Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike, Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Cliff Marlow/Elena Rygg, Eric Bennett/Kyle Swift, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Rose Landry/Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Kip Grady, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Elena Rygg, Cliff Marlow, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, JJ Dagenais, Ryan Price (Game Changers), Wyatt Hayes, Eric Bennett

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, POV Alternating, Rivals to Lovers, Secret Relationship, Forced Proximity, There Was Only One Bed, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Frat Boy Ilya Rozanov, Good Boy Shane Hollander, Drinking Games, Mountain Retreat, they are so bad at this, Everyone Is Gay, Blow Jobs, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, Confrontations, Fluff and Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Frottage

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Cabin Fever

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-28 Completed: 2026-02-08 Words: 30,255 Chapters: 12/12

Honor Code Violations

Summary

Shane’s honor society mountain retreat and Ilya’s frat council getaway get double-booked. Rooms are limited, beds are fewer, and somehow Shane and Ilya are stuck sharing one. Can they survive the weekend without reigniting the scorching encounter from last semester… or will chaos (and maybe a little gay panic) break out first?

OR: Chaos, accidental bed-sharing, enemies-to-lovers, frat vs. honor society, college AU, definitely not PG

Notes

Chapter 1: The Mix Up

Shane, Thursday Afternoon

The house was massive. Elena had done a great job booking it. Sunlight poured in from floor-to-ceiling windows; a distant lake shimmered. The Crestwood University honors society trickled in with their luggage. After the cramped four-hour drive, Shane looked forward to the weekend retreat. Elena had arranged it for the leadership board to bond and plan. Still, Shane suspected sunbathing, and drinks were the real draw. As President, though, he was determined to take care of his club.

“Alright, everyone, listen up.” Elena's voice cut through the room. She didn’t need to shout. There were only nine of them, and everyone always paid attention when she spoke. “There are eight rooms: a king primary, two doubles upstairs; a king and two doubles on this floor; and four rooms downstairs—one king, two doubles, and a bunk room with two sets of bunk beds.” She laid out the plan. The whole society already knew this from the VRBO reservation details she sent weeks ago. They had all reviewed them. At least Shane had, and he expected the others had too.

Elena added, "Everyone gets their own bed unless you’re Jackie and Hayden, our sweethearts, who get first pick of a king." Jackie blushed, and Hayden put an arm around her.

“Yeah, we’ll take a king,” Hayden replied. “Those campus twins are impossible.” The group groaned and rolled their eyes. Jackie and Hayden, together since high school, only smiled.

“Yeah, as interesting as your sex life is, I think we can go ahead and—” Elena started, but stopped as the front door opened. A tide of testosterone rushed in: several men in cut-off tank tops, shorts, and flip-flops burst through, loud and jovial. Shane instantly recognized the Sigma Rho Alpha fraternity—a well-known Crestwood University group, notorious for parties. They looked ready for Daytona Beach, not a quiet lakeside retreat in upstate New York, Shane thought.

“Ummm, hello,” one of the men ventured, freezing when he spotted Shane’s group in the living room. “You’re in our house?” His question carried an air of uncertainty, as if he were unsure of his own location.

“You’re in our house,” Elena snapped back. She made it a statement, not a question—succinct and definite.

“No, I don’t think so,” the man retorted. There was something familiar about his face, but Shane couldn’t quite place it. “Hold on, Carter, get the hell over here,” he barked.

Another guy came over, brandishing his phone like a torch. Elena peered at the text on it. It was an email about an Airbnb reservation. She pulled out her own phone and compared it. Same house. Same pictures. Same address. Most concerning of all, the same dates—but hers was on VRBO.“Shit,” she muttered.

“What the fuck is the hold-up?” someone shouted from the door. The men in the doorway moved aside, and Shane instantly recognized Ilya Rosanov—Sigma Rho Alpha’s president and the last person he wanted to see. Their eyes met in mutual surprise before Ilya’s smirk returned.

Elena typed rapidly, thumbs darting over her phone. She looked up and addressed the room: “It looks like the host messed up the bookings. She rented the house out to you on Airbnb and to us on VRBO. I'm messaging with her, but she says there isn’t much she can do.” Elena continued tapping out hurried messages, glancing anxiously at her phone.

People around the room immediately grabbed their phones, scrolling and tapping as they searched for places to stay. Murmurs of “there’s no service” and “I can’t find anything” spread. Harris walked over to the fridge and pointed out the Wi-Fi info taped there. Slowly, the group connected, and bad news circulated—everything within two hours was booked. The room filled with overlapping voices as people discussed failed options and plans. Shane found it impossible to think through the growing noise.

“Okay, everyone, stop for a second,” he called, hoping for quiet. They did not.

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Svetlana bellowed. The room fell silent; she winked at Shane, who smiled gratefully.

“Okay,” Shane announced. “Clearly, we got double-booked, and there’s nothing else out there. I’m sure Elena is working to get a refund,” he added, meeting her eyes. ‘Already on it,’ she mouthed. “But since we can’t book anything else, I propose we just make it work and share the house.” He tried to project confidence. “You guys are from Crestwood, right?” Small murmurs of confirmation followed. “So are we. This house has eight rooms. If we all double up and use the bunk room, we can make it work.”

Both the honors society and the Sigma Rho brothers paused, exchanging glances, before Ilya—the Sigma Rho Alpha president—spoke up: “Alright, you heard him, make it work—double up. I’m not getting back in that car until Sunday.” His words kicked off a scramble. The honors society leadership quickly formed pairs, grabbed suitcases, and hurried to claim rooms according to Elena’s instructions. Jackie and Hayden made a beeline for the main floor king room. Kip and Elena took the room next door with the double beds.

Svetlana and Rose ran downstairs with Harris and Kyle at their heels. They heard shouts: “You can't make us share a bed just because we're both gay—that's homophobic,” and an ensuing argument before the doors closed. The frat guys sprang into action, too. They already had roommates from their house. Scott and Cliff sprinted upstairs. The rest—Carter, JJ, Wyatt, Troy, Eric, and Ryan—poured down the stairs. Shouts of protest echoed: “seniority” and “I'm vice president.” Then the noise faded. Shane was about to congratulate himself; he'd organized all 18 people into rooms without complications. But wait, that didn’t add up. Shane, known for his stellar math skills, suddenly felt a chill wash over him as he did a quick headcount. Nine honor society members and nine frat brothers—they were an odd number. Realization struck him with an alarming clarity. He was going to have to share a room. A room with Ilya Rosanov. Panic and dread mixed with an inexplicable thrill coursed through him. He glanced around, hoping for a mistake, but it was obvious. He looked up and locked eyes with Ilya, who stood there with a smirk. "For being so smart, you really are quite stupid, aren't you, Hollander?" Ilya quipped. "Seems like your little honor society did the math a little quicker than you did." Ilya hefted his bag and strode up the stairs without another glance. Shane stood there, dumbstruck. Ilya was heading up the stairs to his room, to the only room that was left, to their room. There was no escaping it; he had to share a room with Ilya Rosanov.

He tried to steady himself as he climbed the stairs, mentally repeating, ‘It’s fine. Just stay in your bed, and he’ll stay in his.’ Maybe they would barely interact. At the end of the hallway, Ilya paused in front of a door, muttered, “Of course,” and stepped inside. Shane followed him. Inside was the primary bedroom—only one bed.

“Shit,” he murmured before dropping his bag on the floor.

Behind Shane, there was a snicker. “This sure looks cozy, Roz,” a man said behind him. Ilya didn’t respond. He stuck his middle finger up over his shoulder as he placed his bag on an armchair in the corner. Shane stood still in the room. This was not good. This was really not good. He would be sharing a bed with Ilya. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d sleep on the couch. He’d sleep on the porch. He just could NOT share a bed with Ilya Rosanov.““Stop freaking out, it’ll be fine,” Ilya said, turning to Shane. “It’s a California King; we could fit five people in here and still not touch.” He claimed it, but Shane wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t the size of the bed that concerned him. Even sharing a house with Ilya was dangerous. Shane had made every effort to avoid him since that party last year. Even being in the same room was intoxicating. Shane Hollander was weak, and Ilya was his undoing. It would be different if he didn’t know what Ilya’s lips felt like. Or what his body felt like pressed against his. But he did know. He couldn’t forget. No, sharing a bed with Ilya was not going to be fine. It was a fucking disaster.

After placing his bag in the bedroom and walking away - alright, running away- Shane met up with the rest of the honor society as they gathered in the living room. Rose stood beside him and asked quietly, “I heard you’re sharing a bed with Ilya?”

Shane responded, “Don’t even start.”

Rose was the only person he had told about his “encounter” with Ilya last semester, and he was determined to keep it that way. It had been just a one-time mistake; it certainly wasn’t going to happen again. She didn’t answer, instead pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows at him, her expression saying plenty. Determined to ignore the feelings swirling in his stomach, he turned to the group.

“Slight change in plans, but this will still be a great weekend. Let’s just focus on unwinding and enjoying the trip, and we can forget about our special guests,” he announced.

“Wow, you want to forget about us, Mr. President? I am hurt,” one of the frat boys called from the kitchen, where they unpacked what seemed to be an endless supply of beer into the fridge. The man stepped into the living room. “How about some icebreakers instead. My name is Carter, and I’m an international relations major,” he said slowly, like he was explaining something to a toddler, “and you are?”

Shane rolled his eyes, but played along.  “I’m Shane,” he said curtly.

Carter smiled, “And your major, Shane?”

“Political Science- pre-law track,” Shane answered.

“Great!” Carter exclaimed, “Who is next?”

“I’ll bite.  My name is J.J., and I am an Econ major.”

More of the frat guys started listing their name and major, clearly more open to the icebreakers than the honor society was.

“Scott Hunter, I'm studying Business.”

“Ryan Price, majoring in Urban Planning.”

“Cliff Marleau, but everyone calls me Marleau- studying Comparative Literature.”

“Wyatt, also international relations.”

“Eric, Data science”

“Troy Barrett, and I’m studying Engineering.”

Ilya walked down the stairs at that moment, “and I’m Ilya Rosanov, and I’m studying Architecture,” Ilya said with a smirk. “Your turn.”

The honors society members stared in shock at the frat boys.  Half expecting them to laugh it off as a joke, but they carried on with their unloading of beers and joking with each other.  Those were hard majors; everyone knew that.  Shane took a moment to reconcile this information with the assumptions he’d made about the men.

Elena stepped up, “Elena Rigg, Environmental Science.” She pointed around the circle and introduced the rest of the group quickly on their behalf.

“Hayden Pike, Business Administration, and his girlfriend, Jackie Taylor, Early Childhood Education. That’s Svetlana Petrova, Global Studies, and Rose Landry, Film Studies,” she continued, “Kyle, Psychology, and Harris, Media Studies. And last but not least is Kip, Art History.” She finished with a flourish.

“Okay, great,” Carter replied. “Now, I guess we’re all best friends, and we can get the weekend rolling.  What did you all have planned?  Flashcards for the first hour and then jeopardy tonight?” His tone was light, clear that he was just joking.

The truth was that they hadn’t planned much at all. For such an organized group, they had planned their meals, their travel times, and the cars they’d take. They’d packed a first-aid kit with everything they could possibly need, but their itinerary was mostly just to relax and hang out. They hadn’t planned any activities or made any reservations. Shane felt foolish about this in the face of Carter’s joking. Svetlana, however, seemed thrilled at the lack of structure, ready to embrace spontaneity. Elena, usually the voice of reason, shrugged it off with a carefree laugh, while Harris appeared slightly uneasy, frequently checking his phone as if searching for an overlooked plan. Kip looked eager, his artistic side always ready for unexpected inspiration. Meanwhile, Kyle and Rose exchanged amused glances, clearly used to making the best out of such situations.

“What did you have planned, chugging beer and staring at each other’s muscles?” Svetlana countered.

“Aw, you think we have nice muscles, sweetheart,” J.J. replied with a wink in her direction.

Before that could devolve any further, Shane piped in, “Tonight we were planning on making spaghetti for dinner.  We should have enough for everyone, but we’ll need to go to the store either tomorrow or Saturday to restock on groceries.  We didn’t bring enough to feed 18 people the whole weekend.  What kind of groceries did you pack?” he asked the group of men.

There were some looks around the group, and Ryan stepped forward with two grocery bags, unloading the items onto the counter. Three jars of peanut butter, three jars of strawberry jelly, three loaves of bread, and 2 boxes of Pop-Tarts.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Shane heard Hayden mutter from behind him.

“Okay,” Shane said, trying to keep his face neutral at the meager selection of groceries the nine men had brought, “How about the Honors Society preps dinner tonight, and then we can figure out breakfast and lunch tomorrow morning.”

“Sure,” came some mutters of confirmations from the kitchen.  

The honor society filtered into the kitchen and began working methodically to cook dinner.  After two and a half years together, they worked seamlessly, quietly chatting as they went.  In the living room, some of the brothers started up some kind of card game that Shane didn’t recognize, while others plopped down on the couches, scrolling on their phones, and reading paperbacks.  Yes, that was Ilya sprawled out on the couch reading Crime and Punishment. Shane filed away the mental image of him reading for another time.

Less than thirty minutes later, the entire group was eating spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread.  The frat brothers, and shockingly Elena, were washing down their meal with light beer.  Shane sipped on a ginger ale he had packed in the honors society “non-alcoholic beverages” cooler.  Because yes, it was important to have a variety of drinks and have them in separate coolers for ease.

Shane was shocked when the frat brothers, without prompting, began gathering up dishes and cleaning the kitchen after the meal.  They worked quickly and with noticeable camaraderie among themselves. It was odd to see Ilya like that, laughing with his friends while he scrubbed plates in the sink.  

There was a moment of pause once dinner was finished and the dishes were cleaned up. It was only eight p.m., too early for anyone to go to bed. For a second, the house felt strangely balanced — honors kids on one side of the room, frat brothers on the other, like two magnets hovering just shy of snapping together.

Shane leaned back against the counter, ginger ale sweating in his hand, and told himself this might actually be survivable. If they kept things structured. Civil. Separate.

Cliff clapped his hands, the sharp sound cracking through the quiet.

“Alright, game time!”

Shane closed his eyes for half a second.

So much for separate.

Chapter 2: Rage Cage

Ilya, Thursday Evening

“Alright, game time!” he said with a smile as he pulled out a sleeve of solo cups from one of their bags behind the counter.

“Game time?” Rose asked, glancing at the table.

The Sigma Rhos moved fluidly, cracking open beers and filling each cup with a small amount. Ilya watched the familiar choreography with quiet satisfaction. This, at least, they were good at.

“Yeah, game time,” Cliff said, his grin wide.

“Don’t mind Marleau,” Ilya added, a laugh slipping out as he clapped a hand on the big man’s back. “He takes his Social Chair responsibilities very seriously.”

“I do,” Cliff said proudly. “Which is why I must insist that our honorable classmates join us for a ruckus game of Slap Cup.” He raised his beer in a toast.

“And Slap Cup is…?” Jackie asked.

“Slap Cup — otherwise known as Stack Cup, Gonzo, or my personal favorite, Rage Cage — is a beautiful game,” Troy chimed in. “It involves getting your fellow players as drunk as possible through expert-level ping pong ball bouncing.”

Svetlana shrugged. “Fuck it, I’m in. I’ll take any opportunity to kick some ass.”

Ilya watched the honors society hesitate for only half a second before drifting toward the table. Guess they weren’t as allergic to fun as they pretended. The energy in the room shifted as they gathered around the mess of half-filled solo cups, the earlier awkwardness dissolving into something louder, looser.

Yeah, this was more like it.

He walked over to the table and found himself to the left of Shane. Ilya coached himself to calm his pulse, trying to breathe through his mouth instead of being swept away by Shane Hollander's intoxicating presence. Shane had barely been in the bedroom for a minute earlier, yet the entire space already held his scent like a mesmerizing spell, fresh laundry mingling with the crispness of pine. It was incredibly distracting for Ilya, who couldn't help but recall the way that scent had lingered in his memory since that party last year. Every inhale threatened to unravel the composure he so desperately tried to maintain. A rush of memories surged forth—Shane's lips brushing against his, the warmth and urgency of that fleeting encounter—and Ilya struggled to concentrate, trying to shake off the vivid recollections that promised both longing and turmoil.

Marleau held up a ping pong ball like he was about to explain nuclear physics.

“Okay, quick version. This is Slap Cup. Cups with a little beer go in a circle in the middle,” he said, gesturing to the table. “And we’ve got a death cup in the center — for tonight it’s just a full beer, since we’ve got rookies.”

A few people groaned.

“You stand around the table, bounce the ball, try to land it in your cup,” he continued. “Make it? Pass your cup to the left.”

He pointed to his right. “But if the person on your right makes their shot before you, they get to slap your cup off the table. You grab a new one from the middle, drink it, and start over.”

Jackie looked alarmed. “That feels… hostile.”

“It is,” Marleau agreed cheerfully. “Also, if you sink it on the first try, you can pass your cup to anyone. Use that power irresponsibly.”

Svetlana cracked her knuckles. “Oh, I will.”

“And the death cup?” Harris asked cautiously.

Marleau grinned. “Last cup left in the middle. Whoever gets stuck with it drinks the whole thing. Character building.”

He raised his own cup. “Alright, scholars. Let’s make bad decisions.”

The game kicked off with fevered intensity, the Sigma Rhos already veterans of the craft and the Honors society, unsurprisingly, picking up the rules and structure quickly.  What was shocking, however, was how good they were. Svetlana, Rose, and Shane, especially.  They often sank their shots on the first try, leading to some particularly brutal targeting of his fellow brothers.  Only a few minutes into the game, and Shane had already slapped Ilya’s cup off the table three times.  It was concerning how hot Ilya was getting from having Shane beat him in a drinking game, but the effect on him could not be denied.  The cups in the middle were disappearing quickly, many of them drunk by Jackie and Hayden, who had the misfortune of being next to Troy and Carter, who were particularly skilled at the game.  But Svetlana and Rose were waging a war upon Marleau and Ryan that was impossible to ignore.  The game began to wind down as the final cups were consumed, the noise level increasing as the brothers cheered one another on and the honors society did the same.  When only the death cup was left, Svetlana and Marleau faced off.  There was a massive moment of celebration when Svetlana’s ball landed in her cup on the first try, and she victoriously slapped Marleau’s cup from the table.  An explosion of cheers went out from around the table from Sigma Rhos and Honors members alike as Marleau chugged the death cup and Svetlana gave a curtsy.

They shuffled around the table as they prepped for a second game, different people making their protests at who they were next to now that they knew who the sharks of the table were.  Ilya stepped away from Shane with the excuse that Shane was “scary good at ping pong,” but in reality, he just could not concentrate when his hip kept making contact with Shane’s next to him when they played.  When his intoxicating smell kept drifting over Ilya.  Shane clearly rarely drank because after only a few drinks, he decided to goad Ilya.

“If it’s about my skill in the game, then just switch spots with me.  You can try to slap my cups off the table, and we’ll see who is better,” he taunted.

Ilya had never seen Shane in such a playful mood; it was addictive. He knew he should decline.  Switching spots would not solve the problem of the hip touching.  and it certainly wouldn’t make Ilya stop imagining licking Shane’s neck. Fuck. He really needed to concentrate.

“Fine,” he agreed, “but prepare to be dominated.” shit shit shit.  Why had he said that?  Shane’s eyes flashed with surprise, then with something more akin to heat.  Fuck.  Okay, so Ilya had to sleep in the car tonight.  Not a chance he could share a bed with the man next to him without doing something very reckless.

