Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, J. J. Boiziau, Grigori Rozanov, Alexei Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Enemies to Lovers, Casual Sex, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, Making Out, Light Dom/sub, Anal Fingering, Shane Hollander is Clueless, Ilya Rozanov is #1 Loverboy, Gratuitous use of italics, Miscommunication, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-07 Completed: 2026-02-01 Words: 32,874 Chapters: 4/4

Gooey

Summary

Ilya Rozanov spoke like he knew him because he fucking did.

“Oh my god,” Shane shrieked, the sound too loud for the space. “Oh my GOD,” Shane repeated, heart thrumming in his chest just like before.

This was a sick, cosmic fucking joke. How hadn’t Shane put two and two together before? His memory and pattern recognition were what made him so good at his job, his ability to remember the small details others tend to over look is what made him recoil into himself because others didn’t remember minute particulars, others certainly didn’t voice them and make others uncomfortable. 

Shane couldn’t believe it. How had he been so fucking blind? So fucking obtuse all these months with the back and forth?  

Rose’s comment weeks ago came front and center into his mind.

“He’s really getting under your skin, isn’t he?”

Shane wanted to fucking die. 

Shane Hollander knew Ilya Rozanov. How the fuck could he ever forget?

OR

An office AU no one asked for.

Notes

Like everyone else in the world, Heated Rivalry has consumed me. I haven't written anything in nearly a decade but I had to get this out as soon as it started to fester in my head.

Don't ask me how anything works or functions in the corporate hell scape or in Montreal or Boston because I don't know either.

Title is from Gooey by Glass Animals.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

A single word is displayed in the preview of his blue outlook email window. He only has one unread email in his entire inbox - he’s been described as neurotic, but he just likes everything organized, categorized and answered in order of importance. This email reply is only one word, not because the original email in question, the one Shane wrote yesterday afternoon in a huff, only garnered a single word response, it’s because it didn’t.

And Shane is pissed. 

A few seconds away from going absolutely fucking off the rails is a more appropriate descriptor to how Shane actually feels, but he can’t mess up the calm and professional demeanor he’s invoked since he was hired. And he certainly won’t lose his cool because of that guy. 

The response taunts him. The only unread message in his inbox, the only thing he hasn’t categorized, hasn’t moved to a different folder, hasn’t yet answered to.

Shane is fucking livid. He clicks on the email anyway.

From: I.Rozanov@VoyageursGlobal.com

To: S.Hollander@VoyageursGlobal.com

Re: Past Due Invoices

Ok.

Shane was hired in the finance department of Voyageurs Global approximately two years ago (16 months and two weeks but who’s counting). He had bounced around doing part time work across Montreal until one late night he was scouring job sites in a super post college, what-the-fuck-am-I-actually-doing, manic depression when he came across a position Hayden had recommended to him a few days ago. It was in the finance department of a start up company with health benefits and accrued PTO included, Shane didn’t think he’d find anything better to get his foot in the door. 

Rose, HR tech and Payroll wiz, would later tell him that the four piece suit he wore to his interview was ‘endearing’. Shane knew that was code for ‘inability to unclench for even a second’, but he took the compliment even if it probably wasn’t legit. Whatever Rose saw in him at the beginning blossomed into a friendship into the later months as they regularly would get lunch together, i.e. Rose would buy lunch from whatever new and trendy place opened up nearby and Shane would bring his carefully planned and packaged meal prep for the week. They’d eat in the break room that was rarely used or outside on an iron wrought set than Shane would repeatedly bang his toe into.

“So, what’s got you in a fit today?” Rose asked before she took a bite of her green salad.

“Nothing,” Shane mumbled as he pushed his broccoli away from touching his chicken.

Rose raised an eyebrow, ignoring Shane’s quirk of separate food items touching, leaving the silence to pan out an answer.

“It’s just,” he started, “why is he always such an asshole?”

Rose immediately knew where this conversation was going and instead of replying, she took another bite of her salad and let Shane continue.

“I asked him for those past due invoices - since apparently a due date is a suggestion to him - and all he replied to was ‘Ok.’ OK?! He’s not the one who has vendors calling him when we haven’t sent payment,” Shane said, exasperated before shoving a piece of broccoli in his mouth. It tasted horrible, the third day of meal prep usually did.

“Are you telling me this as a representative of HR or as a friend?” Rose asked, a smile playing at her face.

“I’m telling you this as the only person who isn’t under his spell,” Shane replied, practically rolling his eyes. 

“Shane, there is no spell. Ilya is just a nice guy—“ Rose began and she really should have anticipated the interjection.

“To you! He won’t answer my emails, doesn’t give a shit if we’re past due on anything and accrue interest, and when he does grace me with a reply he gives me a single word answer. Not a ‘sorry’, not a ‘I’ll get this over to you right away’, not even a ‘shit, my bad’.”

“He can’t say the last one or it will get flagged by IT as hate speech,” Rose says with a smirk. Shane deadpans.

“I’m just so fucking sick of that asshole working with everyone but me. Does no one care if we’re in good standing with our vendors?” Shane spears his fork into his chicken breast. He brings it to his mouth and he already knows he’s a second away from gagging at the taste.

"He’s really getting under your skin, isn’t he?” Rose asks, concern etched on her voice.

Shane looks at her and notices she’s stopped eating. He tries to laugh to lighten the mood.

“I’ll just be glad when marketing finally has their department manager back, I’ll never have to talk to Rozanov ever again.”

Marketing temporarily lost their department manager approximately three months ago (14 weeks and two days since Shane was forced to become acquainted with Ilya Rozanov but Shane wasn’t keeping track).

The marketing manager was on maternity leave for the upcoming birth of her first child so all marketing specific invoices were to be turned into Ilya for processing before being sent to Shane to complete and send out payment. The problem was Ilya was not processing and Shane wasn’t paying for shit in that department. 

The first time a vendor contacted Shane for a late payment he had forwarded the email to Ilya, hoping for a quick resolution as was typical with the other departments.

From: S.Hollander@VoyageursGlobal.com

To: I.Rozanov@VoyageursGlobal.com

FW: Status of Payment

Hi Mr. Rozanov,

This is Shane Hollander with Finance. Did you receive the invoice from Wordpress? It appears we are late on the payment for renewal. 

Thank you,

Shane Hollander

Voyageurs Global

Finance Department

Montreal Office

The reply came the next day, which irked Shane a little, but he didn’t know what the pace was like at the Boston Office.

From: I.Rozanov@VoyageursGlobal.com

To: S.Hollander@VoyageursGlobal.com

FW: Re: Status of Payment

Nope.

“What a fucking asshole,” Shane couldn’t help but say out loud.

It continued just as it started for weeks. Shane would send Ilya emails asking for invoices and Ilya, if he replied, would claim he never got them. Shane would personally reach out to vendors, apologizing for the situation and would often times get the late fee waived, and Ilya would continue doing whatever the fuck he did in Boston. 

No one seemed to really worry about the late fees they were paying, or the fact that some of the invoices Shane was processing were from months past. The only person that seemed to have an issue with this entire situation was Shane.

Anytime Shane would casually bring up Ilya to another department, secretly to see if they were experiencing the same level of ineptitude, they would instead sing his praises.

“Oh Ilya, God that guy is fucking hilarious!”

“Ilya is the sweetest, he always gets back to me in a few minutes. Maybe you’ve just caught him at a bad time?”

“Ilya’s been doing a great job holding down the fort. Have you tried calling him? He’s got this great Russian accent.”

No, Shane hadn’t called him. Calling him wouldn’t produce a necessary paper trail of all the times Ilya purposefully ignored him. Calling him was an escalation to this solo dance Shane had grown comfortable with. Calling him wouldn’t solve his personal issue, it would just be another way for Rozanov to make it clear Shane could fuck off with his invoices. 

Shane was not going to call him.

Shane had to call him. 

He knew it before he left work the night before, he knew it getting ready for work this morning, and he knew it was the first thing he had to do when he got to his tiny office at exactly 8:00AM. 

The payment for the utility company in Boston was late last month and if it wasn’t paid on time this month they would cut off services. He didn’t want to explain to his boss, Scott Hunter, that the entire Boston office didn’t have electricity because of a pissing contest between two people who have never even met. 

So, Shane was going to call him. Eventually.

He had emails he needed to sort and answer first, then invoices that needed to be entered, then credit card reports that needed to be reconciled, then lunch with Rose, then a break at some point, then probably more emails. 

But Shane would call him, he had to. 

At 3:00PM on the dot Shane had run out of things to do to avoid calling Ilya. He desperately checked Google to see if there was a time difference from Montreal to Boston (he knew there wasn’t) and when it was confirmed there wasn’t (they’re in the same fucking time zone) he realized he had no Hail Mary to delay this any longer. His mouse slowly moved to hover over the tab that held the employee directory and he clicked on it.

Ilya Rozanov’s name, extension, full phone number and email were all neatly displayed under Marketing Department. Shane began dialing the full phone number into his company desktop phone, anything to buy himself a few more precious seconds. He believed Ilya wouldn’t answer so there was no need to shut his office door to spare his coworkers from a short conversation. 

Shane could hear his heartbeat through the ear piece being held by his shaky hand.

“Hollander,” he heard a deep voice say after the second ring.

Oh fuck.

Shane was paralyzed. He thought the receiver would slip out of his hand if he didn’t have a vice grip on it. His heartbeat was now radiating out of every pore, he could feel his face starting to get hot, he knew his ears were probably scarlet red. 

He had just said his name, his last name albeit, but Ilya Rozanov knew who he was. Of course he did, Shane was incessant with his emails, but why did his name just roll off his tongue?

Instantly the embarrassment Shane felt for somehow underestimating this stranger turned into molten rage. Because there was no way, there was no fucking way Ilya Rozanov got to talk to him so casually after repeatedly dodging his responsibilities.

“So you do know I exist,” Shane said before he could even think.

He heard a breathy laugh over the receiver, “Of course, Hollander, not even my father sends me this many emails a week.”

Shane’s entire body was flushing with mortification. How dare he?

“I bet you reply to him more often than me,” Shane retorted, again, without thinking.

“Actually, Hollander, it’s about the same,” and Shane could hear the smile in his voice.

“Great, so the reason I’m calling-” Shane began before Ilya cut him off.

“The invoices, yes I know-“ Ilya started, only to have Shane cut him off in defiance.

“No, not the invoices. Thee invoice. For Boston Electric. I need to pay the bill so the electricity doesn’t get shut off, which wouldn’t be a possibility if you had just gotten me last month’s invoice on time.”

“Oh my god, Hollander,” Ilya drawled, his Russian accent becoming pronounced as he rolled the r in Shane’s last name. It sent a wave of something in Shane’s stomach that he ignored.

It was silent for a few moments. Shane didn’t know what to say and Ilya clicked on his mouse in the background.

“Okay,” Ilya finally said, “I sent invoice to your email. Happy now?”

“No,” Shane said too quickly, Ilya laughed.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today, Hollander?”

Shane could tell him he was still waiting on other invoices but he didn’t want to push his luck. He was also getting the impression that Ilya wanted to get a rise out of Shane and he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. The electricity wasn’t at risk of being shut off anymore so that’s all that mattered.

“No,” Shane said again. “Thank you,” he added quietly.

“And thank you for calling Voyageurs Global. Have a nice day!” Ilya sing-songed before the line clicked.

Shane was shell shocked, phone still gripped tightly in his hand from the interaction. His head felt light and he was suddenly aware of his still racing heart, which hadn’t calmed at all on the phone with Ilya. If anything he thinks it somehow quickened.

Shane put the receiver back on the dock. The call was less than 45 seconds so why did it feel like it was hours long? Shane heard a ping from his outlook with an incoming new email.

From: I.Rozanov@VoyageursGlobal.com

To: S.Hollander@VoyageursGlobal.com

Subject: Boston Electric Invoice

Here you go, Hollander.

Shane couldn’t sleep, his body still felt like it was buzzing. The call had been hours ago now but he couldn’t shake the way Ilya Rozanov had said his name. It was like Ilya knew him, the familiarity with which Ilya spoke to him had rocked Shane so throughly that his professional mask had slipped in record time.

Shane never spoke to the Boston office like that, he never spoke to anyone like that. Like a scorned child who got cut in line for the swings. Shane had never lost his cool so quickly on a phone call with a person who was only a name on the employee directory. Who the fuck did Ilya Rozanov think he was talking to Shane like they were old pals, with a careless indifference, especially at their place of employment? And why did Shane’s last name suddenly take up a new sensation in the pit of his stomach?

‘Oh my god, Hollander.’ He could still hear it so clearly. No one had ever said his name like that. Like it was dirty, like it was worth drawing out, like it was special. Shane's last name had been spit in his face so many times, mostly by bullies, as they were shoving him against the boards in the hockey rink, against lockers, against the ground on one occasion. They all spit his name like venom, with true distaste for his indifference to build relationships with others, to only speak when spoken to, to answer politely when called on by coach or in class, to be the only one who didn’t complain when drills had to be run indefinitely on the ice. Shane knew what his name sounded like when it was twinged with jealously, animosity, even subtle and blatant homophobia. 

Ilya said his name like they had an inside joke between buddies. Like Ilya knew him, had known him for years. He hadn’t come into Shane’s radar until the shakeup with Marketing, until Scott told him to reach out to Ilya if he needed anything in the manager's absence. So why was this bothering Shane so fucking much?

He threw the covers off his bed, feeling flushed from the mental gymnastics of a single phone call. He grabbed his phone off his dresser from the charging dock. Shane opened a new incognito tab and did something he thought was morally incorrect and an invasion of privacy.

He typed in ‘Ilya Rozanov LinkedIn’ and hit search. 

The first result popped up with promise. Ilya Rozanov - Marketing at Voyageurs Global.

Shane sneered in his empty studio apartment. Of course this asshole had a LinkedIn. Shane quickly reminded himself he had one too but it was sparse compared to what he imagined Ilya had.

Shane clicked the first result and the feeling of a gut punch to the stomach ensued.

There was Ilya Rozanov, circular picture behind a blue background. Current place of employment, previous places of employment, educational background, languages spoken, etc. Shane could barely register anything beyond the sandy blond curls and green/blue eyes. 

Ilya Rozanov spoke like he knew him because he fucking did.

“Oh my god,” Shane shrieked, the sound too loud for the space. “Oh my GOD,” Shane repeated, heart thrumming in his chest just like before.

This was a sick, cosmic fucking joke. How hadn’t Shane put two and two together before? His memory and pattern recognition were what made him so good at his job, his ability to remember the small details others tend to over look is what made him recoil into himself because others didn’t remember minute particulars, others certainly didn’t voice them and make others uncomfortable. 

Shane couldn’t believe it. How had he been so fucking blind? So fucking obtuse all these months with the back and forth?  

Rose’s comment weeks ago came front and center into his mind.

“He’s really getting under your skin, isn’t he?”

Shane wanted to fucking die. 

Shane Hollander knew Ilya Rozanov. How the fuck could he ever forget?

Three months earlier.

“Do you think they’ll let us loose by happy hour?” Hayden asked, leaning into Shane’s ear while the last bit of the annual Voyageurs Global conference continued in front of them.

“Maybe,” Shane replied quietly. He couldn’t care less to watch his colleagues get black out drunk on the last day of the conference.

Every year Voyageurs Global puts on a team building conference between the Montreal and Boston offices. As the original flagship offices, Shane's boss and CEO, Scott Hunter, thought it was important that these employees specifically worked like a well oiled machine. With the prospect of opening more offices on the East Coast and Canada, it was important that employees stayed motivated and present with the expectation that they could take on higher paying, managerial roles in the coming years. 

Shane thought it was a waste of money. Not his own, everything was paid for by Voyageurs Global, but the company’s. Many employees treated it like a vacation, always ready to do shots after the last presentation or wander off to see the sites. This year the conference was in Boston, next year it would be in Montreal to keep it fair.

“With all that said,” Vice President Kip Grady exclaimed, “we hope you all have a lovely and safe evening! Flights take off early tomorrow so be sure to get a good night’s rest. The Boston team will be seeing you soon!” 

Applause erupted around him and he waved at his colleagues (subordinates?) before the overhead lights came on and everyone began making a swift b-line for the conference room double doors. 

Shane checked around his area to make sure he didn’t forget a water bottle or any trash.

“So you coming down to the bar with me and JJ?” Hayden asked, hope filling his eyes and expression.

“Um,” Shane began, already seeing Hayden’s face begin to fall, “it’s an early flight tomorrow-“

“The flight doesn’t leave till 7AM, Shane, plus we’re right by the airport.”

Shane scoured his brain for a polite excuse instead of saying he just didn’t want to get sloshed at a hotel bar but JJ came up behind him, throwing an arm around his neck.

“Will I be seeing you later, Hollander?” he mused, French accent apparent.

“Shane is already trying to let me down nicely,” Hayden smirked, but Shane could hear the subtle disappointment in his voice.

“What are you, a tiny lady?” JJ quipped, “Come on, Hollander, just one drink with us? Please?”

Shane couldn’t take Hayden’s kicked puppy expression for another second, and his childhood best friend knew it. 

“Fine,” Shane deadpanned, rolling his eyes at his friends and making a mental note to text Rose to see if she was up for the event.

“Good man!” JJ grinned, “We are going to have time of our lives!”

Shane really doubted it but his friend’s enthusiasm was hard to shake.

Shane had changed and showered before he met his friends at the tiny bar on the first floor. It was open concept, budded up against the hotel lobby but not visible until you turned right, seats and some tables in a further corner of the room.

Shane had put on a simple white t-shirt and jeans, he knew it was going to be casual and hopefully over before any visible wrinkles set into the cotton.

“Shane!” The boys, and Rose, cheered as they set their sights on him. He gave a shy smile and a wave as he walked over to where they were parked at the bar.

“We were waiting for you before we took our first shots!” Rose said, cheeks already pink from alcohol. She moved a shot glass with clear liquid in Shane’s direction.

“What is it?” Shane asked, bringing the glass up to his nose to sniff.

“Some good Russian vodka,” JJ smiled, also looking like he already started on the drinks before Shane’s arrival.

“Some guy from the Boston office recommended it, he said it’s better than the typical stuff people order,” Hayden explained, brushing some hair out of his eyes for the impending shot.

“Hmm,” Shane said, wearily. He already wanted to go back to his hotel room, but his friends were looking at him with such happy expressions that he pushed down his own creeping anxieties and decided to just fake it.

“Fuck it,” Shane said and downed the shot glass before he could doubt his next move. Hollers erupted from his friends and they quickly followed his action.

“Jesus, that’s like battery acid,” Hayden croaked, eyes scrunched.

“You’d know what battery acid tastes like,” Rose said, too loud to go unheard by Hayden.

“Another?!” JJ asked the group, and before Shane could interject another shot of vodka was placed in front of him.

His friends kept drinking into the night, nursing on a beer or cocktail after the second shot, and Shane excused himself for a few minutes. “I just need some air,” he had told Rose before he stepped outside.

Shane’s face felt a little flushed from the alcohol, the music, his friend's loud conversation and the split second decision he made in indulging in something that wouldn’t aid in reaching his Macro goals for the day. 

Shane could feel his anxieties wanting to creep up again but the buzz from the alcohol was keeping them at bay. Shane would get some air then promptly return to his friends and wait out the evening for a little while longer before he’d ultimately excuse himself for the night and spend an hour before bed doing a crossword puzzle. 

Shane turned the corner, outside of the hotel building, and was greeted by a man smoking a cigarette under a very big, and very bold No Smoking sign.

“Hey," he began to say, his mouth feeling syrupy from the alcohol, “you’re not supposed to smoke here.”

The man raised his head at the intrusion, brows furrowed together as he took in who had just spoken into the quiet night air.

“What?” he asks, cigarette coming back to his lips to break the small smirk he was giving Shane.

“There’s a sign above your head that says no smoking. There’s laws about how close you can smoke to a building,” Shane continued, his own voice growing frustrated at this man, this stranger just wafting second hand smoke like it wasn't illegal.

