Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Scott Hunter (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dark Academia, Secret Society, Murder Mystery, POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander is Obsessed With Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov Fall in Love in Every Universe, New Orleans, Dry Humping, First Kiss, Smut, Sex Toys, Frottage, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Anal Sex, Coming in Pants, Consent King Ilya Rozanov, Forced Proximity, Shane Hollander Has a Dildo, Jealous Shane Hollander, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Semi-Public Sex, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Halloween Costumes, Docking, Come for the smut and the Hollanov not the mystery, I’m not a mystery writer but I’m trying, Happy Ending, Complete

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-01 Completed: 2026-06-12 Words: 95,110 Chapters: 12/12

Always Watching

Summary

Shane Hollander just wants junior year to be simple...win hockey games and maintain his gpa. Maybe finally try to date someone new. When a mysterious invitation shows up in his apartment, and Ilya Rozanov shows up across the hall, all his plans go out the window.

Or…Shane and Ilya are contentious college hockey teammates in New Orleans who end up living across the hall from each other and things get mysterious and *very* horny.

Chapter 1: The invitation

Chapter Notes

Shane Hollander just wanted to get through his junior year by winning hockey games and maintaining his 4.0. He didn’t have time for anything else. When he stepped off the plane at MSY a week before the semester started, the thick, humid air welcoming him back like a wet hug, he thought it was going to be simple. School had always been easy for him. He had been accepted to New Orleans University on a hockey scholarship, and he’d never once been in danger of losing it. And this year would be no different. 

The uber pulled up to his new apartment a few blocks from campus in a quiet uptown neighborhood. The building was small, only eight units, with peeling paint around the windows and a sun-bleached wooden door that looked older than half the block. Shane grabbed his bag and stepped out into the heat, already feeling sweat collect at the back of his neck. He was beyond relieved to not be living in the dorms again. The constant noise, the stench, the random middle of the night fire alarms…he was ready to leave all that behind and focus on his studies. 

Inside, the air was cool but stale. It smelled faintly of mildew. His footsteps echoed lightly on the sagging wooden stairs as he made his way up to the second floor. Apartment #6 sat at the end of a carpeted hallway, past #5 and directly across from #8. He could hear the soft thump of bass coming from across the hall and let out a slow breath. Please don’t let that be a sign of things to come. He moved here to escape loud music and dorm parties and his roommate fucking his girlfriend when he thought Shane was asleep. 

Then the music cut abruptly, and Shane looked over his shoulder at #8, half expecting the door to open. Nothing happened, and the silence settled around him, making the hallway feel suddenly eerie, like he was being watched. He quickly unlocked his door, a shiver running down his spine that had nothing to do with the cool air around him, and stepped inside. The apartment was small, just a narrow living room and kitchenette with two doors off one wall, one leading to a small bedroom, the other to a bathroom hardly big enough to turn around in. 

Shane let out a small sigh of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was quiet and clean. No one was going to be drunkenly knocking things over at 2am or whispering dirty things into some girl's ear like Shane wasn’t right there. No one would interrupt while he was halfway through an essay or drag him into conversations he didn’t want to have. He could maybe even bring someone back here, if he ever worked up the nerve to ask anyone out. If he ever let himself admit that whoever he wanted to ask out might not be a girl. 

Shane dropped his bag by the door and looked around the empty apartment, a small smile curving his lips. Quiet. Private. So many possibilities. This year was going to be perfect.

-

The next morning came too early. Shane was used to early morning practices, but there was something about the heat that was already so oppressive even at sunrise, thick and heavy, that made getting out of bed and leaving the cool air-conditioned apartment behind more difficult. He got up anyway, his usual routine coming back to him easily. He showered, made coffee and a protein shake, gathered his gear, and stepped into the hallway. It was too quiet, every step making the floor groan. He paused for just a second and looked at #8. There was no music coming from inside this time. No sound at all. Shane shook off the feeling that he was being watched again and made his way downstairs and out into the too-wet morning air.

The walk to campus was nice. He passed several people walking dogs, biking, tending to gardens. They all waved and smiled. Shane loved New Orleans. The colorful shotgun houses, the loud but kind people. There was always something to do, and it didn't even always involve drinking. Though he appreciated that too. The NOU campus was beautiful, all live oaks dripping with Spanish moss and old stone buildings crawling with vines. He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as his feet crossed the threshold.

The locker room was already buzzing when he walked in. The sharp cold air of the rink cut through the lingering humidity, immediately making Shane feel more energized, more settled. Despite his love for the city, this was where he felt the most at home. The weather down here had been a bit of a shock to his system his first year. He’d gotten a lot of flak for being a sensitive Canadian. But he’d adapted, and the rink always brought him back to himself when he needed it. 

“Look who made it back.”

Shane didn’t have to look up to know who it was, the light Russian accent, the low teasing voice. Ilya Rozanov dropped onto the bench beside him, shoulder bumping Shane’s just enough to be annoying. His hair was rumpled, like he’d just rolled out of bed, but there was still something annoyingly put-together about him even half-dressed for practice.

“Miss me, Hollander?” Rozanov added.

Shane snorted, pulling his laces tighter. “Not even a little.”

“Liar.”

Shane glanced up at him then, just briefly. Rozanov was watching him with that same expression he always had…half amused, like he knew something Shane didn’t. And it was just as irritating as it always was.

“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Shane said, but his voice was lighter than he meant it to be, and his gaze lingered on that infuriating smirk longer than it should have.

Coach called them onto the ice before either of them could say anything else. The shift from locker room noise to the scrape of blades against ice, the familiarity of it, settled something in him immediately. He shoved Rozanov out of his mind and pushed off hard, letting his body take over, the cold air burning in his lungs.

Warm-ups were quick…laps and passing drills. Shane let himself sink into the muscle memory and routine of it, enjoying the way his body felt finally back at work. But his attention was drifting again, as it often did, to Rozanov. He was aware of him in the most annoying way. Shane was not the type of person to get distracted. He didn’t allow that, especially not during important things…like hockey or class. But he was always aware of Ilya Rozanov. Across the ice, along the boards, cutting through the middle like he knew exactly where the puck was going before anyone else did. It was irritating. The way he moved, the way he didn’t seem to try that hard and was still…better. Shane pushed harder.

At one point, Shane took the puck and moved it easily, keeping his head down and his focus sharp…not allowing himself to be distracted. Rozanov intercepted it anyway.

“So predictable,” he murmured as he passed, voice low enough that only Shane would hear.

Shane’s grip tightened on his stick. At the next opportunity, Shane anticipated it and cut Rozanov off first, shoulder to shoulder, just hard enough to make a point. Rozanov laughed. An infuriating sound that followed Shane down the ice.

The rest of practice passed without incident, at least on the surface. Shane did everything exactly the way he always did, his usual intensity already back in swing. And Roznov was always there. Shane wouldn’t let him get in his head…he was immune to that. But every time Shane adjusted, Rozanov adjusted with him. Every time Shane pushed forward, Rozanov was already there, keeping pace like it was nothing. 

-

The locker room was loud after practice, everyone reconnecting after the summer break, filling each other in on their lives. Shane was listening to his friend Hayden Pike, the only other Canadian on the team, talk about a girl he’d met in Chambly over the summer. 

“She was so hot, man,” Hayden said, a dreamy look on his face. He blinked a few times, then looked over at Shane. “So, how many girls did you bag this summer?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “I was busy all summer.”

“You need to relax sometimes,” Hayden said, pulling his gear off. “This is supposed to be the most fun time of our lives. Hockey, girls, parties…what more could you want?”

Shane just laughed. Hayden was a great friend, but he was also kind of an idiot. He definitely did not have a 4.0, and Shane wasn’t sure what his major was anymore. It seemed to change every semester. Hayden got up to hit the showers, and not a moment later, someone sat heavily on the bench on the other side of Shane. Once again, he didn’t need to look to know who. 

“Rough first day back, huh?”

Shane didn’t look up. “Fuck off.”

A quiet laugh, too close to him. Rozanov wasn’t quite touching him this time, but still near enough that he was aware of the heat coming off him, the damp fabric of his shirt clinging to his skin.

“You try too hard,” Rozanov said.

Shane glanced over, frowning. “No, I don’t.”

“You do.” Rozanov shrugged, like he was just making an observation and not being an asshole. “You should relax, Hollander. It’s just practice.”

Shane held his gaze for a second, longer than necessary. “Maybe I just don’t like losing the puck to you.”

Ilya’s mouth curved. “Then don’t lose it next time.”

Shane rolled his eyes, grabbing his towel and standing before he could say something else. “Helpful.”

“Always…I’m a great teammate,” Ilya said easily, infuriating smirk in place.

Shane didn’t respond. He focused on what he was doing, on his routine, on anything that wasn’t the lingering awareness of Ilya Rozanov beside him, watching.

-

By the time Shane left the rink, the sun was already high, heat pressing down heavy and relentless. The walk back to his apartment was short, but it was enough for the humidity to settle into his skin again, undoing the cool clarity he’d found on the ice. He climbed the stairs more slowly this time, the familiar fatigue of hard skating settling into his legs.

The hallway was still quiet, and Shane barely glanced at #8 as he reached his door, already pulling his keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and then stopped in his tracks, front door not quite closed all the way behind him. There was an envelope sitting on the counter just to the right of the entryway. Shane frowned. He was pretty sure he hadn’t left anything there. The envelope was made of thick, cream-colored paper. Too nice to be junk mail. His last name was written across the front. Hollander. No first name, no apartment number or address of any kind. It was handwritten but so fancy and perfect it almost looked printed. A slow, uneasy feeling crept up his spine. He was sure he’d locked the door.

Before he could open the envelope, a sound came from the hallway…a door opening. Shane turned immediately, pulling his door fully open again. The door to #8 was just swinging shut. For a split second, before it closed completely, Shane caught a glimpse of golden brown curls, broad shoulders…familiar and unwelcome. Rozanov. Shane just stood there, staring at the door, his grip tightening on the doorknob. Then, slowly, he turned back and closed his own door. Ilya Rozanov was a problem for another time. The envelope was still sitting on the counter, waiting. 

Shane picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. He slid his finger under the flap and opened it. There was a single card inside, the same thick, expensive paper…the kind that he knew from wedding invitations and fancy parties his parents might be invited to. In the same handwriting, four lines:

You have been observed.
You have been selected.
Thursday. 11:45 p.m. St. Lucien Chapel.
Come alone. Tell no one.

Shane turned it over. The back was blank. He read the front again. And then again. Observed? Selected? By who? It must be a prank. He was very sure he’d locked his door, though. Who could have gotten in? His mind flicked straight to Rozanov. But no…that didn’t make sense. They were at practice together. He had already been there when Shane arrived, or at least come in right after, and he’d just seen him walk into #8. 

“What the fuck?” Shane breathed quietly. An anonymous invitation to…something. Ominous and dramatic, straight out of a bad movie. And yet, it was real, sitting here in his bland apartment, its opulence sticking out like a sore thumb. Shane’s skin crawled at the thought that someone had been inside while he was out. This was supposed to be his sanctuary…quiet and safe. He set the card back down but didn’t step away. His eyes lingered on it, like he might figure out its mysteries if he looked long enough. He started to reach for it again, but pulled his hand back. He didn’t quite want to touch it again, the violation of his space still lingering. That too neat handwriting looked more and more like a threat. 

He should ignore it. Toss it in the trash, forget about it, move on. He didn’t have time for this kind of thing. Classes were starting soon and practice had already begun. He had a routine, and he intended to stick to it. There was no room for complications or distractions. Or whatever this was. His mind drifted back to #8. He’d only been back for a day and the distractions were already piling up. 

The quietness of the apartment didn’t feel as comfortable as it had earlier. Shane shook it off and took a few steps toward the bedroom. Then he stopped and looked back, the card drawing his attention again before he could stop it. Shane didn’t like not knowing things. And whoever had left that envelope in his apartment, whoever had gotten in without him noticing, clearly knew something about him. And had access to his private space. That alone was enough. Shane stepped back toward the table, picking the card up again, more carefully this time.

“Fine,” he said quietly. He would go. Maybe just to look through a window and see who was inside. He couldn’t not. He needed to know. And he also needed to have his locks changed. He was going to nip this in the bud sooner rather than later. Thursday…two days away. Then he’d put it aside and be ready for the semester to start next week. Back to normal, his plan for a perfect year still intact. 

-

Ilya made the walk back from practice without even noticing the heat. His mind was on his new neighbor…his teammate…the adorable nerd he’d been flirting with since the first day they’d met at hockey practice two years ago. The one who was right now probably finding an envelope sitting in his apartment and wondering what the fuck was going on. Ilya’s stomach tightened at the thought. He knew it was happening today. A few months ago he might have been delighted at the thought. Another way to see Hollander. More opportunities to win him over. He was pretty sure they played for more than one of the same teams. Though you’d never know it by observing Hollander. He seemed to only care about hockey and classes. Ilya cared about those things too. But he also cared about fucking and parties and enjoying life away from the weight of his father’s expectations. When he’d gotten a full ride to NOU for hockey, he’d packed his bags and hardly looked back. He went home to Moscow for a few weeks each summer, and he spent the entire time counting down the minutes until he could return to New Orleans, the city that had accepted him with open arms and no expectations. Other than doing well enough to stay on the hockey team of course. 

That was all true until the previous semester when a heavy off-white envelope showed up in Ilya’s apartment. At first, he’d been thrilled. He felt like he’d stepped into some kind of Eyes Wide Shut kind of shit. A mysterious invitation slipped into his locked apartment while he was out. Just the thing to spice up his social life. Not that Ilya’s social life was ever too boring. He never had trouble finding someone to sleep with or a party to crash. But after nearly two years of that, he had welcomed a new distraction. Now that distraction was threatening the other distraction he really wanted to be consumed by.

When he made it back to the apartment building, the first thing he noticed was that #6’s door was cracked open. He knew it was Hollander’s. Ilya had moved here the previous year and had gotten to know the landlord. A useful thing it turned out. He’d had a heads up about Hollander. And he’d spent far too much time thinking about it since. He didn’t even know why. Sure, Hollander was hot, and Ilya had eyes. But he was also boring and probably a prude. Still…there was something about him. Something about the idea of seducing him that had Ilya completely hooked. It was a challenge, and Ilya liked a good challenge. And now that challenge was ten feet across the hall. 

He walked up to his door as silently as possible, rolling each step so the carpet would swallow the sound. He stopped in front of it and glanced over at #6. Through the crack in the door, he could just make out the line of Hollander’s shoulder. Ilya’s stomach sank. He knew what Hollander was looking at. For a brief moment, he thought about getting his attention. Telling him…telling him what? Not to go? He couldn’t. It’s not like they’d stop at one invitation. 

Instead, Ilya quietly slid his key into the lock and turned it. The lock clicked open and the door groaned on its hinges. Ilya hurriedly shut it behind him, not wanting to catch Hollander’s attention this time. 

-

The next evening, Shane was returning from a run, his mind still on the invitation. He’d been thinking about it nonstop since yesterday. With the occasional detour to the fact that Ilya Rozanov was across the hall. A fact he wouldn’t soon be forgetting because the moment he stepped onto the second floor, the unmistakable sounds…low groans and skin slapping against skin…of two people having sex greeted him. He knew immediately they were coming from #8. He walked quietly to his door, trying to control his breathing, still heavy from his run. He closed his eyes briefly, the noises from across the hall rocketing through him, and his dick hardened instantly. What the fuck? He didn’t want to examine too closely why it’d happened so fast. Sure, people having sex…that made sense. But the only voice he could hear was a deep, low one. There was no mistaking who was moaning like that. Shane pressed a palm against his cock, willing it to calm down. He fumbled in the pocket of his shorts for his keys. Right at that moment, a loud, “Oh, fuck,” came from #8, thick with arousal and a sexy Russian accent. Shane nearly groaned out loud. He pulled his hand free of his pocket and bit down on it, trying to stop himself from reacting. From thinking about it at all. Trying to focus on literally anything else. 

Then Shane heard another voice. A woman’s. “Sorry to fuck and run, but I’ve got a meeting across campus in twenty minutes.” There was movement. He heard rustling and thudding near the door. Oh shit. Shane shoved his hand back into his pocket, trying again to get his keys. He was not getting caught listening to his neighbor…to Ilya Rozanov…having sex. He was not doing that. He finally got his keys out...and promptly dropped them. The door to #8 swung open and a pretty blonde stepped out. Shane looked up, his face burning. The blonde gave him a small, awkward smile and continued down the hallway to the stairs. 

“Hollander.” That low voice again, edged with laughter now. “Hi, neighbor.”

Shane didn’t want to look up at him. He wanted to disappear right through the floor. Through the earth. Never to return. But he couldn’t, and he apparently couldn’t stop himself from looking. Rozanov was standing in the doorway, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of loose shorts. His hair was a mess, like someone had been running their hands through it. Because someone clearly had. There was a light sheen of sweat across his chest, catching the curve of his pecs, the faint scattering of hair. Shane’s eyes dropped to his abs before he could stop himself, following that trail of hair down, down…

His gaze snapped up to Rozanov’s face. His usual smirk was there, but his eyes were dark, searing right into Shane. 

“Like what you see?” Rozanov asked, eyebrows lifting slightly. 

“Fuck off,” Shane said, but his voice came out too high. 

“We’re neighbors now, Hollander, maybe you should be nicer.” Rozanov shifted, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely, smirk still in place.

“Maybe you should be quieter,” Shane shot back.

“I don’t think that’s what you want,” Rozanov said, letting his eyes drop to Shane’s groin, slow and deliberate. 

Shane followed it. His dick was very obviously hard, pushing against the thin material of his shorts. Jesus. Maybe Rozanov would think it was because of the girl. But judging by the smirk and the way he was biting his lower lip like he was trying not to laugh, Shane was pretty sure he knew exactly what was going on. And Shane was not interested in doing this. He finally grabbed his keys and turned back to his own door, pointedly ignoring him.

“Want me to give you heads up next time?” Rozanov called after him. “You can bring popcorn.”

Shane huffed out a breath. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Mm…maybe,” Rozanov said. “But I think you like it.”

Shane turned back despite himself, every ounce of effort going into keeping his eyes above Rozanov’s shoulders. Though that wasn’t much better. Shane wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. Or something worse. His traitorous brain helpfully supplied an image of pressing his mouth against it, feeling that curve shift under his lips. Fuck. No…he definitely didn’t want that. And he needed to do something, or someone, soon to make sure he remembered that.

“Just keep the noise down,” he gritted out, keeping his lower half angled toward his own door. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Rozanov half-naked, or even fully naked, before. They’d shared a locker room for two years. But Shane did not let himself notice other men in locker rooms. He didn’t let himself notice other men at all. Mostly. And now here was the worst possible scenario for him to be throwing that out the window.

“Want a beer?” Rozanov asked, as if they weren’t standing in the hallway, both sweating from different activities, pretending Shane hadn’t just heard Rozanov…finish…with a girl. He wanted to die right on the spot.

“No,” Shane said, letting the irritation cover up whatever else was happening. “I’m going to take a shower.” He paused. “You probably should too.” 

Then he turned around, stepped inside, and closed his door behind him. A laugh followed from the hallway. And it went straight to his already aching dick.

“Fuck,” he muttered. This was a problem. Rozanov was a problem. And somehow, that wasn’t even the biggest problem he had.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you're not here for hockey :D (there is no hockey)

Chapter 2: The meeting

Chapter Notes

Shane woke the next morning already distracted by what was coming later. He’d set the invitation on his bedside table the night before, which in hindsight had probably not been the best idea, because it had followed him into his dreams. In one of them, Rozanov had been there, standing just outside his door, holding the envelope between two fingers, like he was keeping it just out of Shane’s reach. He’d been grinning at Shane, but it hadn’t been the teasing smirk Shane had become used to. It had been wrong. Too wide, too many teeth. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory. His gaze drifted over to the envelope, eyes moving over every detail, like they might have changed in the night. But it was the same off-white paper, elegant black handwriting, sitting in the same spot.

He dragged himself into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering wrongness of everything. Then he made his usual protein shake and coffee, and by the time he slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out into the hallway, he almost felt normal again. Just as he was locking up…because he always locked his door…the door to #8 opened. Rozanov stepped out looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, eyes still sleepy, hair messy. When he saw Shane, he perked up, mouth curving into a smirk…the normal one, red and perfect and teasing, no extra teeth. 

“Good morning, neighbor.” Rozanov’s voice was low and teasing, and Shane put all his effort into not reacting to it. He ignored him and started down the hall toward the stairs. Rozanov caught up to him just before he reached them, matching his pace.

“We can walk together,” Rozanov said, not deterred. 

Shane rolled his eyes, but when they made it down the stairs and reached the front door, he held it open behind him anyway. He was going to have to start leaving for practice earlier. 

The humidity enveloped them as they made their way down the sidewalk, the early morning air thick with it, sticky against his skin. They walked in silence for a few steps before Rozanov spoke again.

“Sleep well?” He didn’t even sound like he was teasing now. Shane looked at him, curious. Rozanov was watching him, eyes locked on his, like he actually cared. Strange. The intensity didn’t quite match the question.

“Fine I guess,” Shane said. “Why?” 

“Just being neighborly.” The smirk slid back into place, as if the previous moment hadn’t happened, and Shane felt his shoulders loosen. This was the Rozanov he was used to.

Why was everything so fucking weird lately? Because no matter how distracting Rozanov was, Shane’s mind was still half on the invitation. On where he was going to be in about 18 hours. He needed to shake it off. Practice first. Weird shit later.

Shane glanced at Rozanov again and found him still watching, smirk gone, mouth drawn up like he was thinking hard about something. Shane picked up his pace. So did Rozanov. Shane sighed quietly. They made it to campus without much more conversation and it was a relief when Shane stepped into the locker room and the familiar noise pulled his attention elsewhere, even if only for a few minutes. Rozanov was intercepted almost immediately by Cliff Marlow, who launched into a loud animated story about some girl before Shane had even finished setting his bag down. Cliff was Rozanov’s Hayden. Shane and Hayden had become fast friends freshman year, as had Rozanov and Cliff. Shane liked Cliff for the most part. He was a little loud and pushy, but he didn’t get under Shane’s skin the way Rozanov did. 

As much as he tried not to be, Shane was distracted during practice. And much like he had been on their walk, Rozanov was watching him in a decidedly ominous way. He was used to the teasing…no opportunity missed by Rozanov to get one up on him with a smirk and a laugh and a grating little comment.  But not today. He hadn’t heard a single insult, joke, innuendo…nothing. Just Rozanov’s eyes on him every time he looked up.  More weird shit.

Shane was relieved when practice ended. The clarity he usually found on the ice had evaded him today, and that had thrown him off more than he wanted to admit. Probably not enough that anyone else had noticed…except maybe Rozanov. Fuck. He needed tonight to be over. He needed to figure out what this was, deal with it, and get back to his routine before it spiraled into something more distracting than it already was. Having Rozanov across the hall was already a complication. He didn’t need another one.

He managed to slip out of the locker room before Rozanov, but not before he felt it again. That same focused attention, making the back of his neck tingle. He didn’t even need to look to know, but he did anyway, taking in those hazel eyes, the rigid set of his mouth. He looked worried, and for reasons Shane could not explain, that made his stomach dip uncomfortably.

Shane shook it off and made his way back to his apartment, letting his mind drift inevitably back to tonight. He passed St. Lucien Chapel and forced himself to keep walking, to not let his eyes drift over to the small building set behind a line of live oaks, Spanish moss dripping from the wide branches, casting the walkup in shadow while everything else was bright under the late morning sun. He had known the chapel was there…had walked past it almost daily for two years without giving it much thought. It was just another building tucked slightly off the quad, easy to overlook if you weren’t paying attention. Which, now that he thought about it, might have been intentional.

The building itself was smaller than most of the academic halls, made of pale stone that had weathered unevenly over time, giving it a slightly worn, almost soft look in contrast to the sharper lines of some of the newer buildings nearby. Narrow arched windows ran along the sides, the glass dark from the outside, giving nothing away about what was inside. The doors were heavy wood, darker than the stone around them, set deep into the front of the building. What had once been just another fixture of campus now felt eerie…like someone was watching him from one of those dark windows until the building was completely out of sight.

-

Shane made it back to #6 without running into anyone, even Rozanov. He dropped his things and went straight to his bedroom. The envelope was still there, right where he’d left it. He opened it, reading those four lines again. Not that he needed to. He’d read them so many times he could visualize them in perfect clarity in his head, etched there to revisit as often as he wanted. Which was not at all. And yet he did…over and over again. 

He went back to the living room and grabbed his laptop. He googled the phrases: You have been observed. You have been selected. Nothing related to anything that made sense in this context came up. He added the name of the university, the chapel, anything he could think of. The chapel came up in campus directories and outdated event listings. The phrasing led nowhere. No references, no matches, nothing that suggested this was part of anything public or even semi-public. Which probably meant…Shane leaned back slightly, staring at the screen until his eyes lost focus, trying and failing to come up with anything that didn’t make his stomach sink…which meant it wasn’t meant to be found.

Loud talking cut through the silence. A low voice, the words coming out fast and sharp in Russian. Rozanov. Shane tiptoed to his front door, standing quietly in front of it, listening to Rozanov clearly talking to someone on the phone. Even when he was being an asshole, Shane had never heard his voice like this. The usual light teasing edge was gone, replaced with something that sounded strained, like he was doing everything to keep it under control. Shane couldn’t understand the words, but he didn’t need to. That tone was enough. It made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t want to think too hard about. He wondered briefly if Rozanov was okay, and then cursed himself for caring. They weren't friends. But they’d been teammates for two years, and while most of it was spent competing to see who was better, Rozanov teasing him relentlessly but never with much bite, Shane still didn’t want to see the guy…hurt? Upset? He couldn’t tell which it was, but definitely something. 

The door across the hall opened and then shut, the loud click echoing in Shane’s quiet apartment. He stood there for another second, then stepped back, running a hand over the back of his neck before turning away.

“Not my problem,” he muttered.

-

The rest of the afternoon passed so slowly that Shane thought time might actually be slowing down just to torture him. He sat at the small table with his laptop open and pulled up his course schedule, forcing himself to focus on something he could actually control. Two upper-level biology courses, one with a lab, and one physics course with a lab to fulfill his degree requirements, plus an upper-level philosophy course to take care of an elective and intro French to cover his language requirement, which was really a blow off because he already spoke basic French. It was still going to be a busy semester, but this was the kind of busy he was used to and preferred. 

Biology would be a breeze…it always was. Physics would take more effort, but he just had to get through it. Philosophy would be different, in a good way. He’d chosen it because he’d enjoyed the professor’s intro level course…in more ways than one. Dr. Hunter was a young professor who was distractingly attractive and really seemed to enjoy his job. Shane had not minded waking up early for that class twice a week. 

When he couldn’t look at his schedule anymore, he closed his laptop and stood, moving into the kitchen to make dinner even though he wasn’t really hungry. He went through the motions…cutting, cooking, cleaning, his mind drifting no matter how many times he tried to pull it back. The envelope. The invitation. The chapel. Rozanov’s voice, angry and unfamiliar through the wall. Too many things swirling around his head.

He carried his plate over to the couch and turned on the TV, letting something play in the background without registering any of it. The noise filled the apartment, but the words slipped past as his attention circled back, again and again, to the same place. 

When it was finally a little after 11pm, Shane went to his bedroom and stood in front of his closet. There was no indication for dresscode for whatever this was. Not that he planned to go inside anyway. But he still stood there for far too long trying to decide how to dress for a secret, ominous late-night meeting that might be a prank. He eventually settled on dark jeans and a navy t-shirt. He didn’t want to stand out while walking around campus so late. 

After he was dressed, he grabbed the card from the bedside table and shoved it in his back pocket, just in case. He stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him and locking it. The hallway was quiet. No voices or music, no TVs. He stepped a little closer to #8 and listened…quiet there too. The dim light in the hallway flickered once, adding to the eerie feeling that was already starting to creep up the back of his neck. He hurried down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the night. The air wasn’t as heavy as it had been earlier in the day, but it was still too thick, a light sheen of sweat forming across his skin immediately. 

Campus was quiet this late, especially since classes didn’t start for a few more days. Shane passed no one and only saw a couple of people at a distance, near the dorms. The closer he got to the chapel, the more aware he became of where he was going, of the fact that he’d walked this exact path dozens of times without ever slowing down.

When St. Lucien came into view, pale stone catching what little light filtered through the heavy branches above, Shane slowed down and circled around the back. There was dim light coming from the arched windows. Not enough to be seen from the main path, but hopefully enough to see who was inside. 

The ground was softer at the back, less worn, the grass uneven beneath his shoes. He stepped up onto the narrow edge of the foundation and leaned slightly toward one of the windows, angling himself to see through the reflection. At first all he saw was his own outline, faint against the glass, but when he shifted again the interior came into focus. Movement, dark shapes, more people than he expected.

“Don’t.” 

The voice came from behind him, close enough that Shane straightened immediately, stepping back down and almost losing his balance. He turned to find someone standing a few feet away, partially obscured by shadow, dressed in dark clothes that blended easily into the night. A plain black mask covered the upper half of their face.

Shane held their gaze for a second, trying to see if he could place the eyes with the voice. “I was just looking.”

“Use the door.”

No one familiar. The voice wasn’t threatening, but it didn’t invite argument either. Shane supposed it was always going to end up this way…him going inside. He wouldn’t have been able to walk away without knowing. Shane nodded once and moved past the person, back toward the front of the chapel. He could feel their eyes follow him up the steps. The door was heavy, and Shane had the brief thought that someone was standing on the other side, holding it closed. But then it groaned open, and a whoosh of cool air met him. It was quiet inside, even though several people were standing on the elevated platform in front of the pews. The person from outside stepped in behind him and pushed the door shut with a heavy thunk that echoed through the chapel. 

“Choose a seat in the front row,” the person said. Shane glanced back at them briefly and then made his way to the front, his footsteps too loud in the quiet. He slid into the pew on the left, trying to relax his posture while keeping his attention firmly fixed on the people in front of him. Everyone was wearing some variation of the same thing: dark pants and a dark shirt, each with the same plain black mask as the person from outside, covering the upper half of their faces. Just enough to obscure the details. His eyes scanned each person, recognizing no one, until…Rozanov. Even with the mask, Shane knew. The broad shoulders, the slight tilt of his head, the way he leaned just a little, always too relaxed. His golden brown hair just barely caught the dim light from the wall sconces, but Shane would have known even without that. And though he couldn’t make them out from where he was sitting, he knew those hazel eyes were fixed on him. 

Shane looked forward again, jaw tightening. What the fuck? Of course he was here. Asshole. 

The front door opened again, the sound carrying through the room, and two more people stepped inside without masks. They hesitated just inside the threshold before the same voice from outside told them to sit. One of them, a blonde woman, slid into the pew behind Shane. The other, a man with long brown hair, took the seat to his right. Shane didn’t look at either of them for more than a second.

Soon after, a man stepped forward from the group, dressed the same as the others, but carrying himself in a way that made it clear he was in charge.

“You were given an invitation,” he said. His voice was deep and calm, carrying easily in the small space. “You chose to come.”

Shane leaned back slightly against the pew, arms resting loosely, watching. 

“You’re here because someone has already been paying attention,” the man continued. “To how you conduct yourself. To what you do when it matters.”

A brief pause.

“We don’t extend invitations to people we haven’t already considered…people we haven’t watched.”

Shane felt that eerie tingle on the back of his neck again. Who had been watching him? Rozanov? 

“What we do here isn’t tied only to this campus,” the man continued. “This is where it starts, not where it ends.”

Shane glanced over at Rozanov again. How long had he known about this?

“You’ve all seen how things work,” he went on. “People who get ahead, and people who don’t. It’s not always about intelligence. Or even effort. Most of the time, it’s about access. Who has it. Who doesn’t. Who knows where to look before anyone else realizes there’s something there.”

The man paused briefly there, letting the words sink in.

“We pay attention to those things. And we keep track of the people who matter.” 

The man sitting to Shane’s right shifted slightly. “So what, this is networking?” A few of the masked figures moved, almost imperceptibly. 

The man in front looked at him, expression unreadable beneath the mask. “If that’s the word you prefer.”

That didn’t sound like an agreement per se.

“We won’t introduce ourselves,” he continued. “You won’t leave here with the name of the organization or our names. You won’t know who’s standing in front of you tonight. Not until you’ve been officially accepted.” He paused again, looking around at the people standing on either side of him. “But you will know this,” the man said. “The people in this room don’t disappear when they leave this campus. If you are inducted, you will have a network for life.” He emphasized that word, his gaze drifting to the man on the right. Then he spread his arms out, like he was showing off items for auction. 

“You’ll move through life with access other people don’t have,” the man said. “You’ll know who to reach out to, who to stay clear of, and what’s worth your time before you waste it.”

Shane knew this was supposed to be tempting, but it sounded…ominous. 

“You’ll also be seen,” the man added. “Even when you don’t realize it. This society operates under the guise of observing. We do not interfere in ways that would be noticed or remembered."

And now even more ominous. Shane tried to sort through what he actually knew about this kind of thing. Secret societies. He’d heard of them, obviously. Everyone had. Skull and Bones of course…but he couldn’t remember what was fiction and what was reality. He’d never given much thought to being in one. Or why he’d even want to be. Though having a network that lasted beyond university did sound useful. Shane’s thoughts shifted automatically into something more practical. When he was done playing hockey, he wanted to work with pro athletes as a physiotherapist. That kind of career depended on connections as much as skill. Who you knew..who trusted you enough to bring you in. This could help with that. 

“And you’ll be expected to contribute to that,” the man continued. “Not immediately. You’ll start by paying attention. Learning what matters and what doesn’t.”

Shane’s focus snapped back to the man.

“You’ll be given something small to start,” he said. “An assignment that will determine whether you’re fit to join us. Someone to observe. You won’t interfere or make yourself visible in any way you weren’t before. You’ll learn to observe what’s already there.”

Shane let out a slow breath, not liking the sound of that.

“If you leave now,” the man said, “this ends here. No one will contact you. No one will follow you. What you’ve seen stays in this room.”

A pause.

“If you stay, you keep what you learn to yourself. You do what you’re asked. And you make use of what you’re given.”

Silence settled over the room for a moment.

“Stand.”

Shane pushed himself to his feet. The other two followed.

“Step forward if you intend to stay.”

Shane hesitated for half a second, still conflicted. Then he stepped forward anyway. He did not look at Rozanov. But he could feel that gaze on him anyway.

The man nodded. “You may leave. We’ll contact you when it’s time.”

That was it? It felt almost anticlimactic. Or at least it would have if it weren't for the masks and the secrecy...and Rozanov. He turned and made his way out of the chapel with the other two, the door closing behind them with that same heavy sound. Neither of them spoke, and Shane didn’t bother trying. They went their separate ways, and Shane started down the path toward the front of campus. The air felt warmer now, after being inside the cool chapel. He kept his pace steady but slower than usual, wondering if, maybe hoping that, he’d hear footsteps rushing to meet him.

It took about a block before he heard them. He slowed a little more, let them catch up.

“You could have told me,” he said when he felt the movement of air next to him. 

“Would it have changed anything?” Rozanov asked, falling into step beside him.

“I wouldn’t have walked in blind.”

“You still walked in. I knew you would.” 

Shane glanced over at him. No mask now, just him and his infuriating face that Shane could never stop thinking about these days.

“That’s not the point.”

Rozanov shrugged slightly, hands in his pockets. “Kind of is.”

Shane looked ahead again, jaw tightening. “How long have you been in it?”

“Since last semester.”

“Spring?”

Rozanov nodded once.

“And you didn’t think to mention it at any point since then.”

“It’s not something you mention,” he said. “Not before they reach out to you.”

“Right.”

Rozanov glanced at him, a flicker of something that wasn’t quite amusement. “You think I make the rules?”

Shane snorted quietly. “No. I think you like knowing things I don’t.”

“That’s also true.”

That almost got a smile out of him. They walked a few more steps in silence, the sound of their shoes steady against the pavement.

“You knew I’d get an invitation,” Shane said.

Rozanov didn’t answer right away. “I thought it was likely,” he said after a moment.

“Because you suggested it?”

“No,” Rozanov said, shaking his head slightly. “Because you’re the kind of person they look for.”

Shane glanced over again. “So you didn’t…put my name in somewhere?”

Rozanov’s mouth twitched. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I said I agreed,” he said. “When they asked.”

Shane looked ahead again. “So they were already watching me.”

“Yes.”

“And then they asked you.”

“Yes.”

“And you said yes.”

Rozanov shrugged lightly. “Wasn’t a hard call.”

Shane let out a quiet breath through his nose. “That’s—” he started, then stopped. Was it a compliment? It sounded like it. 

“What?” Rozanov asked.

“Nothing.” They were walking closer together now, shoulders almost brushing. When the path narrowed ahead of them, they moved closer together, shoulders touching now. When the path widened, Shane didn’t move away. Neither did Rozanov.

Shane glanced over at him, then away again. “So…you’ve been watching me too, then,” he said.

“Yes.”

“They asked you to?”

“No.”

Shane frowned slightly and looked over again briefly. “What? Then why?”

Rozanov shrugged. “We are friends. You’re hard to ignore.”

Friends? Were they? He thought of all the teasing, the competitiveness, the way he was always there, one step ahead, one comment away from getting under his skin. But Rozanov had never been cruel. 

“So that’s why you’ve been an asshole for two years? Because we’re friends?”

“Obviously. I would ignore you if I didn’t like you. Like Pike.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shane could see the smirk pulling at Rozanov’s lips now. Shane let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. Poor Hayden. It was true, though. Rozanov barely acknowledged him unless he had to. In fact, now that he thought about it, Shane was the only one who got that kind of attention from him. Something tightened in his chest at the realization.

They reached their building, and Shane held the door open, letting Rozanov step inside ahead of him. They climbed the stairs in silence, Rozanov a few steps in front. On the second floor, Shane slowed, stopping in front of #6 as he pulled his key from his pocket. He glanced behind him and watched Rozanov do the same at #8. 

“Want a beer?” Rozanov asked, one corner of his mouth pulled up.

Shane shook his head, a small smile lingering. “We have to be up in a few hours for practice.”

Rozanov didn’t answer right away. He just watched him, gaze drifting briefly to Shane’s mouth. At least, that’s what it looked like. Shane pushed the thought away immediately.

Then Rozanov smiled, easy again. “Goodnight, Hollander.”

“Night,” Shane said, already turning his key. He stepped inside and shut the door a little faster than necessary, leaning back against it for a second, knowing there was a stupid grin on his face. 

-

Practice the next morning felt more normal than it had the day before. Shane was a little tired, but as soon as he got on the ice, he shook it off. Without the mystery of the invitation hanging over his head, it was easier to focus. Well...mostly. Because now, every time he looked up and saw Rozanov watching him, every shoulder check, every teasing comment…had something else layered under it. Shane was even more aware of him than usual, in a way that was harder to ignore than before.

Back in the locker room, Shane was grabbing his bag after showering when he felt that familiar attention settle at the back of his neck.

“Leaving already?”

Shane glanced back at him, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Rozanov was standing a few feet away, half-dressed, hair damp.

“Some of us have things to do,” he said, turning away before his eyes could drift places they shouldn’t be in locker rooms. 

Rozanov huffed quietly. “Boring.” 

Shane zipped his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “See you later.”

Shane made it out of the rink and into the heat, letting the damp air push out thoughts of Rozanov. The walk back was quiet, his mind not quite settled, but at least not spiraling about mystery envelopes and late-night meetings. He was still waiting for his assignment, but for now at least, he could almost relax. 

He made it back to #6 and had just set his stuff down when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Shane looked at the screen, expecting something from Hayden or a team group chat.

Rose: I’m back in town. Sinner at 7? You better be there

Shane laughed quietly. Rose Landry was not subtle. If she told you to be somewhere, you showed up.

Shane: Sounds great. See you then.

They had dated briefly the previous year. Rose had been the one to help him figure out that maybe he shouldn’t be dating girls. He’d really liked her…she was funny, beautiful, easy to spend time with. He didn’t even mind the making out. It was everything that came after that hadn’t gone well. Rose wasn’t the first girl he’d gone to third base with, and he had that part down. He just didn’t get anything out of it…no desire, no urgency. And the going down on her part…well, he wasn’t sure he wanted to try that again. The sex had been…also not great, if he was honest. He’d had a hard time staying in the moment, so to speak. Still, he was grateful. Rose had forced him to confront something he’d been running from for years and he’d gotten an excellent friend out of it. He’d grown up playing hockey, and if he’d learned anything from locker room conversations, it was that being gay was the worst thing one of them could be. And yet…Shane dropped onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling. That didn’t feel entirely true anymore.

-

Shane went for his usual afternoon run, then showered and found himself standing in front of his closet for the second time in two days, wondering what to wear. He didn’t usually put this much thought into clothes, but he was trying to be better. To be someone who might look open to…dating. He eventually settled on jeans and a soft light blue t-shirt. It wasn’t like this was anything serious. They were just going to a bar.

The Sinner was about fifteen minutes from his building, and despite the heat, Shane decided to walk. The air was thick, clinging to his skin as soon as he stepped outside, but he barely noticed after a few blocks. His mind was too busy. He let it turn over all the things that were bouncing around it…the organization whose name he still didn’t know, Rozanov, Rose, dating…they all tumbled together, and he didn’t know which one he should be most worried about. Probably not Rose. This at least would be easy.

The Sinner came into view on the corner, a nondescript white building that didn’t look like much from the outside. The sign above the door looked almost handwritten, “The Sinner” painted in uneven black letters. A small rainbow flag hung in the window. It wasn’t strictly a gay bar, but it leaned that way. They also weren’t too discerning about IDs, which is why it was a favorite among some NOU students. But not enough to disrupt the neighborhood hole-in-the-wall vibe.

Shane pushed through the door and let his eyes adjust to the dim reddish lighting. Rose was already there, sitting at the end of the bar with a drink in front of her, phone in hand. She looked up the second he got close, her expression brightening immediately.

“There he is,” she said, sliding her phone face down and leaning in to hug him. “I missed you,” she said, squeezing tight.

“I missed you too,” Shane said, and it was true. They’d kept in touch over the summer. Rose had sent him long, chaotic updates about her theater friends and the production they were obsessing over at the time, and Shane had done his best to sound like he had anything interesting going on. He hadn’t.

“You look tense.” She scanned his face, her own going more serious.

“I’m not,” Shane said. “It’s just been a long week back. Early hockey practice, you know.”

“Mhm…are you sure this is a hockey thing and not a life thing?”

Shane felt his cheeks warm because the first thing that came to mind wasn’t the invitation or the meeting, it was Rozanov. What the fuck? They’d known each other for two years, and Shane had spent most of that time successfully…mostly successfully…ignoring him. And now he was haunting every waking moment of Shane’s day, sitting in the back of his mind, showing up at the worst possible moments, refusing to leave.

The bartender came by then, quickly pouring him a beer and setting it down in front of him. Shane paid in cash, not intending to drink enough to start a tab.

“I’m fine,” Shane said eventually.

Rose watched him for a second, then let it go with a small shrug. “Okay. We’ll pretend that’s true for now.”

They fell into normal conversation after that. Rose talked more than he did, which was always true. She told him more about the show she’d worked on over the summer, about the director she hated and the actor she was still hooking up with. Shane listened, chiming in when he could, letting himself relax while the beer took the edge off everything that had been sitting too heavy all day.

A couple hours later, Rose checked her phone and sighed. “I have to go.”

“That was fast,” Shane said, looking at the time. 

“I know, I know. I promised I’d stop by a theater thing and I forgot.” She made a face. “Tragic, really. But now that we’re both back in town, you can’t escape me.”

Shane smiled. “I’d never even try to.”

“Mhm.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Before pulling back, she said softly near his ear, “Don’t look now, but the guy at the other end of the bar has been staring at you for the last half hour.”

Shane froze. “What?”

“Cute,” she added. “Dark hair, black shirt.”

Shane immediately turned his head.

“Don’t—” Rose laughed. “Jesus, you’re subtle.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, dragging his gaze back to her.

She grinned. “Go talk to him.”

“What? No.”

“Why not? He really is cute. I’d go if he was looking at me like that.”

Shane made a face. “I haven’t…done that before.”

“I know,” she said, her tone softening a little. “Which is exactly why you should. You told me you were ready to try. No time like the present.”

Shane glanced back again, more carefully this time. The guy was still there and definitely still looking at him.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Rose said, standing up. “Just talk to him.” She grabbed her bag, then paused, looking at him more seriously for a second. “Text me later. Or don’t if you’re busy,” she added, a grin slipping back into place. “But don’t go home immediately.”

“Okay,” Shane said, smiling, shaking his head a little.

Only a couple minutes later Shane felt the air shift next to him. He glanced over to see cute guy sliding into Rose’s vacated seat. 

“Hi,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Shane swallowed hard, trying to shake off the sudden spike of nerves. “Sure.”

The bartender brought them each a beer, and they settled into an easy conversation. His name was Jace, and he was an econ major at Tulane. He played tennis and rugby. By the time his beer was half gone, Shane had started to relax. He could do this. He could be into guys…and maybe do more than just talk to one. 

After a while, Jace leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Want to go somewhere quieter?”

Shane’s stomach flipped. Too fast. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this after all. 

“We don’t have to leave,” Jace added quickly. “Just…back there for a minute?” He nodded toward the hallway that led away from the main room.

“Okay,” Shane said, nodding too quickly. He could do that.

They made their way toward the back, the music fading just enough to make the space feel separate from the rest of the bar. The hallway was dim, with one doorway leading to another small area with tables, and one leading to an outdoor courtyard. Jace looked through the one to the left, then pulled Shane through to the courtyard. It was empty. 

Jace turned and stepped in close, backing them up until Shane’s shoulders lightly pressed against the brick wall. He leaned in slowly, giving Shane time to stop him, but he didn’t. When Jace’s lips met his, Shane’s first thought was oh fuck, I’m finally kissing a man. His second thought was of Ilya Rozanov. Fuck. Jace’s hand came up to his jaw, trailing lightly along his cheek before slipping around to the back of his neck. Shane tried to focus on that instead. On what was happening here and now. On the fact that this was what he’d wanted.

Jace kissed him again, a little deeper this time, pressing closer, one hand settling at Shane’s waist. Shane let himself respond, moving his own hands up Jace’s lower back. The other thought didn’t go away…it hovered there just under the surface, just enough to keep him from fully slipping into the moment.

Jace’s hands started moving more urgently now, sliding lower. Shane could feel his body starting to respond, but not as enthusiastically as he’d expected. The fact that they were in public, that this guy was a stranger, that he wasn’t…Shane shifted, trying to push thoughts of brown curls and annoying smirks out of his head.

