Svetlana can spontaneously kiss the woman and hold her in her arms whenever she wants. Ilya just watches from afar as Shane tries hard to appear friendly and relaxed.

Ilya doesn't understand why he has to pretend when the man is actually friendly. He knows he's doing it because he recognizes Shane's tense shoulders and the slight tug on his cheek, which Ilya wants to kiss to reassure him.

But he can't.

"It's boring sometimes, traveling all the time," Hayden says with his usual smug tone. Ilya doesn't hate him that much because he doesn't really know him, but his attitude toward Shane bothers him a little. Who is he, his mother? "But being a singer is demanding, and as Shane's assistant, I need to make sure everything's in order."

"Oh!" Rose says with a chuckle. "Remember that time in Toronto when Shane lost his ID and we had to pay a ridiculous amount to the federal government?"

Troy looks at them and whistles.

"Life's funny that way. I forgot to pay for my candy yesterday and got it for free."

"It's not free if you steal it," Harris interjects.

"And who's going to come and charge me for it, huh? Jenny, who eats all the hot dogs when no one's looking?"

Jackie's laughter makes Shane jump.

"Who the fuck is Jenny?" Jackie says. "You guys are crazy. Anyway, I don't care about you two. What I do care about is hearing the adorable story between you girls. Tell us!"

Ilya knows the story because he and Svetlana spent the entire night talking when they officially became girlfriends. A dramatic confession and a passionate make-out session led Svetlana to forgive Rose in a heartbeat. Ilya watches Shane nod at all the right parts and crack a small smile as his friends kiss at the end of the story.

“Svet is amazing,” Rose sing-songs when she’s done talking, pressing kisses all over her girlfriend's hair, “I’m going to marry her very soon.”

His friend's face flushes redder than ever at the excited shouts of their friends. Ilya smiles broadly.

"Long live love, damn it," Troy says with a sigh. Then he turns his face and looks at Shane. "Do you have a partner? It must be difficult with fame and all that."

Ilya straightens up reflexively. He feels Hayden's eyes on him, but he doesn't succumb to his gaze and drinks the vodka Rose has prepared for him. He likes that woman; she has good taste. Unlike Jackie.

"We're honestly surprised, we thought you were going to marry Rose. At least that's what the internet said," Harris laughs. "But she's here with Svet, so I guess that's out of the question."

Shane shakes his head and smiles kindly.

"She made the best choice. I don't have a partner, not really."

Ilya knows it's the truth, but it feels strange to hear it when he's been counting the seconds it takes for the man's chest to rise and fall when Shane sleeps. It doesn't mean anything; he knows that. They're close enough to be considered friends, he supposes, but Ilya doesn't know what Troy's face looks like before he comes, and he couldn't care less.

Especially when his friend starts to form a devilish smile and exchanges glances between him and Shane.

"You know, maybe it's for the best. You could always end up like this guy here. Rozy's been seeing the same person for months, but he's still single." Troy's voice burns through Ilya's veins, and he wants to punch him so hard in the face. "It's better not to get involved with anyone, or you'll get your heart broken. My poor friend has been in love for way too long."

Shane raises his eyebrows, but Ilya can't respond. He's not breathing, not blinking, not moving.

In love? Ilya isn't in love. He doesn't think he is. Not in the pathetic way Harris longs for Troy to stop being an idiot and admit that he loves him, anyway. He can't because Ilya doesn't fall in love. No one interests him enough to get involved with more than three times—

His heart is pounding so hard Ilya feels dizzy.

"You know, I've been thinking about this," Troy keeps talking because he's one of the most insufferable people Ilya knows. "You fell in love with someone really ugly, and you don't want us to laugh at you. That's why he's not here with us."

"Are you implying that the person you love is here?" Ilya says, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears.

"Maybe," Troy replies, but his earlier boldness is gone. "Anyway, Shane, you shouldn't be in a relationship. Too many problems." 

Jackie rolls her eyes, seemingly wanting to cut her friend's cynicism short, but Shane speaks first.

"Looks like you've got experience." 

It's the mocking tone Ilya knows all too well, disguised as fact to feign ignorance in case the other person doesn't notice. Ilya understands all of Shane's patterns, both the obvious ones and the ones he hides beneath the surface, so he laughs freely.

"Actually, he doesn't, that's why he's complaining."

"You want to talk about experience? Ilya's fucked everyo—"

"Okay," Svetlana interrupts Troy, standing up. "I've got cards, anyone want to play poker?"

The conversation ends with Rose, Svetlana, Harris, Hayden, and Jackie sitting on the floor in a circle, gambling money in the worst card game Ilya has ever seen. He takes the opportunity to return to his place next to Shane on the sofa, and while he's at it, he whacks Troy on the head.

"You're an asshole."

"Sorry," Troy mutters bitterly, clutching his glass of alcohol and not looking at him. "I'll do it, I’m going to tell him, I promise."

"Soon, I hope, before you start airing Jackie's secrets too."

Shane glances at him out of the corner of his eye but stays silent. He seems calmer than at the beginning of the evening, which is a good thing.

"You don't you play cards?" Ilya asks, just to hear his voice.

"I don't want to lose."

Ilya laughs.

"I don't think you've ever lost in your life."

"I want to keep it that way," Shane replies in a strange, reverent tone that makes Ilya's fingers itch to touch him. He wants to kick all his friends out and fuck him on this couch, then watch him sleep with a scowl on his face like Shane sometimes does. Ilya takes a sip of his drink. "What about you?"

"I don't know how to play poker."

"He's lying," Troy chimes in. "He's a sore loser, too. He and Svetlana once got into a hair-pulling fight."

Shane laughs, genuinely. Ilya bites the inside of his cheek to keep from kissing him.

"I can imagine."

"Maybe you two have that in common," Troy says, and Ilya can tell he's already drunk from his slurred speech. "Hey, Shane, if Rozy ends his non-relationship, maybe you two could be something. My friend here has a magic dick that—"

"Shut your idiot face," Ilya snarls. "You're losing all your friend privileges."

"Hey, I'm helping you!" Troy says. "Shane, you're his type. Cute, sexy, talented. I'm sure all the hate he had for you was just lust. Like in the movies. You are going to know that now that you are an actor or something. You know this guy manipulated me into backing off once I told him I wanted to be with you?"

"Harris!" Ilya shouts, unable to bear it any longer. "Troy's gone too far. It's time for you to take him away."

"Fine, but I expect you to make it up to me," Harris sighs, like the excellent friend he is. "Come on, you adorable idiot, I'll take you home."

The gentleness with which his friend holds Troy is unbelievable, and once again Ilya wonders why they're taking so long to deal with the obvious.

"We're leaving too," Jackie says sulkily, throwing her cards and standing up. "I don't want to lose any more money. Hayden, get my jacket."

At least that's one good thing about their relationship, Ilya thinks, as the man silently obeys. He's an idiot, yes, but Jackie still has the upper hand. Good for her.

"Hey, Shane, want a ride? JJ's done for tonight."

Ilya grimaces at Hayden's questioning gaze, but Shane waves his hand.

"I'll go with Rose, thanks."