“Oh,” the man says, hand coming up to clunk against his head like a silent movie star drawing the point home, “must have missed that.”

Shane noted an accent and his eyebrows pinch, who the fuck was this dude?

“Do you want one?” the stranger asks after a few tense seconds.

Shane scoffs, “Um, no.”

The stranger shrugs his shoulders, dark Henley pulled taught against his biceps, and Shane decides to let this clear obstruction of justice go, to just try to relax for once in his fucking life. Shane leans against the concrete wall, mirroring the stranger’s easy posture.

“You here for conference,” the stranger says and it doesn't sound like a question to Shane.

“Yeah,” he answers, rushed. 

“Having fun?” the stranger asks, smiling slightly before taking an inhale of his cigarette. Is he being playful?

“Oh, yeah I guess. Lots of information, interesting stuff,” Shane blubbers, one hand coming to rest on the back of his neck, feeling how hot he's growing under the attention of this man.

“You seem like you like boring,” the stranger breathes, smoke coming out in a steady flow from his mouth.

“What-“ Shane is about to interject from this horribly accurate read from a stranger when the man in question holds out his lit cigarette in Shane’s direction.

Shane is confused, brows still knitted together in growing frustration. He shakes his head but the man gestures to the cigarette again. 

Shane makes another split second decision, not the last one he would make tonight, and takes the cigarette from the man’s deft fingers. Their fingers touch, so so briefly, yet Shane can feel a new fire light him up from within. He can see the stranger’s face change, momentarily surprised before dropping to a neutral expression. Shane puts the cigarette to his lips, trying not to focus on the fact that this is as close as he’s gotten to exchanging spit with anyone in ages, and takes in a deep drag.

The familiar taste of tobacco fills his mouth, his lungs warm and spicy, and he thinks he can cruise into a nonchalant exhale, just like the stranger, before something scratches at his throat and he starts coughing. Shane gives the cigarette back to the stranger, who takes it with a small, curious smile.

Shane coughs for a few seconds longer, his aloof demeanor completely shattering, and looks up to the night sky once his fit subsides. 

“First time?” the stranger asks, but Shane has an inkling that he didn’t mean smoking. 

“No,” he responds quickly, “I’ve done it before.”  

And again, why did it feel like they weren’t talking about smoking? Could it be the stranger’s curious eyes on him? The way they trail Shane’s body up and down just seconds away from being casual, or is it Shane’s quick glances at this man’s fingers, his throat, his perfect Cupid’s bow. Shane knew this man was attractive from first glance, but having his eyes studying him the same way Shane was trailing his body only heightens the thick, gooey feeling forming in his stomach. 

“I should be getting back . . . ,” Shane trails off, pointing to the way he came, silently hoping this gorgeous stranger says something else to fluster him.

“What is your room number?” the stranger asks instead, eyes on Shane, cigarette still poking out the side of his mouth.

“1468,” Shane says, obediently, far too quickly. He doesn't even know this man, why was he telling him this?!

“Are you alone?” the man asks, another small smile starting to form on his pink, pouty lips.

“Yes, they gave us all our own rooms—I mean yeah, I’m alone.” The stranger nods.

“Okay,” he says, pushing his back from the wall, dropping the cigarette he had shared with Shane just seconds ago, and stomping it out with his adidas. “I’ll see you in 20 minutes. 1468.”

He breezes past Shane, cigarette smoke and a musky aftershave, and leaves Shane standing confused, alone, and honestly a little keyed up.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, his brain catching up with the whirlwind encounter. He looks at his watch, 19 minutes left. 

Shane races back to his friends, telling them he's calling it a night, I think the vodka isn’t agreeing with me, and doesn't dare to look into anyone’s eyes in case they called his bluff. 

He takes the elevator up to his room, pulls the key card out of his back pocket and slams it against the sensor above the knob. It unlocks his door and he barges in, half expecting the stranger to already be in his room, naked on his bed.

Shane groans, it had been months since he so much as kissed anyone, let alone met up with someone for a quick fuck. Wait-is that what they're doing? He couldn’t have meant for anything else, right? Shane really doubted the man asked for his room number so that they could watch some cable tv. 

Shane’s palms feel cold and slick. He had showered before he met his friends, his clothes were still clean and wrinkle free. He goes to the bathroom to apply another swipe of deodorant and to brush his teeth. He adds extra toothpaste on his brush and scrapes the shit out of his tongue for good measure. He washes everything down with a giant swig of mouthwash, the alcohol tingling on his gums.

He goes back to the room and can't see anything to pick up or readjust. He had already packed most of his belongings for the flight tomorrow and had made his bed in the morning. The only thing that feels out place is Shane. His hands have gone cold with anticipation, his body practically vibrating from the illusion that this striking, mysterious stranger wanted to spend even an iota of a second longer with Shane.

What if he doesn’t show?, Shane wonders. What if he’s actually a serial killer and his picks up guys and kills them in their hotel rooms? His parents would be devastated if they had to pick up their son’s remains because he got swindled by a chain smoker with adorably curly hair. They’d have to go through his belongings and they’d find his eight inch, flesh colored—

A stern knock snaps Shane out of his thoughts. A glance at his watch and he can’t tell if the man is late or early. He takes a few steps to the door and looks through the peep hole. It’s him, unchanged from minutes earlier. The dark Henley making his sun tanned skin pop, a golden chain delicately enveloping his thick neck, a Russian orthodox cross hovering inches below his collar bone.

Against all his better judgment, Shane opens the door swiftly and lets the stranger into the small hallway. He shuts the door behind him, back to the stranger and suddenly feels frozen. If anyone wanted to kill him he just gave them the best opening.

He feels fingers pull down at the hem of his t-shirt, air creeping up the small of his back from the movement. Shane turns around, chest inches away from the stranger, sucked into his orbit instantly.

“Have you done this before?” He asks Shane, smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you always such an asshole-“ Shane starts, only to be silenced with soft, plush lips against his own. He knows he’s being softly, carefully, pushed against the wall, the stranger letting some of his body weight press against Shane. Another fire ignites in his belly, a small groan slipping out of Shane’s mouth just as the stranger’s tongue nudges its way inside.

The slick, warm feel of a tongue against his own has Shane grinding against the fabric of his jeans, against the solid body of muscle that is suddenly in front of him. It’s the stranger’s turn to groan now, deep and breathy into Shane’s mouth, his dick starting to swell. Shane feels fingers skim the hem of his t-shirt again, this time going beneath the fabric and touching Shane’s stomach, rough hands roaming after another agreeable noise from Shane. 

The man pulls Shane’s full lower lip in his mouth and gives it a fat lick with his tongue. Shane fucking loses it. He drops to his knees, hard cock straining against his jeans, and looks up at the stranger. His eyes have gone dark, expression full of wonder as to Shane’s next move. Shane brings the hem of the Henley up, lithe muscle a wall in front of Shane. 

In a haze Shane begins unbuttoning the stranger’s pants, lowering the zipper and shimmying his boxer briefs down just enough to pull out his heady cock. Of course he's big, Shane thinks right before he gives the length a long lick. 

“Fuck—“ the stranger hisses, head lolling back onto the wall in utter bliss. Shane grabs the base in his hand, giving the head an experimental lick, the stranger’s hands shooting down to envelope each side of Shane’s face. There’s no pressure in the touch, the man is just holding Shane’s head, that wondrous expression still on his face.

Shane takes the rest of him into his mouth, hearing the man hiss again, and Shane relaxes his throat to accommodate the length and girth. The man moves his hands to position themselves closer to each side of Shane’s jaw bone, fingers on his cheeks. Shane bobs his head, his hand coming up to meet his mouth with each stroke. He can feel the man twitching, stomach muscles seizing at the sloppy, tight heat that is Shane’s mouth. 

Without warning the man hauls Shane back up to a standing position, handling him until Shane is walking backwards, thighs hitting the bed. The man kisses Shane again, tastes him like he’s just as starved for it as Shane is. Fingers glide into the man’s hair, Shane holds him there, kissing him back slow and greedy.

When they finally pull away the man begins taking off his clothes in a frenzy, Shane watching all that corded muscle move. He’s absolutely gorgeous, his body the stuff of Greek legend. When he looks at Shane and quirks his head to say Why are you still dressed?, Shane begins the process of taking off his shirt slowly to prevent any wrinkles. The man, exasperated by Shane’s glacial pace, pushes him on his back before he can even pick at the hem. 

Shane watches the man perform the same routine on him as earlier, popping the button and lowering the fly of his jeans. Did it look this fucking hot when I did it?, he wonders. He wastes no time like Shane did, however, and grabs the base of his painfully hard dick and wraps his beautiful, full, pink lips around him and doesn’t stop until his nose brushes Shane’s neatly trimmed pubic hair. 

Shane’s hands fly to the golden curly hair, he needs something to ground himself or he’s going to come before this even starts.

“Oh my god,” Shane whines, hands gripping a little tighter at the stranger’s hair each time he sucks him to the hilt. One hand comes up to rest against Shane’s pec, squeezing at the muscle there and Shane’s hand automatically rests against it, squeezing back. 

The stranger continues, giving Shane the best fucking head of his life, before Shane starts to pull away.

“I’m going to-fuck-I’m going to come if you don’t stop,” Shane warns, fingers like a vice grip on top of the hand kneading his pec. 

The man moans, a bit guttural, and continues to suck him down. Spit is coating the man’s lips like gloss, Shane can feel it sliding down to his balls. Everything is hot and wet and warm and the sticky feeling deep in his belly is about to crest.

“Fuck, fuuuck—,” Shane manages to choke out, his eyes screwing shut as his orgasm slams into him like a fucking freight train. He can feel the man still bobbing on his cock, still gripping him just shy of too tight, and it’s too much. Shane opens his eyes and he sees the man giving him one final suck before the head of Shane’s cock pops out of his mouth. It’s the most obscene thing Shane has ever seen, he knows he’ll remember it on his dying day. 

“That was not my first time,” the man says, voice even deeper than earlier from the assault on his throat.

Shane waves at him dismissively, his post orgasm high already fading from the single, stupid retort from this asshole.

“Jesus do you ever shut the fuck up?” Shane asks, not enough venom in his voice as he would have liked.

“I know of a way to shut me up,” the man is quick to say, smile breaking across his entire face. Shane hauls him up to the bed and attempts to reciprocate the most insane blowjob he can possibly muster. 

Later, when both of them are satiated, Shane watches him dress. The stranger’s skin pulls against muscle at every movement, freckled skin gorgeous in the glow of the lamps. He slips his shoes on last, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything. Shane is sitting on the bed, still fully dressed, spent dick zipped back up, knees almost to his chest. The stranger gives him a lazy smile as he leans over and gives Shane a final, agonizingly slow, tender kiss. 

“Bye,” he breathes against Shane’s lips.

“Bye,” Shane all but whispers. 

The stranger walks out of the room, not looking back, and Shane waits until the door clicks shut to begin freaking the fuck out. 

Three months later, Shane will come to the horrific realization that the stranger who gave him the most soul shattering blowjob of his life was, of fucking course, none other than Ilya fucking Rozanov.

Fuck LinkedIn.

Shane now has a dilemma, well he’s got a few, but the most pertinent is what the fuck does he do with this new (old?) information.

Does Ilya know who he is? Shane doesn’t have his picture on LinkedIn and he never participates in group photos at work. They never exchanged names during their short time together at the hotel. But Ilya knew he was there for the conference, could he think he’s someone else on the Voyageurs Global team? There’s not many of them but Ilya could easily think Shane is actually Hayden or JJ or—

Name tags. They all wore fucking name tags during the entire conference. But Shane never remembers seeing Ilya there, not during the team building exercises, or the presentations, not during the catered breakfast or lunch. Is it possible that Ilya was just as focused on the conference that he didn’t even notice Shane? That had to be it, Shane contends, because he would have noticed Ilya immediately. Ilya was eye catching, piercing eyes mixed with curly hair, strong and lean and tall.

There was no way Ilya knew who Shane really was, and even if he did, Shane was going to lie to himself until he believed it.

“The Boston team is coming for a visit next week,” Rose tells him, dropping the perpetual bomb to shatter Shane’s fragile psyche. He hadn’t told Rose about his Ilya realization, he hadn’t told anyone about the encounter in the Boston hotel three months ago.

He didn’t think Rose would be morally opposed to what Shane did with Ilya that fated night, she might even slap his back for getting laid besides all his specific quirks. Rose would be ecstatic that Shane had let his guard down enough to be intimate with someone, she’d be shocked that he didn’t do his due diligence by asking for a recent STD test, asking about partners, asking about strict turn-offs. Rose wouldn’t believe Shane got down on his knees for someone he knew less than half an hour, shoved his glorious dick in his mouth but didn’t ask about a history of herpes. It was so out of character, so void of control that Rose might even think he made the whole thing up.

Sometimes Shane thought it was the best wet dream he’d ever had. He buried it deep in his brain, yet revisited the thought every single day. That beautiful, intoxicating man had brought Shane out of his shell in a way he never knew was possible. Shane hated him for it, especially now that he knew the Boston stranger was Ilya Rozanov.

“Oh,” Shane tried to say casually, “for how long?”

“Just a few days,” Rose continued before taking a bite of her fancy BLT.

“Who exactly is visiting?” Shane hedged, hoping Rose didn’t pick up on his sudden interest in this specific visit. Short visits between offices weren’t out of the norm, but Shane now had a giant fucking secret and probably an ethics violation. 

“Just Svetlana, Ilya, and Kip,” she said cooly, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“When are they supposed to show up?” Shane asked, tone indifferent as he brought a spoonful of plain ground beef to his mouth. 

“Tuesday, so wear something nice,” Rose smiled, he knew she was kidding but Shane looked down at his drab business casual outfit and huffed.

There was nothing Shane could wear to mask his identify, no puffer coat big enough where Ilya wouldn’t see his face. He’d have to take an unlikely sick day, only on Tuesday, anything to avoid Ilya for a couple more hours before the inevitable discovery that their tryst wasn’t so random. 

Shane could already feel the mortification turning sharply in his gut, Ilya’s surprised face when he would see Shane in his button down and khakis, the overhead fluorescent lights washing him out, making him look even more stupid than he could ever feel under the gaze of the those sultry eyes. Shane would rather grovel at the mercy of every vendor than ever ask for another invoice from Ilya again.

To top it all off, Shane had fucking called him. The voice on the other end of the line not registering to Shane even after all those nights replaying the stranger’s words in his head. Shane suddenly remembers the wet sounds of their filthy kisses, the hitch of breath when Shane took him into his mouth. Shane winces and Rose notices.

“You okay?” she asks, worry evident on her face.

“Yeah,” Shane chuckles, trying to play it cool. “I just don’t know how much more ground beef I can eat before I start to cry.”

She laughs at that, worry forgotten, tension alleviated. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as strict with their meal plan as you, can’t say I envy you tho,” she smiles, taking a big bite of her delicious looking BLT.

Shane nods, tries to give her another believable smile before he begins planning how he’s going to evade Ilya Rozanov for almost an entire week.

Shane doesn’t get to ignore Rozanov for a week, he doesn’t even get a day. 

Shane is scanning copies on Monday morning in the small mail/copy room down the hall from his office. The only noise is the continuous scanning and processing of paper on the machine that’s probably worth more than his parent’s new car. Shane watches the sheets decrease in volume at the feeder only to increase at the output, more messy than they had been a second ago. Shane begins taking the scanned sheets out of the tray and gently tapping them on the table to his right so they can become a neat stack in his hands. 

With the scanner whirling and his laser focus on the stack, Shane doesn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind him. Doesn’t hear the shift of fabric as someone leans against the doorframe, watching him with rapt curiosity. 

“Shane Hollander,” he hears from behind him as he nearly buckles at the sound of his voice, in person.

Shane turns, much too fast to be casual, and sees the man who has rocked his memory every night, every day, since Boston three months ago.

“Rozanov,” he responds, gripping the stack of papers in his hands tightly. The copier finishes scanning and they’re left with the silence.

“Miss me?” Rozanov asks with a little wink and Shane acts fast. He puts the stack on the table, barreling past Ilya to close the door to the mailroom. If he can contain this secret for even a few minutes longer in this tiny space he’ll take it anyway he can.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” Shane asks, desperately, and not as if this didn’t happen a few months ago. Seasons had changed at this point. Rozanov must have told someone already, must have told a close friend that he hooked up with someone so easy it was laughable.

Shane feels his cheeks grow hot, his entire body suddenly feeling like it’s going to be enveloped by a circle of hell. 

Rozanov’s facade cracks a bit, “No, Hollander, I haven’t told anyone,” and Shane breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Okay, good. Me either,” he says, although Rozanov didn’t ask and Shane thinks he probably doesn’t care. They assess eachother for a few seconds, Ilya is wearing a black dress shirt, slate gray dress pants and black dress shoes. He’s wearing a tasteful leather jacket and a few buttons of his dress shirt are open, the Russian orthodox crucifix perfectly in place like the last time Shane saw him.

At night when Shane was desperately not trying to think of their quick encounter his mind would wander to what it would have felt like to have that crucifix inches above his head, dangling in space as Ilya pounded into him.

“You’re early,” Shane realizes, they were supposed to be here on Tuesday. Shane was going to call out sick and maybe try and break his leg so he could avoid this reunion altogether.

“Scott wanted us to be here Monday, last minute change,” he explains, a smile playing at his lips like something is funny. From Ilya’s eyes, Shane probably looks like an anxious mess. He feels like every crevice of his skin is aflame, like he’s going to throw up from under Ilya’s cool gaze.

“Did you know?” Shane asks because what’s the point in pretending anymore.

“Know what?” Rozanov asks and Shane wants to punch that sly smile off his face.

“Who I was, or am—Did you know we worked for the same company?”

“Of course, I made your name tag,” Rozanov shares, like it’s obvious. 

“So you were there? That whole time?” Shane is close to shrieking now, he doesn’t know why he’s getting so riled up. 

“Yes, but I was more, what do you call it? Behind the scenes? Making sure presentations played on projector, that food was on time, stuff like that.”

“Why didn’t you say anything when you saw me outside?” 

Ilya smiles extra big at that, crucifix catching the light. 

“You didn’t ask,” he shrugs, simple.

“You asshole—“ Shane begins, walking towards Ilya like he’s really going to go for his throat. 

Just then the door opens and Shane schools his rage as Rose and Svetlana come through the threshold.

“Oh-“ Rose says, surprised to see the most unlikely pairing sharing space in the small room. “Good, you’ve finally met!”

Shane and Ilya look at each other, panic mirroring in their eyes for a split second before they both smile.

“Oh yes,” Ilya begins, “finally met the famous Shane Hollander,” and he puts a steady hand on Shane’s shoulder like they’re old pals.

Rose looks at Shane, she knows he doesn’t do well with strangers touching him. Shane meets her eyes and gives her a reassured smile.

“Or the severe pain in his side,” Svetlana says under her breath, extending her hand to Shane, “I’m Svetlana, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Shane drops his shoulder, Ilya’s warm hand slipping off, and he steps forward to shake hands with the beauty.

“Shane, nice to meet you,” he says sincerely. 

“I feel like I need to apologize for Ilya, I always turn my invoices into him as soon as I get them. I don’t know what his problem is,” she says, looking at Ilya with familiar annoyance. Any hater of Ilya was a friend to Shane.

“Oh,” he shakes his head, cheeks flushing even further, “it’s really no big deal,” he tries to explain. 

“Ilya is an asshole, I’ve known him forever so I can say that,” she smiles, “let us make it up to you by going out to dinner.”

Shane is already shaking his head before she continues, “And before you say no, like Rose warned me you would, think of it more as a collaborative dinner among colleagues,” and Shane doesn’t think that sounds anymore appealing. 

Shane looks at Rose’s pleading eyes and back at Svetlana’s genuine smile. Shane thinks Rose must need this more than she’s letting on, without another women in the office to wade through all the testosterone bullshit it must be nice to have one here, if only temporarily. 

God dammit.