Jace pulled back and looked at him. “You good?” 

Shane nodded. He wanted to be. He just needed to relax. Jace leaned in again, this time pressing his hips into Shane’s and pinning him more firmly against the wall. Jace was hard, and Shane should have liked that. But he could still hear the faint noise from the bar and footsteps in the hallway. Someone laughing too close by.

“Wait,” Shane said. “Stop.”

“Come on,” Jace said, not pulling back. “Just a little more and then we can go somewhere else.”

Shane shook his head. He didn’t want to leave with Jace. “No, I can’t tonight.”

He tried to step away, but Jace’s hands were still on him, holding him in place. Shane was not a small guy at 6 feet and 200 lbs of muscle. But Jace was a little taller, a little bigger. Shane could have pushed him off, but he didn’t want to make a scene. 

Jace leaned in to kiss him again, and Shane dodged his mouth. “No...I need to leave.” 

“What? Why?”

Then a low voice from the doorway. “He said no.” Shane closed his eyes, feeling a confusing wave of humiliation and relief at that Russian accent, the familiar voice holding an edge of something else.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jace asked, finally stepping back.

Rozanov ignored him. “Shane…are you okay?”

His first name coming out of Rozanov’s mouth hit him hard, like being knocked over and falling into something soft and warm. His shoulders loosened, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I’m fine,” he said. Rozanov didn’t look convinced.

“Let’s go,” he said, eyes still on Shane.

Jace made a small, irritated sound. “Seriously?”

Rozanov glanced at him then, just briefly. “Fuck off.” His voice made it clear he meant it.

Jace stepped back, hands lifting slightly. “Whatever, man.”

Shane didn’t look at Jace again. The embarrassment was creeping in now, settling somewhere in his chest, stronger than the buzz from the few drinks he’d had. He stepped past Rozanov, out of the courtyard and back into the hallway, the noise of the bar washing over him again. Rozanov fell into step beside him. 

When they were out of the bar and walking down the sidewalk, Shane said, “I had it under control.”

“Did you?” Rozanov glanced at him.

Shane exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I was just…” He trailed off, not sure how much more humiliation he could stomach tonight. “I was going to leave.”

“I know.”

“Why were you even there?” Shane asked.

“What, I can’t go out for a drink now?”

“And you just happened to be in the same bar, at the same time?”

“Yes,” Rozanov said. “I go there a lot.” There was a hint of something in his voice…not quite embarrassment, more like he knew how that sounded and didn’t have a better answer.

“Are you watching me now? For them?” At first Shane thought it might be something else…something he didn’t want to look at too closely. But then he remembered the previous night, and his stomach tightened, imagining Rozanov collecting intel on him. Reporting on him.

“No,” Rozanov said, looking over at him. “I told you I wasn’t. I would not lie to you about that.” 

About that. Shane filed that away. 

“But you were watching me.” It wasn’t a question. He must have been if he’d known Shane was out in the courtyard.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Rozanov didn’t answer right away. He reached up and dragged a hand through his hair, eyes focused on the ground in front of them. 

“Because you looked like you were about to do something you didn’t want to do.”

Shane’s first instinct was to push back. “I did want to.” The words were out before he could stop them. He was effectively admitting that he liked men. To Ilya Rozanov. And maybe he already suspected that after their encounter in the hallway, after he’d heard Rozanov with the blonde. Now he was confirming it. 

Rozanov snorted. “Could have fooled me.”

They were almost back to their building now. Shane felt off, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving something shaky behind, the buzz of the alcohol doing nothing to dull it. He didn’t like the feeling. Rozanov reached the door first and held it open. Shane stepped inside and started up the stairs, the cooler air helping just a little. 

They reached #6, and Shane stopped, pulling his keys out. Rozanov leaned against the wall next to him, making no move to go to #8, his eyes scanning Shane’s face. “Want to come over for a little while?” he asked tentatively.

Shane’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Why?”

Rozanov shrugged slightly. “Have a beer. Since I interrupted your night that you apparently did want to be having.” He paused. “Or a gatorade. You probably need it.”

“Fuck you,” Shane said, but there was no bite to it. Rozanov’s mouth twitched. Shane hesitated for a second, keys still in his hand. This was a terrible idea and he knew it, but before he could stop himself, he said, “Fine.” 

Rozanov pushed off the wall and unlocked #8. “After you,” he said. Shane rolled his eyes and stepped inside.

The apartment was almost identical to his, but it still felt different. Shane hovered just inside for a second, suddenly very aware of where he was...who he was alone with.

“Sit,” Rozanov said, heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab something.”

Shane dropped onto the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, forehead pressed to his palms. His head was spinning now. Less from the alcohol and more from the fact that he was sitting in Rozanov’s apartment, after Rozanov saw him with a man, after Rozanov…saved him? He hadn’t needed saving, and yet…the way Rozanov looked at Jace, the tone of his voice…it was making his stomach do strange things. And he wasn’t sure how much of it was embarrassment and how much was something much, much worse.

Rozanov came back a second later and tossed him a gatorade. “Drink it,” Rozanov said, sitting down on the other end of the couch. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Shane muttered, twisting the cap off. 

“So,” Rozanov said, look at him. “That guy…he did not hurt you?”

“What?” Shane looked up. “No, nothing like that.”

Rozanov nodded but didn’t look away. “Then…what? You said you wanted to be doing that. What happened?”

“Why do you care?” Shane asked, more to give himself time to sort out what he should or shouldn’t say. 

Rozanov’s mouth twitched. “We’re friends, remember?”

Shane nodded. Fine, maybe he had come to terms with that. “I just…changed my mind. He was, I don’t know, not what I was looking for, I guess.”

Rozanov nodded slowly, eyes still on him. 

Shane quickly added, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Rozanov’s brow lifted slightly. “Tell anyone what?”

“That I um…you know…like guys.” Shane swallowed hard, his cheeks burning. He looked away, but not before he saw Rozanov’s mouth pull up into a smile, less teasing and more amused. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” His voice was light, and Shane actually believed him. “So what were you looking for?” Rozanov added.

Shane looked over at him again. “What?” 

“The guy,” Rozanov said. “You said he wasn’t what you were looking for.”

“Right,” Shane said, dragging a hand through his hair. “Um…I don’t know. I just wanted to know what it felt like to ki—” he cut himself off. The slight lingering buzz was making him a little too honest, making him admit things to Rozanov that he had hardly admitted to himself.

Rozanov gave him a knowing look anyway. “And? How was it?”

Shane almost choked on the gatorade. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head. He could not be having this conversation with Ilya Rozanov. Could he? 

“I don’t know,” Shane admitted anyway. “Fine I guess. I wasn’t really…paying attention.” 

Rozanov nodded again, taking another drink. “What was distracting you?” he asked, almost too casually, biting his bottom lip like he was trying not to smile.

What the fuck? Surely Rozanov couldn’t know where Shane’s thoughts had been trying so desperately to roam while another man had been pressing his hard cock into him. Maybe he could just die of embarrassment, right here, right now, to avoid any more of this conversation. 

Instead, his mouth betrayed him once again. “Someone else.”

“Is that so?” Rozanov was watching him now, just the slightest curve to his lips. “Shame you didn’t get what you were looking for.”

Shane didn’t say anything. He was having a hard time focusing on anything that wasn’t Rozanov’s mouth, the way his lips formed a perfect cupid’s bow…how soft they looked. Fuck. He shook his head once, trying to clear it.

“I could show you,” Rozanov said, and the teasing tone Shane expected from him wasn’t there. “If you wanted,” he added with a small shrug, like it didn’t matter either way. Like he was talking about something entirely different. Something that wasn’t making Shane’s brain short-circuit.

“W-what do you mean?” Shane asked, even though there really wasn’t anything else he could mean. But surely Rozanov wasn’t actually offering…no. Shane swallowed. “But you like girls?” 

Rozanov let out an exasperated breath and rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, Hollander. I like both.”

“Oh.” Shane didn’t know what to do with that. He felt the world tilt on its axis. All the blood was rushing to his dick. Because suddenly the possibility of Rozanov wanting to…kiss him? It cracked something open in him. He didn’t actually want to kiss Rozanov, did he? Except he did. Obviously. And he was only now realizing that maybe he had wanted that for a long time. Maybe since the day they’d met. But he’d never noticed before, had he? Not until recently, and now, when it was explicitly offered. When he was given permission to acknowledge that, yes, maybe he had wanted Ilya Rozanov for a very long time.

Shane swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the drink in his hand. He couldn’t seem to find words.

Rozanov watched him for another second, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Well…do you want me to kiss you or not?” he sounded impatient, but his voice was lower than usual, thick with something else. “I’m a very good kisser,” he added, letting the teasing tone slip back in.

“Wow…so confident,” Shane said. His voice was too high, giving him away. He set his bottle down, his hands unsteady.

“Yes,” Rozanov said simply. He was watching Shane, still waiting for an answer.

Shane’s heart was beating too fast. He could only nod. Rozanov didn’t move right away…he held his gaze for a second longer, like he was giving him one last chance to take it back. Shane didn’t. Then Rozanov set his bottle down, never breaking eye contact, and leaned forward, bracing one hand on the cushion between them and closing the space between their bodies. He paused just in front of Shane, their faces only inches apart now.

“Okay?” Rozanov asked, voice low. Shane nodded again, faster this time.

Then Rozanov pressed his lips to Shane’s, and heat rushed through him. It was soft at first, just lips against lips, lingering long enough to make Shane’s breath hitch before he moved again, shifting slightly, angling closer. Rozanov’s hand came up to rest lightly against the side of Shane’s neck, holding him there, his fingers dragging lightly down the sensitive skin, sending a shiver straight down Shane’s spine. Rozanov trapped Shane’s top lip between his own, running his tongue over it before pulling back just enough to do the same to his bottom lip, his teeth scraping lightly, but still enough to make Shane’s cock twitch, to make him lean in, chasing it, trying to deepen the kiss. Rozanov pulled back again, just enough to look at Shane’s face. Whatever he saw there must have been satisfying because his lips curved and he leaned back in. This time, as soon as their lips touched, Rozanov pushed his tongue into Shane’s mouth, and Shane couldn’t help but draw him in further. Rozanov made a quiet sound against his lips, low and needy, and Shane answered it with one of his own, leaning in harder now, pressing his mouth against Rozanov’s with a kind of urgency he’d never felt before in his life. 

Shane leaned all the way back into the corner of the couch, and Rozanov followed him, covering Shane’s body with his own, never breaking the kiss, only getting hungrier, their lips dancing in perfect rhythm now, tongues exploring, swallowing each other’s moans. Rozanov shifted his hips until his hard cock was rubbing deliciously against Shane’s, whose hips pitched up without permission, pushing, trying to find more friction, needing more. Rozanov gave it to him, rolling his hips in a steady rhythm now, letting the hard lengths of their cocks grind together, the rough drag of denim adding to the sensation. Rozanov lifted his head just enough to break the kiss, and Shane followed instinctively, chasing his mouth, trying to close the distance again.

Rozanov’s eyes were hooded, lips red and swollen, and Shane knew his must be the same. “Is this okay?” Rozanov asked, voice low and rough. 

Shane nodded. “Yes.” His voice came out barely more than a whisper. “Please.”

Rozanov leaned down again, bypassing his mouth this time and pressing his lips to Shane’s neck. Shane moaned, loud and unrestrained, and Rozanov responded by pressing his tongue flat against the spot just below his ear, then sucking lightly, just enough to make Shane’s hips buck, the added pressure on his cock pushing another desperate noise from his throat. His hands tightened around Rozanov’s hips, sliding down to his ass and dragging him closer, harder against him, needing more. 

“Rozanov,” Shane moaned, breathless and wrecked. He might have cared how he sounded if he didn’t feel so completely consumed. Rozanov’s lips drifted down his neck once more before he lifted his head to look at Shane. 

“Yes, Hollander,” he breathed, then dipped his head and kissed him again. It was more frantic now, hungrier, deeper, like they were competing to see who could climb inside the other first. Shane could feel his orgasm building, and he was aware distantly that he was going to come in his jeans like a teenager and not one part of him could stop and care because it felt too good. The weight of Rozanov on top of him, the heat of his mouth, the drag of their cocks together, the low moans and needy noises from both of them, the fabric of his boxer briefs damp and slick with precome. It was all too much.

His release tore out of him without warning, his hips snapping up hard into Rozanov as a broken sound ripped from his throat, swallowed immediately by Rozanov’s mouth, even as Shane’s lips parted, breaking contact. Rozanov chased them and sucked Shane’s lower lip in again, increasing the pace and pressure of his hips against Shane’s, giving him just the right amount of pressure while he jerked against him, wringing the last few spurts of cum from his cock. Rozanov moaned into his mouth, his hips slowing down, until he finally settled on top of Shane, letting his weight hold him down, grounding him.

Rozanov leaned his head against Shane’s shoulder, breathing hard. Shane lay there beneath him, his own breath uneven, body still humming, the aftermath of it rolling through him in waves. As the blood started making its way back to his brain, the embarrassment crept in. He’d just come in his pants while grinding against Ilya Rozanov. Would the humiliations never end today?

“Oh god,” he groaned. Rozanov lifted his head,looking down at him, and he looked just as wrecked as Shane felt.

“What’s wrong?” Rozanov asked, and there was an edge of real concern in his voice. “It was not good?”

Shane huffed a laugh. “It was amazing.” He paused. “But I um…feel a little embarrassed for coming in pants like a teenager. Sorry.” Shane closed his eyes, bracing for the teasing, the smirk.

Rozanov laughed softly instead. “I haven’t come in my pants in a long time.”

Shane's eyes snapped open. “You um…you did too?” 

Rozanov was smiling at him now, a little disbelieving. He sat up, pulling his weight off Shane. He leaned back just enough to tug the waistband of his jeans and pull them taut, showing him the wet spot.

“Oh,” Shane said, a small, helpless smile curving his lips despite himself. He swallowed hard and his cock twitched, like it was wishing for round two already. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” Rozanov said, flopping back against the couch. “You killed me. I am dead.” Then he pushed himself up again, looking at Shane’s face. “So,” he said, quieter now. “Was it what you wanted?”

“What?” Shane said stupidly, trying to catch up.. 

“Kissing a man. Was it…good?” If Shane didn’t know better, he might have thought Rozanov sounded a little self-conscious. 

“Um…yeah,” Shane said, looking down at his hands, the wet spot on his own pants. “It was good.”

“Good,” Rozanov said, and then he leaned in and kissed him again. It was gentle this time, the urgency from earlier gone now. It still felt better than anything Shane had experienced with anyone else. He felt the absence of those warm, soft lips as soon as Rozanov pulled back.

“We should probably sleep,” Rozanov said, leaning back again. “Early practice.”

“Yeah…sleep.” He stood up, immediately aware of his damp boxers, the wet spot on his jeans now even worse than before. The embarrassment hadn’t disappeared completely, but he felt better knowing it hadn’t just been him. “Um…thanks,” he said. “You know…for the bar and…” he gestured vaguely between them.

Rozanov stood too, stepping in close again. “You’re welcome, Hollander.” Then he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Shane’s mouth.“See you tomorrow.”

Shane nodded awkwardly, then turned and walked to the front door, tossing one last glance over his shoulder. Rozanov was just watching him, something unreadable on his face, but when he caught Shane’s eyes, his lips curved up, a softer version of his usual smirk. Shane couldn’t help the answering curve of his own lips, and then he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

He unlocked the door to #6 and stepped inside, letting it shut before leaning back against it. He pressed a hand over his eyes, trying to fight the smile pulling at his mouth even as he acknowledged that Rozanov was still going to be a problem...just not the way he thought.

Chapter End Notes

Shoutout to The Saint and the many hangovers I achieved there, thanks for the inspo (the leaning gay and not checking IDs is fiction though, just to set the record straight. Still a fav)

Chapter 3: The thing

Chapter Notes

Sorry this chapter ran a little long and is mostly about Shane’s sexual awakening odyssey and relationship. Actually I’m not sorry, it’s important and we are here to support him! He had to a get a thing…it’s a canon event. But it did go longer than I meant it to.

Shane woke up the next morning with a smile on his face, thoughts of Rozanov already there, a slow shiver of pleasure spreading through him as he remembered what they’d done. Then he wiped the smile off his face and sat up. He could not be thinking about this. They had both been drunk. Hadn’t they? That’s all it was. Right. Not even Shane could claim to be drunk after three beers over three hours. It didn’t matter anyway. Just because they’d done that once didn’t mean anything. Except now he had to get up and go to practice, where Rozanov would be, skating next to him. Shane groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. The humiliations really were never going to end.

He dragged himself out of bed, eyes lingering on the invitation that he’d set back on the nightstand. He wondered when he’d hear from them again. He had enough to worry about for now. After he showered, dressed, made coffee, and gathered his stuff, he stood at his front door for a minute, listening. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping to hear the door to #8 open or dreading it. But there was nothing, just quiet. Shane stepped into the hallway, locking his door behind him, and made his way downstairs. 

It was raining; the extra moisture made the hot air feel suffocating, like stepping into a sauna. He made the walk to campus as quickly as he could, but his hair was wet and flattened to his head by the time he walked into the locker room. He sat heavily on the bench and started pulling his wet clothes off just as Hayden plopped down next to him.

“Gross weather, huh?” Hayden said, unzipping his bag. “Oh, by the way, we’re doing game night tomorrow.”

Shane looked over at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Around five, but come hang whenever.”

Tomorrow was Sunday, their day off. And the last day before classes started. “Yeah, maybe,” Shane said.

“How’s the new apartment?” Hayden asked as he started pulling his gear on.

Shane thought of Rozanov, of the fact that someone had gone into his apartment, of the invitation. “It’s fine,” he said. “Quieter than the dorms anyway.”

He felt the heat of someone at his back then. “We are neighbors now,” Rozanov said, voice thick with amusement.

Shane’s cheeks heated instantly, last night flashing through his mind. 

Hayden’s head snapped toward him. “No fucking way,” he said, looking between them. “You live next to this asshole?”

“Fuck off, Pike,” Rozanov said. “I’m a great neighbor. Right, Hollander?”

Shane almost choked, turning it into a cough. “When you keep the noise down,” Shane managed, trying to keep his voice even. Normal.

Rozanov laughed. “Yes, well. What can I say? I give great orgasms.”

Shane closed his eyes, willing his face not to get any more red than it probably already was. This could not be happening.

“What the fuck?” Hayden said, his voice caught somewhere between horrified and entertained.

“Hollander came home right when I was showing a friend a good time,” Rozanov said, a grin stretched wide across his face. He was enjoying himself far too much.

“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Shane snapped, glaring at him. 

Rozanov just shrugged, still smiling.

“Gross,” Hayden said. “I told you you should’ve moved in with us.”

Hayden had asked Shane to move in with him and JJ, who had played hockey with them freshman year before an injury took him out, and one other guy Hayden had met in a class. Shane had almost said yes, but the thought of sharing a house with three guys was almost as bad as sharing a dorm with one. No quiet time…no privacy. 

“It’s fine,” Shane said, his shoulders loosening as Rozanov wandered off toward Cliff. 

“You sure, man?” Hayden asked. “That asshole is going to drive you crazy.”

“He’s across the hall at least…no shared walls. It’ll be fine,” Shane said.

Hayden gave him a look. “If you say so.” 

Practice went about as expected. Rozanov had been there, matching Shane’s every move. But today, a push into the boards ended with a hand lingering a second longer than necessary at his waist. At least that’s how it felt to Shane. And when he caught Rozanov looking at him, the smirk that curved his lips was a little softer than usual. Wasn’t it? Shane wasn’t sure if he was reading into it or if something had shifted. He knew he didn’t have the time or bandwidth to figure it out right now.

After he finished in the locker room, Shane said his goodbyes to Hayden and a few others and managed to slip out without running into Rozanov again. The rain had let up, but the sun had come out to turn the moisture into steam, making the walk back worse than before. His shirt was stuck to his back by the time he reached the stairs, his legs feeling heavier than they should have after a normal practice.

He unlocked his door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him. Then he dropped his bag. There, on the counter, in the same spot as the first time, was the off-white envelope. No…it was a new one. The handwriting on the front was similar, but not exact. Still just his last name in black ink. 

Shane slid his finger under the flap and then pulled the card out.

You were selected.
Now you will observe.
You will report what others miss.
Do not interfere. Do not be seen.
You have two weeks.

Cliff Marlow.

Shane stared at the words. Cliff Marlow. Cliff? His stomach twisted hard. Cliff was…Rozanov’s best friend. Shane’s teammate. What could they want with him? Cliff was like Hayden…a good guy, not the best student. Loud. Friendly. Maybe this was just a test. Surely they didn’t really need information on Cliff Marlow…

“What the fuck?” Shane breathed. He’d thought this would be something simple, something to prove he was observant, could follow instructions…whatever. But this felt personal. And wrong. He looked at the card again, his chest tightening. 

Then he heard the door across the hall close. Shane didn’t think, he just grabbed the envelope, yanked his door open, and crossed the hall in three quick steps, knocking hard. It only took a couple seconds for the door to open. Rozanov stood there, hair damp and curling slightly, his shirt clinging to his chest. He took one look at Shane’s face and the smirk that had already been in place slipped.

“What’s wrong, Hollander?” he asked.

Shane held up the envelope. “They gave me my assignment.”

Rozanov just looked at him, his face unreadable.

“It’s Cliff,” Shane said. Rozanov’s face fell, his eyes darting quickly down the hall and back. Then he grabbed Shane’s arm and dragged him inside, closing the door behind him.

“Fuck, Hollander. You’re not supposed to tell anyone,” Rozanov said, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Are you going to report me?” Shane shot back, irritation cutting through the unease. He wanted someone to be rational about this. To tell him what the fuck was going on. He stepped further into the apartment, turning to face Rozanov. “What the fuck is this?” he demanded, holding up the card. “Why Cliff?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” 

Rozanov swallowed hard and shook his head slightly. 

“Things have been weird lately, okay?” Rozanov said, looking away. “When I joined, it was all very…boring. Just the stuff they said…networking, whatever. But lately there has been, I don’t know, more activity. More meetings.”

“Meetings about what?” Shane asked, not sure what was suspicious about that. 

“Like they are watching too many people. I think something happened.”

“What do you mean?” 

“When I joined, my assignment was just for show. Someone who was already inside. Like…they were acting. I don’t know, fuck. Stupid English words,” Rozanov muttered, throwing his hands up. 

“You mean like they told someone to do something specific to see if you’d notice?” Shane asked, trying to follow. 

“Yes, exactly,” Rozanov said quickly. He hesitated, then added, quieter, “But Cliff is not a member.”

Shane let out a long breath. “Then what do they want with him?”

Rozanov shook his head again. “I don’t know.” 

“Fuck,” Shane muttered. “What should I do?”

Rozanov ran a hand through his hair again. “Do what they say. There is probably nothing to report anyway. Cliff is…simple.” He searched for the word. “Like an open book. He does not have secrets.”

Shane sighed, hoping that was true. “Okay,” he said finally. 

Rozanov looked at him again, his expression softening a little. “It’ll be fine.”

Shane nodded. “Thanks.” 

He felt awkward now, standing in Rozanov’s apartment, trying to pretend he hadn’t been here a few hours ago, coming in his pants. His cheeks heated at the memory. Rozanov must have noticed because his mouth curved just a little. The air between them felt suddenly charged. 

“I guess I should go,” Shane said, forcing his eyes to look anywhere but at Rozanov’s mouth. 

“Or you could stay.” 

“Stay?” Shane repeated, his voice coming out a little too high. 

“To hang out,” Rozanov said, shrugging lightly. “We had fun last time.” Now the smirk was back, teasing but with the undercurrent of something else. 

Shane sucked in a breath, trying to come up with anything normal to say. But he couldn’t, because he wanted to stay. He wanted Rozanov to take his mind off the envelope clutched in his hand, to show him more of what he’d been missing by denying his attraction to men. To this man specifically. 

“Okay,” he said finally.

As if that was all the permission he needed, Rozanov crossed the small space, stopping inches in front of Shane. Then, slowly, he brought one hand up to cup the side of Shane’s jaw and leaned in, his eyes scanning Shane’s face the whole time, as if waiting to hear a protest. Shane did not protest. He leaned in. 

Their lips crashed together, like magnets that had been moved just close enough to snap back together after being forced apart. It was desperate and messy, tongues sliding together as they tried to find some kind of rhythm and then gave up on that entirely. Shane made a low, involuntary sound as he grabbed onto Rozanov’s shirt, pulling him closer. Shane’s cock was already hard and leaking, and all he wanted was more, to press his hips against Rozanov’s, to feel the hard length of him again. He shifted his hips forward, seeking friction, already knowing exactly how good it would feel.

Rozanov backed him into the wall, pressing their bodies together, the friction he’d wanted pulling a needy sound from him that Rozanov answered with one of his own. Shane’s hand slid up, threading through Rozanov’s soft, slightly damp curls, tugging just enough to draw another rough, hungry sound from him. Rozanov’s hands moved under the hem of Shane’s shirt, dragging heat across his skin as they worked upward, stopping to squeeze his pecs, thumbs swiping over nipples. Shane groaned into his mouth, while his own hand wandered across Rozanov’s front, massaging his hard cock. Rozanov moaned and pushed against him. Right as Shane shifted his hand to reach under Rozanov’s waistband, a phone rang.

Rozanov pulled back abruptly. “Fuck,” he muttered, already reaching into his pocket. Shane blinked at him, breathing hard as Rozanov glanced down at the screen. “Sorry.”

He stepped back and answered the call in Russian, just a quick clip of words that Shane didn’t understand. The tone was easy, almost apologetic. He could hear the faint echo of a woman’s voice coming from the phone. Then Rozanov hung up and looked back at him, something like frustration flashing across his face.

“Hollander…I have to go,” he said. “I’m sorry. I would not leave you like this, but someone is waiting for me.”

Shane stared at him for a second, still trying to catch up. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, no problem.” He stepped away, closer to the door. 

Rozanov hesitated, then gave him a quick wink. “I’ll make it up to you later, if you want.”

Shane let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh, trying to get his body under control. “See you later,” he said instead, pushing the door open.

He got his keys out quickly and slipped into #6 just as Rozanov stepped out of his own apartment, locking the door behind him. Shane flopped onto his couch, letting his head fall back against the cushion. A woman on the phone, Roznaov rushing off…maybe it was the blonde from the other day. Maybe she was his girlfriend. But no…Rozanov had a reputation as a ladies’ man, always sleeping around. Shane would have heard locker room gossip if he’d settled down. You didn’t know he liked men. The thought slipped in before he could stop it. That was different though…being an athlete, a hockey player, who liked men came with its own set of complications. Rozanov probably kept that to himself. Easier that way.

Shane exhaled slowly. Whatever Rozanov had going on wasn’t his problem. His problem was that he couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the fact that his cock was still aching. About I’ll make it up to you later if you want. 

He couldn’t do anything about Cliff right now. He’d see him again on Monday, and contacting him would be beyond suspicious. They didn’t hang out unless it was in a team group setting. 

Shane let his head fall back again, staring at the ceiling. He let one hand drift down to press against his cock, and he let out a quiet sound at the contact. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, hesitating for a second before unlocking it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried before. He’d watched straight porn several times, trying and failing to understand why everyone else seemed so into it. He’d tried gay porn too, a few times. But he'd always felt weird...ashamed. Like he wasn’t supposed to be watching it. He didn’t feel that way anymore. He wanted, maybe needed, to know more about how this worked. Not that he was going to be doing that with Rozanov…definitely not with him. But maybe with someone. 

He scrolled for a minute before settling on a video that looked…useful. Two very attractive men were making out, pulling clothes off. He slid his shorts down over his cock so he could wrap his fingers around it, stroking slowly. The men on screen ended up on a bed, one of them on all fours, head pushed down into the mattress while the other one’s mouth was busy between his legs. Shane thought about where that one’s lips were, where his tongue must be, and he couldn’t help the breathy noise that escaped his throat, the image of golden brown curls flashing through his mind. Fuck. He pushed it away and tried to follow what they were doing, how it worked, what it might feel like, but his brain kept filling in different details…different hands, a different mouth, a low voice with a Russian accent that refused to stay out of it. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, trying to refocus on the men on screen, who had now started fucking in earnest, the one at the back thrusting hard, both of them making obscene noises. He focused on the movement, the way their bodies fit together, trying to memorize it, understand it, like it was something he could learn if he studied hard enough.

Shane’s hand moved faster, precome dripping steadily provided the slickness he needed. He tried to keep his eyes open and on the screen, to stop the other movie still playing in his head, featuring a mouth that could probably bring him to his knees without even touching him. His release crashed through him, spilling over his hand while his hips jerked up, a name on his lips that he tried to ignore. When he was done, he leaned back, letting his head rest against the cushion while he caught his breath. Loud moans and gasps were still coming from his phone and he quickly closed the tab and erased his browser history. Then he dropped his phone on the couch and pressed his clean hand over his face.

Well…that had answered some things. He was definitely interested. Shane sat there for a minute, staring at nothing, letting his breathing even out while his mind raced. Interested was…an understatement. But it hadn’t exactly answered the part he actually cared about. The how…or what it would feel like exactly. The part that had his brain replaying very specific details that had nothing to do with the video he’d just watched and everything to do with the other things running through his head. He exhaled slowly and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Okay. So maybe…maybe this was something he needed to figure out on his own first. Without another person. Definitely without Rozanov. The thought made his stomach flip anyway.

“Jesus,” he muttered, pushing himself upright. He had to get this under control. 

He reached for his phone again. There was a way to try this, to figure out what he liked before he ended up in a situation where he had no idea what he was doing. Shane immediately grimaced. He’d thought about doing this before. He’d almost done it over the summer before remembering that he was sharing a house with his parents and that he was absolutely not doing that there.

He typed sex toy store in his browser and felt his face heat just seeing those words on his phone. The last time he’d considered this, he was going to order online. But the thought of a misplaced package…misplaced in #8’s mailbox specifically…was enough to change his mind before the thought had even fully formed. No…he was definitely not trusting delivery people or Rozanov’s inability to not tease him relentlessly if something like that happened. 

The first thing that came up was a store called Mr. Binky’s with a few locations, one of which was in the French Quarter. Okay…he could do that. He clicked on the pictures posted with reviews and that had been a mistake. There were too many options. Too many things that made him feel like he’d skipped about five steps ahead of where he wanted to be.

“Oh god,” he muttered. Was he really going to do this? Of course he was…if not now, then when? He dropped his head back with a quiet groan. “This is a terrible idea.” 

He got up and cleaned himself up, then carried the new envelope into his bedroom and set it beside the first one. Then he thought better of it and shoved them both in a drawer. Out of sight. 

He thought about changing clothes, heading out now, getting it over with. Instead, he went for a run. It was disgustingly hot outside, and Shane let the heat and the pounding of his feet against the uneven sidewalks take over, familiar and distracting. He counted dogs as he passed them, anything to keep his mind from drifting. A black French bulldog named Gertie. He saw her all the time, walking with her elderly owner who always said hi. A small black-and-white mutt sniffing contentedly in a patch of weeds while its owner talked loudly on the phone. A black lab. A white pitbull. A brown poodle. Then a scruffy off-white dog, its leash held by a broad-shouldered man with curly brown hair…his stomach flipped before he could stop it. He looked again. Not him. Obviously.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, picking up his pace.

Afterward, he showered, standing under the water longer than usual, letting it run hot, trying to clear his head. It didn’t work. His thoughts kept circling back to the video, to what had happened earlier across the hall, to Rozanov. Again. 

He got dressed and threw together something to eat, his attention drifting every few seconds. He pulled out his phone and checked the address again. Then he signed and put it away. He could just forget about this, watch TV, think about how he was going to learn anything new about Cliff, go to bed. Pretend this didn’t matter that much. But it did, and his brain wouldn’t let it go. Neither would his body every time he thought about it.

He sighed and grabbed his keys. Then his backpack because there was no way he was carrying a plastic bag with a sex toy on the streetcar.

The sun was starting to dip when he made it outside, the light softer now but the air still thick as he started the short walk to St. Charles Ave. He walked fast, trying to keep himself from turning around. The streetcar rattled up just as he reached the stop, green and familiar. He paid and dropped into a seat near the back, trying very hard to look like someone who was going somewhere completely normal. The few people around him, a mix of tourists and locals heading home or going to work, paid him no attention. He stared out the window, watching the city slide by…live oaks, iron fences, people walking dogs…all completely normal while his stomach churned. No one knew where he was going and no one cared. He needed to get it together.

He rode it down to Canal St., stepped off with a small crowd of people and decided to walk the rest of the way instead of catching another streetcar. It didn't take long to get to St. Chartres St. He turned right, and within a few steps, he saw the red building on the left, the sign hanging above the door. He took a deep breath and looked around, relieved to see no one paying attention to him. Then he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The bell above the door jingled and he immediately wished it hadn’t because the person at the counter looked up. 

“Hey, let me know if  you need anything.” 

Shane nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m just looking.” His face went hot, and he looked away, stepping further into the store and between the shelves, trying to look casual. He did not feel casual. His eyes swept over the various toys hanging from metal hooks on big blue wire shelving. There were dildos of every size, shape, and color. He stopped in front of one that was shaped like a tentacle and longer than his forearm. 

“Wow,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He kept walking, landing in front of a rack of butt plugs. No…not quite ready for that. He kept going, passing vibrators, cock rings, pocket pussies…it was never-ending. Shane wasn’t a prude. He didn’t have a problem with any of this. He just hadn’t fully considered how much of it there would be. He made his way up and down the aisles, trying not to linger too long in any one spot, grateful the store wasn’t busy. The few people inside looked like tourists in varying states of intoxication.

When he got to a rack of porn DVDs, he stopped for half a second, then immediately turned around and went back the way he came. Back to the dildos. He really wasn’t looking for anything complicated. Just something the right shape and size to…learn some things. Before he could change his mind and walk out empty handed, he grabbed a blue one and looked at the packaging. It had a suction cup at the base and glitter in the silicone. He didn’t need glitter. He put it back and glanced at one next to it. It was flesh-colored and veiny, the head pinker than the rest. Did it need to be so…realistic? Nine inches. He swallowed hard, having second thoughts. Maybe third thoughts. Maybe forty-sixth thoughts at this point. Was he really going to use one of these? Could he? He set it back down and picked up a solid black one. Seven and a half inches, a flared base, nothing extra. That felt…manageable. He nodded once to himself, like he’d just made a very rational, adult decision. He could do this. He had come this far…no cold feet now.

He exhaled, squared his shoulders, and walked back to the front without putting it back. The walk felt longer than it should have. Like time was measured differently while holding a seven and a half inch dildo in your hand. He was very aware of the fact that he was holding it. Very aware of how this looked. Very aware of his face. He set it on the counter, which was slightly too tall, making him feel like a child. Could this get any more humiliating? The cashier rang it up without comment and Shane was grateful for that. He paid, grabbed the plastic bag, and walked out. Before he made it more than a few steps down the street, he stuffed the bag into his backpack, let out a long, relieved breath, then made the walk back to the streetcar. The ride back was uneventful, the warm night air making him a little sleepy, his adrenaline finally starting to dissipate.

When he reached the second floor of his building, his eyes drifted automatically to #8, noting that it was quiet, dark. Good…now was not the time to run into Rozanov. Inside his apartment, he pulled the plastic bag out of his backpack and took the toy out of its packaging, bringing it straight to the kitchen sink. He washed it thoroughly with soap and hot water, his hands sliding over it in a way that felt obscene. But it also reminded him why he purchased it and increased his interest in testing out his new purchase, sooner rather than later. He dried it off and set it down on a towel, looking at it for a few moments. 

“Okay…” he muttered. He grabbed it, headed for his bedroom, and shut the door behind him. It was time to get this over with. He laid a towel out on the bed, grabbed the bottle of lube from his nightstand, then stripped and stretched out on his back. Why did he feel so ridiculous? How did people do this? 

He started the way he always did, just stroking himself, letting his brain settle and his body relax. His mind drifted inevitably to the one person he was trying to avoid, memories of last night and this morning pushing him closer to the edge than he needed to be right now. He stopped and picked up the dildo. He knew he needed to start with his fingers…and even then, he wasn’t sure how this thing was going to fit. He set it aside and reached for the lube, pouring some into his palm and coating his fingers thoroughly. Then he shifted, spreading his thighs to make space, and reached down to press against his entrance. It felt good, just that light massaging touch, good enough to push in. He’d done this a few times before, but only with the tip of his finger. It hadn’t been unpleasant, just…not particularly interesting. This time he pushed in further, feeling the slight burn, the pressure. He used his other hand to stroke his cock again, pushing his one finger in and out now, until it started to glide more easily. Then he pushed another one in beside it. The burn was sharper this time, but he worked through it, stroking himself steadily, starting to enjoy the difference in sensation. Once the pressure eased, he added a third finger. That stretch was more noticeable, and it took longer to relax around it, his body resisting before finally giving in. But once it did, it felt…good. Not mindblowing, but good. He glanced over at the dildo, his eyes catching on the shape of it, focusing on the head. He could do it.

He poured some lube onto it and used one hand to spread it evenly, stroking along the length. Maybe he’d gone a little overboard, because it slipped out of his grip and flopped onto the bed beside him. He sighed. Maybe he was just…unnaturally bad at this. When he finally had it back in his hand and pressed up against his entrance, he convinced himself that this was fine…he was still learning. He pushed it in slowly, wincing at the burn, different from what his fingers had felt like. Once the flared head slipped in, he held still, eyes closed, breathing deeply. The pressure was worse than the burn, but it was already starting to ease. He pushed it in a little further, then eased it back, not all the way, then forward again, working into a slow, steady rhythm.

It felt…nice. He liked it. But there was also a flicker of disappointment. He’d expected more. Something explosive. Something that hit all at once and made it hard to think…the kind of urgency he’d felt the night before. He started stroking himself again as he moved it, the added sensation building gradually, both of his hands beginning to move a little faster.

And then there was a knock on his front door. Loud and insistent. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, stilingl his hands. Maybe whoever it was would go away. Because surely it couldn’t be…and yet he knew. He knew it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Another knock, louder and faster. He groaned, slipped the dildo out and set it on the towel before wiping his hand off and dragging on a pair of shorts. He looked down at himself, adjusting his dick and silently willing it to go down before he made it to the door.

As he crossed the living room, the knock came again, followed by, “Hollander?” The low voice, the way his name rolled off that tongue in his perfect accent. His cock twitched. Not the time. 

“Coming,” he said loud enough to be heard through the door. The double entendre was not lost on him.

He glanced down again. His shorts were black, the outline of his cock barely visible but definitely still there. He cracked the door open just a few inches, trying to block the view.

“What?” he said. Rozanov looked…good. Low slung jeans, a tight gray t-shirt stretched across his wide shoulders, his hair just a little messy around the edges. Fuck. 

Rozanov smiled at him, teasing, but with something else layered underneath. Something with heat. 

“Just checking to see if you wanted me to make this morning up to you,” he said, eyes drifting down, lingering too long on Shane’s bare chest. “But it looks like you started without me.” His eyebrows lifted. 

Shane followed his gaze. His chest was flushed, a light sheen of sweat just barely catching the light. 

“I was working out,” he said quickly. 

Rozanov laughed. “Is that why your dick is hard?”

Shane glanced down, and yep. Noticeable now. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Keep it down.” 

Without waiting for an invitation, Rozanov pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

“What were you doing, Hollander?” he asked, his gaze already drifting around the room. Shane noticed it about a half second before he did, but Rozanov was closer. He snatched the packaging from the dildo off the counter where Shane had left it, his face lighting up like a firework. “Well, well, well…what do we have here?”

“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Shane said, but his voice had no bite to it because he was currently melting into a puddle of pure embarrassment. “Please just leave.” 

“And miss this?” Rozanov held up the packaging, swinging it lightly like he was dangling a toy in front of a cat. “I really did leave you in a bad way this morning, hm?” His expression was a mask of barely contained laughter, but there was something else there too. That same heat. And Shane’s body, traitorous as ever, chose to focus on that instead of the record-breaking level of humiliation he was currently experiencing.

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. “It has nothing to do with you,” he said lamely. 

“Hm,” Rozanov said, unconvinced. “If you say so.” 

“I do,” Shane said, snatching the packing out of Rozanov’s hands and shoving it into the trash. “Now can you please go?”

Rozanov stared at him, his face settling into something more serious, more intimate. “Is that what you want?” Then he stepped closer, until their bodies were nearly pressed together. 

Shane swallowed, trying to remember why he wanted Rozanov to leave. His eyes dropped to Rozanov’s mouth, those lips he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of earlier, then flicked back up to his eyes. They were darker now, focused, moving over Shane’s face like he was searching for something. Rozanov leaned in slowly, and Shane didn’t hesitate; he met him halfway, letting their lips press together, soft at first. Rozanov’s hand slid up to the back of his head, holding him there as the kiss deepened quickly, like they were picking up exactly where they’d left off. Shane let out a low sound, and Rozanov answered it, pulling him closer. His other hand came up to press against the bare skin of Shane’s lower back before dipping beneath his waistband to grip his ass cheek. 

Then he pulled back, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh, Hollander,” he said, something amused flickering in his voice. He pulled his hand out and held it up, the slickness from the lube obvious under the overhead light. 

Shane groaned and covered his face. This whole day he’d been bouncing between aroused and humiliated, back and forth like a damn ping-pong ball. Rozanov caught his wrist and pulled his hand away, making him look at him again. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, quieter now. “This is…not boring. You keep surprising me.” The smirk returned, softer this time, edged with something else.

“Jesus,” Shane muttered, wishing the floor would just open up and take him with it.

“First time?” Rozanov asked, a little more serious now. 

Shane nodded, because there was no point in lying. 

“It was good?”

Shane closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Can we not do this? I don’t know how much more embarrassment I can survive in one day.”

“I told you...is not embarrassing,” Rozanov said. “I’m being serious. Did you like it?”

Shane opened his eyes again, searching his face for any hint of teasing. There wasn’t any. “I think so,” he admitted. Then, before he could stop himself, “It just wasn’t as…good as I thought it would be.”

Rozanov nodded like he’d expected that. “Might not be the best for first time.” 

“Why not?” Shane frowned. He’d gone through all the trouble and humiliation of buying the stupid thing after all. 

Rozanov’s mouth twitched. “Have you tried anything else before? Fingers, something smaller?”

Shane’s face heated again. Was he really having this conversation with Rozanov? Jesus. “Not really,” he admitted. 

Rozanov nodded once. “Okay.” A beat. Then, a little quieter, “Let me show you.”

“What?” Shane said, voice going high. “Roz–“

“I told you I’d make it up to you,” he cut in, the hint of a grin returning. “Come on Hollander, it will be good.”

He didn’t even know what Rozanov was offering. Surely not…he couldn’t…he wasn’t ready for…that. 

“Not fucking, Hollander,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But I think you will like this.”

Shane stared at him for a moment, his brain refusing to have any coherent thoughts other than yes please. So he nodded. Rozanov’s expression shifted again, something darker and more playful.

“Bedroom,” he said, and Shane didn’t even hesitate, he led the way. 

Of course, the first thing he saw when stepped in was the black dildo on the white towel, bottle of lube next to it, and the wave of embarrassment crashed over him again. Rozanov moved past him before he could react, already reaching for it. Shane groaned.

“Relax, Hollander,” he said. “I have seen dildos before.” He held it up between them, looking at it with far too much interest. “This is a good size to start.”

Shane sucked in a breath. “Please put that down.”

Rozanov rolled his eyes and set it down on the bedside table on its base so it was pointing straight up. Shane grabbed it immediately and shoved it into the drawer.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “This fucking day.” 

Rozanov laughed softly. “Take those off,” he said, tugging lightly at the waistband of Shane’s shorts. 

Shane just looked at him. Rozanov shrugged and pulled his own shirt off, then started unbuttoning his jeans. “This okay?” he asked, glancing up. 

Shane nodded. More than okay. He watched as Rozanov hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs and dragged them down in one smooth motion, his already mostly hard cock springing free. Shane’s mouth went dry. He was big. Big enough that Shane’s mind immediately went back to the black dildo now tucked away in the drawer. The comparison wasn’t even close. The real thing, standing right in front of him, was infinitely more tempting. He wanted nothing more than to kneel down in front of him…to taste him. Jesus. He waited for the embarrassment to follow, but for the first time in this day of endless humiliations, it didn’t. He stepped forward and lifted his hand, stopping just short, his gaze flicking up to Rozanov’s face. Rozanov was already watching him, lips parted slightly, eyes dark. He gave a small nod. 

Shane wrapped his fingers around Rozanov’s cock and almost moaned at the feel of him. He stroked up and down a few times, pressing his thumb against the underside of the head where he liked it, and he was rewarded with a low groan and a jerk of his hips. That was apparently all Shane needed because he dropped to his knees in front of him, no longer caring, only wanting more. 

He looked up at Rozanov, who was already looking down at him, his expression softened with arousal. He gave a small nod, and that was enough. He leaned forward and took him into his mouth. He let the head of Rozanov’s cock slide lazily over his tongue, getting used to the feel of him, of having his mouth filled this way. At first, everything felt new and awkward, but instinct took over where experience was lacking. He pushed his tongue into the slit, drawing a low, needy noise out of Rozanov, his hips twitching just a little, like he was barely restraining himself. Shane started moving, sliding up and down on his length, hollowing his cheeks and trying not to scrape his teeth on the smooth, sensitive skin. He was guided more by Rozanov’s reactions than anything else, each noise, hitch of his breath, slight jerk of his hips gave him more confidence and made his own cock ache, desperate to be touched. 

It didn’t take long before Rozanov’s control started to slip, his hips bucking more. His hand came up, pulling Shane back just enough to take over himself. Shane stayed where he was, watching, a little dazed, as Rozanov stroked himself a few times before ropes of cum spurted out, mostly over his hand, one landing on Shane’s chest. 

Shane looked up at Rozanov’s face again. His lips were parted, breathing uneven, eyes a little unfocused, looking down at Shane in a way that made his chest go warm and tight, heat surging through his cock. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” he said, voice rougher than usual.

Shane pushed himself to his feet. “Was that okay?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty, of self-consciousness, slipping in.

Rozanov let out a quiet laugh. “Yes. Obviously.”

He reached behind him and grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand, wiping his hand and then Shane’s chest, his expression softening a little.

“Well…that was fun.” Rozanov set the tissue down on the nightstand and started gathering up his clothes. Shane’s jaw dropped. Rozanov caught his expression and huffed a laugh. 

“I’m kidding, Hollander. Relax. I’m just moving them out the way.” He tossed his clothes aside and climbed onto Shane’s bed, patting the bed beside him.