His friends say goodbye with hugs and the promise to meet again soon. Harris is once again excited to talk to Shane and promises Rose he'll get her a baby picture of Svetlana, referencing a conversation Ilya missed.

When only the four of them remain, Ilya looks Shane in the eyes and studies his every expression.

“Hey.”

"Hey," Shane replies shyly. Then he flashes an amused smile. "Troy's an interesting character."

"He's a jerk."

"He knows you well enough to know you have a magic dick, though."

Ilya opens his mouth to defend himself, but something on Shane's face stops him. He has an unfamiliar, almost annoyed expression, if he didn't like Troy. Ilya wants to ask him about it, but Svetlana approaches them wearing her jacket.

"Rose and I are leaving. Shane, are you staying?"

Ilya looks at his friend when she asks the strange question. Why would Shane stay with a stranger, with someone Svetlana knows Ilya doesn't like? She returns his gaze, serious and curious, as if she knows something he doesn't.

"Actually," Shane murmurs, glancing sideways at Ilya. "I'll stay a while to talk. You can take me home in a bit, right?"

Ilya wants to say no, that he wants Shane to wrap himself in the ten-dollar sheets he got two years ago. Ilya wants to say he's glad he's here being a part of his daily life, that he can stay as long as he wants, even if it's just a short time.

Ilya just nods.

"Don't fuck this up," Svetlana whispers at Ilya as she gives him a goodbye kiss. It's a strange thing to say, considering they're already leaving, but Ilya doesn't answer. "See you tomorrow."

"Shane, call me, okay?" Rose says, giving the man a quick hug and then she smiles at Ilya. "It was nice meeting you. I guess we'll see each other often."

It's easy to imagine a reality where the four of them meet constantly. At their homes, in restaurants, in public. For that to happen, he and Shane would need more than this arrangement Ilya stupidly offered, but they have nothing.

When the women leave and it's just him and Shane left, Ilya immediately senses the shift of energy in the air. There's something about the man's bright, familiar eyes that instantly puts him in a good mood.

"Your friends are fun, but I have to say I'm disappointed."

"Of Troy?" Ilya laughs, leaning back on the sofa. "Get in line, we all are."

"No, I was expecting the BDSM test. Didn't you guys do it every time you get together?"

"Relax, I already know your result is 'brat,'" Ilya says, wanting to kiss him, but he stays comfortably seated. "I'm sorry my friends are weird."

"Not all of them."

"Harris's a good guy, I know that."

"Is he the one Troy's in love with?"

Of course Shane noticed because he's an intelligent and observant man. Ilya wonders if he can also notice his own irregular heartbeat.

"Yes, for years."

"And what does your dick have to do with all this?"

Oh. So that's what it's about.

"Are you jealous?" Ilya laughs, leaning into Shane's personal space. The man doesn't move. "You don't have to be. You're here with me, aren't you?"

Shane purses his lips, and Ilya can't hold back any longer. He leans in and kisses him, savoring the ginger ale the man has been drinking all night. Ilya immediately misses not having touched him and being far away during the entire celebration, so he moves until the space between them is limited.

"I'm not interested in him," Ilya murmurs, placing a kiss on his cheek. Then on the other. "I'm interested in you. It's incredible that you're here, on my sofa, in my space."

Shane sighs contentedly and returns the touch, climbing onto his lap with practiced familiarity.

"I'm not jealous," Shane clarifies. He's terrible at lying. "I'm just intrigued by how close you are with your friends."

Ilya hums and moves his head to the curve of the man's neck, resting his forehead there. He loves the way he smells.

"I imagine that, maybe, you'd be like that with me if we were in different circumstances."

At Shane's sad voice, Ilya raises his head to look at him.

"We can be, if you want. It doesn't bother me."

"I know," Shane smiles, shy and grateful. "It's just that it would be different. Imagine I'm, I don't know, a college buddy."

Ilya laughs, and his mind conjures up a montage of Shane with dark circles under his eyes from spending the whole night studying.

"Imagine," Shane continues, but now he doesn't sound sad, but rather lustful. One of his hands slides through his hair, and the other caresses Ilya's chest. "I study music, maybe audiovisuals. We met at the library. You look at me, and I think you're the most attractive guy I've ever seen."

"Of course we met at the library because you're boring," Ilya huffs, enjoying Shane's pleasant weight on top of him. "But I understand. Hey, Shane, do you have your English homework?"

"This is college, not high school."

Shane lets out a playful laugh, and Ilya has to show how much he likes him because that's all he can think about when he sees him looking so handsome, so beautiful. Ilya cups his face in both hands and kisses him passionately until they're both breathless, until his heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chests.

Shane breaks the kiss, and Ilya's face follows, drawn back in, but Shane stops him with his hand.

"Who is this person you're supposedly in love with?"

"What?"

"Troy said you're in love. And that your heart was broken."

Ilya shakes his head, trying to recall their earlier conversation, but Shane's body is so soft beneath his hands. Ilya wants to melt into him and continue the nap that was interrupted earlier, but this time with Shane on top of him.

When Shane's fingers tug at his hair, Ilya hisses, and his cock stirs with interest.

"Troy doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Ilya."

"What? I'm not interested in anyone but you. You haven't broken my heart, have you?"

Shane's eyes widen for some unknown reason, so Ilya kisses him again, and this time the man melts into him. Ah, what a wonderful day. Ilya doesn't have to think about college again until the holidays are over, and he has a beautiful man in his arms.

"I need you to fuck me," Shane says in a desperate tone that ignites every nerve ending in his body. "Right now. Take me to the shower and fuck me, please."

Everything in life is about winning.

Ilya doesn't need to be told twice, so he takes Shane by the thighs and carries him to the bathroom without any trouble. He helps him undress with a comforting desperation because he knows that when the day is over, Shane will be in his bed, with him, with his dreams.

"My shower's small," Ilya says between kisses. "We won't fit."

"I don't care," Shane moans, rubbing against him. "You're going to get me ready, open me up, and then we'll move this to the bed."

Fuck. Ilya doesn't like being bossed around under any circumstances, but everything changes with Shane. The man could tell him the sky is blue, and he'd do everything he could to make sure the others saw it too. Ilya has no principles; he doesn't care when it's Shane.

Ilya enjoys sliding the soap over Shane's body, covering as much skin as possible with his open hands. He relishes the reactions his body gives him as he moves closer to his ass and caresses the space between his cheeks. Ilya savors the pressure in his fingers as he pushes one in, and Shane's hole offers just enough resistance to make him reach for the lube.

He cherishes the intimacy he finds in listening to Shane's whimpers, which guide him to the right path. It seems incredible to Ilya that he can take him in his arms and carry Shane to the bed in his small room, where so many insignificant people have come and gone, proving that Shane is the most important of all.

"Shit, Ilya," Shane groans as three of his fingers are consumed by his insides. "Fuck me, I'm ready."

"Let me go for the condoms."

"No, just like this," Shane says, and Ilya feels like he's going to die. "Just for today. We can do it without anything, I—I haven't been with anyone else. Just you. I don't know if you—" 

Ilya silences him with a kiss and swallows his moan as he withdraws his fingers. Blindly, he searches for the lube, puts some on his hand and jerks off, enjoying the sounds Shane makes as he feels him naked against his skin.