“Sure,” he agrees, hoping it sounds more enthusiastic than he’s letting on. 

Both women shriek quietly, clearly the most excited about this dinner. Shane doesn’t dare look back at Ilya.

“We’ll figure out the logistics later, we have a meeting with Scott and Kip in a few minutes. I’ll see you later, Shane,” Svetlana says, waving at Shane as she and Rose turn out of the room for the hallway. The sound of their clicking heels mirroring the drumming in Shane’s head.

“I have something for you,” Ilya says, Shane turns slowly, unsure of what he could possibly have for him that doesn’t relate to his overwhelming, general embarrassment.

Ilya materializes a few slips of paper, holding them in front of Shane like a peace offering.

“What is this?” Shane asks, not taking them in case it’s some sort of practical joke and Rose and Svetlana are just waiting for a boom! to come back and laugh at Shane.

“Invoices,” Ilya says, “the ones I owe you,” and it’s poetry to Shane’s ears.

He takes them hesitantly, not daring to look into Ilya’s eyes lest he drop the papers on the floor.

“Thank you,” Shane says slowly, Ilya not deserving of those words after all the shit he’s put him through just this morning alone.

“You think I’m an asshole,” Ilya states, voice coming closer to Shane’s general direction. He sees Ilya’s dress shoes take another step closer to his own on the linoleum floor. He looks up at him, the closest they've been since Boston. His mouth runs dry.

“I know you’re an asshole,” Shane retorts, no venom behind the words.

Ilya smiles at him and Shane finds himself smiling back. A truce of sorts beginning to form. Ilya must feel it too because he steps back like he’s nervous, rubbing the back of his neck, his gold chain shifting slightly.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Ilya says abruptly, a promise in his words.

“Okay,” Shane agrees, giving him one last small smile.

Ilya slips out of the room, that musky aftershave revisiting Shane’s senses.

Later, Shane is processing the invoices Ilya gave him, they’re late in terms of payment so they have priority over the rest of his weekly stack. Shane’s phone buzzes on his work desk, Rose’s name lighting up his screen with a quick message.

Rose

I apologize in advanced for what I dragged you into

Shane’s eyebrows knit, terrified about what she means.

Another message comes through a few seconds later. Rose is part of it but there’s two additional numbers Shane doesn’t recognize or have saved in his phone. 617 area codes.

Shane doesn’t even get a chance to look at this group message before another text comes in. It’s one of the 617 numbers.

617-###-####

Do you like dessert after dinner?

Shane’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. His hands fly to his phone, unlocking it to see that message staring back at him. There’s no way.

617-###-####

I can make sure you get something sweet

Shane

Who gave you my number?

617-###-####

You didn’t answer my question :(

Shane

And you didn’t answer mine 

617-###-####

I used process of elimination from group chat. Do you like salty or sweet?

Shane

I’m not talking to you about this 

617-###-####

Why not? You liked when my dick was in your mouth so I think salty

Shane slams the phone down, his ears scorched. Is Ilya seriously trying to sext him while they’re both in the same building, at work?

Shane should just ignore him, he doesn’t even know what to retort to that. Visions of happily gagging on Ilya’s cock flood his mind, Ilya’s hand on the back of his head, fingers running through his hair in reverance.

617-###-####

I’m waiting Hollander

Shane isn't going to survive this week. He doesn’t even know how he’s going to survive dinner.

Shane

I can’t have dessert, I’m on a strict diet

Shane sees that Ilya begins typing immediately. 

617-###-####

You’re so boring Hollander

Shane honestly couldn’t agree more and he smiles at that. Ilya begins typing again. 

617-###-####

Do you live close to the office?

Shane

Why would I tell you where I live?

617-###-####

So I can fuck you

Shane nearly throws his phone. Is this guy serious?

Shane

Who says I’d let you?

Ilya takes a bit to respond to that. Shane tries to get back to work but his phone buzzes less than a minute later.

617-###-####

Your loss

And Shane fucking knows it. He feels disappointment rush his body instantly, this back and forth had just started and it was already over. He doesn’t know what to say, he can’t beg Ilya to take back his words and fuck him. He’s not that pathetic, he has pride.

He decides to just do nothing, letting this go on any further is a horrible idea for both of them. Shane already knew what it was like to be with Ilya, he knows it would ruin him if he did it again. After over analyzing every part of that encounter Shane realized that he never had to tell Ilya how to kiss him, how to touch him, how he liked to be handled. There was such a desire and intrinsic need from the get-go that whatever Ilya did to him, did for him, was already better than anything he had experienced thus far. Maybe ever. The realization only made Shane hate Ilya more for it, but it also made him yearn so badly that it was enough to get himself off daily. Ilya had already ruined him if he was being honest, but Shane would never let him know that. 

Shane changes over to the group text, a few recent messages having come through. He updates his contacts to know who to avoid.

Rose

How does the Tokyo Steak House sound for dinner? It’s close to the office and Shane and I have gone there before. Their sushi is sooo good

Svetlana

I’m down! When are we all available?

Rozanov

Any day

Rose

Shane?

Shane

I’m open whenever too 

Shane cringes at his message. Thank god Ilya took the hint and isn’t calling him out on the innuendo directly.

Rose

How does Thursday sound? 5ish?

Svetlana 

Perfect! We take off around noon on Friday. See you all on Thursday :)

Rozanov

Looking forward to it ;)

Shane breathes out a long sigh. He could survive a dinner with Rozanov, especially for his friend. He has more than enough work to keep his mind busy, he has a set schedule. If he can just keep his mind occupied for the next few days he won’t have to think about how crushingly good Ilya looked in the mailroom. 

The days leading up to Thursday were surprisingly uneventful. Ilya did not sneak up on Shane in the mailroom, or in the break room, but he did leave a few more invoices for Shane, in a small stack on his desk. He must have dropped them off when Shane had stepped away. No note or text from him.

Shane tried to focus on his tasks, his mind being pulled back to Ilya and the fact that he hadn’t kept goading him. Shane was positive Ilya wouldn’t have been deterred so easily, especially when Shane was so willing to get down on his knees for him without much preamble. Maybe there was someone else, Shane was sure Ilya had a crop of people willing to sleep with him at a moments notice.

Shane trudged on with his usual routine until Thursday. He wanted to wear something a little more elevated to work since they were grabbing dinner right after. Shane looked at the options pushed back in his closet that he only wore sometimes. Like getting drinks with Rose on the weekend (almost never), going over to Hayden’s for dinner (happened once or twice), going to a club (surprisingly more than once). 

Shane settled on dark brown dress pants and a denim blue button down shirt. He left his apartment before he could second guess if this outfit was too casual. Scott wore crocs to work sometimes so he figured not but he also didn’t want anyone commenting on the sudden change in aesthetic. Shane could switch it up, what’s wrong with wanting to look nice?

As soon as Shane got to work the countdown began in his head. He felt a little weightless going through the motions, he almost felt excited which surprised him because nothing was going to happen with Ilya. Shane had already made sure of that and Ilya seemed to understand that as well since it has been radio silent from him. 

Rose had asked him at lunch if he was looking forward to dinner and Shane didn’t have to lie and told her he was. 

“It seems like you and Ilya are getting along better,” she tells him and Shane starts to chew his meal a little faster.

“Yeah, I think he’s going to start turning stuff in on time so we’re good,” Shane nods.

“I’m glad. See, I told you he wasn’t so bad!”

Shane just nods.

When 5:00PM creeps along Shane is hit with a wave of anticipation. He starts closing down all his computer programs, tidying up his desk and turning off the light to his office. He stops by Rose’s office next to ask her if she wants a ride to the restaurant but sees it empty.

He gets a text and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Rose

Giving Svetlana and Ilya a ride, see you there! 

Shane walks to his beat up sedan, anticipation climbing, and gets in the seat. He knows his hands are shaking but he ignores it. The restaurant is a few blocks from the office and he makes it in no time. 

When he walks in he tells the hostess he’s meeting friends and she lets him walk back to the dining area. Shane spots them at a circular table, Rose and Svetlana sitting together, deep in conversation already, and Ilya scrolling on his phone, an empty seat next to him.

Fuck.

Shane greets his friends and pulls out the seat to sit next to Ilya. The other man straightens and puts his phone down, he smiles at Shane.

“Hollander, didn’t think you’d show,” he says, his body turning towards Shane.

“Ne nachinay,” Svetlana snaps at Ilya, it sounds like a warning. “I told him not to start, he can get annoying.”

“I am on my best behavior,” Ilya scoffs, taking a sip of his water. 

Shane smiles at Svetlana as a thank you and she resumes her conversation with Rose.

“So,” Shane begins, trying for a normal conversation with Ilya, “was it a productive week here?”

Ilya shrugs, “Just more work to do when we get back.”

Shane nods, trying again, “Thank you for the last of the invoices by the way.”

Ilya looks at him seriously for a second, Shane’s eyes wandering down to his mouth then back up again at his eyes.

“Hollander, we don’t have to talk about work,” he says, thighs spreading a little more in his chair. Shane’s eyes follow the noise and sees the way the fabric of Ilya’s dress pants wrap beautifully around his thick thighs. Thighs that were around Shane’s head when he sucked him off.

“Oh,” Shane begins, “okay. What do you want to talk about?”

Ilya shrugs again, Shane tracks his eyes as they make their way down to his mouth and up again. They linger somewhere on his face and Shane flushes. 

“You have a lot of . . .” Ilya makes a vague motion around the area of his own nose. 

“Oh!” Shane realizes what he means, he’s talking about the freckles that cover his nose and cheekbones. Had he not noticed them before?

“Yeah, I hate them,” Shane confesses, taking a sip of his water to try and calm down under Ilya’s attention.

“Why?” Ilya asks him, gaze not wavering, “they’re pretty.”

Shane rolls his eyes at that, “Gee thanks.”

Ilya leans into to whisper into Shane’s ear, “You’re very pretty, Hollander.”

Shane’s eyes snap to meet Ilya’s then look in the direction of Rose. She’s still entirely immersed in conversation and didn’t notice Ilya hovering closer to Shane. 

“Are we ready to order?” The waitress asks, materializing out of nowhere but Shane is eternally grateful to break out of Ilya’s orbit once again.

Rose orders some sushi rolls for her and Svetlana to share, Ilya some yakisoba dish and Shane orders salmon with veggies. Rose looks disappointed.

“You can’t even indulge for one night?” She asks Shane, her eyes sad. He feels Ilya look over at him, his gaze taunting.

“Hmm, what doesn’t Hollander indulge in?” Ilya asks, sounding innocent to untrained ears.

“Anything!” Rose exclaims, “he’s so strict on his diet, never comes out to get drinks with me. I never even hear him have a cheat day and just get pizza and beer! He’s got nerves of steel,” she chirps, it sounds more like a compliment than a complaint. 

“Maybe if he comes to Boston next office trip we can take him to some restaurants he won’t be able to say no to, huh Ilya?”

Before Ilya can respond Shane speaks up, “Boston? Is Scott thinking of a visit?"

Rose rolls her eyes, “I know this is a dinner with colleagues but we don’t actually have to talk about work. But to answer your question, yes, Scott was telling Kip that in a few weeks he’d like a couple of us to accompany him to Boston. Won’t that be fun!”

Shane can feel Ilya’s unwavering gaze, a soft touch lands on the outside of his shoe, shiny black dress shoes the culprit and Ilya speaks, “We can show you some sites, Hollander,” and he winks at him.

It’s casual to everyone else, the way Ilya is talking to him and winking at him and smiling at him. No one else can feel Ilya brushing his leg against Shane’s, too slow to not be deliberate. Ilya leans back in his seat, thighs splayed out in a way that is so masculine it makes Shane’s stomach drop, like an invitation. He takes another sip of his water, eyes still on Shane, assessing his reaction.

“Yeah,” Shane finally agrees, “I’d like to see the sites.” He looks directly at Ilya when he says it, hoping he’s not fucking this up.

Ilya seems to catch on, a slow smile blooming across those pouty lips and nods. Shane’s heartbeat picks up, he takes the phone out of his pocket and types out a rushed message.

Shane

3345 Le Monte #3B. 9PM.

Ilya’s phone buzzes from where it was forgotten on the table. He turns it over, reads the message on his screen, and puts it back down. 

He gives Shane another tap on his shoe and Shane taps him back.

Shane’s apartment is a little studio. He could have sprung for the one bedroom in the building but he didn’t see a point in only having an extra 300 square feet. It’s been ample size for Shane this entire time except for now when he fees the walls closing in.

It’s 8:57PM and he wants to rip his hair out. Dinner ended around 7:30, Rose and Svetlana planned on going to a bar and invited the boys who both declined. Shane made an excuse about meal prep and Ilya said something about catching up on work. Svetlana didn’t look like she believed him but she didn’t press him further in front of the other two.

Shane raced home, taking stock of condoms and lube and his sanity. He couldn’t believe how fast Ilya convinced him to do this again, but Shane knew there wasn’t much convincing to be had.

Ilya looked incredible in that restaurant with the low lights, his features slightly softer but his presence all consuming. He kept stealing casual touches from Shane the entire dinner, a bump to his arm, to his knee, a hand on his shoulder. He kept glancing at Shane too, his full focus on him whenever he talked. It was dizzying and Shane couldn't help how his dick would twitch in interest. 

Shane took a shower, an incredibly thorough one, and brushed his teeth with the same vigor as the hotel room in Boston. He put on deodorant and some lounge wear. After that he waited, his thoughts telling him this was a bad idea, his dick telling him to start opening himself up if he wanted Ilya’s cock to fit. He tried doing some dishes instead, one dirty mug, and vacuumed the small studio. He cleaned the toilet next and wiped down his bathroom counter. His bed was already neatly made from this morning. 

He checked his phone to see if Ilya cancelled but only the numbers of the clock glowed back at him. 

At 9:03PM he got a buzz from the lobby, Ilya’s voice coming over the intercom to let him know he was here. Shane buzzed him in and felt his anticipation growing again. He paced the apartment, not knowing what else to do to pass the short time it would take for Ilya to get to his door. A knock came a few seconds later and Shane feels like he's on fire all over again.

He opens the door, Ilya is bathed under fluorescent light from the hallway and Shane drags him inside, unable to wait another minute.

Ilya smiles into the kiss, his back hitting the door as Shane takes his face into his hands. Shane kisses him needy and rushed, fingers curling into his hair and moaning. Ilya wants to tease him for it but he’s just as desperate, if not more after the torturous few days it’s been knowing Shane was so close and he couldn’t do a god damn thing.

Ilya brings his arms around Shane’s middle, his open fingers splaying across his back, slipping up and down, touching every part of him because he finally can. His fingers go under the soft cotton of Shane’s t-shirt, Shane almost winces at the touch, his stomach muscles contracting. Shane starts to take off Ilya’s jacket, shoving it down his shoulders before breaking away to pick it off the floor.

“Do you want me to hang this up?” Shane asks him, as if he wasn’t just trying to deep throat his tongue. Ilya is obsessed with him and he can barely hide it anymore. 

“Just there is fine,” he tells Shane, pointing at the tiny bistro set Shane has next to his kitchen. Shane drapes the jacket carefully on the chair back then turns back to Ilya. He’s sure he’s about to apologize about something but Ilya doesn’t let him. 

He steps close to Shane, hands running up the sides of his arms. It’s his turn to take Shane’s face in his hands, he brings their mouths together, the kiss syrupy slow. Shane moans again and Ilya follows suit. He’s been waiting months to have this man again, he’s going to take his time. 

“Get on the bed,” Ilya tells him after he’s fully kissed Shane dizzy. Shane nods and walks back to the bed, he lays on it, one elbow propping him up and Ilya stays rooted in his place.

Shane looks to be getting impatient so Ilya begins to strip. The black wife beater hugging every nook and crevice of Ilya’s upper body goes first, he places it atop the jacket to appease Shane. He pops off his shoes next, bending over to take his socks off and putting them all neatly under the chair to be out of the way. 

Ilya walks closer to Shane, who is now sitting up ramrod straight on the edge of the bed. Shane looks up at him, kiss bruised lips and a blush high on his cheekbones, his fingers go to Ilya’s belt and start to unbuckle, tugging it off. The metal clanks to the floor in the quiet room and Ilya can’t even joke about picking it up because Shane is looking at him like that, like he’s fucking drunk, with his mouth open, breathing heavily.

“You want to suck my cock, Hollander?” he asks him, Shane says nothing as he is unbuttoning his fly and bringing down the zipper. Ilya is already hard, the outline of his cock so evident in his gray briefs.

“Come here,” Shane says, moving backwards on the bed, his own shirt being pulled off his body in a fast movement. Shane begins talking his sweatpants off too, folding them and his shirt quickly then moving the pile to the side of the bed. He lays there in just his briefs, as hard as Ilya, and watches Ilya take off the rest of his clothes. Ilya climbs on top of him, the skin to skin contact electrifying after all this time.

He doesn’t know how Shane wants to do this, so he asks, “How do you want me?”

“However, I don’t care,” he tells him and Ilya knows he means it. He feels the same way, anything is better than nothing when he’s been starved.

Ilya runs his finger down the straight line of Shane’s nose, touch light as it trails along the dusting of freckles on his cheekbone. Ilya wasn’t lying when he told Shane he found them pretty, beautiful actually, he can still remember seeing them for the first time outside the hotel in Boston. He thought Shane was breathtaking then, he’s gorgeous now under him, pliant.

Shane chases Ilya’s hand and kisses his wrist, the action so delicate it’s going to rip Ilya in two. He moves his hand down Shane’s chest, sees it hitch, and keeps moving further until Ilya has the outline of his cock under his warm hand. 

“Rozanov,” Shane warns, annoyance bleeding out of him when Ilya squeezes. Ilya pulls his briefs down, cock springing out and slapping against Shane’s lower belly. Ilya moves on instinct and puts it in his mouth, no teasing, and gives it a few long and wet strokes. Shane’s eyes are screwed shut at this point, arms coming up to cover his eyes.

“No, I want to see you,” Ilya tells him, wrapping one hand around the base to meet up with his mouth. Shane drops his arms behind him, head crooking up to see Ilya taking him in. 

Shane’s mouth falls open, “Fuck, Rozanov,” he whispers and Ilya knows he’s doing something right.

He keeps going like that for a bit, Shane tensing as Ilya takes turns stroking him harder and taking him in deep. Shane’s hand finds its way into Ilya’s hair again, gripping the strands just shy of causing any real pressure. Ilya’s other hand rounds Shane’s ass cheek, kneading it, while his fingers move closer to his asshole.

“Yes,” Shane breathes, letting out a keen when Ilya rubs his fingers there in tandem. Shane feels tight, he tests the resistance by letting the very tip of his index finger try to breach his hole. It doesn’t budge and Shane is getting something from behind his head, probably stashed under his pillow, and places a bottle of lube right next to Ilya. 

“Don’t worry pretty boy, we will use that later,” and that’s all the warning Shane gets before he’s being maneuvered onto his stomach, ass in the air.

“Are you—?” Shane asks over his shoulder, a hitch in his voice that sounds like he’s nervous.

Ilya kisses one of the dimples on his back.

“Do you want me to?” he asks him, playfully. 

“I’m clean, but only if you want-“ and Ilya stops him there because there’s nothing more that he wants to do in this moment.

He gives Shane another kiss, this time on his mouth, before bringing Shane’s ass a little higher and spreading his cheeks. Ilya flattens his tongue and gives Shane a few licks, waiting to see if he’ll ask him to stop. Shane lets out a guttural noise, low and choked out, so Ilya continues. He starts by licking then sucking on his asshole, kneading his cheeks in his hands. Shane cants back after a bit, getting more vocal and turned on as Ilya continues.

Ilya grinds himself against the bed, the friction is the only respite from the filthy noises coming out of Shane’s mouth. Ilya can see every divot of Shane’s back from this angle, all those hours at the gym and boring meals paying off. He’s so god damn beautiful and Ilya can’t believe he’s at his mercy right now. Ilya reaches around to give Shane’s neglected cock a tug and beams as Shane lets out another grunt. 