Shane followed him up, stretching out next to him, back against the wall. Rozanov leaned over, one hand braced beside Shane’s hip, and pressed his mouth to the side of his neck. He traced a path down, then back up again, before finally finding Shane’s mouth. The kiss was slower this time, Rozanov still devouring him, but softer and deeper. Eventually he pulled back, eyes searching Shane’s face. He reached behind him and grabbed the bottle of lube, pouring some onto his fingers. 

“Still okay?” he asked, hand hovering near Shane’s thighs. Shane could only nod, the anticipation tightening in his chest, making it impossible to find words.

Rozanov nudged his thighs apart, pushing the one opposite him up and over, until Shane’s leg was drawn up. Then he reached between his legs, past his balls, to trail his fingers over the sensitive skin beneath them until he reached Shane’s entrance. He massaged one finger over it, watching Shane’s face intently. He pushed in, slipping inside easier than Shane had earlier, the work he’d done helping. Then he curled his finger up and Shane’s hips arched off the bed, heat and pleasure surging through him.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. That’s what he’d been expecting earlier. HIs eyes fluttered shut as the sensation built, waves of pleasure surging through him as Rozanov stroked over that spot again and again.

When he opened his eyes, he found Rozanov watching him, a small, satisfied small on his face. “Is good right?

Shane nodded again, words still failing him. Rozanov added another finger, then continued pushing in and out gently, stroking over that spot each time, coaxing those quiet, involuntary sounds he couldn’t seem to stop. Then Rozanov leaned down and took Shane’s cock into his mouth, his tongue swirling expertly around the head, pushing into his slit before pressing flat against the spot just below it, drawing a much louder, less restrained noise from him.

"Holy shit, Rozanov," he breathed. Rozanov made a low sound with his mouth, making Shane's hips buck against him.

When Rozanov hollowed his cheeks, the rhythm of his fingers increasing, Shane felt his orgasm building, heat spreading and body tightening, no longer under his control. He pushed Rozanov’s head, but he didn’t stop, just sucked harder, moved his fingers faster.

“Rozanov, I’m gonna…” he breathed. Then his release ripped out of him, his hips jerking up without permission, a high, broken noise escaping him as he spilled himself down Rozanov’s throat. Rozanov’s fingers stroked him through it, slowing gradually then easing out as he pulled his mouth off his cock with one last lick that made Shane shiver.

Shane’s head was pressed back against the wall, eyes shut, breathing hard. His body was boneless now, floating, every muscle loose in a way he wasn’t used to. When he finally opened his eyes, Rozanov was still watching him, a soft expression on his face that made Shane’s chest hot. 

“Good?” he asked again, a small smile playing on his lips. 

Shane nodded and let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Fuck.”

Rozanov laughed quietly. “Yes. I told you.”

He leaned over and kissed him again, soft and sweet, and Shane didn’t know what to make of that. He only knew he wanted more. He wanted to curl up with Rozanov, lay his head on his chest and wrap his arms around him. What the fuck?

“Now when you use your new toy, you’ll know.” Rozanov wasn’t even smirking. He looked genuine, which was somehow worse.

“Right,” Shane said, embarrassment trying to creep back in. “Um…thanks.” 

Rozanov stood up and started getting dressed, like what had just happened was no big deal…that it hadn’t tilted Shane’s world on its axis. Shane didn’t move, mostly because he couldn’t; his body still felt loose and too heavy.

“Get some sleep, Hollander,” Rozanov said with a wink. Then he was gone.

Shane heard the front door shut. He stayed where he was for a while, staring up at the ceiling. His body was still humming, warmth lingering low in his stomach, but his thoughts were starting to catch up, tangling around each other. This thing with Rozanov was quickly turning into something…dangerous. Addictive. And Shane did not have time for that. Not now…not with everything else going on. But he couldn’t deny that Rozanov had done him a favor. Multiple favors. The next time he found himself in a situation like this with another man, he wouldn’t be going in blind. Because it would be a different man…not the one across the hall. It had to be. They needed to put an end to this expeditiously.

Shane let out a long breath and dragged a hand through his hair, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth anyway, completely at odds with the resolution forming in his head.

-

Shane did not sleep well. Every time he closed his eyes, he replayed it…Rozanov’s mouth, his hands, the too-soft kiss, the way he’d wanted Shane to enjoy it. By the time morning rolled around, he was equal parts wrecked and wired, his body and brain on entirely different pages. At least they didn’t have practice today. He wasn’t sure he could face Rozanov again yet. Not in front of their teammates.

He got up and went for a run, the early morning humidity drenching him immediately. He managed to get back inside without running into Rozanov, noting that #8 was still quiet. He showered, ate, fiddled with his schedule again, downloaded the syllabus for his first class on Monday, opened the nightstand drawer to look at the dildo a few times without actually taking it out…then eventually gave up and took a nap.

By mid afternoon, he found himself standing at Hayden’s front door with a case of cheap beer in his hand. He knocked once, then let himself in and headed straight to the kitchen.

“You made it!” Hayden said, clapping him on the back once. “I was just about to put food out.” He was opening party size bags of chips on the counter like he was about to feed an army.

“I brought reinforcements," Shane said, holding up the beer. 

“Fuck yes. You’re a lifesaver.” 

Shane glanced through the kitchen doorway into the living room, where JJ and a few others were crowded around the TV, controllers in hand. Then he did a double-take. Cliff Marlow was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, hands thrown up like he was in the middle of complaining about something.

“What the fuck is Marlow doing here?” Shane asked. Not that any of them had an issue with him, but he wasn’t exactly part of their friend group. 

“What?” Hayden asked, looking up. “Oh yeah, he took the room you turned down.”

“Really? You let Marlow move in?” 

“He’s not that bad,” Hayden said, shrugging. “Plus, we really needed the rest of the rent covered. Couldn’t be too picky.”

“Right,” Shane muttered. He felt a little bad for turning down the offer. Then his thoughts drifted to his quiet apartment, Rozanov across the hall. He shook his head, pushing them away. “Well, glad you got it covered.”

Shane wandered into the living room. There were two couches, one worn brown leather, the other beige with several questionable stains. He took a seat on the leather one.

“Hollander!” JJ shouted without looking away from the TV, where he was apparently destroying everyone at Mario Kart. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”

Shane snorted. “When was the last time you beat me at anything, JJ?”

“Fuck you, Hollander,” JJ shot back, his thick Quebecois accent wrapping around the words.

Shane watched them play for a while, cheering JJ on while Cliff, their other roommate Nick, and their goalie Mitty chirped at each other and passed controllers around. His eyes kept darting to Cliff. Maybe he could use today as all the proof he needed that Cliff had nothing going on. Nothing to observe. Nothing to report. He looked exactly like he always did…a little too loud, relaxed, friendly. Nothing suspicious at all. 

“You playing or what?” JJ called, snapping him out of it. 

“Yeah,” Shane said, grabbing the controller being offered to him. About thirty seconds into the first race, he heard the front door open and shut, but he was too busy dodging shells to properly register it. Until someone dropped onto the couch next to him. He didn’t need to glance over to know who. 

“You started without me,” that low voice, teasing, sending a ripple of heat through him. Not the time.

“Who the fuck invited this asshole?” JJ yelled.

“Your mother,” Rozanov said, leaning forward to grab a beer off the table. 

“I did,” Cliff said. “Rozy, you can have my controller after this round. Hollander is fucking killing us over here.”

Shane tightened his grip on the controller and kept his attention locked firmly on the screen. Not on the heat of Rozanov’s thigh pressed against his. Not on the way his face warmed, remembering exactly what they’d been doing last night. And definitely not on how badly he wanted to lean into it.

Then Rozanov shifted, his elbow digging lightly into Shane’s side. Shane immediately drove off the track.

“Wow, Hollander,” Rozanov said, digging in just a little more. “You are terrible.”

“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Shane shot back, grateful his voice came out steady. 

Shane managed to recover enough to finish second to JJ, which he was celebrating like he’d just won the Stanley Cup. Shane played another couple rounds then passed his controller to Nick. Rozanov was playing now too, keeping his attention off Shane for the time being. 

A phone rang. Shane watched as Cliff pulled his phone out, his expression tightening when he saw the screen. He stood quickly, handing his controller to Mitty with a rushed, “Be right back.”

He was already heading down the hallway, speaking in a low voice. Shane was on his feet a second later.

“Bathroom,” he muttered.

Rozanov looked up at him, then toward the hallway and back again, one eyebrow lifting like he knew exactly what Shane was doing. “Don’t run away because you’re losing, Hollander,” he said, though the teasing had dulled slightly.

Shane flipped him off and followed Cliff. One of the doors near the end of the hallway was cracked open, a voice filtering through.

“I already told you I didn’t see anything,” Cliff whispered, irritation clear in his voice. “Stop fucking calling me.”

Shane froze. There was a shift of movement from behind the door and he quickly slipped into the bathroom across the hall, closing the door softly behind him. He leaned against the sink, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to process what he’d just heard. Had that been a normal phone call? No. Not even close. His pulse sped up. What was Cliff mixed up in? This couldn’t be a coincidence.

The door handle turned and Shane’s head snapped up, panic spiking through him, expecting it to be Cliff coming to accuse him of eavesdropping. He exhaled when the door opened to reveal Rozanov instead, who slipped inside and shut it quietly behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Shane whispered, voice tight. “Our friends are right outside.”

Rozanov waved that off. “They all went to the kitchen for pizza,” he said, eyes already searching Shane’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Shane looked at him, debated whether or not to tell him what he’d overheard. He swallowed, cleared his throat, buying time. Then, “Cliff was talking to someone on the phone. Not a normal call.”

Rozanov’s brow furrowed. “Tell me.”

Shane repeated what he heard, watching Rozanov’s face closely. His expression was unreadable. 

“What do you think he’s mixed up in?” Shane asked. 

Rozanov shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s nothing.” But he didn’t sound like he believed it. Then his gaze flicked toward the door. “We should go back before they notice.”

Shane nodded and stepped toward the door but instead of opening it, Rozanov caught his arm and pulled him in, kissing him hard, just enough to make Shane’s brain short-circuit. Then Rozanov pulled back, that familiar, mischievous smile tugging at his mouth, and opened the door like nothing had happened.

Shane took a deep breath, willing his body not to react, even though it already was. “Fucking Rozanov,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead before following him out.

-

The rest of the afternoon passed without anything else eventful happening. They had too much pizza and cheap beer and cycled through games until JJ started getting aggressively competitive and no one wanted to play anymore. Cliff acted exactly like he always did…loud and goofy, his mood unchanged. If Shane hadn’t heard that phone call himself, he might have written the whole thing off.

Rozanov, of course, did not let up. He stayed close. Too close. Bumping Shane’s shoulder, leaning into him when he laughed, reaching across him for things that were definitely within his reach without all that. At one point his hand landed on Shane’s knee and stayed there just a second too long, thumb pressing lightly before he pulled it away like nothing had happened. Menace. Luckily no one else had been paying attention.

By the time Shane finally made his excuses to leave, his head was buzzing for entirely too many reasons.

“Leaving already?” Hayden called from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“On a Sunday?” JJ shouted.

“Shut up,” Shane said. “Classes start tomorrow, or have you forgotten already?”

There was more shouting and chirping before he finally stepped out into the evening air, the heat still clinging as the sky darkened. The door swung open behind him a second later.

“Wait up, Hollander.”

Of course. Shane didn’t slow down, but he didn’t speed up either. Rozanov caught up easily, falling into step beside him.

“You did not even say goodbye,” he said.

“I said goodbye,” Shane replied.

“Not to me,” Rozanov said, slapping a hand against his chest. “Rude.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll write you a formal apology later.”

“I expect it,” Rozanov said seriously, then glanced over at him, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You had fun?”

Shane hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. It was good.” He paused while they walked around a section of sidewalk blocked off with orange cones. “Cliff seemed normal,” he added carefully.

Rozanov made a noncommittal sound. “Mm, yes.”

Shane glanced at him. “You don’t think that was nothing.”

“I don’t know,” Rozanov said slowly. “I will keep an eye on him too.”

Shane nodded, even though he didn’t like it. They walked the rest of the way in relative quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable but there was still some lingering tension, like they were both thinking too hard. Shane was also very aware of Rozanov beside him the entire time, their shoulders brushing every few steps.

When they reached their building, Shane stepped inside first, starting up the stairs. Rozanov followed, the door closing behind them with a soft click. Shane stopped in front of his door. Rozanov didn’t move to his own. Instead, he leaned casually against the wall, watching him.

“So,” he said.

Shane looked up. “So?”

Rozanov’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “You want to hang out?”

Shane’s stomach flipped. He knew exactly what that meant now. He should say no. He should go inside, get some sleep, get his head on straight, focus on Cliff, on classes starting tomorrow, on literally anything else.

“Yeah,” Shane said before he could stop himself.

Rozanov’s smile widened and he pushed off the wall, following Shane inside. 

Once the door shut, Shane stopped awkwardly near the kitchen, not knowing what to do now that they were alone in his apartment. Again. Rozanov closed the distance between them, stopping right in front of him, his gaze drifting from Shane’s eyes to his lips and back again.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, his voice already rougher than usual.

Shane swallowed, watching the curve of Rozanov’s mouth. “I don’t know.”

Rozanov reached up, settling his hand on the side of Shane’s face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. It was too soft, too intimate. Then his mouth curved up, eyes brightening. “We could give your new toy a try.”

Shane groaned. “I think I need a minute before doing that again,” he said, still not capable of not being embarrassed about it. 

Rozanov laughed softly. “Okay then.” He grabbed Shane by the wrist and pulled him toward the bedroom, already pulling his shirt off and unbuttoning his jeans. He looked up at Shane, who was just watching him, and jerked his chin. “Off.”

Shane stripped too, feeling suddenly self-conscious despite the fact that Rozanov had seen him naked last night. And probably several other times in the locker room. This felt different. Rozanov climbed on the bed and Shane followed, avoiding his gaze. As soon as Shane was settled beside him, Rozanov leaned over and kissed him, shifting until his body covered Shane’s, hands braced on either side of his shoulders, their hips pressed together, both of them hard already.

Shane didn’t know what to do with his hands at first, letting them awkwardly hover above Rozanov’s back before the press of his lips, his tongue, his warm body and hard cock against Shane’s pushed all the thoughts out of his head. He let his hands slide down over the warm skin of Rozanov’s back until they found his ass, gripping tight and pulling him closer, increasing the friction between them and drawing a greedy little sound from Rozanov’s throat.

Rozanov pulled back to look at him. “I want to fuck you, Hollander,” he said, voice low and rough. Heat surged through Shane at that, but so did something else. Something that made him tense up. Rozanov noticed right away and shifted some of his weight off. 

“Relax,” he said. “We won’t do anything you don’t want. Okay?” His eyes moved quickly over Shane’s face, searching.

Shane nodded. Rozanov leaned down and kissed him again, briefly this time. “Today we can just do this, yes?” 

Shane nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Where is your lube?” 

Shane must have made a face, because Rozanov kissed him again, softer this time, almost reassuring. “For these,” he said, reaching down and sliding his hand over both their cocks. 

“In the drawer,” Shane said, glancing at the bedside table. Rozanov reached over, fished the bottle out, slicked his hand, and tossed it aside. Then he wrapped his fingers around both of them again and started stroking, moving his hips just enough to create a slow, slippery glide between them. Shane moaned and pushed his hips up as his eyes dragged down to watch the way the heads of their cocks moved up through Rozanov’s fingers, out of sync, one after the other. The sight of it, the feel of it, was almost too much for him. He could already feel his orgasm building and willed himself to hold off, to not come in thirty seconds and embarrass himself in front of this man yet again. 

They were both moving with urgency, hips rocking, Rozanov’s hand tight and slick, twisting at just the right moment on each slide. The room filled with the soft sounds of breath catching, low moans, the wet slide of skin against skin. To Shane’s surprise, Rozanov came first, a low grunt slipping out as his head dropped onto Shane’s shoulder. His release spilled over his hand and onto Shane’s stomach, and he didn’t stop, kept his hand moving, using the added slickness to drive Shane over the edge right after him. Shane’s body jerked against him, his own release spilling over Rozanov’s hand, mixing with his on his stomach.

“Fuck, Hollander,” Rozanov breathed against him. He pressed his lips to Shane’s neck, sending another shiver through him, then rolled onto his side. “That was okay?”

Shane looked at him, at how soft his face was, how he was eagerly waiting for an answer. It made his chest tight and warm and he didn’t want to examine that too closely. “Yeah,” he said, still breathless. “Very okay.”

Rozanov smiled and leaned in to kiss him, unhurried now, and it felt too good. Good enough that Shane was thinking about more again. About rolling over and putting his head on Rozanov’s chest. Drifting off to sleep with him warm against his back. Things he definitely should not be thinking about with Ilya Rozanov.

“What are we doing?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Rozanov pulled back slightly, expression tightening with confusion. “Doing?”

“This…us…doing this together.”

Rozanov shrugged. “It's fun right?” he asked. “What, you’ve never had a fuck buddy?”

Shane hadn’t. He’d had girlfriends, he’d gone on dates. He had just never been interested enough in the fucking part with girls to need a fuck buddy. 

“No…I didn’t really want that before.” He probably would have been embarrassed admitting that, but Rozanov already knew entirely too much about his sex life. “With girls” he added quickly.

Rozanov nodded in understanding. “Well…I am not a girl,” he said, smirking, his head tilting slightly.

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “I know. But we’re not…” he trailed off. Not what? Friends? That wasn’t as true as it used to be. “We’re teammates,” he finally said, and it sounded lame even to him.

Rozanov shrugged again. “It’s not like we need to tell them.”

Shane nodded slowly. He was trying and failing to find a reason why they couldn’t do this. Because the only one that was coming to him was one he was never going to say out loud. The one that made his chest tight and warm and fluttery when Rozanov leaned in to kiss him again, lips soft and lingering. But Shane didn’t pull away, and he didn’t say no.

Chapter End Notes

Shoutout to Mr. Binky’s, basically a right of passage for the youths in nola and who am I to deprive Shane of that experience.

Stay tuned for murder, Ilya POV, and more.

Chapter 4: The body

Chapter Notes

It took Shane too long to fall asleep after Rozanov left, and his alarm went off far too soon. He dragged himself out of bed, went through his usual routine, made sure to pack everything he needed for his first class of the semester, and headed out to practice. 

Practice was uneventful, if you didn’t count Rozanov giving him a smirk with too much heat in it, a wink that made his stomach dip, a hand on his lower back against the boards that Shane could still feel on his walk to his first morning class. Cliff, at least, had been completely normal. Shane overheard him telling Rozanov about a girl they both knew, and apparently both fucked, and instead of thinking about the envelope and the phone call and what he was supposed to be doing, he was fighting an ugly twisting grip in his chest that he refused to put a name to.

His first class of the semester was Phil 305: Moral Philosophy. Practice had run a little long, and by the time he’d showered, changed, and thrown his bag together, he was already cutting it close. His hair was still slightly damp, and the humidity make it stick to his forehead as he jogged up the steps of the humanities building.

An eight-thirty class, what had he been thinking? Right. The professor. Shane pushed open the lecture hall door and slipped inside. It wasn’t a huge class, maybe thirty people, and most of them were already seated, laptops open, Starbucks cups or chunky metal water bottles beside them. He started to head toward the back out of habit, then hesitated.

At the front of the room, Dr. Scott Hunter was setting up his laptop, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened even though it was probably his first class of the day. He looked exactly how Shane remembered…young, sharp, and still distractingly attractive. Second row it was.

Dr. Hunter glanced up just as he sidled into the aisle. 

“Mr. Hollander,” he said, his voice always calm and even. “Nice to see you again.”

Shane froze for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah. You too.” Smooth. Really smooth.

Dr. Hunter smiled, just a little, like he’d expected nothing else, then went back to his laptop. “Glad you decided to take another class with me.”

Shane slid into a seat, trying very hard not to feel like the entire room was looking at him. They weren’t. Probably. He dropped his bag at his feet and pulled out a notebook, even though he usually just used his phone or laptop. This felt more…serious. 

“Alright,” Dr. Hunter said, perching on the edge of the desk. “Let’s get started.”

The room quieted.

“This is Moral Philosophy. Which sounds straightforward,” he continued, “but most of the time, it isn’t. We’re going to spend the semester looking at how people decide what they ought to do, and why those decisions don’t always line up with what they actually do.”

A few people shifted, settling in.

“We’ll talk about frameworks, like utilitarianism, deontology, virtue ethics. All the usual suspects. But more importantly, we’ll look at how those ideas hold up when things get…inconvenient.” A wry smile. “Or when the ‘right’ answer comes with a cost.”

Dr. Hunter’s gaze moved across the room, not lingering anywhere too long, but Shane felt like they stopped on him for just a moment. “You’ll notice pretty quickly that most ethical questions don’t come down to choosing between something obviously good and something obviously bad. It’s usually a choice between competing obligations. Or between different values that don’t quite line up.”

He paused only briefly.

“We’ll also talk about responsibility,” he added. “Not just for what you do, but for what you ignore. That tends to be where things get interesting.”

Shane swallowed, forcing himself to actually write something down. His handwriting was messier than usual.

“First week is light on homework,” Dr. Hunter went on. “A couple of short readings, mostly to get you thinking. I don’t expect you to have answers yet. I just want you to pay attention to your own instincts, because that’s the best place to start.”

Shane let out a quiet breath. He stared down at his notebook, where he’d written competing obligations and then underlined it twice for no real reason. Yeah…that sounded about right.

-

If nothing else, that class pushed all thoughts of Rozanov out of his head. Temporarily at least. Shane made his way to the student center to grab coffee during his break, his mind still turning over what Dr. Hunter had said. 

He forced himself to relax. To sip his coffee and pull out his schedule, find the exact building and room for his next class, and stop thinking about this. An academic society wasn’t engaging in anything morally questionable. Whatever was going on with Cliff was probably just…a misunderstanding. The fact that Rozanov seemed uneasy about it notwithstanding, Shane was sure everything was going to be fine. He’d tell them what he knew, they’d be impressed, then he’d be in, and this whole thing would be behind him. Back to studying and hockey and no more distractions.

His phone buzzed, as if he'd summoned the biggest distraction with his thoughts.

Rozanov: you looked tired this morning

Seriously? They did not text each other. Yes, they had access to each other’s phone numbers because of the team group chat,but that was where it was supposed to stay…safely contained, only used for actual team-related things.

Shane: Fuck off.

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Rozanov: thought you might be nicer to me since I’ve been such a good helpful neighbor

Shane’s face heated. He looked around, but no one was paying him any attention.

Shane: What do you want, Rozanov?

Shane set his phone down and pulled out his syllabus for his next class, Bio 340 Regenerative Biology. He read the description for the tenth time: 

“This course provides the various cellular and molecular mechanisms of natural or injury-induced regeneration in vertebrates and the applications to development of therapies to restore tissues and organs damaged by injury or disease.”

He was actually looking forward to it. Finally getting past all the intro and foundational courses and into something that felt relevant was…satisfying.

 His phone buzzed again.

Rozanov: want to hang out later?

Shane’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. He was actively fighting the instinct to say yes because his body certainly wanted that. 

Shane: No. I have class.

Rozanov: after

Shane: Why?

Shane couldn’t help but ask because this sudden…need…they both seemed to have to do…whatever it was they were doing, was confusing the fuck out of him, in more ways than one.

Rozanov: thought we were fuck buddies now, why else

Shane ignored the heat rising in his chest, followed immediately by something that felt a lot like disappointment.

Shane: I never actually said yes to that.

Rozanov: you didn’t say no either

Shane: Which is not the same thing.

Shane shoved the syllabus back into his bag and started packing up so he’d be ready to head to class.

Rozanov: come on Hollander, did i not teach you some useful things?

Fuck. Now he was thinking about those useful things. 

Shane: Maybe.

Rozanov: plenty more where that came from
Rozanov: just say yes Hollander

Shane: How many fuck buddies do you have?

Rozanov: a few

Shane snorted. Likely the understatement of the year. 

Shane: So what do you need me for?

He put his phone back down, immediately wishing he could unsend that. Why was he even participating in this conversation?

Rozanov: only women, Hollander
Rozanov: is different

A little thrill ran through him at that, and he didn’t want to think about why knowing he might be the only man Rozanov was interested in felt…good.

Shane: I’m sure you could find some other willing guy.

Rozanov: not one that I trust

Fuck. Shane swallowed hard. Why did everything Rozanov said make him feel two completely opposite things at once, like he’d been singled out, chosen…while also feeling like something that had to stay hidden? And why did the latter even enter into the equation? It wasn’t like Shane was interested in anyone knowing about his preferences right now.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his bag, and headed for his next class.

Bio 340 was in one of the newer science buildings, all glass and boring gray polished floors with armchairs in the lobby, dotted with fake plants and charging stations. Shane made it to the lecture hall with a few minutes to spare, slipping into a seat halfway up the tiered room. He set his bag down and pulled out his notebook again, flipping to a fresh page even though he could still see competing obligations faintly through the paper. Then he changed his mind and pulled out his laptop instead. 

An older man in a lab coat walked in, looking slightly harried, like he’d just left his lab in the middle of an experiment. He introduced the course, went over the syllabus, the grading scale, the time and location of the associated lab.

Shane typed out a few notes, then tuned back in after realizing he’d missed a couple of minutes while the professor clicked through a slide deck projected at the front.

“...the ability of an organism to replace or restore damaged or missing tissue. Some species do this extremely well.” He tapped the slide. “Salamanders can regrow entire limbs. Zebrafish can regenerate heart tissue. Humans…” He paused, giving a small shrug. “We get scars.” A few quiet laughs.

The lecture moved on to cell signaling pathways, stem cell differentiation, a brief overview of what they’d be covering, and for the most part, Shane managed to follow it. It was easier than philosophy. There were right answers here, and the clean trajectory of tracing processes to expected outcomes. That made sense to him.

He typed out several paragraphs of notes before his attention started to drift, his brain trying to circle back to everything he’d been avoiding all morning, one thing in particular. He didn’t let it…not now. The professor clicked through another slide, launching into a breakdown of signaling cascades that Shane only half understood but typed out anyway. He’d spend more time on that later.

By the time class ended, his brain was full and it had nothing to do with anything, or anyone, outside that room, which felt good. He packed up quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading out with the rest of the class.

-

His last class of the day was Intro to French. Being from Canada, French wasn’t exactly new territory, and this was a 100-level course. Required for some majors, an easy GPA boost for others. For Shane, it was both. He’d been saving it to take this year, when he knew the rest of his schedule would be harder, giving himself a nice cushion of something that would require little effort.

The classroom was smaller than his other two, desks arranged in a loose semicircle instead of rows. Probably more discussion-based, less room to hide. He stepped inside and then stopped short. Cliff was there, sitting near the middle, one ankle hooked over his knee, phone in his hand. He looked up a second later, eyes landing on Shane.

“What’s up, Hollander,” Cliff said easily, like everything was perfectly normal.

Shane forced his expression into something neutral. “Hey, Marlow.”

He slid into a seat a couple spots away, keeping his attention half on Cliff. It really wasn’t that weird. Plenty of people needed a language credit. Still…he wouldn’t have expected Cliff in French. Maybe he’d taken it in high school. 

The professor walked in a minute later, launching straight into introductions. Shane only half listened, tapping his pen lightly against his notebook as his eyes flicked back to Cliff.

When it was his turn, Shane answered in French without thinking. The professor’s eyebrows lifted slightly, impressed, and waved him off with a, “Très bien, you’ll be fine here.”

A couple of people laughed. Cliff glanced over at him again, something like amusement flickering across his face. When Cliff’s turn came, he hesitated just a beat too long before answering. “Uh…Cliff. Business,” he said, sticking to English. 

The professor moved on, but Shane’s attention didn’t. At one point, Cliff’s phone buzzed on his desk and he flipped it over without checking it. Shane’s eyes probably lingered a little too long.

They moved onto basic greetings, pronunciation, the professor focusing on painfully slow repetition, and Shane answered when called on, slipping easily between English and French. But his attention was still half on Cliff, who kept glancing at his phone like he was waiting for something. Halfway through class, he excused himself to step into the hallway, and when he came back a few minutes later, his jaw was tight.

Shane sat back in his chair and let out a quiet breath. What the fuck was going on?

-

The first thing Shane did when he got home later that afternoon was take a shower, hoping that the hot water would help him relax, maybe keep all the thoughts tumbling around in his head from spiraling. He was mostly annoyed that this semester was already off to exactly the opposite kind of start he wanted. This year was supposed to be easy. Uncomplicated. Maybe even fun. Instead, everything was already messy and about as complicated as possible.

He dried off and pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, then made a quick dinner and watched something mindless on TV in an attempt to unwind. A little before 8, there was a knock on his door. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath, the rest of his body already reacting to what he knew was about to happen. 

He opened the door to find Rozanov standing there, wearing soft black shorts and a too-tight gray tank top, a gold chain resting against his collarbone, his curls still slightly damp. The sight of him that way, so…comfortable and soft…made his stomach swoop. 

“What?” he managed, fighting every instinct to reach out and grab him right then.

Rozanov grinned. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

“And yet here you are anyway,” Shane said, trying to suppress the smile tugging at his own lips.

“Yes, now are you going to let me in, Hollander?”

Shane stepped back and Rozanov pushed past him a few steps before turning.

“You look less tired now,” Rozanov said, voice lower.

“Shut up,” Shane muttered, but there wasn’t much venom behind it.

Apparently that was all Rozanov needed because he closed the space between them, reached up, and caught Shane’s jaw in his hand, thumb brushing along his cheek. Shane wanted to play it cool, but he leaned in immediately.

“Long day?” Rozanov asked, softer now.

Shane let out a quiet breath. “Yeah.”

Rozanov studied his face for a second like he was considering something…then leaned in and kissed him. Whatever resistance Shane had left didn’t even put up a fight. He melted into it, kissing him back hard, hands coming up to his waist to pull him closer. Rozanov made a quiet sound against his mouth and deepened the kiss until Shane thought his legs might give out.

They stumbled their way onto the couch. Shane ended up sprawled beneath him, Rozanov’s mouth at his neck in a way that made his eyes roll back, a low moan slipping out before he could stop it.

“I love your reactions,” Rozanov murmured against his skin.

“Shut up,” Shane said for the second time this evening, even less convincing now, his voice low with arousal. 

Rozanov leaned up to look at him. “It’s a compliment, Hollander.”

“Right,” Shane said. “It’s never a compliment with you.”

Rozanov's brows drew together. “I compliment you all the time.”

“When?”

“Remember I learned your move last year? Scored goal against Michigan,” he said, looking at Shane like it was obvious. And Shane did remember that. 

“That was a compliment? I thought you were doing it to get on my nerves.”

Rozanov exhaled loudly, then rested his forehead against Shane’s, and it felt too intimate to be pressed this close to him, both of them still hard.

“Hollander, I would not take the time to learn something of yours just to piss you off,” he said before leaning down to kiss him again. 

“Oh,” Shane said, blinking up at him, his head fuzzy from the kissing and the way their bodies were pressed together and the fact that Rozanov…respected him? 

Rozanov rolled his eyes and then shifted down the couch until he was settled between Shane’s legs. He tugged the waistband of Shane’s shorts down, letting his cock spring free before bending to take it into his mouth. He sucked Shane like he was on a deadline, his mouth working with a level of skill Shane could hardly fathom, and his body stood no chance. A loud moan tore out of him before he could stop it, his forearm coming up to cover his mouth, head thrown back.

Rozanov pulled off him with a pop. “Hollander,” he said roughly. “Stop that. I want to hear you.”

Shane moved his arm and looked down the length of his body, finding Rozanov staring at him with dark eyes full of something hungry, something that sent heat surging through him. Then Rozanov took him into his mouth again, setting a relentless pace that had Shane’s hips bucking off the couch. Rozanov let him, let Shane hit the back of his throat, not slowing down at all. And he got his wish because Shane was making low, desperate noises, his breathing ragged, already so close to the edge.

“Fuck, Rozanov,” he breathed, one hand sliding into Rozanov’s hair, threading through his curls. “I’m going to—” He tugged at the hair twisted in his fingers, but Rozanov didn’t move, swallowing him down as Shane came, the orgasm ripping through him hard and fast.

When he stopped writhing, Rozanov slowly pulled off him with one last lick that sent a shiver through him, then crawled back up until they were face to face again.

“So…” Rozanov said, dragging the word out. “Are we fuck buddies now?”

Shane huffed a breathless laugh, still trying to bring himself back down to earth. “Maybe.”

Rozanov gave him a satisfied grin and then leaned down to kiss him, and Shane wondered if fuck buddies always kissed like this. Slow and soft, like every second should be savored. Before he could think too hard on that, he felt Rozanov’s hard length pushing against his thigh and reached down, his hand slipping under the waistband of his shorts.

Rozanov moaned into his mouth as Shane wrapped his fingers around him. Shane was going to tell him to switch places so he could return the favor with his mouth, but Rozanov was already rocking into his hand, the kiss gone from slow and soft to deep and messy, while Shane swallowed down all the little moans being offered up. It didn't take long before Rozanov broke the kiss to bury his face in Shane’s neck.

“Oh god, Hollander,” Rozanov groaned, hips snapping into Shane’s hand a few more times before he came, pulsing hard, then going slack as he collapsed more fully against him.

They stayed like that for a minute, catching their breath, and Shane felt boneless and cozy with Rozanov’s warm weight on him. When Rozanov shifted off, he had to resist the urge to tighten his arms and pull him back down.

“I can’t believe I let you do this to me again,” Rozanov said with a laugh, gesturing to the wet spot on his shorts as he stood.

Shane couldn’t stop the satisfied grin spreading across his face, a flicker of pride at being the one to reduce Ilya Rozanov to this. Rozanov tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it at Shane.

“For your hand,” Rozanov said. “I have to change now anyway.” Shane wiped his hand and tossed it back, letting his gaze linger on Rozanov’s muscled chest in a way he never would in the locker room.

“Maybe same time tomorrow, hm?” Rozanov said, slipping his shoes back on.

Shane opened his mouth to say something, like no or why, but then closed it before he could.

Rozanov squinted at him. “What? Big plans tomorrow?”

“No,” Shane said automatically.

“It’s okay if so,” Rozanov said, shrugging. “You can have other fuck buddies too.”

Shane’s chest tightened. Whether it was the reminder that Rozanov definitely had others, or the fact that Shane didn’t, he wasn’t sure.

“Right,” Shane said. “See you at practice.” He needed this conversation to be over before he said something regrettable.

“Goodnight,” Rozanov said, with a wink, then turned and let himself out.

Shane leaned back against the cushion, wondering how he’d gotten himself mixed up in this and why he really, really didn’t want it to stop.

-

The rest of the week followed the same schedule. Practice in the mornings, just as demanding and exhausting as always, except now with a side of Rozanov’s eyes and hands lingering on him just a fraction of a second too long. They still played hard, still competitive and pushing each other, falling into perfect sync when needed, and even that felt like…more. 

Classes filled the middle of his day. Philosophy made him think more than he wanted to. Words like obligation and responsibility stuck in his head, tumbling around, brushing against things he wanted to stop thinking about.

Biology was easier. The concepts were static, right or wrong, without gray areas, no need to examine them in relation to anything else in his life. He could learn them, repeat them, and leave them in the lecture hall and lab without them following him home.  Physics was the same. 

French was different. Easy in terms of the work. And Cliff had been mostly normal the next two times their class met that week, but there was still something off. The way he checked his phone more often than usual, like he was waiting for something. Shane tried not to watch him, but his gaze kept drifting that way anyway. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed at all if he hadn’t been looking for it.

Evenings were the worst. And the best. Because almost every night, like clockwork, there was a knock on his door. And Shane always opened it. They’d end up sprawled on the couch or the bed, getting each other off with mouths or hands or just the hard press of bodies sliding together in a way that already felt too familiar, too comfortable. Rozanov never pressured him for more. Sometimes they’d talk after, only for a few minutes and mostly about hockey, occasionally about Cliff, avoiding anything too personal. Then Rozanov would slip out the door and disappear back across the hall, leaving Shane alone in the quiet, his body loose and relaxed, pleasantly spent…his mind anything but.

By Saturday, Shane expected the knock and everything that followed, but it came earlier than usual. He'd only just taken his post-run shower and was lying on the couch watching TV when he heard it. He pulled the door open to find Rozanov in dark jeans and a t-shirt, as casual as ever. Shane didn’t even say anything, he just stepped to the side and let Rozanov in.

But instead of closing the distance between them, Rozanov plopped on his couch, like he’d been invited over for movie night.

“I haven’t seen this one,” Rozanov said, nodding at the TV. Shane had just put on the newest Scream movie, the opening phone call scene still playing out.

Shane didn’t know what to do, so he sat down beside Rozanov, who seemed to be watching the movie intently. Okay then.

Eventually Rozanov stretched out and put his legs over Shane’s lap, which definitely seemed…not very fuck buddy of him. But Shane didn’t move, he just glanced over and found Rozanov doing the same, a knowing little smirk on his face. Shane shook his head and reluctantly smiled back, then settled into the couch. They talked a little, throwing out guesses about the killer, complaining about the characters. So maybe this was the buddy part of fuck buddies, Shane thought. It was…nice. Having someone there who didn’t feel like an intrusion. Someone who could take up space in his apartment without it being suffocating. The fact that that someone was Ilya Rozanov was still jarring.

When the movie ended, it didn’t take long for Rozanov to crawl on top of him, eyes searching Shane’s face before he leaned down and kissed him. They did that for a while…slow and lazy. Rozanov’s hands were warm against him, cupping his jaw, dragging down his side, pushing up under his shirt. Shane wondered if this fit under the fuck or the buddies part because it felt like neither. It did get there, though. Blowjobs were traded, both of them spent and breathless after. And instead of rolling off him and leaving right away, Rozanov stretched out behind him, Shane’s back against his chest, an arm draped over his waist. Another thing that didn’t seem to fit neatly in either category.

-

The next morning, Shane woke up later than usual, sunlight already filtering in through the blinds, the apartment quiet. Sunday—no practice, no class, no reason to rush anywhere, so he stayed in bed for a while. His body was loose and heavy, relaxed from more than just sleep. His lips curved up at the thought. 

Eventually he got up, made coffee, and drifted through his morning, already mentally mapping out the rest of the day. He’d go for a run soon, then catch up on reading for philosophy and physics. He didn’t plan anything for the afternoon, already expecting there to be a knock on his door at some point. 

By early afternoon, he’d started to become overly aware of every noise in the hallway. He turned the TV on, checked his schedule for the next week, as if it wasn't the same as the previous week, and even tried reading ahead for philosophy. He pretended he wasn’t just waiting. 

By the time the sun started to go down, he’d mostly convinced himself he didn’t care. He was in the kitchen rinsing his dinner dishes when he heard a door open across the hall, followed by voices. Rozanov’s came first, low and familiar, immediately drawing Shane’s attention whether he wanted it to or not. And then another voice. A woman’s. Shane’s hand stilled under the running water. 

“…text me the time,” she was saying, her tone light and comfortable. Her voice was accented, similar to Rozanov’s but more subtle.

“I will,” Rozanov replied, just as easily.

There was a soft laugh, the quiet shuffle of movement, and then the sound of a door shutting again. Shane stared down at the sink, watching the water run over his hands, something tight and prickly settling in his chest. 

He shook himself and turned the water off, pushing the lever harder than he meant to. He grabbed a towel, dried his hands, and forced himself to move, to step away from the sink, from the door, from the thought of walking out into the hall and seeing…whatever was on the other side of it.

He went back to the couch instead, picked up the remote, and turned the TV on louder than necessary, filling the apartment with noise. Rozanov had been very clear that Shane was only one of many. Whatever this was between them, it was casual. Simple. Something that stayed secret behind closed doors. And Shane didn’t want it to be more than that anyway. Especially not with Ilya Rozanov. He had enough to worry about. So he leaned back into the cushions, eyes fixed on the TV, and tried very hard to believe that.

-

Monday was a regular day on campus. Practice was the usual grind, Rozanov acting like nothing was different. Because it wasn’t. Classes filled the rest of the day. Dr. Hunter’s class still made him think too much, biology and physics were still just about listening and memorizing, and French was easy, boring even. Cliff greeted him with a clap on the back and his usual goofy grin. 

By the time he got home that afternoon, Shane had mostly stopped thinking about Rozanov and whoever had been in his apartment the day before. And when there was a knock on his door at 7:00, his stomach didn’t swoop, and he definitely didn’t pause to check his reflection or smooth his hair before opening it.

And there was Rozanov, wearing gray sweatpants that should be illegal, a black t-shirt stretched across his chest, curls sticking up every which way. Shane sighed and stepped back, letting him in, already feeling himself surrender to this again, whatever lingering thoughts from the day before slipping quietly out of reach.

-

The rest of the week followed a similar, familiar pattern. Practice, classes, Rozanov. By Friday, everything felt predictable again, which was why, when Shane left his physics lab Friday evening, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. He was already regretting scheduling a three hour lab on a Friday afternoon, his brain fried and his legs heavy as he made his way out of the building. At least it meant he had a quiet walk back, campus already empty, the streets still occupying that brief lull between rush hour and the start of the weekend.

Not long after he crossed over from campus to the sidewalk heading toward his apartment, he heard footsteps behind him, and he had a moment to wonder if it was Rozanov, who was always appearing out of no where. But when Shane turned, he didn’t see anyone. He felt a cold prickle on the back of his neck, stark against the thick, warm evening air, like someone was watching him. The sidewalk stretched back the way he’d come, empty except for a flickering streetlight and a parked car at the curb. He frowned and turned forward again, picking up his pace just a little. Probably nothing. A few more steps and there it was again…more footsteps. This time, he turned faster. Still nothing.

He picked up his pace, still hearing the faint sound behind him on and off. He turned back to look a couple more times, each revealing nothing but people crossing the street in the distance, headlights turning down a side street.

“Get it together,” he muttered to himself and kept walking, the feeling of someone watching him still there.

-

It was after midnight, technically Saturday now, and Ilya was still awake. He’d knocked on Hollander’s door earlier in the evening and gotten no answer, so he’d gone back to his own apartment and turned on the TV, not really in the mood to watch anything. Then his father had called, and that had been enough to keep him wired long after the conversation ended, too rattled to sleep. He’d thought about trying Hollander again, maybe just texting him to see where he was, but he didn’t want to seem desperate. He wasn’t. This thing with Hollander was getting too…comfortable. Him being across the hall made it too easy, blurred the lines that were usually much easier to keep clear. Taking a night off here and there wasn’t just a good idea, it was necessary to maintain whatever facade Ilya was attempting to hold up.

Around 1am his phone buzzed. A group text from Jackson and Claire, the two others who’d been inducted with him last semester and had become friends of a sort.

Jackson: holy shit, did you hear? They found a body a block from campus

Before he’d even finished reading it, another popped up.

Claire: I saw flashing lights on my way back from a party. Who was it?

Jackson: That’s what I was getting to. It’s one of our new recruits

Ilya’s stomach dropped.

Claire: No shit!? Where did you hear that?

Jackson: I have my sources. They said his body was found right where that Tulane chick’s was last semester

Ilya felt like his knees were going to give out, his vision already swimming. Shane wasn’t home when he knocked earlier. There were only two male recruits. Sharp, cold panic sliced through him. He reread the messages once more, as if maybe he’d misunderstood, then dropped his phone on the couch and moved quickly on wobbly legs out the door and across the hall, banging on the door to #6 again. The hallway was empty, but there was a loud roar building in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything coming from inside the apartment. He knocked again.

“Hollander!” His voice was rough, and he didn’t care if he was shouting, if he woke up everyone else in the entire building.

His pulse was thumping loudly in his ears now, drowning out everything else. He knocked again, faster, louder. “Hollander!” There was still only silence from the other side of the door.

Chapter End Notes

More Ilya pov coming. Along with smuttt. This isn't a spoiler, as I would have tagged if anyone important died, okay.

Chapter 5: The order

Just as Ilya turned to go back to his own apartment, to do what he didn’t know, he heard footsteps from inside #6. The door opened. Hollander stood there wearing only a pair of shorts, hair a mess, squinting against the hallway lights. Ilya sucked in a breath so hard his lungs ached with it. 

“What—” Hollander started, his voice thick with sleep.

Ilya didn’t let him finish. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hollander, pressing him as tight against his chest as he could, one hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck. Relief hit him so hard it was dizzying. He pressed his face into the curve of Hollander’s shoulder, his skin warm, the faint thud of his pulse a reminder of what could have been. 

Hollander made a startled noise, hands coming up to rest uncertainly on Ilya’s back. “What’s going on?” he asked, confusion warring with the sleepiness in his voice. 

Ilya pulled back just enough to look at him, taking in his still sleep-soft face, freckles in just the right spots for a thumb to brush, lips parted in surprise. 

“You did not answer when I knocked earlier,” Ilya said, voice uneven, still catching up to the relief that was coursing through him. “And then I got a message…” he trailed off, words falling away, no longer important.

“I had a late lab,” Hollander said, confusion still there. “What message?”

Ilya shook his head and cupped Hollander’s jaw instead, letting his thumb brush the freckles he couldn’t stop staring at. 

“You’re fine,” Ilya said, the words useless and too small for what he meant. He became abruptly aware of himself, barefoot, in nothing but gray boxer briefs, standing in the doorway like he’d lost his mind.

“Yeah,” Hollander said, and he seemed to also be noticing Ilya’s lack of clothes, his eyes drifting down and then back up. “I was sleeping.”

He stepped back, and Ilya moved further inside so he could close the door.

“What happened?” Hollander asked.

Ilya hesitated, just for a second, whether because he didn’t want to expose himself and the magnitude of what he was feeling right now, or because he didn’t want to scare Hollander, he didn’t know. And it probably didn’t matter.

“They found a body by campus,” he said. “Someone told me it was one of the new recruits.”

Hollander’s expression tightened immediately, sleep falling away entirely. “What?”

“I didn’t know who,” Ilya admitted. “I thought—” He stopped, taking a deep breath.

Shane stared at him for a second, then something shifted in his expression, realization maybe.

“Oh,” he said softly. Ilya’s hand was still on his jaw, and Hollander’s hand came up to rest on his wrist, like he knew Ilya needed the reassuring touch. “You thought it was me?

Ilya didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He just leaned in, closing the space between their mouths. Hollander tasted faintly like toothpaste, like sleep, like something familiar and real, and Ilya held onto it like proof. He knew this was a desperate kiss, a messy one. He was kissing Hollander like he’d almost lost him, because maybe he had. And maybe that was not a loss he could survive. And maybe he couldn’t examine the whys of that right now, but he could do this.