The game kicked off, and they were off.  Ilya concentrated and was able to slap Shane’s cup off the table several times.  At least he was playing well.  The whole group seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing, joking, and slinging trash talk at both opponents and friends.  Ilya lost himself staring at Shane for a moment, so relaxed and carefree.  So different from hi snormal studious, tight-laced demeanor.  

“Ilya,” someone shouted by his side.  Shit. The cup was in front of him.  He struggled to get his head back on track as he attempted to get the ball into the cup.  But he was officially rattled from staring at the nerdy brunette by his side.  He kept missing.  He could hear the din of the group as the other cup made its way around the table.  And then, right as the ball was about to land in his cup, it was slapped away.  Slapped away by Hayden Fucking Pike. who looked about as shocked about it as Ilya was.  Ilya went to grab a cup from the center and realized there was just one left.  Shit, he just lost.  He raised his hands in mock surrender and downed the cup of beer with expert ease.  

Marleau suggested a third game, but it seemed that many of their players had already reached their limit.  Hayden and Jackie both looked war-torn as they giggled and swayed.  The group split off from the table, some filtering down the stairs to the rooms and some plopping onto the couch, chatting about classes, TV shows, and everything in between.  Shane, neatfreak that he was, was cleaning up the solo cups from the table.  Ilya could leave him to it and join his friends on the couch, but something pulled on him to join Shane’s efforts, and he grabbed a rag from the kitchen, wiping down droplets of spilled beer from the table and floor.

“Thanks,” Shane said, cheeks flushed, and their gaze met over the table.

“My house too,” Ilya answered. “Gotta take care of it,” he said with a wink.

He turned away from Shane and glanced around the room, taking stock of the group.  Hayden and Jakie seemed to have retreated to their room, as did Eric and Ryan, but the rest of the group was spread out across the living room and a few on the porch chairs outside.

Elena sat on the couch, animatedly talking to JJ and Carter.  Marleau sat across from her, staring at the woman like she was the only woman on earth.  Svetlana sat on the loveseat with her feet in Rose’s lap.  They listened in on the conversation with Elena, but mostly just lay back with a smile on their faces.  

Wyat was animatedly talking to Kyle about something, but Ilya couldn’t make out their conversation at all.  Maybe something about a sports team?

Troy stood in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, talking to Harris.  Their conversation was quiet and looked strangely intimate, Troy occasionally reaching out to touch Harris’s shoulder or arm at various points. Odd.

Scott sat on the porch, and Kip leaned against him in the deck chair.  They were leaning against each other, Scott's arm around Kip’s shoulders.  Interesting.

Ilya filed it all down in his brain.  He would have some questions for his brothers tomorrow, but tonight he would let them be.  He walked over to Wyatt and Kyle, deeming it the safest bet to join, and quickly jumped into their discussion on the Crestwood University football team’s season opener game, a disaster that it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shane plop on the couch next to Elena and join in whatever she was discussing that had half the frat staring at her with stars in their eyes.  Hell, she could probably just be reading the alphabet to them, and Marleau, JJ, and Carter would be staring at her like that.  They were complete suckers for a pretty, bossy, girl.

Slowly, more and more people called it a night, the clock slipping later and later.  At midnight, the last four people in the room, Shane, Ilya, Wyatt, and Elena, all called it a night and walked to their rooms.  Ilya had been so distracted by the games and the beer that he had temporarily forgotten the bed situation.  He looked at the couch halfheartedly.  It was large, but truthfully, sitting on it for the past hour had left him sore from how hard it was; he knew a night on it would leave him worse for wear.  He gave up on the idea and walked upstairs after Shane.

Chapter 3: Only One Bed

Chapter Notes

Shane, Thursday Night

Shane walked into the room with confidence, but felt it quickly sizzle out of his body when he saw the bed.  He was going to stand his ground, but it felt impossible when he saw the bed.  Instead of staring at it, he grabbed his bathroom bag and pajamas and headed into the bathroom to wash his face, brush his teeth, and not think about Ilya Rosanov.

After getting ready for bed, Shane opened the bathroom door and froze.  Ilya was in the room now, the door closed.  But more importantly, Ilya was shirtless and pantless.  Ilya was standing in the room in just boxer briefs, and Shane was pretty sure he was having a heart attack. oh god. What did a heart attack feel like?  His pulse was racing, and his face was burning. Ilya interrupted his spiral, “Do you mind if I get into the bathroom, or are you going to stand there frozen for the rest of the night?”

Shane silently moved to the side to let Ilya pass by him.  Ilya stepped around him and disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking closed behind him.

Shane practiced taking some deep breaths.  He was still a little drunk, and he was having a very hard time thinking rationally after seeing Ilya Rosanov mostly naked.  Ilya was going to put on Pajamas before getting into bed, right?  Because if Shane was having a heart attack now just at the sight of him, actually sharing a bed with him might cause him to spontaneously combust.  Tucking those fears away, Shane climbed into bed as far as possible on the left side of the bed, sliding under the covers and staring at the ceiling.  A few minutes later, Shane heard the bathroom door click open, and Ilya emerged.  Shane forced himself to keep his eyes on the ceiling.  But as Ilya walked over to turn the lights off, Shane caught sight of his pert ass in the boxer briefs, and he had to object.

“Are you seriously not going to put on pajamas?” Shane questioned.

“This is what I sleep in, you’re lucky that I’m not sleeping nude,” Ilya answered before flicking the light switch and walking over to the right side of the bed and slipping under the covers.

Shane was incredibly grateful for the sudden darkness in the room, so Ilya didn’t get to see how much the word "nude" made him blush.

Shane took a deep breath.  They were both in the bed now.  There was easily 5 feet between them.  This was fine.  He would be fine.

“Breathe, Hollander,” Ilya muttered from the other side of the bed, clearly turned towards the wall. “I can hear you overthinking from all the way over here.”

“I’m not overthinking, “ Shane spat back.  He was. Obviously.  But Ilya didn't get tocall him out on it.

“Whatever you say,” Ilya said

Silence stretched between them for a minute. two. And Shane tried, he really did, to let the past stay buried.  To let the silence continue on until he was asleep, but it just wasn’t his nature.

“Should we talk about it?” Shane asked.

“Talk about what?” Ilya asked with a groan.

“The party last year,” Shane answered, the alcohol still in his system bolstering him with the courage he needed to broach the subject. As the words left his mouth, his mind flashed back to that night: the sharp tang of spilled vodka on sticky linoleum, the thud of bass pulses vibrating through walls, and the warmth of Ilya's breath as it ghosted over his cheek in the dim, cramped space.

He heard Ilya turn over with a huff, so he was facing Shane. He could just make out the hint of Ilya's face in the darkness.

“There is nothing to talk about, Hollander,” Ilya hissed back. “We shared a quick, drunken moment in a bathroom; I have about 50 of those moments a semester. I don’t think about it.”

“Right, so you’re unaffected about it; it was just a quick drunken moment,” Shane retorted.  It wasn’t like him to push, but he was feeling daring, and something in his brain told him Ilya was lying.

“Completely unaffected,” Ilya answered.

“Okay,” Shane said, his voice unconvinced. “I guess we can just forget it,” he said, turning his back on Ilya.  He expected that the conversation would end there.  He had been brave enough to ask the question, and now they could both move on.

“Besides, you started dating Rose right after, so it clearly didn’t mean anything to you,” Ilya said.  

Shane turned back around. “I did not start dating Rose. What the fuck are you talking about?”

Ilya ground out, “No, then why did I see you out with her at dinner the next night?”

“What, are you stalking me?  She and I were celebrating passing our chem exam,” Shane said quizzically.

“Oh,” Ilya said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Clearly”

“Sorry, I just assumed,” Ilya said

“Ilya, in case my sucking your dick in a frat bathroom wasn’t enough indication - I’m gay,” Shane said, exasperated.

“Got it,” Ilya said, swallowing a laugh, “crystal clear.”

“Good,” Shane said

“Good,” Ilya agreed

Shane wanted to argue it further, wanted to keep unpacking that night in the frat bathroom five months ago. He could still feel Ilya's lips against his neck, feel the way he had felt under his tongue. Despite everything, he couldn't dismiss the lingering thrill or the warmth that seemed to envelop him in those moments. As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, that night had meant something to him. Shane tried to push the images from his head, but instead replayed the encounter again, for the hundredth time, in his brain as he drifted off to sleep.

Shane awoke slowly to the sun streaming into the room, painting everything in a golden light. He felt so good. His body was wrapped in a warm embrace, and he felt so safe and cozy. He stilled, his brain catching up to his body. He was in the middle of the very large bed. And wrapped around the back of him was Ilya. Ilya was spooning him. And not only was Ilya spooning him, but Ilya was hard against him. Shane was no better off. He may not have woken up hard, but he sure was now that he realized he was pressed against a mostly naked Ilya. Shane made a plan of attack. First step- slip out of the bed undetected. Step two: take the coldest shower known to man and beg his dick to behave. Step three: make a plan to get through the next two nights.

Shane began to execute his plan, wiggling out of Ilya’s arms.  Or at least that was the idea.  Instead, the moment he started moving, Ilya’s arms tightened around him, Ilya’s mouth pressing against his neck to mummer ‘no, stay’ in a rough, groggy tone.

Oh my god. Oh my god.  Shane tried to take deep breaths as sleepy Ilya pressed another kiss to Shane’s neck and -oh my god - ground his erection against Shane’s ass. Okay, he had to put a stop to this right now.  He cleared his throat and started, “Um, Ilya.”

“Mmmmm,” Ilya moaned against Shane’s neck.

“Can you let me go, please?” Shane asked.  It wasn’t what he wanted at all, but this felt really, really wrong-well, no, it felt very right- when Ilya was half-asleep.  

Shane felt Ilya fully awake.  His posture straightened, his arm snapping away from Shane like he touched a hot stove.  Shane scrambled out of bed and stood facing a rumpled Ilya, still tangled up in the sheets.

Ilyas’s eyes met Shane’s and then drifted down to where his pajama pants were doing absolutely nothing to hide his visible erection.

Shane moved a hand down to haphazardly cover it, but it was ineffective.

“Shut up,” Shane said before Iyla could start.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ilya said with a smile, hands raised in surrender.

“Good, because you are in the same boat,” Shane said, eyes flicking down to where Ilya’s waist was hidden beneath the mess of blankets.  His insinuation was clear.

“Ah, but Hollander, I was dreaming of being wrapped around a beautiful brunette, what’s your excuse exactly?” Ilya taunted

Well, he had him there.  So Shane handled it with maturity.  “Shut up,” he said, giving Ilya the finger and disappearing into the bathroom, the lock closing behind him.

Chapter End Notes

I promise this will become explicit, but you gotta wait for the good stuff.

Chapter 4: Thin Walls

Chapter Notes

Content Warning: Explicit sexual content, graphic language, detailed sexual acts, and references to alcohol use.

The moment the bathroom door closed, Ilya flopped back into the pillows, the smirk disappearing from his face. He rubbed a rough hand over his face as he tried to calm his heartbeat. A minute ago, he had every inch of himself pressed against the one man he swore he wouldn’t touch again. Not only was he embarrassingly hard from the encounter, but his lips still tingled with the slight salt of Shane’s skin from the kisses Ilya had placed over his neck. He had been kissing his neck. Oh, he was so unbelievably fucked. Doubts and fears roiled within him, memories of past hurt flickering through his mind, the vivid image of a heated night that had ended with harsh words and shattered dreams. He thought he could keep things simple: a flirtation, a playful banter, a wall between his heart and the reality of Shane. Yet here he was, wanting more and terrified of the consequences. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Shane he’d been dreaming of a beautiful brunette in his bed. He had omitted that the brunette had an intoxicating smattering of freckles across his face and was named Shane Hollander, but semantics. He licked his lips again, chasing the taste of Shane’s skin, and willed his dick to calm down. He heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, and the thought of a very naked Shane a few feet away sent another jolt of heat directly to his aching dick.

Okay, so that wasn’t going away. He took some deep breaths, listening to the shower's beat in the background.  He thought of Shane under the water, the droplets of water cascading down his creamy skin.  He pondered if Shane had turned the dial as cold as it would go, attempting to force his dick into submission, or if right now he was standing under the hot water, stroking himself.

Fuck.

The single image of Shane, his hand wrapped around himself, undid Ilya.  He gave up on fighting for control and instead slipped his hand under the covers, running his hand over his aching length over the front of his briefs.  The single touch ignited him.  He knew that he should not be jerking off when Shane was in the other room.  Shane seemed the type to take obnoxiously short showers.  Ilya could explain away the morning wood and had somehow talked himself out of kissing Shane’s neck and spooning him, but it would be next to impossible for him to explain why he was stroking himself after that happened if Shane happened to walk in.

But there was a strong chance that Shane might be doing the same.  And that thought alone prompted Ilya to slide his briefs slightly down his hips and free his aching cock. His hand moved on its own volition, wrapping up and down his cock in long, languid strokes that had Ilya’s spine arching off the bed.  His mind slipped where it often did when he touched himself.  Back to the tail end of a party 5 months ago in a dingy frat bathroom, with a very eager Shane Hollander pressed against a door.  

He hadn’t started the night with the intention of hooking up with anyone at the end of the semester, “Under the C” party.  He’d been enjoying the end of an excellent darty, drink in hand, dancing on a sticky floor when he spotted Shane across the room.  He recognized Shane from the tutor department, he’d spent every Tuesday night in one of the study rooms at the house tutoring 5 of the seniors in Mathematics.  They hadn’t paid eachother much mind; Ilya wasn’t in the sessions and would only occasionally catch glimpses of the bookish boy slipping in and out of the house.  

But he saw him now.  Shane was, to put it mildly, overdressed.  He was in jeans and a long-sleeved button-down, with honest-to-God loafers on his feet.  He was surrounded by the 5 Seniors he had been tutoring- clearly their guest as they passed him shots and animatedly talked about their passing grades.  Shane looked a little uncomfortable in the environment, underneath the booming music and strobing light, but he was putting on a good show.  Eventually, the seniors had retreated into the crowd, in search of beautiful women or bountiful drinks; he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Shane Hollander now stood alone at the outskirts of the party, and Ilya felt pulled to talk to him.  

Ilya grabbed two ginger ales out of a cooler behind the bar and stalked over to Shane, handing him the beverage and cracking his own open. “Cheers,” he said, raising his can.

“Oh, I shouldn’t drink any more,” Shane said, “I’m not really used to it, and the guys had me take a bunch of shots with them,” he said in a rush.

“I know,” Ilya said, pointing at the can, “That’s why I gave you a ginger ale,” he said with a smirk, turning his own around to show the label.

“Oh,” Shane said, clearly embarrassed.  It was dark in the room, but Ilya was positive he was blushing. Shane cracked his own can open. “Cheers then,” he said, taking a sip.

Shane took in Ilya’s outfit, swim shorts, flip-flops, and a backwards baseball cap.  “I didn’t realize it was under the C theamed- like sea,” Shane said, shouting over the music. “I feel a little overdressed, and a little dumb for not realizing,” he said, gesturing at his own outfit.  Ilya thought he looked like an utterly fuckable TA, but he could admit it was out of place among all the bathing suits on the dance floor.

“You should’ve come earlier when we had the water slides and volleyball court set up, then you really would have regretted the jeans,” Ilya said with a chuckle.

“Oh God,” Shane said, appearing pale at even the mention of such debauchery.

“Loosen up, Shane, it won’t kill you,” Ilya said with a smile at his expression.

Even in the darkened room, Ilya could see Shane’s face light up. “You know my name?” he said with a slightly awestruck tone.

“Yeah, I do.  I’m Ilya, by the way,” he said, realizing he had properly introduced himself.

“I know,” Shane replied, and they shared a smile. Something lingered between them for a moment.

Ilya took a chance, reaching out and deftly undoing a few buttons on Shane’s shirt until it was gaping open at the top, showing off an expanse of his chest, “better,” Ilya said.

Shane stood frozen for a second, still processing the change.  Ilya wasn’t sure if the alcohol was loosening him up or if he was just starting to enjoy himself, but he was shocked when Shane reached down and undid the last few buttons until his shirt was completely unbuttoned.  He raised his gaze to Ilya’s and quirked his eyebrow, “blending in a little more now?” he asked.

Ilya’s mouth felt dry, and words stuck in his throat.  Shane Hollander was built.  He had a gorgeous chest, his abs defined, and his pecs perfect.  It was not the body of someone who spent nearly all their time in class and at the library, as he’d assumed.

Shane was still waiting for a response, “yeah,” Ilya said.  He cursed himself that ‘yeah’ was as good as he could come up with, but he let it go.  Ilya searched his brain for something that wasn’t “what’s your gym routine” or “can I explore the planes of your chest with my tongue”.  Both were probably not great conversation starters, but his mind was blank.  He opted for neutral ground. “You’re a sophomore, right?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I am.” A beat, “You seem to know a lot about me for someone I’ve never officially met.”

“I pay attention to things that interest me,” Ilya said unabashedly, the alcohol coursing through him giving him courage he didn’t feel.

He watched the words register with Shane, shock crossed his face, then intrigue, and finally heat.

“Right,” he said softly, then he licked his lips, unconsciously fidgeting.  Ilya was cursing himself for his boldness until Shane said, “It’s really loud in here. Is there somewhere we could talk where it’s quieter?”

Oh, it was so on.  Or was it?  Any other person on the planet and Ilya would have assumed that was an invitation to hook up, but Shane was so cute and innocent.  He might have genuinely wanted to chat without the Frat House Greatest Hits blasting over them. Either way, Ilya was going to take him up on his offer.

“Sure,” he said, walking toward the stairs and climbing them toward his room in the house.  His room was on the third floor, and he checked over his shoulder to make sure he had Shane in tow behind him- and to make sure no one was noting him slipping off with a guy.  His frat wasn’t necessarily homophobic; there were even a few gay guys as members, but he was on the exec board and lived in the house.  For some reason, it was really different. Shane gave a shy smile behind him, and Ilya smiled back before reaching the third-floor landing and walking to the end of the hall.  Normally, the guys shared rooms in the house, but Ilya had been voted in as president for the next semester, and he had already had the chance to move his stuff into the “Presidential suite” after their former president had vacated it the moment finals were over.

Ilya opened his door and was met with the sight of a bare ass and the very apparent sounds of sex.

“Carter, what the fuck, get out of my room,” Ilya shouted at his friend.

Carter threw a middle finger over his shoulder. “J.J. locked me out of my room, just give me like an hour, Roz.”

Ilya heard the girl beneath Carter giggle and ask, “An hour” in a flirtatious lilt.

“You’re disgusting, and you’re washing my sheets later,” Ilya said with a huff, closing the door.

Shane stood in the hall, his cheeks aflame.

Ilya tried the door on the other side of the hall and opened it, revealing a small bathroom. This was the real test: if Shane had just wanted to talk in a quiet place, they could easily hang out in the hallway.  It was quiet up here, aside from the muffled grunts coming from both his room - fuckin’ carter- and J.J’s rooms.  But going into a small bathroom together would insulate something besides talking.

Shane walked through the door.

Ilya followed and closed the door behind him. He didn’t lock it - giving Shane one last chance for this to be innocent.  

He turned back to face Shane and was shocked to find Shane's lips on his, his back pressed against the door.  Ilya wasted no time kissing him back, eliciting a gasp from Shane.  He gave the other man another moment of him pressed against the door before he took over control.  Ilya slid his hand into Shane’s hair, using it to tilt his chin up and deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against Shane’s.  He seamlessly turned them around so that Shane was pressed against the door, using his free hand to lock it.  No going back now.