Once Ilya is satisfied with relaxing Shane with his mouth, he pours some lube down his crack, watching his hole flutter as it trails down in a thick line.

“Asshole,” he hears Shane whisper, Ilya rubs the lube across his hole, testing the resistance once again. 

His finger catches and Ilya asks him if it’s okay. Shane nods and Ilya slowly enters him, a little bit at a time to get Shane used to the intrusion. Shane lets out a sigh, his breathing picking up and Ilya places a reassuring kiss on his back. Ilya starts getting Shane loose with his fingers, working in one after another when Shane gives him the go ahead to add more. Shane clenches on each new one, the sensation creating a heavier pressure each time.

“I’m ready,” Shane tells him, after a punishing twist from Ilya’s fingers grazing his prostate. Shane moves fast, getting a condom wrapper from under his pillow and handing it to Ilya behind his shoulder. Ilya takes it, ripping it open and adding a little extra lube to Shane’s hole. He smears the tacky liquid, earning a sharp inhale from Shane, his cock feels like it’s going to burst from the pressure of being neglected. 

“Ok?” Ilya asks him, the head of his cock only centimeters away from Shane’s hole. He sees Shane nod but that’s not good enough for him, “I want to hear you, Hollander.”

“Yes—oh fuck,” he whines, fingers gripping the sheets in an iron hold. Shane’s head drops between his shoulders, his back flexing from the intensity of holding himself up by his elbows. Ilya still takes it slow, letting Shane naturally adjust with very shallow strokes. Shane is making cut off noises every time Ilya bottoms out, the only noise in the tiny apartment being Shane’s pleasure and the creaking of the mattress.

“Still ok?” Ilya checks in after a bit, his cock sliding in and out of Shane gloriously now, the grip of the sheets in Shane’s palms almost completely loose. Shane nods again and Ilya thrusts into him brutally.

“I said I want to hear you, Hollander.”

“Yes, it’s still okay. It’s so fucking good,” he trails off, Ilya picking up the pace. Shane doesn’t say anything else, letting Ilya begin a punishing rhythm. He’s been so good to Ilya, so unbelievably trusting, almost docile to every request he’s made. Shane is so different like this, he envies anyone who has ever seen him so overcome with euphoria. The punch drunk noises he’s making, a hand coming back to grip Ilya’s thigh, his hair shining in the light.

“Oh baby,” it slips out quietly, but Ilya pays it no mind, “fucking yourself back on me? Are you going to come for me, Hollander?”

Shane whines like he’s in pain, high and so fucking needy it’s having Ilya see stars. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to last like this. He’s thankful he can’t see Shane’s face, the tortured expression on it would have done him over minutes ago.  

“Touch yourself, baby,” Ilya tells him, his voice as controlled as he can make it while he’s so close to the edge.

Shane’s hand immediately grabs for his weeping cock, stoking it in time with Ilya’s thrusts. 

“Fuck, Rozanov,” Shane cries and he sounds absolutely wrecked. Ilya picks up the pace, somehow going faster, balls slapping across Shane’s ass crack even louder.

“I’mgonnacome—,” Shane mutters suddenly, whole body going rigid as his hand keeps stripping his cock. He goes quiet after a bit, his breathing intense and labored. Ilya keeps pounding into him but at a slower pace than before, feeling Shane sucking him in with his aftershocks. 

Ilya could die like this, buried in the delicious heat of Shane, this beautiful man under him, still making sweet noises of pleasure. 

Profanities roll off his tongue in Russian and Ilya grips Shane’s hips how he wants him. It only takes a few more slow strokes for Ilya to come into the condom, the pressure slowly dissipating from his spent cock. Shane’s breathing had leveled out seconds earlier, Ilya tries to catch up.

Ilya gives Shane another kiss to his back before he pulls out, both men letting out a small sigh, Ilya pulls the condom off and ties it, getting up to throw it away in the trash can he spotted in the kitchen. Shane has rolled over, his beautiful body on full display, splatters of come shine on his stomach, but most are drying inches from his body on the duvet cover.

"What now?" Ilya asks, impishly.

Shane gives him the most beautiful smile, almost shy after what they've done. 

"Come here," Shane says, for the second time tonight.

Ilya falls into his open arms. He'd do anything for this man, he realizes, the thought not scaring him in the slightest. 

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Thank you all so much for the kudos, bookmarks and comments!

Hope you enjoy!

“Who’s that?” Ilya asked Svetlana, she was leaning against his desk, complaining about the absolute loser who had attempted to take her out on a date the previous night.

Scott had sent a Boston wide employee email, a holiday themed picture attached of most of the Montreal staff, but off to the right, past the staff members in ugly Christmas sweaters and Santa hats, was the slightly fuzzy profile of a man with coal black hair, an elegant, straight nose and the most morose expression Ilya had ever seen. 

“Who?” Svetlana asked, leaning into where Ilya was pointing with his finger. “Oh, that’s Shane Hollander. You’ll probably never talk to him, he works in the Finance department. You might meet him at the annual conference, but I’ve heard he keeps to himself.”

“Annual conference?” Ilya asked, he had only been hired about two weeks ago, still adjusting to all the ins and outs of Voyageurs Global. 

“Scott and Kip put one on every year, it’ll be in Boston this time, which is nice. So don’t book anything in early May, last time was kinda a disaster on my end and I need help. And don’t think you can get out of this, Kip will agree to whatever extra help I need,” she beams, Ilya’s fate felt sealed.

It was all a lot to get used to in the first two weeks, he needed to enroll in the company’s health insurance, he had to find a dentist, there was a 401K option, and annual conferences apparently. But Ilya had liked it so far, he had been let go from his previous company when they did a mass restructuring and decided to eliminate his position. It had been upsetting, but Svetlana told him to use the stellar letter of recommendation he got as a parting gift and to apply to Voyageurs Global, she would vouch for him. 

Ilya was hired without much fanfare, he had fantastic references and experience with sales, events, public relations, social media and data analysis. Vice President, Kip Grady, had offered him the position almost immediately after his interview and Ilya was relieved to have a paycheck coming in again. He could always ask his father for money, if he truly needed it, but Ilya had too much pride and resentment to ask that man for any favors. He hadn’t spoken to him or his brother in nearly a year and he preferred it that way. 

Once Svetlana left his cubicle he looked back at the picture, saved it for some reason, and continued working on all the modules HR had sent him to complete. Something about ethics and company policy. It was honestly all very boring and his mind would keep wandering back to the man in the picture. Ilya’s interest was piqued, curious in a way he hadn’t been in a long time.

Preparations for the annual conference began in the new year. Ilya’s experience with event planning was utilized to Svetlana’s full convenience and she all but handed the logistics to Ilya, with Kip’s express permission of course. Svetlana was the executive assistant to the Vice President so her plate was already full, Ilya knew she was incredibly grateful to get this giant project off her plate, and Ilya being relatively new, welcomed the challenge of putting on a conference without a hitch. 

Ilya had four months to start looking at venues around Boston, speaking with hotel coordinators, comparing packages and pricing, ordering office supplies and swag merch. He looked at documentation from past conferences-invoices, spreadsheets, word documents, scans of proposals-and used those to see the scope of what he would be potentially dealing with. 

From an events perspective, it wouldn’t be that difficult, Ilya had planned and executed much bigger events with flying colors. 

He wanted to impress his boss, he wanted to impress the CEO, and for some reason, he wanted to impress that man in the picture. He didn’t ask Svetlana about him again, knowing it would only cause suspicion, she would be quick to tell him to leave him alone, to focus his dick somewhere else. And he did, frequently, with men and women around the greater Boston area. Sometimes even with Sacha when he wasn’t busy. Ilya had no idea why this man he knew only in name and had seen from one grainy picture was taking up space in his mind. He looked handsome, he looked miserable. Ilya had always liked the quiet ones, it was easy to rile them up, more fun to ultimately fuck them. And Ilya wanted to fuck Shane Hollander.

When April came around, Ilya had almost exclusively planned the entire conference by himself. Svetlana checked in on him from time to time, offering advice on menu selection for catering, reminding him to reach out to x, y, z. Ilya had contacted Rose to request that she gather information on any dietary restrictions or allergies for the Montreal staff, she had joked if macro counts were included somewhere on the menus. 

“Shane is a bit intense about his food, he’ll eat any protein but really loads up on veggies or fruit only,” she explained over the phone, Ilya didn’t realize she knew Shane in that regard.

“I’ll make a note,” Ilya laughed into the receiver, thankful for any crumb he could get of the illusive Shane Hollander. 

He knew there was a very high chance he would have to interact with the Canadian at the conference. Ilya had special ordered new company lanyards and new plastic name tag holders for the event, taking special care to make sure Shane’s looked perfect. If he could he wanted to hand Shane’s lanyard himself, but Svetlana had mentioned all the prep before and after the day began, making his scenario that much more unlikely.

“First thing I did was check in with the event coordinator, I made sure there weren’t any issues with the breakfast buffet. I’d set up tables outside the conference rooms and lay out the sign-in sheets for the day. The first day I put out everyone’s lanyards in alphabetical order so they are easy to find, some people will lose their's during the week, so maybe print a few extra name tags. You don’t have to do much at the end of the day except collect the sign-in sheets and electronics. Kip insisted I get a hotel room for safe keeping of any computers and supplies, I’m sure he’d recommend it for you too.”

Kip did suggest Ilya book a hotel for himself when Ilya brought it up a few days later. He even suggested he use it if he wanted to cut down on commuting. Ilya wasn’t sure he’d take him up on the offer, but a free hotel room was nice in case one thing lead to another.

The first day of the conference took place on the first Monday of May. The weather was perfect and Ilya got to the hotel at 7AM to begin setting up. Svetlana had texted him that she would be a little late, ‘I overslept at some guy’s high rise’, and Ilya rolled his eyes at his oldest friend's text. Is that what he sounded like when he had to bail on her for whoever the flavor of the week was?

Ilya made multiple trips from his sleek sports car to the hotel conference area, carrying file boxes of supplies and tech. The conference rooms were thankfully unlocked like the event coordinator had promised they would be in the morning. After he had lugged all the supplies in, he began setting up the large folding tables. Svetlana had thankfully arrived by then and began helping him setting up the sign-in sheets, the Montreal office on one table and the Boston office on the other.

Ilya pulled out the Montreal office lanyards, alphabetizing them according to last name, and set them all out for easy locating. He realized he had put the box with the Boston office supplies in the conference room and quickly went to retrieve it, giving his work email a quick scroll to make sure no one had suddenly cancelled or there was a sudden issue with their suppliers as everyone was out of the office. When Ilya came back with the supply box he noticed an empty space on the Montreal table. He scanned the names and immediately knew who was missing.

“Where’s Hollander’s name tag?” Ilya asked Svetlana, a little clipped.

Her eyebrows immediately pinched together in annoyance, “He already came to get his.”

Ilya couldn’t believe it, he looked at his watch, it was barely 7:15AM. Sign-in and breakfast wasn’t until 8AM. Ilya had missed him, Shane Hollander has been here and Ilya was looking at fucking spam emails. 

He tried to not let his annoyance show and instead nodded at Svetlana and continued his set up. He’d have other opportunities to ogle him, he’d just have to be patient, he’d already waited months to meet him. He could wait a little longer.

Ilya would finally lay eyes on Shane Hollander while Scott Hunter was talking his ear off. They were seated at a table outside in the courtyard patio, breakfast buffet in the center. Ilya had purposefully sat himself at the farthest table possible so he could pop into the conference room without much attention from anyone else. Scott, being old as fuck (40?) didn’t seem to understand that and parked himself right next to Ilya.

Ilya had spoken with the CEO a few times through emails and over the phone leading up to the conference, but Scott seemed like the type to actually want to interact with each employee, especially if they were relatively new. Ilya saw the value in getting to know your employees and normally would have welcome the conversation, but his mind was a little preoccupied trying to locate someone specific. 

He tried to fein interest in Scott’s five year plan for expansion when Ilya’s eyes caught a glimpse of glossy black hair, a tall figure had lined up for the buffet and was moving through the chafing dishes with rapt interest. Ilya could see his profile, perfect and soft, Shane was so much more striking in person, and he felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach. Ilya continued to watch as Shane loaded his plate with the most boring assortment of breakfast items he’d ever seen. Shane scooped a giant heaping of plain Greek yogurt, a few berries and granola. He grabbed two hard boiled eggs with the serving tongs and a few strips of bacon. Shane scanned the tables, gaze breezing over Ilya, until he found a few guys, and who he believed to be Rose, sitting at a table. Shane sat with them, his back to Ilya’s trained gaze. 

“Hey boss,” he heard Svetlana say to Scott say as she sat in the empty seat next to Ilya.

“Svetlana, always good to see you,” Scott greeted her, interest momentarily off Ilya, thank god. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m getting a call from one of our partners,” he trailed off, getting up and taking the call even farther down the courtyard. 

“Breakfast going okay?” she asks Ilya, bringing a piece of cantaloupe to her mouth, scanning the other tables.

“Nothing bad so far,” Ilya confirms, “laptops are all set up for presentations, mics have been checked, everyone checked in last night,” he rattles on.

“Look at you,” she bumps his shoulder with hers, proud smile on her face, “you got this completely under control.”

“We will see,” he says a bit sheepishly, gaze finding its way back to Shane’s table. Svetlana must follow his gaze because she suddenly gasps.

“Oh, there’s Rose! We’ve been emailing back and forth, she was asking me for recommendations of fun places around Boston. I told her I’d just take her, it’s no fun going alone. I’ll be right back,” she tells him, not even looking to see him nod. They had gotten word that the marketing manager would begin her maternity leave about two weeks after the conference, Ilya had an inkling that Svetlana was scrambling for a lifeline before she drowned around all these men. 

Ilya checked his watch, it was getting close to 9AM, when the conference would officially begin and everyone would shuffle to find a seat in the main conference room. He quickly finished his breakfast and left his plate and silverware in the designated bins by the buffet set up. He found his seat in the very back of the conference room in front of the laptop, presentation booted up and ready. He tried going through his emails again, trying to distract himself somehow so he wasn’t making a note of who was entering the large conference room. Try as he might, Ilya’s gaze landed on Shane as soon as he walked through the double doors, his friends from breakfast trailing his side. They sat together in one of the rows closest to the front, furthest from Ilya. 

Svetlana did a sweep of the courtyard at approximately 8:59AM to make sure everyone was accounted for in the conference room. She gave a thumbs up to Ilya who then gave the same gesture to Kip. At exactly 9:00AM the Vice President turned on his microphone, giving it a few taps with his finger until the room quieted down.

“Good morning, Voyageurs Global!”

The next few days went off without a hitch. Aside from a dish that needed to be specially made from a food allergy that was not disclosed, Ilya didn’t want to jump the gun and congratulate himself on what seemed to be a very successful event. Ilya was a small part in putting this conference together, both Scott and Kip had found the guest speakers and put on many presentations themselves, but Ilya still felt a sense of pride in having been a part of it. After Kip’s parting words to the staff, and nearly all of them scattering to the double doors for their last night in Boston, he knew his job wasn’t quite done. 

Svetlana helped him break down the sign-in tables and wrangle up the laptops and other valuables to bring to the hotel room for safe keeping before she took off for the night. Ilya hadn’t slept in the hotel room, preferring to go home and get up a little extra early to drive here. But the plushness from the hotel bed had looked so inviting, he was bone tired from playing host and crisis control these last few days. He had a few more things to grab downstairs before he’d probably smoke a cigarette and call it a night.

When he made his way downstairs for his last trip he ran into a few of the Montreal staff, already at the bar, debating on which shots to get to start off their night. Ilya recommended them one of his favorite vodkas that the hotel carried and they thanked him graciously. Ilya noted it was the three individuals who had been with Shane the entire time-Hayden, JJ, and Rose. Shane was nowhere to be found and Ilya tried not to further dwell on the fact that he had only been able to admire Shane from afar the entire conference. 

Ilya had wanted to talk to Shane, had tried to think of some boring, stupid way to introduce himself to the other man but anytime he had the glimmer of an opportunity, he was being called away by Kip, or Scott, or the hotel event coordinator. Had an opening actually existed, Ilya didn’t even know what he would say, and Ilya always knew what to say. It was one of his greatest attributes, the ability to just start a conversation and keep it going with anyone. People loved that he showed a genuine interest in them, that he could talk smooth and easy, that he could seamlessly switch between curious and flirty. It was his best gift, so why, when it came to Shane Hollander, did he not know what to fucking say? Maybe because he's a complete stranger and you’ve become weirdly parasocially obsessed-or maybe it was just that Shane made him oddly, inexcusably, nervous?

Ilya wasn’t used to being nervous, he never got nervous around men or women, he wasn’t even nervous during his interview for this job. So why was the man who seemingly spoke so little, who Ilya noticed always picked up after himself, who had perfect posture and an elegant way in which he moved, reduced him to being nervous? He had to get a fucking grip. Maybe he just needed a cigarette.

Ilya brought the last of the items to the hotel room and decided on a quick shower there, using the hotel's complimentary bathing items. He changed out of his typical work garb and grabbed something casual he had brought just in case. He was going to smoke and maybe pick up something to eat, he wasn’t sure. The hotel had grown so familiar after all his laps around it these last few days that he took the elevator back downstairs, went out of a rarely used exit on the side and leaned up against the cool concrete wall. He had just lit his cigarette, his first in what felt like days, took a long and greedy drag, when he heard footsteps round the corner. 

He heard him before he saw him, “Hey, you’re not supposed to smoke here.”

Ilya had raised his head at that, confused as to why someone would be ruining the one small vice he had to indulge in, and locked eyes with Shane Hollander. If Ilya thought the short, wistful glances he could catch of Shane over the last few days were sufficient, no one had ever seen the beauty of Shane Hollander at sunset. 

But instead of Ilya finally having an opportunity to introduce himself, to be decent or chivalrous, he decides to play dumb.

“What?” he asks, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth for another inhale. He can’t help but smirk as Shane’s expression changes from slightly ticked off to plain annoyed. And oh, Ilya likes this.

“There’s a sign above your head that says no smoking. There’s laws about how close you can smoke to a building,” he explains, positively miffed. He looks like a wet, angry kitten.

“Oh,” Ilya pretends, like he didn’t see the sign instead of how he chose to completely ignore it, “must have missed that.”

Shane stands there, annoyance palpable, and Ilya does the only thing he can think of. Make it worse.

“Do you want one?” he offers Shane, the other man immediately scoffs and tells him no.

Ilya shrugs, continuing to smoke his cigarette and he can feel Shane’s gaze on him, assessing or simply curious, Ilya isn’t sure yet. Surprisingly, after complaining about smoking laws, Shane comes a bit closer and leans up against the wall a few feet away from Ilya. 

Ilya decides to speak, “You here for conference,” he states.

It seems to startle Shane who simply agrees. Ilya continues, with a sly smile, “Having fun?” 

“Oh, yeah I guess. Lots of information, interesting stuff,” Shane stammers, a hand coming up to cradle the back of his neck, and even in the pink twinged light from the sunset Ilya can note the blush on Shane’s cheeks, making his adorable freckles pronounced. Ilya takes a desperate drag from his cigarette at this realization and something else. Am I making him nervous?

“You seem like you like boring,” he tells him, an exhale of smoke. He hears Shane start to protest at that interpretation of his character and Ilya decides to test a theory. He offers his cigarette to him, Shane immediately shaking his head, and Ilya, undeterred, gestures for him to take it again.

Ilya can see the wheels turning in Shane’s head, confusion and annoyance and disdain, before Shane’s expression changes rapidly and he takes the cigarette, fingers brushing Ilya’s lightly, the touch sending shock waves throughout his body. Ilya schools his face, the surprise of the touch affecting him more than he ever thought possible, and relaxes to something almost aloof. He watches Shane take a drag of his cigarette, he looks so fucking cute, and almost expertly holds in the smoke for a few seconds.