When he pulled back, they were both breathing harder. Hollander’s fingers tightened on his wrist again, this time pulling him toward the bedroom and onto the bed. Ilya stretched out over him, kissing him again, taking his time now, letting his lips trail down his neck to the curve of his shoulder. Hollander’s head pushed back into the pillows, exposing more of his throat, breath catching in small, uneven sounds that Ilya felt more than heard.

He moved lower, pressing kisses to Hollander’s chest before dragging his tongue across one nipple, then his teeth, just a light scrape, and it drew a moan from him, his hips arching up off the bed. Ilya repeated it on the other side, slower this time, savoring the way Hollander reacted, before shifting down further and hooking his fingers into the waistband of his shorts. He glanced up briefly to see dark eyes on him, unfocused again, but with arousal now instead of sleep. He pulled the shorts off and tossed them aside before taking Hollander’s hard cock into his mouth, sinking down all the way before pulling up enough to lap at the saltiness already gathered at the tip. Hollander made a soft, helpless sound, but Ilya didn’t linger. This was only a pit stop for where he was really headed, so he pulled off and then pushed Hollander’s legs up, making space where he wanted to go. The first brush of his tongue against Hollander’s hole drew the most delicious noise from him, a moan gone high and broken with surprise and pleasure, and Ilya wanted more. He took his time, alternating between swirling his tongue around that tight muscle and dragging the flat of his tongue across it, lapping and stroking while he held Hollander’s thighs up to keep him still. He could feel Hollander relaxing under his tongue, little by little, softening and opening until he could push the tip of his tongue past the resistance, just enough to make him groan and push down against Ilya’s mouth. 

By the time Ilya pulled back to look at him, Hollander was breathing hard, shifting restlessly against the sheets, his face slack with pleasure, flushed and soft, and his lips were parted and perfect and waiting. Ilya moved back up slowly and hovered above him for a second, wondering if Hollander would let him kiss him again, knowing where his mouth had been, but he needn’t have worried…Hollander leaned up and closed the distance first, pushing his tongue into Ilya’s mouth like it didn’t matter at all. Ilya let out a quiet breath into the kiss, one hand sliding back down between them, fingers finding their way to where he’d just been, pressing one finger against his hole and swallowing down the moan that escaped his throat. Ilya reached over to the nightstand drawer to grab the lube. He slicked his fingers quickly before returning, pressing again, more firmly this time, one finger slipping inside. He pushed in just far enough to curl his finger, brushing over that spot while he watched Hollander’s face, watched his eyes roll back slightly and his mouth fall open on a quiet breath, like he couldn’t help it. Ilya bent to press his lips to the soft skin beneath his jaw. Then he felt Hollander shift beneath him, leaning away. For a split second, Ilya thought he’d misread something, that he’d gone too far, but instead Hollander pressed something into his free hand. A condom. 

Ilya stilled his other hand, slipping his fingers out so he could focus, so Hollander could focus. He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Please,” Hollander said, his voice low, barely a whisper. 

“You’re sure?” Ilya asked. God he wanted to. Had wanted to for so long, but especially these last few weeks. He was happy to do anything with Hollander, if he was being honest. But he wanted this…wanted to show him how good it could be.

Hollander just nodded. Ilya bent and kissed him, taking his time, now that he knew what end they were racing to. He let his hand slide back down, easing a finger back inside him, stroking and stretching him before pushing in a second one. Hollander tensed at first, a sharp intake of breath, but Ilya stroked him through it, watching his face relax, his body moving against him again. He added a third finger when he was ready, watching closely, giving him time, murmuring against his skin, kissing wherever he could reach…his neck, his jaw, his mouth again…until Hollander’s body softened fully beneath him.

When he was sure Hollander was ready for him, he slowly removed his fingers and grabbed the condom, rolling it on and slicking himself before settling back between Hollander’s legs. He leaned down and kissed him again, just a brief press of lips.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, quieter this time. 

“I’m sure.”

Ilya exhaled slowly and lined himself up, pushing gently against his entrance until he slipped inside, stopping at just the tip as he watched Hollander’s face pinch just a little at the stretch. He didn’t move again until his brows smoothed out, face relaxing, then pushed in a little further, then a little more, until he was fully inside. He watched the strain on Hollander’s face and knew it was reflected on his own, for a different reason. Hollander was so tight. So warm and perfect and Ilya was having a hard time restraining himself...from fucking him immediately or coming, he wasn’t sure. He just knew he was exactly where he wanted to be right now.

“Is okay?” he asked, his voice strained.

Hollander nodded, pushing down against Ilya in answer. He started slow, sliding out just a little and pushing back in, letting him adjust, then more each time until he’d built a rhythm. He shifted his angle slightly, and Hollander’s breath hitched into a sharp moan, his head tipping back against the pillows.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed, and Ilya picked up his pace. He leaned down and kissed him again; it was messy, more of a shared breath than a kiss because neither of them could hold it. 

“You feel so good,” Ilya murmured against his lips, the words slipping out before he could stop them.  “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Hollander’s eyes fluttered a little, in surprise maybe. “Me too,” he said, lifting his head just enough to catch Ilya’s lips again. Ilya moaned into his mouth, something warm blooming in his chest, wholly unrelated to the heat surging through the rest of him. He knew this was dangerous territory, but Hollander’s lips were soft and sweet, and he was clenching around Ilya’s cock and pushing against him and looking at him with dark eyes full of need and lust and something warmer and softer than both. He was helpless against it; all he could do was keep fucking him and kissing him and watching the little waves of pleasure roll over his face, knowing he was the one doing that. 

Ilya shifted the angle of his hips again, just slightly, folding Hollander’s legs a little more, loving the breathy little noises escaping his throat, his neck stretching. He could feel his own orgasm building now, held back only by his need to make sure Hollander came first. Then he felt Hollander clench harder around him, heard the noises become even less restrained, louder.

“Are you—” Ilya started but didn’t finish, looking between them, seeing Hollander’s cock spurting ropes of cum between their stomachs. “Shane,” he breathed. The name slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, pulled from him the same way his own release was, unstoppable in the face of Hollander’s complete abandon, his body flexing and pushing against Ilya, while Ilya’s hips moved faster and he spilled himself inside that hot, clenching heat. When he was done and his body had gone still, he dropped his head to rest on Hollander’s shoulder while he caught his breath. 

Then, soft against his ear, barely a whisper, “Ilya.” A shiver ran through him, hearing his name on Hollander’s lips. Relief that he wasn’t alone in his need to say it, heat in the way it sounded in that low, wrecked voice, and something else, something dangerous and soft that made his already boneless body melt even further into Hollander, their bodies plastered together, his cock still inside him, keeping them connected when there was no longer any reason to be.

Eventually he slipped out and tied the condom off. He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to Hollander’s lips and brushed the sweat-damp hair back. Hollander’s face was relaxed, almost sleepy again, his eyes fluttering at the touch, a small smile pulling at his lips. And Ilya felt it again, the dangerous, soft thing blooming in his chest. He didn’t care, but he knew he should. 

“Be right back,” he murmured. He went into the tiny bathroom, identical to his own, and cleaned himself up. He pulled open cabinets and drawers until he found a washcloth, wet it with warm water, and went back to the bedroom. Hollander had an arm tossed across his eyes now, and he moved it just enough to peek out when Ilya knelt on the bed. Ilya held up the damp washcloth in silent explanation, letting Hollander know what he was about to do, expecting him to protest, but he didn’t. So Ilya gently dragged it along his stomach and chest, wiping away the remnants of cum and sweat, then lower, between Hollander’s legs, where sweat and lube had collected, careful not to press too hard against his raw entrance. He knew this was too intimate, too gentle and sweet, something you didn’t do with a fuck buddy, but he didn’t care. When he was done, he tossed the washcloth aside and then hesitated next to the bed for a second, wondering if he should leave. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want Hollander to be alone in the bed. He wanted to press their bodies together and enjoy the afterglow, knowing Hollander must be feeling just as boneless and satisfied as he did. He hoped anyway. This was not something Ilya always wanted. Sometimes he wanted to fuck and then get the fuck out. Most of the time, really. He didn’t know what to do with this, whatever it was. And luckily he didn’t have to decide because Hollander did it for him. He held out a hand to Ilya, and when he took it, Hollander pulled him onto the bed until Ilya was stretched out beside him again, until he could curl against Ilya’s body, head lying on his chest.

“You can stay,” Hollander murmured against him. Ilya let out a slow breath, one hand coming up to rest lightly against his back.

“Was that okay for you?” Ilya asked quietly, needing to hear it.

Hollander gave a contented little sigh. “Yeah, it was good.” 

Ilya pressed his lips to the top of Hollander’s head, not forgetting what happened before, the reason he showed up here in the middle of the night in the first place, relief washing over him once again.

“Good,” Ilya said. Then, before he could stop himself, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He could feel Hollander tense up next to him. “Shit,” he said, like he was just remembering. “Do you think it’s true? About the body?”

“I don’t know,” Ilya admitted. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” Then, “Sorry for waking you.”

“I’m glad you did,” Hollander said, voice softer now, his hand tracing idly along Ilya’s stomach, and he was glad Hollander couldn’t feel what his stomach did when he said that. 

-

Ilya woke to a warm body pressed against his chest. Hollander’s back was to him, his neck only inches away from his face, and he had to stop himself from pressing his lips to it, not wanting to wake him yet. Soft morning light was filtering in through the blinds already, and Ilya glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. 5:58am. Fuck.

 “Hollander,” Ilya said quietly, untangling himself. “Wake up.”

Hollander shifted, his eyes blinking open slowly, and when they focused on Ilya, a small sleepy smile tugged at his lips, which made Ilya’s chest warm and stupid. 

“Hey,” Ilya said softly. “We have to get up. Practice.” Luckily they didn’t start until 7 on Saturdays.

Hollander squinted at the clock. “Fuck.” He started to sit up and then winced.

“Sore?” Ilya asked, feeling immediately guilty.

“A little.”

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said. “Will you be okay at practice?”

Hollander nodded, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s fine.” Then, catching Ilya still watching him, he added, “Seriously.”

“Okay.” Ilya got up and grabbed the boxer briefs he’d dropped on the floor the night before. “I’m going to shower. We can walk over together?” 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Hollander said, climbing out of bed. Ilya leaned over and kissed him briefly before he headed out and across the hall to #8.

The first thing he did was find his phone where he had dropped it the night before. There were a few more messages from Jackson and Claire, but nothing useful. He set it back down and went straight to shower, standing under the hot water and thinking about Hollander and how he’d felt when he’d read those messages and how Hollander felt while he was inside of him and how absolutely fucked he was. 

-

They left the building together just after 6:30, both with slightly wet hair, quieter than usual, but in a comfortable way. The streets were mostly empty, only the occasional car passing.

Hollander walked beside him, hands shoved into his pockets, bag bouncing against his back. Ilya glanced at him once, then again, taking in the slight stiffness in his gait.

“You okay?” he asked.

Hollander shot him a look. “If you ask me that one more time—”

Ilya huffed out a quiet laugh. “Well, you are walking funny.”

“Shut up.”

Ilya bumped his shoulder gently, and they walked in silence for a few more steps before Hollander pulled his phone out, frowning slightly at the screen.

“What?” Ilya asked.

Hollander didn’t answer right away. His expression went serious, tightening around his mouth, and then he turned the screen toward Ilya.

“It’s on NOLA.com,” he said. Ilya took the phone. The headline was blunt, sitting in bold at the top of the page.

Body of college student found near NOU campus; second case in same location raises concerns

His stomach dropped all over again. He scanned the article quickly.

Male. Early twenties. Found just off campus grounds. Same area where a Tulane University student had been found months earlier. No name released yet. Police “not ruling out a connection.”

Ilya’s grip tightened slightly around the phone before he handed it back.

“This is…” Hollander started, then trailed off.

“Yeah,” Ilya said, because whatever it was…it wasn’t good. 

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.

“Do you think it really was the other recruit?” Hollander asked finally, quieter now.

Ilya hesitated, then nodded once. “Probably.” 

Hollander exhaled slowly, eyes dropping back to the screen before he locked it and shoved the phone into his pocket.

-

In the locker room, Hollander peeled off to talk to Pike. The two of them fell into conversation easily, heads bent toward each other, Hayden saying something that made Hollander huff out a quiet laugh. Ilya looked away and dropped onto the bench next to Cliff, who was scrolling on his phone, not even registering Ilya next to him. 

“What’s up, Marly?” he asked, reaching down to unzip his bag. 

“Huh?” Cliff’s head snapped up. “Oh, not much. You?”

“You heard the news?” Ilya asked, keeping his tone casual. “About the body?”

Cliff suddenly dropped his phone in his bag, like it had burned him. “Yeah,” he said, too quickly. “Crazy.”

Ilya watched him for a beat. “Yeah…weird. Same place as the girl from Tulane, right?”

“Oh yeah, that’s what I heard,” Cliff said, standing up. “Gotta hit the head.” He walked in the direction of the bathroom and was already halfway across the room before Ilya could say anything else. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. He didn’t like what was going on with Cliff, but he didn’t think pushing would be in anyone’s best interest right now.

Ilya’s gaze drifted back across the room to where Hollander was. He was still talking to Pike, an amused smile on his face while Pike was running his mouth, hands gesturing wildly. As if he felt Ilya’s gaze on him, he glanced over, and when their eyes met, Hollander’s smile shifted…crooked, shy, the one Ilya got sometimes when Hollander didn’t seem to notice he was doing it. This time it felt more deliberate, and Ilya couldn’t help but smile in return. Then he turned away before anyone noticed, but not before something warm settled in his chest yet again. 

-

After practice, Shane left the locker room before Rozanov. He started making his way toward home, lingering at the edge of campus. It only took a few minutes for Rozanov to catch up with him.

“You waited?” he asked, stepping up beside Shane.

“Maybe,” Shane said and started walking again. He glanced over to see Rozanov smiling, like he’d won some unnamed game they were playing.

“I’m starving,” Rozanov said. “You want to stop at La Boulangerie?” 

Shane smiled at the way the word rolled out of Rozanov’s mouth, accent wrapping around the syllables. “A bakery?”

“Yes, obviously. Even I know that word,” Rozanov said. “Is that a problem?”

“I usually just have a protein shake after practice.”

“Ugh.” Rozanov tipped his head back in frustration. “You are so boring.”

“I am not,” Shane said. “I’m trying to stay in good condition for the season.”

Rozanov looked over at him. “I have seen your condition, Hollander. It can survive a pastry. But they also have yogurt and avocado toast and whatever other health food you eat.”

Shane rolled his eyes, giving in. “Fine, let’s go.”

La Boulangerie was only a few blocks from their building, so they dropped their bags off first, then walked over together. Shane tried not to think about the fact that he’d had sex with Rozanov the previous night and now they were getting breakfast together. His brain could only process so many things at one time, and whatever this thing was…figuring it out was taking up too much real estate.

The bakery was unsurprisingly crowded for a Saturday morning. They managed to order and grab a table just as a couple was leaving, and that snagged in Shane’s head too, as they each took one of the vacated chairs. Rozanov ordered a latte and a giant almond croissant that admittedly looked delicious, while Shane stuck with avocado toast and cold brew. 

Rozanov was watching him across the table. “You want a bite?” he asked, holding the croissant out. 

“No, I’m good,” Shane said, sipping his drink. 

“Come on,” Rozanov said, waving it around. “One bite can’t hurt you.”

Shane couldn’t suppress his smile. “Fine,” he said. And instead of handing it to him, Rozanov just held it out further until Shane took a bite. He was immediately annoyed by how good it tasted. But it wasn’t enough to distract him from the question that was bouncing around his head…what were they even doing? Feeding each other like…Shane sighed. It didn’t help that Rozanov was looking at him, with a wide, satisfied smile, like he’d proved a point. But there was something else there, too. He pushed the thought away and enjoyed the bite of croissant and didn’t take his eyes off Rozanov the entire time.

-

When they got back to their building, Shane went to #6 and Rozanov to #8 and Shane wondered if that was it. But before Rozanov closed his door, he looked back at Shane.

“See you later?” It sounded like a question.

“Sure,” Shane said. He stepped inside and closed his door. When he turned around, he saw an envelope sitting on the counter. He sighed and picked it up, seeing his last name in black handwriting that was becoming too familiar, and immediately tore it open and took the card out. 

Tomorrow
11:45 p.m.

That was it. No location this time…Shane supposed they always met in the same place. He thought about telling Rozanov, but before he could even decide, there was a knock on his door. He opened it and Rozanov walked right in. 

“Ah, so you got one too,” he said, looking at the envelope in Shane’s hand.

“Do you think it’s about what happened?” Shane asked. 

Rozanov shrugged. “It seems likely. We do not usually have this many meetings this close together.”

Shane sighed. One week into the semester. One week and everything was a mess. He walked over and sat heavily on the couch, head in his hands. 

“Hey,” Rozanov said softly from much too close. Then he felt a hand on the back of his neck, gentle and warm. “What’s wrong?”

Shane shook his head but didn’t sit up. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just…freaking out. Everything is so complicated. I just wanted a quiet year.”

He felt the couch dip next to him, then an arm around his back. “It’s going to be fine,” Rozanov said. “You can still be boring.”

That got a laugh out of him. He sat up and glanced over at Rozanov, who was looking at him with a very soft expression. Shane leaned back against the cushion, and Rozanov’s arm tightened around him, pulling him in close. 

“What are you doing today?” Rozanov asked. 

“Catching up on reading and homework,” Shane said. “As you said…boring.”

Rozanov shrugged. “Maybe a little. I have some homework too.”

He realized he had no idea what kind of homework Rozanov could have. “What’s your major?” he asked.

“Um,” Rozanov said, hesitating. “Education.”

Shane leaned forward and looked at him. “Really?”

“What…you think I’m too dumb?”

Shane’s mouth fell open. “Of course not,” he said. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all. I was just surprised. You want to be a teacher?”

“Mm, maybe. But I think I would also like to coach,” he said, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Kids' hockey, you know? I love kids.” 

Shane nodded slowly. He was surprised, but it also suited Rozanov. He would be the kind of coach everyone loved and still kept his team in tiptop shape. “You’d be a great coach.”

Rozanov smiled at him, almost self-conscious. Then he leaned forward and kissed Shane, locking their lips together and settling back against the couch, pulling Shane with him. They kissed for a while, though inevitably, their cocks had to get involved. 

“This is not homework,” Shane said, coming up for air. 

“Kind of is,” Rozanov said with a smirk. “You need practice.”

Shane made an offended noise and sat up. “Are you saying I’m a bad kisser?”

“Mm,” Rozanov hummed. “I’m not sure…I need to do more research.” He pulled Shane back down, smashing their lips together again. Shane kissed him like he meant it, and eventually Rozanov pulled back. “Okay, I think you are sufficient. But I still need more evidence.”

Shane laughed and sprawled on top of him. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“I know, but this is more fun than homework,” Rozanov said, pushing his hips up against Shane. “Come on…bed.” 

Shane sat up on his knees, letting Rozanov stand. “I don’t think I can do that again,” Shane said, still feeling the tender ache. “So soon, I mean.”

“Don’t worry, I know.” 

Shane stood up and followed him into the bedroom, both of them shedding their clothes and climbing into the bed. Rozanov leaned back against the wall and patted his thighs. Shane straddled him and leaned down to kiss him. It was slow and sweet and Shane couldn’t help but think again about how nothing they did together felt like something you’d do with a fuck buddy. But Rozanov’s thighs trapped between his, the way his lips moved against him…he was having a hard time thinking about anything at all.

-

Afterward, they’d taken a nap in Shane’s bed, and then Rozanov went back across the hall. But he didn’t stay there. A couple hours later he was back, a book, a notebook, and a laptop under his arm. 

“Time to study?” he asked, and all Shane could do was smile and let him in. They sat on Shane’s couch, both on their laptops, in comfortable silence for a while. When dinnertime rolled around, Shane asked him if he wanted to stay. 

“I don’t know, are you going to feed me bird food? Rabbit food?” he asked, leaning back against the armrest, a crooked smile on his face.

“Fuck you,” Shane laughed. “I was going to make a stir fry.” 

“Okay,” Rozanov said, cocking his head in surprise. “Thanks.”

They spent the rest of the evening eating dinner, watching TV, and hanging out. And not once did Shane wish Rozanov would leave. In fact, he found himself wondering if he could ask him to stay again before he realized how ridiculous that was. Fuck buddies, he reminded himself.

But once again, he needn’t have worried because Rozanov was one step ahead of him. When it got late, Rozanov stood up and held a hand out to him, then dragged Shane into the bedroom and pushed him down on the bed. He used his mouth in those tender spots until Shane fell apart beneath him, until they both found release, and then he curled around him and they both fell asleep.

-

The next day, they slept in, not having to worry about practice. Eventually Rozanov went back across the hall, and Shane got up and went for a run and then actually caught up on homework and reading. It was mostly a lazy day, and it would have been a relaxing one if he hadn’t had the meeting hanging over his head. 

Not long after Shane finished dinner, there was a knock at his door. He let Rozanov in and then went back to the sink. Rozanov followed him into the kitchen and walked up behind him, resting his chin on Shane’s shoulder, arms going around his waist. 

“I’m bored,” Rozanov said.

Shane laughed. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I have some ideas.”

Shane shook his head and turned off the water. “We have somewhere to be in a few hours.”

He turned around, Rozanov’s arms still around him, until they were face to face.

“In like four hours,” Rozanov said. “Plenty of time.” He leaned in and kissed Shane, using his hips to press him harder against the counter behind him. “Unless you have something better to do?”

“No,” Shane said. “I don’t.” He closed the distance between their mouths again and then let Rozanov walk them backwards into the bedroom. 

After they were naked in bed, Shane had a brief moment of clarity and reached over to grab his phone. “I’m setting an alarm,” he said. “In case we fall asleep.”

“Hollander…if you fall asleep while I’m fucking you…” Rozanov said, giving him a look.

Shane rolled his eyes. “I mean after. We have somewhere to be, remember?”

“Fine, but set it for 10:30. I have to be there at 11:15,” he said, reaching over to the nightstand for a condom and lube while Shane set the alarm.

Shane looked up at him. “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t realize you had to go earlier. But I guess that makes sense.” He still felt uneasy about this whole thing, but knowing Rozanov would be there and knew these people…it admittedly helped.

“Hey,” Rozanov said, gently grabbing him by the chin. “Everything is fine, okay? I know it’s been kind of weird, but I promise, I wouldn’t have joined if I thought it wasn’t just a regular boring group that is run by rich old people with lots of connections.”

Shane nodded. “But why did you join?” If Rozanov wanted to teach or coach, it didn’t sound like he needed those connections.

Rozanov rolled off of him and leaned against the wall. “It sounded like…I don’t know, like they could maybe help. With Russia.”

Shane cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“I do not want to go back,” Rozanov said. “I’m scared that I’ll have to, after graduation. I’ll never be able to be myself there. And my father…” He shook his head. “Having connections like that might help. If I ever need it.”

Shane looked at his face, the tightness of his jaw, the way his eyes had gone sad and distant. He realized he didn’t know as much about Rozanov as he thought he did. He reached up and brushed the stray curls off his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No,” Rozanov said. “I want you.”

Shane crawled on top of him and kissed him until his eyes were no longer sad, and neither of them was thinking about anything but each other.

-

Shane was a little smug about setting the alarm when it startled them both awake at 10:30. 

“Told you we needed the alarm,” he said, watching Rozanov blink awake only to immediately roll his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, rolling off the bed. “I need to go get ready.” He leaned down and kissed Shane, letting their lips pull apart slowly as he backed up. “Wait for me after, okay?”

Shane nodded and watched him go, then he got up and took a shower, letting the hot water keep him relaxed for a little longer, letting the way his body felt loose and tingly keep his mind from drifting too far ahead. 

At 11:30, Shane was stepping out of his building into the warm night air, wishing Rozanov hadn’t needed to leave before him. And he knew that the amount of time he spent thinking about him, and now being in his company, was not good. This was sliding into dangerous territory much too quickly, and the brakes had apparently been cut. 

The walk to campus was uneventful, and he stepped up to the chapel door right on time and looked around. No one was outside waiting this time. But before he could reach out and open the door, someone else came up the steps behind him. It was the blonde woman, the other recruit. The one that was still alive.

“Hi,” Shane said, awkwardly. 

“Hi,” she said. “We didn’t get a proper introduction last time. I’m Kat. Not sure if we’re supposed to talk to each other but…” She shrugged. Right…the secrecy of it all. Shane decided he didn’t care either.

“Shane.” He held out a hand, and she shook it. 

“Kind of awkward, huh? After what happened.” 

Shane nodded. What could he even say to that?

“Ready?” he asked, reaching out for the door handle.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s do it.”

The chapel felt different this time. There were more quiet voices, but the tone sounded decidedly more on edge. Instead of standing around the front tonight, all but two people were sitting in the pews. The candles were already lit, their soft glow catching on the dark wood and stained glass, but instead of feeling secretive and exciting, it felt…ominous. 

Shane slid into a pew near the back, and Kat sat next to him. Everyone else was wearing the same black mask as the last time, covering the upper half of their faces, and Shane scanned the heads in each row for Rozanov. He spotted him in the third row from the front, curly golden brown hair shining in the candlelight. He was leaning back, his head tipped like he was bored. Shane smiled and looked down at his feet. 

At the front, the two people standing up were whispering to each other. They were both wearing black masks that covered their entire face, with holes at the eyes, mouth, and nose, and they had black hoods pulled over their heads. Eventually one of them stepped forward and started speaking.

“I’ll repeat this: thank you all for coming on short notice.” Shane could tell that it was the same man who spoke last time, his voice calm and projecting, carrying easily to the back.

“I’m sure many of you have already heard the news about an incident near campus.”

A ripple moved through the room, just barely noticeable.

“The situation is being handled by local authorities,” he continued. “At this time, there is no evidence to suggest any connection to this organization.”

Shane’s stomach tightened at that, because there was just the hint of something in his voice that suggested he didn’t believe it. But maybe Shane was imagining things, amongst the surreal candlelight and masked people, where everything felt more dramatic than it was.

“We have, unfortunately, lost one of our prospective members.”

That landed heavy, a few people shifting in their seats, a few sharp intakes of breath.

“But I want to be very clear,” he went on, tone firm, the hint of whatever had been there before gone now. “This appears to be an isolated incident. There is no indication that our activities, or our members, were involved in any way.” He paused again. "Now let's take a moment of silence for Andrew Stackhouse, may he rest in peace."

Shane's stomach twisted. Andrew. He hadn't known him personally, but he felt the loss, the unfairness of it. Then he thought about Rozanov at his door, on the verge of falling apart because he'd thought it might be Shane. He swallowed hard and glanced toward Rozanov. He wasn’t leaning back anymore. He’d shifted forward, elbows on his knees, gazed fixed on the man speaking. 

“We ask that you all continue to exercise discretion,” the man said after a few moments. “Speculation benefits no one. If any of you are contacted by authorities, you will refer them to counsel provided through the usual channels.”

Shane’s eyes went wide. That didn’t seem to match the earlier stance of it being unrelated. And did the authorities know who the members even were? He let out a long breath and focused.

“Now,” the man said, stepping back slightly, “we proceed as planned.”

The other person who was hanging back behind the man who had been speaking stepped up.

“New recruits, please join me in the back,” the second man said. Shane recognized that voice, but he couldn’t place it. 

He and Kat stood and made their way up through the pews, and Shane tried to ignore the dozens of eyes on him, all barely visible, just shiny orbs framed by masks. The man who called them up turned and walked through a door that led to a narrow hallway, dimly lit, the air a little cooler. At the end, another door stood slightly ajar. Inside, the space was small, similar to a confessional, if not exactly. There was a narrow seat next to an intricately designed black mesh window in a wooden stall. The man stepped into the little space behind the window, which seemed a bit silly since he already knew who they were and there didn’t need to be any barrier between them. But Shane figured theatrics were important here.

“One of you take a seat, the other step back into the hallway.”

Shane looked at Kat. “Do you want to go first?”

“Sure, thanks.” She gave him a small smile.

Shane stepped back into the hallway to wait. Only a few minutes later, Kat stepped out. 

“He’s ready for you.”

Shane nodded and stepped back inside, taking the seat by the window.

“Mr. Hollander,” said the man, and a little jolt went through him. Where did he know that voice from? “Please tell me what you’ve observed about Cliff Marlow.” The way he said Cliff's name was...off. Like he didn't want to.

Shane took a deep breath, feeling particularly conflicted about what he was about to do. Thankfully he hadn’t observed anything damning, but it still felt…wrong. 

“Um…not much. I’ve seen him at hockey practice and in class. He maybe seems…a little distracted. Looks at his phone a lot.”

“Anything else?”

Shane swallowed. “I overheard one phone call, but it was really short.”

“Go on.”

“He said—” 

Shane closed his eyes. Was this really worth it? Fuck. He took a deep breath and continued.

“He told whoever it was that he didn’t see anything and to stop calling him.” He said it quickly, like that made it better, less invasive.

“That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it.” 

“Great work. Welcome to the Ordre des Masques, Shane Hollander.” 

The Order of Masks? Bit on the nose, Shane thought. 

“You may leave. You’ll be contacted before the next meeting and given all the information you need. Goodnight,” the man said.

“Um, thanks,” Shane said. He got up and left the small room. Another masked member was waiting in the hallway.

“Please exit here.” A woman this time, her curly black hair elegantly framing her masked face, her eyes dark through the holes. “Have a good night.”

Shane left through the door she’d pointed at, finding himself on the side of the chapel near the back, alone. He wondered briefly if Kat had also been welcomed into the order, and if maybe they’d become friends. Then he remembered that Rozanov was probably still inside. He made his way toward the edge of campus, slowly, trying to shake off the feeling that he’d just done something he wasn’t proud of. It was taking away from any excitement he might have felt about being accepted into a secret society. Shane from a few weeks ago would have been thrilled. He wasn’t too concerned about the optics of it, never needing the validation of being “important.” But there was something cool about it, and he still had high hopes for the impact it might have on his career.

He found a bench near the walkway and sat down, hoping Rozanov would be done soon. Only a few minutes later, Rozanov was there, looking at him like he was surprised Shane had waited.

“Heard you’re official,” he said, stopping in front of Shane.

Shane nodded. “I guess so.”

“What’s wrong?” Rozanov asked, brows drawing together. 

Shane glanced around, wondering if there were any unwanted ears nearby. “Let’s talk about it later.” He stood and started walking. A moment later, Rozanov’s hand came up to rest on the back of his neck, and Shane’s eyes briefly fluttered shut at the contact. Then his hand trailed down, pausing at his lower back, then to the side, taking Shane’s hand in his. Rozanov glanced behind them, then over at Shane with a small smile on his face.

Shane looked down at their clasped hands and felt his heart skip a beat, his stomach doing something stupid. They stayed like that for most of the walk, until they saw someone walking toward them from the opposite direction. Rozanov gently let go of his hand and shoved his own into his pockets, looking down at the ground. Shane tried not to think about how cold his hand felt at the loss of contact, despite the night air being humid and hot. Why did everything have to be so fucking complicated?

And to make matters worse, Rozanov followed him into #6 when they got back, and Shane didn’t hesitate to let him. They quietly got undressed and crawled into Shane’s bed, and Shane didn’t hesitate to curl around Rozanov when he held his arm out. And he also didn't hesitate to lay his head on Rozanov’s chest. And he definitely didn’t hesitate when a little while later Rozanov rolled over and kissed him. And he unfortunately still didn’t hesitate when Rozanov flipped positions so his cock was in front of Shane’s face and Shane’s was in front of his. And even worse, he didn't hesitate to curl around him and fall asleep after.

-

The next morning, Shane’s alarm went off early. It was still dark outside and Rozanov was still pressed up against his back and Shane wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep. But it was Monday and they had practice to get to. Rozanov gave him a sleepy kiss and then rolled out of bed, pulling his clothes on and heading back across the hall to get ready. They walked to campus together and split off in the locker room. 

“Dude, did you hear?” Hayden asked as soon as Shane sat down beside him. “Rose and Ali are throwing a party on Friday.”

Shane looked at him in surprise. “Really?” He pulled his phone out. Oh. He did have several texts from Rose from last night. 

Rose: First party of the year on Friday
Rose: You’ll be there. Starts at 7 but come early
Rose: I have someone I want you to meet
Rose: He’s not out either so I think he’d be a safe option
Rose: I really need to tell you about this guy I met in music theory
Rose: Shaneeee
Rose: Ok I’m assuming you’re asleep. Text me tomorrow!

Shane laughed. Whoops.

“I wonder if that girl from Rose’s play will be there,” Hayden said. “Remember the blonde one who all the other characters were in love with?”

“What?” Shane asked him, trying and failing to follow this conversation. “Wait…you mean Lucy? She played Hermia?”

“I don’t know, man. She flirted with me at the afterparty you dragged me to.”

Shane shook his head. “She’s way out of your league, buddy.”

“Fuck you,” Hayden said with a laugh. “I’m a catch.”

Shane clapped him on the back. “Of course you are.”

“So are you going? To the party?”

“Yeah, I guess. Rose has commanded it.”

“Still kind of weird that you two are best friends even though you broke up. I’ll never understand how you let that go,” Hayden said, looking at Shane in feigned disbelief.

“She’s not a that. And we just weren’t…compatible.” He quickly glanced over at Rozanov, who was laughing with Cliff. “She needs someone much more social,” he said quickly. 

“If you say so,” Hayden said, standing up. “Maybe she’ll give me a chance.”

“In your dreams, Pike,” Shane said, shoving his phone back in his bag.

He let his gaze drift back to Rozanov, who was still sitting on the bench next to Cliff. They were talking like normal, both stopping to laugh intermittently, Cliff gesturing with one hand and Rozanov giving him a what the fuck look before busting out laughing again. Shane felt himself smiling and quickly wiped it from his face, turning his attention back to lacing up his skates. He sighed. Maybe he should let Rose set him up. Maybe he needed to put some distance between himself and Rozanov before he was so deep in this hole he couldn’t climb out.

Chapter 6: The party

Chapter Notes

Sorry for the break between chapters. My other fic had me in a chokehold (like it really did, I lost all free will). Now that it's done, I'm back here until this one is done.

Shane texted Rose back after practice.

Shane: Sorry I missed your texts last night.
Shane: I have a late lab on Friday, but I’ll be there after.

He was almost to the humanities building when Rose texted back.

Rose: Fineeee
Rose: As long as you come

Shane: Relax, I’ll be there. Promise!

Rose: Oh and do you want to meet my friend
Rose: I really think he’d be good for you

Shane laughed. Relentless. He pushed into the building, heading up to the fourth floor for his philosophy class.

Shane: Maybe. I have class now. We can talk about it on Friday.

Rose: Ok ok…see you then

Dr. Hunter was already there when he walked in, standing behind his desk, sipping from a paper coffee cup. He glanced up as Shane walked in and gave him a nod and a polite smile, his gaze lingering for only a moment. Shane took his seat and pulled out his notebook, flipping back to see his sparse notes from previous classes, only to quickly turn back to a blank page.

“Good morning,” Dr. Hunter said as the last few people filtered in. “I know there’s a lot going on right now. We lost one of our own, and there is never an easy way to move forward after that. There are grief counselors available, and if you need to see one, I urge you to go. Even if it means missing my class.”

Dr. Hunter smiled faintly, almost painfully, then pushed off the desk and moved toward the whiteboard.

“Alright. In an earlier class, we talked about competing obligations,” he said, picking up a marker. “The idea that ethical decisions aren’t usually about choosing between right and wrong, but between two things that both feel, in some way, justified.”

He wrote something on the board, quick and neat.

“Today, I want to revisit and shift that a little. Instead of focusing on the decision itself, I want to talk about what happens around it. Specifically, what we tell ourselves.”

Dr. Hunter turned back to face the class. “People are very good at constructing narratives that make their choices easier to live with. Not necessarily more correct, but more comfortable…something they can live with.”

Shane glanced around. A few students nodded, half-interested, but no one seemed to be feeling what he was. He took a deep breath and looked back at the board.

“For example,” Dr. Hunter continued, pacing slowly now, “if someone does something questionable, but believes it serves a larger purpose, they might frame that action as necessary. Or unavoidable…or even justified by outcomes that haven’t happened yet.”

He paused, gaze sweeping around the room.

“On the other hand,” he added, “people who aren’t directly involved often rely on a different kind of narrative. They tell themselves that what they’re seeing isn’t important. Or isn’t their responsibility. And, most often, that someone else will handle it.”

Shane swallowed, his grip tightening slightly on his pen.

Dr. Hunter’s gaze moved across the room again, catching Shane’s eye very briefly. Even though he wasn’t singled out, he still felt it a little too heavily.

“These thought processes reduce discomfort,” he said. “And to be clear, that’s a very human instinct. We don’t like sitting in uncertainty or conflict. So we resolve it, internally, however we can.”

He set the marker down.

“But part of what we’re doing in this course is resisting that instinct. We can’t eliminate it, but we can acknowledge it. We can actively pay attention to when we start telling ourselves a story that makes things easier.”

Shane stared down at his notebook, still blank. Dr. Hunter leaned back against the desk, arms loosely crossed.

“The moment you stop questioning your own reasoning,” he said, quieter now, “is usually the moment you should be questioning it the most.”

The room was silent for a moment, making Shane shift uneasily in his seat. Then someone in the back cleared their throat, and the spell broke, the rustle of pages, scratch of pens, and irritating screech of metal water bottles dragging along desks seemed to come back all at once.

Shane forced himself to jot some notes down, even though his mind wasn’t really on the words. He kept thinking about the meeting. About the way they’d said the murder was unrelated. About the tone that hadn’t quite matched the statement. About Cliff. About the fact that he’d repeated that phone call out loud, even though it twisted his stomach.

At the front of the room, Dr. Hunter was already moving on, outlining the week’s readings.

“I expect you all to read the paper about the Kitty Genovese case that I’ve attached to our discussion forum. There’s also an article about internal conflict resolution. Be ready to post your answers and talk about them next week.”

Shane let out a long breath and tried to refocus, to remember that this lecture was not about him. He briefly thought about dropping the class, the discomfort that overwhelming. Don’t be stupid. He shook himself and pressed his pen to the paper again.

-

In French, Cliff was looking at his phone intently when Shane walked in. 

“Fuck,” Cliff muttered. But then he glanced up as Shane passed his desk and his expression shifted into something much more familiar.

“Hollander,” he said, grinning. “Heard your girlfriend is throwing a rager on Friday.”

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore,” Shane said, sliding into his seat..

“Oh right. I guess I heard you broke up,” Cliff said with a grimace, leaning his way. “Sorry. Bad luck.”

“We’re still friends.”

“Going to the party then?”

Shane sighed, regretting letting Rose decide that for him already. “Yeah.”

“Fuck yeah,” Cliff said, leaning back in his seat. Shane turned away and pulled out his phone. Because if Cliff was going…

No new texts. He opened the thread with Rozanov, then immediately closed it and put his phone away. There was no reason for him to have mentioned it. Because they weren’t going to a party together. They probably wouldn’t even talk at the party. They never did. And this spiral was exactly why he needed to meet Rose’s friend and get on with his life.

-

Rozanov showed up that evening, and the one after, and the one after. He didn’t show on Thursday, and Shane tried and failed not to be disappointed. They didn’t talk about the party or Cliff or the Order. They didn’t do much talking at all. When Friday rolled around, Shane was determined to get through the day and then enjoy Rose’s party, whether Rozanov was there or not.

It was almost 8 by the time Shane walked up to the front door of the house Rose and her roommates were renting. It was only a 20 minute walk from his place, and he’d decided that it was worth walking instead of paying for an uber. The sweat that had collected at the nape of his neck and the small of his back was making him regret that decision.

The front door was wide open, bass thumping from inside, people everywhere. Shane pushed past two people making out on the front steps and stepped inside, eyes darting around the room, looking for a familiar face. He spotted Hayden, JJ, and Nick by the stairs, each holding a red solo cup. 

“Hollander!” JJ shouted as soon as he saw Shane. He was already swaying, his cup tipping dangerously as he swung one hand out.

“Jesus,” Shane said. “How many drinks have you had?”

“Only two,” JJ said, looking into his cup. “I think Rose mixed this shit. It’s strong.”

Hayden laughed. “It is strong. And disgusting.” 

“Good to know,” Shane said. He was still looking around, not for anyone in particular. Not golden brown curls. “Where's Rose?” he asked, turning back to them. 

“She was yelling at someone in the kitchen last time I saw her,” Nick said.

Shane winced. “Sucks for whoever is on the receiving end of that.” He looked around one last time, then said, “I’m going to get a drink. I’ll be back.”

He headed for the kitchen, walking through the doorway right as Rose came in from the backyard.

“You’re here!” she yelled, far louder than necessary since he was about five steps away.

“I told you I would be.”

“Wait, oh my god. I have to introduce you to Will,” she said, still too loud.

“Rose,” he said. “Um, not right now, okay? And like…more quietly maybe?”

“Right, sorry,” she said, bringing her hand up and slowly lowering it, like she was turning her volume down. 

Shane laughed. “I heard you mixed the drink tonight.”

“Yes, it’s so good. Here,” she said, grabbing a cup and putting it under the spout of a big cooler.

“Wait,” he said. “I’m not drinking. I have practice tomorrow.”

“Come on, just try it. You don’t have to finish it.”

“Fine.” He took the cup and smelled it and quickly turned his head. It had practically burned his nasal passages right off. “Jesus.”

“Just take a sip,” Rose said, practically stomping her foot at him.

He took a tiny sip, and it burned that way too. “What the fuck, Rose?” he said, laughing. “Is this pure vodka?”

“No, it’s got all kinds of stuff in it. I found the recipe on tik tok.”

“Of course you did.” He took another sip. Maybe a hint of something fruity. But mostly like nail polish remover. “Thanks.”

“Okay, I’m gonna come find you later when Will gets here. Unless he’s already here…I can’t remember.” 

“Quietly,” he said. “Please. My teammates are here.”

“I know, I know, relax.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Okay…maybe drink some water,” he said before leaving the kitchen, cup still in hand.

He headed back to Hayden and the guys. A couple of their other teammates were there now too, standing around sipping whatever lethal concoction Rose had created. Shane joined them again, listening to them talk too loudly while his eyes darted around the room once more. He spotted Cliff talking to a red head on the other side of the room, and his stomach dipped because…there he was. Rozanov had been standing behind Cliff, and when he took a step back, Shane could see the familiar curls, the broad shoulders, the face he’d seen in the throes of pleasure more in the last few days than he’d seen Hayden’s or JJ’s at all. He was talking to a pretty girl with light brown skin and curly hair, a huge smile stretched across her face. Shane had seen her before, with Rozanov mostly, at other parties and occasionally at home games, but he hadn’t caught her name. She was looking at him with the kind of familiarity reserved for close friends—or girlfriends—her hand coming up to shove his shoulder while he laughed. 

Shane turned back to the guys just in time to hear Hayden say, “Rose, what the fuck did you put in this?”

Rose stepped up next to him and put an arm around Shane’s waist.

“Defeated by a little jungle juice, Pike?” she asked, smiling sweetly at him. “I need to borrow Shane.”

She pulled him down the hall past the stairs until the noise of the party faded some. 

“Where are we going?” Shane asked, dragging behind her.

“To meet Will, remember?” 

“What? Where?”

“He’s in my room. I told him you two could talk for a few minutes.”

“Oh my god, Rose. Seriously?” Shane felt like he was being forced to play some kind of even more embarrassing version of seven minutes in heaven.

“Relax. This way you can talk away from your teammates. No one will notice.” She stopped in front of her door.

“Oh, no one is going to notice two guys walking out of a dark hallway together?” he whispered, not wanting to be overheard by the mysterious Will. 

“Shane…everyone is drunk. And if they’re not now, they will be soon because I’m about to add a few more bottles to the jungle juice.”

Shane groaned. Rose opened the bedroom door and shoved him inside. Will was standing awkwardly next to Rose’s bed, looking nearly as uncomfortable as Shane felt. Which did make him feel slightly better. He was attractive…about Shane’s height, wavy dark brown hair that fell messily across his forehead, one pierced ear, a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm. Just the hint of eyeliner, which Shane found he wasn’t entirely opposed to. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a Bad Religion t-shirt. 

“Will, this is Shane. Shane, Will.” She waved her hand between them in a way that made Shane question her sobriety again. “I think you two should talk. But I really need to get back out there before they start raiding the cabinets for more alcohol. Talk, makeout, whatever…report back later.” 

And then she left, closing the door loudly behind her, making Shane wince. He turned back to Will, who had an amused smile on his face now. 

“So, this isn’t awkward at all,” Shane said.

Will laughed. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, though.”

“You too. So where do you know Rose from?”

“I do props for the theater program,” he said. “You know, help build and paint stuff, set up, all that.”

“That’s cool.” Shane was going to kill Rose. She knew he didn’t do well with small talk. And that he had zero experience flirting with men. Which actually wasn’t entirely true anymore, but still…this was beyond him. 

“You play hockey, right?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, nodding. “Do you like sports?” 

“Not really.” Will smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“No, I get it.” 

Shane was contemplating tracking Rose down right now and asking her what the fuck. She introduced him to someone, and the only thing they maybe had in common was being gay? Shane sighed.

“So um…it was nice to meet you, but I should probably…” he pointed to the door and started to turn. 

“Wait,” Will said. “Sorry…I’m terrible at this part. But maybe we can go for coffee or something one day? Less awkward?”

“Sure,” Shane said. “Yeah. That sounds like a better idea than being locked in Rose’s bedroom.”

Will laughed. “What’s your number?” he asked, already typing something on his phone.

Shane recited his number, and a moment later, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“I texted you so you’ll have mine.”

“Great,” Shane said, turning to the door again, this time following through and twisting the knob. “Um…enjoy the rest of the party.” 

He stepped into the hall just in time to see Rozanov stepping out of another room across the hall with the girl he had been talking to earlier. His hand was resting on her lower back…intimate and familiar. Rozanov glanced over at him, and then past him, brows lifting almost imperceptively. Will was right behind him. Shane knew what it looked like, and he had the overwhelming urge to tell Rozanov it wasn’t that, even as his stomach twisted at seeing him with someone else.

The four of them spilled out of the hallway and back into the living room, the party already louder, more people dancing, more people making out. Shane glanced around, just in case Rose was around, because he was definitely not letting her off the hook. He didn’t see her, so he made his way back to Hayden, watching as Rozanov joined Cliff again, his hand still on the girl’s back.

“Where did you go?” Hayden asked. “Did you hook up with someone?” 

“What? No. I was only gone for like 5 minutes.”

Hayden shrugged. “I’m not judging.”

Shane snorted. “Fuck off. Where did everyone else go?”