He's a little desperate, he has to admit it. Ilya doesn't know why, but he feels like time is slipping through his fingers, as if the man between his legs might disappear. Maybe he will. Ilya doesn't know what Shane's plans are for the future, because they don't share it. Shane has a life in his fifteen-story apartment and his billboards. He has his fame and his money, his boundless beauty that he can choose to live far away from him.

Wanting to share the same future is a discovery that almost throws Ilya off balance.

When Ilya feels he's about to explode, he moves his body closer to Shane's and touches his mouth with his hand. Immediately, the man opens it and closes his lips around his finger, gently sucking. They discussed this months ago, the second time they had sex. Shane confessed that he liked feeling a little choked, which was why he gave Ilya blowjobs like he wanted to stop breathing.

Still, it's always a novelty to see a man's expression.

"Come on, I need you," Shane sobs, still with his finger in his mouth, his hands reaching behind Ilya's back and digging his nails in. "Fuck me now."

"So impatient," Ilya says, clicking his tongue, but he takes his cock and guides it to the man's hole. "I should make you beg for it if you want it so badly."

"I'm going to kill yo—my fucking god."

A whine cracks from Shane's throat as Ilya sinks into him, too overwhelmed to form a coherent thought. The man's insides are hot, and it spreads that sensation throughout the rest of his body. The pressure on his cock is incredible and intense; Ilya never wants to pull away. He's had sex without a condom before, but this is different.

"Are you okay?" Ilya asks, because he needs to hear him say it. He wants to hear him say how much he wants this, how much he wants him.

"Yeah, always," Shane gasps, his eyes closed, but when he opens them, they seem to light up everything around him. "Move, I'm ready."

Ilya moves in slowly, carefully, establishing a comfortable rhythm for both of them. He still feels Shane's nails digging into his back and his legs trembling around him. Ilya loves this position, seeing him face-to-face, a close-up view of all his expressions. He likes to fuck him from behind too, appreciating those dimples in his lower back that contract and relax when Ilya thrusts hard. He likes it when Shane rides him and moans so much that he ends up with a sore throat, tired arms, and exhausted legs.

He also likes it gentle, slow. Ilya likes to brush Shane's hair away from his face when he gets so agitated it creates a tangled mess. He likes to kiss the bridge of his nose, the curve of his neck, each of his knuckles. Ilya likes to sleep on his chest until all his thoughts fade away in a warm embrace.

What will happen when Shane no longer wants this? Him? 

It's a difficult thought to conceive, not because Shane couldn't want him anymore, but because Ilya wouldn't know what to do. Could he live with that expression that contorts his face when Ilya makes the right move and elicits a groan from deep within his throat? He doesn't think so.

Ilya kisses him and prays, in his mind, that it will be forever.

"Shit, shit," Shane says, his breath coming faster and faster. "Ilya, Ilya."

His name sounds like a plea, like a chant he wants to repeat over and over. Ilya sits back and pulls Shane up into his lap. His thrusts follow the same rhythm, but in this position he can bury himself deep inside the all-encompassing heat. Ilya grunts and holds him tightly, with one hand on his ass and the other on his neck.

"I could fuck you for days," Ilya murmurs, driven wild. "You take me so well. So good."

Shane cries in his arms and trembles when a thrust is particularly hard, but Ilya holds him confidently.

"I think you did something to me," Ilya whimpers, increasingly less in control. "How am I supposed to live without you? I think I like you more than I should."

Ilya isn't good with words. They slip out in the awkwardness of his need to touch Shane, in his anxiety to show him how precious he is to him. English is a treacherous path that can't quite capture the trembling of his hands and the beating of his soul, so Ilya chooses his native tongue to express what he can't.

The room responds with echoes of moans from his skin slapping against Shane's.

In the end, it's a combination of things. Shane's closed eyes searching for his mouth until it finds it, the man's hands in his hair, the small jumps Shane makes until his thrusts are in sync with his movements. When Ilya comes, he loses his balance and drops Shane onto the bed at just the right moment to see the man explode on his belly. Ilya trembles but does not stop, thrusting into the man until his orgasm ends with a muffled groan.

“Fuck,” Shane breathes and he presses his forehead to Ilya’s. The man winces when Ilya slowly withdraws his cock, and he can feel the come leaking out of Shane hole and trickling down to the man's balls. Shane's arms are the only thing preventing Ilya from going down and licking every surface of his skin until he's clean. "I think you killed me."

Ilya laughs and rests his head on Shane's chest.

"You say that every time."

"Yeah, but I've never done it without a condom before. It's different. I can't wait to do it again."

There's something in Shane's voice that makes Ilya tense up.

"You always have to ask them for an STD test," he says slowly, holding on a little tighter to Shane's side. "You can't trust them."

"Is that your way of telling me you've slept with other people?" Shane says, sounding annoyed. "I don't mean trying it with someone else. I am talking about you."

The relief coursing through his body should be studied. Ilya places a kiss on his chest.

"I already told you I haven't slept with anyone else in months. Why should I, when I have the very god of sex in my bed?" Ilya laughs happily. "You're ridiculous."

"Jerk," Shane says, trying to slap him, but it ends with him gently stroking his back. Then he says, "I should learn Russian."

"Oh?"

"I'd like to know what dirty things you say when you're inside me."

Of course, because Ilya's mind wanders to other planets when he's fucking Shane, and he forgets how the damn language works. It’s fine, he doesn't remember saying anything incriminating. It doesn't matter anyway; Ilya knows his body is honest enough.

"I can teach you if you want, but it'll only be things like 'harder' and 'suck my dick’."

Shane chuckles and stretches, raising his arms above his head.

"It works for me."

After Ilya gets up to find a damp cloth to clean him, they both change the sheets and go to bed. Shane, as always, snuggles up to him, and Ilya hugs him without even thinking.

It's then, when Ilya is about to fall asleep, that he realizes why he can't let Shane go, why the mere thought of being away from him tears him apart.

Oh.

I love him.

Oh, no.

After much deliberation, Ilya does something he never does. 

He takes the coward's way out. 

Not because he is a coward, but because the idea of Shane looking at Ilya with contempt and telling him no, that the feeling consuming his body and mind isn't reciprocated, is so terrifying that Ilya prefers to maintain his sanity. In this context, there's no need to be honest, Ilya thinks wholeheartedly. What difference does it make that he loves Shane with every step he takes, with every caress on his face, with every kiss that takes his breath away?

It's best not to risk things when the present is so, so good. Ilya spends his summer sleeping in, eating absurd amounts of food, and enjoying the people he loves. He and Svetlana make time to watch the movies they likes—now including Rose because she's genuinely funny; Jackie and Ilya go dancing together despite Hayden's obvious but well-kept glares; he helps Harris assemble a new piece of furniture; and Ilya plays rugby again in his free time to make Troy happy.

Now, his routine includes Shane and his soft laugh. Shane and his passion for explaining things to Ilya that he doesn't understand and isn't interested in, but which he listens to attentively because it's important to him and because his eyes sparkle in a special way. Shane and his desire to share with him in his usual places—something they can't do because the damn paparazzi have become obsessed with him again—so Ilya invents impossible schemes to go unnoticed and be able to kiss Shane inside the studio on the control console.