Until he starts coughing and the illusion of Shane Hollander as some secret chain smoker shatters. He thrusts the cigarette back into Ilya’s direction, Ilya takes it with an earnest smile, making sure their fingers brush once again, hoping to dear God Shane is understanding the hint. Shane clears his throat for the last time, resting his back against the concrete again, looking up at the sky to probably fight back his watery eyes. 

“First time?” Ilya asks him, gauging his reaction to the question laced with innuendo. 

“No,” Shane says, quick and annoyed, “I’ve done it before.”

Ilya nods, taking another drag of his cigarette and watches Shane. He can tell he’s trying to look anywhere but at the other man, looking at the sky, at his watch, at his shoes. He peeks over at Ilya multiple times, their eyes meeting occasionally, but that doesn’t seem to deter Shane from blatantly ogling him, his dark eyes lingering far too long to mean anything else. That’s when Ilya decides to act, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get another opportunity again, especially not one where Shane Hollander is only feet away.

Ilya barely hears Shane saying something about heading back, there’s a rush in his ears and the drumming in his heart is getting too damn fast for his own chest cavity, he can’t let him leave, not yet. 

“What is your room number?” Ilya asks him, his eyes studying his face, just in case he has to play this off. He already knows the answer to his question, of course, he booked everyone’s rooms.

“1468,” Shane tells him, to his surprise. 

“Are you alone?” Ilya follows up, almost positive of the answer but curious what Shane will say.

“Yes, they gave us all our own rooms—I mean yeah, I’m alone,” he almost confesses, like it isn’t the best thing Ilya has heard all day, all week.

“Okay,” Ilya says, pushing off from the wall, snuffing out his cigarette with the bottom of his shoe, “I’ll see you in 20 minutes. 1468.”

We walks past Shane in a hurry, knowing that being in public never stopped him from scratching an itch with someone. Shane doesn’t seem the type to enjoy himself if they’re breaking laws in public so Ilya doesn’t offer to suck his dick right outside the hotel. He’s already horny as fuck and decides to take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, heart still racing a bit at his directness. We’re fucking coworkers for god’s sake. But again, when has something as trivial as that ever stopped him from seeking out a thrill?

Ilya makes it to his hotel room, forgoing a change of clothes so he doesn’t look desperate, and using those precious minutes to brush his teeth, trying to get rid of his cigarette breath since Shane didn't seem to be a fan. He wants this to be good for Shane, he needs it to be so maybe he can get this feeling out of his system, maybe this stupid little crush will run its course after Shane says something stupid or does something embarrassing.

But he doesn’t and that’s the most heart wrenching thing to Ilya.

Shane is perfect and eager and pliant and obedient. The way he looks up at Ilya, when he’s on his knees with Ilya’s hard cock in his hand, it’s a thing of fucking beauty. Those pink, full lips wrapped around him are borderline obscene, the noises he makes like he’s getting fucked, it’s too much, too soon. Ilya’s hands reach out to cup his face, to feel his cock bump against the inside of Shane’s cheek, to feel them hollow out, and Shane looks up at him with a look of pleasure and Ilya can’t fucking stand it.

He maneuvers Shane onto the bed, pulling his own clothes off in a hurry, fully expecting Shane to follow suit, but he’s making extremely slow work of it and Ilya can’t wait. Ilya pushes Shane onto his back, a little zing of nerves rolls down his spine, and he begins getting Shane’s jeans and underwear out of the way. When Shane’s cock springs free, Ilya can’t help but take it down to the hilt in one swoop. He can hear Shane whine above him, his hands having found Ilya’s hair, and he revels in the attention, in the carefully controlled demeanor of Shane Hollander finally cracking.

Ilya brings a hand to rest on Shane’s pec, the soft cotton underneath making a secure hold difficult, but Shane brings his own hand above Ilya’s, squeezing him in assurance. Shane’s grip doesn’t lessen until he comes down Ilya’s throat a few minutes later. Ilya makes a point to look at Shane as he physically pops the other man’s cock from his mouth, filthy and indecent. Shane looks like he could come again from just that display.

Afterwards, when Ilya is trying not to linger but still desperately wants to be around Shane for another second longer, he kisses him slow and sweet, hoping everything he did would leave a lasting impression. Ilya doesn’t leave his number, he doesn’t even say he hopes to see him sometime soon, he just leaves the room without a backwards glance.

Nearly three months later Ilya will get the first of a string of an impersonal emails from Shane Hollander and Ilya will realize Shane has no fucking idea who he is.

Ilya isn’t vengeful by nature, unless you unfortunately belong to the Rozanov family, so he really should stop jeopardizing someone else’s job just because the anxious man in Montreal was treating him like a nuisance. And to be fair, Ilya was being a nuisance. He ignored some of Shane’s emails out of spite, answered very few with one word and no professional email signature. 

Ilya wanted desperately for Shane to see through him, to realize he was the same man from the hotel, to talk to him like he was just as desperate for connection, because whatever spark existed between them in that room in Boston, it had ruined Ilya and he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling.

When Ilya first got an email from Shane he felt something drop in his stomach, he knew he would eventually hear from him, being the temporary department manager almost ensured that. He didn’t realize it would be two weeks after the conference, only two weeks since he found himself taking on more responsibility, his head swimming a little bit. He knew he was behind on things, he knew he would have to figure things out on the fly, he didn’t think Shane Hollander would email him personally. 

From: S.Hollander@VoyageursGlobal.com

To: I.Rozanov@VoyageursGlobal.com

FW: Status of Payment

Hi Mr. Rozanov,

This is Shane Hollander with Finance. Did you receive the invoice from Wordpress? It appears we are late on the payment for renewal. 

Thank you,

Shane Hollander

Voyageurs Global

Finance Department

Montreal Office

It was so impersonal, so precessional, Ilya was in complete shock. This email didn’t read like Shane had come down his throat weeks ago, like he fucking enjoyed it, this email felt like a slap to the face.

Stupid. 

Ilya was so fucking stupid. Of course Shane didn’t know who he was, he never fucking introduced himself, didn’t even bother telling him his name. Why would Shane think he was anything other than a random guy at a hotel? He wrapped his mind around how to answer Shane. Ilya knew he couldn’t say anything to him, how exactly do you tell someone the guy you had a life changing hook up with was the same dude who was now fucking up your job?

Ilya didn’t respond to him until the next day, pretending he was busy, like Shane was just a blip on his radar, like the black haired beauty didn’t consume his every thought.

From: I.Rozanov@VoyageursGlobal.com

To: S.Hollander@VoyageursGlobal.com

FW: Re: Status of Payment

Nope.

The torture continued for weeks. Shane would email Ilya asking for the status of certain invoices, Ilya would ignore him, often times because he actually didn’t receive them directly from the vendors, but most times because he was too embarrassed and pissed off to keep having this professional, boring, corporate conversation going. Had Shane thought of him since Boston? Was Shane’s entire life not rocked like Ilya’s had been? Was he not in complete agony?

Ilya knew he wasn’t being fair, not to Shane, not to himself, and definitely not to his dick. He felt like he had memorized every second of their encounter in the hotel room, every sharp intake of breath, the way Shane would twitch, the sounds he would make, the heavy way he felt on Ilya’s tongue. He couldn’t get it out of his head, no matter who he fucked, no matter how hard he tried to replicate the way Shane fucked him with his fist.

Ilya was so unbelievably fucked and the worst part was he was sure he was suffering alone.

The call was like a nuke drop, the absolute eradication of whatever reality he had been living in. That’s what it felt like when Ilya glanced at the screen of his desktop phone one afternoon and saw Shane Hollander’s name illuminated. He didn’t even have a second to breathe before his picked up the receiver, desperate for whatever was about to happen. 

“Hollander,” Ilya greeted, hoping it sounded casual and friendly, not like he was desperate to get any sort of confirmation from the Canadian that he had somehow put two and two together. Was he calling because he figured it out? Would he be mad, furious? Would he recognize his voice?

There was a pause on Shane’s end, Ilya briefly wondered if he had spooked him and just hadn’t heard the dial tone yet.

“So you do know I exist,” Shane replied, clearly annoyed. Ilya wanted to cry in some sort of relief from just hearing his voice again, he laughed instead.

“Of course, Hollander, not even my father sends me this many emails a week,” completely true, they were still not on speaking terms.

“I bet you reply to him more often than me,” Shane said, almost mopey.

“Actually, Hollander, it’s about the same,” a lie, Ilya would reply to Shane at any time, day or night, if only Shane gave him a hint that he had figured it out and Ilya didn't have to live with the fact that he had fucked up so bad by not at least telling him his name.

“Great, so the reason I’m calling-” Shane began, having none of Ilya’s jokes, but Ilya cut him off.

“The invoices, yes I know-“ Ilya started, scrambling to try to find Shane’s last email to see which one he meant specifically.

Shane was the one to cut him off this time, “No, not the invoices. Thee invoice. For Boston Electric. I need to pay the bill so the electricity doesn’t get shut off, which wouldn’t be a possibility if you had just gotten me last month’s invoice on time.”

“Oh my god, Hollander,” Ilya drawled, his Russian pronunciation becoming pronounced in his exasperation with his man. He searched his inbox, Shane having gone silent on the other end, Ilya clicking away. Fucking Outlook and their horrible search function. He found it, added his signature and appropriate accounting codes for Shane on the PDF file, and emailed him a copy.

“Okay,” Ilya said after he clicked Send, “I sent invoice to your email. Happy now?”

“No,” Shane quipped, Ilya laughed.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today, Hollander?” Ilya asked genuinely, hoping Shane took the opening to maybe ask him if he was that guy from the hotel, hell even if Ilya was ever going to process the other invoices Shane had emailed him about earlier in the week. 

“No,” Shane said instead. “Thank you,” he added quietly, almost as if he didn't want Ilya to hear him be polite. 

Not knowing how to respond to Shane's gratitude, Ilya says, “And thank you for calling Voyageurs Global. Have a nice day!” feeling immediately embarrassed and puts the phone back on the receiver.

What the fuck was that? Ilya sits in his cubicle for a few seconds, stunned. This was all the verification he needed, Shane truly had no idea. Ilya was just another coworker to him, probably an insufferable one, and Shane had no idea. 

"Fuck," Ilya whispers under his breath, hands coming up to scrub at his face. How was he going to fix this, could he fix this?

Weeks later Kip informs him that he'd like Ilya to accompany him and Svetlana to Montreal. He's never been and honestly Ilya didn't think he'd be asked compared to other staff members that felt infinitely more important than him. Svetlana told him after the conference that he had wowed Scott and Kip, to the point that they had enthusiastically agreed to make him the temporary department manager for Marketing. Ilya felt an immediate sense of pride and accomplishment and gladly accepted the higher, temporary salary increase. 

They were set to take off Monday afternoon, but a last minute meeting with a supplier made the plans change to a Sunday afternoon flight into Montreal. Ilya didn't love flying, the flight from Russia to Boston after his mother's funeral had been horrific and he always associated flying with sorrow and anxiety. Svetlana has seen how debilitating Ilya's mother's suicide had been for the young boy, she had been so happy to hear he was moving to the U.S., to Boston no less, but could have done without the terrible reason for the move. Ilya's father, looking for a distraction or evading bad business dealings, settled on relocating his boys close to family friends. Ilya thinks it was the most selfless act he ever did for his family, a veil of familiarity in the wake of despair. He thought enrolling him in hockey was his second selfless act but that ended up not panning out. Either way, Ilya heavily leaned on Svetlana for a sense of normalcy in those first years, he supposes he still does. 

Svetlana could tell Ilya was nervous about the trip, more than he was trying to let on. He facetimed her several times, asking if certain outfits were too flashy, and she reiterated that Scott and Kip loved him, they also wouldn't care if his pants didn't exactly match his top. What Svetlana didn't know was Ilya wasn't overly concerned what the CEO and VP thought, he wanted to make sure how he presented himself so Shane wouldn't be scared away. Ilya had decided that he had to come clean to Shane on this trip-the other man would immediately realize who Ilya was, truly was, the moment he saw him in the Montreal office. He didn't think Shane would make a scene, that didn't seem his style, but Ilya had to be ready for anything and he at least wanted to look good.

Monday morning, after Scott gave them the grand tour around 7:30AM, Ilya was left to his own devices to look around, grab some coffee from the employee lounge, or check in with anyone he would rather talk to than email. Svetlana had gone off to see if Rose had arrived at the office yet and Ilya wandered down a hall Scott had mentioned led to the mailroom and bathrooms. It was just past 8AM, Ilya could hear the printer already making noise and he decides to see who was already hard at work. 

The familiar expanse of his back, his thick black hair, and perfect posture was like a shock to Ilya's system. His skin instantly felt aflame, tiny small sparks bursting, watching Shane carefully tap a stack of paper on the table next to the machine. He didn’t want to disturb him, he almost didn’t want to burden Shane with the knowledge he was about to receive. Ilya leans against the doorframe, it will never be a good time to rip off this blindfold, but he figures, the pseudo privacy of this mailroom will have to do. 

“Shane Hollander,” he says into the room, the first time he has dared utter Shane's name out loud. Ilya sees the man immediately stiffen, papers in his hand being held just a little tighter. 

Shane turns, his whole body twisting, eyes instantly locking with Ilya's across the small room. 

“Rozanov,” he responds, voice stern, his grip on the papers getting even tighter. The copier finishes and silence overtakes the room, tension building. 

“Miss me?” Rozanov asks with a little wink, hoping to continue to play coy. Shane practically rushes his direction, papers placed on the table and he's not sure if Shane is going to kiss him or kill him. He closes the door instead. 

He turns to Ilya, eyes full of worry, “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” Shane asks, clear desperation on his tongue. 

Ilya's face drops, was he ashamed? “No, Hollander, I haven’t told anyone,” and Shane visibly relaxes. 

“Okay, good. Me either,” he says, like he had been physically holding that secret in for weeks. And maybe he had, Ilya realizes. Maybe Shane had figured it out in the time between, choosing instead to remain professional. Ilya doesn't know, but he hopes one day he can ask him for sure.

Ilya is still watching his face when Shane promptly says, “You’re early."

“Scott wanted us to be here Monday, last minute change,” Ilya explains, a smile forming on his lips because of course that wouldn't have gone over Shane's head. 

Shane gives him a small nod, his expression growing cloudy, eyebrows pinching together. There's something he wants to say, Ilya knows there's a lot he wants to tell the other man-ask, share, admit. He waits for Shane to break the new silence.

“Did you know?” he asks, a crushing weight being lifted off Ilya's chest, the plausible deniability finally coming to a complete end. 

“Know what?” Rozanov asks, just to get a rise out of Shane.

Shane's exasperation instantly make his question worth it, “Who I was, or am—Did you know we worked for the same company?”

Ilya shrugs, “Of course, I made your name tag.”

“So you were there? That whole time?” Shane's annoyance is rising, Ilya's calm answers doing nothing but riling him up. 

“Yes, but I was more, what do you call it?" Ilya pauses, "Behind the scenes? Making sure presentations played on projector, that food was on time, stuff like that.”

Shane looks taken a back, “Why didn’t you say anything when you saw me outside?” 

Ilya can't contain his shit eating grin. Shane didn't know how badly Ilya had wanted to say something to him outside the hotel, to introduce himself, to confess that he thought he was already slightly in love with him, how he couldn't take his eyes off of him the entire conference.

“You didn’t ask,” he says instead.

“You asshole—“ Shane's expression breaks, outrage evident on his face, and Ilya thinks he really will kill him this time. 

Rose and Svetlana come through the threshold, stopping the men dead in their tracks. 

“Oh-“ Rose says, “good, you’ve finally met!” and she doesn't know just how well they have been acquainted. 

The men look at each other, panic in both their faces, and through a metaphysical, shared conscious effort, decide to play dumb.

“Oh yes,” Ilya says, “finally met the famous Shane Hollander,” and he puts a hand on Shane’s shoulder, probably the worst move considering they're supposed to be strangers.

Ilya sees Rose give a quick look to Shane, oh she's not fucking buying it, but Ilya doesn't remove his hand, thinking it will look more obvious if he doesn't keep up the charade. 

“Or the severe pain in his side,” Svetlana slides into the room, extending her hand to Shane, “I’m Svetlana, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Shane drops his shoulder, Ilya’s warm hand slipping off like a brick, and he takes Svetlana's hand, returning her introduction.

Svetlana goes on to rib Ilya, telling Shane she turns her invoices in on time, not knowing what Ilya's problem is.

Ilya's problem was standing in the room, wearing an adorable button down, smiling politely and nodding when appropriate. The careful Hollander mask slipping when Svetlana invites him to dinner, surprising even Ilya. Shane begins shaking his head in protest, Ilya knowing that Svetlana doesn't take no for an answer, something about this dinner being a 'collaborative dinner among colleagues'.

“Sure,” he agrees, surprising Ilya, probably the rest of the room too as the girls squeak, excited.  

Svetlana says they'll figure out the details later, reminding Ilya there's a meeting with the CEO and VP in a few minutes. The room falls quiet again and Ilya's hears the click of heels growing farther until it is a dull thud.

“I have something for you,” Ilya tells Shane, the Canadian turning slowly, as if he forgot Ilya was still in the room.

Ilya had been holding onto a few invoices, a manila folder tucked into his jacket in case he came across Shane, a subtle white flag to their back and forth. He holds them out to Shane, the other man not taking the bait.

“What is this?” he asks, dubious.

“Invoices,” Ilya clarifies, “the ones I owe you," and Shane's expression changes, territory he is clearly more comfortable in. He takes them from Ilya's grip, hesitantly, and Ilya wishes the damn pieces of paper weren't so big so he could touch Shane again, if only briefly. 

“Thank you,” Shane says leisurely, still not looking Ilya in the eyes, like he physically can't at this moment. Ilya tries to break the tension.

“You think I’m an asshole,” he states, taking a step closer to Shane, then another when he doesn't retreat. Shane looks up at him, doe eyes and soft freckles on full display, a cheeky expression on his face.

“I know you’re an asshole,” Shane clarifies, the words almost teasing.

Ilya smiles, the tension broken, something else beginning to take shape between them. Shane must feel it too because he returns the smile, Ilya wants to kiss him.

Ilya takes a steps back, the gravity with which he wants to kiss Shane like a splash of arctic water to his system. He has to get out of here before he does something to ruin this casual ceasefire. 

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he says abruptly, Shane agreeing, giving him a final, crushing, beautiful smile. 

If Ilya thought he could stay in Shane’s good graces for long, he fucked that up almost immediately. Rose mentioned starting a group chat to coordinate dinner and Ilya patiently waited to get the notification. As soon as he did he saved Shane’s number, using it as his ‘in’ to begin talking to Shane outside of work. It went about as well as Ilya expected, which when it came to Shane, it didn’t go at all as he thought it would. He made a few choice jokes, Shane essentially told him to fuck off, and Ilya took that as a warning. 

Ilya stares at the last text message from Shane, under the table at the incredibly long meeting with Scott and Kip, his face still a bit sour.

Hollander

Who says I’d let you?

Ilya doesn’t know how to respond, it’s becoming a pattern with Shane, the Canadian shocking him silly with his quick wit and terse comebacks. But, Ilya still doesn’t know Shane well enough (or honestly at all) to gauge his tone, or comfort level, and Ilya thinks that for once, he should hold back. He doesn’t want to scare Shane off, he would never want do to anything to make Shane feel uncomfortable, at least not more than he usually looks by just existing.

Ilya

Your loss

Ilya doesn’t expect Shane to respond, but is still a bit disappointed when the other man doesn’t. He was enjoying the back and forth, it felt comfortable and almost familiar, like they’ve been chatting like this for years. Ilya tries not to dwell on it, he’s on a work trip after all, and he doesn’t want to come across as ungrateful for this opportunity. The group chat continues after Shane stops responding to Ilya directly and he has to cover a snort when Shane says he’s ’open whenever’.

He’ll see him again on Thursday, if he doesn’t see him sooner in the office. Ilya will just have to be patient, he’s waited this long after all. He can wait a little longer for Shane Hollander.