“More of this,” Hayden said, holding up his cup. “I cut myself off so I don’t puke on the ice tomorrow.”

“Yeah…I think I’m gonna head out in a sec,” Shane said. It was already later than he wanted, and his stomach was in knots now.

“Alright, man, see you tomorrow,” Hayden said, clapping him on the back.

Shane wandered through the kitchen once more, but Rose was nowhere to be found. He also noticed that Rozanov was no longer with Cliff, and he didn’t see golden brown curls anywhere else in the room…not that he was looking. He pushed his way past too many people who were going to regret drinking six cups of Rose’s tik tok sludge and tried not to trip on two girls who were lying on the front steps taking selfies.

He’d gotten about two houses down on the sidewalk when footsteps sounded behind him, fast, trying to catch up. Shane didn’t even turn around.

“Thought you might be going home with Gerard Way back there,” Rozanov said, slowing down once he was next to him.

“Thought you might be going home with your girlfriend.” Shane kicked himself internally. Could he have sounded more jealous.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Hollander.” 

Shane shrugged, trying to backtrack. “Okay.”

Rozanov was quiet for the rest of the walk home. Neither of them spoke again until they were back at their building. Rozanov leaned on the wall while Shane unlocked the door to #6.

“Want to hang out?”

Shane glanced at him. “We have practice in a few hours.”

Rozanov shrugged. “Okay.”

He turned to cross the hall, and before Shane could stop himself, he said, “Fine.”

The grin on Rozanov’s face was almost enough for him to change his mind. Smug bastard. But then Shane smiled too and let him inside. As soon as the door closed behind them, Rozanov’s mouth was on his.

“You taste like that awful drink Rose made,” Rozanov said against his mouth. “Tastes better like this.”

Heat was rocketing through Shane’s body. “I only had a couple of sips.”

“Good, otherwise I might have had to carry you home.”

That entire sentence did something very strange to him. The heat didn’t cool, but it turned warmer and softer. Shane pressed their lips back together, trying not to let the thought settle too deep. 

Rozanov backed them further into the living room, eventually pushing Shane down onto the couch and unbuttoning his jeans, pulling them off and swallowing Shane’s cock down in 8 seconds flat.

“Jesus,” Shane breathed, stretching out and trying to keep his hips from bucking up too hard.

He was lost to the sensation of Rozanov’s mouth on him and barely had time to register it when he pulled off and moved down further, spreading Shane’s ass wide open and dipping his tongue there.

“Wait,” Shane said, quickly sitting up. “I need to shower. I’m…sweaty.” But he was already leaning back again because instead of moving or slowing down, Rozanov just pushed at him harder.

“I don’t care.” He felt Rozanov’s lips move against him with the words, hot breath sliding over his already overheated skin. Shane was moaning and writhing against him. Rozanov was licking him open like he was trying to win a contest, and Shane was not mad about it but he was already on the verge of coming.

“Rozanov,” he whimpered, reaching down to thread his fingers through Rozanov’s hair, whether to push him away or urge him on, he couldn’t be sure.

Eventually Rozanov sat up, his chin shiny with spit, looking obscene and so hot that Shane reached for him, having no qualms when their lips crashed together again. 

“Bed,” Rozanov said, pulling back. 

They made it to the bed, losing the rest of their clothes on the way. Shane ended up face down, ass up on the bed while Rozanov fucked him from behind. He readjusted a couple of times, pulling Shane’s hips up while he knelt behind him, until each thrust was pounding his prostate just right, and Shane was lost to it, barely coherent enough to hear when Rozanov leaned down, covering his back, until his lips were near his ear.

“Do you think Pete Wentz back there could fuck you this good?” he whispered, and Shane shuddered, his already too loud moans going even higher and more broken.

“Fuck you,” he said back, his voice barely audible. 

“Yes. Always so good for me,” Rozanov said, kissing the back of his neck, his shoulder, letting his teeth sink into that soft flesh. “Can anyone else make you come hands-free like this?”

Shane wanted to tell him to fuck off and that he hadn’t come hands-free, but then Rozanov shifted again, picked up his pace, and pressed his mouth to the spot behind his ear and licked and sucked him there like he’d done to his hole earlier, and Shane couldn’t have stopped it if he tried. His whole body was tingling and burning and breaking with waves of pleasure so intense he cried out, back arching, body going taut while his cock spurted and his ass clenched and Rozanov fucked him through it.

Rozanov must have come too because when Shane finally came back to himself, there was a warm, solid weight on his back, pressing him down into the bed, and the wet spot. He groaned and shifted, and Rozanov rolled off of him and disappeared.

Shane was thinking about what Rozanov had said, and about how, if he didn’t know better, he might have thought Rozanov was jealous. And when he came back to the bed to clean up without words, his touch gentle and too caring, he wondered if maybe he was right. But then Rozanov was pressed against him, pulling the covers up, and Shane, against his will, drifted off before he could consider it any further.

-

The last couple weeks of September and first week of October passed without much fanfare. Shane had mostly fallen back into the routine of practice, classes, and Rozanov…without letting himself get caught up in the details of what they were doing. Will had texted him once, suggesting a coffee date, but Shane had a game against Minnesota that weekend and declined with a promise to try again another time. The truth was that he didn’t really want to try again because his bed was full and his needs were met…whether he wanted that to be true or not. 

Three weeks before Halloween, he got home from class to find an envelope and a small box in his apartment. The Order had been quiet since his induction, but apparently that was normal. This time the envelope contained an invitation of a different sort.

Shane Hollander

Saturday October 30
The Avenue Trinity Halloween Masquerade Ball
826 Perdido St.
7:00 pm
Wear the mask provided. Formal attire. No guests. Reveal nothing about the Order. 

Shane put the invitation down and opened the box. Inside was an ornate mask, the kind that covers the upper half of the face, with holes for the eyes. It was decorated in NOU’s colors: silver and purple, plus black accents. There were gemstones for the purple and black, metallic beading for the silver. There were curly silver and black pieces extending beside each eye. It looked like something out of a fairytale. Or Mardi Gras, he supposed. He set the mask back in the box and considered going across the hall to see if Rozanov had gotten the same, but he decided against it and went to shower instead.

He was in the middle of making dinner when there was a knock on his door.

“It’s open,” he shouted, staying where he was. It’s not like he didn’t know who was there. And it’s not like he hadn’t left it unlocked for exactly that reason.

The door opened and closed and then an arm was snaking around his waist and a warm body was pressing against his side.

“Hi,” Rozanov said.

“Hi. What do you want?” Shane asked, his voice light.

“Bored. Did you get the invitation?”

“Yeah. Did you know about that?”

“Mm, yes, I knew about the ball, but I was not a member at Halloween last year. I’ve heard it’s a good time. Tulane and Loyola secret societies are invited too…lots of free booze.”

Shane was almost done laying out sliced turkey, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and banana peppers on a low-carb wrap.

“Sounds fun, I guess,” he said. “Did you already eat?”

“No,” Rozanov said, still leaning against him.

“Do you want one of these?”

“You don’t mind?” 

“No,” Shane said. “Here. Take this one. Condiments are in the fridge.” He handed the plate to Rozanov and started putting together another wrap. 

“Thank you,” Rozanov said. He kissed the side of Shane’s neck, making him suck in a breath, a little shiver going through him.

Shane finished making his and sat down across from Rozanov at the tiny two-seater table. 

“So is it only the societies from the three universities invited?” Shane asked.

“Mhm. And the older members who are not in school anymore. Why? You wanted to invite Mr. My Chemical Romance as your date?”

Shane’s head snapped up. He hadn’t mentioned Will at all since Rose’s party…why was Rozanov even bringing that up?

“You’re such a jackass.” Shane took another bite of his wrap so he didn't say anything else.

Rozanov shrugged. “I heard there is a lot of…” he trailed off and made a vague gesture with his hand. “I’ve heard things get wild.”

“And…what’s your point?”

“Best to go without a date.” Rozanov winked at him. 

Shane sighed. Thinking about whatever was happening in this conversation was making his head hurt. “I wasn’t planning to bring a date even if that was an option.”

They finished eating in comfortable silence, and when Shane got up to put both of their plates in the sink, he turned around to find Rozanov gone from the table. He looked over to see him reclining on the couch, turning Shane’s TV on. Shane couldn’t help the stupid smile on his face, even though he wanted to be annoyed. 

“What do you want to watch?” Rozanov asked, scrolling through Netflix.

Shane was going to say something teasing, like Who said you could stay?, but for some reason, the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “Whatever you want.” 

He plopped down onto the couch next to him, and before long, Rozanov hit play on 10 Things I Hate About You and then swung his legs up to lie across Shane’s lap.

“Didn’t take you for the rom-com type,” Shane said, letting his hands rest on Rozanov’s knee, not even thinking twice about it, because this was becoming all too common. 

“This is classic. Everyone likes this movie. And I happen to love rom-coms.” 

Halfway through the movie, Shane was stretched out on the couch with Rozanov cradled between his legs, his chest against Shane’s stomach, his head on Shane’s chest. It was stupid and comfortable and Shane didn’t want to move. He couldn’t help but relate to Julia Stiles’character, but at least he knew he wouldn’t be falling for his own Patrick Verona. His life wasn’t a rom-com, and while the warm body between his legs and the fingers tracing idly up and down his side were nice, they were also temporary…borne of convenience and proximity. 

When the credits rolled, Shane’s hand was tangled in Rozanov’s hair, fingers lightly massaging his scalp. Shane didn’t even remember putting his hand there. Everything about Rozanov was like a magnet, a vacuum, the void of space. Sucking him in against his will. But even when he noticed, he didn’t move his hand. Not until Rozanov picked his head up to look at him.

“Maybe Billie Joe Armstrong will climb the stands in the arena and sing Can’t Take My Eyes Off You to you one day,” Rozanov said, his usual smirk sliding into place.

Shane rolled his eyes. Not Will again. “You’re going to run out of punk bands to use as insults.”

“Mm, no I won’t.”

“And I haven’t seen him since Rose’s party. You sound jealous.”

Rozanov scoffed. “Of course I’m not.”

“Right.”

“Why would I be jealous when I can do this?”

He leaned forward and kissed Shane, moving up until their bodies were more fully aligned, grinding into him and making Shane’s cock go from slightly interested to full attention fast enough to make him dizzy. His lips trailed to Shane’s neck, and it didn’t take long before he was moaning and pushing his cock into Rozanov’s. Then Rozanov scooted back down and took Shane’s waistband with him.

“Or this,” he said right before taking Shane’s cock all the way into his mouth and putting his tongue to work so well that every coherent thought he’d ever had was knocked clean out of his head and all he could do was thread his fingers through those curls once more.

-

The weekend before the masquerade ball and Halloween, the NOU men’s hockey team had an away game in Ohio. Shane had always roomed with Hayden for away games. Those assignments stuck all through freshmen and sophomore year, and Shane had no reason to think anything would change now. So when he got his keycard and headed up with Hayden and a handful of others, he stopped at room 1410 and expected Hayden to as well. 

“I’m in 1426,” Hayden said, looking down at his little paper cardholder with a handwritten number on it.

“Really?” Shane asked. “Maybe coach put us with rookies this year.” He shrugged. “Well…see you later.”

Shane pushed his door open and dropped his stuff on the bed closest to the window, then pulled the curtain open to look out. The view was nothing to write home about. Mostly just other buildings, a glimpse of green in the distance. Ohio wasn’t anyone’s favorite away game destination.

A minute later, he heard the door open, saw a black bag crossing the threshold before the person carrying it.

“What the fuck,” Shane murmured. In walked Rozanov, a look of surprise settling briefly onto his face when he saw Shane standing by the window.

“Hi roomie,” he said with a grin. 

“Did you do this?”

“What? No, I always room with Marly.”

He sounded like he was telling the truth at least. Shane’s phone buzzed

Hayden: who are you with? I got Marlow

Shane: Rozanov

Hayden: Fuck man…that blows
Hayden: Coach is really on one this year

Shane: Yeah, weird.

Hayden: We're about to go to the Chili’s down the street. Coach approved. You coming?

Shane groaned at the thought of eating Chili’s the night before a game. At least he could probably get a salad or something.

Shane: Yeah, I’ll meet you downstairs in a few.

He looked up from his phone at the same time that Rozanov looked up from his.

“Chili’s?” Rozanov asked.

Shane sighed. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

-

Dinner was the usual loud, night-before-a-game affair. Most of the team was there, split into smaller groups at different tables, including coaching staff. Usually Shane’s group of friends and Rozanov’s group of friends were two separate groups, and somehow, as it had been since the semester started and Cliff moved in with Hayden and Rozanov was doing…whatever he was doing in Shane’s life….the two groups were now indistinguishable. So Shane was sitting next to Rozanov on one side, Mitty on the other, and Hayden across from him. Hayden was talking to Cliff and Shane was trying to eat his grilled chicken salad in peace, but someone kept nudging his foot under the table.

He turned to glare at Rozanov, who looked over at him briefly with his irritating smirk before turning back to Connors on his other side. Shane got pulled into a conversation with Mitty, trying his best to ignore the foot that was continuously touching his until it was finally time to head back to the hotel for their curfew.

Once in their room, Rozanov stripped and told Shane he was going to shower and then disappeared into the bathroom. Shane flopped down on his bed and waited for his turn, considering the consequences of asking coach to switch his room assignment back to Hayden. Would that look weird? Did he even really want that? 

Rozanov came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel around his waist, his hair wet and slightly slicked back, his gold chain glinting around his neck. Fuck. He didn’t really want his room switched, but he definitely needed it to be because what the fuck. 

Rozanov smiled at him. “You’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Shane said, standing up. 

He grabbed his bag and closed himself into the bathroom so he could shower. He considered just jerking off while he was in there since his dick had a lot to say about Rozanov in a towel, but the stupid part of his brain reminded him that Rozanov was in the next room and had much more to offer than his own hand. He was very thorough in the shower, ignoring his cock and wondering if maybe he stayed in there long enough, Rozanov would go to sleep before he got out. Clearly some parts of him hoped not.

He pulled on shorts and a t-shirt before he stepped back into the room, only to find Rozanov still in the towel, sitting on his own bed on top of the covers, one leg hanging off the side, giving Shane a view he couldn’t ignore.

Rozanov saw him looking and grinned at him. “Why are you dressed?”

Shane didn’t have a good answer, so he just flopped onto his bed and leaned back against the headboard. “Why aren’t you?”

Rozanov stood up, dropped the towel, and crawled onto Shane’s bed, straddling his lap, both hands on the headboard behind Shane’s head. “Because the things I want to do to you do not require clothes,” he said, leaning in. He went straight to Shane’s jaw, lips warm and soft against his skin, trailing them slowly down his neck, the curve of his shoulder, until he met the collar of Shane’s t-shirt.

“Take this off,” he said, pulling at the sleeve. Shane pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside without a second thought. Rozanov continued to kiss his way down Shane’s chest, moving down the bed to reach his stomach, eventually tugging at his shorts until Shane lifted his hips. When he got to Shane’s cock, he licked at the head, long, slow licks that made his hips buck off the bed, looking for more.

“Do you want my mouth or my cock tonight?” Rozanov asked, sending a shiver through Shane’s body.

“Fuck,” he murmured, looking down at those piercing hazel eyes, the still-damp curly hair, the perfect ass on display. He swallowed hard. 

“Hollander,” Rozanov said, lightly smacking the side of his thigh. “You want me to go back to my own bed?”

“No,” Shane said quickly. Too quickly. It made Rozanov grin at him. 

“Well? Which do you want?”

“Your cock,” he whispered, past the point of embarrassment, wanting only exactly what Rozanov was offering.

Rozanov quickly got off the bed and rummaged around in his bag until he came up with a bottle of lube and set a condom on the nightstand.

“Why did you bring that?” Shane said, nodding at the bottle in his hand. “I thought you didn’t know we were rooming together.”

“I didn’t,” Rozanov said. “I am always prepared, Hollander. Marlow and I have gotten very good at getting out of each other's way when we want to bring someone back to our room.”

Shane’s stomach went cold and tight at that. Of course Rozanov hooked up with people while they were on the road. Maybe he would expect Shane to give him the room after the game tomorrow. 

Rozanov was staring at him. “What is that face for? I’m not going to bring anyone back here. Relax.”

“I don’t care if you do,” Shane said, spreading his legs when Rozanov climbed back between them. “Wait…you brought guys back to your hotel room during game weekends?” He tried, but he couldn’t let it go.

Rozanov gave him a confused look. “No. Why?”

“The lube,” Shane said. 

Rozanov’s mouth stretched into a grin. It was teasing, but softer than usual. “Lube is not only for men, Hollander. Did Rose Landry teach you nothing?”

Shane’s cheeks went hot. “Fuck off.”

“No, no,” Rozanov said, his face much too close to Shane’s. He was having a hard time avoiding his eyes. “Is okay. Were you a virgin before me?” His voice was gentle, not judging.

“What? No, of course not.”

“Calm down, Hollander. I was just asking. Now shut up and let me fuck you.” His voice was gentle, and he punctuated those words by lightly running a thumb along Shane’s cheekbone. The softness juxtaposed with the command was doing things to his body. Whatever embarrassment from the previous question that was hanging around fled and he shuddered and his cock was achingly hard again. Rozanov leaned in to kiss him, soft and slow, his thumb still rubbing soft circles against Shane’s cheek. “Turn over.”

Shane flipped himself so he was face down on the bed. Rozanov nudged his thighs apart and knelt between them while Shane watched over his shoulder. He felt one slippery finger push at his hole, and then Rozanov’s mouth was pressed to his lower back, laying open-mouthed kisses along his skin while he pushed one finger in and curled it just right. He stroked and kissed and made Shane melt while he pushed another finger in, stretching him so gently. 

By the time Rozanov removed his fingers, Shane was pushing his hips against the bed involuntarily. He’d at least had the forethought to put his t-shirt under him so he didn’t come on this ugly floral bedspread and make it housekeeping’s problem. He heard the rip of the condom packet, then felt Rozanov pushing into him, slowly, too slowly. He lifted his hips and pushed back against him, forcing Rozanov’s cock to slip all the way inside.

Rozanov leaned over him, pressing his weight against Shane’s back. “So eager tonight,” he whispered in Shane’s ear as he began thrusting into him. His lips were at Shane’s neck again, this time on the sensitive skin right below his hairline, making Shane moan so loud he worried whoever was next door would hear him, and promptly brought his fist up to his mouth.

“Mmm, I love those sounds, Hollander. But you should probably keep it down,” Rozanov murmured against his neck, amusement clear in his voice.

“Shut up.” His voice was breathless and wrecked, lacking any bite at all.

He lost himself to the feeling of Rozanov’s cock sliding in and out of him, the warmth of Rozanov’s chest pressed against his back and his lips at his neck and his breath in his ear, the quiet moans coming from him, even while Shane could tell he was holding back for the sake of their neighbors.

Eventually Rozanov got up on his knees and pulled Shane’s hips up so he was fucking him at the perfect angle, thrusting into him hard enough, hitting that spot so perfectly, that Shane had to bury his face in the pillow to further muffle the noises he was making. Shane was so close, on the verge of coming and probably would have soon, but then Rozanov’s hand was reaching around and stroking his cock, and it only took seconds before his release was spilling over Rozanov’s hand, his body spasming and arching and clenching around Rozanov’s cock while it pulsed inside him. Shane thought he heard Rozanov whisper his name, his first name, but whatever he said was lost in the haze of his own orgasm that was still being wrung from him in wave after wave of pleasure, hard enough to make him dizzy. 

He felt Rozanov pull out of him, letting his body sink down onto the bed, boneless and spent. He opened his eyes just in time to see Rozanov disappear into the bathroom, and he intended to get up and follow him. Before he could, Rozanov was back, and he felt the gentle drag of a warm washcloth against his very tender hole. He sighed and let the soothing touch wash over him, briefly glancing up to see Rozanov watching with a look that made his heart stutter…so he closed his eyes and pretended that look and that soft touch and the way he gently pushed Shane over onto his back so he could remove the cum-stained t-shirt and the way he cleaned Shane’s cock and then bent to kiss him on the lips before he went back into the bathroom were all perfectly normal things that everyone did with the people they casually had sex with...it was just the polite thing to do. He'd even been the one to get up and initiate cleanup a couple of times since they started hooking up…tossing the condom for Rozanov, bringing him a wet cloth, kissing him on the forehead. And so, by the time Rozanov came back and turned the lamp off and curled around him, Shane had convinced himself that it was true, those were normal things people do with hookups, fuck buddies, whatever…and he’d clearly been a bad partner to Rose. He made a mental note to apologize the next time he saw her.

-

The next morning, about 15 minutes before they were meeting at the bus to go to their morning skate, there was a knock on the door. Shane opened it to reveal Hayden, who pushed his way in without comment. He saw Rozanov, who was sitting in the chair by the window, scrolling on his phone, and made a face.

“We need to get our rooms switched back,” he said, looking between Shane and Rozanov. “Cliff snores like a fucking air horn.”

Rozanov laughed. “Almost forgot about that. Good luck, Pike.”

Hayden’s eyes swept across the room. “Why is one of the beds made?” he asked suspiciously. “Don’t tell me this asshole hooked up with someone and just got back.” He nodded at Rozanov, who snorted.

Shane wanted to be offended that Hayden didn’t even consider the fact that he could have been the one to hook up with someone, but his brain was too busy trying to come up with an excuse for why Rozanov’s bed was untouched. He had also just noticed the empty condom wrapper on the floor between the beds and hurried to step on it before Hayden saw.

“That’s my bed. I made it when I got up,” Shane said quickly, while discreetly kicking the wrapper under the bed. His eyes briefly flicked over to Rozanov, who was smirking at his phone.

“But you always take the window side.” Hayden was squinting at him in confusion. “You let him have it?”

Shane shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Thankfully Hayden’s ability to carefully observe and track the puck and predict other players’ moves on the ice did not translate into any real-world skills of observation or deduction, and he moved on quickly to complaining about the people in the room above him who were apparently very loud all night. Shane sighed in relief and listened to him complain until it was time to go downstairs. On the way out the door, Rozanov’s hand brushed his lower back, and Shane’s whole body tingled. He really had to put a stop to this. Or at least stop sleeping exclusively with Rozanov. Before they got caught by their teammates. And before his heart got involved alongside his dick.

-

On Friday, the day before the masquerade ball, Shane was sitting at a table in the student center during a long break, reading notes for physics on his laptop when his phone buzzed.

Rose: hey you on campus? free?

Shane: Yep. In the SC.

Rose: perfect!

A few minutes later, Rose slipped into the seat next to him with a dramatic sigh.

“This semester is going to kill me,” she said, plunking a giant red metal water bottle on the table hard enough to shake his laptop.

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m taking an environmental science class that I thought would be a blow off but it’s actually like…involved. And we’re doing a production of Rent this year for the theatre program, which is amazing of course. I’m Maureen,” she said with a little shake of her head, as if to say obviously. “But it’s a lot of work. Anyway…how have you been?”

“Good. Busy with hockey and classes. And congrats on the part, you’ll be great as always.” Rose was an excellent actress. She was going to be famous one day, Shane was pretty sure.

“I heard you haven’t seen Will since the party.”

Shane looked over at her, remembering the whole awkward meeting at the party. “I’ve been busy. And also…what the fuck was that? You left two socially awkward people in your bedroom alone,” he said, smiling to soften his words. 

She gave him a half-smile, half-grimace. “You’re both very hot. I thought it would work itself out. But I do think you should give him a chance. He’s really sweet.”

Shane shook his head. “We’ll see. I told him I’d try to meet him for coffee when I can.”

“Good…see! You just need to get out there.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, thinking of Rozanov and his teammates.

“It could be though. Do you really think it’ll ruin hockey for you? It’s not like they can kick you off the team for being gay.”

He looked around quickly, relieved to see no one nearby was paying any attention.

“Keep it down,” he said gently. “It’s more about the locker room. No one is going to want a gay teammate. I’d rather not deal with being frozen out. Or worse.”

She looked at him sympathetically. “Men are so stupid.” 

Shane laughed. “Well, yeah.”

“I mean…they’re also oblivious, so I think you can probably, you know, explore without getting outed.”

He nodded. So far that was true. Of course, the current subject of his exploration was now drifting through his mind, smirking at him, smiling at him in that soft intimate way, looking at him like he was something more…and reminding him that he had questions for Rose.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, keeping his eyes trained on the table.

“Of course.”

“When we were together…was I um…a good…lover?” Shane cringed as soon that word left his mouth, but too late now.

He glanced up to see Rose’s eyes going wide, a smile of amusement and maybe disbelief stretching across her face.

Shane held his hands up. “Wait…not like, performance-wise. Sorry. God. I meant in other ways. Like was I…I don’t know, attentive?” He lowered his voice. “Enough foreplay. And like, was I…comforting…after?”

His cheeks were warm and he regretted bringing this up at all. But he had been spending far too much time thinking about how gentle and sweet things were with Rozanov. He needed to know that it was normal…that everyone did that, expected that, and that he had been that way with his past…lover.

Rose’s face had softened. “Yes, you were excellent in all those ways. Which, yeah, I probably should have clocked you sooner. That’s on me.” She laughed. “The foreplay was good…I didn’t even have to show you where the important parts were. And you have a very talented tongue.”

“Oh god.” He put his face in his hands. “That’s enough.”

She laughed again. “You were always very sweet and attentive. More than any other man I’ve been with. Why are you asking?”

He shrugged. “So…when you hook up with someone, you don’t usually expect that level of…care?”

“Oh god no. I wish. Most men get off and then fall asleep or leave. Foreplay, occasionally. Cuddling after, rarely. Women are much better at that part. At least in my experience.”

Shane’s head snapped in her direction. “You’ve been with women?”

“Only a couple of times. And no regrets,” she said, winking.

Well. That was new information. 

“So…tell me why you’re asking about this. Who are you hooking up with that’s not doing it for you?”

“Oh. No one. I’m just reflecting on past experiences,” he said lamely. Because it definitely wasn’t that his “hookup” wasn’t doing it for him. Fuck.

“Okay,” she said skeptically. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You were perfect, except for the whole gay thing.”

He smiled, feeling grateful that Rose was Rose and that they had stayed friends.

“What are you doing for Halloween?” she asked eventually.

“Uh…not sure. Hayden mentioned a party.”

“Kappa Sigma. We’re going too. You better be there.”

“I guess if Hayden’s going, I probably will,” Shane said, wondering if he could throw a costume together by Sunday. Tomorrow’s masquerade ball had been occupying his attention.

“Some of your other teammates are going too. Ilya and Cliff for sure.”

Shane tried to keep his face neutral. “Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“Our new roommate, Svetlana, who is a delight by the way, a million times better than Angie.” Rose made a face. Angie had been a nightmare roommate and had once walked in on Shane as he was getting out of the shower at their place. “Anyway, she’s coming, and that means Ilya is coming.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…I think they’re a thing.”

Shane’s stomach dropped. “Really? Like…together?” He recalled Rozanov's denial about having a girlfriend.

She shrugged. “Maybe not officially, but he helped her move in right before the semester started, and he comes over sometimes. They usually end up hanging out in her room with the door closed. She’s always texting him.”

“Oh…right.” Shane suddenly felt ill. And that was exactly why he needed to see other people. The mixed signals, Svetlana, a list of fuck buddies…he needed to pull way back.

“I’m sure Hayden and the guys will be there too. Biggest party of the year.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to Hayden. Sounds fun," he said.

It sounded like a nightmare. But Shane had another problem to worry about first, because neither Rose nor any of his teammates were going to be at the ball tomorrow, which meant he would be stuck with Rozanov…no distractions or interference. 

He pulled out his phone and opened his text with Will. Then he closed it again and put his phone down on the table. He would go out with Will. And maybe he’d flirt with someone at the ball tomorrow. What better way to do that than while semi-anonymous in a mask. He felt slightly better having a plan to get his mind off of Rozanov. He also felt slightly worse because other parts of him clearly did not want that. 

“Alright, I’ve got to run,” Rose said, standing up. “I expect to see you on Sunday. Let me know if you need costume help. You know I’ve got all kinds of random pieces lying around.”

“Thanks,” Shane said, standing up to give her a quick hug. “I might take you up on that. I’ll text you Sunday.”

He watched her walk out of the SC and sat heavily back in his chair. Lab, practice, the ball, the Halloween party. He could make it through the rest of this weekend. He could text Will and ask him to meet up. He could maybe talk to someone who wasn’t Rozanov at the ball. He could go to the Halloween party and not care that Rozanov was also there. With Svetlana. His life was not spiraling out of his control. 

He was still repeating that mantra in his head when he got home after his lab later that night, when there was a knock on his door at 9pm, when Rozanov slid into his bed and almost made him forget words entirely, when they woke up together the next morning and walked to practice, and still when Rozanov peeled off after with a quick, “See you later. We can ride to the ball together.” 

Chapter End Notes

I know this chapter is mostly set up (for fun stuff to come!) and a lot of domestic-boyfriending too close to the sun. But Ilya POV, jealous Ilya and jealous Shane, plus some other shenanigans coming soon.

Also, did anyone else learn about the Kitty Genovese case from the HBO show Girls? No? Just me? (Not me admitting this on the whole wide open internet)

Chapter 7: The ball

Chapter Notes

Background info for context...if you care. Tulane University is of course real. Loyola University New Orleans is as well (often referred to as Loyno because there are several Loyolas around the country). The two campuses are next door to each other on St. Charles Ave. (really pretty campuses). NOU is not real (not to be confused with UNO, which IS real)...I made NOU up for the sake of not having to be super accurate with the details (and bc there is no hockey in New Orleans -outside of club teams- so this fictional school is the only one with an actual NCAA hockey team). In my mind, NOU's campus is also on St. Charles Ave., but on the opposite side, a few miles down, in the direction of the French Quarter.

Anyway...not super important, but just in case anyone was curious.

Shane spent the rest of Saturday morning and afternoon doing homework and overthinking. Around 5, he took a shower and then pulled out every piece of formal wear he owned and tried to decide what the vibe of a masquerade ball was…suit? Tux? Neither? 

He decided his classic black tuxedo, silk lapels, white shirt, black bowtie, was the safest option. He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to get his hair to stay put when there was a knock at the door. 

“Open,” he yelled.

A moment later, Rozanov’s reflection joined his, and Shane’s breath caught. He was dressed in a tuxedo too, but a solid black one, and his curls were perfectly tamed, still defined and soft, one hanging adorably on his forehead.

“You look pretty,” Rozanov said, his eyes tracking down Shane’s body in the mirror. 

“Shut up. So do you,” Shane said, fussing with his hair again.

“Here,” Rozanov said. His hands came up around Shane to brush his hair to the sides. Then he grabbed the bottle of mousse from the counter and sprayed a small dollop in his hands and worked it through Shane’s bangs lightly, fingers threading through them until they artfully framed his forehead. 

“Thank you.” He was doing his best to ignore the warm flush radiating through his body.

“I like your hair like this,” Rozanov said.

“I need to get it cut. Too long.”

Rozanov shook his head. “No. Perfect length.” He ran his fingers through the back, and Shane suppressed the shiver threatening to overtake him. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Shane was not ready. The nerves he had been pretending not to have all day were suddenly at the forefront. He grabbed the mask from the box sitting on his nightstand, pocketed his keys, wallet, phone, and the invitation, and then followed Rozanov out into the hallway, down the stairs, and into the almost pleasant night air. A few minutes later, an uber pulled up. Rozanov was quiet on the ride there, and Shane stared out the window as they made their way through the Garden District and into the Warehouse District. 

The car pulled up to the curb, and they both got out in front of a large white building with arched windows. 

“Masks,” Rozanov reminded him. Shane slipped his on, settling the elastic band around his head. He turned to Rozanov, his breath catching for the second time this evening. His mask was the same shape and colors, but the design was different, and there were small black and purple feathers on either side of the eyes. He looked…good. His all-black tux, the mask, his hair…fuck. 

Shane turned, and Rozanov held the door open for him. He stepped into the cool, dim lobby to see other people streaming in slowly, in tuxedos and long dresses, everyone in masks. There were three distinct mask color schemes: the silver and purple of NOU, the green and blue of Tulane, and the maroon and gold of Loyola, each accented with black.

They handed their invitations to someone at the door and walked into the main room. The lights were dim, a purplish blue hue overlaid everything. It was already fairly crowded, people milling about and talking, soft music thumping in the background. There was a bar on one side of the long room, a DJ on the other, and the dance floor was surrounded by arched columns. In the space between the columns and the wall were tall standing tables, clusters of low couches and chairs, doors leading off into who knows where on the back wall. There were large ornate masks that looked like they were plucked off Mardi Gras floats, and velvet drapings hanging around the high ceilings of the room in all the school colors. 

Shane followed Rozanov straight to the bar. He ordered vodka, and Shane, not wanting to be lame by not drinking, ordered an Old Fashioned. They tipped the bartender and then made their way to one of the tall tables. Rozanov’s head was on a swivel, like he was looking for someone.

“You good here?” he asked Shane. “I see someone I know.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll catch up with you in a few,” Rozanov said, brushing against him as he walked away.

He watched Rozanov walk up to two people, both in NOU colors. One a tall man with dark skin and short, neatly trimmed hair, one a woman with black hair in a perfect pixie cut. He loosely draped an arm around her shoulders, and Shane could see the three of them chatting and laughing easily. He tried not to be hurt that Rozanov didn’t introduce him, and instead of pathetically waiting at the table, he decided to walk around.

About halfway around the room, he heard someone call his name.

“Hi. Kat, remember?”

Shane recognized her by her long, wavy blonde hair and easy smile. 

“Of course,” he said, stopping next to her. She was wearing an elegant, fitted purple dress that matched her mask, which had feathers and curly silver pieces above the eyes. “Having fun?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know anyone yet.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, same.”

“We can walk around together if you want?”

“Sure,” Shane smiled and followed her around while they talked, occasionally stopping and being pulled into introductions and conversations with other people. After a while, they ended up back at the bar, and Shane switched to beer this time.

Once they stopped walking around and stood at a table to chat, Shane learned that Kat was a physics major and wanted to be an aerospace engineer. 

“That’s not impressive at all,” Shane joked. “I’m a bio major, and I’m currently struggling through Phys 121.”

“Honestly, even as a physics major, that’s one of the worst classes. If you ever need help with anything, let me know.”

Just then, someone in Tulane colors walked up to them. 

“Kat?” The guy was tall, with neatly styled black hair, a little longer on top than on the sides, and a sharp jaw. His eyes were light-colored, visible even in the dim purple glow.

“James? I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Well, it is a night for spilling secrets, isn’t it?” he said mysteriously.

“James, this is Shane. Shane, James. He’s an engineering student at Tulane. We met at a local conference last year.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shane said, shaking his hand. 

“Likewise.” He had a deep voice, and his hand was warm and firm and lingered a half second too long. 

“What do you do, Shane?” 

Shane tried not to let the way that deep voice wrapped around his first name affect him. Tried not to compare it to the lightly accented velvety voice he really wanted to hear it in. 

“I’m a bio major. And I play hockey.”

“No shit?” James said. “Yeah…I recognize you now that you say that. I’ve been to a handful of NOU games.”

“Oh,” Shane said awkwardly. “Cool.”

Shane mostly listened while Kat and James talked about engineering, his eyes drifting around the room, looking for no one in particular. Right.

Kat excused herself to talk to someone else she apparently recognized, and James looked at him for a moment.

“I’d ask if I can buy you a drink, but…I suppose I can at least ask if you’d like to walk to the bar and I’ll order for you,” James said with an easy smile.

Shane was momentarily lost for words. Was he flirting? Why was this so hard to decipher? The masks weren’t helping.

“Sure,” he said after a beat. “That would be great.”

He walked with James back to the bar, eyes scanning every person in a purple and silver mask on the way. Once he had another beer in hand, he followed James to one of the couches and sat down, trying to ignore the way James sat right next to him, letting their thighs press together. But only because he wasn’t sure if it was friendly or…more than friendly. 

They made easy conversation for several minutes, and Shane felt himself relaxing. The dance floor was full now, the hum of voices louder, the thump of music vibrating through him.

“Do you want to dance?” James asked eventually.

The warm buzz of alcohol thrumming through him cut through the hesitation, the masks making him feel bold. “Yeah. Is that okay to do here?”

James huffed a quiet, amused laugh. “It’s a masked ball in New Orleans…I think we’re safe.”

“Right,” Shane said with a smile. But he couldn’t help but wish it was someone else asking.

The music switched to a slow song right as they stepped onto the dance floor, and when James grasped one of his hands and put his other one on Shane’s lower back, Shane melted into it. Why did it feel so good to be doing this, even as his mind screamed that it was the wrong person. 

“So, what is it about hockey?” James asked. 

Shane thought about it, giving his nerves a second to settle. “I guess I like the physicality of it, and the way you have to read people, predict what they’re thinking and how they’re going to move. It’s kind of physically and mentally consuming.” He wondered if that was too much information and if James actually cared.

“That’s how I feel about engineering. I get to use my hands and my brain most of the time. It feels good to put all of yourself into something and reap the rewards.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Are your teammates cool?”

Shane tilted his head back and forth. “Mostly.”

“Do they know you’re…whatever you are,” James said with a smile.

“Um, no. I keep that to myself. I’d appreciate it if you could too,” Shane said. He doubted James would ever have any reason to meet his teammates, and this was already risky, but still.

“Sure. I remember the tall curly-haired one and the even taller dark-haired one. They were pretty good on the ice together. Are you friends with them?”

Of course he’d have noticed Cliff and Ilya. “I know them. But we don’t like, hang out.”

“Too bad. Your whole team is very attractive. But I think you’ve got them all beat,” James said close to his ear.

Shane swallowed, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “Um, thanks.”

Just then, he saw Rozanov across the dance floor, and even in the dim light and the masks, he could tell his eyes were trained on him. While he had his arms around a woman. He was dancing with her, their bodies pressed together, his hands resting comfortably on her lower back. Very low. He leaned in, his lips nearly against her ear, eyes still on him. 

The earlier warmth of embarrassment that had been slithering through him at James’ words was doused in ice water. He was surprised there wasn’t steam rising from his skin. When James started talking again, Shane leaned in.

-

Ilya was watching Hollander dance with someone. With a man. In public. It might be under the cover of masks and darkness and secrecy, but there was still a man putting his hands on Hollander in a room full of people. And they weren’t his hands. Ilya gritted his teeth and refocused on the soft body that was in his hands.

“You took my number and never texted,” Emily said. Her voice was light, but Ilya could hear the sting in it.

“Sorry…busy with hockey, you know.”

They’d hooked up once last year, and it had been memorable enough that he’d recognized her through the mask. But he’d lost her number the moment he’d stepped out of her apartment. She was a Loyola student, and he didn’t keep many repeats. No need when he had a whole campus full of prospects. And Svetlana. And now Hollander. 

“I was hoping we might run into each other again,” she said.

“What’s the matter? None of those Loyola boys know how to make a girl come like I do?” he whispered next to her ear while his eyes were tracking Hollander. Tracking the man’s hand slipping lower and lower on his back. 

Emily laughed quietly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Yes, I do recall you having to change the sheets after. I set the bar high.”

“And still full of yourself, I see.”

“At least I have skills to back it up,” Ilya said, letting his hands settle lower, just above her ass, while Hollander watched. He was sure of it, even if he couldn’t make out his eyes from here.

“Maybe you want to remind me how good those skills are?” she asked, pressing closer against him. 

Normally he would have said yes. Maybe even left early. But now all he could do was watch as Hollander smiled at the man in the Tulane mask, leaned into him. His soft, shy smile…the one where the corners of his mouth were almost downturned because his lips were pulled together in the middle, like he was holding back. Ilya knew that smile. And he didn’t much like seeing it on his face while someone else’s hands were on him.

Fuck. He needed to get a grip.

“We shall see,” he finally said, letting his lips touch Emily’s ear and enjoying the subtle shiver that went through her. 

He kept dancing with her, his eyes still on Hollander, who had turned his face to where Ilya couldn’t see his eyes at all anymore. Like he was giving eye contact to the asshole he was dancing with. Ilya worked hard to get eye contact from Hollander. It clearly didn’t always come easy for him, and he’d witnessed it happen more and more over the weeks they’d been fucking. If Hollander was already giving this random dickwad full eye contact…

“We could go find an empty room,” Emily said, entirely unaware of whatever war was being fought in his chest right now. “All those doors on that side are empty offices with chairs and couches.”

“Eager aren’t you?” he asked, still distracted because Hollander and the dumbass he was dancing with were now walking off the dance floor, and the bastard had his hand on Hollander’s lower back still. 

“Aren’t you?”

Ilya would usually be eager. He certainly was eager for something. When he could no longer see Hollander and the jackass past the arched columns and crowd of people, he grabbed Emily’s hand and pulled her in the direction they’d gone.

She followed without hesitation, clearly thinking he was indulging her request to find a room. He pushed past a throng of people taking shots near the bar and still didn’t see Hollander anywhere. He knew that was for the best. He hadn’t gotten his dick wet with anyone besides Svetlana, barely, and Hollander since the semester started, and he should probably be worried about that. And Emily was here and willing. She was whip smart, beautiful, and excellent in bed. What more could he want? His eyes scanned the crowd again.

Emily pulled him to a door near one corner and tried the doorknob. Locked. While she pulled him to the next one, he looked around again, still not finding what, or who, he was looking for. She turned the next doorknob, and it opened, but there were already people inside. Three people, in fact. One woman on her knees in front of a man and another man watching. Well then. They barely looked up when the door opened. Emily quickly closed that one and snorted.

“Maybe this is a waste of time,” she said, looking up at him. “We could just leave.”

“No,” Ilya said quickly. “I’m not ready to leave.”

“Okay.” She shrugged and walked up to the next door. This one was a hallway with more doors inside. The first door on the right turned out to be a small room with just a desk. “This will do.”

She pulled Ilya inside and closed the door. He exhaled in frustration, wondering where Hollander had disappeared to, and then tried to refocus. Emily took her mask off, and Ilya followed her lead. She leaned in and kissed him, and he let her, trying to sink into the sensation of soft lips on his, her hands already roaming. 

Fucking hell. All he could think about was Hollander and that moron. He wasn’t even hard. But Ilya was nothing if not a generous lover, and he’d let Emily think he was down to fuck. The least he could do was get her off before he went back out. He kissed her back, pressed her against the desk until she was half sitting, lifted her dress until he had access.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, his hand pressed to the soft skin of her stomach, trailing lower. 

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”

Ilya put his fingers to work. He knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t waste any time. 

“You really are eager tonight,” he whispered against her ear, feeling the evidence of it.

By the time he was done and she was whimpering against him, he was only half hard, and probably only because he’d been thinking about Hollander. Emily started to reach for his waistband.

“That’s okay,” he said, gently stilling her wrist. “I need to go check on a friend. Maybe later?”

She gave him a slightly confused look. “Okay…sure.” 

He kissed her again, waited for her to fix her dress and put her mask back on, then did the same and opened the door. He glanced up and down the hall, seeing no one familiar. Back in the main room, he scanned the crowd again.

“Do you want a drink?” Emily asked, already heading for the bar.

“No thanks, I’m good.”

He watched her walk away and felt the slightest pang of disappointment before his brain snapped fully back to what he had been doing. Hollander. Where the fuck was Hollander? He kept walking along the perimeter of the room, eyes darting between the people sitting on the low couches, sipping drinks, the people going in and out of the closed doors, the people on the dance floor. 

He was about halfway to the other side when he finally spotted him. Them. Because the idiot from earlier was still there, and it looked like they had just stepped out of a closed door next to a little cluster of chairs. And Hollander’s cheeks were flushed. Were his lips red? Swollen? Ilya couldn’t tell under the dim purple lighting. He kept his distance, just watching, not wanting to be spotted yet. Hollander looked happy but distracted. His eyes were darting around the room even as he talked to the jackass next to him. Then he watched as the asshole reached out to put a hand on Hollander’s waist, and Hollander sidestepped him. 

Ilya smiled and decided now was the time to make his presence known. He walked toward them slowly, as if he were going to the bar. He saw the moment Hollander spotted him, and the way his face loosened, his lips curled up imperceptively…it made Ilya’s chest go warm and stupid. He watched as Hollander said something to the guy and then started walking toward him.

“Hey,” Hollander said, falling into step next to him.

“What? Your new boyfriend boring you already?” Ilya said, internally kicking himself. Could he be any more obvious? But more importantly, did he care?

Shane snorted. “Ditched your new girlfriend already?”

Well. Turnabout was fair play. 

“Do you want another drink?” Ilya asked as they stepped up to the bar.

“Uh, no. I think I’ve had enough.”

Ilya nodded and asked for two waters. The bartender handed him two of those stupid mini bottles that had about two sips of water each. He handed one to Hollander and then uncapped the other, downing it in one pull.

“Having fun?” Ilya asked. It’s not what he wanted to ask. He wanted to ask what Hollander had been doing with the asshole who’d been touching him. Had they been in one of those rooms? Had his hands been on Hollander in places Ilya didn’t want to consider?

“Oh yeah, more fun than I thought anyway. You?”

“Mhm. Fun.” 

They walked back the way they’d come, passing a bathroom. Ilya thought about where his hand had been minutes ago and the fact that he didn’t like imagining other hands on Hollander and how he might be a hypocrite.

“I’m going to take a piss. Wait for me?” he asked Hollander.

“Yeah, sure.”

He popped into the bathroom and washed his hands, stared at himself in the mirror. His hazel eyes were framed by the mask, his curls a little messier than they had been earlier. His jaw was tight and he knew why and he hated it. When he stepped out again, Hollander was still standing in the same spot, looking around. 

“Are you planning to leave with your new friend?” Ilya asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“What?” Hollander looked over at him. “No.”

Ilya spotted Jackson and Claire again. He’d talked to them earlier but hadn’t introduced Hollander.

“Want to meet my friends? They joined at the same time I did last semester.” He nodded in their direction. He watched as a little jolt of surprise passed over Hollander’s face. Even with the mask, he could see it.

“Sure,” Hollander said softly. “Thanks.”

Ilya introduced them, and they stood and talked to Claire and Jackson for a bit. Jackson was telling them about a TA in one of his organic chem classes who was apparently fucking a professor when the asshole from earlier walked up and got Hollander’s attention. Ilya tried not to watch as Hollander stepped away. Tried not to watch as the guy smiled at Hollander and Hollander smiled back. Tried not to watch as Hollander glanced back at him and caught him looking. And Ilya didn’t care. He didn’t look away. The jackass looked disappointed at whatever Hollander said and pulled his phone out. Hollander said something else, and the idiot typed something on the phone and then put it away. His hand was back on Hollander’s waist, and Ilya’s vision went red. The purple lighting was no match for whatever was pumping through him.