So yes, life is good. Ilya keeps his secrets close to his chest and enjoys the way Shane's ass bounces when he fucks himself against his cock. Ilya lets his heart race when Shane serves him normal food that he bought especially for him, unlike the unappetizing shit Shane usually eats.

Everything is going perfectly well, until Ilya goes a little crazy.

And then very insane.

Ilya is sprawled on the sofa, scrolling aimlessly through his social media feed, when Svetlana bursts in, turns on the TV, and blasts a Shane Hollander video.

Ilya raises his eyebrows.

"I thought you were over your obsession."

"I am," his friend insists. "It's just that this interview is new. His movie is coming out soon, and the theories are out of control."

"Theories?"

Ilya sits up on the sofa when he sees Shane on the screen, sitting against a white background. Beside him is an older man with a beard and an incredibly sexy posture, whom Ilya has come to recognize as Scott Hunter.

Shane looks good in that white light, and they should have covered up the hickey Ilya left on the side of his neck because he's wearing... is that his damn shirt?

Svetlana seems to realize the same thing, because her eyebrows are raised until they disappear under her bangs.

“Look! He's got a shirt just like yours.”

“Uh?”

Shane is wearing his shirt on television. In a video that will circulate in every corner of the internet.  Ilya’s shirt. It's a little big on him, but the color suits him. Of course, Svetlana's going to notice because she gave him that shirt for his birthday two years ago. So Ilya's screwed. While Scott Hunter is presenting his film on the TV, Ilya takes a picture of the screen and pulls out his phone.

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (14.01)

Are you poor that you have no more shirts? 

1 image attachment

That is mine.

Shane responds immediately because sometimes Ilya likes to believe that he is just as desperate as he is.

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (14.01)

What is yours?

You.

Ilya doesn't answer and locks his phone, preferring to watch the interview again. Shane holds a sheet of paper in his hands, from which he reads a question through squinting because he isn't wearing his glasses. 

The fact that the man wore glasses was an interesting discovery that made Ilya come three times in one night. Shane laughed at him for acting like a teenager, but all three times he was riding his dick. So who's really laughing, huh?

"We're here to test how well we know each other," Shane explains, and Ilya has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. How is that relevant to a movie? "Scott, first question. If I were a cocktail, what would I be?"

That's simple. Ilya knows Shane would be something with ginger ale, definitely, maybe lemon, with a little vodka and ice. The man is obsessed with eating ice—an interesting habit that disturbs Ilya a little but also turns him on—so a drink based on him definitely has to have it.

"Maybe a Negroni?" says the idiot Scott Hunter. "I don't know."

"Too bad, because it would be a Montreal Mule. Next!"

"What qualities do I look for in a romantic partner?" It's Hunter's turn to ask. Ilya can't help but snort, even though he knows Svetlana is watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"Scott is very vocal about what he looks for in a partner," Shane says, looking at the camera, and winks. Winks. What the fuck. "It's easy, really. Kind, a good conversationalist, and friendly."

"You make me sound so simple."

“Just facts."

Ilya is now fully seated on the sofa, staring intently at the screen. Shane has told him about Scott Hunter because they now work together and he's admired him for years, but he's never mentioned how close they are. He shouldn't, since Shane doesn't owe Ilya anything, but still. He feels that uncomfortable tingle run down his spine that he now recognizes as jealousy.

"How many languages do I speak?" Shane asks, looking up. Ilya swallows hard when he notices the slightly darker mark on his neck, the one he made. "Good! Scott is right. I speak English, French, Spanish, and now I'm learning Russian. It's a bit difficult, but I have a good tutor."

There it is. The slightest acknowledgement of his existence, and Ilya's heart races so fast it feels like it wants to leap through the screen and kiss Shane. Now Svetlana is looking at him openly, but Ilya keeps his eyes on the screen.

"What does my perfect date look like?" Hunter says, looking at Shane with a smile. "You know this one."

"Of course," Shane laughs. "Home-cooked food and a good movie. I know for a fact that it's a hit in your books."

"Be quiet," the man says, placing a hand on his shoulder as he laughs too.

That's enough.

Ilya stands up and pauses the video.

Aren't there any labor laws about this? They're colleagues, not best friends; they shouldn't be touching each other on television. Ilya knows it sounds a bit irrational—if not completely unreasonable—but he can't help the unease bubbling in his chest that threatens to choke him.

His friend's glare doesn't help at all.

"Do you have something to tell me, Ilya?" Svetlana says, approaching him. "Since when are you his tutor?" 

He isn't, not really. He taught Shane how to say "kiss me" in Russian only because the man insisted so much that Ilya was afraid he'd ask someone else. 

If Scott Hunter speaks Russian, Ilya is doomed.

"Why are you showing me this?" Ilya grumbles, crossing his arms. He's annoyed now, and he has no reason to be. "You know I'm not interested in that guy’s public life."

"Ah, only in his private life, then."

Fuck. Ilya walked right into that trap.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means. I hope so, at least, because judging by your face, you haven't done anything about it."

Ilya could pretend a little longer, but Svetlana knows him too well. Ever since that night Shane stayed at the apartment, Ilya has felt his friend's gaze on the back of his neck wherever he goes. She was probably waiting for him to tell her, but given how Ilya has been handling things lately, that wasn't going to happen.

He lets out a shaky sigh and looks at Svetlana.

"What are these theories you're talking about?"

"Shane and Scott, dream couple. They fell in love on set, they're hiding their love to protect the film, yada yada yada. I'd like to say it's a lie, but who knows. No one seems to have confessed their love to him yet, so Shane is free to sleep with the hottest man of the year."

Love. Svetlana knows he loves him. Of course she does, his stupid brain whispers, because Ilya is never shy about his affections. Ilya knows the man probably hasn't realized he loves him—particularly because Shane requires explicit words that leave no room for doubt—but it’s probably obvious that everyone around him has noticed Ilya's feelings. 

It should scare him, but it only makes him a little desperate. Ilya has to do something about it. He can't keep being an idiot when there are guys like Scott Hunter threatening the best thing that's ever happened to Ilya.

"Don’t be an asshole," Svetlana says. She kisses him on the cheek and walks away, leaving him with his world turned upside down.

Great.

Since Ilya has a penchant for suffering, he finishes watching the video and analyzes every expression on Shane's face as the other man speaks. Shit, he looks so handsome. His hair is styled differently, in a way that makes him look younger and more innocent.

He needs to let him know because lately Ilya has been channeling his affection through compliments that make Shane's face flush. That, and because he wants to see if the man will say anything more about the interview.

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (14.25)

You look pretty.

 

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (14.26)

Today or in general?

 

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (14.26)

In the video with Scott Hunter.

Minutes tick by, and when Shane doesn't answer, Ilya wants to bite his hand. He heads to the kitchen instead to grab something to eat because his lunch is late, and now he doesn't even want to make it. How has Troy lived like this for the last three years of his life?

When his phone vibrates on the table, Ilya moves so fast toward it that he almost trips.