Ilya decides not to seek Shane out throughout the next few days, it would be so easy to stop by Shane’s office, to fluster him a little just to see how fast he could make the other man blush. When Ilya got the grand tour of the Montreal office, he paid special attention to where Finance was located, just in case. But after Shane didn’t respond to Ilya’s message, he figured Shane wasn’t interested in a repeat of Boston. Ilya could live with that, he had been rejected before, almost never by someone he had sucked off enthusiastically, but Shane Hollander was full of surprises. 

On Thursday, Rose found him and Svetlana in the meeting room, both typing away notes from the last of their daily meetings with the CEO and VP. She asked if they wanted a ride when they were all finished, both greatful for the lift. Scott made a comment about how he loved that the Boston and Montreal team were working so well together, Ilya nodded, if only he knew.

Once they officially wrapped up, Kip reminding them about check out and flight take off times, they piled into Rose’s practical SUV (why did everyone own a Jeep) and drove the short distance to the restaurant. Rose told them on the way that Shane was excited about the dinner and would meet them there. That made Ilya perk up a bit, although Shane could have just lied through his teeth.

They’re seated at the restaurant immediately, it looks a bit fancy but there isn’t much of a crowd just yet, many downtown folk just getting off work. Rose and Svetlana begin chatting like they hadn’t practically spent the whole day together, and Ilya drowns them out by checking his personal email. He scrolls through the various offers-spam, seeing if his father or brother emailed him, apologizing for being scum of the earth. 

He hears footsteps approaching, Shane’s voice cutting into his attention as he greets his friends, he pulls the empty chair away from the table to sit next to Ilya. Ilya adjusts his posture, setting his phone down so the screen isn’t visible, and gives Shane an easy smile. 

“Hollander, didn’t think you’d show,” he tells him, hoping for another round of friendly banter.

“Ne nachinay,” Svetlana snaps at him immediately, “I told him not to start, he can get annoying,” she tells Shane.

Ilya tells her he’s on his best behavior, taking a sip of his water to stave off the nerves of having Shane this close to him. He wonders if the other man feels the crackle between the two, the close proximity only making it more pronounced. Svetlana falls back into conversation with Rose, Ilya and Shane practically forgotten by the other two. 

He hears Shane’s voice start, “So,” he begins, Ilya can tell he’s unsure how to navigate something casual, “was it a productive week here?”

Ilya shrugs, complains he just has more work to do when he gets back to Boston. 

Shane nods, looking uneasy, but presses on, “Thank you for the last of the invoices by the way.”

Ilya can’t help but look at him, gauging his expression to see if he meant it sincerely. Ilya had put the few remaining invoices he owed Shane on top of his desk one morning, planning it exactly at the time Shane took his morning break, stepping out of his office. Ilya had been working on tracking down the last ones, emailing or calling vendors to send them to him directly, even going so far as to get them printed in the Montreal office, hoping Shane would be impressed by the effort. Ilya can tell Shane meant it, his face is soft, and Ilya sees his eyes fall down to his mouth before they snap back up, boring into Ilya’s.

Ilya decides to give him an out, “Hollander, we don’t have to talk about work,” he tells him, spreading his thighs a little to see if Shane will notice. They do, dark brown roving over his crotch until they come back to Ilya’s face. The spark crackles.

“Oh,” Shane says, almost shy, “okay. What do you want to talk about?”

Ilya shrugs again, there’s literally anything else they could talk about, Ilya truly wouldn’t care, anything to keep Shane talking to him, looking at him. Ilya’s own eyes track Shane’s features, he’s so close he can see the beautiful spread of freckles against his nose and cheekbones, the way they spread impossibly further when he smiles, how they get dark when he blushes, the way he is now. Ilya’s eyes make their way down to Shane’s lips, pink and naturally pouty, glossy from him having licked them earlier, a habit Ilya supposes.

“You have a lot of . . .” Ilya says without thinking, making a vague gesture around the area of his own nose. 

“Oh!” Shane says, surprised, blushing even more scarlet, “yeah, I hate them,” Shane mutters, almost like the answer has been practiced and delivered before.

“Why?” Ilya asks him, watching Shane take a sip of water like it’s a lifeline, “they’re pretty.”

Shane rolls his eyes, “Gee thanks,” he tells him, brushing off his compliment like he’s not used to the attention. And Ilya thinks he’s probably not.

Ilya leans in, closer than ever since Boston, “You’re very pretty, Hollander,” he whispers, sees Shane physically inhale at that, the spark now a thunder clap surrounding them. 

Shane’s eyes snap to Ilya’s. Brown melding with blue/green, hearts dancing on the same frequency. Shane looks to the direction of Rose, then back to Ilya, still leaning in. A waitress shakes them out of their bubble, the moment of anticipation broken.

Rose orders first, Ilya orders something spicy and greasy, he can’t remember with Shane’s gaze still on him, Shane orders something boring, an immediate reaction from Rose.

“You can’t even indulge for one night?” She asks him across the table, expression disappointed. Ilya looks over at Shane, interest bubbling.

“Hmm, what doesn’t Hollander indulge in?” Ilya asks the table, hoping to rouse a reaction out of Shane.

“Anything!” Rose gladly continues, putting Shane’s strict routine on blast. Svetlana offers a possibility, taking Shane out on the town when he inevitably comes to Boston in a few weeks. Although, Ilya doesn’t believe Shane was supposed to know that just yet.

“Boston? Is Scott thinking of a visit?" he asks, trying to sound casual.

Ross mirrors Ilya’s words from before, of not having to discuss work at dinner, but she continues “…but to answer your question, yes, Scott was telling Kip that in a few weeks he’d like a couple of us to accompany him to Boston. Won’t that be fun!”

Ilya continues to watch Shane, seeing a spike of anxiety, a hand being clutched into a fist on his lap. Ilya feels something turn in his stomach, a familiar need to comfort someone in distress, he bumps his shoe against Shane’s, a soft reminder that he’s here, that it’s okay. 

“We can show you some sites, Hollander,” Ilya says, keeping the conversation casual, not wanting to draw attention to Shane’s internal turmoil. 

Ilya’s leg brushes Shane’s a few times, after the fist in his lap has subsided, the first and second on accident, the others because Shane seems to welcome it, his own leg tentatively grazing his. Ilya further relaxes in his seat, thighs going a little wider, the subtle movement an invitation to the brown eyes watching. He sees Shane take a gulp of water, Ilya wondering if his message is being received.

“Yeah,” Shane finally says, “I’d like to see the sites.” Their eyes lock when Shane says it, the thunder clap louder than ever.

Ilya smiles, nodding at what Shane is desperately trying to convey with his words and eyes. He sees Shane take out his phone from his front pocket, typing out a quick message before storing the phone away.

Ilya’s phone buzzes on the table a few seconds later, he turns it over, still surprised to see Shane’s name on his screen and quickly reads the message, a rush snaking its way down his body. 

Ilya gives Shane another tap on his shoe and this time, without hesitation, a little smile on his lips, Shane taps him back.

A few weeks later.

Rozanov

Are you getting excited?

Shane

For what?

Rozanov

To see me again

Shane

Not particularly 

Rozanov

When are you going to stop pretending you don’t like me?

Shane

Well, I don’t like you 

Rozanov

But you like my dick. And my mouth, if I remember correctly

Shane

Please delete my number 

Rozanov 

Never

Shane 

That sounds like a threat

Rozanov

When you get to Boston you can find out ;)

Shane 

Maybe

Rozanov 

I can’t wait

Shane smiles at that, he really can’t help it anymore. Thankfully Rose is too entranced in sending an email on her phone, something about labor laws.

Shane

We’re boarding, see you tomorrow 

Rozanov

See you tomorrow, Hollander 

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Thank you to everyone that has commented, bookmarked and given kudos!

“Who have you been texting this whole morning?” Rose asks him with a smirk, getting situated in her seat. The pilot had announced they’d been clear for departure but they were waiting idly for their turn on the airstrip. 

Shane felt suddenly hot, shame dripping down his back as Rose awaited an answer. It was a casual question amongst friends, why wouldn’t one of his closest friends ask who was causing him to be glued to his phone? But to Shane, she might as well have asked him the last time he committed payroll fraud (never, he hoped).

“Ummm,” Shane scratched at his hair, trying to meet Rose’s eyes so he didn’t look as guilty as he felt. There was no issue between employees in a romantic relationship, Shane had read the personnel rules multiple times to verify, but him and Ilya were just fucking, no romance involved. Shane had a big fat crush on Ilya, he knew he couldn’t even lie to himself about that, but it would never result into anything. They were just having fun and Shane was actually enjoying the little jitters he would get whenever Ilya would text him. It still shocked Shane that someone was going out of their way to talk to him, day in and day out, sending him stupid videos, horrible jokes, and getting to know Shane with simple, short questions. 

You’re so boring, you must be 50. How old are you really?

Why do you like numbers so much? You take your job too seriously for a 25 year old.

What do you like to do in boring Canada?

Have you always lived there?

Where did you grow up?

What’s your family like?

Shane would ask him questions too, only when Ilya would breach the topic so he wouldn’t look overly interested in finding out every detail about this gorgeous man.

I’m not that boring and I’m not 50, I’m 25. How old are you?

Numbers have always made sense to me so yeah, I like them. I don’t take my job too seriously, you just make my job harder than it has to be.

Not much besides going to the gym.

I’ve always lived in Canada, my parents met here, my mom’s family is originally from Japan.

I grew up in Ottawa. What part of Russia are you from?

My family is nice, I’m an only child. They’d probably seem boring to you. What’s yours like?

“Umm,” Shane repeats, trying to save face but he can’t come up with anything on the spot.

Rose rolls her eyes, “Whatever, keep your secret. You’ll tell me eventually,” she says with a little smile, pulling out a soft cover book for the flight. 

“It’s not like that,” Shane tries to explain but Rose puts up a hand to stop him. 

“Keep your fuckbuddy a secret, it’s fine. But I’ll tear them a new one if they hurt you, make sure to tell him that.”

“I—okay,” he resigns, feeling slightly better that he isn’t outright lying to Rose anymore. She figured out the basics, Shane honestly wasn’t doing a great job of hiding it, but he can’t tell her more. Shane has an inkling that Rose would pity him if she ever learns who Shane is texting, who he let fuck him just weeks ago in his apartment, the guy with a reputation that precedes him. Rose would think Shane can’t hold his own against Ilya Rozanov, and maybe in the end she’d be right, but he also isn’t a pathetic wallflower, and whatever was going on between them was just, nice. 

His first instinct was to text Ilya, tell him Rose was suspicious and would result to violence if he hurt Shane, but his phone was on airplane mode and he knew Rose would only pout if he kept texting his ‘fuckbuddy’ right next to her. Shane would tell Ilya when he landed, or maybe not at all, he didn’t want to complicate what was going on between them.

“What are we doing when the Montreal team is here?” Svetlana asks him, leaning against the desk at his cubicle, as usual on a Monday morning. Kip offered for Ilya to move into the marketing managers office temporarily but it felt odd if it would only be for a few months at most. 

“We?” Ilya asks, incredulous. His only plans were to try to meet up with Shane at his condo as often as possible and make him come, again, as often as possible. He really wasn’t thinking beyond that.

“Yes, we. Remember we told Rose and Shane we’d show them the sights?” she reminds him, a little annoyed he doesn’t remember the conversation from only a few weeks ago. To be fair, Ilya’s mind was somewhere else during that dinner, but he does vaguely remember offering to show someone around Boston.

“If I remember correctly we offered to show Shane the sights. But I think you just want to see him eat chocolate cake at Lorenzo’s,” Ilya quipped, opening up the email on his desktop computer, trying not to meet Svetlana’s eyes.

“Well, that’s true, but it honestly sounds a little boring,” she whined and Ilya knew where this conversation was going.

“It sounds like your favorite thing, poking at someone nervous to see how long it takes them to pee their pants,” Ilya smiles at her, catching her eyes quickly.

“Actually that sounds like your favorite thing—shy and nervous, very handsome,” she trails off and Ilya can feel her eyes on him, waiting for him to agree with her. 

“If you say so,” he says instead, trying to deflect. He can still feel her watching him, but she seems to give up, letting out a short sigh and slapping her hands against her thighs as she straightens up.

“Rose and I are planning to go out most nights, so don’t wait up for me,” she informs him, Ilya nods, somewhat expecting that after he saw how attached at the hip they were when they were at the Montreal office.

“So you may have to take one for the team and try to force feed chocolate cake to Shane yourself, otherwise Scott and Kip will try to take him out to Olive Garden or something very boomer,” she continues.

“So save Hollander from a chain restaurant with screaming kids?” Ilya laughs.

“For his own sake, yes. Who knows, maybe you’ll find out you have something in common,” she says before she begins walking back to her office and Ilya swears he hears the smirk in her voice when she says it.

Svetlana knows him better than anyone, she probably already suspects something, or is surprised Ilya hasn’t already tried to persue Shane in his typical way. If Shane was anyone else, she would have heard about it, about how he met the other man at a bar or a restaurant or at the gym and how they flirted and ended up fucking that night, about how Ilya would keep them on the back burner whenever he was itching for a brunette with freckles. 

But Shane wasn’t like anyone else, Ilya knew that the second Shane yelled at him about smoking outside the hotel, the way getting to know him felt like peeling off petals of a flower that isn’t ready to bloom. Ilya had never put this much effort into getting to know someone and he was reveling in getting to learn the most boring aspects of Shane Hollander. But to him it wasn’t boring, nothing about Shane bored him.

The Boston office is a massive suite inside a larger, sleek building in the heart of downtown. An uber picked them up from their hotel at around 7:15AM and Scott, Rose, and Shane all tumbled into the SUV. Shane was expecting Kip to be waiting for them, either outside the giant office building or inside somewhere. The Montreal office, by comparison, took up an entire building, they didn’t have to share office space, or parking space, with anyone so this was definitely different than Shane’s day to day. Although he worked in a large city, something felt different in Boston, it seemed quicker and bolder, but maybe Shane was just a mess of nerves over seeing Ilya again and he was trying to find similarities and differences to keep his mind occupied. 

Shane had texted Ilya when they landed, when he got to his hotel room, and when he was about to go to sleep. Ilya, to his annoyance, kept inviting him over to his place, promising he’d pick him up himself, ensuring Shane he’d make him come as many times as possible if only Shane would let him. Shane had rolled his eyes at this, the beating in his chest ticking up at just imagining seeing Ilya naked and sweaty above him, crucifix dangling delicately between them as he thrust up into Shane.

“We’re almost there,” Scott announced, tearing Shane from his thoughts. He nodded at no one, trying not to appear as if he wasn’t just imagining the temporary Marketing manger fucking him and he quickly checked his phone. There were no new texts from Ilya, Shane expected that their charade would have to begin soon enough, coworkers who barely tolerated each other.

The SUV pulled up outside the front doors of the office building, the Montreal crew following Scott into the main lobby of the building. It was already bustling with people. Once in the elevator, Scott pressed the button to level 14 and they all rocked slightly as the motor strummed to life. Shane shoved his hands into his dress pants pockets, curling and uncurling his hands into fists, heartbeat picking up a tick at each floor they passed. All Shane could think about in the weeks leading up to this trip was seeing Ilya again, hearing the timbre in his voice, feeling those big hands on the side of his face as Ilya kissed him reverently. Shane could handle all that, the crush that was building to a crest, however, was getting more difficult to tap down. 

In those countless weeks of texting back and forth, of learning more about Ilya’s life in Boston, and even a bit in Russia, Shane started to imagine what it would be like if this could continue. What if there wasn’t a catastrophic end to this secret they were both keeping? What would it be like if they could see eachother more often than what their jobs demanded? What would it be like to have Ilya in his apartment for longer than a few hours, what if he could stay for a few days? Would Ilya even want that? Or would he laugh in Shane’s face thinking this was anything other than a fun hookup?

“Follow me,” Scott told them, entirely too chipper. Rose and Shane exchanged a look but followed their boss closely as he approached suite 14C. Scott pulled the door open revealing a modern waiting area with chairs and a receptionist desk that sat empty. Three people were at the entry door to the left of the reception desk, Kip, Svetlana, and of course, Ilya. He was wearing head to toe black, a favorite of his as Shane was learning, and he looked incredible.

“Welcome!” Kip exclaims, matching Scott’s exuberance from this morning. Shane saw Svetlana stifle a grin, Ilya also trying to hide a smile. 

“Kip,” Scott steps forward, “always good to see you,” he tells him, shaking his hand as they hold eye contact.

Huh.

“Of course, you as well . . . ,” Scott trails off, trying to fix his composure as Kip smiles up at him, both men still shaking hands.

“Scott, nice to see you again,” Ilya steps forward, a break in the awkward tension, dress shoes clicking against the linoleum floor. 

“Hello, Rose,” he says next, shaking Rose’s hand as he made his way down the line.

“Shane,” he extends his hand out to him, but Shane is frozen in place. 

He had said his name. His name.

“Ilya,” he takes his hand, skin on fire, heartbeat sure to be heard by everyone within a five mile radius. This would be how he died, of mortification, of pure elation at hearing Ilya Rozanov say his name, so casually, like he’d said it countless times before. It sounded so nice, so perfect in his Russian accent. It feels like a new leaf, no longer referring to each other like high school teammates, immature and distant.

Ilya drops his hand after a few seconds, Svetlana and Kip coming forward to exchange greetings with the others. Ilya hangs back, watching the flush on Shane’s cheeks begin to fade with each passing second.

Kip provided a tour to the Montreal crew, a pleasantry as Shane was the only one who hadn’t been there before, but the other two pretended to be just as interested. Svetlana was glued to Rose’s side immediately, walking arm in arm down the hallways as Kip pointed out different departments and staff members. Scott followed behind the ladies, Shane trailed along after that, Ilya next to him, walking in surprising silence.

“Only Monday but I am already tired,” Ilya says softly, Shane turning his head to him at the sudden sound of his voice.

“Oh, really?” Shane asks, a bit dumbstruck as to why Ilya was telling him this out loud.

“Yes, might go to sleep early today,” he continues, even yawning for good measure.

“Oh,” Shane says dumbly, still not sure what Ilya is getting at. He looks over at the blond, sees a glint of mischief in his eyes, but still not understanding.

Ilya lets out a little sigh and they continue on with the tour. 

They begin the morning in the conference room, a few additional employees introducing themselves and sitting in on a meeting. With the overview Scott gave them before they left, it sounds like the next few days will be an endless string of meetings, exposing both Rose and Shane to other workings within the company. Shane expects Ilya to be sitting in on some of the meetings as well, probably trying his best to distract Shane somehow.

Only an hour into the meeting after lunch, sans Ilya, Shane feels his phone buzz. He takes it out of his pocket, keeping it concealed under the lip of the conference table.

Rozanov

155 Washington St. #18

Shane

What’s that?

Rozanov

Address to my place

Shane

I thought you were going to bed early?

Rozanov

I thought you knew how to flirt 

Shane takes pause at this. Was that what Ilya was doing? Why didn’t he just text him that instead of saying it like it was casual conversation? What if someone had heard, Scott was right in front of them. In the grand scheme of things he doubts Scott Hunter would truly be eavesdropping on a conversation about bed times, if he could even hear them over Rose and Svetlana giggling. 

Shane

How would I even get there?

Ilya

I would pick you up in my fancy car

Shane

Very inconspicuous 

Ilya

Say yes

Shane smiles at that, he can practically hear the pleading, his whole body singing at the possibility of being alone with Ilya again, being in his personal space, away from his boss and his coworkers so they can finally touch and tease and want.

Shane

Okay

Shane sends the message, his stomach doing flips, almost pocketing his phone before he takes care of one thing first. He goes into his contacts, finds the Rs, edits the contact, pressing back on each letter before it’s empty. He types in Ilya and saves.

When a gleaming black BMW pulls up in front of Shane, he realizes that if Rose or Scott were to spot him he couldn’t exactly feign ignorance. No one with a car that nice was driving for Uber, no one with a body like that wasn’t a big figure underwear model, and no one as utterly intoxicating as Ilya would be picking up Shane for a fuck.