Ilya moved his mouth to Shane’s neck, and he let out a needy whimper. “Shhh,” Ilya said, placing his hand over Hollander’s mouth. He pressed Shane hard against the door, his hand still over the man’s mouth, and brought his lips to Shane’s ear, “You have to be quiet, I can’t have anybody else hear you moaning for me, Hollander.” Ilya gave his ear a small nip. “Are you going to be a good boy and be quiet, or do I have to keep my hand over your mouth?” Ilya asked in a whisper against his ear.

He removed his hand an inch to allow Shane to respond, “I’ll be good,” he said, his eyes meeting Ilya’s in total submission.

“Good boy,” Ilya said with a smile, “Get on your knees.”

Shane immediately followed the command, and Ilya leaned his head back in pleasure at Shane’s obedience.

Shane wasted no time in lowering Ilya’s shorts and taking him into his mouth. Apparently, academics weren’t the only things that Shane excelled at.  His mouth was pure heaven as he licked and sucked Ilya’s cock.  He was a quick study, unsurprisingly, and quickly adjusted his technique to capitalize on the moves that drove Ilya wild.  He was having trouble following his own rule of not making noise as Shane sucked one of his balls into his evil mouth.  “Fuck”  Ilya said in a rushed whisper, the attention Shane was giving him both pleasurable and torturous.  

“Shhhh,” Shane mocked from the floor.  Repeating the motion with Ilya’s other ball.  

Ilya slid his hand into Shane’s hair and tilted his face up so he could see his eyes.  “Don’t be a brat,” Ilya ordered. He guided Shane’s mouth back to his dick, controlling the pace with his hand still gripping Shane’s hair. “I’m going to fuck your pretty little mouth now,” Ilya said in an authoritative whisper, “and you’re going to take it like the good little slut you are.” Shane gave a hum of approval.  “Tap my thigh if you need me to stop,” Ilya added, making sure Shane had a safe way to bail when his mouth would be too busy.

And then he unleashed himself upon Shane, fucking his mouth with an intensity he didn’t realize he possessed.  He braced one hand against the door in front of him and kept the other in Shane’s hair. He reached the back of Shane’s mouth and felt the man’s throat relax around him, taking him even deeper.  Ilya began to lose control of his rhythm as he chased his release.  He glanced down just as Shane raised his tear-filled eyes.  Not tear-filled from crying, but from choking on Ilya’s cock.  That was his undoing.  

Fuck. Ilya came with a groan, the memory of Shane choking on his cock too much for him to bear.  He took deep breaths with his head against the pillow and tried to push the memories of that night away.  He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and focused on cleaning himself up.  The shower was still running in the background, and he hoped that the water had drowned out his groan when he came.  His answer came a second later, when he heard a very similar sound echo from the bathroom. The sounds of Shane Hollander coming apart.  He had only heard it once before, but it had left quite an impact.

If he could hear Shane finish, then there was no doubt in his mind that Shane had heard him as well, but they couldn’t really judge one another if they both had been doing it, right?

He slipped out of bed and discarded the crumpled tissue in the wastebasket before sorting through his suitcase to grab his toothbrush and shower bag.  He had just gathered them into his arms when Shane opened the bathroom door, still dripping wet with a towel hung around his waist.

His chest was just as impressive as it had been five months ago at the party, and Ilya allowed himself a quick perusal.  “Enjoyable shower?” Ilya asked nonchalantly.

Shane blushed, but recovered quickly. “Yes, maybe you could use one, Ilya,” he said, giving him a quick head-to-toe scan. “You’re looking a little... rumpled,” he said, with a knowing glint in his eye.

Ilya had clearly lost this round.  When had Shane learned to play dirty? And why did he like it so much?  “Way ahead of you,” he said, holding up his shower bag and entering the bathroom.  Once inside, he locked the door and leaned against it.  God, he was so fucked.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, I did say this was rated Explicit for a reason… and there’s definitely more of that coming. If you liked this chapter, stick around. Thank you so much for reading — your kudos and comments truly make my day and get me fired up to write more.

Chapter 5: Trivia and Pursuit

Chapter Notes

This chapter contains explicit sexual content and strong language.

Shane, Friday Morning

Shane descended the stairs to the main floor, his heart still racing after his morning encounters with Ilya. Every time he interacted with the handsome president, he left feeling rattled and flushed. He took a deep breath as he reached the bottom of the stairs and surveyed the smattering of people in the kitchen and living room. By the grace of God, he caught the scent of coffee and moved closer to the heavenly aroma.

Rose was standing by the coffee maker, pouring him a cup without him even asking. She smiled at him, handing him the mug. “Good morning,” she said pleasantly.

“Morning,” he said, accepting the coffee. “Thank you.” He took a hot, bracing sip. “That is strong,” he added with a slight wince, pouring a splash of creamer from the fridge.

“Yeah, apparently the Sigma Rhos prefer the jet-engine-fuel approach to their coffee-making,” Svetlana said, sitting at the kitchen island and sipping her own cup.

“Hey, I make great coffee,” Scott shouted from the living room, where he sat on the couch next to Kip.

Kip smiled at Scott like he hung the moon, and Shane watched with pity. Kip was openly gay, and Shane knew all too well what it was like crushing on a straight guy. However, as Shane observed them, he noticed Scott’s gaze linger on Kip for a moment longer than necessary, a small, almost shy smile playing at his lips. Perhaps there was more to their dynamic than Shane had originally thought. A quick glance exchanged between them suggested a shared secret or the promise of something more. But it was Kip’s business, and Shane wasn’t going to stick his nose where it didn’t belong — especially when his own “love life” was such a mess.

“I like it, Scott,” Jackie said from the island next to Svetlana. Jackie was always the peacemaker.

Shane took in the room. Scott and Kip on the loveseat. Elena and Cliff sipping coffee on the porch outside. Jackie, Svetlana, and Rose all sitting at the kitchen counter.

“Seems like we’re missing a good bunch of people. Are all the Sig Rhos sleeping in?” he asked, glancing at the microwave clock. It was almost 9 a.m. — not super late, but he didn’t really know the average schedule for a frat guy.

“No, get this,” Jackie said excitedly, “a bunch of the guys woke up early this morning and went to the grocery store to buy more food. Apparently, they felt bad for not bringing enough to share and wanted to remedy it.” She smiled.

“Wow, that’s surprising,” Shane said, somewhat amazed.

“Hey, we’re not wild animals,” Scott defended.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess I figured you would all be sleeping off hangovers this morning, not grocery shopping and making coffee,” Shane admitted.

Most of the room let out a nervous chuckle at that.

“What am I missing?” Shane asked.

“Turns out frat guys are pretty seasoned drinkers, and a few rounds of drinking games didn’t do too much to them,” Rose said. “Our group, on the other hand, is way worse for wear.”

“Oh no, really?” Shane said, resurveying the room. “Kyle, Harris, and Hayden,” he added, doing a quick roster check.

“Kyle and Harris are still asleep,” Rose answered.

“And Hayden is totally fine,” a voice added from behind the couch. A very rough voice. A voice that was not convincing at all that its speaker was fine.

Shane wandered into the living room and peered over the top of the couch.

“Hey, Shane,” a very hungover Hayden said. His eyes were still closed as he lay fully prone on the couch.

“Hey, Hayden. How are you feeling, buddy?”

“Peachy,” Hayden said with a grimace.

“Okay then. What’s the plan for today?” Shane asked.

Elena entered from the porch, Cliff walking behind her. “I’m so glad you asked, Mr. President. I have been working very hard with our resident social chair to build an itinerary for the weekend.” Elena was the Honor Society head of programming and events, and her proficiency with itineraries was infamous.

“Today, we have a nice, relaxed morning while our honorable classmates recover from their indulgences and our wonderful brothers go grocery shopping. Then, grilled cheese and tuna melts for lunch. This afternoon, we take advantage of the lake — go swimming, sunbathe, maybe even take out the kayaks.” Shane nodded. This all sounded good.

“Tonight, the guys are making us all burgers and hot dogs, and then they are going to ‘delight us’ with another night of games,” she said.

“What kind of games?” Shane questioned.

“The fun kind,” Cliff answered. “It’ll be fun, Shane. I promise we will be gentle with you.”

“Great, thanks,” Shane said with a roll of his eyes.

“Tomorrow,” Elena continued, “shopping in town for some and hiking for the rest.” Rose made a face at hiking. “Then pasta salad for lunch, and I’m told we’re required to participate in the ‘beer Olympics.’ Cliff, is that right?” she asked.

“That’s right,” he answered with certainty. “The beer Olympics are a time-honored exec retreat tradition, and we cannot break tradition. By being at the house with us, you are required to participate.”

“Okay,” Shane agreed. It didn’t seem like this was worth the fight.

“Finally, we have a taco bar for dinner and a bonfire for our final night,” she finished.

“Wow, that sounds great,” he said animatedly. Besides the constant drinking games, it didn’t seem far off from how he had planned to spend the weekend. “Are the guys aware of the meals we’re cooking?” Then he added, “I’m not doubting them, Scott — just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Oh no, you’re absolutely right to doubt them on that,” Scott said with a smile. “But Jackie provided them with a detailed list; they shouldn’t fuck it up too much.”

“Okay, great,” Shane said. “I guess we have some time to kill before they get back. Anyone up for a game?”

“Music to my ears,” Cliff answered.

Shane walked over to the entertainment cabinet and pulled out Trivial Pursuit. He had spotted it last night and had been yearning for a game ever since.

“Nope,” Rose said with a shake of her head as Shane unfolded the board on the kitchen table. “Not today. I’m letting my brain rest. You go ahead — I’m going to take a very long, hot shower and then read a novel in my room. Call me when the boys are back,” she said as she retreated toward the basement stairway.

“Okay, that’s no problem. That leaves us with an even eight to play. We can do two teams of four,” Shane said as they gathered around the table, taking their seats, but one still sat empty. “Hayden, are you joining us?” Shane asked.

There was no response from the couch besides a slight grunt, and then, a few seconds later, the sound of light snoring.

“I guess we can play with uneven teams,” he said, looking at the table. “We can alternate turns. So Cliff, Elena, Kip, and Scott are on one team, and then Jackie, Svetlana, and I are on the other,” Shane explained.

“I don’t want you using uneven teams as an excuse when we kick your ass, though,” Kip said, his eyes glinting with the promise of competition.

“No need,” Cliff said, looking over Shane’s shoulder. “Rosanov, get over here and join us,” Cliff called out.

“Okay, okay, keep your shorts on,” Ilya muttered, pouring himself a mug of coffee and sitting in the empty seat directly across from Shane. Their eyes met as Ilya took a sip of his coffee and gave Shane a wink. Shane melted internally but kept a neutral face plastered on.

“Okay, do you all know how to play?” Shane asked. Surprisingly, the whole table nodded, and the game kicked off.

The teams were actually very well matched. Scott and Kip were nailing every art and history question, smiling at each other every time they had the chance to answer. Maybe it’s not an unrequited crush after all, Shane thought as he watched Scott return Kip’s flirting tenfold.

But his own team held their own. Ilya was a surprising powerhouse in literature and science questions, which were also Shane’s best categories.

Cliff was most surprising of all, knowing the answer to every single entertainment question asked. When questioned about it, he simply answered, “I like movies.”

The game was neck and neck before Ilya finally sealed their win with a seriously obscure sports question about some hockey team. You would have thought they’d won the World Cup for how much Shane, Svetlana, and Jackie celebrated their victory. Ilya celebrated with a cocky grin, as the game had never had a chance of ending any other way.

Shane loved seeing him this way: smiling and just letting loose. For as much as Ilya liked to tease him about being uptight and needing to “loosen up,” Ilya was much the same. He might act carefree and reckless, but it was clear to Shane that most of it was a front. Ilya was calculated and always paid attention to what he said and did. Nothing was done without measuring the risk.

Shane wondered what had led him to feel like that kind of analysis was necessary. He recognized it well, since it mirrored how he operated. He couldn’t help thinking about the consequences if anyone discovered their connection — the whispers, the looks, the possible impact on their social standings or even their futures. It was a risky dance.

Yet he couldn’t deny that Ilya Rosanov interested him.

It was like Ilya had said at that party last semester: “I pay attention to things that interest me.” And try as he had, Ilya Rosanov interested him.

He was interrupted in his thoughts of Ilya as a wave of men came through the door, carrying groceries and various cases of beer, seltzer, and a few handles of liquor.  They  moved quickly into the kitchen, filling the fridge and placing their loot on the counters.  

It looked like Jackie’s comprehensive shopping list had been successful.  Shane surveyed the food on the counters and saw the meals being made, as Elena mentioned.  There were some extra bags of chips, marshmallows, and a few boxes of graham crackers, but Shane would accept it.

“Look who is awake,” JJ said, slapping Ilya on the back.  “Figured you must be snuggled up pretty tight in the President's room to not hear all of us moving around downstairs.” JJ mocked.

Shane tensed.  Scott had made his joke about their rooming arrangement yesterday, but no one else had brought it up.  Would Ilya get defensive about it?  Would he throw Shane under the bus and embarrass him about this morning?

“Oh, I’d pick Shane any day of the week instead of sleeping in the bunk room with you, Carter, and Wyatt.  Do you sync up your snoring like periods, or is it more offset?”

“Hey, first of all- rude.  I don’t snore,” JJ said

“You do,” Wyatt and Carter chimed in

“Second of all, why does Troy get a pass? He’s in the bunk room, too?”

“Because I’m not annoying,” Troy said simply from the other side of the kitchen.  

“Bingo,” Ilya said.

And that was that, the boys continued joking around, and no one pushed any further about Shane and Ilya’s sleeping arrangements.  It was that easy.  Shane felt almost annoyed. Ilya had been so unwavering in his rejection of Shane last semester.

“I can't do anything that would jeopardize my position in the Fraternity.”

“It’s different for me as president- there’s a higher standard they hold me to”

“Everything I do makes its way to the advisors.  They hear everything, and my personal business is none of theirs.”

He had said that.  All of that.  And now his frat brothers just waved off him sharing a bed with another guy like it was nothing.  And that had Shane feeling pissed.  He had spent so many months trying to forget their night, trying to rationalize the distance with the reasons he had for himself, the reasons Ilya had given him, but it turned out that it was all bullshit.

He quietly excused himself from the room, slipping out onto the porch and walking around to the side of the house out of view of the expansive window, working to clear his head with deep breaths of the fresh air.

The air was cool, but his skin still felt overheated, like his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that months had passed.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

That door.

That night.

And just like that, he was back there.

Shane was pretty sure he would have collapsed if he hadn’t already been kneeling; his knees felt wobbly, his whole body loose and overstimulated in the wake of what Ilya had just done to him.

Silence passed between them for a moment before Ilya reached down and cupped Shane’s cheek. “Good boy,” he said, and Shane leaned into the touch and the praise like it was the most natural thing in the world. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the softness in Ilya’s voice.

“Stand up,” Ilya said, and Shane did immediately, closing the distance between them.

Ilya kissed him with a softness they hadn’t had the chance for earlier in their fevered rush to taste each other. Shane melted into it, his hands clutching at Ilya’s sides. Ilya slid his hand down and cupped Shane through his jeans.

“Why don’t we take care of this now?” he said, and Shane felt himself go boneless, nodding against him.

Ilya pressed Shane against the door slightly before sliding down his body, placing kisses down his chest where his shirt fell open, and moving his attention to Shane’s pants. Shane sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as Ilya skillfully undid the button on his jeans and slid them down his hips into a puddle on the floor. Cool air hit his overheated skin, making him shiver.

Ilya focused on Shane’s straining package through his briefs, placing a hot kiss against the fabric, breathing over his dick through the thin material. A strained moan tore up Shane’s throat, and he had to bite his lip hard to keep it in. He dug his nails into the wood of the door behind him, knuckles aching with the effort to stay quiet.

Ilya raised his head, meeting Shane’s eyes. Shane knew he was checking — reminding him without words.

Shane gave him a small nod. I’m trying. I promise.

Ilya dragged his briefs down to join the heap of jeans around his ankles and wrapped his hand around him. Shane’s head fell back against the door at the first touch. Then Ilya reached his other hand up and ordered, “Spit.”

Heat flooded Shane’s face, but he did it without hesitation, watching with blown pupils as Ilya used it to stroke him at a slow, deliberate pace that made his stomach twist.

Shane could feel how turned on Ilya was by the control, by his obedience. And God help him, that just made it worse — better — overwhelming.

Ilya’s strokes stayed slow, almost lazy, and it was torture. Shane’s hips twitched, chasing the friction he wasn’t being given.

“Ilya, please,” he ground out, barely louder than a breath.

“Ilya carried on with his slow strokes. “Please, what?” he taunted.

Shane’s head thumped lightly against the door. “I need—” He bucked his hips helplessly into Ilya’s hand. “More,” he finished, voice cracking. “Please.”

Ilya gave up on the torture then, and Shane nearly sobbed with relief when warmth replaced Ilya’s hand. His fingers slid into Ilya’s hair on instinct, his body trembling as pleasure spiked fast and hard. Ilya set a brutal pace, and Shane fell apart above him, quietly murmuring gratitude into the air.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“So good.”

“Please, more.”

He couldn’t stop the words. They just spilled out between gasps.

Then Ilya’s hand grabbed a fistful of his ass, and Shane bucked against him unconsciously. A finger dragged down the crease of him, and Shane’s breath hitched sharply. When Ilya’s fingertip brushed over him—

Shane came instantly.

His hand fisted tighter in Ilya’s hair, a broken grunt punching out of him that he barely managed to muffle behind his teeth. Pleasure ripped through him so hard his vision went white at the edges. He felt Ilya swallow him down, felt the slow drag of his tongue after, and shuddered.

When Ilya stood, Shane swayed toward him, and they kissed again — soft, lingering, nothing like the frantic heat from before. Shane kissed him back like he was trying to memorize it.

They both pulled themselves together, straightening clothes, avoiding each other’s eyes for a moment too long.

Shane knew what had to be said. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt this much already.

“So this has to be a one-time thing,” Shane said decisively, even though his chest felt tight.

Ilya went very still.

Shane forced himself to keep going. “I’ve got to keep my focus on academics next year if I want to continue on the pre-law track. There’s too much riding on me for this to happen again,” he said.

“Right,” Ilya said. “I was going to say the same.” He exhaled, jaw tight. “I can’t do anything that would jeopardize my position in the fraternity.”

Shane’s stomach dropped.

“It’s different for me as president — there’s a higher standard they hold me to,” Ilya continued, voice going flatter, more guarded. “Everything I do makes its way to the advisors. They hear everything, and my personal business is none of theirs.”

“Right,” Shane said again, even though each word felt like a tiny cut. “This was fun, but it’s not going to happen again.”

“Good,” Shane added quietly, trying to sound unaffected. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Yeah,” Ilya agreed, but he didn’t sound glad at all.

Shane unlocked the door and opened it, needing air, needing space, needing to get out before his feelings showed on his face. He cast a quick look over his shoulder.

“Bye,” he said quietly.

Ilya didn’t respond, and Shane stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

The noise of the party downstairs felt far away. His body still buzzed from the best orgasm of his life, but his chest felt hollow, like something had already been taken from him.

His solitude was short-lived.  Ilya came around the side of the house a minute later, backing Shane deeper into the shadows as he stalked toward him.

“What is your problem?” Ilya accused

“My problem”, Shane shouted back, irate. “You’re my problem, Ilya- you are.”

“Where is this coming from? I thought we were fine,” he said, “is this about this morning, because I thought we were on the same page.”

“No, Ilya, this isn’t about some stupid fucking morning wood,” he spat,” this is about last semester and everything in between.”