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (14.35)

Thanks, we did a lot of interviews that day and I ended up tired 😓

 Which one did you see?

 

To: The Most Boring Man of All Time (14.35)

The one with the questions about how well you know each other.

 

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (14.35)

I liked that one!

Of course he liked it, Ilya thinks bitterly, because that idiot Scott Hunter couldn't stop touching him. Yes, Ilya noticed because he's neither blind nor stupid.

He's clearly more upset than he's ever been before, so Ilya avoids answering and furiously eats the leftovers Svetlana left him. Jealousy is a nasty feeling. It completely throws him off balance because Ilya isn't like that; he's never cared about this kind of thing.

What does it matter if his hookups are with someone else? Good for them, the Ilya of the past would say.

Now, Ilya imagines a reality where Shane kisses Scott Hunter and wants to bang his head against the table.

In his masochistic nature, Ilya watches the rest of the interviews the platform suggests. In all of them, Shane is wearing the same clothes; some videos are with his other co-star Carter Vaughn, but most are with Scott Hunter. Ilya has to see his stupid face blocking Shane's smile, and it irritates him to no end.

When he opens the comments, a completely different hell unfolds.

@lizzhmcastillo

Their chemistry feels like they're married in real life

@Babe2617hi

when shane said “thank you for sharing this with me” 😢 He really did fall in love with Scott but he didn’t feel the same

@Sebrogerstot

Shane Hollander is literally like a well behaved puppy. His eyes are to die for

@Milypily21-21

shane laughing until his face turns red is my roman empire

@273120

They're really good actors. I can feel romantic tension, kiss each other!

@Hannah_luces

scott is so fcking in love its embarrassing for him lol

@Aby7

Im glad everything's cleared up between them, it's obvious the disagreement they had a few years ago was a misunderstanding. These two are in love.

Ilya has to physically separate himself from the television and search on his phone to find out what the hell these crazy people are talking about, which sends him spiraling into the internet for at least two hours.

Scott Hunter and Shane met at an awards show a few years ago, people took pictures of them, and Scott—like the idiot he is—came out and said he didn't know him. Shane's fans took it as shade and made a whole projection of their feud, which now ends with both of them promoting their next movie.

And apparently in love.

Ilya wants to jump out of the third-floor window.

That night, as Shane moans his name under his hands over and over, Ilya tries to act normal. He tries to keep the anxiety at bay, to keep that unpleasant possessive feeling away at how connected their bodies are.

But he can't.

“Why would I ever be jealous of someone like him?,” Ilya pants out in an incomprehensible Russian between thrusts, hands fixed on Shane’s thighs to keep him in place. In his ears it doesn't even sound like he's talking, Ilya can barely understand himself. "I've got you here with me, baby. You'd let me have you everywhere, wouldn't you?"

Shane makes a desperate little noise deep in his throat and clings to his arms as he comes, untouched. Immediately, Ilya feels the tension in his belly that hinders his thrusts, but Shane helps him by turning him onto his back and riding him despite how sensitive he must feel.

On top of him, Shane looks like a dream come true. He looks like everything Ilya wants, like everything he needs to be happy. When Shane kisses him, slow, wet, and desperate, Ilya can't fight that feeling. It's the raw, unparalleled possession that makes him believe no one but him can have Shane Hollander like that.

You're mine.

Later, in the darkness of Shane's room and trapped between his warm legs, Ilya decides he has to do something about it.

If he's going to lose the man of his life, let it be because he doesn't want him, not because he's a coward.

Easier said than done. Ilya tries a thousand different ways to approach the subject when he's with Shane, but the man always has more interesting plans that involve kissing and an orgasm; he has no way to fight against that. 

Before anything, Ilya decides to work up the courage to talk to someone even more pathetic than himself.

Unfortunately, Troy has suddenly decided to grow a pair and beat him in the invisible race to confess their feelings. Ilya is afraid of coming in last.

"It's incredible, Rozy," his friend says, looking like he's about to cry. "Harris told me he feels the same way I do. He loves me, man, you know? I've never been happier."

Ilya wants to choke on the coffee they're sharing, but he smiles and nods.

"I'm happy for you, we were all waiting for this."

"I know," Troy says, with a shy smile Ilya hasn't seen before. "Harris said we'd be exclusive and everything."

It's hard to watch others live his dreams, but Ilya loves his friend more than he feels down about the whole Shane situation. He gives him a tight hug and pats him on the back.

"Don't fuck this up."

"Why does everyone keep telling me that? I'm an amazing boyfriend!"

Talking to his friend is a lost cause, so when classes start, Ilya suffers under the overwhelming pressure of completing all his assigned tasks. He studies early in the morning, attends his lectures, and spends the afternoon worrying about Shane and the possibility that someone else will replace him and steal his place.

Ilya knows he has no right to suffer, at least not publicly. Within the four walls of his small room, he can be as miserable as he wants.

On Wednesday, when he arrives home exhausted from a study session that Harris promised would be short, Ilya collapses onto his bed and checks his phone. He has two new messages from Shane, which immediately set his heart racing. The man has been just as busy as he has lately, promoting his film and doing interviews for his new album. Ilya sees his face everywhere these days: posters, the internet, advertisements. It no longer bothers him, but rather evokes an intense longing that digs a void in his chest.

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (23.07)

[1 Voice Message]

[1 Voice Message]

 

Ilya taps play on the first message, heart pounding like a restless little bird. There's the sound of shuffling and then Shane speaks. It’s a soft voice, sleepy and raspy. Ilya saw him a few days ago and misses him so much it hurts.

“Sorry, I fell asleep before I could ask you how your study session went,” Ilya hears Shane chuckle. “I had a really weird dream. We were at our cottage in Ontario and you went swimming really early in the morning, but you didn’t come back. I tried calling my mom and—”

The message cuts off. Ilya exhales and settles back, staring at the ceiling. Our cottage. It's not theirs; Ilya has never been there, but Shane has talked about it constantly. It's the inspiration for the one he has here in California. He must be confused by the drowsiness reflected in his voice. Ilya taps play on the next message.

“Sorry, I was talking without recording the audio. Uh, what was I saying? Oh yeah, I was calling my mom but she wasn't answering. I tried to go out and find help, but I couldn't escape. Then my dad appeared and told me that nobody loved me, that nobody liked me, and he gave me a bouquet of black flowers. It was a strange dream.”

Ilya breathes shakily and thinks of Shane, half asleep, still wearing his glasses, texting him past his bedtime. He's a man who is more immense than anyone else, capable of encompassing corners of the world in ways Ilya has never imagined. Shane is loved by everyone: by his parents, by his fans, by Ilya's friends who constantly ask Rose when he can get together with the group again.

He can't imagine anyone who doesn't love or admire Shane Hollander.

Even so, Ilya is used to self-loathing thoughts. He recognizes them as an old friend who returns to torment him from time to time, but it hasn't visited him lately. Ilya thinks it's because of the sun he relentlessly chases, which materializes in Shane's bubbly laughter.

Ilya records his own voice message.