“For Hollander?” Ilya shouts over the traffic, passenger window having been rolled down. Shane smiles at that, his stomach doing flips every time this man makes a corny joke.

“No, I’m waiting for a Toyota Corolla. You know, reliable, good gas mileage, not 80K?”

Ilya scoffs at him, “Don’t insult me with your boring car kink,” Ilya grumbles, moving his jacket to the backseat to clear the way for Shane.

Shane steps into the car, a vanilla scent permeating through the interior, Ilya peels out of the loading area as Shane puts on his seat belt. There’s faint music playing on the radio, Shane looking around the car, taking note of how clean it looks.

“How was work?” Ilya asks him with a smirk, eyes trained on the road.

“Good,” Shane begins, “there’s a guy who works at the office I’m visiting, he’s a little annoying.”

“Hmm,” Ilya muses, “maybe he likes you,” he concludes, Shane’s head turning to look at Ilya. His side profile is gorgeous, just like the rest of him, the little crook in his nose just below his brow bone, the natural pout of his lips, the way a curl falls onto his forehead. His face gives nothing away, eyes still on the road, hands loosely gripping the leather steering wheel.

“Interesting way of showing it,” Shane says, teasing Ilya because he can.

Ilya groans, “Are you still mad about the invoices? It’s been months!”

“No, not about the invoices,” Shane smiles, feeling so at ease with Ilya he can barely stand it. He feels something creep in his lap, Ilya’s hand, and it settles on top of Shane’s. Shane’s stomach drops, all his nerves and anxieties coming to the fore front of his mind, his instinct is to pull away, to pretend Ilya didn’t just reach over to interlock fingers the way couples do, the way people in love do. 

But when it comes to Ilya, Shane’s instincts have never cooperated. Everything with Ilya has been the opposite of what Shane would have done with someone else—from hooking up with a complete stranger, to finding out he’s actually your coworker, to then bringing him to Shane’s apartment to then fuck, Ilya calling him baby (which he cannot forget and has not since mentioned) to now Ilya wanting to hold his hand on the drive to his condo. Shane would have never allowed this with anyone else, but with Ilya it was so easy to let his guard down, he’d never shown a reason for Shane not to trust him (aside from the invoices).

So Shane slowly flips his hand over, feeling the heat of Ilya’s palm to his, and wraps his fingers around Ilya’s hand. When he looks over at Ilya, he’s somehow even more beautiful, he’s smiling.

“Are you rich?” Shane asks as Ilya leads him into his condo, modern and minimalist except for the abstract art on the walls.

Ilya laughs, “Ah, no. Condo was a property of my father’s, he didn’t want hassle anymore and I took over payments after refinance. Car is paid off, was my brother’s but he couldn’t afford after some years.”

Shane nods like this all makes sense to him, he knows very little about the inner workings of Ilya’s family, only that his mother’s death brought them to the U.S. for a fresh start and Ilya had a falling out with his father and brother over a year ago. He knows a few other things, his father remarried, his brother has a wife and daughter. 

Ilya continues to lead him into his condo, soft lights illuminating each room, he points out the kitchen, the living room, guest bath, and finally, “My room.”

There’s navy sheets on the bed, matching duvet neatly folded. Another abstract painting hangs above the bed, matching sets of sconces above each floating nightstand, matching floor lamps next to those. It’s all very intentional and balanced, very soothing and cozy.

“It’s nice,” Shane says, their hands still interlocked, not having separated for more than a few seconds since the car ride.

“Nice?” Ilya chastises, fake and over the top, “people usually say it’s more than nice.”

Something slimey worms its way around Shane’s gut.

“Do you bring a lot of people over here, to, um . . . ,” he can’t even bring himself to say it.

Ilya lifts Shane’s chin with his fingers, his eyebrows are drawn together, a look of worry on his face from the question hanging in the air.

“No,” he tells Shane softly, the relief immediate in his bones, “there’s been no one, not since last time we were together.”

Shane wants to tell him he hasn’t slept with anyone either, but that might just be obvious to Ilya. Although Ilya’s confession does surprise him, Shane wouldn’t have been offended if he had slept with anyone during the last couple weeks. Offended no, but jealous on the other hand, of course, monumentally, uncomfortably, horrifically jealous. 

“Why not?” Shane asks him honestly, he thinks it’s a fair question.

Ilya lets out a breath, a shy smile on his face and he continues to look into Shane’s eyes with so much clear adoration the intimacy of it makes Shane want to look away, to break the invisible tether. Ilya kisses him once on the mouth, quick and soft, and again on his cheek.

“Why do you think, Shane?” Ilya asks him.

Shane can only think of one answer, it’s immediate as soon as Ilya throws the question back at him. But he can’t believe that, having that hope for something more is already destroying him, Ilya can’t possibly feel as strongly as Shane does, not this soon, not yet.

Instead of answering him, instead of letting this all crumble around him by speaking up about what he truly wants, Shane kisses him. It’s unhurried and intentional, Ilya wraps his arms around Shane’s middle, Shane weaves his fingers into Ilya’s curly hair and they start to meld together as Shane wishes they could be all the time.

The next few days follow a similar pattern, an uber takes the Montreal team to the Boston office, Shane is in countless meetings, back to back, each day. Ilya is in a few of them, not staying for the duration, only 15-20 minutes, which Shane is thankful for otherwise his coworkers would see the deliberate attempts Ilya is making to get Shane’s attention. After work, with Rose going somewhere with Svetlana and Scott doing whatever he normally does, Shane is free to get picked up by Ilya outside his hotel, driving to his condo hand in hand.

Each night, Ilya has cooked for him, mindful of Shane’s diet, each dish delicious. Shane noticed after the first night that Ilya has his fridge stocked with his favorite beverages, snacks and low-cal fare. Shane knows he had mentioned all this in their never ending text thread, being very specific and neurotic about his current hyperfixations, but it still surprises him that Ilya listened, that it wasn’t all white noise the way it is to most people. 

After they’ve eaten Ilya would put something on the tv, hockey the first night, causing Shane to ask him if he’d ever played.

The question lighting a fire inside an old part of Ilya’s life that he thought completely dead.

“I used to play, my coach said I could be good enough to go pro,” Ilya answers, very blase.

Shane shifts in his seat, leaning into Ilya as if he just said the most mind altering declaration.

“You used to play?!” Shane shrieks, a boyish smile on his face.

“Yes,” Ilya responds, still not sure why Shane is having such a reaction to arguably the most depressing period in his life.

“So did I, I was actually going to go pro too,” he exclaims, tucking his feet under his bottom, getting even closer to Ilya with a glint in his eye.

“What happened?” Ilya asks him, clearly neither of them pro athletes in giant mansions.

“Injury,” Shane says simply, but Ilya can hear the disappointment in his voice, he wanted to be pro, he probably dedicated everything to that dream. “What about you?” Shane asks him, his face softer.

“I never loved it. I was very good at it, my father wanted me to go pro, I think his involvement made me like it less,” Ilya explains, none of it lies, but not the whole truth. His father was insistent he go pro straight out of high school, it would help the family, it would help with the debts, he would finally contribute something instead of being lazy and self-centered. Ilya could have gone pro, he didn’t in order to spite his father. It was childish, but he knew his family would only get more greedy if they had a cash cow. Despite everything Ilya still loved his father, he would have given over the money willingly had his career taken off.

Shane visibly deflates, no doubt thinking Ilya’s reason was similar to his own, a career ending injury is easier to swallow than not wanting to put your body and mind into a sport you don’t really care about.

Shane smiles a bit to himself before he speaks, “Maybe in another life we could have met through hockey,” he says, boyish smile making his freckles stretch against his cheeks.

Ilya smiles at that too, he can’t imagine meeting Shane Hollander when they weren’t even rookies yet, at 17 or 18. Just boys with too much testosterone swimming in their veins, not knowing whether they wanted to punch or fuck.

“I would have ruined you,” Ilya tells him, bringing Shane’s face in close with a hand at the back his neck, fingertips curling into his straight hair.

Shane rolls his eyes, not understanding that Ilya meant it sexually as opposed to competitively. Shane gives him a bump with his shoulder, “Hardly, I was really good. I was in talks for brand deals if I got signed,” he brags.

“Ah, for fiber powder that makes you shit yourself?” Ilya teases, Shane’s face quickly turning to something like annoyance, “or for disgusting cereal that tastes like cardboard?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Shane chides, no heat in his voice anymore.

Ilya pulls him in even closer, Shane’s head resting in the crook of his neck, “Yes, but you like it.”

The last night they’re together has the weight of Shane’s departure heavy on their minds. After a final day of meetings and strategy, Kip waves them off, thanking them all for visiting and making promises to see them within a few weeks in Montreal. Ilya picks Shane up outside his hotel, they drive with their fingers interlocked, and they make the familiar trek up to Ilya’s condo from the parking garage. It feels so domestic it makes Shane’s insides want to explode.

Ilya is kissing him by the time they’re in the elevator, on his neck, on his cheeks, on the tip of his nose. They only pull apart when a haggard looking woman steps in, she looks completely ancient and can’t bother to put on a fake smile. Shane has to look away from Ilya or else he’ll burst out laughing. The woman only goes up to floor 9 before they’re left alone again, Ilya continuing his butterfly kisses on whatever exposed skin Shane currently has.

When they’re inside Ilya’s condo he can feel the restlessness pouring out of the Russian, the need to touch Shane, to kiss him, to just have him as close as possible. Shane feels it too, how it’s like a live wire whenever they’re together, an intrinsic pull of their bodies to be close. 

Ilya pushes him against his kitchen island, one hand on Shane’s face, the other around his neck, tongue melding against Shane’s own in a slow exchange. Shane arms are tight around Ilya’s rib cage, hands splayed across his muscular back. He wants to wrap his legs around Ilya’s waist, wants to bring their cocks together so Shane can rut against him like an animal in heat.

“I could take you right here,” Ilya whispers against his lips, ocean eyes focusing enough to look into Shane’s hazy ones.

“Please,” Shane barely whispers, his lust almost completely enveloping him now.

Ilya shakes his head with a knowing smile, Shane whines.

“Shower first,” Ilya tells him, giving him another kiss before breaking apart. Shane knows he’s right, he doesn’t like to have sex without taking care of proper channels first, Ilya somehow picking up on that immediately. 

They shower together, kissing and letting hands roam to the point that they’re both overexcited. Ilya leaves him after he’s rinsed off, letting Shane finish the last part himself. Shane rushes through it as best he can, so eager to have Ilya inside him a few final times before he has to go back to Montreal, to his empty apartment, to his boring life.

Ilya is waiting for him on his bed, the duvet somewhere on the floor, a few towels laid across the sheets. Shane had felt embarrassed the first time he left wet stains on Ilya’s bedding, but Ilya would hear none of it, you leak like a girl, it’s really hot, so instead they learned they just needed some towels.

Ilya has one foot propped up on the bed, the other extended, the severe outline of his cock visible even through his black briefs and the low light. Shane wants to ride him, he wants to see Ilya’s beautiful, broken expression as he milks him from above. But Ilya’s face makes Shane pause, he looks like he’s trying to hide his concern, about what Shane doesn’t know. It’s quite a shift from the way they were just a few minutes ago in the shower.

“Is everything okay?” Shane asks, suddenly feeling very underdressed in just his briefs.

Ilya scrubs a hand across his face, “Yes, I just got a phone call. It changes some things,” he says, rather cryptic.

Shane gets closer to the bed, thinking it may be better if he sits down for this conversation.

“Changes what, exactly?” 

Ilya lets out a sigh, his breath rattling his lungs a bit. Shane has never seen him like this, visibly nervous, to the point that he’s picking at the thread of a towel to give his hands something to do.

“Kip called me,” Ilya begins, “there was a job I applied to within the company. It would be more money, I could work from home for a few days a week if I wanted.”

“That sounds great,” Shane tells him, genuinely happy for the other man.

“I could stay in Boston, or . . . ,”

“Or?” Shane asks, his skin prickling, something like dread beginning to wash over him at Ilya’s evasiveness.

“Or I could move to Montreal,” he finally says, thread forgotten, gauging Shane’s expression.

Shane is stunned.

Ilya. In Montreal. Ilya moving to Montreal. 

“Why would you want to do that?” Shane asks, a hoarse laugh coming from his mouth. He’s starting to panic.

“Shane,” Ilya says, he sounds exhausted, brows wrinkled.

“You should stay in Boston,” Shane begins, standing, “Montreal is boring, you’d hate it after a while.” You’d hate me, he doesn’t say.

Ilya is confused, this conversation not going at all how he’d imagine it would. He thought Shane would be ecstatic, jumping into his arms at the possibility of having more time together, at being in the same city at the very least. But Shane is standing awkwardly in his bedroom, his mind whirling at what Ilya has suggested, at what hasn’t still been said between the two.

“Shane,” Ilya tries again to attempt to console him, to just get him to sit back down so they can talk about this.

“I don’t-it’s not a good idea. You shouldn’t move to Montreal,” he says seriously, looking Ilya in the eyes with conviction. 

“Why?” Ilya asks, hurt so evident in the crack of his voice, in how his face just, falls.

“Because, this isn’t—we aren’t. Why would you even consider moving? Leaving your home?”

“Shane,” he says for a third time, “you can’t be serious.”

But Shane is very serious, none of this makes sense to him. Why would Ilya move to a place he barely knows anyone? Why would he leave bustling and exciting Boston for boring Montreal, Canada? The job can’t possibly pay him enough to want to relocate. His family is here, his friends are here, his condo and his fancy car are all here. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane tells him, his body feels heavy, every motion happening too slow yet at near hyper speed, “I think I should leave.”

Shane gathers his clothes, putting them on in a hurry. Ilya watches him from his bed, stunned expression still on his face, but powerless to do anything to get Shane to stop.

“Please,” Ilya begs, “Shane, please don’t leave.”

“I’ll get an uber or something,” he trails off, tears beginning to sting his eyes. He makes his way to the front door, slipping his shoes on last, not allowing himself a final glance at anything before he’s jamming his finger on the elevator the take him to the first floor.

Through bleary eyes Shane requests a car, ignoring the texts and phone calls from Ilya.

1 missed call

Please don’t leave

2 missed calls

Shane please

3 missed calls

Please don’t leave like this

4 missed calls

Please tell me what I did wrong 

Shane

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Please just tell me you’re safe

It’s the last text Ilya sent him that night. Shane had replied, if only to put Ilya’s mind at ease that he wasn’t dead at the docks somewhere in Boston, but Ilya didn’t respond after that. Shane didn’t expect him to, not after all his pleading had gone unanswered. Shane felt sick.

The flight back the next morning was quiet, Rose appeared hungover, keeping her chit chat to a minimum in favor of sleeping. Shane almost wished she did ask him about something, anything, to keep his mind off the broken way Ilya had said his name last night before he left in a panic. Shane was humiliated—at the way he acted, at the way he ran away from what Ilya was proposing to him, at how he felt like he didn’t deserve any of it. He didn’t deserve him. 

This was exactly what Shane had wanted, for Ilya to be closer to him, to see if this spark between them was something more than just wanting to rip each other’s clothes off behind closed doors. He knew it was something more for him, it had been for a while, but he wasn’t sure Ilya felt it too. Shane was a lot of things, neurotic and particular for sure, but now more than ever he could add coward to that roster.

The absolute mortification he felt as those last few minutes replayed in his head all weekend was torture, but the silence from Ilya was somehow worse. He hadn’t attempted to call him or text him again, Shane kept looking at his phone over the weekend, thinking Ilya would ask to call him, or to ask him again what he had done wrong, then Shane would finally confess—but only then, not of his own volition.

But Ilya didn’t deserve that, he deserved to know why Shane left so abruptly for seemingly no reason. It must have looked terrible to Ilya, the Russian telling him wonderful news of possibly moving to Montreal, to be in the same country, the same city as Shane. Together? That’s what Shane didn’t know, should have asked him if only he didn’t run away as soon as it appeared to get serious. He was such a fucking coward.

Monday morning was not better. They had a morning debrief of the Boston trip, Scott and Rose were in high spirits, going over the major points of last week. Shane nodded a bunch, jotting down notes in his dedicated notebook, zoning out when the conversation would get too technical. Scott would call on him a few times, Shane’s attention being ripped back to reality, stuttering out a response to seemingly simple questions. Rose noticed, her expression perplexed as to what had Shane’s mind so jumbled, not at all his typical, articulate self. 

“Are you okay?” she whispered to him before Shane retreated to his office after the meeting. 

“I’m fine,” Shane hiccupped, an embarrassingly fake smile on his face proving to Rose that he is definitely not fine.

“Lunch later?” she asked, undeterred, sure that Shane would agree as their shared lunches were routine.

“Not today,” he said, surprising her, something was definitely wrong, “I didn’t have time to prep anything so I’m just going back home for lunch.”

“That’s unlike you,” she noted, giving him a once over to see if she could notice anything physically wrong with him.

Shane gives her a small smile and shrugs, excusing himself to go back to his office.

Rose tries again the next day, stopping by Shane’s office to ask if they were on for lunch. Shane makes another piss poor excuse and declines, saying he didn’t get a chance to grocery shop so he’d just pick something up from a place nearby. 

“Okay . . . ,” Rose says slowly, waiting for a punchline. Shane prioritizes his health over almost everything, he never just didn’t get a chance to not meal prep, to not grocery shop for specifics, and he’s never resulted to just picking something up nearby, he’d sooner starve than not reach his protein goals for the day.

Something was very wrong, Rose knew it on the flight back to Montreal when Shane didn’t make any effort for conversation, although that wasn’t completely out of character for him. But Shane’s lack of conversation, lack of reaching out, lack of meal prep—he was retreating into himself and Rose didn’t know why. She’d let it slide for now, but if this kept up she was going to confront him.

It didn’t take long for Rose to begin piecing together the monumental events in Shane’s life he completely forgot to mention to her over the last few months.

Mid-morning on Wednesday she got a call from the Boston office, she figured Svetlana just wanted to revisit some points in one of the many meetings she had sat in for. What she didn’t expect was for Svetlana to ask if she noticed Shane acting weird following the trip.

“Weird how?” Rose asked carefully, wanting to protect Shane but also very aware there was personal specifics she couldn’t divulge by working in HR.

“Mopey, I guess? Ilya hasn’t been acting like himself at all so I wonder if Shane said anything to you,” she explained, Rose could hear her nails typing away at her keyboard. 

“No, he hasn’t said anything. He’s acting a little odd. I wonder if they got into some sort of fight,” she wondered out loud. That could possibly explain why Shane was acting off, but not entirely. Ilya was practically a stranger to him, they only shared a few conversations during their trip to Boston, but they had been amicable from what Rose could recall. Besides, Rose was sill under the impression that Shane kind of hated the guy.

“I wonder if it has anything to do with all the zero sugar shit I found in Ilya’s fridge,” Svetlana says dryly and Rose has no idea what that means.

“Does Ilya not eat stuff like that?” she asks, still unsure of where this conversation was going. 

“Ilya would rather die than eat anything low calorie. I think he bought it for someone but when I brought it up, he got weird,” Svetlana tells her, the implication starting to make sense to Rose. There’s only one person they collectively know who would eat something like that, but that’s impossible.

“Wait, you don’t think—?” she begins, not able to finish her question. There was no way, no fucking way Shane would ever keep something like this from her, or would he? Or did he?

“Pure speculation on my part,” Svetlana confesses, “but that’s why I called. I should have probably just texted you but this has been bugging me since you left. I’ve never seen Ilya act this way. If they got into a fight about invoices or whatever, Ilya would be gloating, Shane would probably be annoyed and complaining to you I’m sure. But it doesn’t sound like either of them are doing great right now.”

“He’s not,” Rose all but whispers, recounting how Shane would complain about Ilya to her, but he’d be animated and completely irritated. The only time she had seen Shane remotely act like this was when a very short term boyfriend told Shane he was ‘too much’ and promptly dumped him less than a week into the relationship. Shane had been completely thrown off track.