“Don’t,” Ilya warned

“Don’t what?” Shane retorted, completely exasperated with Ilya.  “Don’t mention the 'quick drunken moment’ -that’s what you called it yesterday. Said you were completely unaffected by it.” he paces back and forth beneath the shadow of the house. “Well, I guess you’re better than me, because I’m fucking affected.” He turned on his heel, striding toward Ilya, jabbing a finger at his broad chest. “It has been five months since that night, and I can’t even be in the same room with you without being ‘affected’. It is exhausting,” he said.

“Shane-” Ilya started

“No, it’s my turn to talk,”Shane bit back. “You were silent with me for five months; you can stay silent for five more seconds”.  

Ilya nodded and waited for Shane to continue, “You don’t get to act like this is nothing. You don’t get to joke about sharing a bed with me in front of your brothers like it’s funny and harmless when you were the one who told me we couldn’t even be seen talking too long at a party.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Shane stepped closer. “You said it would ruin things for you. That you had too much to lose. That we couldn’t risk it. And I believed you. I let you push me away because I thought you were protecting yourself.”

“I was,” Ilya insisted. “I am.”

“From what?” Shane demanded. “Because it clearly isn’t them.” He gestured toward the house. “They don’t care. They were ready to make a joke and move on. No scandal. No whispers. Nothing. You even have gay guys in your frat.  Yeah, I found that out over the summer.  Imagine my surprise when I find out that there are seven openly gay Sigma Rhos. Do you know how fucking stupid that made me feel?” Shane said, his words switching from anger to hurt.

“It’s not the same,” Ilya said in a cold voice.

“Why? Because you’re too scared to admit that you felt something for me.”

“No, because being with you would cost me everything, Shane,” Ilya said. “I’d lose my position because, contrary to your vast knowledge of frat politics, it is a big deal for the president of one to be in a gay relationship.  A lot different than a member being gay.  But more importantly, it would get to our advisors.  One of which is my father.  My very old-fashioned, very russian father.  If he heard that I was dating a man, he would disown me, I’d lose my position in the frat and my tuition to school.” Ilya turned away from Shane. “So yes, it’s different and yes I was protecting myself”.  He paused “I love my brothers and they are good guys, it’s easy to joke around with them, but I have no idea what they’d do if it wasn’t a joke. I just can’t take that risk” he turned- vulnerability alight in his eyes “even if I really want to.”

Shane’s breath caught.

“And you know what else, it wasn’t me who called it off,” Ilya said with anger simmering. “You said it first, you wanted to focus on your studies, that it had to be a one-time thing.  You didn’t even give me a chance to think about it before you shut me down and ran out the door.”

Shane’s anger faltered, confusion flickering through it. “You… you were going to say something different?”

“I don’t know,” Ilya admitted, voice rough. “I didn’t get the chance to figure it out. You were already halfway out the door.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.

“I thought you didn’t care,” Shane said quietly.

Ilya let out a humorless huff. “I thought you didn’t either.”

They stood there, breathing the same air, months of distance collapsing into a few feet of space.

“This is exactly what I was trying to avoid,” Ilya said, but there was no conviction in it.

“Yeah,” Shane agreed, voice soft. “Me too.”

Neither of them moved away.

Neither of them looked away.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Ilya said, like he was trying to convince himself.

“I know,” Shane said.

But he stepped closer anyway.

Ilya’s hand came up like it was pulled by a string, hovering near Shane’s waist before settling there, tentative, like he was still giving Shane time to stop him.

Shane didn’t.

“I hate that I still want you,” Shane whispered.

Ilya’s breath hitched. “I never stopped.”

That did it.

Shane closed the distance first, and the kiss was nothing like the frantic heat of the party or the unconscious touches from that morning. It was slower. Intentional. Months of restraint breaking in one quiet exhale.

Ilya kissed him back like he’d been starving.

For a moment, the world narrowed to warmth and breath and the solid press of Ilya’s hand at his waist.

And then—

“Yo! Lunch is ready! Get your asses inside before Scott eats everything!” a voice hollered from the other side of the house.

They sprang apart like they’d been burned.

Shane’s heart was pounding so hard he felt dizzy. Ilya looked just as wrecked — flushed, breathing heavy, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what they’d just done.

Neither of them said anything.

What was there to say?

They’d just crossed a line they both swore they wouldn’t.

Again.

Shane ran a hand through his hair, trying to look normal, trying to breathe normally, trying to pretend his entire world hadn’t just tilted on its axis.

“This is a disaster,” Ilya muttered.

“Yeah,” Shane said.

But neither of them looked like they regretted it.

They walked back toward the house a few steps apart, not touching, not speaking.

And somehow everything between them had changed.

Because now they both knew.

They could lie to everyone else.

They couldn’t lie to each other anymore.

Chapter End Notes

I love a good rom-com “clear the air” fight and kiss, don’t you? Ooooh it’s so satisfying, miscommunication confronted, tension snapped, feelings finally on the table. So good.

More to come for Shane and Ilya… and let’s be honest, they are not the only ones spiraling on this trip. You can see it, right?

Chapter 6: Excuses to Touch

Chapter Notes

Ilya, Friday Afternoon
Lunch was nice. Everyone in the house seemed to have reached a certain level of relaxation around each other after the games last night, and the brothers were preparing the meal. Different groups of people sat around the room, happily eating their sandwiches, while Ryan stood at the stove, in an apron Ilya had no idea where he found, whipping up grilled cheese and sliding it onto plates with ease.

Ilya grabbed one of the sandwiches and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. Shane had already grabbed his own, but was in the living room talking with his friends. His hair was slightly mussed and his face slightly flushed, but no one seemed to have noticed.

Lunch stretched longer than anyone planned.

Plates sat half-finished on coffee tables and armrests, conversations splintering into smaller groups as people drifted from the kitchen to the living room and back again. Someone turned music on low, something summery and easy, and the whole house settled into that warm, lazy lull that comes after a good meal and too much sun through big windows.

Ilya leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs while he watched the room without looking like he was watching anything at all.

Shane stood near the sliding glass doors with Rose and Svetlana, absently toying with the hem of his T-shirt as he laughed at something Rose said. His hair was still slightly damp from his earlier shower, curling at the ends, and the sunlight coming through the glass lit him up in a way Ilya tried very hard not to stare at.

He failed.

“Alright,” Cliff announced suddenly, clapping his hands once as he stood. “I’m not spending a lake weekend sitting inside like a Victorian child. Who’s coming swimming?”

A chorus of mixed reactions followed — groans, reluctant laughs, a few enthusiastic yeses.

“Elena already claimed the good towels,” Jackie added, appearing from the hallway with an armful of sunscreen bottles like she was preparing for battle.

Chairs scraped. People started moving.

The shift happened fast after that — the strange, unspoken pause that had hovered over the house all morning dissolving into motion. Someone grabbed a speaker. Someone else hunted for sunglasses. Ryan nearly dropped a bowl in his rush to clear the table.

Shane hesitated by the door just long enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing swim trunks underneath. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking it back into place.

Ilya’s chair thumped back down onto all four legs.

He told himself he was just getting up because everyone else was.

Not because Shane was already halfway to the dock.

Not because the sun was bright and the water would be cold, and there were a hundred excuses to touch him without it meaning anything at all.

“Last one in’s on grill duty tonight!” Scott shouted, already jogging down the path toward the lake.

“That’s not a real rule!” Kip yelled, chasing after him anyway.

Laughter spilled out across the yard as the group funneled toward the water, the house emptying behind them.

Ilya fell into step a few paces behind Shane, close enough to hear him talking, close enough to see the way the sunlight hit the back of his neck.

Close enough to reach.

He didn’t.

But he wanted to.

And that was starting to feel like a problem.

Ilya spent the first hour of their time in the lake trying to avoid touching Shane in any way.

And the second hour, he spent touching Shane in any way he could.

Their group was acting like children, jumping off the dock and having splash fights in the shallow water near the shore. Rose and Svetlana were lying on lounge chairs underneath the sun like Greek goddesses, looking absolutely beautiful and catching many an eye. Elena and Jackie were lounging more sensibly in the shade, chatting about the latest episode of some TV show Ilya hadn’t seen. Most of the boys were in the water in one area or another, some floating on their backs in the cool lake, some with their feet just dipping in off the side of the dock. Shane sat with Hayden and Ryan on the very end of the dock, and Ilya wanted so badly to join them. To sit next to Shane, throw his arm over his shoulders, and pull him close. But that just wasn’t possible.

What was possible, however, was an excuse to touch him in a different way.

“Alright, everyone, I propose a round of chicken fights,” he said, casting out his voice to the various groups. “And you have to pair up with someone from the other group, no Sigma Rho alliances,” he added.

There were some protests and fights from the frat guys, but everyone soon started looking for a partner.

Ilya walked over to Shane. “How about it, roomie, want to join me in destroying these losers?” he said with a smile, the thought of Shane’s thighs around his shoulders already making him feel giddy.

“Sure,” Shane said, a small smile gracing his lips.

Almost everyone was finding a partner, but Svetlana and Rose still lay on the dock, unmoving. Ilya walked over and stood over Svetlana, giving his head a good shake so the droplets from his wet hair splattered over her body.

“What the fuck?” she said, opening her eyes. Upon seeing it was him she switched to Russian. “Don’t shake on me like some wet dog, you mutt,” she spat.

“Come play with us, Princess,” he replied in Russian. He’d known Svetlana for years, ever since childhood, really. They had hooked up a few times their freshman year, but had ultimately decided to keep it just as friends. It was really nice having her here this weekend, even if they sometimes fought like siblings.

She switched back to English, “You asking me to be your partner?” she said with an overdone flutter of her eyelashes.

“Too late for that, I’m partnering with Hollander,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to find someone else to partner with.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, “how about I watch the first few rounds, and then I’ll join whoever is doing the best.”

“Deal,” Ilya agreed before turning back to the rest of the group. The pairings had been set, and with a wink at Shane, he ran off the dock and cannonballed into the water. He swam over to the shallow water where he could stand, about chest deep — enough to catch anyone who fully fell.

Shane swam over to him, and Ilya smiled at him. “You ever done this before?” he asked.

“No, I can’t say I have,” Shane admitted.

“I'll be gentle for your first time,” Ilya assured him, more to see the blush on him than anything. “Just stay as stable as you can and shove our opponents over.”

“Seems easy enough,” Shane said with a smile.

Ilya turned in the water and saw Elena on Marleau’s shoulders in front of him, giving them a ‘come hither’ motion with her fingers. Wordlessly, Ilya bent his knees and let Shane wrap his legs over Ilya’s shoulders. Ilya stood back to his full height and gripped his legs around Shane’s lower legs, steadying him.

“Okay?” he confirmed with Shane.

“Good,” Shane said, setting his sights on Elena. And then they were fighting. Elena and Shane shoving at each other while Marleau and Ilya tried to keep them from falling off. Ilya had been a little worried that Shane might take it easy on Elena since she was a girl, but he did not do such a thing. Within a minute, Shane had shoved her from Marleau's shoulders and the pair toppled over into the water.

“Yes!” Shane exclaimed and Ilya smiled up at him. He could’ve let Shane down while they found their next opponents, but Ilya loved the feeling of Shane’s thighs draped over him, and he was in no hurry to end it, so he kept him aloft.

The first few rounds went exactly as Ilya had hoped. Shane’s balance on his shoulders was solid, his grip surprisingly confident. Every time Shane shifted or reached to shove an opponent, Ilya’s hands instinctively ran over his thighs to steady him, feeling the heat of Shane's skin through the water. Shane kept running his fingers through Ilya’s hair, the gentle tug sending shivers down Ilya's spine, gripping his shoulders and adjusting wherever he could find purchase. The cool lake water cascaded off their bodies, but it couldn’t temper the warmth pulsing between them. The weight of Shane on him wasn’t a burden; it was dizzying, delicious, and distracting in all the right ways. Ilya’s heartbeat raced not just from the exertion but from the proximity, the subtle pressure of Shane's legs wrapped securely around him.

“Careful, Hollander!” Ilya whispered when Shane leaned too far forward, and Shane just grinned, gripping his shoulders tighter with his thighs. “I’ve got you,” Ilya said, but there was a heat in his voice that made Shane shiver.

Nearby, Scott and Kip had paired off, and the teasing was almost audible. Scott would lean close to whisper instructions, and Kip would tilt his head to hear him better, their faces brushing just slightly before Kip shoved him, laughing. Every chance they got, hands lingered on shoulders, knees bumped, or Scott would “accidentally” press against Kip’s back when he waited for the next round. Ilya noticed with quiet amusement, but also with a tiny pang of possessiveness.

Rose and Svetlana had been lounging, watching the chaos, giggling at the smaller splash fights, until Cliff shouted, “Next round — get your partners, ladies!”

Svetlana rolled her eyes but hopped to her feet, shaking the last droplets of water from her hair. “Time to show these amateurs how it’s done,” she muttered in Russian, smirking at Ilya, who just gave her a mock salute.

Rose groaned but followed, pairing with one of the frat guys who looked less intimidating than Svetlana. The two of them faced off against each other in the shallow water, and the giggling started immediately. Rose’s hands shoved at Svetlana’s shoulders. Svetlana ducked and retaliated, and within seconds, both of them slipped and splashed into the water, erupting in laughter.

Ilya and Shane were still a dominating pair. Every push, every shove, every time Shane’s legs wrapped tighter around Ilya, or Shane’s fingers threaded into Ilya’s wet hair to adjust his balance, sent sparks up both their spines. They won several rounds in a row, Shane’s laughter echoing across the lake as Ilya grinned behind him, teasing, “Don’t get too cocky, roomie.”

Eventually, though, Svetlana joined in seriously. Ilya’s eyes widened when she plucked someone else’s partner and tossed him lightly into the water before locking eyes with Shane. “You ready?” she asked, her grin sharp, playful, and just dangerous enough to be thrilling.

Shane let out a laugh that sounded entirely unprepared for what was coming. He clung to Ilya for a final round, but Svetlana was merciless. With a sudden, precise shove, Shane toppled, taking Ilya down with him. Both of them hit the cool lake with a splash, Shane laughing breathlessly as Ilya surfaced, shaking water from his hair and swearing softly.

“You okay?” Shane asked, grinning, pressing close to Ilya to help him up, and their hands brushed, lingering just long enough to send heat crawling up both their arms.

“Better than okay,” Ilya murmured, tugging Shane closer for balance — and maybe for a little more than that.

Across the dock, Scott and Kip were escalating too. Every brush of a hand, every shared laugh, every accidental bump seemed to feed their energy. Kip laughed breathlessly as Scott leaned close, whispering something that made him gasp and then shove Scott in retaliation, just barely keeping his balance. The tension between them was palpable, teasing, and entirely obvious to anyone paying attention.

Rose and Svetlana had returned to the dock after their giggle-filled duel, dripping and glowing in the sunlight, their laughter contagious. They high-fived each other like champions, and even Ilya had to grin at how ridiculous, but delightful, the whole scene had become.

They carried on like this for a while, but eventually their bodies grew tired, hungry, and cold, and with the setting sun, they returned to the house.

As they reached the house, shouts went up about dibs on showers. Some of the guys offered to start on the grill while the rest of the group took the first round of showers. Ilya could hear Hayden telling the group, “Jackie and I will share the shower to save water for everyone,” and a collective groan in response to the happy couple flaunting their sex life while the rest of them suffered. But it did give Ilya an idea.

As they entered the house, the groups split apart to shower, change, and start dinner, so no one noticed Ilya following Shane up to their room.

“Do you want to shower first, or should I?” Shane asked, oblivious, as Ilya closed the door.

Ilya walked toward him, a predator moving in on its prey. “I think there is room for both of us,” Ilya said, before claiming Shane’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

Shane kissed him back with ferocity that matched Ilya’s own, moaning slightly into his mouth. Ilya marched them backward into the bathroom, closing the door.

Their mouths were greedy, taking advantage of the opportunity to explore after so long being deprived.

Ilya moved his mouth off Shane’s and focused on his neck for a moment, murmuring against it, “We don’t have time for much before our absence will be noted, but I think we should take full advantage of the en-suite,” he said, smiling at the opportunity to finally get to kiss Shane after being taunted with touches for most of the afternoon. Shane opened the shower door and turned the dial. As the shower heated up, he turned his attention back to Ilya and slid his own swimsuit down his legs.

He could’ve left it there on the floor, but that just wasn’t like him, so he picked it up and hung it on the towel rack to dry. When he turned around, Ilya had removed his own and thrown it over the top of the shower door.

Ilya smiled as he stepped into the shower, and Shane quickly rejoined him, kissing him as the water rolled down their bodies together. He knew they didn’t have time to fully enjoy each other, but a quick moment was so much better than nothing at all. He reached down and gripped Shane’s hard cock as he kissed him, starting to stroke him. He was almost shocked when Shane repaid him in kind, doing the same to Ilya’s. They let the water cascade over them as they stroked each other, eyes holding each other’s when they weren’t kissing. It didn’t take long for Shane to come, and his release set Ilya’s as he got to hear Shane come undone and swallow the noises that he made as he found release.

For a few seconds after, they just stared at each other, and then they both shared a mutual giggle. Blissful to finally have the chance to touch each other with everything clear between them.

“We really do need to shower,” Shane said, grabbing the shampoo and quickly working it into his hair. Ilya did the same afterward, and they both cleaned themselves off, just enjoying the domesticity of sharing the space and doing something as mundane as washing their hair.

When they stepped out, Ilya wrapped a towel around his waist before handing Shane one and giving him a quick kiss. “I'm going to get dressed and head downstairs,” he said. “I think everyone was focused on their own showers earlier, but it might be pushing it to come downstairs together,” Ilya said, wishing it could be different. He gave Shane a quick parting kiss. “See you in a little bit.”

He changed quickly and started down the stairs, finding absolutely no one waiting for him. Everyone still seemed to be showering or changing.

I should've taken my time with Shane, he thought to himself.

Instead of running back up the stairs and spending another ten minutes tangled up with Shane, he began prepping the burgers in the kitchen.

Chapter End Notes

A nice chapter of sweet lake bonding and lingering touches. Next chapter: spin the bottle, because… well, I can. Thanks for reading — my body is a machine that turns comments and kudos into gay smut.

Chapter 7: Spin the Bottle

Chapter Notes

Shane, Friday Evening

Shane stood in the room, dressed, a few minutes after Ilya went downstairs. He sat on the edge of the bed and nervously twiddled his thumbs. He wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to wait before going downstairs. Five minutes? Ten?

He eventually settled on a very respectable seven minutes and thirty seconds. He set a timer on his watch and absentmindedly scrolled on his phone. But his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ilya. Ilya in the shower, Ilya in the lake, Ilya on the porch.

Ilya.
Ilya.
Ilya.

When his watch buzzed with the end of his timer, he almost wanted to ignore it and just spend more time daydreaming about a gorgeous frat president. But he could do that downstairs too, he supposed.

He tentatively walked down the stairs and took in the group around the room. Several of the frat boys were in the kitchen with Ilya, shaping burgers and chopping veggies for a salad. It looked like Eric was even making his own dressing—impressive.

Only Svetlana and Kip were with them, the rest clearly taking their sweet time in the showers. Kip was in the living room telling a story to Scott with stars in his eyes. Scott had a huge smile on his face, and they sat very close to each other despite the sprawling couch.

Svetlana was talking to Ilya in quick Russian, and he was laughing at whatever she was saying. Shane vaguely knew that Svetlana and Ilya had been friends since childhood, but it was so jarring to see them together. They were an attractive couple, and Shane felt a pang of jealousy—until Ilya’s gaze slipped to him and a smile crossed his face.

Svetlana noticed the interaction and said something mocking in Russian to him. Ilya quipped back with something. Shane didn’t speak any Russian, but the tone of Ilya’s reply was almost universal. He had absolutely told her to shut up.