“Fuck nobody. I like you,” he says, deliberately speaking slowly so it can be understood. He sends it. Then, Ilya taps to record another. “Your father would never say that, and I think if Yuna ever does not answer you, it’s because she’s no longer in this world. She is, though, so don’t think about it. Everyone loves you. Go to sleep now.”

I love you.

Ilya sends it before he can say the wrong thing or too much, puts his phone down, and settles onto his back. Ilya takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, imagining he can stroke Shane's face until he falls asleep. He imagines everything he longs for is true until his breathing sounds even and relaxed.

The next time Ilya faces the court of his feelings is when Jackie forces him to go to a party with her because Hayden is out of town and she needs to scare off the creeps who want to grope her on the dance floor. Something about "scary dog" and its privileges, but Ilya doesn't care too much because he gets to see his old rugby teammate Wyatt Hayes.

"My fucking man!" Wyatt yells in his ear while hugging him in the only way he knows how: by crushing his ribs. "I haven't seen you in years, Rozy, where have you been hiding these days?"

Ilya shoves him away and laughs.

"You're going to make me deaf, idiot. I've been where I always am."

"Here and there, I know," Wyatt replies with a sigh. "I'm surprised to see you at Ryan's."

"I'm keeping Jackie company. She and he are united by their hatred for Kent."

"Deservedly so," his friend says solemnly. "I thought of you the other day because..."

While Wyatt speaks, Ilya glances toward the dance floor to keep an eye on Jackie. Ryan's house isn't that big, so the absurd number of people attending this party makes it look like it's about to burst. Some guys he shares research classes with are playing beer ping-pong while Troy and Harris are making out near the balcony; it's not something Ilya wants to see, so he turns to look at his friend.

"Will you join me for a smoke?" Wyatt says when he finishes his story about a rookie's broken leg. "For old times' sake."

Wyatt is funny like that because he talks like he's about to retire sometimes. He's only two years older than Ilya, and although they met playing rugby, their shared love of smoking weed was what brought them together for many months. That is, until Ilya had the worst trip of his life and decided to dedicate his adoration to cigarettes. 

He hardly smokes anymore. Partly because he got tired of panting when he climbed three more flights of stairs than necessary, but mostly because Shane doesn't like the smoke or his smoker's breath. Ilya isn't one to be bossed around, but he's discovered lately that seeing Shane comfortable and happy is more important than anything else.

"Okay, but it better be good weed. I'll kill you if you share crap with me," Ilya says, and Wyatt laughs because they've both certainly smoked worse. Ilya gestures to Jackie as he steps onto the balcony, and his friend gives him a thumbs-up. "Are you graduating this year?"

"That's what they say," Wyatt raises his eyebrows and looks at Troy, who's shamelessly groping Harris's ass. "Jesus Christ, have you got no shame?"

Troy flips him off without breaking the kiss, and Ilya laughs.

"It's been an interesting few weeks."

"Tell me about it. I've seen Harris at every practice, and I have to put up with Troy's comments. He's worse than Ryan."

"I believe you."

They both sit down in plastic chairs, and Wyatt lights the joint without preamble.

"So everyone's doing great in the love department," Wyatt says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Ilya ignores him and takes a long drag on the joint when his friend hands it to him. "How's it going for you?"

"How's it going for what?"

"Love, bro."

Ilya has that word tattooed all over his body. It's a little tiring, but incredibly rewarding when Shane's smiling face pops into his mind.

"Well, I guess. I could be doing better."

"That's the spirit," says Wyatt, a hopeless romantic at heart. Ilya knows he can't help it; he can complain about his friends, but he saw Wyatt helping Ryan hold up the sign when he asked his boyfriend out. "Is there someone you're interested in?"

Ilya wants to blame the weed for his lightheadedness—it's impossible, it's only been a few minutes—but it's probably just the months of stress finally coming to an end. This is the conversation he's been waiting for; Wyatt is infinitely more emotionally intelligent than Troy and less harsh than Svetlana, so it might just work.

“Yes,” Ilya says carefully, afraid that opening his mouth will unleash all his secrets. “And I think I’m in love.”

Wyatt doesn’t even blink. He has that same contented expression, distorted by the smoke from his joint and his own perception.

“I don’t really know what to do,” Ilya murmurs, looking at his hands. It’s something Shane does to find comfort when he feels restless. “He’s incredible, and I don’t know if I’m good enough for him.”

The night is cold, but the bitter taste of the weed warms his throat in a familiar way. Ilya looks up at the sky and sees the stars, barely visible; Shane told him that next summer they could go to Ontario where the sky is clear all the time. Ilya didn't think anything of it because it's almost natural to imagine his relationship with Shane stretching on for months, years.

Beside him, Wyatt huffs.

"That's irrelevant. Do you want to be with him?"

Ilya can't think of anything he wants more than that.

"Then work on it," says Wyatt, who suddenly decides to become a sage of love, or exactly what Ilya needs. He's grateful nonetheless. "Tell him how you feel. Learn to be better and love as much as you can."

The laughter bubbling in his throat is one of relief and happiness. Ilya raises his eyebrows at his friend.

"Why are you talking like that, are you going to die?"

"We'll all do it soon enough, it's best to enjoy what we have," Wyatt says, and Ilya has gone so long without smoking with him that he's forgotten the guy is possessed by an old spirit whenever he's near weed. "It can't be that bad. It's not like you're going to confess to, I don't know, the Queen of England or Shane Hollander."

My fucking god. 

Ilya laughs again because it's all he can do, and in his mind he begins to devise a plan.

Being brave sucks. Ilya spends all the time Shane is in Canada promoting his new album with a tight throat, barely getting any oxygen to his brain. 

Telling Shane he loves him is easy because Ilya feels the emotion playing tricks on his skin. Telling Shane he's never felt this way, that this is the first time in his life Ilya's afraid of letting someone down, is impossible. 

But he has to. Shane is coming back to Los Angeles on Saturday. Ilya will cook him a dinner with all the ingredients he knows he eats, listen to him talk about how his fans welcomed him in Montreal, and then he’s going to lay his heart on a platter to give to him like the brave man he allegedly is.

It has to work. Shane has to look at him with the same intensity Ilya feels, or he'll go crazy. He's also preparing for the opposite scenario, where Shane looks at him fondly and gently tells him they'll never have sex again. That's fine too. It's enough for Ilya to float in his orbit, to see him everywhere, to hear his voice without that contrived tone that plagues his interviews.

The mental exhaustion is a lot—because he spends all day imagining Shane in his arms or leaving an abysmal void on the side of his bed, there is no in-between—that Ilya takes a nap that lasts from the afternoon until dawn the next day.

What wakes him up is a shrill scream and Svetlana's hands shaking him as if there were no tomorrow.

"Ilya, for God's fucking sake!" Svetlana yells so loudly that Ilya has to push her away. He's a little disoriented from sleep and focuses on his friend, squinting. "How long have you been sleeping? I called you like twenty fucking times!"

Ilya blinks, startled by his friend's manic grin.

"What?" is all he can manage to say, earning a smack on the head.

"Haven't you checked your phone?" Svetlana insists. "Everyone's probably been calling you. Have you spoken to Shane?"