“I’ll try talking to Ilya again, maybe it’s nothing,” Svetlana hoped, but Rose could hear the false mirth in her voice. They hung up shortly after.

Rose starts thinking of a way to bring this up to Shane, even if what Svetlana was implying had actually taken place, Shane still wouldn’t want to talk about the dirty details to someone who worked in HR. But Shane had become a close friend to Rose, she was protective of him in a way that was not advised by someone who worked in her department. But she didn’t care, there was no way to be partial about this. Her friend was going through something, the personnel rules could get fucked.

“We’re both technically off the clock so you can tell me if there’s something going on with you and Ilya, if you’d like,” Rose says quickly as she rounds the corner of the table in the abandoned break room, setting her bagged sandwich down for lunch.

Shane is mid bite of broccoli, the vegetable suspended on the fork between his mouth. He snaps his mouth shut as soon as Rose’s words have a chance to run through his brain.

“Wait, what?!”

“I’m not trying to get anything out of you or want you to confess to anything you don’t want to, but if there’s a small chance something happened, and you want to talk about it, just know I’m coming to you as a concerned friend. Nothing more.”

Shane can see her opening the plastic bag to her sandwich, taking it out for a small bite and looking like she was pleased to just sit in silence. Shane knows her better than that but he is also clawing at the inside of skin to talk to someone about this. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Ilya’s crestfallen face, he’s stared at the last texts the man had sent him almost daily, and the rich way he says Shane’s name still rings in his ears.

Shane exhales, nerves a mess, and lowers his fork into his glass container.

“Something happened,” he chooses his words carefully, saying them slowly.

Rose is patient and nods, “Okay,” she lets the word dissipate into the air, “something bad?”

Shane groans, his face scrunching up.

“I fucked up,” he says quietly, almost to himself, “really, really badly.”

“Shane, I don’t think it could have been that bad,” she tries to be hopeful.

“He told me he might move to Montreal and I walked out,” he says matter of factly, leaving out quite a few details but that is essentially the gist of it. God, it sounded even worse out loud.

“Oh, shit,” Rose says before thinking, her immediate reaction winning over anything remotely comforting she could have said.

Shane snorts, both hands coming up to cover his face in pure anguish. 

“Okay,” Rose tries again, “that’s not terrible! I’m sure you can just talk to him and explain everything,” she offers.

Shane immediately shakes his head, hands falling to his lap, “I don’t think he wants to hear how I freaked out at the first sign of—,”

Shane inhales heavy.

“Of what?” Rose implores lightly.

“Of something that could be serious,” Shane confesses, “he probably didn’t mean it like that at all and I freaked out thinking he was doing it for me when that’s not the case,” he gets out quickly.

“Why would you think he wasn’t doing it for you?” she asks, almost a little offended Shane would think that way, “he’s the one that asked Scott and Kip if there was a possibility he could move to Montreal.”

Shane’s eyes go wide. She definitely shouldn’t have revealed that. 

“Fuck, don’t tell anyone I told you,” she pleads, that was definitely a confidential violation of some sort.

“He asked to move here?” he’s temporarily shocked, but he needs this specific point to be clarified. Rose nods, taking another bite of her sandwich.

“But, why?” Shane asks, still completely astonished.

“Really, Shane?” she begins, tone annoyed, “why else would someone move to a different country for someone? I don’t know how deep this thing goes between you two but for Ilya to request to move to this office is a big deal. Literally no one has ever done that. You get that, right?”

“Yeah,” Shane says slowly, not wanting to completely agree because he still couldn’t fathom the idea and he was so tired of all the mental gymnastics in his head trying to disprove what even Rose could see plainly.

“Okay,” Rose says softly, trying a different approach, “imagine I meet someone and we hit it off and in a couple months he tells me he wants to leave his family and friends behind to move closer to me. What do you think that means?”

“He’s serious about the relationship and he probably loves you,” Shane says simply, Rose gives him a look because finally he’s admitted it out loud, if only in an objective, fictional scenario for Rose.

“But—,” Shane begins, already trying to explain why his situation is different, how it’s not as simple as that, how they never actually got to discuss it because Shane got too overwhelmed with the idea that anyone would willingly love him like that.

“Talk to him,” Rose urges, “someone told me he’s not reaching out to give you space.”

“Who?” Shane asks, did Ilya reach out to her when Shane went silent?

“Svetlana called me because she was worried. Turns out both of our best friends forgot to mention gigantic, life changing events to us,” she rolls her eyes, but Shane can tell the annoyance is fake by the way she smiles at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Shane says softly and Rose knows he means it. Shane feels very deeply and is very careful with who he allows to see that. She’s still a little shocked it was Ilya Rozanov that was able to break through Shane’s defenses, but she’s hopeful they’ll be able to make it right.

“You’ll tell me the whole story when you’re ready,” she assures him, not wanting to push him any further on the issue that has clearly affected him.

Shane nods, head still hanging a little low.

“Do you really think he’ll talk to me? After everything?” he asks, voice unsure.

“I’m pretty sure that man adores you, Shane,” she watches his expression go from melancholy to downright bashful, “trust me, he wants you to explain.”

Shane has an idea of what Ilya’s weekly routine is like, but he knows the man looks forward to Friday nights, if only to come home from work, have a few beers and decompress entirely into his couch. Shane had shared that on Friday nights he typically goes grocery shopping, to which Ilya asked him why he always wanted to make his life as miserable and boring as possible. 

He actually wasn’t too far off.

This last week had been miserable for Shane and it was entirely his own fault. After the pep talk from Rose, where he found out her and Svetlana were definitely talking about them to some degree, he decided that he would reach out to Ilya on Friday night. Even if the Russian was mad at him, and he had every right to be, maybe Shane could try to poorly explain the true reason he left. He owed Ilya that much, but if Ilya didn’t want to hear it, Shane knew he deserved the dismissal.

Shane tried to get his thoughts together throughout the work day, but everything was a haze of numbers and Ilya’s curls and data entry and Ilya’s gold necklace and the way Ilya smelled and the way Ilya touched Shane so carefully like he was so, so precious. He couldn’t formulate an apology past I’m sorry, don’t hang up. At home he tried making a list of all the reasons as to why he left abruptly, but all of them made him sound like he had serious self esteem issues.

Shane tried to stay busy after he got home from work, putting on a show only to turn it off after a few minutes, wiping down his counter and tiny dining table, attempting to cook himself some dinner. His stomach was in knots, having dreaded this since he fully committed to ripping off the band aid. They hadn’t spoken in a week, Shane wondered if it fully devastated Ilya as much as it did him.

Against every sensible voice in his head, Shane grabbed his cell phone around 7PM, finding Ilya’s contact and hitting the Dial icon. It rang once, a mix of relief and anxiety as that at least proved Ilya hadn’t blocked him.

“Shane,” the familiar voice greeted, almost a question, uncertain of the nature of the call.

“I—,” Shane began, suddenly obvious that he didn’t know what the fuck to say if Ilya actually picked up. He settled on, “Hi.”

He hears Ilya let out a soft laugh, fabric rustling on the other end, “Hi,” Ilya says back.

“I’m sorry,” Shane begins, so many emotions wanting to burst out of him at once, “I’m so sorry, Ilya,” he could already feel tears threatening to spill over, his voice getting tight.

Ilya shushed him as if he were a fussy child, waiting for him to calm down.

“Is okay,” Ilya tells him and that only makes Shane want to get this out even more, because it wasn’t okay, not at all.

“No, it’s not,” Shane starts, “the way I just left—that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry I didn’t text you back, I’m sorry I didn’t pick up when you called. I’m sorry Ilya, I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Shane—,” he tries to say, the Canadian cutting him off.

“No, please listen,” he says softly, “I freaked out, in a way I shouldn’t have. I didn’t let you explain anything and I just assumed you’d regret moving to Montreal, if that’s still what you want to do. I realize now that you were trying to show me you wanted something more. And I do too, so badly," he breathes, "it scared me that someone else could feel the way I do, because in the past they haven’t, that they’d act on that feeling, to the point of uprooting their life for something that might not even work out.”

“But I want it to work out,” Ilya cuts him off, unable to hold back anymore, “I want to be with you, Shane,” he tells him, voice firm but soft.

“I understand that now,” Shane says slowly, the concept still a little unbelievable to him, but he was starting to accept it.

“I’m sorry, too,” Ilya says, “we should have talked before I told you I was thinking of moving to Montreal. I didn’t mean for it to be secret.”

Shane laughs at that, a cut off hiccup that was thick from the tears that hadn’t fallen.

“There’s a lot we probably should have said to each other before that,” Shane confesses, smiling into the phone. He feels something change between them then, he feels infinitely lighter, practically giddy.

“Probably,” Ilya agrees, “if you want, I can start.”

Shane’s pulse starts to pick up, anticipating something, a gooey warmth enveloping his body, “Okay,” he agrees.

It’s quiet for a bit on Ilya’s side, the silence making Shane’s heart flutter even faster.

“I love you, Shane,” he says so tenderly that Shane wants to cry, “I think I have for a while,” Ilya tells him, voice raw and true. 

Shane is definitely crying now, silent tears falling from his eyes at the relief those words bring. He’d wanted to hear them for weeks, months even, he never knew it would feel like this. It’s all consuming, heart breaking, wonderful and terrifying all at once.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, quiet in an attempt to try and hide the way he doesn’t want his voice to break, “Fuck, I think I’ve loved you for months,” he confesses.

“First time I saw you, I think,” Ilya laughs, his voice thick like he’s crying too, “it was blurry picture, you looked so annoyed.”

”What?” Shane laughs, Ilya isn’t making any sense.

”Scott sent company Christmas photo last year. It looked like you were avoiding the camera, but you were still in it. That’s the first time I ever saw you.”

“Oh my god,” Shane huffs, heart so full that he can’t even feel embarrassed. His skin is buzzing, body barely able to contain the absolute elation he feels for his man. He wipes at his eyes, sniffling a little.

“Now you,” Ilya coaxes him, “a truth.”

Shane thinks of telling him how much of a complete asshole Ilya seemed to him before they ever met, before Shane knew Ilya from the emails was the man from the hotel. But there will be time for that later.

Instead, it spills out of his mouth before he can even think clearly, “I wish you were here with me right now.”

Shane wishes more than anything Ilya was here with him, wiping his tears, Shane wiping his, going to bed tangled together after finally confessing what had been bottled in their hearts for months.

“Give me a few hours,” Ilya tells him, surprising Shane, again not quite believing what Ilya was proposing to him.

But sure enough, in a few hours, after they’ve fully christened their new relationship a few times, Shane is playing with Ilya’s hair, both lazily dozing in his bed, tangled up in each other for good.

“I could move into your building,” Ilya says, pouring a little more male syrup on his protein pancakes. 

Ilya took it upon himself to get some groceries delivered, after they had gotten up for breakfast, Ilya was horrified Shane didn’t have anything edible in his fridge or pantry. 

“Yes I do, you’re being dramatic,” Shane had told him, the annoyance in his voice adorable. 

Shane offered to make him ‘high protein pancakes’, to which Ilya made him compromise to a grocery delivery if he didn’t want to explain to Svetlana how Shane had killed his boyfriend from malnourishment.

“Fine, whatever,” Shane had rolled his eyes but Ilya could tell the new term had made him blush.

“Like become my neighbor?” Shane asks, his face not hiding the way that suggestion already freaks him out.

“Or I could look at other places,” Ilya adds, not wanting Shane to feel like they were taking this too fast, too soon. Ilya now realizes it wasn’t him that Shane was scared of, just the idea that Ilya would regret this, would grow to resent Shane somehow. Ilya knew no matter how many times he reassured Shane, the other man would have to see the proof for himself, and that would take time. Ilya could respect that, could give Shane space to slowly realize how deep Ilya's love for him truly was, would remind him every time Shane was doubtful.

Shane nods, this idea being easier to digest. 

“What about your condo?” Shane asks, taking another bite of his own pancakes. Ilya didn’t miss how Shane drizzled a little of the maple syrup on top of them.

“I could sell or I could rent it out,” he explains, not dead set on either option. Shane nods at that too, seemingly taking this all in.

“And your car?” Shane teases, “I don’t know how great it will do in the winter here.”

“Not like we don’t have cold winters in Boston,” Ilya pouts, but he had already decided he’d sell his car for something a little more practical. Not boring, like Shane’s car, just slightly better in the snow.

There’s a few beats before Shane asks, “Are you sure?” face suddenly looking too serious.

“Sure about what?” Ilya prods, somehow knowing that they’re not talking about cars or winter anymore.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Shane asks him, a little exasperated, a little embarrassed.

“Shane—,” Ilya starts, knowing he’s going to have to keep talking Shane down from this ledge he keeps putting himself on.

“What if you hate it?” Shane’s eyes are pleading, imploring Ilya not to lie, his heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

“I won’t,” Ilya tells him sincerely, standing up from the tiny table, rounding the corner to crouch in front of Shane, taking the brunette’s hands in his own.

“How can you know that?” Shane asks, his hands squeezing Ilya’s, feeling so bare.

“Because I love you,” Ilya reminds him, “and I could never hate anything if it involves you.”

Shane’s eyes are glassy, a splotchy blush on his cheeks, freckles standing out against the rosy tinge. He looks so unsure, vulnerable and terrified, but he nods, because he trusts Ilya and everything he has done for Shane up until now proves he’s serious. They both want this, a future together, Shane just needs to keep reminding himself that it’s possible, the other shoe won’t drop into a bottomless pit.

“Okay?” Ilya asks, needing reassurance that Shane truly understands him, at least for now. Shane nods, letting go of Ilya’s hands to envelope him in a hug. They’ve barely been able to let each other go since Shane shuffled him into his apartment, eating breakfast was the first time they were more than an arms length away in hours. 

Ilya wraps his arms around Shane’s waist, bringing them to a standing position, Shane leaning his weight on his boyfriend. Ilya rubs Shane’s back, knowing this must be overwhelming for him, pieces finally starting to fall into place, the anticipation of the future both exciting and terrifying.

“Why don’t we lay back down for a bit?” Ilya suggests, guiding Shane back to the bed, a welcome comfort.

Shane follows him, almost boneless, and they lay back down, as they had been just an hour ago, Shane tucked close against Ilya. Ilya continues to stroke his back, the repetitive motion helping Shane decompress, Shane fiddles with Ilya’s crucifix, wanting to ask him about it but thinking that would be too personal. But after all they’ve confessed and done in the span of a few hours, was anything too personal at this point?

Fuck it.

“Are you religious?” Shane asks him, keeping his eyes on the gold between his thumb and index finger.

“No,” Ilya says, the breath from his mouth ruffling some of Shane’s hair, “the necklace was my mother’s.”

“I’ve never seen you without it,” Shane recalls, letting the crucifix drop between them, snuggling closer into Ilya’s chest, “I think it’s nice that you keep her memory alive.”

Ilya brings his hand from Shane’s back to smooth down his black hair, kissing the top of his head.

“It reminds me to try and be a good person. My mother was an angel,” Ilya trails off, Shane can hear the mourning in his voice for the mother that was taken away too soon.

“You are a good person,” Shane tells him, looking up into Ilya’s eyes, they’re soft but sad, this loss having taken its toll over the years.

Ilya wants to argue, his brother and father definitely don’t think so. They think he’s selfish, lazy, a complete disappointment because he chose working in an office over hockey stardom. Ilya knew for a fact that his mother was a good person, practically a saint, for all his father wanted to make her the villain in their marriage, Ilya saw through it easily. It pains him that she will never meet the one granddaughter she has, that she’ll never meet Shane, to see how happy he makes Ilya, never speak with Yuna and David, the way Ilya will one day soon. 

Ilya doesn’t know what to say to this admission, Shane is so sure of it that his voice doesn’t falter, his hershey brown eyes never leaving Ilya’s own. If Shane can work on believing how much Ilya loves him and is willing to do for him, Ilya can also try to believe him on this.

Ilya kisses him, a soft peck filled with nothing but devotion, and he feels Shane lean in, hand on his chest. 

They continue kissing into the late morning, lips soft and malleable turning into hungry and aching. Shane rides him, lustful determination on his face and he plants both his palms on Ilya’s chest for leverage. Ilya can do nothing but stare up at this marvel of a man, hips rocking back and forth, stomach clenching whenever he uses Ilya’s cock to brush his prostate. Shane’s cock is drooling, the brunette paying it no mind as he continues to chase his orgasm, grinding down on Ilya’s pelvis, lube making an obscene sound every time their skin slaps.

Ilya loves seeing him like this, completely gone for the moment, not thinking twice about what he’ll say or do, just chasing and chasing, taking and taking. There’s a flush all over his milky chest, dark red on his cheeks bones, his hair is getting in his face, sweat a fine mist all over his body. He’s unbelievably gorgeous, the most beautiful thing Ilya has ever seen, and he’s so insanely in love with him.

“Baby,” Ilya groans, Shane clenching even harder at the term of endearment, “yeah, keep fucking me like that.”

“Want you to—,” Shane chokes out, fingers digging into the meat of Ilya’s pecs, rolling his hips in such a way it makes him temporarily speechless.

“—to come inside me,” Shane finishes, his breathing a wreck, “later, when we know for sure. No condom, come inside me every time, please.”

“Fuck,” Ilya whispers, he could get used to hearing Shane beg for exactly what he wants.

“You want me to fill that pretty hole?” Ilya asks him, so fucking close to coming it’s making his cock ache.

Shane lets out a mewl, something between agreement and unfiltered hunger. 

“I’ll fuck you every night if you ask me,” Ilya babbles, Russian accent strong when he’s this far gone, “drive here just to fuck you, just to make you come all over me. Baby, you’re so wet. Your cock is squirting all over me, sweetheart.”

That’s what does it, makes Shane’s resolve crack. Ilya holds him tightly as Shane’s orgasm rocks through his body, his hips continuing to circle and kick for the last bit of sensation before it’s too much. When he’s finally empty, his thighs are shaking, his hands tangled in Ilya’s hair, breathing barely under control. Ilya asks him if he can continue, if he can use Shane to make himself come, to which Shane nods vehemently.

Ilya puts Shane on his back, the crooks of his leg nestled against Ilya’s strong arms as he presses back into him. Shane screws his eyes shut, the feeling of his aftershocks only just dissipating before Ilya starts teasing his prostate again. With every thrust Shane can feel the cool air hitting the mess on his stomach, sees how it makes Ilya’s abs glisten, some of Shane’s come collected on the hair around his belly button. 

It doesn’t take much more for Ilya to come, Shane’s legs are still shaking from the overstimulation, his boyfriend bringing Ilya’s face down so they can kiss, sloppy and needy. Shane’s making tiny noises, telling Ilya how good it feels, how wet he made him, how much he loves it when Ilya uses him.

Ilya comes into the condom, groaning, mouth slack, barely able to discern anything besides the way Shane feels, the smell of his hair, the way he’s kissing at his jaw and his neck.

After they’ve cleaned up and finally finished their now cold pancakes, Shane asks him if he was serious about driving over to his apartment every night.

Ilya shrugs, “If you want me to,” he says nonchalantly, like he’s not already factoring that into his new routine when he moves to Montreal.

“What if I just want to watch a movie, or want you to keep me company while I do something boring?”

“That’s okay,” he says, “I am very hard to get rid of, Shane Hollander. You’ll soon find out,” Ilya winks at him.

And fuck, after everything, Shane can’t wait.

—

Shane

Just making sure for the millionth time there is no issue between coworkers in a romantic relationship

Rose

You are correct. Can I inquire as a friend if you are speaking theoretically or because a little birdie told me she took Ilya to the airport for an impromptu flight to Montreal last night?

Shane

The latter 

Rose

Thank fucking god 

Chapter End Notes

Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos, left comments and bookmarked! I truly didn’t mean for this to be such a long cliffhanger but I started writing something else and this got put on the back burner.

If you’re interested in what I was writing, you can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77511446/chapters/202983581

‘Ilya fell first and harder’ nation rise up.