Svetlana looked between the two of them again, reassessing, but then decided to drop it, simply saying, “Hi, Shane.”

Shane smiled at her. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked the room, hoping someone would let him help.

“We could use a runner to get these patties out to JJ on the deck—he’s manning the grill,” Ryan said, looking up from his cutting board to the plate of shaped patties the boys had prepared.

Shane gave a mock salute, picking up the plate. “Yes, Chef,” he said, and walked the patties outside. JJ was out at the grill flipping patties with Cliff by his side, and he was surprised to find Elena and Harris were outside as well, making conversation with the two men at the grill.

“Patty delivery,” Shane said, holding up the plate. He dropped it to various thank-yous and returned inside. He’d been worried yesterday about the two groups mixing, but it really seemed like everyone was getting along famously.

Eventually, everyone was reunited in the living room, the final showers completed. Dinner came shortly after, with JJ serving plates piled high with hot dogs and burgers, and Eric providing a large salad with homemade dressing.

The difference from dinner yesterday was stark. Everyone was laughing and chatting, conversation flowing through different groups with ease. The frat and honors society members were mixed between the living room and the kitchen table. There was no clear division tonight—everyone happily shared the meal together.

Shane was talking to Carter about their philanthropy work with mental health at the table and was continuously surprised at how much deeper the men from the frat were than he’d assumed.

Across the room, Ilya talked with Jackie, Shane could only imagine about what, while occasionally catching Shane’s eye. Every time their eyes met, Ilya’s mouth would quirk up in the slightest smile, and then he’d return his eyes to Jackie and their conversation.

After dinner, the honors team cleaned up quickly. Plates were loaded into the dishwasher, counters wiped down, and the grill cleaned courtesy of Hayden. Shane almost missed the conspiratorial discussion happening with Cliff and Carter in the corner of the room as they finished cleaning up, but their maniacal grins were just a bit too obvious.

“Alright, it’s game time everyone. Gather your preferred drink and join us in the living room,” Cliff announced, and everyone began milling about the room, gathering cans of seltzer, beer, and even some quickly mixed cocktails that Kyle had whipped up while the rest of the group cleaned up dinner.

Shane sat on the end of the couch next to Rose, who bumped his shoulder with a smile. The rest of the group had crammed onto the two couches, with even a few guys sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table to make one big circle.

“What is it we’re playing here, Marleau?” Eric asked skeptically.

Cliff produced a bottle from behind his back with a smile, placing it on the table. “This one is a classic. Spin the bottle!” he proudly proclaimed.

Cliff’s announcement was met with immediate protests. Complaints about the ratio of men to women were top of the list, but Hayden complained that his girlfriend was spoken for.

Kip jumped in at that. “What if we’re dating someone?” he asked.

“Are you?” Cliff retorted.

Kip was silent for a second, and Shane swore his eyes darted to Scott, who was sitting by his side.

Cliff took his silence as an answer. “So, no problem,” he said, “as to your other complaints. The ratio evens out a little since the honor society has three gay men. And you can choose to take a shot instead of kissing whoever the bottle chooses, if you wish. C’mon, it’ll be fun! Don’t take it so seriously,” he encouraged.

Reluctantly, there were murmurs of agreement, and Cliff gave the bottle on the table a spin. Everyone watched as it spun around. Shane could see Cliff making eyes at Elena, like he was begging the bottle to land on her. It did not. It landed on Wyatt.

This was the real make-or-break moment. If Cliff took a shot right out of the gate, it would set a tone for the rest of the game—but there was no way he was actually going to…

Cliff leaned across the table and gave Wyatt a loud kiss right on the lips. They both pulled back laughing, and the quiet tension in the room shattered with gasps and catcalls.

“Damn, Marleau, take a guy to dinner first next time,” Wyatt said with a wink at him.

From there, the game picked up, the stigma of the men kissing each other broken, and the frat men threw caution to the wind.

Rose spun, and several men stared at her like dogs waiting for their dinner. The bottle eventually stopped on Troy, who simply shrugged and gave her a quick peck on the lips before pulling back.

Elena landed on Carter, and he celebrated like he won the lottery with his prize being a very brief kiss.

Ryan spun and landed on Wyatt. Wyatt smiled. “I sure am popular tonight, aren’t I?” he said with a laugh, but Ryan surprised him by taking a shot instead. Wyatt almost looked hurt until Ryan explained, “Love you, Wyatt, but you’re like a little brother to me,” and Wyatt waved it off.

Jackie spun the bottle, and somehow it landed on Hayden. He smiled and proclaimed, “It’s fate,” before giving her a very heated kiss that bordered on exhibitionism. Everyone groaned and threw chips and napkins at them.

Kyle spun, and the bottle slowed to a crawl, nearly landing on Kip before it settled on Eric. Kyle raised his eyebrows at him. “What’s it going to be, cutie? Am I getting a kiss, or should I take a shot?” he asked, giving Eric a choice.

Eric gave a quiet laugh. “Come get your kiss,” and Kyle reached across the table to cup the back of his neck while they shared a small kiss.

There were more wolf whistles and pats on the back for Eric. The frat guys seemed to celebrate the kiss, and Shane could hear them talking about getting him “back in the saddle” after his breakup.

Then it was Shane’s turn. He gave the bottle a quick spin and watched it become a blur of brown as it rotated. It began to slow, and he thought for a heart-stopping moment it would land on Ilya. He wasn’t sure he could kiss Ilya right now without crawling into his lap and asking for more. But he didn’t end up having to worry about it when the bottle landed on Svetlana instead.

Shane wordlessly leaned over and gave her a sweet kiss, which she returned with a giggle. “Thank you, Mr. President,” she said, and Shane blushed, even though he knew she was making fun of him a little.

All was going well: jokes being flung, bottle being spun, and kisses being shared. The occasional shot was taken as people refused to kiss their best friends, or Jackie and Hayden landed on others. Jackie and Hayden ended up going to their room after only a few rounds, with lots of giggles and goodnights.

Then the game changed with a simple spin.

Kip spun the bottle just as everyone else had, laughing as it spun around. It was a jovial mood in the room until it landed on Ilya, and Shane’s blood turned to ice. Hot bursts of jealousy ran through his veins. He wondered if it was worth spilling his drink on Rose to cause a distraction. He could apologize to her later. Or maybe he should fake an emergency, something small, like a bear on the porch.

But it turned out Shane didn’t have to do any of that. Because just as Kip started leaning toward Ilya, Scott placed a hand on Kip’s shoulder, pulled him back, and kissed the living daylights out of him.

Ilya gave a very knowing smile, but the rest of the room fell silent for a moment. Scott broke the kiss and stared at Kip like he was the only one in the room.

Carter was the one who broke the silence. “Scott, I’m not 100% sure, but I don’t think there’s any interception in spin the bottle.”

Scott smiled at Carter, then said, “Sorry, but I couldn’t let my boyfriend kiss Rosanov,” slinging an arm over Kip’s shoulder and smiling.

The honor society’s reaction was immediate, with them smiling and clapping. The frat reaction took another second before the men chimed in with various shouts of encouragement. “HUNTER’S GOT A BOYFRIEND!” JJ shouted excitedly. Various guys raised their beers in a toast to him.

And then, in the strangest twist of the night, at least to Shane, they just carried on with the game.

They kept playing spin the bottle, just accepting Scott and Kip dating and going right back to the game. Ilya eventually spun the bottle, and it landed on Eric, who gave him a half-hearted peck on the lips, and Ilya loudly bragged to Wyatt that he got a kiss from Eric.

The game seemed to be winding down as people got more drunk, some calling it a night, and others seeming to couple up in the wake of Scott and Kip’s kiss. Elena landed on Cliff towards the end of the game and grabbed him by his shirt, wrenching his mouth to hers with a large cheer from the group. When she pulled back a few seconds later, Cliff had a completely awestruck smile on his face.

Troy was one of the last ones to spin, landing on Harris. Everyone at that point was either drunk or distracted, but Shane couldn’t help but notice that Troy and Harris definitely kissed for longer than necessary. Or maybe he was drunk and horny and seeing things that weren’t actually there. Very possible.

Once the game fully fell apart, the groups seemed to split apart. Some people went to the porch to talk, others darting off to their rooms. Shane observed a lot of different people walking around with their luggage and realized that Scott and Kip must have had some people switch rooms so they could share their room.

When the house finally quieted down, Shane poured himself a nice glass of water in the kitchen and then headed upstairs to join Ilya in their room. He was excited for tonight; they’d have to be quiet with Scott and Kip next door, but he was looking forward to finally getting to kiss Ilya after having to watch him kiss multiple other people during the game.

But when Shane opened the door to their room, he found it empty. Ilya wasn’t anywhere to be found in the bedroom or en-suite. Shane’s heart sank. Maybe in all the room swapping, Ilya had found a chance to sleep somewhere else. He sat on the bed with a heavy heart and sighed deeply.

But then he really thought. His tipsy brain took a second to look around. Ilya’s things were all there. He had been all over Shane in the shower earlier, and they had cleared the air on the porch. There was no chance that Ilya would abandon him now.

Shane pulled on a hoodie and walked back down the stairs. The house was mostly quiet, but tonight there were some rather distinctive sounds of sex coming from all three levels. Shane pushed away the thought in the back of his head that one of those might be coming from Ilya. Instead, he looked around—Ilya wasn’t on the main floor, and all the doors were closed on the first floor. Finally, he opened the back door to check the hot tub.

It was empty, and he was just about to give up when he spotted a figure out on the dock in a beach chair, fully reclined. He couldn’t be sure it was Ilya, but everything in his gut told him it was.

He walked down to the dock and slowly approached. There was barely any light, the moon not out, but the stars were incredibly vivid overhead. Shane sat down on a chair next to Ilya’s and reclined to match his posture.

“Hey,” he said simply, hoping he wasn’t intruding.

“Hey,” Ilya responded, his tone warm. “I was hoping you’d find me.”

Chapter End Notes

Two things about this chapter:

1.) Isn’t it funny that the “kissing chapter” is one of the least explicit so far?
2.) I have a confession—I hadn’t read Tough Guy and Common Goal until this past weekend. I know. Total crime to write fanfic, having only read 2/3 of the series, but here we are. Hopefully, Ryan, Kyle, and Eric feel a little more in character now that I’ve read their books (sorry about that).

Anyway—lots more to come! Keep your eyes out for a little Skip one-shot detailing the weekend up to this point from their POV. It’ll be in the Cabin Fever series tag that this fic is part of.

Chapter 8: Written in the Stars

Chapter Notes

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains discussions of depression, suicide (historical, off-page), and grief. It also touches on family pressure and personal identity struggles. Reader discretion is advised.

Ilya, Friday Night

The night was quiet around them, the lake still, the moon gone. It was like the world was holding its breath, watching and waiting for who would break the silence first.

The dock creaked softly beneath them, wood cooling as the day’s heat slipped away. Somewhere far across the water, a loon called, long and lonely, and the sound rippled across the glassy surface of the lake. The air smelled like damp pine and cold water, the kind of chill that crept in slowly, settling into sleeves and collars.

Shane sat next to him, his head tilted to the stars, taking in the night sky like it was something brand new.

“Do you know the constellations?” Ilya asked quietly.

“Actually no,” Shane admitted. “I know it’s shocking, but the president doesn’t, in fact, know it all,” he said, jest in his voice. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Ilya replied on an exhale. “My mom taught them to me.”

The words hovered between them, fragile. Ilya let them sit there, bracing himself for what it meant to open this door. He had mentioned his father before, in passing. That was easy. Anger was easier. Talking about his mother was like pressing on a bruise that never faded.

It had been nearly ten years, and still the memory of her could split him clean down the middle.

“She loved the sky,” he said. “Loved the stories of the gods. All their drama and mess.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “She told them like they were gossip about people she knew.”

He could almost see it. The scratchy wool blanket she always brought, the thermos of peppermint tea, the way she would tuck him into her side and point with cold fingers at the dark.

Shane stayed quiet, listening, giving him space. Instinctively knowing this wasn’t something to interrupt.

Ilya gestured overhead, and Shane followed his hand.

“That’s the Summer Triangle. Aquila, Cygnus, and Lyra. The eagle, the swan, and the harp.”

“Beautiful,” Shane murmured.

“My mom liked Lyra best out of those,” Ilya said. “It belonged to Orpheus. He played music so beautiful it could make stones cry. He even went to the underworld to try to bring back the person he loved.”

“Did he succeed?” Shane asked softly.

Ilya shook his head. “No. He almost did. But he looked back too soon.” He huffed a quiet breath. “She used to say love makes people brave and stupid in equal measure.”

Shane smiled at that.

“Cygnus is a swan,” Ilya continued, pointing. “Some stories say he was a man who loved his friend so much that when the friend died, he threw himself into the river. The gods turned him into a swan and put him in the sky so he wouldn’t drown.”

“That’s kind of sad,” Shane said.

“Most of them are,” Ilya replied.

He shifted, pointing again. “Over there, that W shape. That’s Cassiopeia. And just beside her is Andromeda. Mother and daughter.”

“What’s their story?”

“Cassiopeia bragged that Andromeda was more beautiful than the sea nymphs. The gods didn’t like that. So they punished Andromeda for it, chained her to a rock as a sacrifice.” His voice softened. “A daughter paying for a mother’s mistake.”

Shane’s fingers tightened slightly around his.

“But she gets saved,” Ilya added. “A hero comes. Cuts her free.”

He let their hands fall back down but did not let go. Their fingers brushed, then stayed.

“And there’s Pegasus,” he said, tracing the shape. “Winged horse. Born from something terrible, but became something magnificent.”

Shane glanced at him. “Your mom told them like that too?”

“Yeah,” Ilya said with a small laugh. “Very dramatic. Terrible accents. She always mixed up the names. Called Pegasus ‘Pegas’ half the time.”

Shane grinned. “That’s cute.”

“Yeah,” Ilya said softly. “It was.”

He pointed lower. “Those faint stars there, that’s Pisces. Two fish tied together so they wouldn’t lose each other while they were escaping a monster. A mother and her son.”

Shane’s thumb brushed over Ilya’s knuckles, slow and grounding.

“What was your mom’s favorite?” he asked.

Ilya swallowed. “She loved them all. But she really liked the ones where someone gets saved. I think she saw herself in a lot of the women in those stories, punished for things that weren’t their fault.” His voice wavered. “She and my father didn’t have the most pleasant relationship.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane said gently.

The lake lapped softly against the dock. A breeze moved through the reeds at the shoreline with a dry whisper.

“She was a Pisces,” Ilya said after a moment, pointing again. “That story about the mother tying herself to her son so they would not get separated.” His voice turned rough. “I guess I wish she had believed in that one a little more. That she hadn’t left me behind.”

Silence settled heavy and thick. Ilya stared out at the water, counting his breaths. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Shane did not rush to fill the quiet. He just stayed there, thumb moving slowly back and forth over the back of Ilya’s hand.

“How did she die?” Shane asked gently.

Ilya turned from the sky to Shane’s face, barely visible in the dark.

“She killed herself,” he said. “When I was twelve. Swallowed a bottle of pills.” His jaw tightened. “I was the one who found her.”

Shane’s hand squeezed his. Not tight, just there.

“Ilya—”

“She was really sad,” he said quickly. “And her life in America wasn’t what she thought it would be. I know she loved me. It was just too much. My father is not an easy man to be with.”

“Have you talked to anyone about this?” Shane asked.

“Some of my brothers know she’s dead. None of them know how. But I started therapy a few years ago. Got on antidepressants. It’s helped.” He let out a shaky breath. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told that I wasn’t paying to listen.”

A small huff of laughter escaped him, brittle but real.

“She would have liked you,” he added, voice softer now.

“I think I would have liked her too,” Shane said. “I bet you’re like her in all the best ways.”

“I hope so.”

They sat in the quiet a while longer, the stars steady above them.

“Can I tell you something too?” Shane asked after a bit.

Ilya glanced at him. “Always.”

Shane stared up at the sky as he spoke. “My parents are good. Really good. They love me a lot.” He huffed softly. “Sometimes too much.”

Ilya smiled faintly.

“I’m the first one in my family to go to college. My mom still cries about it. My dad tells everyone at work.” He paused. “They’ve always had this plan in their heads. Law school. Big career. House. Wife. Kids.”

“You don’t want that?” Ilya asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Shane admitted. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how much of it is me and how much is just the path that was laid out so early I never thought to step off.”

The dock creaked as he shifted closer.

“I went pre-law because it made them proud. And I like it, I think. But sometimes I wonder if I ever really chose it.” His voice dropped. “And I don’t want to come out because I don’t want them to think I’m losing focus. Like being gay is some kind of distraction from becoming who they’ve been waiting for me to be.”

Ilya’s grip tightened.

“They’d love me,” Shane said quickly. “I know they would. That’s the worst part. I just don’t want to watch them realize the future they pictured isn’t happening. Grandkids are everything to them.”

“You could still have those things,” Ilya said.

“I know,” Shane replied. “But it won’t look the way they imagined. And I’m scared of being the one who changes that.”

Ilya rested his chin lightly against Shane’s temple. “That’s a heavy thing to carry alone.”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “It is.”

They sat there under the stars, two different kinds of grief resting side by side. One for a past that could not be changed, one for a future that might have to be.

After a while, Shane nudged him lightly. “Okay. More stars. Distract me.”

Ilya smiled against his hair. “Bossy.”

He pointed again. “See that little cluster near Taurus? That’s the Pleiades. Seven sisters. A hunter chased them, and the gods turned them into stars so they would be safe together.”

Shane squinted. “I only see like six.”

“Yeah,” Ilya said. “My mom used to say the seventh was shy.”

Shane laughed softly. “I like that.”

“Me too.”

He traced the shape of Taurus, and Shane interrupted, “That’s my sign. I’m a Taurus.”

“Stubborn bull,” Ilya teased.

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

“Is yours up there?”

“Gemini? Not this time of year.”

“What’s the story?”

“Twins who loved each other so much one refused to live without the other,” Ilya said. “So they share the sky now.” He exhaled. “I haven’t talked to my brother in years, so not very relatable.”

“Okay, forget the myth,” Shane said. “What about the traits?”

“Well, charming, obviously,” Ilya said. “Adaptable. Talented. Witty.”

Shane shoved his shoulder. “And the bad ones?”

“They say Geminis can be two-faced,” he admitted. “Different people in different rooms.” His voice softened. “That one might be true.”

“I like every side of you,” Shane said quietly.

“I like all your sides too, Hollander,” Ilya murmured. “Especially the back side.”

“Oh my god,” Shane groaned, shoving him again. “I’m trying to have a moment.”

“Come here and have it, then,” Ilya said, patting the space between his legs.

Shane hesitated only a second before shifting back, settling between Ilya’s legs, his back against Ilya’s chest, his head tipping onto his shoulder.

Ilya wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Shane’s fingers absently traced slow shapes over Ilya’s forearm, back and forth, back and forth, like he did not even realize he was doing it.

They talked in murmurs after that. About nothing. About everything. Favorite classes, worst road trips, foods they missed from home.

At some point, Shane went quiet.

Ilya felt the change in his breathing first, slower and deeper. The weight of him settling fully, trustingly.

He stayed like that a long time, just holding him, watching the stars his mother had loved burn quietly above them.

Eventually, the cold crept in deep enough to matter. Ilya pressed another kiss into Shane’s hair and gently woke him.

They slipped back up the path, the house dark and still. Inside, there was no hesitation, no careful distance. Ilya pulled Shane close in bed, tucking him against his chest.

Shane sighed in his sleep, instinctively curling closer.