“Sorry,” he said quickly to Jackson, and then walked away. All the way over to Hollander until he was standing in front of him. “Will you dance with me?” he asked, his eyes on Hollander’s, ignoring the moron next to him.

Once again, he could see the surprise pulling at Hollander’s face. Could tell his eyebrows were up while his lips parted. Hollander glanced over at the dickwad and said, “Um…sorry. I’ll talk to you later?”

The guy didn’t even look disappointed. Instead, he was looking at Ilya with something between interest and confusion. Ilya did not give a fuck. He took Hollander’s hand in his and pulled him onto the dance floor, only just registering that a slow song was playing.

He took one of Hollander’s hands in his, put the other on his lower back, and pulled him in close, until their bodies were flush together. The difference between how it felt earlier with Emily and how it felt now…worlds apart. A whole different universe where the freckles on Hollander’s cheeks were the stars orbiting them, and he could see them even when they were covered by the mask, the little smile on his face like the brightest sun.

“Are you sure you want to be doing this?” Hollander asked softly. “There are people here who know you.”

He shrugged. “They won’t tell.”

And if Ilya was being honest, he didn’t care. He would out himself for just a minute of this. Of Hollander in a tux, in his arms, smiling softly. Even if it meant being cut off from his father and his money, never being able to return to Russia…it all felt distant, left back in that other world, that other universe. He let out a long sigh and pulled Hollander in closer, until their cheeks were nearly touching, the little curly bits on Hollander’s mask brushing against him. It was intoxicating, dancing with Hollander under the dim purple lights, their bodies pressed close, knowing they were surrounded by other people and doing it anyway. 

Maybe Ilya had had one too many drinks because he pulled his head back just enough to look at Hollander’s face again, finding it soft and relaxed, lips still slightly upturned, like he was exactly where he wanted to be, and so was Ilya, almost. He leaned in and pressed their lips together, the thrill of it making him even bolder, letting his tongue brush lightly against that softness. He could tell he caught Hollander off guard, but a half second later, he responded, his lips moving against Ilya’s. The lyrics of the song playing as their lips met were Come away with me, and we'll kiss, and Ilya felt like it was a sign, and he let himself linger just a little longer. Let himself be enchanted by the warm body in his arms, the soft press of Hollander against him, the dip of his back under Ilya’s hand, the certainty that he had never felt more at home in his life. 

Then they both pulled back, eyes darting around, so well trained to never let this side of themselves show in public. No one was even paying attention. Everyone was half drunk or fully drunk, swaying with their own dance partners. Ilya sighed and leaned in, letting their cheeks touch again while they swayed together, wishing he could stay here in this moment forever.

“Do you want to go home?” Ilya whispered against his ear when the song ended.

Shane nodded. Ilya pulled his phone out. Midnight already. He ordered them an uber and then took Hollander by the hand and pulled him across the dance floor, dodging the uncoordinated movements of the intoxicated people moving around them. 

Their car pulled up a couple of minutes after they stepped outside, and Ilya opened the door on one side, letting Hollander get in before he closed it and got in on the other side. They both pulled their masks off, and Ilya couldn’t help but look his fill, and Hollander was looking back. The ride to their building was quiet, and he had to physically restrain himself from grabbing Hollander’s hand. He was still tense, thinking about the asshole whose hands had been on him earlier.

When they finally got home, Ilya followed Hollander to his door and leaned against the wall, waiting for him to pull his keys out. Hollander was patting his pockets, starting to look a little frantic.

“My keys are gone,” he said, his face a mask of confusion. “They were in my pocket with my wallet.”

“Are you sure?” Ilya asked. Only because he wasn’t sure if Hollander was drunk. He didn’t seem to be. His hands and voice were steady.

“Yeah.” He pulled his phone and wallet out and continued to pat his pockets, dipping his hands in each one. “Fuck. I must have dropped them somewhere.” His voice was high with worry. He jiggled the doorknob, but it was clearly locked. "I have an extra locker key, but not an extra apartment key." 

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on,” Ilya said. He pulled his own key out and walked across the hall. “We’ll call the landlord tomorrow and get you a new one. Okay?”

Hollander nodded, his shoulders dropping. “Okay. Thanks.”

Ilya let them inside and went to his bedroom. “Take this off,” he said, running a hand down Hollander’s arm. “We can shower.”

Hollander nodded again, too fast, and started removing his tux, laying each piece carefully on the bed until he was down to his boxer briefs. Ilya found some extra hangers for him so his tux wouldn’t wrinkle, then he took his own off and did the same. 

He went into the bathroom and turned the shower on, letting the water heat up. He’d expected Hollander to follow him, but he looked out to see him still standing by the bed, a distant look on his face, clearly still worrying about his key.     

“Come on. Shower together.” 

Hollander followed him into the shower, which was barely big enough to allow them to stand in front of each other or turn around. He squeezed shampoo into his own hand and then held the bottle out until Hollander put his hand up to take some. Once they'd rinsed that out, he did the same with the conditioner. They were both quiet while they washed their hair, and after, Ilya took the opportunity to lather up a washcloth with soap and run it up and down Hollander’s arms. His head drooped in front of him, like all the tension had flowed out of him at once. Ilya gently dragged it across his upper back, down to the dimples above his ass, lower between his cheeks, wondering if Hollander would stop him. But he didn’t, he let Ilya wash him clean, leaning into the touch, his cock already hard. Ilya ignored it while he washed himself, then turned the water off and got them each a towel. 

Back in the bedroom, Ilya pulled the covers down on his bed, climbed in and patted the spot next to him. Hollander settled in, looking much more relaxed, his face smoothed out, a soft smile on his lips. Ilya leaned over to kiss him, and Hollander responded. Ilya tugged him closer.

Apparently Ilya’s patience had run out, and his risk tolerance was at an all time high because when their lips parted, he asked, “Did you do this with your Tulane boyfriend back there?”

Ilya should have been more embarrassed. He’d already exposed himself by bringing up emo guyliner whats-his-face from Rose’s party multiple times, but he really, even if he wanted to, could not stop himself.

Hollander blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

“You disappeared for a while. With that Tulane guy.”

“Oh. Um,” he looked nervous again, and Ilya felt a little bad. Hollander was allowed to do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted. But he still felt like he had a right to know if he was about to dip into someone’s sloppy seconds. That thought, the fact that he’d thought it about Hollander at all, turned his stomach, and he wanted to take it back immediately, even though it hadn’t left his mind.

“Is okay. You’re allowed to do whatever you want,” Ilya said, trying to keep his voice soft.

Shane swallowed hard and nodded, but he still didn’t say anything. He looked like he was thinking too hard again. And Ilya, unfortunately, still could not leave it alone.

“Did you kiss him?” he asked, moving close to Hollander’s face again, their lips only inches apart.

Hollander nodded.

“Did you let him touch you here?” He let his hand cover Hollander’s hard cock, fingers loosely wrapping around him as Hollander’s eyes fluttered.

“Just…just over my clothes. It was nothing.”

Ilya nodded and tightened his fingers, stroking him slowly. 

“Was he a good kisser?” 

Hollander’s eyes sharpened at that, and he ignored the question. “What about you? I saw you disappear with that girl. Did you fuck her?”

Oh. Delicious. Ilya liked that tone in his voice. “Jealous, Hollander?” he asked with a grin. 

Hollander let out a frustrated breath and looked away from him, even as his hips moved with Ilya’s hand on his cock.

“I answered you.” Hollander turned back to look at him, and Ilya did not like the hurt look in his eyes.

“Fine. I kissed her, and I got her off. Is that what you wanted to hear? I didn’t let her touch me.”

Hollander’s mouth dropped open just a little. “You got her…off?”

“Yes, Hollander. I fingered her. You know how that works?”

“Fuck you.”

“We will do that soon. Don’t be mad…I was just being polite. She was expecting something, so I gave it to her and then I left.”

“I’m not mad. I don’t care who you hook up with,” Hollander said, his voice giving him away.

Ilya leaned in and kissed him. Hollander started to turn away, but as soon as Ilya’s lips brushed his, he leaned into it.

“I wasn’t even hard while I was touching her. Not until I was pressed up against you on that dance floor,” Ilya whispered against his mouth, moving his hand on Hollander’s cock faster. “I was thinking about you the whole time. Wishing my fingers were buried in your ass. Do you want that, Hollander?”

Hollander’s breathing was getting quicker, his hips moving more erratically, a low, needy noise escaping his throat. 

“Oh yes, you do want that.” Ilya let his cock go so he could reach over and get what he needed from the nightstand. “Lay down. Let me do what I’ve been wanting to do all night.”

Hollander scooted down on the bed and stretched out immediately. Ilya bent to kiss him, taking his time. Letting his lips trail down his jaw, his neck, stopping to suck the soft skin behind his ear.

“Do you like knowing that I was thinking only of you while making someone else come?” he murmured against his ear. He felt Hollander shiver against him. “Knowing I didn’t get hard for anyone else?”

Hollander apparently did like that because he put one hand on the back of Ilya’s neck and the other in his hair and pulled him back to his lips, kissing him like he was trying to climb inside of him, tongue pushing insistently. Ilya moaned into his mouth and rubbed his hard cock against Hollander’s thigh. He slicked his fingers without breaking the kiss and slipped his hand between Hollander’s legs until he could massage his entrance, making Hollander moan and kiss him harder. He stretched him open while they kissed, neither of them pulling back for more time than it took to suck in a breath of air before crashing back together. 

Ilya eventually broke the kiss so he could roll on a condom and kneel between Hollander’s legs. He let himself stay there for a moment while he took in Hollander’s face. His lips were definitely red and swollen now, slightly parted, his eyes hooded and dark with desire. Ilya almost allowed himself to get lost in it, in the look Hollander was giving him, in the warmth spreading in his chest. He ignored it and nudged Hollander’s thighs apart and back until he lined himself up, leaning down, until their faces were only a breath apart. He wanted to watch tonight. Wanted those lips and that stare. He wanted to kiss him so long and hard that Hollander forgot what anyone else’s lips felt like.

He pushed in, his cock sliding into that tight heat while Hollander’s lips parted again, his brows pinching and then smoothing out once Ilya was fully seated, pressed up against him, not moving yet, just letting the warmth of him, the rightness of their bodies being connected, wash over him.

Hollander pulled him down into a kiss again, and Ilya started thrusting, slow, torturously slow, wanting it to last. 

“I was only thinking about you, too,” Hollander said, breaking the kiss, his voice breathless. 

Those words rocketed around Ilya’s chest like it was a pinball machine, lighting him up, making his hips move faster. He took Hollander’s mouth again, kissing him with everything he wanted to say and couldn’t. 

“He didn’t kiss you like this?” Ilya said against his lips before catching them again, pushing his tongue past them.

“No one does.” Hollander’s voice was low and rough, and Ilya felt it in his cock.

Ilya let his lips drift down, past Hollander’s mouth, trailing kisses along his jaw, his neck, his ear, pulling soft, breathy sounds from him. He bit down lightly at the curve of his shoulder, and Hollander groaned and bucked his hips up, and Ilya wanted more so he did it again. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya breathed against his neck. “I wanted to take you into one of those rooms at the ball. But then I couldn’t have done this properly.” He punctuated his words with slow, hard thrusts, each pulling a breathy moan from Hollander. 

“I liked dancing better.” Hollander’s face softened, a small smile on his lips that Ilya immediately kissed until the curve faded against him.

“Me too,” Ilya said honestly. He would never admit it out loud, but it might have been one of the best moments of his life. Instead he kissed Hollander some more and moved his hips faster, until they were both breathing hard, lips barely touching. He could feel his orgasm building already, the foreplay having started before they left the ball, and he was strung too tight.

He reached between them with one hand and stroked Hollander’s cock, watched his head tip back further into the pillow, neck stretching, a tempting expanse of smooth skin on display that Ilya pressed his lips to briefly before he had to refocus on the slide of his cock in and out of Hollander’s tight hole, the motion of his hand on Hollander’s hardness, and the heat of those brown eyes locked on his face. 

“Come for me, Shane,” he whispered against Hollander’s ear. His name slipped out before he could even stop it, and he didn’t want to anyway. It felt too right on his tongue, and it made Hollander moan and clench and arch against him, ropes of cum spurting from his cock, onto his stomach and Ilya’s hand. 

Ilya fucked him through it and then let himself follow him over the edge, pulsing deep inside of him, his hips stilling and his body collapsing on top of Hollander, whose arms came around him, tightening across his back in a way that made Ilya melt. Much like on the dance floor earlier, Ilya wanted this moment to last forever. 

Eventually his softening cock slipped out, and he had to sit up to tie off the condom. He kissed Hollander’s temple, his body moving of its own accord, and he probably wouldn’t have stopped it even if he could have. Not when Hollander’s eyes fluttered, and he stared up at him with that soft look again. 

Ilya went into the bathroom to clean up, then wet a washcloth to clean Hollander up. It was the least he could do. When he was done, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of gatorade for Hollander and chugged half of one himself. 

“Here,” he said, walking back to the bedroom. “Drink this. So you don’t feel like shit in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Hollander said. He sat up and took the bottle and downed most of it before setting it on the nightstand.

Ilya got back in the bed and stretched out next to him again, pulling him in close, until Hollander’s head was against his chest and he could thread his fingers through his soft, straight hair, still slightly damp from the shower. Hollander nuzzled into his hand, a contented little sigh slipping from his throat.

“Did you have fun at the ball?” Ilya asked.

“Mhm. I talked to a physical therapist who works with the Saints. She gave me her email address.”

“Wow, look at you. Already making connections,” Ily said, pressing his lips to Hollander’s hair. 

Hollander was dragging his fingers slowly up and down the line of hair below Ilya’s navel, and the light touch was threatening to make him hard again already.

“I saw someone I recognized,” Hollander said. “That personal injury lawyer who’s all over billboards across the city. Norris Hart. He had his mask half hanging off.”

“That sleazy guy who was hanging all over a student?” Ilya asked. He'd walked by and almost wanted to step in. But there had been plenty of people around, and she had looked happy enough.

“Yeah. Gross.”

Ilya was still running his fingers through Hollander’s hair, and he had the overwhelming desire to pull him ever closer.

Instead, he asked, “Are you going to the big party tomorrow?”

Hollander groaned. “Almost forgot about that. Yeah, I guess so.”

“What’s your costume?”

“Don’t have one. Rose said she’d help me. You?”

“Haven’t decided yet. Maybe I will go as Tom Cruise from Risky Business.”

Shane snorted. “Do you even own tighty whities?”

“Mm, no. But I could cut a pair of boxer briefs.”

“Oh god. I hope you do,” Hollander said with a laugh. Then he yawned.

Ilya reached over and turned off the lamp, then pulled the covers up over them.

“Get some sleep. No practice tomorrow,” he said, turning on his side. Hollander did the same, so Ilya was spooned against his back.

“Yeah. Thank god,” Hollander said, his voice already slow and sleepy. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” Ilya whispered. He listened to Hollander’s breathing even out, felt his body go soft and slack, whatever tension remaining in him gone as sleep overtook him. Ilya let himself drift off to the warmth of Hollander’s body against his and the soft in and out of his breath.

-

Ilya woke to Hollander climbing back into bed, soft light already filtering in through the window.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said. “Bathroom.” Ilya slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him in close.

“That’s okay. Feel alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the gatorade.”

Ilya had to get up to relieve himself, too, and when he climbed back into the bed, Hollander rolled over to lean against him again. Ilya sighed. It was too comfortable. It was always too comfortable and familiar and perfect. He spent more nights in bed with Hollander than he did alone these days, and it was becoming a habit he didn’t know how to break. Wasn’t sure he wanted to break.

He let his hand drift down Hollander’s back, up and down the warm, smooth skin, feeling the hard muscles beneath it. Hollander’s hand drifted up his chest, tracing idly until he got to one nipple, where he let his finger swirl around it, and Ilya closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle touch. His cock was getting hard, and he could feel Hollander’s pushing at the side of his thigh.

Ilya let his hand drift even lower, until a finger was sliding between the crease of Hollander’s ass, gently dragging along his hole. Hollander moaned and pushed his cock against him harder. 

“Do it, Hollander,” Ilya said. “Make yourself come.”

“What?” Hollander looked up at him.

“You’re hard.”

“So are you.”

Ilya wrapped his fingers around his own cock and started stroking lazily. “I know.”

Hollander leaned forward and replaced his finger with his mouth around Ilya’s nipple, the warm brush of his tongue pulling a low groan from Ilya, making his hand move faster. He could feel Hollander’s cock pushing against his thigh more insistently, slippery with precome already.

One of Hollander’s hands moved down his stomach, past where Ilya was stroking himself, and dipped between his legs to cup his balls. That made Ilya moan even louder, spurring Hollander on. His tongue was dragging over Ilya’s nipple, hand massaging his balls, cock sliding against Ilya’s thigh. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya breathed, already so close to coming. 

Hollander’s hand on his balls was moving just right, and then he pushed a finger against the soft skin below them, just hard enough to make Ilya’s hips buck and his hand to squeeze tighter around himself and then he was coming before he could stop it, his abs clenching with the waves of pleasure rolling through him. Hollander lifted his head to watch, first Ilya’s face, their eyes locking for a moment before Hollander glanced down to watch his cock spurt, his finger still pushing against Ilya’s taint.

When his body stilled, and Hollander removed his hand, Ilya relaxed back into his pillow, breathing hard.

“Christ,” he murmured. Hollander was watching him again. “Go ahead.” He nodded down to where Hollander’s cock was still rubbing against him.

Hollander turned over on his back, so he was stretched out beside Ilya, and started stroking himself. It didn’t take long before he was coming too. Ilya didn’t even have a chance to lend a hand. 

Before he could get up to clean up, Hollander stood up with a quick, “Stay. I’ve got it.”

He came back with a washcloth for Ilya to wipe his hand and stomach, then he curled back up against him, and they both fell asleep again.

It was 8am when they next woke, and Ilya needed coffee. “Want to walk down to Cafe Orleans?” he asked.

“Sure, but…I don’t have anything to wear but my tux.”

Ilya got up and pulled a t-shirt and some black track pants out and threw them on the bed. “Those should fit. What size shoe do you wear?”

“Eleven.”

“You can probably fit in mine.” He grabbed a pair of barely worn Reeboks from his closet and a pair of socks and set them next to the bed.

“Thanks.”

Hollander pulled the clothes on, and Ilya had to physically force himself to stop staring and put his own clothes on. Hollander wearing his clothes was…

“Ready?” he asked after they’d both taken a turn in the bathroom, Hollander borrowing his mouthwash before he’d agree to leave.

Ilya opened the front door, letting Hollander step past him into the hallway. Just as he was pulling his door closed, Hollander gasped.

“What the fuck?” Hollander said, and the tone of his voice stopped Ilya cold. He turned around to see the door to #6 was half open.

“Wait,” Ilya said, because Hollander was already across the hall and pushing his door open even wider. He quickly followed him, his stomach dropping at the prospect of someone still being inside, waiting to ambush them.

He followed Hollander through the door, looking around, seeing no one. Hollander went into his bedroom, Ilya right behind him, but the only thing that seemed out of sorts were the open drawers in his dresser and nightstand. 

“Is anything missing?” Ilya asked.

Hollander looked like he might be on the verge of tears. “I don’t think so,” he said, looking inside his drawers.

“Don’t touch anything. We should report this.”

Hollander looked up at him. “Someone must have my key.”

“We’ll call the landlord later. Have him change the lock.”

Hollander still looked like he was crumbling.

“It’s okay,” Ilya said, pulling him into a hug. “We’ll get it sorted.”

“Who would want to break into my apartment? I don’t have anything valuable here.”

“I don’t know. Come on, you need to call the police and file a report before we do anything else. Take pictures of everything.”

Ilya sat with him while he called and filed a report. While he called the landlord and explained what happened. While the landlord, Andy Trapp, told him he could drop an extra key off today but couldn’t have the lock changed until later in the week. 

“You can stay with me until he changes it,” Ilya said, draping an arm around Hollander’s shoulders. 

“It’s fine.” Hollander’s voice was hollow and tired. “I’ll be fine.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Let’s go get coffee. Nothing else we can do for now.”

He leaned over and kissed him, because Hollander’s sad eyes and tight jaw were making Ilya want to do anything to soothe him. He would burn the whole fucking building down if it made that look go away. He stood up and held out a hand until Hollander took it, then he led him out into the hall and down the stairs to the street, not letting his hand go until they were on the sidewalk, and only reluctantly, because he wanted to keep hold of him for as long as possible.

-

By the time they got back from the cafe, Andy stopped by to give Hollander an extra key, with more promises to have the lock changed as soon as possible. Ilya usually liked Andy. He didn’t overcharge rent, and he was usually quick to fix things. But right now, while Hollander was clearly feeling violated by someone being in his apartment, his eyes still a little too sad for comfort, Ilya was having a hard time not telling Andy to hurry the fuck up. 

He went back upstairs with Hollander and into #6 without asking. He flopped onto the couch while Hollander walked around again, inspecting everything.

“How would someone have known what my key went to?” Hollander said suddenly, stopping in front of Ilya.

“What?”

“My key. If I dropped it and someone picked it up, they’d have no way of knowing where it went.”

Ilya sighed. “Yeah. Someone must have taken it. Did you take it out at all during the ball?”

“No,” Hollander said. “I don’t think so. And no one there knows where I live.”

“Maybe. Did anyone touch you while you were talking to them?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, probably. Everyone was drunk. People putting their arms around everyone else. I don’t remember.”

“Maybe it fell out in the uber? The driver would know you live here.” Ilya said. Though he thought that was unlikely.

Hollander exhaled loudly, his head tipping back in frustration. “Fuck.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Come here.”

Hollander sat next to him on the couch, and Ilya pulled his arm until he was lying down with his head in Ilya’s lap. 

“Are you going to Rose’s?” he asked, letting one hand settle in Hollander’s hair.

“What?”

“For a costume.”

“Oh right. Fuck. I don’t know if I’m gonna go to the party.”

“You should come,” Ilya said. Selfishly, he wanted him to anyway, but he also didn’t like the idea of Hollander being here alone. “Get your mind off it.”

Hollander nodded slowly against his thigh. “I guess.” He pulled his phone out, and Ilya watched him type a message to Rose. 

A couple of minutes later, his phone buzzed.

“I guess I’ll go over to Rose’s place in a couple of hours and then to the party from there,” Hollander said, his voice still sounding miserable.

Ilya pulled his own phone out.

Ilya: what are you doing today? 

The typing bubble popped up immediately.

Sveta: nothing…just the party later. Why?

Ilya: can I come over in a little while?

Sveta: yeah, bring your costume
Sveta: wait…what is your costume?

Ilya googled Tom Cruise Risky Business and sent her a screenshot.

Sveta: oh Ilya…surely not?

Ilya: fuck off
Ilya: you know it’ll be sexy

Sveta: if you say so
Sveta: see you later

“I’m coming with you to Rose’s,” Ilya said.

“What? Why?” Hollander was looking up at him.

“My friend Sveta is her roommate, and I’m meeting her before the party.”

“Oh. Right,” Hollander said. He sounded disappointed, and Ilya’s stomach tightened. Did he not want to be seen with him in front of Rose?

“Is that a problem? Do I need to walk there separately?” Ilya asked, making his voice light, trying not to let the hurt creep in.

“No, of course not.”

“Okay then. Because I for one cannot wait to see what Rose dresses you in.” Ilya laughed at the thought. 

Hollander groaned. “Oh god. Why the fuck did I agree to that?”

Chapter End Notes

I need you all to know that the scene of Shane and Ilya dancing together in their tuxedos, wearing their cute little masks, almost killed me because I want to see it visually so bad. Unfortunately, I'm not an artist. But it will live rent free in my head forever.

Chapter 8: The costume

Chapter Notes

Google "freddie mercury red leather pants" if you need a visual for this chapter. Then remember Shane Hollander's abs and ass. That is why Ilya is half-feral.

“Rose,” Shane said, trying to keep his voice stern instead of whiny. “I cannot go as Freddie Mercury. I might as well wear a sign saying I’m gay.” He was standing in the middle of her bedroom in his boxer briefs, regretting all of his recent life choices.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re giving way too much credit to a bunch of brainless college kids.” She held up a pair of shiny red pants. “This isn’t even one of his most iconic looks. No one will even know.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“The point,” she said, brows going up like he was an idiot, “is that you will look hot. Because your six pack will be on display. And your ass will be…” She trailed off and gave him another look and bit her lip in an exaggerated way.

“Ugh. Why do you even have those?” he asked, nodding at the pants. 

“They were for someone in one of our productions last year, but we had to recast him. So don’t worry, these were never worn.”

That was a relief. And Shane really didn’t have any alternatives.  He either had to wear what Rose offered or go in his own clothes. 

“So…this red tie isn’t exact. His was skinnier, but we can make it work.” She held up a regular red tie and pulled it around his neck, tying a loose knot in it. “The black belt thing we can improvise with a garbage bag. Now put those pants on.”

He pulled the red pants on and tried not to think too hard about how tight they were, and how his ass probably was…on display. She left him sitting on her bed, which was no small feat in the skin-tight red material, while she apparently went to the kitchen for a black garbage bag. Shane wondered what Rozanov was doing. After they’d gotten to Rose’s place, he’d peeled off with Svetlana and was now in her room across the hall with the door closed. He got up and stood near the doorway. He could hear voices coming from the room, and it sounded like they were speaking in Russian. He heard footsteps and shook himself, sitting back on the bed just as Rose stepped in and closed the door behind her.

“Okay, I’m going to make the belt from this. He also had things wrapped around his knees, but I think we can skip that. The abs and the ass are really the important things here,” she said, looking him up and down.

Shane groaned. “You know I’m not really the kind of person who wants to parade my abs and ass around, right?”

She sighed. “It’s Halloween. You’re hot. Everyone will be drunk.” As if that solved everything. “If anyone questions why you’re dressed as Freddie, just tell them I forced you.”

“Oh, I will,” Shane said, already readying his excuses. However, he privately agreed that he was giving people, especially people like Hayden and JJ, too much credit.

“I might have some fake mustaches somewhere around here,” she said, opening a dresser drawer.

“Rose…I don’t need the mustache.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Okay, I’m getting ready, and then we can head out.”

“Do you want me to step out?”

She laughed. “You’ve seen it all already. Stay.” She stripped down to her underwear, then said, “So, how is your hookup who isn’t giving you what you need?”

Shane groaned internally. Maybe he could just tell Rose the truth? The partial truth, anyway. Because after last night…he could still feel where Rozanov’s hands held him while they danced, could still feel the way he’d fucked him slow and tender and too… 

“Uh…it’s actually the opposite,” he said, not letting himself get too far down that spiral. “He’s supposed to be a casual hookup, but it always feels too…serious.”

She stopped what she was doing to look at him, eyes wide. “Serious how?”

Shane thought about that. About how Rozanov was always watching, always checking in, always taking care of him, even when he didn’t want or need it. Okay, maybe sometimes he wanted it. But he shouldn’t.

“Like…those things I mentioned. Being attentive and caring, but like…more. Enough that it made me feel like I was the worst partner to you.”

She laughed. “Wow.” She dragged the word out. “If that’s the case, it must be really fucking serious.”

Shane groaned. “It’s not serious, though. He’s not even gay.”

Her head tilted. “As in…he’s straight or…?”

“Bi. But I think he prefers women.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. If he catches feelings for you, that won’t matter.”

“No…no feelings. He has plenty of fuck buddies.”

“And does he treat them all so well?”

Shane shrugged. “Probably. I don’t know.”

“And what about you? Is it serious for you?”

“No, of course not. And I’m still not ready to come out anyway.”

She looked at him sympathetically. “I know.” She was slipping on a very small, revealing Harley Quinn costume. “But hey, I’m happy to hear you’re finally getting experience with men. That must be nice?”

Shane snorted. “Yeah. It’s nice.” Understatement.

“You can still text Will,” she said in a sing song voice. “If your hookup has other hookups, surely you can too?”

“Yeah…I know. I might.” 

He had planned to text Will. Of course, that was before Rozanov had asked him to dance. And why was that some kind of turning point in his mind? Because it wasn’t one in reality. Out in the real world, nothing had changed.

“Or…you could find someone fun at the party tonight,” she said, sitting down in front of a mirror to put on makeup. “I need to find someone fun at the party tonight.”

Shane laughed. “As if you’d have trouble with that.”

“The quality of men around here is sorely lacking,” she said dramatically. 

Once Rose had finished her hair and makeup, they left her bedroom, stopping momentarily so she could knock on Svetlana’s door. Rozanov opened the door, his eyes briefly giving Rose a once over before locking on Shane, moving slowly down his bare chest, to the tight red pants, and then back up, a smile slowly stretching across his face.

“Fuck off,” Shane said before he even got a word out.

Rozanov held up his hands innocently. “Relax, Mr. Mercury. I didn’t even say anything.” 

Svetlana pushed past him, also giving them each a once over. She was dressed as Cat Woman and looked spectacular.

“That came together nicely,” she said, looking at Rose's Harley Quinn costume. “Where is Ali?”

“Here,” Ali said from the living room. She was dressed as Poison Ivy. Ali was half-Korean, her long, dark hair currently covered by a bright orange wig. Her costume was just as tiny and revealing as the other two, all three of them stunning. 

“You three look dangerous tonight,” Rozanov said, but his eyes kept flicking back to Shane.

“I think you mean hot,” Rose said. “But so do you.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Svetlana said. “He just wants everyone to see his ass.” 

Rozanov had on a white button-down, the promised cut off boxer briefs, and a pair of sunglasses, plus white socks and white sneakers. And his ass was definitely…right there. So was the bulge in front. His shirt was not as long as Tom Cruise’s, and there was no missing either of those things when he started walking and the shirt shifted. 

“Well, count me among everyone,” Rose said appreciatively.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go.” Svetlana ushered them all out of the hall and through the living room. 

Once outside, they made the ten minute walk to the Kappa Sigma house, Rose’s arm through his, Rozanov’s through Svetlana’s, and Ali beside her. They could hear the party before they saw it, the music thumping loudly, voices carrying. The house itself was decorated with cobwebs and hanging skeletons, glowing plastic pumpkins placed sporadically around the front porch. People in various states of intoxication and undress were littered around the yard, cups already strewn about the grass. Shane took a deep breath and wondered, not for the first time in his life, why he’d agreed to go to a house party.

Ali peeled off to join some of her other friends, and Rozanov and Svetlana disappeared into the crowd. Rose dragged Shane through the house and out the back until they got to the kegs. When they both had red cups of foamy beer, they ended up back amongst the mass of people inside, Bad Bunny emanating from the speakers.

Someone bumped his shoulder, and he turned to find Hayden, JJ, and Nick. 

“What are you supposed to be?” Hayden asked, looking at him in surprise. “This had to be Rose’s idea.”

Rose gave him a look. “You uncultured swine. He’s Freddie Mercury. And of course it was my idea.”

“Oh hey, like Bohemian Rhapsody, right?” Hayden said. Even JJ was looking at him like he was an idiot.

Rose rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless, Pike. What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Matthew McConaughey from True Detective.”

“Huh,” Rose said, looking him up and down. “Okay…consider me slightly impressed.”

Shane was less impressed, but he was jealous that Hayden was fully clothed while Shane was fighting the instinct to fold his arms over his chest. Hayden was wearing a tan button-down that was half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, with a white t-shirt underneath. He had a fake mustache that matched his hair, and that was about it. 

Looking around the crowd, Shane acknowledged that he at least didn't stand out because most of the people here were wearing very few clothes, even the men. There were a lot of bare chests, and several people who were in underwear with asses not capable of pulling it off nearly as well as Rozanov’s. That thought made him look around, wondering where the ass in question might be.

Rose eventually got sucked into another group of people, and Shane stuck close to Hayden and the guys as they made their way through the party, occasionally stopping to talk to others they knew. Mitty and even Cliff joined them for a while, Rozanov nowhere to be seen. 

“Freddieeee,” someone yelled from across the room, pointing at Shane. He raised his cup in acknowledgement, trying not to care even while his ears went hot. None of his friends seemed to think his costume was strange, which allowed him to relax slightly and even enjoy some of the looks his abs were getting from various women and maybe a few men.

“I’ll be back,” he told Hayden, who gave him a thumbs-up.

Shane walked through the house, down a hallway, looking for the bathroom. He saw a line of people outside one door and figured that must be it. He didn’t really need to go bad enough to wait; he mostly just wanted a breather and instead turned around. As he was passing one of the other doors along the dimly lit hall, a hand reached out and pulled him inside. 

He barely had a half second to register that it was Rozanov before their lips were crashing together, and it took even less time for Shane to respond and kiss him back. He knew this was a terrible idea, but the familiar heat of him, the hands running up and down his chest and stomach…he was helpless to resist.

“Fuck,” Rozanov said. “You look fucking hot.”

Shane’s hands drifted down Rozanov’s back until they were cupping his perfectly round ass. “So do you.”

“I know.” Rozanov grinned and kissed him again, pulling him further into the room, which Shane vaguely registered as a small office, bookshelves lining the walls, and a desk and rolling chair in one corner. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Shane managed to choke out between kisses. “Our whole fucking team is here.”

But then Shane was kissing him again, pressing himself against Rozanov’s body, wrapping his arms around him, trying to remember why they needed to stop. He wasn’t even drunk. He was just stupid. And the universe saw fit to remind him of that because not even a minute later, the door opened and someone gasped.

“No!” 

Shane had a moment of pure panic that turned his insides to spiders, and then he saw who it was and nearly fell over in relief. Rose. With Svetlana right behind her.

“This is your hookup?” Rose asked, much too loudly. Thankfully Svetlana closed the door behind her and locked it this time. 

“Shh.” Shane took two big steps back from Rozanov. He really needed her to be quieter and also not reveal anything he’d said earlier about his “hookup.”

He couldn’t help but notice that Svetlana didn’t look surprised at all. She was giving Rozanov an unreadable look. 

“How did I miss this?” Rose said, her voice at a more appropriate volume. She looked between him and Rozanov, mouth half hanging open. 

“Rose.” He really wanted out of this room immediately.

“Now wait a minute. I’m the only person in this room he hasn’t kissed,” she said, looking at Rozanov, who laughed, then back at Svetlana, who rolled her eyes.

“We can fix that,” Rozanov said playfully. 

“Um, yes…fix it,” she said.

And Rozanov kissed her. Just like that. It was just a quick press of lips, mostly chaste. Shane didn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, he had just been kissing those lips. On the other hand, he didn’t feel an overwhelming urge to stop him like he had the night before when he’d been dancing with that girl. If he weren’t so keyed up about being caught, he probably would have laughed.

“Thank you,” Rose said with a big goofy smile. “Now, I think we should talk about this.” She pointed between him and Rozanov. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Shane said. “We’re all drunk and stupid.”

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re definitely not drunk. And he doesn’t seem drunk.” She looked back at Rozanov. “I’m all for this, whatever it is.” 

Svetlana, who had been quietly watching with a small smirk on her face, grabbed Rose’s hand and pulled her toward the door.

“Maybe we should go back to the party.”

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Rose said, pointing at him. Then Svetlana pulled Rose into the hallway and closed the door. Shane hurried over to lock it behind them and then leaned against it, letting out a long breath.

“Jesus.”

Rozanov laughed quietly. “It’s fine.”

“And what if that had been Hayden or Cliff?” Shane asked, anger starting to creep into his voice. And he didn’t think it was because Rozanov was being dismissive. It was because it wasn’t fair, and he was already tired of hiding. And what were they even hiding? They were nothing. Fuck buddies. 

Rozanov stalked over to him until their bodies were only inches apart. Then he dropped to his knees, his fingers going to the button of the stupid shiny red pants while he kissed Shane’s stomach, licking at his abs. Shane was going to stop him, tell him they needed to get out of here, but instead, his hands threaded through Rozanov’s hair, and his head thunked back against the door when Rozanov finally took him into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered, as that wet heat moved up and down the length of him, stopping only to press his tongue hard against the underside, swiping up through his slit and making Shane moan. 

Someone jiggled the doorknob and knocked, and that should have been enough for Shane to call this off, to push Rozanov away, but all he did was jerk his hips and push himself further into Rozanov’s mouth, until he bumped against the back of his throat, and Rozanov let him, sped up his movement, one hand grasping Shane’s ass. It made him moan, and he knew he needed to stop.

Rozanov pulled off. “Save those noises for me for later.” He ended it with something in Russian. His voice was low and rough and sexy as fuck. “No one else here gets to have those.” 

And then Shane’s cock was back in his mouth, and he wanted to moan even louder, Rozanov’s words lighting his skin on fire, sending ripples of heat through him while he tongued and sucked and worshipped his cock. Shane pressed his mouth into the crook of his elbow to contain it, and even that wasn't enough.

It didn’t take long before Shane was giving Rozanov’s hair a warning tug, and Rozanov sped up, hollowing his cheeks, until Shane spilled himself in the tight warmth of his mouth. His knees were weak, and if it wasn't for the door he was leaning again, he would have sank to the floor, his vision gone spotty in the dark of the room. When Rozanov stood back up, he immediately kissed Shane, even though he was still catching his breath and trying to keep his legs beneath him. Rozanov’s tongue pushed past his lips, and Shane’s cum was still there. He moaned at the taste of it, knowing they were in a house full of people, half of whom would probably line up outside this door for a turn with Rozanov, and yet he was here with Shane, his cum on his tongue, still pushing for more. If his cock could have gotten hard again already, it would have.

Once he'd recovered enough, Shane spun them around, so Rozanov was leaning against the door, and dropped to his knees. He didn’t even have to do any work since Rozanov was pantsless. He just had to pull the waistband of his briefs down far enough to free his already hard cock. He knew they should hurry, should get out of this room they didn’t belong in while people stood outside, but he couldn’t help but hold Rozanov’s cock in front of him and lick a long stripe from base to tip, enjoying the way Rozanov’s fingers threaded through his hair, the way they tightened just enough to make Shane’s own cock twitch again, the way he moaned…low, more felt than heard. Then he sucked him with all the enthusiasm he didn't even need to try to gather...his body was still humming from his own orgasm, from the knowledge that there were people on the other side of that door, from the mere fact that he was sucking Ilya Rozanov's cock in the middle of a Kappa Sigma party. Who the fuck even was he? The before-Rozanov version of himself had never even sucked cock, the after-Rozanov version was currently hollowing his cheeks, wondering if the wet, obscene noises his mouth was making could be heard through the thin walls and not caring enough to stop.

When Rozanov gave him a warning, Shane brought his hand up to the base of Rozanov’s cock so he could suck him faster, mouth meeting hand in a rhythm that sent him over the edge. Shane swallowed him down, then made a show of licking him clean since he’d only have a thin layer of material covering his cock. Rozanov squirmed under the extra stimulation of Shane's tongue flicking back and forth across the head, but his fingers didn't loosen in Shane's hair and he let out a low groan.

“Come here,” Rozanov said, pulling him up and crashing their lips together before he pulled back to look at him. “Fuck.” He ran his hands down Shane’s bare chest again and kept kissing him.

When they both pulled back panting, someone was knocking. 

“Fuck off,” Rozanov said loudly. 

Shane had another unfortunate moment of clarity. “How are we going to get out of here without anyone noticing?”

Rozanov shrugged. “Everyone is drunk. People just want to get in here to fuck, they won’t be paying attention.”

“What if one of our teammates is out there?”

He noted the brief look of worry that flickered across Rozanov’s face. Then Rozanov took his phone out of the front pocket of his shirt and typed something.

“I have an idea,” he said, slipping it back in and pulling Shane against him again, this time kissing his neck, nipping and sucking, and Shane was nearly getting hard again.

A couple of minutes later, there was another knock at the door.

“It’s us.”

Rozanov opened the door wide enough to let Svetlana and Rose slip back inside.

“You’re an idiot,” Svetlana said affectionately. She grabbed Rozanov’s arm, and Rose did the same to Shane.

“We’re here to rescue you,” Rose said with a laugh. “Come on.”

They left the room, arm in arm with the girls, and thank god they did because Hayden was just a few steps down the hall. He looked up, eyes going wide in surprise as he registered the four of them.

“What the fuck were you doing,” he said, as Rose let go of his arm with a quick "See you later," and slipped out of the hallway with a smile and a wink in  their direction.

“Oh, nothing. Just talking,” Shane said.

“Dude, you have a fucking hickey.”

“What?” Shane brought his hand up to his neck, where Rozanov’s lips had been moments ago. “I do?”

“Um, yeah.” Hayden laughed. “So are you two back together?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Why were you with Rozanov and his girlfriend?”

The cold grip on his stomach at those words was unpleasant. “I told you, we were just talking.”

“Whatever you say man. Come on, I heard someone brought a tub of jello shots.”

Shane reluctantly followed Hayden back into the living room, trying his best to avoid the press of sweaty bodies grinding together and swaying, some with gory makeup running down their faces, others wearing wigs and masks. The monster mash was playing now, which was apparently very dance-worthy because the entire room was packed, wall to wall.

Hayden grabbed two jello shots and handed one to Shane. He was feeling a lot more relaxed, probably thanks to the orgasm he’d just had, and he took it without hesitation. It also helped that coach had given them the next morning off from practice. Shane still had an early class, but not that early. He sucked down the jello shot and regretted it immediately when the gelatinous lump slid down his throat.

“Disgusting,” he said, watching Hayden swallow his. “I need a beer.”

They went out to the back to get another beer, and Shane was glad for some fresh air.

“So I got this girl’s number earlier,” Hayden said. “She’s friends with Ali. Her name is Jackie.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane looked over at him, and Hayden’s face was uncharacteristically soft, a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes.

“She’s like…really smart. And she called me an idiot because I didn’t know what her costume was.” He paused. “I still don’t know, honestly.”

“Wow,” Shane said. “Sounds promising.”

“Shut up,” Hayden said, with a laugh. “She was nice after that. I’m going to ask her out.”

JJ, Nick, and Mitty found them soon after. 

“Hollander, who the fuck gave you that hickey?” JJ practically yelled.

Shane was going to kill Rozanov. “No one.” He reached up to cover the spot.

“Rose did,” Hayden said with a smirk. 

“No shit? You’re back together?” 

“No…we aren’t. Everyone shut up about it.”

“Relax, Hollander. You need to get laid. And Rose is hot,” JJ said, shoving his shoulder.

“Fuck off. I’m leaving,” Shane said, though he didn’t make any move to go. He should have. Instead, he followed the guys back inside and tried to loosen up a little, enjoy the music and the bodies and the warm buzz of alcohol. Or maybe the warm afterglow of the earth-shaking orgasm Rozanov had given him in the middle of a fucking Halloween party.

Eventually, when the crowd started to thin some and Shane was feeling a little too warm and relaxed, he decided it was time to go. He said his goodbyes to the guys and then walked around to look for Rose. He found her sitting with Svetlana in an armchair, the two of them giggling at something on Rose’s phone.

“Hey,” he said when Rose glanced up. “I’m heading out. Just wanted to make sure you’re good to get home?”

She stood up and pulled him into a tight hug. “We’re good. We’ll uber home so we don’t have to walk.” Shane felt a wave of relief at that. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about earlier. We will be talking about that.” She gave him a look. 

Shane laughed. “Fine. Be safe. Call me if you need anything.”

He headed out the front door, the cool night air prickling at his overheated, exposed skin. He briefly considered texting Rozanov, but he had no idea where he was. Or who he was with. Though as usual, he needn’t have worried. He’d barely made it to the sidewalk when Rozanov fell into step beside him.

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving,” he said.

“Didn’t even know where you were.” Shane glanced over at him, letting his eyes drop down to his exposed muscled thighs, the swell of his ass in the barely there briefs. 

“You’re staying with me. How were you going to get in?” Rozanov asked. 

“I don’t need to stay with you. Thanks, though.”

Rozanov sighed and quickly glanced behind them. “How am I going to fuck you if you don’t?”

Heat surged through him. “Shut up.” Their building was further away than Rose’s house, probably another 15 minutes at least.

“Mm, no. I don’t think I will. I think I will tell you how much I want to peel those tight red pants down to your knees, so you’re trapped in them while I fuck you from behind.”

“Rozanov,” Shane muttered, his dick already inappropriately hard for how tight those pants were.

“But first,” he continued, his shoulder brushing Shane’s, “I would spread you open and taste you. Until you were begging for more.”

Shane groaned. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Because I’ve been watching you walk around in those tight pants all night, teasing me. My turn.”

“You were walking around with your ass hanging out all night.”

“You liked the view?”

“No.”

“Liar,” Rozanov laughed. 

He looked behind them again and then took Shane’s hand in his, and the little thrill, the warmth, the heat, that ran through him at that simple, chaste contact. Shane sighed, both contentedly, because it was perfect and real, and in frustration, because it felt forbidden and temporary and not real.

Shane thought about what they’d been doing at the party, also forbidden and real and…

“You gave me a hickey,” he said, looking over at Rozanov, who stopped dead in his tracks, yanking Shane by the hand when he kept walking.

“Let me see.” Rozanov turned him, angled his head toward a streetlight, and lifted his chin. Then he looked back at Shane with a huge grin, biting his bottom lip. “Oops.”

“Asshole,” Shane said with a laugh. “Luckily the guys thought it was from Rose.”

They started walking again, but they didn’t make it far before Rozanov pushed him up against the white-painted cinderblocks of a little corner store.

“If only they knew,” Rozanov whispered against his ear, his body flush against Shane’s, their cocks both hard again. Shane’s was at least trapped by the shiny red material of his pants, but Rozanov’s, in the thin white, almost see-through, material of his briefs…Shane couldn’t help but reach between them and run his finger along the length of him. Rozanov made a low sound in his throat and said, “If only they could have seen you on your knees. So good for me.”

Shane pushed his cock against him before remembering they were still in public. It was after midnight, but it was Halloween and the uptown streets were not empty. He pushed Rozanov back gently, putting some space between them.

“We need to go,” Shane said, his voice already too breathless.

“What are you in a hurry for?” His hands were braced against the wall on either side of Shane’s head. Still too close.

Shane rolled his eyes. “Rozanov.”

“No, no. Tell me why you are in such hurry to get home.”

“Because we’re in public.”

“And what do you want to do that we cannot do in public?” He was grinning, but it was too intimate, too soft, still full of heat.

“I’m not playing this game with you.”

“What game? I just want you to say it.” 

Shane could see a couple of people walking up the street in their direction. “Fine. We need to go so we can fuck. Are you happy now? Come on.” 

“Yes. I am happy now. Thank you.” He sounded smug as he pushed off the wall and grabbed Shane’s hand again, apparently feeling reckless tonight. Shane didn’t stop him.

They made the last few minutes of the walk to their building in comfortable silence, hand in hand. Upstairs, Shane started to go to #6, but Rozanov pulled him across the hall. 