Shane? Ilya was dreaming that the man was leading him through a large, bright house, like the cabin he owns outside the city. He looked younger, happier, more casual. In his dream, Ilya was also slowly fucking him against the window, making sure he had a good time.

"No, I haven't spoken to Shane," Ilya murmurs, sitting up in bed. He needs to, because today is Saturday, the last day of his sentence. Svetlana's hand strikes him again, and this time Ilya snaps. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? The internet has gone crazy and you are here sleeping!"

Ilya looks at her, confused, and searches for his phone under the sheets. Svetlana laughs, unusually pleased, and applauds.

"You know, at first I thought it was all a conspiracy. You know how people are. But I made my connections and it all makes so much sense. Rose agrees with me," Svetlana says, nodding as if someone had asked her a question. Then she looks at Ilya with impossible tenderness. "I should have known, actually. I've never seen you smile so much."

Okay, Ilya is officially freaking out.

He turns on his phone and the first thing he sees is that it's nine in the morning. Shane's plane must have already arrived at the airport. The second thing he sees is the absurd number of notifications flooding his screen.

Ilya's breath catches in his throat.

From: Svetlana ❤️‍🔥 (07.55)

ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE

+10 more messages

 

From: JACKIE AND THE FOUR 🐎☠️ (8.16)

Troy неудачник: I SENSED IT FIRST

Jackie baby: he’s gonna freak out big time

Jackie baby: does this mean we're like brother-in-law and sister-in-law?

308+ more messages

 

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (8.40)

Hey, I'll fix it, I hope you're not mad at me

Ilya doesn't understand what fuck is going on, but he's immediately worried by Shane's message. What could possibly make him angry at him? Against his will, Ilya opens his friends' group chat. There are a few messages from Harris asking for help moving his furniture to the house he'll be sharing with Troy, and Jackie laughing at him, but around ten at night, Troy sends a link with question marks.

From: JACKIE AND THE FOUR 🐎☠️ (22.11)

Troy неудачник: GUYS 

Troy неудачник: GUYS !!!!

Troy неудачник: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

Svetlana ❤️‍🔥: Shane's album, dumbass, Rose and I will listen to it later

Troy неудачник: LISTEN IT NOW 

Troy неудачник: RIGHT NOT

Troy неудачник: @me explain yourself !!!

Jackie baby: guys holy shit

Jackie baby: hayden is about to faint

Jackie baby: hes like really white

Jackie baby: is this fucking album a declaration of love????????

Harris D: Tell me another person besides Ilya who has a Russian accent and an amazing ass

Troy неудачник: dont talk about his ass

Troy неудачник: but you are right 

Troy неудачник: @me show your face u fucking coward!

The rest of the messages continued until the early hours, with his friends exchanging jokes and incredulous opinions about the songs on Shane Hollander's new album with screenshots and exclamations. Ilya can't understand a word of what his friends are shouting at each other in messages left and right, but it can't be anything good when Jackie sends, at almost five in the morning, a link to a thread titled "the mysterious Russian from Shane Hollander's new album."

"Ilya?" Svetlana says softly, and it's proof enough that he must look like he's about to die. Ilya blinks and doesn't take his eyes off his phone. "I listened to the album too."

Fuck. Ilya has refused to listen to any other Shane song ever since he found out that one he really liked a few years ago was written by the man. Besides, Shane told him he couldn't listen to the upcoming album because he was embarrassed.

Ilya has never had principles, and in theory, he didn't promise him anything.

With renewed frantic energy, Ilya clicks the link Jackie sent and it takes him to an expanding page. The large title "the mysterious Russian from Shane Hollander's new album" is accompanied by a blurry photograph that, holy shit, shows Ilya and Shane leaving his apartment.

In the finished article—Ilya doesn't even put this much enthusiasm into his college essays—the person presents a timeline with dates, days, and blurry photographs. The first time Shane and Ilya met is shown alongside a picture of them getting into Ilya's car. Then there's the time Ilya arrives at Shane's building to drop off his phone. Shane enters the club with his friends, and then his friends are posing without him. Ilya, wearing sunglasses and carrying his bag, enters Shane's building. Shane, Rose, and Svetlana are seen getting out of the car in front of the apartment complex where he lives.

This work seems to be by a damn professional, but the last message is signed by a girl who says: "I'm glad Shane found love, and his album proves it. I hope they're very happy XOXO."

Ah, fuck.

Ilya looks over and over at the texts and images from the last year of his life. Ilya notices that in every photograph Shane is smiling.

A strange calm washes over Ilya's body when he takes a deep breath.

"Ilya?" Svetlana says again, but this time she sounds worried.

It doesn't matter. This is irrelevant because Ilya has a plan. He's not going to listen to that stupid album, he's not going to entertain the internet lunatics, he's not going to panic. Ilya is used to being under pressure and usually handles it well; this is no different.

He stands up and begins to dress slowly, under Svetlana's incredulous gaze.

Ilya has a plan, and if that plan doesn't end with Shane kissing him until Ilya can't feel his body anymore, then he'll panic.

And kill himself, probably. 

“What are you going to do?" Svetlana says hysterically. "This is all over the internet. Someone gave your name to the photographers and there are paparazzi outside on the street. Rose tried to dissuade them but—"

"It’s okay. Don't worry."

Before heading out, Ilya sends Shane a short message to make sure they're on the same page.

From: The Most Boring Man of All Time (9.37)

I'm not mad. On my way.

So, everything's fine. Ilya remembers the time he tore his ACL and had to decide whether to risk an even more serious injury or quit the rugby team. It was a difficult decision, filled with conflicting emotions and the weight of failure in every breath.

Ilya doesn't feel that loving Shane Hollander is a failure. It's a win, the biggest jackpot of all time, one that will make him a millionaire in every sense.

Ilya also remembers the feeling of shame when he was carried out of the dressing room on a stretcher, with Troy shouting desperate words of encouragement. Now he feels no shame, when cameras swarm him and strangers yell at him for information he will never give.

"Are you two official? Are you the man in the picture? Is it true that you are Shane Hollander inspiration for his new album? Give us a smile, Rozanov!"

It's a little nauseating to hear the camera shutter click over and over, but Ilya doesn't lower his head. He walks calmly toward his car, grateful that the men aren't rushing at him because otherwise he'd end up on the news for hitting someone, and Shane wouldn't be happy then. Before getting into the car, Ilya flashes a peace sign with the most bored expression imaginable and gets in without saying a word.

Fucking jerks.

As Ilya drives to his apartment, he does the unthinkable. He puts Shane's album on the speaker and listens, completely mesmerized, to the sweet notes emanating from it. 

He's heard Shane's voice before, of course, he doesn't live under a rock. He avoided the man's music for a reason Ilya secretly hides beneath the layers of cynicism that drive him daily: it's simply too irresistible to hear his voice, melodious and deep, evoke any feeling or memory through the music.

The first song is called "The Cottage," just like the album, and it seems to tell the story of a lonely person living in the woods, until someone comes along and changes everything. Ilya doesn't want to sound too self-absorbed, because he isn't, but when Shane sings the chorus, it becomes pretty obvious he's talking about Ilya. He is not stupid.

If this is about Scott Hunter, Ilya's going to be pissed.