And wrapped around warmth and steady breathing, with the memory of stars overhead and stories still echoing softly in his chest, Ilya drifted off feeling something he had not in a long time.

Peace.

Chapter End Notes

Woo! I bet you were expecting a hot and heavy makeout under the stars, and instead you got angst, suicide, and a lesson in astronomy and astrology. If you feel cheated, I apologize... I promise there is frotting in the next chapter if that makes up for it.

If you’re tearing up, I’m also sorry, but tender Ilya is my favorite. There are obviously some major changes from canon, with Ilya’s parents having moved to America and Shane being the first in his family to go to college, but this is AU, so I hope you’ll forgive me for that.

As always, thank you so much for reading and for your comments and kudos. Also, shameless plug for the companion series Cabin Fever: there’s a Skip one-shot covering his POV of chapters 1–7 (Rules of the Game), and I’m working on a Troy/Harris one that will cover chapters 1–8.

Chapter 9: Hours to Burn

Chapter Notes

Content Warning: Explicit sexual content, strong language, breath play, and consensual power play.

Shane, Saturday Morning

Shane awoke softly to the feeling of warm fingers tracing over his back. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on the sensations around him. He could feel the slight breeze on the back of his neck from Ilya’s exhales behind him. The soft pressure of Ilya’s fingers against the cotton of his T-shirt and then the rough callouses on his hands when they slipped along Shane’s lower back, where his T-shirt had ridden up in his sleep.

He let himself linger in the moment, trying to memorize the warmth and safety he felt in Ilya’s arms. The way the blankets bunched around their forms, holding them together. Shane didn’t want to shatter the moment; he wanted to stay there all day, just being held by Ilya. That was enough for him.

Yesterday their morning had been filled with heat and denial, scrambling to get away from the tension that had built between them. But today was different. Shane let himself sink further into Ilya's arms and let out a contented sigh.

“Still pretending to be asleep, or are you ready to open your eyes?” Ilya asked him playfully.

“I’m asleep,” Shane said, his eyes still closed, nestling against Ilya.

Shane felt the caress of Ilya’s hand against his cheek, tilting his face up, and tentatively opened his eyes.

Ilya was leaning over his shoulder, his lips impossibly close, his face calm. He let out a small smile as Shane fully opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he said before giving Shane the briefest of kisses, his lips barely grazing Shane’s before pulling back with another smile.

“Good morning,” Shane said, his smile mirroring Ilya’s. And then he leaned up and recaptured Ilya’s lips.

Shane normally wasn’t one for morning kissing before brushing his teeth, but something about Ilya was irresistible. He gave Ilya’s shoulder a light shove, and Ilya fell onto his back, Shane climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs. Ilya kissed Shane back with fervor he had been holding back, wrapping one hand around the back of his head, twining into his hair, and the other wrapping around the front of his throat.

They ground against each other; Shane more than once felt the scrape of teeth as they kissed, his head being positioned by Ilya as the man moved him around by his throat.

Shane opened his eyes for a second to take in Ilya beneath him, when he spotted it on the bedside table. The old analog alarm clock read 11:15. But that couldn’t be right. Shane had never slept that late in his entire life. The red numbers just stared back at him unblinking as Shane paused, panic settling in for a moment. He refused to let his mind spiral until he checked the facts.

Ilya looked dazed beneath him. “What’s going on? Why did you…” he started, but Shane silenced him with two fingers to his lips. This seemed to amuse Ilya greatly, and his answering smirk warned Shane he’d be paying for this later. But Shane had already raised his other hand, glancing at his watch. The display matched the insipid alarm clock.

And so the panic commenced. Shane’s mind raced.
How had he let himself sleep this late?
Was everyone downstairs just waiting for them?
What was everyone thinking about them?
How could he be so careless to waste the day like this?
How mad would everyone be at him?

His breaths became shallow, and he felt utterly ridiculous straddling Ilya now. He clambered off him and sat on the edge of the bed with his head between his legs, taking deep breaths, trying to calm the panic that came unbidden to him.

Ilya must have put it all together quickly, because a few seconds later he was there, stroking Shane’s back and whispering assurance into his hair.

“It’s okay, we were up really late and our bodies needed the rest.”

Shane attempted to slow his racing heart as Ilya rubbed comforting circles on his back.

“Shane, breathe. It’s okay,” Ilya coached.

Shane felt ridiculous freaking out over something as small as sleeping in too late, but that was the nature of this kind of panic. He couldn’t control what sent his body into panic, but he could take the steps to calm his racing pulse.

He let the minutes tick by, his breaths coming slower and deeper, his heart slowing, and still Ilya stayed by his side, quiet and reassuring in his touch.

After what seemed like an eternity to Shane, though the clock showed it had only been a few minutes, he raised his head and gave Ilya a slight nod. “I’m okay,” he said shakily. “Sorry, that was so embarrassing, I don’t know why I get like that.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Ilya said, his hand remaining on Shane’s back, almost moving on its own accord. “I’ve had panic attacks before,” Ilya admitted. “I know how it feels.”

Shane didn’t know how to respond to that besides reaching out and giving Ilya’s knee a squeeze—trying to convey all that he was feeling and thinking: I see you and I appreciate you.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Ilya said decisively. “Might as well face the music, but I guarantee the Sig Rhos are either in the lake or off causing trouble somewhere else. They wait for no one,” he said with reassurance.

“Okay,” Shane agreed. “Do you want me to go first, or do you want to?”

“I think it’s safe to go downstairs at the same time,” Ilya said. That’s not really that suspicious when they’re sharing a room.

“Okay,” Shane said tentatively.

The hallway outside their room was still and dim, sunlight only just starting to creep in through the windows at the far end. No voices. No doors opening and closing. No music drifting up from downstairs.

Shane slowed on the first step. “It’s… really quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Ilya murmured. “If Wyatt was awake, we’d hear him from here.”

That earned the faintest huff of a laugh from Shane as they continued down.

The living room came into view first—blankets rumpled on the couches, a hoodie tossed over a chair, an empty water bottle on the coffee table.

“Hello?” Shane called softly.

Nothing answered but the hum of the refrigerator.

They moved into the kitchen together, shoulders brushing. A pan sat in the sink, soaking in cloudy water. The coffee maker was off, the pot empty but stained at the bottom like someone had used it hours ago. A loaf of bread lay open on the counter beside a knife with peanut butter still clinging to it.

“They didn’t clean up,” Shane said, frowning. “That’s… concerning.”

“Or,” Ilya said, spotting something on the island, “they left in a hurry.”

A folded sheet of paper sat near the fruit bowl, held in place by a salt shaker. Shane picked it up and unfolded it while Ilya leaned into his side to read.

Rose’s handwriting. Neat and unmistakable.

Shane,
We didn’t want to wake you after the late night. Happy to see you getting some much-needed beauty rest x
Our group decided to split up and go on some separate adventures. The people who are absolutely insane and don’t know how to relax are taking a hike to a nearby waterfall. They left from the trail that’s at the bottom of the driveway and promised they wouldn’t get eaten by bears. In case they all go missing—here is who went on that trip:
Scott and Kip 😛
Cliff
Eric
Troy
Wyatt
Kyle
Elena
Harris
The rest of us drove into town to do some window shopping and explore because we know how to have fun and relax.
Our group should be back around one for lunch and games. If the hiking group doesn’t get lost in the woods, unlikely, then I think they said they should be back around then too.
Love you, please don’t kill Rosanov while you’re alone with him. He’s growing on me.
Rose

Shane blinked. Then blinked again.

“They’re all gone,” he said.

Ilya looked around the empty kitchen, then back at him, slow understanding settling in.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Looks like it’s just us.”

The collision was immediate. One moment they’d been steps away from each other in the kitchen, and the next they were a writhing mess of hands, teeth, and tongues. Ilya pressed Shane against the fridge, molding his body to the cold stainless steel. It would have been uncomfortable if Shane’s body hadn’t been on fire with heat and lust.

Ilya wasn’t much better. He was rutting against Shane, his kisses sloppy and rushed, like he was trying to take everything he could, but didn’t know how long they would have.

Shane leaned his head back and let out a slow moan as Ilya moved his attention to Shane’s neck, licking a path down and focusing on the pulse that fluttered under his ministrations.

“Ilya,” Shane whimpered, “we have hours,” Shane found himself saying. The minutes were ticking by, but for the first time they had the time and privacy to be together properly.

Ilya grunted against his neck. “Oh, I know,” he said with a mischievous tilt of his mouth. “I’m going to use every second that we have to take you apart, Hollander.”

Shane moaned at Ilya’s words and found his mouth again, their tongues dancing together.

Their hands roamed, Ilya’s thigh between Shane’s as he kissed him, and Shane ground against it with wanton abandon.

“Want this?” Ilya said, almost unconsciously, the words coming forth unprompted. Ilya wrenched away, and Shane instantly mourned the loss of heat his hard body had been providing.

Ilya walked over casually to the couch, like they had all day and not just an hour or two.

Shane still stood against the fridge, disheveled and panting.

On the couch, Ilya sat down, his gaze holding Shane’s as he popped the button of his pants and dragged down his zipper.

Shane stood, hypnotized, as Ilya pulled out his erection and gave it a slow stroke. Shane’s mouth watered as he watched Ilya handle his cock. Ilya tilted his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, letting out a low moan. Without looking at Shane he ordered, “Come here.”

Shane moved immediately, unable to resist Ilya’s orders. Not that he tried.

As he entered the living room, he wondered where Ilya wanted him—on his knees in front of him or arranged on his lap, writhing and willing. Shane hesitated a moment in front of Ilya, unsure.

Ilya raised his head, eyes open, and patted his lap, his hand continuing to move up and down his dick. “Here,” he said, patting his lap—voice raspy with desire.

Shane went to unbutton his pants, but Ilya held up his free hand—stopping him. “No, keep them on.”

Shane was confused but followed the direction and climbed onto the couch, straddling Ilya.

Ilya continued to stroke himself, and Shane sat on his lap, looking down at the sight beneath him. His jeans felt tight around him, his aching cock restricted. He reached down a hand to readjust, give himself friction, something, and Ilya slapped it lightly away.

Shane moaned in frustration, and Ilya gave a pleased smile. “Do you deserve it, Shane?” he asked, his voice a teasing lilt in Shane’s ear.

“Yes,” Shane whispered back. “Please, Ilya,” he asked, his hips moving to their own accord, thrusting against air, hoping for any kind of contact.

They found no purchase, just the crushing pressure of his jeans.

“What is it you need?” Ilya asked, still stroking himself, amused by Shane’s desperation.

“You know what I need,” Shane ground out, the lust blurring into frustration.

“Yes, I do,” Ilya admitted. “But I want to hear you say it, Shane. I want to hear you beg for me to touch you. And you can grind against me like the needy little slut you are all day, but you’re not going to get what you want until I hear it.” He said each last word of his sentence slow and deliberate.

The fingers on Ilya’s free hand wound into Shane’s hair and wrenched his head back, exposing the tender flesh of his neck. Ilya gave Shane a small nip there and then soothed it with his tongue, waiting for Shane to speak. Waiting for Shane to beg.

This game was new to Shane. He’d experienced Ilya’s bossiness a little in the frat house that night, but he hadn’t had to beg. And somehow it came naturally to him. He would have been embarrassed any other time, but all he felt was need as he whimpered, “Please Ilya, I need you.”

Ilya tsked with his lips. “Be more specific, Shane. What is it you need from me?” but Shane had to be on the right track because Ilya rewarded him anyway, running a single finger across the hard length straining beneath Shane’s jeans.

Shane’s thoughts were a jumble; he could barely remember what words were let alone how to make a sentence, but still he tried. “Need you… need you to touch me… touch my cock… make me come… please Ilya,” half of his words were mixed with whimpers, and barely audible—the slight friction from Ilya’s finger and the visual of him pleasuring himself almost unbearable.

“Better,” Ilya said, and Shane couldn’t see it so much as feel him smile against his neck. Ilya’s fingers deftly undid the button on Shane’s pants and dragged the zipper down. Shane nearly came when Ilya reached into Shane’s briefs and removed his cock, giving it a single stroke. But Shane bit his lip and held on, begging his dick to behave so he could enjoy this for just a few more blissful minutes.

But Ilya’s hand left him, and Shane let out a pained grunt at the loss of contact. He thoughtlessly brought his own hand to his cock, desperate for the contact, but Ilya grabbed hold of his wrist and instead placed it on Ilya’s cock.

“You’ll touch yourself when I say,” Ilya warned, “and only then,” he said as Shane continued to stroke him.

“Please,” Shane begged. He wasn’t even sure what he was begging for anymore. And Ilya seemed to take some mercy on him, raising his hand in front of Shane’s lips and telling him, “Spit.” Shane did so, and Ilya brought his hand down to Shane’s cock and began stroking him using Shane’s own spit. He should be disgusted, but instead he only felt intense pleasure building within him. They stayed like that for a few moments, both touching each other, eyes meeting as they enjoyed the pleasure they brought each other.

And then Ilya wrapped his hand around Shane’s throat and ordered him, “Grab both.”

Shane wrapped his hands around both of them, continuing to stroke, thrusting against Ilya’s cock with his own—pure heaven.

“Good,” Ilya moaned, clearly trying to hold onto control. “Now Shane, I’m going to keep my hand right here,” he said, giving Shane’s throat a light squeeze, demonstrating his hold. “And you’re going to keep stroking us, but you are not allowed to come until I do,” Ilya said, his voice gravely. “Okay?” He confirmed, loosening his hold on Shane’s throat slightly.

“Yes,” Shane whimpered. And then Ilya squeezed in earnest, and Shane felt his head spin, the blood flow to his head slowed—the sensation new and delicious. Ilya and Shane’s eyes both watched as Shane stroked them faster and faster, both thrusting against his hand. Shane closed his eyes for a moment; the visual of their cocks rubbing together was too much on top of all the other sensations.

He was letting out embarrassing moans and whimpers, unable to hold them in as the pleasure of their rutting consumed him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Ilya moaned. “Want to hear you, so fucking hot when you moan for me.”

He was struggling not to finish, to wait for Ilya. The praise from Ilya sank deep into his bones. Ilya’s thrusts grew more erratic, and his fingers squeezed a little harder. Shane sucked in a shallow breath and stroked faster, fighting with everything he had to not come before Ilya did.

“Shane,” Ilya said, “Fuck, I’m gonna…” Ilya came only a second before Shane did. Ilya’s hand fell from Shane’s neck, and blood rushed into his head, the feeling heady and pushing Shane over the edge. Their cum mixed together over Shane’s hand as he stroked them through the final throes of their shared orgasm.

For a moment, they stayed pressed together, trembling and breathless, letting the aftershocks wash over them. Shane leaned into Ilya, forehead resting against his chest, as the intensity slowly ebbed and a warm, satisfied calm settled between them. Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, holding him close, murmuring soft praises into his hair, the sound soothing and grounding. They lingered like that for a bit, hands gently exploring, soft kisses shared, until the need for showers won out.

“We should… clean up,” Shane said, voice still husky but calmer. Ilya nodded, and they moved carefully to to their room.

Upstairs, the hot water and quiet intimacy of washing each other’s hair extended their closeness, soft touches and murmured words filling the bathroom. By the time they dressed, they were calm, content, and still tangled in one another, smiles lingering, the heat of earlier still present but softened into a comfortable warmth.

Shane really liked domestic Ilya.

They’d redressed and headed down the stairs. Shane had reached the bottom when the front door opened, and a rush of people entered the room.

“Hey, you guys!” Wyatt said with a wave.

Shane gave him a wave in response as Ilya finished descending the stairs.

“What have you guys been up to while we hiked?” Elena asked.

Without thinking, Shane and Ilya spoke at the same time.

“Reading,” Shane said, voice casual.

“Swimming,” Ilya said at the exact same time.

The hiking group paused, exchanging confused and amused glances. Wyatt squinted at them. “Reading and swimming at the same time? That’s some impressive multitasking,” he said with a laugh.

“He was reading, and I went swimming,” Ilya answered, and then added, “separately,” for clarification, though no one had asked.

“Cool,” Scott said with a smile, the group heading to the kitchen to begin on lunch, telling Ilya and Shane about their hike. No one seemed to notice the way Shane’s cheeks flamed, or the small pinch Ilya gave Shane’s backside as they joined in conversation with the group.

Chapter End Notes

We made it, folks! This chapter delivers the frotting that @whimsykinset requested on TikTok—frat guy Ilya, nerdy Shane (she said virgin, but I can only do so much). Promise fulfilled, my dear. Hope you little freaks enjoyed.

Next chapter we will have some good old-fashioned Frat Olympics. Only three chapters left, so get ready.

The rest of the story will sprinkle in little bits and pieces from our other couples, but for the other couples’ POVs and the down-and-dirty, check out the Cabin Fever series. Currently, there’s a Scott & Kip oneshot (PG, chapters 1–7 of this fic) and a Harris & Troy one (explicit, same timeframe as chapter 8). More are on the way, including some #girlskissing.

And of course, kudos and comments make my day, I truly read evcery single one and love hearing from you.

Chapter 10: Olympic Ceremony

Chapter Notes

Content/Chapter Warning: This chapter contains foul language, binge drinking, and general chaos. If you’ve made it this far in the story, you’ve seen way worse-you'll be fine.

Ilya, Saturday Afternnon

The house felt different once everyone was back.
Louder. Warmer. Charged.

The group who had gone shopping in town returned with arms laden with what Ilya could only properly describe as crap.

JJ came in with a large cardboard box that looked heavy. He was smiling over his purchase and, upon the first sign of interest, pulled out a wooden Bigfoot sculpture. It was about ten inches tall and the ugliest thing Ilya had ever seen.

“No. Absolutely not,” Ilya said decisively. “Put it back in the box and get it out of my sight.”

“C’mon, Ilya,” JJ said, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “The local historian who sold it to me promised it will bring us good luck. Don’t you like good luck?”

“Please note,” Ryan said, appearing over Ilya’s other shoulder like they were a cartoon angel and devil, “this ‘local historian’ was a teenager with a Bigfoot apron on.”

“Haha,” JJ said, mocking. “You make fun of me now, but when my team is wiping the floor with you in Beer Olympics, you will be eating your words.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ilya said with a roll of his eyes.

“We brought fudge,” Rose announced, dumping multiple boxes onto the counter like a heroic offering. “It’s world-famous.”

“It’s from a strip mall,” Ryan said, ever the optimist.

“WORLD. FAMOUS.” Ryan said this while very obviously trying to hide a bulging paper bag behind his leg.

Rose narrowed her eyes. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Ryan.”

He sighed dramatically and dumped the contents onto the counter: a truly unreasonable amount of saltwater taffy in bright pastel wrappers.

There was a beat.

“We’re not even near the ocean,” Carter said.

“It was on sale,” Ryan snapped. “And at least mine doesn’t look like it was poured out of a witch’s cauldron.”

Rose gasped like he’d slapped her. “This is maple walnut!”

“Exactly.”

Svetlana followed, arms free from the boxes and bags most were lugging in. Ilya caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like her to go shopping and come back without something shiny.

Svetlana simply pulled her hair back to expose a pair of simple, dangly silver earrings.

“Beautiful,” he told her in Russian.

She smirked back, obviously pleased with her purchase that Ilya was sure she’d grossly overpaid for.

Behind her, Elena breezed in empty-handed, looking deeply satisfied with herself.

“What did you get?” Shane asked.

Elena gestured vaguely at the mountain of junk now covering the counter. “Joy. Memories. The experience of watching all of you make terrible financial decisions.”

“You didn’t buy anything?” Wyatt asked.

“Oh, I bought things,” she said serenely. “Just not for me.”