“I meant it. Stay with me tonight.” Rozanov was watching him expectantly, his door already half open.

Shane nodded and followed him inside. Rozanov had his shirt and briefs off in record time, while Shane had to sit down and peel the red pants down carefully. Rozanov watched him, his eyes hungry, his cock still hard. Once Shane had the pants and his underwear off and folded on the couch, he stood up and was about to pull the red tie from around his neck when Rozanov grabbed the end of it and used it to pull Shane against him. He was grinning again, tugging the inner edge of his bottom lip with his teeth until Shane was a breath away. 

“This was a good costume. Remind me to thank Rose,” he said as he pulled the tie tighter, reeling him in until their lips touched. 

They eventually made it to the bed, the tie lost somewhere along the way. Shane was on his knees in Rozanov’s bed, his face pressed down into the pillows while Rozanov rimmed him to within an inch of his life. His cock was steadily dripping onto the comforter beneath him, his thighs shaking, his hands were grasping at anything he could hold onto, while his body vibrated with pleasure until it threatened to break apart. 

By the time Rozanov was spearing his tongue into his hole, Shane was ready to come. 

“Rozanov. Please.” 

He felt Rozanov pull back, the cool air a shock on his wet hole. 

“Please what?” Rozanov asked. 

“Fuck me.” Shane had no inhibitions tonight. Between the light buzz, the party blowjobs, the handholding, the ass eating…Jesus. Shane thought he was going to implode. Or say something regrettable. Likely both.

Rozanov leaned over him and kissed his neck, trailing his lips from his hairline to between his shoulder blades before moving back up to his ear. He ran his tongue along it, making Shane shudder. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” he whispered.

Shane felt Rozanov move, heard the click of a cap, the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Then he felt a slick finger push into, followed by another in quick succession. Rozanov’s mouth had prepped him well, and he didn’t spend much time fingering him before he was pushing the blunt head of his cock against him. He leaned forward, covering Shane’s back with his chest as he pushed in. When he was fully seated, he tightened an arm around Shane’s chest for a moment, and he could feel Rozanov’s lips pressed there against his upper back. Such a simple gesture, and yet also another tiny spiderweb of a crack in whatever facade he was still trying desperately to hold up around his heart.

Rozanov started moving, thrusting into him slowly at first, but it was enough to knock Shane back into the headspace he needed to be in. The one where all he could focus on was the pleasure rolling through him, the places where their bodies were connected. He closed his eyes and let himself be lost to it. 

Until Rozanov stopped thrusting and quietly said, “Fuck.” And then a second later, “Turn over.”

Shane turned over, grateful to stretch out his legs for a second, until Rozanov was pushing them up and pushing back into him. He leaned in close, their breath mingling, and when he started thrusting again, he stayed there. Shane pulled him in for a kiss before he could stop himself. Not that he wanted to anyway. And that was the problem. 

It felt too intimate. Shane supposed that sex should feel that way. But somehow, every time they did this, and there had been a lot of times, it got more intimate. More tender. Every time they shared a bed at home, every time they shared a bed at away games. Every kiss and touch and accidental whisper of a first name. This time it was not accidental.

“Shane,” Rozanov murmured, his eyes locked on Shane’s, his face too soft. “Are you close?”

Shane nodded and reached between them so he could stroke himself. And when he came, he wasn’t sure if it was a conscious decision or not, but he whispered, “Ilya,” while his eyes rolled back and his body flew apart into a million pieces, held together by the warm weight on top of him, the pulsing of Rozanov’s cock inside him, and the way he whispered Shane’s name right back. 

When they were cleaned up and settled under the covers, Shane was laying against Rozanov with his head on his shoulder, Rozanov’s arm around him, his fingers gently dragging up and down Shane’s arm.

“So…” Shane said eventually. “Rose knows.”

“Mhm,” Rozanov said quietly. “I think that’s okay, yes?”

“She won’t tell anyone. Your friend didn’t seem surprised.”

“Ah, yes. She already knew. I didn’t tell her, she guessed. But don’t worry, she is safe too.”

Shane nodded against him. “Okay.”

“You are worried.”

“Hayden would have seen us coming out of that room alone. If they hadn’t come back.”

Rozanov sighed. “I know. Sorry. That was very irresponsible of us.” He sounded mostly serious, but still a hint of sarcasm. “You shouldn’t have worn those tight red pants. Most irresponsible.”

Shane laughed. “Shut up. You shouldn’t have been in your underwear.” He rolled onto his side, so his head was on Rozanov’s chest, and he could drape an arm across his stomach. 

“What time do you have to be up tomorrow?” Rozanov asked, his hand trailing down Shane’s back.

“I have an 8:30 class. I guess 7:30? Thank god we don’t have practice.” He glanced over at the clock. It was already nearly 2am.

Rozanov fiddled with his phone and then set it back on the nightstand. “I set an alarm.”

Then he turned off the lamp, kissed the top of Shane’s hair, and they both drifted off to sleep, still tangled together.

-

When the alarm blared at 7:30, Shane sleepily made his way across the hall to shower and get ready. He unlocked the door to #6 and stepped inside, stopping immediately because something caught his attention. It took him a few moments to realize what it was. His running shoes that were sitting just beside the front door were crooked. Instead of the toes of each being right up against the wall and the shoes being parallel to each other, the one on the right was knocked over sideways and at an angle. Shane looked at it, trying to remember if he might have done that while in a hurry the day before. No. He was certain he hadn’t.

He opened his front door again, intending to go back to #8 and tell Rozanov, but he was already there, lifting a hand to know, a grim expression on his face.

“What?” Shane asked.

“They found another body.”

“What?” Shane asked again, his voice higher.

“In the same place. He was…” Rozanov trailed off, took a deep breath. “Another member.”

Shane’s stomach twisted. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Rozanov sighed.

“Someone was in my apartment again.” Shane blurted it out, trying to distance himself from the other thing for a moment.

“What?” Rozanov’s voice was loud in the small space.

“Yeah, uh…my shoes.” Shane pointed down at them. “They were moved. Like someone accidentally kicked them.”

Rozanov gave him a worried look, maybe a hint of skepticism. “You’re sure?”

Shane nodded. “I always set them there neatly the same way.”

Rozanov nodded slowly and looked around. “Anything else?”

“I’m not sure.” Shane quickly walked through the rest of the apartment, not seeing anything else out of place. “Seems like just that. But I’m sure it wasn’t me.”

“You’re staying with me until Andy changes the locks. At least overnight.” Rozanov was looking at him, his face still showing worry in the tightness of his mouth and the pinch of his brows. “No arguing.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” 

Shane was grateful. The Order slipping in to leave invitations was one thing. Whatever this was…another violation.

“My last class ends around 4. Come over anytime. I’ll leave the door unlocked while I’m home…no need to knock,” Rozanov said, while he used one hand to brush the bangs off Shane’s forehead, which made his chest feel warm and fluttery.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” 

Rozanov went back across the hall, and Shane got ready, trying not to think about all the things swirling insistently around in his head.

-

Shane got to philosophy with only a minute to spare. He took his usual seat and was surprised to see not Dr. Hunter walking in the door, but someone younger.

“Good morning,” the man said. He was tall with light brown skin and short curly hair, and he had a voice that carried. “Dr. Hunter couldn’t make it in today. I’m his TA, Carter. I’ll give today's lecture and then answer any questions you have about the discussion post.”

Shane tried to listen to Carter. He was a good speaker. Maybe not quite as good as Dr. Hunter, but he was definitely not dry or monotone. Shane’s brain was just split in too many directions. Another body. Someone in his apartment again. Rozanov. Always Rozanov.

Literally. Because after class ended, Shane was walking to the SC to hang out during his break when his phone buzzed.

Rozanov: doing okay?

Shane sighed. His stomach was doing the thing, and his mouth was curving into a smile. And he knew he was entirely fucked.

Shane: Yeah. You?

Rozanov: the person who was found this morning…I knew him

Fuck. It made sense that Rozanov would know him if it was someone from the Order.

Shane: I’m sorry. Were you close?

Rozanov: no, only talked to him a couple of times
Rozanov: but this is all fucked up

Shane: I know. 

And Shane had the annoying, overwhelming urge to track him down and hug him. 

Rozanov: have a good day
Rozanov: see you at home

At home. Shane’s stomach may as well have been riding a roller coaster without him for how many times it had flipped and dipped and sunk already today. 

When he got to the SC, he found an empty table and sat down, immediately pulling his phone out again, this time to look at the news. There was already an article about the body on nola.com, and it was a lot of the same stuff as last time. Found in the same place as a Tulane student last semester and an NOU student earlier this semester. No suspects at this time. 

Shane sighed and put his phone away, once again mourning the quiet, distraction-free semester he’d planned to have. He wanted to get the rest of the day over with so he could go home. To Rozanov. Fuck.

-

Shane stopped in #6 when he got home to change clothes and grab a toothbrush. But, as was increasingly common these days, he was stopped in his tracks as soon as the door opened. On the ground, as if slipped under the door this time, was an off-white envelope. He sighed, knowing exactly what it was and why. Instead of opening it, he picked it up and kept moving, wanting to go across the hall asap. 

Once he was done, he locked his door and knocked once on the door to #8 before turning it. It opened, and he stepped inside, finding Rozanov sitting on the couch with his laptop open.

“Hey,” he said with a smile. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Boring,” Shane said. “Until now.” He held up the envelope.

“Yes. Same.”

“I haven’t opened it yet,” Shane said, walking around to sit on the couch next to him.

“Meeting tonight.” He already sounded tired. “Hopefully it’ll be quick.”

Shane opened his. 

Tonight. 11:00pm.

Well…could have been worse. 

“What should we eat for dinner?” Rozanov asked, closing his laptop.

“Oh. I could always go back across the hall to eat?”

Rozanov rolled his eyes. “No.” He put an arm around Shane’s shoulders and pulled him in close. “We can cook here. Or doordash.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m too tired to cook and fuck tonight, and I would rather fuck. So doordash?” Rozanov was looking at him expectantly.

Shane laughed. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

They ordered from a sushi place nearby and ate on Rozanov’s couch while watching some dumb reality show. It wasn’t even an out of the ordinary evening. Eating dinner together, watching tv together…those things were nearly as frequent as the fucking now.

And they did get to that, too. Rozanov pulled him into the bedroom, and they kissed, slow and unhurried for a while, until the urgency caught up and mouths moved to cocks until they were both spent and tangled together in the bed, where they stayed until it was time to get ready for the meeting.

It was the first time they went to one together. Rozanov didn’t wait more than a second to grab Shane’s hand once they exited their building, and he didn’t let go until they stepped onto campus. They followed a few others into the chapel, no masks in sight tonight, and took a seat together in one of the pews.

Then a man stepped out from behind the stage, and he was wearing a mask. The same man who usually spoke first, as far as Shane could tell.

“Thank you for coming on short notice. This will be quick, but it needs to be done in person and not in writing.”

He paced for a few moments, watching as a couple more people streamed in, taking seats near the back.

“We lost another member this morning. I’m sure you’ve all seen the news. There is no reason to panic. There is nothing to suggest our members are being targeted. This may very well be a coincidence.” 

There were some low murmurs from the audience, and Shane thought they sounded questioning. Skeptical.

“Kyle Landeau was a senior pre-law student with a bright future ahead of him, and we all mourn his loss. Let us have a moment of silence in his honor.”

Rozanov shifted slightly next to him.

“The reason for this meeting is to remind you that the Order’s business is confidential. That you being a member is confidential. Nothing you have heard within these walls should ever be repeated to anyone, including law enforcement.”

There was more shifting, this time around the entire chapel, Shane included. Were they being told to withhold information from law enforcement?

“It is unlikely that anyone will make this connection, but if you are questioned, you will contact us first. If you do not know how to make contact, don’t worry. You will.”

Shane noticed that there were no other masked figures on stage today. The man was alone. The one who had questioned Shane in the confessional wasn’t there, unless he was maskless in the crowd. He glanced around, recognizing only Kat a few pews behind him, and maybe a few others he’d seen around campus but didn’t personally know.

“We’ll be watching.”

He said that mysterious little line and then walked off the stage into the back. Almost everyone in the pews stood, like they knew that meant dismissal. Rozanov stood, and Shane followed him out of the chapel, where he said a quick hello to Jackson as he passed. 

As soon as they were off campus, Rozanov took his hand again, and Shane thought this time it might have been more for reassurance than just…whatever it had been before. He seemed tense, maybe angry.

“You okay?” Shane asked quietly.

Rozanov nodded, then brought their clasped hands to his lips, pressing them against the back of Shane’s. “Yes. Just thinking.”

“You can talk to me about it. If you want to,” Shane said. 

Rozanov stopped walking and pulled Shane up against him. “You have ruined me,” he whispered, right before he leaned in and kissed Shane, right there in front of a shotgun house painted bright yellow, with an ugly red door and a wrought iron fence around their front yard. Right there under the dim glow of a streetlight. Shane didn’t care where they were. He knew he should, but it was late and the streets were empty and they were kissing in public. Again.

When Rozanov pulled back, his expression was unreadable. Soft, but laced with something else. Shane didn’t know, and mostly all he wanted in that moment was to get home so they could get back to kissing.

They got back to their building a few minutes later, and Shane followed Rozanov into #8, then into the bedroom, then into the bed, clothes lost somewhere in between. Rozanov’s mouth was on him, kissing along his neck, stopping to lick at one spot.

“I like this,” he murmured against Shane’s neck. “My mark here.”

“Asshole,” Shane said, but there was nothing but affection in his too breathy voice as Rozanov’s tongue kept lapping at his skin.

“I want to give you more.”

Shane’s stupid mushy brain sent a signal for him to stretch his neck, leaning his head away and back into the pillows, as if giving Rozanov permission. Eventually it caught up, and he managed to say, “You better not.”

“What about here?” Rozanov asked, his hand pushing into the crease of Shane’s leg. 

The thought of Rozanov sucking on the skin there made his cock ache. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“The locker room…” he started to say, but then Rozanov moved down the bed until his mouth was hovering there, next to his cock, his eyes upturned, looking at Shane with so much desire, his mouth half open. All Shane could do was move his leg out, giving permission once again. Rozanov spread his legs wider and leaned down to press his mouth to the skin right beside his balls, soft at first, tongue pressing against him, licking and lightly scraping his teeth, and holy fuck, Shane’s whole body lit up, like he felt those sensations everywhere all at once.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed, as Rozanov’s face pressed against his balls while he started sucking lightly at the spot he’d been licking. Shane couldn’t see it, but he knew there would be a bloom of color under Rozanov’s mouth. And he wanted to see it. Desperately. 

When Rozanov finally moved back up his body to press their lips together again, they were both hard and grinding against each other. 

“Need you,” Rozanov whispered against his lips.

All Shane could do was nod because his insides were simultaneously on fire and floating, those words running through him like an electrical charge. When Rozanov moved off him briefly to pull stuff out of his nightstand, Shane looked down at the hickey on his groin. He almost moaned out loud at the sight of it. And why? Why was Rozanov’s mark, on that sensitive crease of skin, so…intoxicating?

Before he could think too hard about it, Rozanov was back, half hovering over him, his fingers already pushing in Shane’s hole, gently but wasting no time. Then their lips were crashing back together, and Shane was moaning into Rozanov’s mouth while he fucked him with his fingers in a rhythm that was threatening to undo him already.

“Rozanov,” he breathed against his mouth, his voice practically begging for it.

“Ask me,” Rozanov said, his lips still there, just a hair away from Shane’s. “Not Rozanov. Me.”

Shane blinked at him, the words lodging somewhere in the soft, gooey mess of his insides before he shook them free, before they made their way to his brain and then back out of his mouth. 

“Ilya. Please.” Shane’s voice had gone even quieter, barely there, like he was telling the most sacred secret. Because he was. 

Ilya kissed him again, hard and hungry and full of something too big to fit in this tiny room with them. Then he removed his fingers and quickly settled between Shane’s legs, pushing into him in one hard thrust that briefly knocked the air from his lungs and made him throw his head back against the pillows. And before he could move anymore, he felt Ilya’s lips there, on the column of his throat, so gentle compared to the hard thrust of his hips. Shane’s body was going to break apart under the give and take of sweet and hot and soft and hard and real and not real. Because Ilya was kissing him again like he couldn’t get enough oxygen unless he was sucking it directly from Shane’s lungs, and Shane gave it to him, with every moan and low, needy little noise he let slip through their fused lips. 

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya whispered. “You feel so fucking perfect.”

Shane wanted to say something, maybe So do you, but words were lost to him, every thrust pushing them further and further out of reach until he was coming. He hung onto Ilya, fingers grasping at his back, raking down his sides as he spurted between them and Ilya’s eyes seared into his, saying too much or not enough, he wasn’t sure. Ilya followed him over the edge and even in the haze of his own orgasm, he could feel Ilya pulsing inside of him, could hear the low, rough moan of his name, and he tightened his arms, holding onto Ilya while he curled around him, until his weight became heavier and his body stilled.

He stayed there long enough that Shane could have drifted to sleep, feeling safe and warm under Ilya's body, his cock still inside of him, his soft breath on his neck. He groaned when Ilya finally moved, cool air moving across his sweat-damp skin. Ilya came back to clean him up gently with a warm washcloth, and Shane didn’t think he’d ever get used to this kind of tender care that used to feel embarrassing and now felt like….

He didn’t let himself go there. Ilya slipped back into the bed and curled around him, and Shane sank into it, his eyes already fluttering shut. The last thing he remembered was Ilya murmuring something in Russian, so soft he wasn’t sure it was even real.

-

The alarm went off much too early the next morning, and Shane went back across the hall to get ready for practice and classes. He looked around his apartment, but nothing looked out of place today and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

He met Rozanov back in the hall, and they walked to campus together, mostly in comfortable silence, hands not touching at all. In the locker room, Shane sat next to Hayden, who was already pulling his gear on, and Rozanov headed for Cliff as usual. Shane watched them for a moment, watched Cliff’s face, which looked drawn and tired, shift into something closer to his familiar expression as Rozanov sat down. He watched as Rozanov said something to him, something that looked serious, neither of them smiling. Cliff looked away briefly, like he was considering, then nodded and said something to Rozanov. Shane must have been staring for too long because Hayden bumped his shoulder.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

“Hm?” Shane said, still distracted. “Nothing. Just tired.”

“I think I’m going to text Jackie today,” Hayden said.

“Who?”

“The girl from the party, remember?” Hayden was looking at him expectantly.

“Oh right. The one who insulted you.”

“Yeah.” He still sounded too pleased about that. “Do you think it’s too soon? Will I look desperate?”

Shane laughed. “You’re asking the wrong person,” he said honestly. “But maybe she’ll be flattered.”

Hayden nodded seriously. “Yeah…maybe. I’m going to do it.”

A couple of the guys gave Shane shit about the hickey on his neck. Thankfully he kept a towel around his waist when he undressed after practice was done, so no one saw the other one. 

“Who were you sucking face with, Hollander?” asked one of their backup goalies.

“Fuck off,” Shane said, his ears going hot.

Someone yelled out “Rose” and Shane sighed. He felt bad that he was letting that rumor continue. He didn’t even think Rose would care, but it still felt wrong. He glanced over at Rozanov, who wasn’t looking at him, but there was a small, self-satisfied smile on his face and Shane’s own lips started to curve before he stopped it immediately. 

Speaking of the woman in question, his phone buzzed before he could even leave the locker room.

Rose: don’t think you’re getting out of telling me all about your “hookup”
Rose: free for lunch today?

Shane exhaled slowly. Maybe Rose could help him figure out what the fuck was going on between them. He wasn’t sure he was ready to divulge the full…situation. Or all the feelings swirling around in his head and chest every time he thought about it. Because saying it out loud, having someone else validate it…seemed like a bad idea.

Shane: Sure. I can meet you at the SC around 11:30?

Rose: I will be there!!!

Shane gathered up his stuff to head to class. He glanced over at Rozanov, who was once again talking to Cliff, heads close together, both looking much too serious. He wanted to linger, to know what they were talking about, but he looked at his phone. Class started in less than 30 minutes, and it was on the other side of campus. A problem for later, he thought, and headed out.

Chapter 9: The holidays

Chapter Notes

How bout some fluff

Around 11:15, Shane walked into the SC and found an empty table to wait for Rose. He took out his phone, finding an email from a university email address containing only numbers with no subject line and the only words in the body: “If you need to contact us. Emergencies only.” Right. The Order. He sighed and put his phone away, not wanting to think about them right now.

Luckily Rose showed up about 10 minutes later, dropping her bag onto the floor dramatically.

“I have got to have caffeine,” she said. “I’m getting iced coffee and a bagel, do you want anything?”

“No,” Shane laughed. “I’m going to grab a chicken salad. I’ll meet you back here.”

When they were both sitting again, Rose properly caffeinated, she looked at him expectantly.

“Well?” she asked between sips. “You and Ilya?”

Shane took a deep breath, ignoring the way those words settled somewhere too deep in his chest. “Uh, yeah. It’s just…casual.”

“Shane Hollander. You better not look me in the eyes and lie to me. What was all that about it being too serious? He’s too…what word did you use? Caring?” 

Shane sighed. “Yeah. I think maybe I’m projecting, you know? He’s just…nice. And I don’t have much to compare it to.”

“Nice? Ilya Rozanov is a lot of things, but I’m not sure ‘nice’ is at the top of the list. Hot, yes. Full of himself, definitely.” She laughed, like she was amusing herself. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since the beginning of the semester.”

“Okay so…I’m going to ignore the fact that you’ve been doing this for months now and haven’t mentioned it.”

Shane smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“He lives across the hall, so you two must spend a lot of time together?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably too much.”

She nodded slowly, like she was trying to put the pieces together in a way that made sense. Shane wished he could do that.

“So…how good is he?” Rose asked.

“What?”

“In bed,” she said in a fake whisper.

He groaned. “Rose.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone but me seems to know.”

He snorted. “Why don’t you ask Svetlana?” He’d meant that to be light, teasing. It didn’t come out that way.

“Sore spot, huh?”

Shane sighed. “No. He can do whatever he wants.”

Rose tilted her head at him in a knowing look. “Have you talked to him about it?”

Shane shook his head. “Nothing to talk about.”

“But do you want it to be more?” 

Yes, Shane thought before he could stop himself. Though he was pretty sure Rose already knew.

“No,” he said out loud. “I’m not ready to come out to the team anyway. It’s just convenient, being across the hall.”

“Just convenient.” She repeated that like the lie it was. From his end, anyway. He was sure it was the truth from Rozanov’s.

“It’s been…helpful. At least.” He felt his cheeks redden at that admission.

She smiled at him. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re figuring out that side of things.” Then, “Are you going to be okay…with the current arrangement continuing, I mean?”

“Of course.” He said it more confidently than he felt it. But what choice did he have? “I get to…do that…without coming out. He’s across the hall. I can still see other people. What’s not to be okay with?”

She nodded slowly. “Well, you can talk to me about it anytime, okay? If you need to.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Thanks.”

-

The next few weeks passed without any earth-shattering incidents or revelations. There were no more murders, but there were also no breaks in the case and campus was still slightly on edge. The NOU men’s hockey team was doing well, and Shane was still rooming with Rozanov…and whether that had helped either of their games, who was to say. The only thing that had changed for Shane was that they were always Shane and Ilya in bed now. Only in bed. Once feet touched the floor, the spell broke, and they became Hollander and Rozanov again. Shane was fine with it. He was fine with all of it. He didn’t want more than that. Couldn’t have more than that. Even when they spent Thanksgiving day together, eating takeout and watching TV, since neither of them celebrated that American holiday. And hockey didn’t allow enough of a break for Shane to go home. It was cozy. Friendly. Nothing more. Everything was fine.

Finals week was stressful as always, but Shane mostly felt good about it. French was a breeze; physics wasn't, but he'd studied enough to get a solid A. For philosophy, they only had to write an essay about what they learned from the class that they'd handed in the week before. During the scheduled exam window, they had to show up to pick up their graded essays. Dr. Hunter had them form a line outside his office and then called them in one at a time.

“Mr. Hollander,” he said from his doorway when it was Shane’s turn. Shane stepped in, and Dr. Hunter closed the door behind him.

The office looked just how Shane would have imagined…neat stacks of books, piles of paper at the corners of his desk, a half-full mug that said Rochester, NY, a comfortable chair across the desk from his own.

“Have a seat.” Dr. Hunter pointed to the chair, and Shane sat. 

On top of a pile of papers at the center of the desk, Shane recognized his essay, printed and written on by the professor. A bright red A+ at the top. 

“Excellent work.” Dr. Hunter handed the essay to him. 

“Thank you,” Shane said a little awkwardly, but he was thrilled on the inside.

“I mean it. Most students would just summarize the class back at me, but you actually engaged with the material, contextualized it in a relevant and insightful way.” Dr. Hunter looked at him expectantly.

“Um, yeah, I guess it gave me a lot to think about,” he admitted, glancing down at the essay. If only Dr. Hunter knew just how much his class had tied Shane in knots all semester, both good and bad.

“One thing stood out,” Dr. Hunter said. “You wrote about how people often confuse loyalty with morality because it’s more personal and more immediate, while ethics can feel more abstract.” He tilted his head slightly, an unreadable expression on his face. “That’s unusually perceptive for someone your age.” 

“Oh. Thanks,” Shane said, the compliment sending heat up the back of his neck.

Dr. Hunter studied him for just a moment, like he was deciding what to say next. “Be careful of institutions that ask for loyalty before they’ve earned your trust,” he said finally.

This time Dr. Hunter's words send a slight chill through him. Before he could say anything else, like what do you mean?, Dr. Hunter stood up and said, “It was great having you in my class again, Mr. Hollander. I hope you decide to take another one with me.”

Shane stood too and nodded. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can fit it in my schedule next Fall,” he said honestly, since his spring schedule was already set.

Then Dr. Hunter was opening the door to let him out before he called in the next student.

Shane took the stairs down to the lobby, trying not to let Dr. Hunter’s words settle somewhere weird. Somewhere that was going to drag up stuff he’d been doing a good job of not worrying about lately. Besides, he only had one final left, and it was Regenerative Biology. He’d spent the last few days studying and memorizing, and he’d done it mostly lying beside Rozanov on one of their couches in comfortable silence, each absorbed in their own studies. The exam was scheduled for 9am the next day, so he still had the rest of today to get more studying in. That’s all he needed to focus on.

-

Around 8pm, there was a knock on his door, and then Rozanov walked in. He usually left his door unlocked in the evenings until Rozanov came in and locked it behind him. 

“I’m finally done,” Rozanov said, flopping down onto the couch next to him. 

“Lucky you,” Shane said. He felt pretty good about bio though. He was sure he’d ace the exam and the class, and then he'd be done for the semester too.

“When do you leave for break?” Rozanov asked, the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice.

The hockey team didn’t get as long a break as the other students, but they had a little over a week off that lasted until December 27th. Shane was leaving the following day, December 19th.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Shane said. “My flight’s at 4.” He’d be heading to the airport directly after his final.

Rozanov nodded. “Excited to go home?”

Shane thought about that. Usually he was. He loved Christmas. His parents went all out for the holidays with decorations, and they usually had a nice traditional Christmas Eve dinner together. This year he felt a slight pang of regret that he was leaving New Orleans.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice. Are you going home?” 

They hadn’t talked about it. They were still best at only talking about sex and hockey and whatever TV show they happened to be watching together. Safe things.

“No.” Rozanov’s voice was very final, inviting no further questions about why.

“What will you do all week?” Shane asked instead.

Rozanov took a deep, thoughtful breath. “Sleep. Try to do whatever annoying workouts coach is demanding.”

“Should be quiet around here at least.”

Rozanov nodded. “Yes, quiet.” Then, “Does your family have a big celebration? For Christmas?”

“Um, not really. It’s mostly just me and my parents. Sometimes my Dad’s sister or some friends will join us. Mostly my parents just make a really good dinner, and we hang out and watch Christmas movies.”

“That sounds nice.” Rozanov sounded wistful. “We never had big dinners, but my mother used to bake many different cookies on Christmas Eve to give the neighbors, and she would let me help. Even though I was terrible helper and mostly ate the cookie dough.”

Shane laughed, thinking of a little Rozanov sneaking bites of cookie dough. “You don’t do that anymore?”

Rozanov sighed. “No. My mother is dead, and my father will spend Christmas trying to impress rich people.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane said, his stomach sinking. He wished he had something better to say. Something comforting, something that gave voice to how deeply he wished he could wipe away that sad tone in his voice.

Rozanov waved a hand. “Is fine.” Then he shifted on the couch, closed Shane’s laptop, set it on the coffee table, and straddled his lap. “Take a break,” he said, leaning in to kiss Shane. 

“I was done anyway.” Shane pulled him in tighter, letting himself sink into the warm, velvety brush of Rozanov’s tongue, the low moan slipping from between his lips, the warm, hard muscles of his back shifting under the thin material of his t-shirt as Shane ran his hands down, letting them settle just above his ass. He tried not to think too hard about how going over a week without this was going to be awful. Painful almost. “Bedroom,” he managed between kisses.

Rozanov had him naked and facedown on the bed in record time. He’d run his tongue over Shane’s hole a few times, but apparently they were both impatient tonight because soon after, he had two fingers working him open, quickly and efficiently, while he nipped at Shane’s ass, the back of his thighs, each little drag of teeth sending a shiver through him.

“Ilya,” Shane murmured. “Please.” 

“Impatient,” Ilya said, removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock, a condom wrapper landing somewhere on the floor. “Will you miss this?” 

“Yes,” Shane said honestly as Ilya pushed into him, already thrusting hard enough to push Shane further into the pillows. “Harder. Wanna feel it while I’m gone.”

“Fuck,” Ilya breathed, pounding into him harder and faster, pushing breathy, needy little noises from Shane’s throat every time their bodies slapped together, the sound of skin against skin loud in the small room.

Shane’s whole body was lost to it, his skin overheated, the cool air pushed by the ceiling fan pricking against the light sheen of sweat, the sensation magnified under the constant thrusting of Ilya’s cock into his prostate. All Shane could do was hold on, hands tangled in the sheets, eyes closed, completely surrendered to Ilya. 

Just as his body started to tighten, his orgasm building quickly, almost tipping him over the edge, he was pulled out of his haze of pleasure by Ilya slowing down and then pulling out, the emptiness startling after the hard pounding and the almost release. Ilya tapped his hip and said, “Turn over.” Shane didn’t turn so much as collapse onto the bed, and then Ilya gently helped him maneuver onto his back.

When he pushed into him again, it was face to face, only inches between them, Ilya’s gaze locked on his. Too intimate, like always. His lips were slightly parted, his curls damp against his forehead, the vein in his temple popping like he’d just run a few miles. 

“Don’t come until I say,” he murmured before he pressed his lips to Shane’s, his hips starting to move slowly. So slowly that Shane rocked up against him. “Ah ah,” Ilya tutted. “When I say. Can you do that?”

And god help him, Shane nodded. Once Shane Hollander committed to something, he was going to see it through if it killed him. And this just might because Ilya’s hips were already rocking faster, and Shane’s earlier almost-orgasm was making its return. He could feel it there, in his core, Ilya pushing into him just right, his cock already leaking a small pool of precome onto his stomach. He dug his nails into Ilya’s back, not on purpose, but because he needed something to tether him to this bed, to Ilya’s body in his, to his own skin that felt like it was going to fly apart if he didn’t come soon. 

“I can’t,” he said, voice high and breathy.

“You can. Going to make you feel so good,” Ilya whispered, leaning down near his ear, the warm breath not helping his control. Then he kissed him there, on his earlobe, the soft skin beneath it, even as Shane’s body rocked with the force of his thrusts, it was so soft on his extrasensitive skin. He was definitely no longer in control of whatever noises were coming from his throat. Even in the thick haze of his almost but not yet orgasm, he knew he sounded desperate.

“Ilya,” he said in warning, knowing he couldn’t hold back much longer. But then Ilya stopped. He pushed all the way in and then stilled, just resting there, letting Shane hang on the edge of orgasm again, his body screaming for it. Ilya was pressed against him from chest to ass, and every atom of his skin that was touching Ilya’s was on fire. “Fuck.” If his voice hadn’t been so hoarse with want, it probably would have sounded whiny.

“Is okay?” Ilya asked, and his voice was hardly any better, low and rough and fuck if Shane didn’t feel that crawling over his skin too, trying to make him lose control. 

All he could do was nod. Then Ilya started thrusting again, slower this time, and he bent to kiss Shane, who kissed him back eagerly. He’d come down enough from the almost-orgasm to focus on Ilya’s lips, at least momentarily. And it was a good, deep kiss, Ilya’s tongue pushing in first and not letting up while Shane moaned into his mouth, the fire zipping through his body being stoked again. 

“Please,” he said, breaking the kiss.

“Soon.” Ilya kissed him again, then started thrusting harder and faster and Shane was already there again, his body taut as a rubber band stretched to its limit. His head was thrown back against the pillows, his hands somewhere, fingers digging into something soft, but he couldn’t tell if it was Ilya or the bed, and he couldn’t open his eyes to find out because his cock was aching and his body was rocking back and forth with every thrust.

“Shane,” Ilya whispered somewhere near his ear. “Almost.”

Shane whimpered, his fingers dug in harder, and he could tell now that they were on Ilya’s back, and he could do nothing to let go, like when you get an electric shock and your body’s instinct is to hold and clamp down instead of letting go, even though logically you know holding on might kill you. Shane did not care. He was holding on, even if it killed him. 

Just when he thought he could take no more, Ilya said, “Now.” Shane’s entire body responded to that one word, flying apart, coming so hard he saw white, then black, then stars, his body zinging with pleasure so deep he wasn’t sure where his limbs were or what they were doing while his cock spurted over and over between them. He didn’t register Ilya coming, but he could tell the rocking and thrusting had stopped, and his body had gone still while little aftershocks ran through him. Then he felt Ilya pull out, the emptiness even worse now than before. The air on his sweat-damp skin where Ilya had moved off him felt good, but he was still trying to catch his breath. Trying to land back on earth. He put his forearm over his eyes and stretched his legs out, even though his limbs felt too heavy. A few moments later he felt Ilya wiping a warm cloth across his stomach, then moving his legs apart again, cleaning him up. He moved his arm up to his forehead so he could see, only to find Ilya staring at him, an expression Shane might have thought reserved for when someone was looking at the most precious thing in the world on his face, before it shifted into a small smile.

“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning down to kiss Shane’s forehead.

Shane nodded. “I think you almost killed me. What the fuck,” he said, huffing a quiet laugh, his voice still rough.

Ilya climbed back into the bed, leaning over him until their chests were pressed together and his face was hovering over Shane’s, his eyes scanning his face.

“Was it okay? Tell me the truth,” Ilya said softly, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Yeah…it was definitely okay.”

“Good. Maybe we try that again one day, hm? But more.” Then he kissed him, soft and sweet, before he gathered Shane into his arms and rolled so he was on his back, and Shane was half sprawled on his chest, one arm draped over him. He ran his fingers through Shane’s hair and then down his back, soothing while his skin cooled down.

All Shane could do was nod against him. He felt boneless and floaty and completely at ease. His mind was calm, not even tomorrow’s impending exam could penetrate whatever spell Ilya had put on him. Shane sighed contentedly.

“What is it?” Ilya asked, his hand still on Shane’s lower back.

“Nothing. Feel good,” he murmured, his mouth barely opening enough to let the words out.

“Good,” Ilya said softly. 

Shane must have almost drifted off for a bit because when Ilya shifted lightly, it startled him.

“Sorry.” Ilya smoothed a hand over the back of his head. 

“It’s okay. Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“I’m glad you are so relaxed,” Ilya said. “Now I know what to do when you start freaking out about something.”

Shane snorted. “Fuck off.”

“Mm, don’t think that’s what you want,” he said, tightening his arm around him. “When do you get back in town?”

“A couple days after Christmas.”

Ilya nodded.

“Will Svetlana be here?” Shane asked and then cursed his dumb, mushy, sleepy, post-orgasm brain. Way to not sound pathetic. 

“No, she is already on a plane to Moscow.”

Shane should have felt ashamed at the absurdly huge wave of relief that washed over him. It’s not like Ilya couldn’t go out and find literally anyone else to hook up with while he was gone.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I hope you get to relax over the break.”

“Yes. That will be nice.”

Shane’s eyes were already fluttering shut again. Ilya must have noticed because he asked, “Do you want to go to sleep?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Of course.”

Ilya reached over to turn the lamp off, then pulled the comforter up over them. 

Shane was already starting to drift off again when he heard a whispered, “Goodnight, Shane.” But the reply never made it past his lips.

-

Ilya spent the next few days sleeping late, doing the mandated workouts from coach, and eating more hot cheetos than he probably should have. He watched bad reality TV, a few even worse Christmas movies, and got takeout from the Greek place down the street more than once. He could have gone out. Could have easily found someone to hook up with. Someone new each night if he wanted to. He hadn’t been out to any of his regular bars or clubs in months. But every time he thought about it, he picked up his phone instead. He texted Shane a few times, just enough to scratch whatever stupid itch was gnawing at him, but not enough to seem desperate. He wasn’t. He was just slightly bored.

He woke up on Christmas Eve and rolled out of bed reluctantly. It was tempting to just stay there all day. But he got up, went for a run against his will, got coffee and a bagel stuffed with enough cream cheese to undo his run from the cafe down the street, then went back to his apartment to shower and park himself on the couch for the rest of the day. 

He somehow ended up watching Elf and then A Bad Moms Christmas, and he wasn’t even sure how. He had no shame. He was about an hour into that when there was a knock on his door. He groaned, paused the terrible movie, and shuffled to the door, ready to tell whoever it was to fuck off. It was Christmas Eve after all.

Ilya opened the door and nearly slammed it shut again. Shane Hollander was standing there, wearing a soft blue sweater and black jeans, holding a white box in one hand, with a small, slightly shy smile on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ilya blurted out before he could stop himself.

Shane’s smile fell a little. “Uh…yeah, sorry. I probably should have texted first, huh?” His eyes slid past Ilya, like he was checking to see if anyone else was inside the apartment. 

Ilya didn’t even know what to say. “Why aren’t you in Canada?”

“I got back early.”

“Early? But…it’s Christmas Eve. What about your parents?”

Shane nodded, too fast. “Yeah, um, they uh…” He looked nervously at his feet. “They had other plans,” he said finally. “So I came back early.”

Ilya knew he was lying, he just wasn’t sure why. He realized he was blocking the doorway and stepped aside, waving him in. 

“What is that?” he asked, gesturing at the box in Shane’s hand.

“Oh,” Shane said. “Well…” Nervous again. It was adorable, but Ilya also wanted him to spit it out.

“Well?” he prompted.

“I um…I tried to find a bakery that had Russian cookies or desserts or I don’t know, anything. Have you heard of Russian Cake here? It’s apparently not Russian and was maybe created in the late 1800s by a New Orleans baker when a Russian Duke visited for Mardi Gras. But that’s also maybe not true, so no one really knows. And they make it by combining cake scraps and jam and something that tastes like licorice, and they cover it in buttercream and sprinkles. It was really gross, so I didn’t get that.” 

Ilya was holding back a laugh. Shane's rambling was entirely too endearing. Ilya also had no fucking idea what he was talking about.

“What?” he asked, not suppressing the giant smile fighting its way across his face.

“Uh, sorry. I heard that story at three different bakeries. All I got are Russian tea cakes?” There was a lilt at the end, like he was asking.

“Ah, yes. Those are good,” Ilya said. He had always liked the little shortbread cookies. 

“They might actually be Mexican wedding cookies. Or snowballs. No one seemed to know if they were all the same or different. They told me it was the closest thing they had. But um…they’re pretty good anyway.”

Ilya’s eyes were maybe not quite burning, but they were close. Because why was Shane Hollander in his apartment at 4pm on Christmas Eve with cookies for him, after apparently going to multiple bakeries to find them. 

“You got them for me?” he asked, his voice too thick. 

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Was that silly? I thought—”

Before he could finish, Ilya pulled him into a tight hug. Shane’s arms took a moment to go around him, startled and still holding the box.

“Thank you,” Ilya whispered, still doing his best to keep his eyes from trying to embarrass him by leaking for no reason.

“You’re welcome. I can go…if I’m interrupting.”

“No,” Ilya said, stepping back. “Come watch bad movies with me. We can eat your cookies.”

“Okay.” Shane smiled at him, kicked his shoes off, and followed Ilya to the couch. Ilya pressed play on the movie, suddenly remembering what it was. 

“Hm, maybe we should find a better movie.” He backed out of that and scrolled through the movies in the app. “What do you like?”

“You can put that back on. I don’t mind.”

Ilya turned it back on and relaxed against the cushions, wondering if the smile on his face was as big and dopey as it felt. 

“Are you going to open those?” Ilya asked, pointing at the box Shane had set on the coffee table.

Shane reached over and grabbed the box, popping the piece of tape holding it closed. Inside were a couple dozen round cookies, covered in powdered sugar, with little pieces of pecans poking through. Ilya picked one up and took a bite.

“Mm,” he hummed in delight. “I have not had these in years.” 

“Are they okay?” Shane asked.

“Delicious. Eat one.”

“I had one earlier,” he said, but he picked one up anyway and stared at it for a second too long. Ilya figured he was thinking about his "condition" again. 

“It’s Christmas. Calories don’t count,” Ilya said playfully.

Shane rolled his eyes and took a bite, powdered sugar coating his lips. Ilya watched his tongue dart out, swiping it away before he put the other half of the cookie in his mouth, leaving another streak of powdered sugar behind. He licked his lips again after but missed some of it. Ilya leaned over and kissed him, letting his tongue drag along his lips, tasting the sweetness of the sugar and whatever was just Shane. 

Once Ilya had started kissing him, he didn’t want to stop. It had only been five days, but it felt like much longer. Now that Shane was here, he needed to have his hands and mouth on him. He pushed him down on the couch, until Shane’s head was on the armrest, and Ilya was on top of him. 

“Missed you,” Ilya murmured against his lips, knowing and not caring that he was walking that dangerous line. The one they seemed to live on these days, always teetering, waiting to topple over into something unwinnable. 

“I missed you too,” Shane whispered. Those big brown eyes that always said too much were locked on his, and Ilya savored it. The eye contact, the look that Ilya didn’t want to put a name to, even if he could. He could get lost in them. They were warm and safe and all the things Ilya wanted and couldn’t have. But he could have this right now.

Ilya unbuttoned Shane’s jeans and pulled them down just far enough to free his cock. He looked up at him, those warm eyes still on him, darker now, full of desire and too soft, and Ilya looked away before he said something he couldn’t take back. He turned his attention to the already leaking cock in front of him and licked over the head, the familiar saltiness washing over his tongue to mix with the sweetness of the powdered sugar. He spent some time using his tongue there until Shane was practically writhing beneath him. He glanced up to see Shane’s head thrown back, but when Ilya’s mouth left his cock, he lifted it to look down at him. Ilya made a show of giving the head of his cock a kiss, with tongue, and then he leaned up to do the same to Shane’s mouth. 

“I’m going to make you come like this, and then later, I will fuck you properly,” he murmured against Shane’s mouth. “Okay?”

Shane nodded, a low moan escaping him when Ilya kissed him again. Then he moved back down to take Shane’s cock into his mouth, this time not stopping to tease him. He pushed one hand up under his sweater, squeezing his pecs, running his thumb over each nipple, enjoying every moan and shiver. One of Shane’s hands ended up tangled in his curls, and he enjoyed that too, the way Shane’s fingers tightened when the pleasure was too much, and loosened when Ilya let up a little, each push and tug just making his own cock harder. 

“I’m gonna—” Shane started, his fingers tightening again. Ilya bobbed his head faster, putting pressure right where he knew Shane liked it, and he was rewarded with a mouthful of cum that he swallowed down. Mostly. He tucked Shane’s cock back into his boxer briefs and then leaned up to kiss him, pushing his tongue into Shane’s mouth, knowing that tasting himself there would get a reaction out of him. And it did. He kissed Ilya harder, tongue pushing back, and Ilya drew him in, relishing that greedy little movement.

Eventually they had switched places, and Shane had his cock in his mouth. Ilya let one hand rest loosely in his hair, the silky, black strands slipping through his fingers. Ilya was trying to focus on the pull of that warm, wet mouth, but his mind kept going back to why Shane was here, back from Canada early, missing Christmas with his parents. Because Ilya knew it couldn’t be just to see him. And yet…he was failing to come up with anything else. 

He made himself focus on what Shane was doing, the way it made his whole body feel so fucking good. Shane had learned quickly how Ilya liked it. As if he’d studied it, studied Ilya’s reactions, filing each of them away until he could use them together, and fuck if he wasn’t a goddamn savant when it came to undoing Ilya Rozanov.

“Shane,” he said in warning, knowing Shane didn’t always want to swallow. But he didn’t stop or slow down, he swallowed around him and let Ilya spill himself in that tight heat. Ilya let his head tip back against the armrest while Shane pulled his sweatpants back up and then crawled up to lay on top of him. Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane’s back and lifted his head for a kiss, wanting nothing more than to stay like this, tangled together, for as long as possible. 

“So…” Shane started, still hovering a few inches away. “I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight?” He sounded nervous.

“Out?”

“Uh yeah…I figured since almost everyone we know is out of town, it’d probably be okay?” 

“Where do you want to go?” Ilya asked, intrigued.

“I was thinking downtown…walk around the French Quarter? Some of the hotels have cool light displays.”

Ilya knew he should say no. Not because he wanted to. He wanted, desperately, to do nothing more than go out with Shane, do things usually reserved for couples. And that was the problem. A terrible idea. The worst idea.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

-

An hour later, they were sitting on the streetcar, heading downtown. Shane had suggested they do this instead of uber, to enjoy all the lights on St. Charles Ave. The sun had gone down, only the faintest light still hanging on the horizon. Ilya let Shane have the window seat, and as soon as the green car lurched forward, making its slow, steady way up the neutral ground, he took Shane’s hand in his. The evening air filtering in through the windows was pleasant, only 13°C, not cold enough to bother a Russian or Canadian, but just cool enough to make it feel Christmasy, at least for New Orleans.

Every so often, Shane looked over at him, a small smile on his face that Ilya wanted to kiss until it melted under his lips. Instead, he squeezed Shane’s hand and smiled back and pretended that this was a thing they could do. Just exist, together.

They got off the streetcar and made their way up Canal St. to the Roosevelt Hotel. The light display throughout the hotel’s lobby was a famous spot for spectating and taking pictures, and Ilya wasn’t surprised to find it was crowded on Christmas Eve, people stretched from one side of the white lights dripping from branches lining the long room, dotted with red poinsettias and fake snow-dusted trees, to the other. It was beautiful and romantic, and there were couples taking photos everywhere. 