When Ilya arrives at Shane's building, the album is already finished and his legs are trembling slightly, because it can't be anyone but him, right? Ilya wants to believe, he needs to believe, that the line "I feel you as intuitively as breathing" is for him because Ilya feels exactly the same.

Even though the place is also surrounded by paparazzi, Shane is clearly prepared for this kind of inconvenience because Ilya enters the parking garage without any trouble. As he rides the elevator up, his heart in his throat, Ilya carefully plans each word to be as clear as possible. He wants Shane to understand that this is real, that he's not playing games or taking advantage of him, that he needs him to—

All coherent thoughts escape him as the elevator doors open and Shane appears, his eyes wide with panic and anxiety. He looks so sad, so worried, that Ilya can think of nothing but holding him.

"I love you," is what he says instead.

It feels right, a wonderful current of waves hitting him squarely in the chest, but Shane blinks, standing motionless in the middle of the room, unresponsive.

Ah, right. Fucking English.

"Hi," Ilya says, entering the apartment to approach the man. When he looks around, it seems as if there had been a meeting and everyone had vanished. There are coffee cups, papers, and open laptops. "Did you have a meeting with the president?"

"What? No," Shane says, his voice small. "I—hi. I'm sorry. I didn't know this was going to happen, and Svetlana called me and—this is my worst nightmare and I—"

Shane looks like he's about to cry. Ilya slowly approaches and raises a hand to stroke his cheek. When he doesn't pull away, Ilya gently touches his freckles.

"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault."

"I should have been more careful," Shane insists, his voice cracking. "Now everyone knows—I'm sorry."

Ilya thinks about the way the man organizes his things by color, gently, as if asking permission. He thinks about how Shane folds his clothes and has started doing the same with Ilya's. He thinks about the corners of his eyes crinkling when he laughs too much, about the pads of his fingers caressing his back with an immeasurable tenderness.

Ilya won't live in a world where Shane feels guilty for everything. Or if he does, at least he'll be able to share the blame with him. It's part nine of his plan.

"Hey," Ilya says, cupping Shane's face in his hands. "Do you have a problem with being openly gay?"

Shane seems surprised by the question, but shakes his head.

"No, I mean, I did at one point, when I was younger, but I got over it. With a lot of therapy and psychological torture on my part."

Ilya laughs at the man's attempt at a joke. The small smile he returns tastes like victory.

"Okay,” Ilya says. “Now, do you have a problem with being openly gay with me?"

Shane's blush tastes like he's won the damn war.

"No, of course not. You're amazing, Ilya. In any case, these are the best rumors I've ever had," Shane says, leaning towards him. Ilya takes him because that's what they do; Shane comes and he holds him. "I was actually talking to my parents and Hayden about it. My mom said that with the level of popularity I have, I can choose whatever narrative I want and the damage will be minimal."

"Oh, so you were in a meeting with the president," Ilya says with a chuckle and looks Shane in the eye. Two earthly paradises, endless sources of energy. Ilya allows himself to bask in them for a moment before opening his mouth again. "Okay. Why are you worried, then?"

The man is silent for a moment, and Ilya dreads his answer. He doesn't believe Shane doesn't love him, but the possibility still frightens him. There isn't a universe where Ilya doesn't love him, but this could be the one where his love isn't reciprocated.

"Because these rumors are real," Shane says, clutching his shirt desperately. "Because it's all real. What the album says, what people on the internet are spreading, what I—what I feel for you. And I’m so fucking afraid."

The relief Ilya feels is enough to make him collapse to the floor, but he remains firmly on his feet, careful not to let Shane notice how his hands are trembling with excitement.

"Why are you scared? Relax. You're here, I'm here, we're okay."

Shane exhales against his mouth, and Ilya wants to do nothing more than kiss him, but he stays put.

"Look, I freaked out before too. I panicked, I pulled myself together, and now I'm here with you. It's all good, screw the rest. What are they going to do, harass me every day? They'll get bored eventually, and if not, I'll become famous or something."

Shane's eyes are wide in surprise, disbelief perhaps, but now that Ilya has opened his mouth, his plan takes shape and becomes autonomous.

"Women already want to have sex with me, so I'm used to it. It doesn't matter too much, because they'll eventually find out that you and I fuck every day. Maybe you and I could move together to a quieter house in the country, like your cottage, and—" 

Shane's hand stops him in his tracks.

"You think about that too?"

Too. Ilya gasps for air as his throat closes at the possibility that Shane feels the same way; he can't get the words together in English in time before Shane speaks again.

"Shit, look, fuck. I'm going to tell you something, and if you don't want to hear it, you have to tell me before I make a fool of myself," the man says quickly, so quickly that Ilya has to take a moment to understand. "I've liked you since the first time I saw you. Hell, maybe I've loved you since I saw you sleeping in your car. You're so cute and kind, and I never thought that—"

Ilya kisses him.

Shane tastes exactly the same as always; a dream, a fantasy. When the man's arms encircle his neck and press his hips against his, Ilya whimpers, feeling as if he's spent years in the desert and Shane is the sun and the water. He needs him. Shane is what's missing in every corner of his life, what's missing at home when Ilya is alone, he's the cold space in his bed Ilya wants to fill, he's the desire to serve another steaming plate of food on a table that has always been empty.

Ilya kisses him, kisses him, and kisses him. They are a fusion of saliva and teeth that isn't entirely satisfying, but it's right. That's what Shane seems to need too, because he moans against his mouth and runs his hands through his hair as if trying to regain control.

“I’m not—” Ilya manages between kisses, “I’m not— kind—I’m mean and—”

Shane's laughter bursts from his mouth, and Ilya swallows it in one lick. The man doesn't seem at all scandalized. He looks radiant, happy.

"Of course. Don't think I don't know you bought that divider for my underwear that's been driving me crazy."

Ilya stops dead in his tracks.

"How do you know that?"

"Because you left my apartment as the delivery address, moron."

Ilya grins so wide that his cheeks hurt and he can barely see between the kisses Shane leaves all over his face and his frantic heartbeat.

"I love you," Ilya says, this time in English, and Shane's reaction is exactly what he expects.

The man gasps in disbelief.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"What, you can love me, but I can't love you?" Ilya laughs and kisses him again, trapping his lip between his teeth and tugging it slightly. "I guess it's too late to be surprised. I have almost all my clothes in your drawer; I think we're practically married."

Shane shakes his head in Ilya's arms and tries to get even closer, as if he wants to merge his soul with his. Ilya thinks he already has.

"Married?"

"Do you like Shane Rozanov or Ilya Hollander better?"

The impact of Shane's mouth against his makes him dizzy, but it's a promise Ilya will cling to because between kisses he thinks he hears "my boyfriend is fucking stupid." Ilya laughs and gently picks him up to take him to the bedroom to show him everything he's been hopelessly hiding.

This is absolutely fantastic. Brilliant. A plan laid out to perfection. 

Ilya likes to win, and he's sure that with Shane in his arms that becomes a given, not a yearning.

He fucking loves that man.

Ilya can't wait to win, win, and win.

Chapter End Notes

thanks for sharing this wild, short trip with me lol, these guys really do write themselves ;)