Hayden walked up behind her with a large bag. “Where do you want your purchases?” he asked.

“You can hand them, Hayden. That way I can watch the joy unfold,” she said.

Hayden walked around the room, stopping at every single person and handing them a hat from the bag. They were ridiculous: all bright neon and every single one having a cliché graphic and text.

Carter slapped his on his head immediately, and Ilya had the chance to read: “FBI – Federal Beer Inspector.” He smirked, shaking his head. Next to him, Wyatt was sporting a neon orange cap that proclaimed: “Professional Napper – Don’t Disturb,” while Rose ended up with one of the worst offenders: “Certified Chaos Coordinator,” complete with a cartoon whirlwind behind the letters.

Elena’s eyes lit up as she saw Shane pick up a lime green monstrosity reading: “Official Moose Whisperer,” his expression a mix of horror and amusement.

Svetlana received a pink glittered cap declaring: “Bigfoot Sighting Squad,” and she laughed softly, the sparkle catching the sunlight. Kip, of course, got one that seemed custom-made for him: “Quantum Physics Expert – Ask Me Nothing,” and he immediately shoved it down over his eyes, muttering something about dignity. Ilya, meanwhile, just shook his head, tugging his own hat into place: “Caution: Tourist at Work,” clearly appreciating the absurdity without complaint.

Elena clapped her hands together, satisfied. “See? Pure joy. You’re all perfect.”

Near the doorway, Jackie slipped in quietly, holding a small white CVS bag close to her side like it contained state secrets. Eric noticed immediately.

“What’d you get?” Eric asked.

“Snacks,” Jackie said quickly.

“From CVS?”

“Yes.”

Eric looked deeply unconvinced but didn’t push, just smiled in a way that suggested this conversation was not, in fact, over.

Meanwhile, Hayden came in last with a sensible reusable bag.

“I got sunscreen,” he announced. “And ibuprofen. And electrolyte packets.”

A small silence fell.

“Thank you, Dad,” Kip said, patting him on the shoulder as he walked by.

Hayden didn’t even argue.

JJ set the Bigfoot statue in the center of the kitchen island like a shrine.

“All right,” he said. “He watches over us now.”

“He’s not staying there,” Ilya said.

“He is absolutely staying there,” Rose said, already opening fudge.

And just like that, the house tipped fully into chaos.

Lunch became a chaotic, standing-room-only affair of pasta salad, chips, and people stealing bites off each other’s plates. Someone turned music on. Someone else cracked the first “pre–Beer Olympics” beer, which quickly became several.

By the time Wyatt clapped loudly and yelled, “TEAMS, LET’S GO,” no one was sober enough to object. Marleau almost seemed annoyed about Wyatt stealing his move, but seemed to let it go as the group spilled out to the back of the house.

Teams were shouted, argued, swapped, and re-argued until they landed on:

• Ilya, Svetlana, and Ryan
  
  
• Shane, Rose, and Elena
  
  
• Kip, Jackie, and Hayden
  
  
• Scott, Wyatt, and Carter
  
  
• Troy, Harris, and JJ
  
  
• Eric, Kyle, and Marleau
  
  

Eric lifted a hand. “I don’t drink, maybe I should sit this one out.”

A chorus of groans rose immediately.

“You played Rage Cage!” Kip accused.

Eric didn’t blink. “You don’t have to drink if you make every shot.”

There was a pause.

Kyle slowly turned toward him. “He’s not wrong.”

Marleau was already handing Eric a can of seltzer. “We’ll be his proxies.”

“That feels illegal,” Scott called.

“Skill issue,” Eric replied calmly.

The frat got to work in coordination they had practiced 100 times before, dragging folding tables, coolers, and a Bluetooth speaker that immediately started blasting early 2010s throwbacks.

The first race started before half the teams realized it had.

“GO!” Wyatt screamed, and suddenly Shane had a can tipped to his lips while Rose smacked his back hard enough to almost make him choke.

Beer spilled down his chin as he tried to swallow too fast. Across the table, Ilya tipped his own can back with infuriating ease, throat working smoothly as he drained it in one go.

He didn’t break eye contact.

Shane inhaled foam and coughed while Elena yelled, “BREATHE, HOLLANDER, WE NEED YOU ALIVE.”

Ilya was momentarily distracted by the sight of foam running down Shane’s chin, spilling onto his shirt, but he was brought out of the temporary hypnosis when Ryan and Svetlana started shouting about their victory. Ilya turned to his teammates and gave them a thumbs up.

He walked over to the whiteboard they had set up with the teams and gave his team a quick tally mark for the win. Behind him, the other teams faced off. Troy, Harris, and JJ winning an easy victory over Marleau, Eric, and Kyle, even with Eric drinking seltzer instead of beer.

The real shocking defeat was Scott, Wyatt, and Carter losing to, yes—he double-checked—Hayden, Jackie, and Kip.

What the hell?

There were a couple more matchups, each team facing off with a different competitor. Ilya’s team had easily won against Shane’s team, but he was shocked when Hayden’s team won again.

What the fuck was happening?

After two rounds of boat racing, the unanimous decision was made to switch to flip cup. Perhaps Hayden and Jackie were just skilled at chugging, but that wouldn’t really help in flip cup.

Cups slapped down onto the table in crooked lines, beer sloshing everywhere. Flip cup dissolved into screaming within seconds.

Elena leaned across the table, eyes locked on Marleau as he lined up his flip. “Don’t choke,” she said sweetly.

He absolutely choked, cinching their team’s victory. Looked like the honors team was playing dirty.

At his own table, Jackie flipped her cup on the first try three rounds in a row without changing expression. Hayden followed with a casual, behind-the-back flip that landed perfectly.

Ryan narrowed his eyes at them. “You two have been hustling us all weekend.”

They just smiled, and Kip quickly flipped his as well, winning the game for them.

One of the flip cup tables swapped games without announcing it, and suddenly a ball was flying across the table toward a loose circle of cups.

“WHEN DID WE START CHANDELIER?” JJ yelled.

No one answered.

The ball ricocheted off the table, and Troy and Harris both lunged for it at the same time. Their hands collided, fingers tangling for a split second too long.

They froze.

JJ snatched the rebound from between them and sank it into the center cup. “Can you two focus on the game for like five seconds and leave that weird tension for later?”

“No,” they said at the same time, not looking at him.

On the other side, Shane went for a bounce shot and felt fingers close around his wrist mid-throw.

“Wrong angle,” Ilya murmured close to his ear, adjusting his hand slightly before letting go.

Shane missed anyway. Ilya smiled like that had been the point.

As more drinks were poured, chugged, and cups flipped, the teams started to dissolve. Tallies were added to their whiteboard with no rhyme or reason. JJ brought out the Sasquatch statue and planted it on a table stating, “It’s my new teammate since mine are too busy FLIRTING.”

At some point, Rose climbed onto a chair with a cup raised like a deranged game show host.

“TRIVIA MYSTERY SHOT!” she declared. “Knowledge is power. Ignorance tastes like regret.”

Svetlana appeared beside her holding a tray of unlabeled cups in colors that did not occur in nature.

“What year was the fraternity founded?” Rose called.

“Nineteen seventy-something!” Scott guessed.

“WRONG. Drink the orange one.”

Scott sniffed it and recoiled. “That smells like a hate crime.”

“It’s tequila and hot sauce,” Jackie offered helpfully.

Eric answered three questions in a row correctly and didn’t drink once.

“He’s cheating, I swear,” Wyatt grumbled.

Kyle answered a question wrong and took his shot with a grimace. “That’s pickle juice and vodka. That’s not a beverage. That’s a cry for help.”

Marleau patted his back. “Proud of you, buddy.”

By the time someone declared a winner—loudly, incorrectly, and with no proof—the sun had dipped lower and shirts had started disappearing. People were sprawled in the grass, half arguing about scores, half making dramatic speeches about teamwork.

Shane ended up perched on the deck railing, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, watching the chaos in the lawn below him. 

Ilya stepped into the space between his knees like it belonged to him.

“You get very loud when you’re competitive,” he said.

“You get very annoying when you’re smug.”

Ilya leaned in just enough that Shane could feel his warmth without quite touching. “You love it.”

Shane didn’t answer.

Which was answer enough.

From the yard, Rose shouted, “BONFIRE IN AN HOUR. DRINK WATER OR DIE.”

No one moved.

The air felt thick now, sun-warmed skin, lingering adrenaline, the hum of alcohol, and too much proximity.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry, sorry—I know this one was a little short and not very sexy, but hey, it wouldn’t be a proper frat weekend without some binge drinking chaos. Don’t worry, the bonfire night in the next chapter should give our couples a little push to get steamy. I’m still undecided if this chapter will get a one-shot companion or if I’ll just update here and save the steam for chapters 11/12—stay tuned!

Chapter 11: Never Have I Ever

Chapter Notes

Shane, Saturday Night

By the time Shane made it back to the living room, the house had taken on that specific post-chaos hum—not loud exactly, but busy, like every surface had absorbed noise and was giving it back slowly.

Troy and Harris came up the stairs together, hair mussed, shirts wrinkled, Troy’s collar slightly crooked like someone had tugged on it in a hurry. Harris looked flushed in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol. They paused at the top of the stairs, exchanged a look—too long, too soft—before remembering themselves and stepping apart.

A beat later, Eric and Kyle appeared from downstairs, and Shane’s brain clicked into place. Kyle’s usually immaculate hair was rumpled, like fingers had been threaded through it and left there. Eric looked… undone, in a quieter way. Not sloppy, just loosened, like someone who’d finally stopped holding himself together quite so tightly.

Oh.

Okay, then.

Carter yelled from the kitchen. “Dinner is served!”

JJ and Carter emerged like they were presenting on a cooking show, both in nothing but boxers and novelty aprons—one reading KISS THE COOK, the other GUAC IS EXTRA.

Wyatt took one look and said flatly, “I want it on the record that I am not participating in this particular brand of nonsense.”

“You’re wearing grey sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt,” Elena said. “That is participating.”

As people crowded the counter, someone—probably Scott—shoved the CVS bag aside to make room for the taco fixings. It caught on the edge and tipped, spilling onto the floor.

There was a beat.

Then a jumbo box of condoms slid out. Followed by a bottle of lube. Followed by silence so loud Shane could hear the fire crackling outside.

Hayden stared at it. Then nodded once. “Preparedness is hot.”

Jackie’s face went nuclear. “Oh my god.”

Rose wheezed. “Jackie!!”

Ilya’s expression went carefully neutral, which Shane recognized immediately as scheming. He clocked the lube. Clocked Jackie. Clocked the distance between them like he was mapping a heist.

Shane leaned in, murmuring under his breath, “You are not subtle.”

Ilya didn’t look away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tacos!” JJ yelled suddenly, clapping his hands. “Everyone grab a plate before I start charging admission.”

The spell broke. Conversation surged back in all at once, laughter and movement flooding the space. Someone nudged the condoms out of the way with their foot. Jackie finally managed to scoop everything back into the bag, still refusing to make eye contact with anyone, and placed it near the hallway to her bedroom.

They ate crowded together, sitting on the arms of couches, leaning against counters, perching wherever there was space. Shane took in the room of laughing people—a group that two days ago he would have said had nothing in common, but today seemed more alike than not.

Scott brushed Kip’s knee. Kip leaned in to murmur something in his ear. Scott grinned like he’d won something. Shane looked away; it felt too private to witness.

Ilya had clearly also noticed the growing tension between the different pairs in the room.  He whispered, voice pitched just for Shane. “This house is… efficient.”

Shane nearly choked on his taco.

After dinner, they migrated outside in loose clusters. Carter and JJ scrambled to get back into their clothes.  Jackets were pulled on, blankets gathered, the night air biting but not unpleasant. The bonfire was already going courtesy of Wyatt, flames licking high, music low enough to talk over. People grabbed chairs, blankets, and beers. Some were clearly drunker than others; some looked suspiciously clean and calm.

JJ lugged his sasquatch statue out and placed it on the floor by his chair.  No one complained anymore, the totem became an unofficial mascot after its participation in the Olympics earlier. 

Scott sat down with Kip immediately, Kip’s legs slung over his lap without ceremony. No one commented. No one needed to. Troy and Harris lasted maybe ten minutes before they started holding hands under a blanket.

“Are we going to acknowledge that?” Wyatt asked.

Troy turned. “We’re together.”

“Oh,” Wyatt said, satisfied. “Called it.”

Shane swore he heard Kyle mutter to Eric, “Gayest Frat in Exsistance,” before they both looked at Ilya and Shane. 

Shane looked away immediately. 

Cliff crossed his arms. “So half the frat is gay and having sex now?”

“I’m gay too,” Ryan said unhappily. “I’m just… gay and alone.”

“Tragic,” Elena said, not looking at Cliff.

JJ sighed dramatically. “It feels like everyone is getting laid except us.”

“Yeah,” Eric said easily, throwing an arm around Kyle’s shoulders. Kyle startled, then leaned in without thinking. “That sucks for you.”

JJ and Carter groaned in unison. Shane stayed quiet, watching the fire, acutely aware of Ilya at his side. Ilya didn’t touch him—not really—but his knee pressed into Shane’s thigh, steady and grounding. When Shane shifted, Ilya followed without looking.

Elena leaned over to Cliff and whispered something in his ear, which made him smile and nod. He did his signature clap. “Game time, folks.”

“I genuinely do not know if I can chug any more alcohol today,” Rose complained.

“This is a simple one,” Cliff promised. “No binge drinking needed—just little sips. Pour Diet Coke in your cup, I don’t care.”

“Fine,” Rose said, though Shane noticed she kept her cup filled with one of Kyle’s mojitos.

“Elena, kick us off, please,” he said with a smile.

“Wait, we don’t even know the rules yet,” Kip protested.

“Trust me, you know how to play this one,” Elena said. “Never have I ever climbed onto a roof while drunk.” She looked at Harris with gleeful targeting.

“Oh come on,” he moaned. “That’s not fair.”

Elena mimed taking a sip. Harris raised his cup mockingly. Ilya, Carter, and Wyatt all took a sip as well.

Wyatt defended it. “Hey, the roof of the Sig Rho house is very easy to get on.”

After Elena kicked it off, the game ran quickly around the circle. Most of the honor society focused on targeting specific people, but the frat guys struggled to think of things they hadn’t done.

“Never have I ever stolen something from a bar,” Ryan said. Half the frat guys took a sip; no one from the honor society did.

“Never have I ever kissed someone whose name I didn’t know,” Jackie said, watching in astonishment as most of the group sipped. “Slut, all of you,” she said, mock shock in her voice.

“Never have I ever slept through a class I paid for,” Rose said with a smirk. Every single guy in the frat drank, as did Shane.

“Shane,” Ilya said, mouth hanging open,

Shane defended himself, “to be fair, I had the flu. I went right from lecture to the health center.”

“Never have I ever hooked up in a public place,” Shane said.

“What counts as public?” Harris asked.

“Anywhere people could see or hear you,” Shane said tentatively. Several people raised their cups, including Harris and Troy.

“Does a frat party bathroom count?” Ilya whispered beside him; the words drowned out by the crackle of the fire for anyone else. Shane smiled and sipped his drink, unrelated to the game, sort of.

The game continued. Kyle made the mistake of saying, “Never have I ever taken a shot of Rumpleminz.” JJ somehow produced a bottle, and several people took shots. Shane had one—tasting like toothpaste.

Eventually, Svetlana leaned over to whisper in Rose’s ear. They giggled and nodded.

“I am done with testosterone,” Svetlana announced. “Rose?”

Rose stood immediately. “Hot tub?”

They disappeared together, waving.

Jackie and Hayden followed soon after, someone yelling, “USE PROTECTION,” making Jackie swear loudly.

“Too bad that lube she bought went missing,” Ilya murmured to Shane as they retreated.

“You didn’t,” Shane said, giving him a light smack.

“Later,” he said. Not a question. Shane nodded, heart already racing.

The fire burned lower. The group thinned.

Elena did a slow turn, assessing. “Okay. Who’s straight and single?”

JJ raised his hand. Carter followed. Wyatt shrugged and raised his too. Cliff did after a second.

Elena smiled. “Excellent. Options.”

Shane didn’t raise his hand. Neither did Ilya. Their eyes met—something unspoken settling between them, not relief, not fear, but certainty.

The fire crackled low, embers drifting upward as Elena scanned the remaining cluster. She drifted to JJ first, hand brushing his arm. “Those tacos were some of the best I’ve ever had,” she said smoothly, teasing.

JJ coughed, startled. “Uh… thank you. Got the recipe off TikTok—”

Elena leaned closer, hair brushing his shoulder. “So good… just the right amount of spice. I think my lips are still tingling.” Her gaze flicked to Carter, and she leaned in, mimicking the same subtle touch along his arm.

Carter glanced at JJ, still trying not to melt.

Wyatt smirked knowingly. Cliff, still a few feet away, had gone from curiosity to full irritation.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Cliff muttered, eyeing her over JJ’s shoulder.

Elena tilted her head, grin wide. “Enjoying? Maybe…” Her gaze flicked to Cliff’s tightening jaw.

Scott and Kip were performing a masterclass in subtle PDA, Kip leaning over to whisper, Scott tugging him closer until Kip’s leg draped over his. Troy and Harris mirrored them in the shadows. Eric held Kyle close, fingers tracing fabric. Shane pressed against Ilya, the briefest echo of jealousy, mirrored in Ilya’s sad smile.

Elena leaned to Wyatt. “You’re too quiet. Don’t tell me you’re immune to all this fun.”

“I’m aware of what’s going on,” Wyatt said, eyes on Cliff.

Cliff’s jaw tightened as Elena drifted again, hand twirling her hair.

“Never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” Elena called, cup raised, grin challenging.

JJ and Carter lit up. “YES!” they shouted, nearly colliding in excitement.

Elena leaned to JJ. “You sure you can handle the cold?”

He barely managed a nod, yanking off his shirt. Carter followed suit. Both ran to the dock, dropping boxers, and jumped into the lake.

Shane couldn’t believe the audacity. Kyle laughed into Eric’s chest. “I swear, she’s terrifying.”

Elena stood, hands on hips, shimmying pants playfully. Cliff moved with surprising speed, scooping her over his shoulder.

“Cliff!” Elena laughed, muffled. “Put me down—I want to swim!”

“Not happening,” he said, striding toward the house.

Wyatt caught Elena’s face over his shoulder, a perfect smirk. “Brilliant,” he muttered.

Wyatt gestured to Ryan. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s go sit in our sexless beds and curse everyone here who’s getting laid.”

Ryan laughed, shaking his head.

Ilya stood, gesturing to Shane. “C’mon, roomie, let’s get out of here.”

“Sure. Good night, guys,” Shane said to the remaining pairs. 

Shane followed Ilya’s lead as they walked into the main level of the house, the laughter and splashes from the lake fading behind them. The night air smelled of smoke from the dying bonfire and the crisp tang of the lake. A muffled sound caught Shane’s attention—a faint moaning drifting up from the floor below.

“Go, Elena,” Shane murmured under his breath, smirking, eyes rolling as Ilya glanced at him knowingly.

From down the hall, a low snore punctuated the quiet. Shane recognized it immediately; Jackie and Hayden had already conked out. The rest of the house felt unusually empty, the chaos of the night temporarily paused.

Ilya’s gaze swept around, catching Shane in the corner of his eye. Without a word, he pressed Shane gently but firmly against the wall, lips claiming his in a quick, playful kiss. Shane froze, the warmth of Ilya’s mouth stealing his breath for a moment. This was risky, but everyone else was preoccupied. When he finally pulled back, he realized the night wasn’t completely empty: on the porch, Rose and Svetlana sat half-submerged in the hot tub, steam curling around them, their lips locked together

Shane’s eyes flicked to Rose as she pulled back from this kiss and caught his gaze, looking equally surprised. Their eyes met for a split second, a shared understanding passing silently between them—we saw nothing.

Ilya’s hand slipped into the couch cushions and came up clutching a small, familiar bottle. Shane groaned, pointing at it.

“I can’t believe you stole that from her,” Shane hissed, half-laughing, half-disbelieving.

Ilya shrugged, smirking. “Listen to the snoring. I don’t think they need it right now.” His thumb brushed over the cap, teasing. “Plus… you won’t be complaining when I open you up and give you my cock.”

Shane froze, words caught somewhere between laughter and shock. He opened his mouth to retort, but Ilya’s mischievous grin shut him up. Shane could only inhale sharply as Ilya looped his arm through his, tugging him up the stairs.

Once inside, the world shrank to the two of them. The door shut behind them with a quiet click, and Shane immediately realized Ilya had locked it.

“Now what?” Shane murmured, leaning back against the wood, eyes tracing the familiar patterns of the room that had felt too big just hours ago.

Ilya didn’t answer, just leaned in close again, pressing Shane against the wall, heat radiating from him, and Shane’s heartbeat thrummed in his ears. The night, the lake, the bonfire—it all felt like it existed solely to lead them here, to this one quiet, charged moment.

Chapter End Notes

Yay! So close to the end. I’ll admit, the next chapter is going to be nothing but down-and-dirty smut for Hollanov (LFG—they found the lube). After that, we’ll get a little wrap-up from a different POV for the epilogue.

If you’re curious about what happened with Rose and Svetlana in the hot tub, or how Elena and Cliff got on downstairs, check out the Cabin Fever series, where I’ll be publishing smutty one-shots of their respective nights.

And of course, thank you for the comments and kudos. They keep me young and beautiful. Like a vampire. (subtle hint at my next AU???)

Chapter 12: One Last Night

Chapter Notes

Ilya, Saturday Night

The house seemed to still once the bedroom door closed. The whole world stilling to the space between Ilya and Shane and the night ahead. It felt charged—new in a way it hadn’t before. Ilya reveled in the feeling and tried not to remember how fleeting it would be, that their time together had an ending tomorrow.

“Now what?” Shane murmured, and Ilya pushed the thoughts of endings out of his head and focused on the gorgeous man in front of him instead. And Shane was—gorgeous, that is. He stood in his hoodie and sweatpants, the faint smell of smoke clinging to his hair and clothing.

Ilya didn’t respond to Shane’s question, but opted instead to back him softly against the wall, running his eyes over him. He took in his hair, rumpled from Ilya’s hands running through it. His lips, red and swollen from Ilya kissing them. And the smattering of freckles that stretched across the bridge of his nose like stars in the sky. Shane had asked him about his mom’s favorite constellation, but hadn’t inquired about his. A few days ago, he would have answered Ursa Major—but now his favorite constellation was the freckles across Shane’s cheekbones. He wanted to map them out with his fingers, his tongue, devote years of scientific study to them. Those were the constellations they should be writing stories about.

Shane stood there, watching Ilya take him in. Still like a statue. Not frozen in fear or hesitation—but still so he could be properly appreciated, like art. At last, Ilya moved to him and brought their lips together. He tried to convey all of his feelings through this kiss—the fear of endings, the love for the stars, and his appreciation of the art of Shane.

The kiss was deep and steady. Not like the burning inferno of the bonfire outside, continuously poked and prodded with more wood, but warmer, easier—like a fire that had been blazing all night quietly, filling everything with warmth. Ilya used his fingers in Shane’s hair to tilt his chin up and take his mouth deeper. Shane let out a moan of approval at this, and Ilya found himself smiling against his lips.

He was so perfect.
So obedient.

“What am I going to do with you?” Ilya whispered against his neck, kissing his way down Shane’s lithe body. The question was rhetorical—Ilya was going to do whatever he wanted with Shane—but still he heard Shane mumble, “Whatever you want,” and Ilya found himself beaming.

He knelt before Shane, lifting his shirt to expose a sliver of soft skin above his hipbone. Ilya brought his mouth to it, kissing it gently before giving the area a harder suck, using his teeth to press against the skin.

“Ow,” Shane complained above him, and Ilya soothed the area with his tongue.

“What was that for?” Shane asked, his voice dreamy as Ilya’s tongue ran over the abused mark.

“Now,” Ilya explained as he haphazardly tugged Shane’s shirt further up and placed hot, urgent kisses over his midsection, dotting around the waistband of Shane’s pants, “any time you take your pants off for the next week or so, you’re going to see that mark”—more kisses, more urgency—“and think of me.”

With the end of his statement, Ilya gripped the waistband of Shane’s pants and pulled them down, exposing his very rigid cock. No briefs, Ilya noted. What a naughty boy.

Shane was quickly becoming nonverbal above him, gazing down at Ilya with stars in his eyes and across his cheekbones. But he caught Ilya’s eyes and asked, “Give me more.”

“More?” Ilya asked, running a finger over a bead of precum that had formed at the tip of Shane’s cock.

Shane’s hips gave a sharp, almost unconscious jerk at Ilya’s touch. “More reminders,” Shane clarified, head falling back against the wall. “More marks. I want to remember this for as long as possible. Want you to own me.”

And how could Ilya protest when Shane said it so sweetly?

He smiled devilishly, ignoring Shane’s length in front of him and instead focusing on his inner thighs, placing kisses and hickeys over them, marking Shane as his own.

Shane was moaning above him, spilling nonsensical words into the air as Ilya continued his assault on Shane’s thighs.

When they were dotted with a smattering of hickeys and wet with kisses, Ilya turned his attention back to Shane’s cock, giving the member a slow, languid lick from base to tip. Shane’s hand absentmindedly fisted in Ilya’s hair, holding him there, and Ilya had no complaints. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere else for a while.

He worshiped at Shane’s cock for several minutes, giving him fast strokes with his hand and long sucks with his cheeks hollowing around the hot heat of him. He didn’t do this often, so rarely hooking up with men on campus—but there was a real pride in a job well done. Shane was practically shaking with all the attention and gave an audible gasp when Ilya lowered his head and took one of Shane’s balls in his mouth.

“Fuck, Ilya,” he moaned. “I don’t know how much more I can take,” he admitted, his cheeks flaming, his voice strained.

Ilya pulled back, his lips spreading into a sinful smile. “Well, we don’t want that quite yet, do we,” he said, whispering against Shane’s cock before standing up.

Shane was immediately all over him, kissing him and running his hands down his body. When Shane’s hand connected with the hard length straining against Ilya’s own sweatpants, Ilya gave a pained moan—but still grabbed Shane’s wrist and pulled it back.

Shane looked like a child who had just found out the Easter Bunny wasn’t real. “You don’t want me to?” he said, his eyes sad, his hand still frozen in Ilya’s grip.

“I do,” Ilya said, “but I want something else more.” He gave Shane a quick, reassuring kiss. “Can you go kneel on the bed?” he asked.

It sounded like a question, but it was an order—and they both knew it.

Shane followed immediately without question, walking to the bed and pulling his shirt off on the way. He clambered onto the edge of the bed and knelt, his back now facing Ilya.

Ilya took in the sight for a moment, appreciating the expanse of Shane’s back and the tempting curve of his ass. He walked over carefully, removing the small bottle of stolen lube from his pocket where he’d stashed it. He’d feel bad about stealing it, but there was no way Jackie was going to enjoy it as much as Ilya would. Unless Jackie was pegging Hayden—which Ilya seriously doubted—there was no way they needed this tonight. Hayden was too boring to need lube.

When he reached Shane, he stood behind him for a moment, letting the heat of Shane’s body warm him before dragging two fingers from Shane’s neck all the way down his spine, to the crease of his ass.

“Is this what you want?” Ilya asked, running his finger around Shane’s entrance slowly. “Want me to fill this pretty ass with my cock?” he said, bringing his mouth to Shane’s ear and giving it a small tug against his earlobe with his teeth.

“Yes,” Shane said, his voice begging—but it wasn’t quite what Ilya was looking for. He thought he’d taught this to Shane. But sometimes lessons needed reinforcement.

“I want to hear you say it, Shane,” Ilya whispered into his ear. “Want to know exactly what you want.” He was almost painfully hard now, watching Shane shift his weight from knee to knee as he eagerly awaited what Ilya had to offer.

“I want your cock, Ilya. I want you to fuck me,” Shane said with all the confidence in the world. Someone positive of what they wanted.

“Good boy,” Ilya praised. He clicked the cap of the lube open and squirted a sizable amount onto his fingertips, bringing them to Shane’s hole.

He took his time playing with Shane’s ass, rubbing his fingers around the hole in an even rhythm until Shane was grinding against the digits, begging quietly for Ilya to give him more. Ilya acquiesced, easing the tip of his finger into Shane slowly. Shane was still letting out those mewling whimpers. Ilya knew in the back of his mind that he should tell Shane to be quiet—that the other members of the group might be inside now, might hear them—but he couldn’t find it in himself to tell Shane to be quiet when the noises he made sent Ilya into a lust-fueled haze.

He continued to finger Shane, giving him one finger, and then two. Ilya had been prepared to admonish Shane if he tried to touch himself—but he didn’t. His hands stayed far away from his leaking cock, first bracing against his muscular thighs, and then, as Ilya added more fingers and more pressure, leaning forward and bracing against the mattress, fingers gripping into the sheets.

Ilya’s own cock was begging for attention, and he had to focus all his attention on Shane, forcing himself not to use his hand to bring some much-needed friction to it. He had three fingers inside Shane now, and Shane was taking it so well, moaning and clenching around him.

“Are you ready for my cock, Shane?” he asked, praying the answer was yes. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. And he would not be embarrassing himself by coming in his pants, hands-free, just from fingering Shane.

“Yes,” Shane whimpered. “Please, Ilya, I need you.”

Ilya slowly withdrew his fingers and told Shane, “Get on the bed, on your back. I want to look at you when you take my cock.” Shane, obedient slut that he was, immediately followed directions.

Ilya finally removed his pants and briefs, placing the lube on the bed, and slipped off his shirt. Shane watched the whole undress like it was his favorite film—enrapturing him no matter how many times he saw it.

And then Ilya paused. “Shit, I don’t have a condom,” he said, mentally berating himself for the slip in thinking. He should have stolen one from Jackie’s lifetime supply—or at least he assumed lifetime supply. Who would want to have sex with Hayden that much? The box would maybe last him a week or two. Less, when he had a moaning Shane in front of him.

Shane’s face turned the color of a strawberry. “You don’t have to use one if you don’t want. I got tested last month and I’m clean,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Ilya confirmed. “I’m clean too. I got tested recently and haven’t been with anyone since, but I know it’ll make the cleanup a little more… intensive,” Ilya said. And he’d be lying if the idea of filling Shane with his cum didn’t make his cock pulse with need.

“I know,” Shane said, and then seemed to steel himself. “I want it. From you, I mean. I want you to fill me up, Ilya.”

At that statement, Ilya’s frayed self-control seemed to snap. He crawled over to Shane on the bed, kneeling between Shane’s spread legs. He reached to the backs of Shane’s thighs and pushed them against his chest. “Hold these here,” Ilya said, and Shane obeyed, holding himself open for him.

Ilya took a deep breath, tried to slow his heart rate. It would be so embarrassing to come the moment he got inside Shane. He grabbed the lube and worked more over his own cock, the first contact feeling like heaven after being so neglected for most of the night. Then he took a little more lube and gave Shane a final couple of strokes with his fingers. He removed them and lined his cock up with Shane’s entrance, looking into Shane’s eyes as the first inch slid inside.

Both of their mouths fell open as more inches slipped inside, the feeling euphoric. Shane took him so well. Ilya was completely torn between looking into Shane’s gleaming eyes or watching where they were connected—the way Shane took every inch of him so fucking well.

Like he was made for it.

Ilya gave a few tentative thrusts, ensuring Shane was ready. Shane moaned around him with each one, letting his head fall back in pleasure. Once Ilya was sure they both were feeling good, he began thrusting in earnest, bottoming out and feeling Shane clench around him.

It was bliss. There was no other word for the sheer pleasure that fucking Shane Hollander was. He’d known from the first time they kissed at that party that it would be like this. Shane was just so good for him. To him.

Ilya wasn’t sure where to focus his attention. All his impulses were warring against each other—his brain telling him this may be the last time you have him like this, do it all—but there simply wasn’t time to do everything Ilya wanted. He wanted to lick and play with Shane’s nipples. Wanted to choke him again, watch the way Shane leaned his neck into Ilya’s fingers, begging him to grip harder. But they were on a time crunch, even more so as the pressure in Ilya’s balls built to an uncomfortable ache as he attempted to prolong the moment.

He settled instead on kissing Shane, pressing forward and kissing him deeply as he drove his hips into him time and time again.

Shane took him so well, moaning at the deeper angle and holding his legs against him even when Ilya changed it. He was fairly flexible, Ilya noted. That would be worth exploring later—or not later. He wasn’t even sure anymore. What would happen tomorrow? Could they sneak around like this once they were back on campus? Could Ilya sneak Shane into the frat house late at night and take him in his own bed?

He pushed the thoughts aside and instead focused on Shane’s gasping breaths.

“Do you want to touch your cock, Shane?” Ilya taunted. “Or are you going to come like this—hands-free?”

“Fuck, I’m going to,” Shane said, and Ilya wasn’t sure if he was referring to coming or touching his own cock. Ilya wasn’t sure Shane even knew—but it became very clear a moment later when Shane started shaking slightly, his hands still holding his thighs. “I’m going to come, Ilya,” he moaned.

That sentence pushed Ilya over the edge. His thrusts became deeper, his rhythm falling apart as he chased his own release. A moment later, Shane gave a moan and shot hot streaks of release across his own chest.

Ilya came at the sight, pumping his release deep into Shane, pulsing through the whole orgasm as he gripped Shane’s legs.

As they both came down from their release, there was no sound in the house but their combined panting. There was a stillness in the room, and Ilya finally slowly pulled out, feeling immense pleasure at the sight of his own cum dripping out of Shane.

“Wait here for a second,” he said quickly, slipping into the en-suite.

He cleaned himself up quickly and then ran a washcloth under warm water. He returned with the cloth in hand and took his time cleaning Shane, wiping the release from his chest and from between his legs. Shane seemed almost drunk. Eyes closed, he leaned into Ilya’s touch, humming happily at the care Ilya gave him as he cleaned him up.

Ilya smiled at sleepy, sated Shane. He’d have to add this to his memory for later—a new favorite version of Shane. “C’mon, Shane,” he said, pressing his lips to Shane’s forehead. “Let’s take a shower.”

“Mmmm,” Shane hummed. “Bones not working,” he said. “Can’t get up.”

Ilya shook his head at Shane with affection, then leaned over the bed and gathered the man into his arms, bridal-style, carrying him into the bathroom.

Shane seemed to come alive with the action, opening his eyes in Ilya’s arms and smiling at him. When Ilya placed him on his feet in the bathroom, Shane pulled him into a crushing kiss. They stayed like that for a moment before Ilya turned the shower on and they stepped inside.

They needed to talk. Needed to discuss what happened next. But for tonight, Ilya decided to just enjoy the time he had left—to wash the silky strands of Shane’s hair and give him a few extra hickeys on his chest in the shower. Everything else could wait for tomorrow.

And when Ilya tucked Shane against his chest in bed later, falling asleep with their legs intertwined, he wasn’t thinking about all the reasons they couldn’t be together.

He was thinking about all the reasons he couldn’t let Shane Hollander go.

Epilogue — Car Swaps

Jackie, Sunday Morning

The house looked like the aftermath of a small, very messy natural disaster.

Jackie stood in the kitchen with a trash bag in one hand and a half-empty box of granola bars in the other, surveying the damage. Empty bottles clustered on the counter like they’d sought comfort in numbers. Someone had left a damp towel draped over a chair. There was sand inside the house, which felt personal.

Outside, engines idled. Trunks slammed. People shouted names that might have been requests or accusations.

Hayden was on cleanup duty as well, moving slowly and with the air of a man who had been spiritually defeated by a weekend of drinking games and late nights. Jackie watched him load the dishwasher incorrectly for the third time and decided it wasn’t worth fighting.

She stepped out onto the driveway just in time to see the great car reshuffle happening.

“What is going on?” she called, squinting into the daylight. “Why did everyone want to change cars?”

No one answered her.

Troy and Harris were already halfway into Cliff’s car together, laughing like they’d planned this days in advance. Scott was hovering near Kip with the intense focus of someone making sure he didn't lose sight of him for a second. Eric and Kyle stood near Elena’s car, deep in conversation, nodding like they were about to solve international relations instead of deciding who controlled the carplay. 

Elena was leaning against her own car, keys in hand, pretending very hard not to look at Cliff. Cliff, for his part, was doing an equally impressive job of not looking at her. Jackie narrowed her eyes.

Interesting.

Jackie looked around, baffled. “We came up here with four cars,” she said aloud. “We leave with four cars. This is a solved problem.”

Wyatt snorted from where he was tossing his bag into Scott’s trunk. “You were asleep for, like… most of the weekend, Jack.”

“That feels rude,” Jackie said. “I need my beauty sleep. I went to bed at a reasonable time, not my fault you all stayed up until dawn every night.”

“Uh-huh.”

She turned to Eric instead, pointing at him. “You. Explain.”

Eric blinked. “Explain what?”

“Why did my perfectly logical transportation system collapse overnight?”

Eric glanced around the driveway—at the knowing looks, the poorly hidden smiles, the couples that were very much not couples when they arrived—and sighed. “Okay, so. Short version?”

“No,” Jackie said immediately. “Long version. I missed everything apaprently.”

Wyatt laughed. “Told you.”

Eric rubbed his face. “Alright. Well. There were… hookups.”

Jackie’s eyes lit up. “Plural?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.”

“And feelings.”

“OH my god.”

“And apparently,” Eric continued, “some people made decisions at bonfires, and in hot tubs, and maybe in basements—”

Jackie gasped. “The basement?”

“—and now no one wants to sit in the same car they arrived in because they all need to sit next to their new crushes or whatever. 

Jackie stared at him for a long second, then slowly broke into a grin. “So you’re telling me I slept through the messiest weekend of my life.”

Wyatt clapped her on the shoulder. “Pretty much.”

She looked out at the driveway again, at the shuffled groups and the unresolved tension practically vibrating in the air.

“…Wow,” Jackie said, deeply impressed. “Good for them.”

Hayden appeared beside her, squinting. “Are we leaving?”

“Yes,” Jackie said, still smiling. “But first, you’re telling me everything you know. In the car. With details.” She said, pointing at Wyatt.

Hayden sighed.

Jackie grabbed her bag and headed toward Shane’s car, already mentally filing this weekend away as one she would never, ever let anyone forget. 

Chapter End Notes

And fin.

I can’t believe this story is done. Please don’t kill me for leaving things a little open-ended when it comes to where Shane and Ilya stand at the end—having a ten-year situationship is kind of their thing. I don’t think they’d figure it all out in a single weekend.

I may revisit this AU in the future if the urge strikes.

If you want a little more of the couples from this weekend, check out the rest of the Cabin Fever series for one-shots that take place throughout the trip. And let me know in the comments if you prefer those as one-shots, or if you would’ve rather seen them folded into the main fic as full chapters—I’m still finding the AO3 style that works best for me.

Also, let me know if you find any mistakes- no beta here, so it's just Grammarly and me trying out our best.

Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. Your validation keeps me from ending it all
(jk jk — Wellbutrin keeps me from ending it all).

Please stay tuned for more