Ilya had decided, maybe long before this night, that he would take what he could get of this, even knowing every bit he gathered up would make it hurt just that much more when he inevitably had to give it back. He took Shane’s hand in his again, sticking close to him among the press of bodies. He could tell Shane wasn’t loving the crowd, but his eyes were darting around, taking in the hundreds of thousands of lights, awe and discomfort warring on his face.

Ilya stopped them in front of a lit-up tree where there was a few feet of space between them and the rest of the crowd . He pulled Shane in close and held his phone up, the front-facing camera on.

“Smile,” he said. And Shane did, with his frequent close-mouthed smile that always looked more genuine than his other ones. First he looked at the camera, and Ilya clicked the button. Then Shane glanced over at him, his smile going softer, and Ilya clicked it again. And he knew those pictures alone would be worth whatever heartache lay in store for him.

“What do you want to do next?” Ilya asked as they made their way back through the hotel’s lobby and out to the street. 

“The Ritz-Carlton across the street has a huge gingerbread streetcar thing. And more lights.” Shane shrugged, but Ilya could tell he wanted to go.

They crossed Canal St. and walked into the not-quite-as-crowded lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, making their way over to the big streetcar model decorated like gingerbread.

Ilya made Shane stand in front of it and took a picture of just him. He looked like a happy kid, standing there with his endearing crooked smile, hands awkwardly at his sides. Ilya thought he looked kind of like the man standing emoji and laughed quietly to himself, wanting nothing more than to pull him into his arms. Instead, they walked around some more, stopping under a canopy of white lights coming up from the trunk of a tree and spreading over them like a weeping willow, dotted with colorful ornament-shaped lights. Rocking Around the Christmas Tree was playing in the background, faint but audible over the chatter of the small crowd. He had Shane’s hand in his again, their shoulders brushing as they stayed close together. 

“Maybe that’s enough hotel lights?” Shane asked as they made their way to the doors. 

“What do you want to do then?” Ilya asked.

Shane shrugged. “We could just walk around?”

“Okay,” Ilya said and grabbed his hand again, leading the way back out onto Canal St. and turning down Bourbon St. “Want to stop for a drink?”

“Sure,” Shane said, no hesitation. 

Ilya nodded to a sign reading Old Absinthe House up ahead. “You want something strong or something fun?”

Shane snorted. “Fun, please.”

Ilya smiled and pulled him inside the little bar. “Don’t worry, not everything here has absinthe.” He pointed at the menu over the bar. “That one is coffee and Bailey’s and a few other good-tasting things. They even put whipped cream on top. Maybe you would like it?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” There was only the briefest hesitation, but maybe Christmas was enough of an excuse to stop worrying about his condition for an evening. 

They took seats at the bar, and Ilya ordered that and a vodka for himself, but he also ended up sipping Shane’s drink, which was really sweet and rich. 

“This feels like it should be illegal,” Shane said, taking another sip. 

“Good, yes?”

“Really good.”

“So, where to next?” Ilya asked, his hand on Shane’s thigh beneath the bar. “How many things did you plan for us tonight?” His heart fluttered just thinking about Shane planning a night out for them.

“Not much else. I figured we could walk around Jackson Square, maybe?”

“We could go dancing at Oz,” Ilya said, lifting an eyebrow suggestively. 

“Uh…I’m not sure…”

“Relax,” Ilya said, squeezing his thigh. “I’m only kidding. I want to walk around Jackson Square with you. Ready?”

Shane nodded. “Have you been to Oz?” he asked.

“Just once, with Sveta and some of her friends.”

“Oh. Cool. How was it?” He sounded very interested.

“Just like a regular club, but more fun. Why? You are wanting to go to a gay club?” Ilya asked, keeping his voice neutral. Imagining Shane in a gay club without him, on a dance floor pressed between sweaty, gyrating bodies…get a grip.

Shane shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s really my scene. Just…curious.”

“Ah, yes, I see. Maybe someplace quieter would be better for meeting people.” Ilya choked those words out, even as they left a bitter taste on his tongue. Shane could meet other people. Should meet other people.

Shane didn’t say anything else as they finished up and left the bar, walking down Bourbon in the direction of Jackson Square. But he was the one who took Ilya’s hand this time, sliding their fingers together and squeezing lightly, and Ilya felt it like a vice around his heart.

They walked the next few blocks down Bourbon St. in comfortable silence, enjoying the celebratory atmosphere of the crowds, the loud chatter of the inebriated mixing with Christmas songs pouring out of doorways. There were people standing on balconies sporting beads around their necks, something that happened year-round, just in much fewer numbers than during carnival season. They took a right on St. Peter, walking up one side of Jackson Square toward the river.

“We could get beignets,” Shane said. 

Ilya gave him an exaggerated look of surprise. “Cookies, dessert drink, and beignets all in one day? Are you feeling okay?”

“Fuck off.” Shane was smiling, and he squeezed Ilya’s hand playfully. “It’s Christmas.”

They crossed Decatur St. and got in line at Café Du Monde. There was always a line. It didn’t take long before they had one order of beignets—three squares of fried dough perfectly coated in powdered sugar—and a frozen Café Au Lait for Ilya and a hot black coffee for Shane. He did at least add cream. They sat at one of the tiny round tables, and Ilya dug into a beignet first, the hot crispy outside and the doughy center perfect, powdered sugar blowing everywhere.

“Ilya,” Shane exclaimed when powdered sugar landed on his blue sweater and black jacket. 

It was like they both registered it at the same time, that Shane had called him Ilya, something they had both been avoiding when they weren’t naked and sweating on each other. Shane’s face went from smiling and fake exasperation to slightly surprised, his eyes almost worried, like he was about to be scolded. Ilya swallowed hard and took another bite.

“Sorry,” he said, sending more powdered sugar across the table. “Want me to lick it off of you?”

Shane’s face pulled back into a smile, and he shook his head. “So uncivilized.”

Ilya shrugged. “Getting messy is part of the experience.” Shane was still watching him, his closed-lipped smile on his face, much too soft for the moment, but Ilya wanted it to stay there. 

“Shane,” he said deliberately, watching the smallest wave of surprise pass over Shane’s face again. “Eat.”

Shane rolled his eyes and picked up one of the beignets. He took a much neater bite than Ilya had, but the powdered sugar would not be defeated. Even after he licked his lips, there was some left, and it took every bit of self-control Ilya had ever possessed not to lean over that table and lick it off. Maybe it was just muscle memory from earlier with the cookies, but he had started to lean forward before he caught himself. Shook himself. Reminded himself that it wasn't safe, and that Shane was not his to do things like that with in public, and the only reason they did it in private was because…well, there wasn’t a good reason for that either, but at least it was safer.

They split the third beignet, and by the time they were done, both of them had powdered sugar in various places, but Shane still had a spot on his chin. Ilya reached across the table and swiped it away with his thumb, the more publicly acceptable method. But he let it linger too long, brushing up across Shane’s bottom lip, watching as Shane’s eyes fluttered just briefly. Ilya pulled his hand back, but his eyes stayed locked on the brown ones across from him until they both stood up to leave.

“Uh, so…” Shane said as they passed through the low iron rail, stepping out from under the green and white canopy. “We could walk by the river for a little bit? Or we can go home if you're bored.”

“Let’s walk.” Ilya didn’t want the night to end. Even if there was a prize more delicious than beignets to be had when they got home. They climbed the steps that were directly across Decatur St. from Jackson Square. Ilya pulled Shane down to sit on the top step for a few minutes. St. Louis Cathedral was in front of them, red bows on the streetlights, white lights in some of the bushes, the faint noise of happy tourists and jazz music that always seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere throughout the city, the Mississippi River quietly chugging along behind them. Ilya sighed and scooted closer to Shane until their thighs were pressed together. The only more perfect moment Ilya could conjure up was dancing with Shane at the masquerade ball. Otherwise, this was it. His chest was simultaneously so full of joy and dread, but he let the joy win out for now. It was Christmas after all. And no one here knew who he was or that being outed would ruin his life. Or worse. They could just do this…be together right here and now.

Shane leaned into him, and Ilya gave in and put an arm around him. 

“Why did you really come back early?” Ilya asked, knowing he shouldn’t, doing it anyway.

Shane glanced over at him and then away, his eyes back on the cathedral across the way. He swallowed nervously. “I thought you might like some company.”

Ilya looked down at the step beneath his feet, his eyes too wet. Before he could say anything else, Shane said, “And because I just wanted to spend Christmas with you.”

Shane was still carefully looking anywhere but at him, so Ilya gently cradled his jaw and turned his head, forcing him to look. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice holding too much emotion, and he couldn’t have, maybe wouldn’t have, stopped it, even if he could. Shane smiled, and it was kind of squished and adorable because of how Ilya’s fingers were pressed into his cheeks, and even this he couldn’t have stopped, so he didn’t even think about it; he just leaned in and pressed their lips together. 

“Do you still want to walk by the river, or do you want to go home now?” Shane asked when they pulled apart, his voice low, eyes already hooded and dark.

“Home.” He wanted nothing more than to be wrapped around Shane, to be inside of him, kissing him where no one could see.

They got an uber this time, not wanting to wait. Ilya didn’t care that the prices were higher tonight. It was worth it. And when the car pulled up to their building less than an hour later, they wasted no time getting upstairs. Ilya followed Shane into #6.

“Uh, I want to shower first. Is that okay?” Shane asked. 

“Why are you nervous?” He put his hands on Shane’s waist and pulled him in close, the urgency still there, but now that they were home, he could be patient.

“I’m not.”

“Hm, okay. Can I shower with you?”

“Of course.”

They did shower, and they managed to do it quickly without getting too distracted, only a few roaming hands that were eager to do more, mostly Ilya’s that lingered too long between Shane’s cheeks when he offered to help him wash. 

“Ilya,” Shane said, laughing when Ilya started massaging that tight ring. His name on Shane’s tongue once again did not go unnoticed. 

“What? I want in.” Shane’s back was to him, and Ilya pressed his cock against him this time, sliding between his wet cheeks, making them both moan. 

They got out and dried off, and Ilya kissed him, pulling Shane in close, wrapping his arms around him. Tonight felt different. Somehow most nights with Shane felt different, like every time they were together, something new was added, something bigger and deeper and more permanent, and it scared the everloving shit out of Ilya. It also overwhelmed him and made him want even more. Greedy, so greedy. 

He walked them to the bed without letting go, until Shane was on his back and Ilya was on top of him, cradled between his legs, lips on his neck.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured against Shane’s pulse before he licked and sucked, drawing a little moan from him.

“Me too. I hope I didn’t ruin any plans or anything.” His voice was low, but Ilya could still hear the uncertainty in it. He stopped and lifted his head so he could look Shane in the eyes.

“What plans do you think you would be ruining?” 

Shane shrugged. “I mean, with someone else.”

Ilya let out a quiet breath. He knew he was about to say something he shouldn’t.

“There is no one else.”

Shane’s lips parted, his brows drawing together. “What?”

Keeping one hand braced on the bed, he brought the other up to run through his damp hair. “I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”

“But…” Shane looked genuinely confused. “Not even Svetlana?”

Ilya really, deeply, momentarily wished he could rewind the last two minutes. Had that been a mistake he could live with?…he sighed. They were both going to have to now.

“No, not even.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not a big deal. Now can we—”

“Why?” Shane asked, cutting him off. 

“When would I even time?” Ilya asked honestly. They spent almost every night together. Had been for months now. 

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry if I’ve been keeping you from—”

“Shane.” This time Ilya cut him off. “Do you force me to come here every night? To sleep in your bed?”

Shane swallowed. “No.”

“Exactly,” Ilya said. “Now can we get back to this?” He rolled his hips, rubbing their cocks together, only half hard now.

“Wait,” Shane said quickly. “Uh…are you planning to, you know, keep doing that? Sleeping in my bed every night?”

Dangerous. Ilya knew it. Knew he should shut this down immediately. Knew that the question on the surface was not the one he was going to answer and not the one Shane was really asking. The truth already existed, but if Shane wasn’t in on it, wasn’t already as sure of it as Ilya, then it wasn’t real. If he was…dangerous. But Shane’s big doe eyes were on his, and his face was so hesitant, so surprised, like Ilya had just revealed something earth shattering. Ilya closed his eyes briefly, like he was surrendering, because he was.

“If you want me to,” he said finally.

“I do.”

Ilya let his forehead thunk lightly against Shane’s, his chest doing something stupid and fluttery and warm, and his eyes trying to join it. He closed them tight for a moment, then opened them to find Shane’s brown ones looking at him from an inch away, and he felt raw, exposed, but also safe and warm and like he never wanted to be anywhere else. Fuck.

“Now can we get back to fucking?” Ilya asked. He kept his voice light, but he wanted the distance, before anything else slipped out tonight. After Shane came back early just to be with him. And brought him Russian cookies. And took him on what could, by most standards, be considered a date. And was now looking at him like…

Shane nodded and pulled him down into a kiss where they both let out all the other things that would cut like jagged glass if they came out any other way. But here, in the soft press of lips, the velvet brush of tongues, the warm slide of bodies against one another, everything could be true.

Ilya moved his mouth down to Shane’s neck, kissing and licking, drawing delicious little sounds from him that went straight to Ilya’s cock. He moved further down, locking his lips around one nipple while he rubbed the other with his thumb, and he could feel Shane’s hips moving, his cock rubbing against Ilya’s thigh.

“I love how responsive you are,” Ilya said before he dragged his tongue forcefully over Shane’s nipple again. “Love knowing I can do that to you.”

Ilya bit down, not hard, just enough to make Shane whimper and push Ilya’s head closer to his chest, wanting more. He moved to the other nipple, licking and sucking before he used his teeth to make Shane writhe beneath him.

“Do you want my fingers…” he said, reaching down to run one over Shane’s hole, “or my mouth here?”

Shane’s eyes were already unfocused, his lips red and a little swollen from kissing, making Ilya want to kiss him again.

“Mouth,” Shane said finally. Ilya leaned up and kissed him once before moving further down the bed to spread his legs and push his thighs up, giving him the space he needed.

He settled on his stomach and started lapping at Shane’s hole, tiny little kitten licks at first, just enough to make Shane push against him, seeking more. Ilya had a brief moment of clarity and reached over the side of the bed to pick up his t-shirt and shove it under Shane’s ass because he was planning to be messy. He started licking and rimming him properly, letting his mouth work over Shane’s hole with lips and tongue and saliva that was already dripping down onto the shirt. 

“Fuck,” Shane breathed, one of his hands grasping at Ilya’s hair. 

Ilya stopped for just a moment, long enough to say, “Hold your legs up.”

Shane did, holding each behind the knee, giving Ilya more room to work. His own hard cock was pressing into the mattress beneath him, impatient to be inside of Shane, who was melting under the onslaught of Ilya’s tongue. Ilya loved feeling Shane relax against him, that tight muscle finally letting him inside, letting his tongue push in while Shane moaned and fell apart around him. He knew he could make Shane come just from this, and one day he would, but not today. He kept licking and sucking, the noises coming from his mouth against Shane’s skin obscene in the quiet, punctuated only by Shane’s soft moans and occasional whispered “fuck.”

“Ilya,” Shane whined eventually. “Please.”

Ilya lifted his head to see Shane looking at him, his eyes hooded and lips parted, damp hair a mess, looking so debauched that Ilya almost moaned just at the sight of him. He wiped his chin, drenched with spit, and then crawled back up Shane’s body and leaned down to kiss him. Shane kissed him so hungrily and frantically that Ilya was almost too distracted to reach over and grab what they needed from the nightstand.

“Too good?” he whispered against Shane’s lips.

Shane huffed a quiet laugh and nodded. “Fuck. I want to do that to you one day.”

That sent a surge of heat through Ilya. He didn’t usually let anyone do that, or anything else involving his ass, uncomfortable with the vulnerability. And he did not take for granted how trusting Shane was.

“Maybe I will let you,” Ilya murmured honestly against his lips before he leaned up, slicked a finger, and pushed it into Shane, just for good measure. It slipped in with no resistance, and Ilya wasted no more time. He rolled on a condom, slicked himself, and then pushed his cock into that warm, wet heat, so ready for him. He stayed right where he was, face to face, lips to lips, until Shane’s neck stretched back and Ilya kissed him there instead. 

Shane’s arms were around him, keeping him close, not that he had planned to move. He fucked Shane slow and hard, while they kissed, and Shane’s eyes stayed on his and that alone sent more heat and something too tender through him. 

Shane. Shane. Shane. You came back for me, so I wouldn’t be alone on Christmas. You’re looking at me like I hung the stars, and no one has looked at me that way in nearly ten years. You’re holding my heart in your hands, and you could so easily crush it but your hands are soft and gentle and safe.

Ilya closed his eyes, let his forehead rest against Shane’s, afraid of what they might say if they stayed open. He fucked Shane harder, faster, letting his breathy little moans wash over him, the places where his fingers were digging into Ilya’s back ground him. 

“Shane,” he whispered. “This is the best Christmas I’ve had in a really long time.” There. Honest, but not enough to break them.

Shane blinked up at him. “Me too.” 

Then Shane pulled him in for a kiss, just a quick brush of lips while they were both panting too hard, but Shane kept him there, even their noses smashed together, so close, so intimate. Ilya’s body was coming apart, the pressure and warmth spreading through his groin.

“I’m going to come,” he said against Shane’s cheek. “Are you close?”

Shane nodded and slipped a hand between them, and only seconds later he felt Shane clench around him, felt his arm tighten around his back while hot, wet ropes of cum spurted between them, and Ilya let himself follow, coming so hard he saw stars while waves of pleasure rushed through him and his cock pulsed over and over again. His body finally went limp against Shane, and he felt fingers running through his hair, massaging his scalp and the back of his neck, so good he couldn’t even open his eyes, could only sigh and nuzzle into Shane’s neck.

Eventually his softening cock slipped out of Shane’s body, and he knew he needed to get up. He shifted off of Shane and onto his side to pull the condom off. Before he could roll off the bed, Shane put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. 

“Let me,” he said, taking the tied off condom and slipping out of the bed. Ilya let him go and stretched out on his back, ignoring the cum cooling on his stomach, his mind still on Shane, here with him instead of his family, where he was supposed to be right now but wasn’t because he didn’t want Ilya to be alone.

His eyes were still burning when Shane came back in the room with a warm washcloth and wiped his stomach clean, then his cock, his hands so gentle, the care so tender, Ilya’s eyes didn’t even have a chance to recover before they were burning again.

Shane tossed the cloth and then climbed back into the bed, settling himself between Ilya’s legs, looking down at him, a mirror of the position they’d been in only minutes ago. Shane was smiling softly at him and then kissed him, slow and sweet, and Ilya was going to come undone.

“Merry Christmas,” Shane said, glancing at the clock. Just after midnight.

“Merry Christmas.” Ilya sighed and tightened his arms around him. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“I got stuff to cook. I figured we could have some kind of Christmas dinner. Maybe watch movies?”

Ilya nodded. “Sounds perfect.” 

Shane shifted off of him until he was on his side, head resting on Ilya’s chest. Ilya ran his fingers through Shane’s hair, enjoying the little purr he got in response.

“So, what did you tell your parents you were coming back early for?” Ilya asked.

“Oh…uh, I told them we were doing a team visit to the children’s hospital. Which, yeah, that’s…I feel bad for lying. And even worse for not actually going to the children’s hospital. I’ll have to make up for that somehow.”

Ilya snorted. “Didn’t want to tell them you came back to get railed by your…neighbor?”

He didn’t even know which word he almost let slip there. It wasn’t teammate though.

Shane shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“What? Is true, yes?”

“That’s not why, and you know it.”

“Mm…but still good perk, right?”

Shane laughed. “Yes. Obviously.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give you more of that tomorrow, to make your trip worthwhile.” He squeezed Shane’s side, making him squirm. 

“You better if I’m going to cook for you,” Shane said, smiling. 

Ilya’s heart skipped. “We will cook together.”

Shane nodded against him and sighed contentedly. “Together.”

Ilya tried and failed not to think about how right that sounded, how perfect. Because no matter how much he wanted it to last forever, he knew it couldn’t. He pressed his lips to the top of Shane’s head while he listened to his breathing even out and felt his body go loose against him, and wondered, not for the first time, if there was any way he could have this. For now he could at least enjoy this little pocket of time when the outside world…his father, Russia, the Order, the murders, Cliff…couldn’t intrude.

Chapter End Notes

The offending Russian Cake (some people love it. I am not one of them).

https://www.nola.com/entertainment_life/eat-drink/russian-cake-nola/article_1d09a103-bd79-4b77-9af1-b23ff9774e14.amp.html

Chapter 10: The mess

Ilya woke up first the next morning. Shane was on his side, back to Ilya, his skin glowing warmly in the very faint light coming through the window. It was early. Much too early to be up on Christmas when they had nothing to do. Ilya slipped out of bed quietly and padded softly to the bathroom. Before he finished up there, he decided to brush his teeth for good measure. In case Shane woke up soon. They both kept toothbrushes in each other's apartments, among other things.

When he walked back into the bedroom, Shane was stirring. He blinked sleepily at him, a smile curving his lips when his eyes landed on Ilya.

“Morning,” Ilya said, sliding back into bed and pulling Shane against him.

“Morning.”

Ilya leaned in to kiss him, but Shane pulled back.

“I have morning breath,” he said, rolling over.

“I don’t care,” Ilya said, but Shane was already getting up.

“I’ll be right back.”

Ilya nodded and stretched onto his back, feeling light and happy and like he’d won the fucking lottery. It was Christmas morning, and he wasn’t even alone.

Shane came back and slipped into the bed beside him, so they were both on their sides facing each other.

“It’s Christmas,” Shane said, smiling at him.

“Yes. What is my present?” Ilya asked, scooting closer.

“Hm,” Shane hummed. “What would you like?” He reached down to run his fingers along Ilya’s already hard cock. “This?”

“Maybe.” Ilya pushed a hand between Shane’s thighs, which was no easy feat, thick and muscled as they were. “Or this?” He managed to run a finger over Shane’s hole, but he could tell it was probably too soon for that again. “No, maybe later for this.”

Shane nodded. Ilya slipped his hand up to Shane’s cock and stroked him, slow and lazy. They were in no hurry, and they didn’t get to indulge in morning sex often, usually running off to practice soon after waking up. Sometimes on Sundays, but even then, there was usually something else to pull them away. Not today.

Ilya leaned closer so they could kiss while they stroked each other, slightly awkward at this angle, both on their sides, but they made it work. 

“Let me try something,” Ilya said, gently pushing Shane’s hand off his cock. “Hold yours.”

Shane didn’t ask questions, he just wrapped his hand around the base of his cock while Ilya did the same. Then he lined himself up with Shane, so the heads of their cocks were touching, tip to tip. Then he pulled his foreskin up and over his tip, then further until it covered a good portion of Shane’s cock.

“Oh,” Shane said, a little gasp of surprise. 

“Does that feel good for you?” Ilya watched as he slid the delicate skin back and forth over them. If nothing else, it was fucking hot to watch. Something about Shane being…encased in him. Almost as intimate as him being encased in Shane the other way. 

“Yeah, really good.” Shane was rocking into him a bit, making the heads of their cocks rub together even more while Ilya focused the pressure of his fingers on the underside of their heads, making Shane moan in short little intakes of breath. 

“Want to come like this?” Ilya asked. He didn’t even need lube. Shane was leaking so much precome, the slide was perfect, a little friction amongst the increasing slickness. 

“Yeah,” Shane breathed, then leaned in until their lips were pressed together again. Ilya kept his hand moving in a steady rhythm, but neither of them was in a hurry to finish. They kissed lazily, pulling back and sharing breath while they watched their joined cocks, both of them making satisfied and needy sounds as Ilya’s hand slid back and forth.

“See what you are missing? I will never understand why they like to cut this off,” Ilya said. “Why did they do that to you?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Shane said, his voice amused but breathy with their shared pleasure.

“Strange North Americans. Maybe you should ask your parents why.”

“Oh my god, Ilya. Please never mention them again while we’re doing this,” Shane whined, almost pulling back enough for this cock to slip from Ilya’s grip.

Ilya laughed. “Sorry. Come here.” Shane leaned in, and Ilya briefly kissed his lips before moving to his neck, licking and sucking his way down to the curve of his shoulder. He let himself suck the soft skin there longer than usual, knowing they still had a few days before anyone would be shirtless in a locker room, and he wanted to see his mark there. Shane moaned and pushed up against his mouth, his hips already starting to move more.

“Hold still,” Ilya whispered against his neck. “Let me do the work.”

Shane stopped moving immediately. Ilya rewarded him by stroking them faster and tightening his grip. One of Shane’s hands was at the back of his neck, fingers curling against him, holding him close so their lips were nearly touching, sharing breath.

Ilya could feel Shane’s body starting to tense, his breath coming faster against Ilya’s lips. He tightened his grip, twisted on the upstroke, and pushed his tongue into Shane’s mouth just as his cock pulsed in Ilya’s hand. The extra slickness was enough to send Ilya over the edge while he kept kissing Shane, gasping into his mouth, their mingled cum dripping through his fingers onto Shane’s poor bedsheets. 

Ilya let his forehead rest against Shane’s, his hand still holding their cocks, more gently now. Shane moved first, reaching over to grab tissues from the nightstand and wiping them both off, handing Ilya one for his hand, then swiping uselessly at the spots on the sheets.

After he tossed the tissues aside, Shane curled around him, one arm draped over Ilya’s waist, face pressed to his chest, nuzzling against him, still soft and sleepy. Ilya pet the top of his head, enjoying the feel of the silky strands through his fingers.

“Merry Christmas,” Ilya said, and Shane laughed. 

“Was that my present or yours?”

“Both.” 

"Well, it was fucking hot." Then Shane yawned and tucked his head under Ilya’s chin.

“We can go back to sleep for a little while,” Ilya said. “Nothing to do today.”

“Maybe just for a bit,” Shane murmured, sleepy voice already dropping off.

Ilya stroked his hair until Shane’s breathing evened out, and then he drifted off too.

-

They spent the rest of Christmas day relaxing together and then cooking together. It was probably one of the most perfect days of Ilya’s life, right alongside several others that all happened to involve Shane. The next few were just as nice, even with coach’s mandated workouts mixed in; between those, they fucked and watched movies and napped and cooked. At least he would always have those memories, even when this thing ended.

On the 30th, he’d gotten texts from Sveta and Marly about New Year’s Eve. Apparently everyone was converging on a nightclub downtown to ring in the new year dancing and drinking.

“We can go and hang out with our friends, no one will know,” Ilya said, trying to get Shane on board. “Rose will be there. You can invite your idiot friend Pike, but he will probably already be going since Marly is.”

“I don’t dance,” Shane said, looking at him with comic betrayal.

“Then don’t. Just stand around and watch the rest of us.” Ilya leaned across the couch until he was hovering over Shane, mouths close. “Or you can try…I would like to see it.”

Shane snorted. “Trust me, you don’t want to see that.”

“Come on,” Ilya said, drawing out the last word into a whine. “I will sneak off to kiss you at midnight.”

Shane smiled and rolled his eyes. “I guess. But what am I supposed to wear?”

“Tightest pants you have and a t-shirt. It will be dark anyway.”

And so the next night they headed downtown with Rose, Sveta, and Ali, and Cliff and his three roommates, unfortunately including Pike, were meeting them there, along with a few others from various friend groups. The club was already packed, but at least they got in before they started turning people away. It was lit up in pink and blue lights, the music was loud, and Ilya could feel it through the floor. He downed two shots of vodka, his eyes on Shane the entire time. He was fine, standing by the bar, talking to Rose and sipping a beer. He had on dark jeans and a tight blue t-shirt, and he looked…too good. 

Ilya found Sveta and dragged her to the dance floor, falling into their easy rhythm together. His eyes stayed on Shane more often than they should have, drawn to him like a magnet, the power of which he was useless against. He was relieved to see Rose sticking close to him. Not that Shane couldn’t take care of himself. Ilya knew that. They were well matched in size and strength, and Shane wasn’t stupid. But he also wasn’t as socially aware as Ilya, and as endearing as it was, it also made Ilya feel protective. 

He tried to keep his focus on Sveta, and then Cliff was dancing next to them with a blonde Ilya didn’t know. Time slipped by, the haze of alcohol and loud music and warm bodies blurring the minutes, making Ilya forget for a while that there was anything other than that and the big brown eyes that occasionally met his from just off the dance floor. Rose had even managed to drag Shane out for a while, his movements looser than Ilya expected, probably from however many drinks Rose kept pushing into his hands. He looked happy, though. Relaxed. Ilya couldn’t wait to get his mouth on him at midnight, which was less than an hour away. He didn’t know how, but he would find a way. If he couldn’t dance with him, he at least needed that.

“Hey,” Cliff said, bumping his shoulder. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?”

It was 28 minutes until midnight. Ilya didn’t want to go anywhere.

“Dude…it’s important.” 

“Fuck, Marly. Fine.” Ilya followed him off the dance floor and through a door out into a courtyard where the sudden absence of music was disorienting.

“What?” Ilya asked again, stopping to stare at Cliff’s clearly distressed face.

-

Shane had watched Cliff drag Ilya off the dance floor and out a door, and he had to physically restrain himself from following. The vodka tonics that Rose had been ordering him were clearly in control now, and the last thing he needed was to slip up and touch Ilya in front of all their friends and teammates.

“Hi,” said a familiar voice next to him. “Remember me?”

Shane looked at the man, recognizing the sharp jaw and dark hair that was styled the same way. 

“James, right? Of course.”

James nodded. “Nice to see you here without a mask covering your face.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Want to dance?”

Shane immediately took a step back. “Uh, no, sorry. I’m here with friends and teammates. They don’t…”

“Oh shit, yeah. Sorry. That’s alright, dancing isn’t really my thing anyway.”

“Same. I’m mostly here to watch.”

“Well,” James said, “we can watch together then?”

Shane hesitated for a moment. James was nice and good-looking and probably exactly who Shane should be hanging out with. But the only person he wanted was currently somewhere out of sight with Cliff Marlow.

“Sure.”

They chatted for a few minutes, and Shane’s eyes stayed on the door Ilya had disappeared through. 

“It’s almost midnight,” James said eventually. “Want to go out and watch the fireworks?”

Shane did not want to do that. He wanted his promised New Year’s kiss from someone else. But he knew that was just talk. Not possible. Not safe. He also desperately needed a breath of fresh air after being in this club for too long.

“Yeah, okay.” 

He followed James out a different door, this one leading to a small alley between this club and the bar next door.

“There should be a good view up here.” He pointed toward the side street behind them.

Shane kept glancing back, wishing this was one of those times Ilya popped up out of nowhere. But at least he could hang out with someone. James really was attractive. And seemingly interested. Shane just didn’t care.

“We could go back to my place,” James said. “It’s not too far from here. Much more private.” His voice held just enough heat to let Shane know what he meant. 

Maybe before Christmas, he would have considered. He had still been considering Ilya casual. Or at least he’d been trying to. He’d planned to text Will. He’d planned to have other people, like Ilya did. Except now Ilya didn’t. He’d said there had been no one else in months. 

“I can’t,” Shane said. “My friends…I need to stay with them.”

A flash of disappointment…maybe irritation.

“You need babysitters?”

Shane stopped walking. “No. What the fuck?”

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I just like you. And I know I can’t show that in front of them.” James softened his voice, but Shane was still insulted.

“Maybe some other time,” Shane said, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen now. “Sorry.”

James reached out and took his wrist before he could turn to go. It wasn’t threatening, but Shane still didn’t like the gesture. It wasn’t like when Ilya grabbed his wrist to pull him in for a kiss, or just to touch him. It felt wrong. As luck would have it, or maybe it was more than luck by now, the low, velvety voice he could never get enough of sounded from behind him.

“Shane.” Ilya was walking toward them quickly. James dropped his wrist and rolled his eyes.

“This guy again,” he muttered. “Later.”

And then James disappeared around the corner, and Shane was alone in the alley with Ilya.

“What were you doing?” Ilya asked, his voice full of something…worry, maybe. Jealousy?

“I just needed some air.”

“With that guy?”

Shane shrugged. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You’re allowed to,” Ilya said, but not like he liked it. “I was just worried.”

“I’m fine.”

Then the sky was full of light, the loud pops of fireworks over the river startling him for a moment. Ilya looked up, then behind them, before he pulled Shane in and kissed him. People were passing on the street behind them, their friends were just inside. Shane didn’t care, he melted into it, his tongue swiping into Ilya’s mouth and tasting vodka and something familiar from months of this. 

“Happy New Year,” Ilya whispered against his lips. 

“Happy New Year.”

“Do you want to ditch everyone and go home?” Ilya still looked out of sorts. Shane realized their hands were clasped together, Ilya’s holding onto him tight. But it felt right. Safe.

“Sure. But let me check on Rose.”

“She is with Sveta and Ali. Promised me they would all leave together and text me when they’re home.” Shane breathed a sigh of relief. “But we can step back inside and make sure.”

Shane nodded and followed him back the way he’d come, stepping back into the loud press of music and bodies, grateful they were leaving soon. They found Rose, who had an arm around Sveta while they talked to Cliff. She confirmed that they’d leave together and be fine. Shane said a quick goodbye to Hayden, who looked like he was ready to leave too, but JJ had clearly gotten a second wind. Then, without being too obvious about it, he and Ilya walked out of the club and went home.

If someone had forced him to truthfully say what they did when they got home that night, he would not have been able to say they fucked. He would have had to say two other words. One of which he could never let slip, for fear of breaking himself and them together in the process. 

But Ilya undressed him slowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his chest, and then his back, and then he licked him open so slowly Shane thought he’d lose it. Then he pushed into him, face to face, mouth to mouth, gazes locked, rolling his hips in gentle, slow waves, letting it build and build and build until they both fell apart and held each other together. Ilya had cleaned him up gently after, so tender and reverent, Shane was ready to fall apart again, to let that word slip. He didn’t, but it was a close thing. And then they fell asleep tangled together.

-

Shane hoped to wake up to morning sex and more time alone with Ilya before real life intruded again, but he was out of luck. The first thing he did was look at his phone. He must have made a noise because Ilya rolled over and blinked at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked sleepily, running a hand across Shane’s stomach.

“Another murder.”

“What?” Ilya sat up and looked down at his phone.

“Same place. Another male NOU student,” Shane said, his voice shaky

“Who?”

“Name hasn’t been released yet.”

Ilya reached over to the nightstand on the other side and picked up his own phone. 

“Fuck. It’s another one.”

“Another member?” Shane asked.

“Yeah. Jackson knew him. Lived in the same building.” Ilya’s voice was shaky now. “And I think he was at the club last night. Thought I recognized him.”

“Which one?” Shane asked.

“He was the tall blonde guy wearing a neon orange shirt.”

Shane thought the neon orange shirt rang a bell, but he couldn’t recall his face.

“What the fuck is going on?” Shane asked, flopping back against the pillows. “How can they keep denying it’s related? Only order members.”

“Not only…the first one was last year. The girl from Tulane.”

Shane googled that, pulling up one of the nola.com articles. 

“Her name was Julie Adams. Found on the side of the road at St. Charles and Octavia. Investigators believe it was a hit and run. Two potential witnesses were questioned…let’s see. No, that's it. They never found who did it. It says the parents offered a huge reward for any information. Her brother was a student at Tulane too, apparently even he was questioned because they’d been at the same party earlier that night. Huh…I don’t know. That one seems different, but the bodies being in the same spot…”

“They must know already it is connected,” Ilya said, his voice low, almost scared. “They just don’t know about the Order.”

“This seems…illegal. To withhold that information from law enforcement.”

“Yes. It does.”

“What can we even do?” Shane asked, rolling over until he could drape an arm over Ilya’s chest.

“I don’t know.” He brought one hand up to run along Shane’s arm comfortingly. “I have a feeling we will be in the chapel soon, though.”

-

Ilya had been right, of course. At some point during the day, invitations had been slipped beneath their doors. Neither of them had heard anything, but they were there nonetheless. But the real news of the day was that someone had told law enforcement. A new article had come out in the afternoon that made Shane suck in a breath so hard he sounded like a tea kettle.

“Ilya!” he shouted from the couch. Ilya was in the bathroom, door cracked, washing his hands. 

“What?” he called back.

“Listen to this: New information in the NOU murders case. All three students are believed to be members of a secret society operating out of the university. The information came from an anonymous source, but it's being treated as credible and they’re investigating. Holy shit.”

“Fuck,” Ilya said, sitting back beside him on the couch. “I mean, that’s good, but I wonder what will happen. I guess we are about to find out.”

The invitations were for that night, so they would. Apparently the Order didn’t care that it was New Year’s Day. Shane spent most of the afternoon and evening fidgeting nervously, while Ilya held his hands and rubbed his shoulders and eventually sucked him off, all in an effort to get him to chill. They ate dinner together and watched TV, but Shane was counting down the minutes until they needed to leave to make it to the chapel for 11.

At 10:30, he was pulling on jeans and a sweater while Ilya went back across the hall to get dressed. They met in the hallway 15 minutes later and made the short walk to campus, hand in hand until they could see people in the distance. Campus was mostly deserted. Even if most of the students had already traveled back, the start of the Spring semester was still two days away. 

They entered the chapel behind two people and sat in a pew on the right, closer to the back. Others filed in, the chapel looking only slightly less full than the last time. The man in the half mask was up front, and surprisingly, the one in the full mask was back, standing behind him, his stance rigid, a black sweatshirt hood pulled over his head. Shane was pretty certain it was the same man who’d questioned him in the confessional. 

“Quiet,” said the man in the half mask, his familiar voice carrying and much more tense today. “I’m sure you’ve all seen the news. John Moreno was one of our own. We mourn his loss.” He paused only for a second, not even asking for a moment of silence. “However, we have a problem. Someone has revealed our existence, and likely more, to local law enforcement, and now to the general public. This is unacceptable. Against our rules and code of conduct.”

He paced across the stage, hands clasped behind his back.

“We will find out the source of this leak. And you will be ousted. Do not think that means our secrets are yours to hand out freely. We will still be watching. You will never be free of us.” He’d stopped at center stage to deliver that last line. “Now, if you come forward of your own volition, maybe we can soften the consequences here. Everyone makes mistakes. We’ll be here for the next hour. Come back to confess, and you will be forgiven.”

Somehow Shane didn’t believe that, and he doubted anyone else here did either. The man in the full mask was still standing rigidly off to the side of the stage. 

“If no one comes forward, every member will be individually interviewed. Expect a message before the week is over. That’s all. We’ll be watching.”

As people stood around him, Shane watched the man in the half mask walk over to the man in the full mask. He couldn’t hear the words exchanged, but he could tell they were not friendly. 

“Come on,” Ilya said, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Shane stood and followed him out of the chapel. They were only about a minute away when they saw Jackson and Claire standing off to the side of the quad talking. Ilya led them over.

“Hey,” he said. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jackson shook his head. “I don’t fucking know, but I’m not going anywhere alone at night anymore. Y'all shouldn't either.”

Ilya nodded. “We won’t.” He glanced at Shane quickly. “Have you heard anything else? Anyone know anything?”

“No, man. I always hit the group chat when I hear anything. One of my buddies was good friends with John, though. That kid was a straight shooter…4.0, president of some debate shit, pre-med, volunteered at the animal shelter. He was not mixed up in anything.”

Ilya rubbed the back of his neck. “They have not said if there is anything else in common, right? Besides being Order members?”

“And male. But that’s it,” Claire said. 

“What about the girl from Tulane last year?” Shane asked. “The bodies being in the same spot. And they haven’t said they were killed there, just dumped.”

Jackson nodded. “Yeah, it’s obviously related. Maybe once could have been a coincidence, but this is clearly a serial killer.”

Shane swallowed hard. He’d read those words in the articles, but still…he joined a secret society, was fucking his teammate, and now he was living through a serial killer spree. What the actual fuck had happened to his life? 

Ilya must have sensed the tension because he glanced over and then said, “Okay, we’re going. Stay safe.”

With a wave and a goodbye, they made their way off campus and toward home, Ilya taking his hand as soon as they were clear of people. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah…just…” Shane exhaled loudly. “Everything is so fucking complicated.”

“Not everything.” Ilya let his hand drop and then slid an arm around his waist, pulling him in as close as possible without hindering their ability to walk.

“Oh, you think?” Shane said. “This isn’t complicated for you?’

Ilya shrugged. “In some ways. But not in this way.”

Shane let that sink in. He could agree. But…

“And what are we going to do when the other ways catch up?”

Ilya didn’t say anything for several steps. His arm around Shane tightened briefly, and then it loosened, enough that Shane thought he was letting go. But he didn’t.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

They were quiet for the rest of the walk home. When they got upstairs, Ilya followed Shane into #6, and they undressed quickly, falling into bed like they always did. But every touch and kiss and thrust felt different. Desperation tinged with finality. Shane didn’t like it, but he also thought maybe he was being dramatic. It happened sometimes. Ilya still fucked him slow and sweet and kissed him and cleaned him up and wrapped around him when they were done. Nothing had changed. And nothing ever would, Shane realized. This was all they could have. 

-

The next morning, they were watching TV when Ilya’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and then stood abruptly.

“Sorry, I have to go.”

“Okay,” Shane said. “See you later?”

“Yeah,” Ilya said, but he was clearly already distracted. Shane heard him answer the phone in Russian just as he closed the door, and his voice sounded nearly unrecognizable. It made Shane’s stomach hurt, and he didn’t know why.

He didn’t hear from Ilya for the rest of the day, and for the first time in months, he went to bed alone. He thought about texting, but he’d heard Ilya’s door open and close a couple of times, so he was clearly fine. He just didn’t want to be here. 

When he woke up, he checked his phone, but there were no texts. It was their last day off before the semester resumed, but they did have practice today. Hopefully Ilya would tell him what was going on while they walked to campus. But when he knocked on #8, there was no answer and no noise from inside. Shane walked alone, and when he walked into the locker room, Ilya was already there, sitting next to Cliff on the bench, pulling his gear on. His expression was mostly neutral, unreadable. Shane wanted to talk to him, but he couldn’t, not here. 

On the ice, Ilya lacked his usual intensity, his usual insistence on being on Shane’s ass at all times, always ready to intercept the puck, push him into the boards, whatever the scrimmage called for so that Ilya’s team won. Today he was barely there. Shane intended to find out what the fuck was going on, so when he finally shook off Hayden and his new Jackie drama, which basically amounted to him trying to figure out how to be romantic and not needy and annoying, he left the locker room and hung back on the side of the building, waiting. 

When Ilya walked past, he fell into step with him, noting Ilya’s brief glance his way.

“What’s wrong?” Shane asked.

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s see…you’ve slept in my bed nearly every day for months and suddenly last night you didn’t. I haven’t heard from you since you left yesterday. You didn’t even try to get on my nerves at practice.”

Ilya shrugged. “Just had other stuff to do.”

“Other stuff. Stuff that lasted all day and night.”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No…but…did I do something wrong?” Shane asked, trying so hard to think of anything he’d done yesterday, but nothing came to mind.

“Not everything is about you, Hollander.”

Ilya might as well have punched him. It wasn’t like they’d established that last names were only for when they were in public or in front of friends now, but hearing it still felt wrong. Like confirmation that whatever they had been doing was over. Shane’s eyes stung, and he felt so ridiculous and pathetic, but mostly just sad.

“Fine.” Shane stopped walking, then turned the other way, deciding to detour to the smoothie place a few blocks away, just to put some distance between them before he said or did something truly pathetic. Ilya glanced at him briefly, then kept walking, and that was enough for the tears to really well in his eyes. Yeah…pathetic.

-

Shane once again went to sleep alone and woke up alone the next day. Practice was the same, but this time he didn’t even try to talk to Ilya after. It was the first day of the semester, and he had a 9am class to get to. Bio 310 Physiology. He’d probably regret scheduling that for right after practice, but it was a required course, and he needed to get it over with. At least he didn’t have time to dwell on anything. Because every minute he let his mind wander, it ended up in the same place…how did they go from practically living together, being in…well, maybe they weren’t in anything…but it had seemed like it. And now they were suddenly nothing. Shane had never experienced heartbreak because usually girlfriends breaking up with him was a relief. But this was…it was like darkness and emptiness and a gnawing feeling in his chest all day. He kept hoping there’d be a knock on his door or a buzz from his phone, and Ilya would say he’d just been having a bad day and everything was fine. But the knock didn’t come, the phone didn’t buzz, and he went to bed alone again that night.

A few days later, nothing had changed, but it was about to. Shane had been lying on the couch, trying to catch up on reading for an English class, another required course, when he heard a female voice and knocking coming from the hallway. He got up and put his ear to his door.

“Ilya,” the voice said, followed by a couple more knocks. “We’re late.”

Then he heard Ilya’s door open. 

“Sveta.” Hearing his voice made Shane’s stomach sink. He’d barely even heard it at practice lately. Then Ilya said something in Russian, the door closed with a loud click, and he heard footsteps heading down the hall toward the stairs.

Shane walked slowly back to the couch and flopped down. So he was still hanging out with Svetlana. That settled in his stomach and turned sour. What the fuck had he done wrong? Eventually he was going to make Ilya talk to him. Even if it was just to tell him the truth and say goodbye. Didn’t he at least deserve that much? 

Shane texted Rose. He needed someone else to look at this situation, someone who could think rationally about it, before he did anything.

Shane: I need you. Free any time this week?

The three dots appeared immediately.

Rose: Are you okay? Is this a right now emergency?
Rose: Because you know I’ll drop everything

Shane: No no. Not urgent. Just want to talk soon.

Rose: I’m free after 6 on Thursday

Shane: Thursday would be good. Sinner? 

Rose: Yep see you there at 7?

Shane: Perfect, thanks.

Shane put his phone down, already feeling a little better with that to look forward to. It was only Tuesday, so he had a couple of days to wait, but he could manage.

On Wednesday, he had his regular classes plus a bio lab at 4pm. He hated afternoon labs, but it was the only time he could fit in his schedule. It was a long one too, usually not ending until some time between 7 and 7:30pm. That night it ended right on time at 7. Shane gathered up his stuff, said bye to his lab partner, and headed out. Not even a minute after he walked through the double doors and started toward the side street that would lead him home, there were footsteps behind him. He knew who they belonged to. Even when he hadn’t expected it, he’d heard them enough times now. Maybe he just knew the way Ilya Rozanov occupied space and bent the air around him. Whatever it was, he knew. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Shane asked, letting himself be angry. Liar. It wasn’t anger.

“You shouldn’t be walking alone after dark.”

“Oh, you care about me again?”

“I never stopped.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Ilya sighed heavily next to him. “I told you, it’s not about you.”

Shane didn’t say anything for a bit. His eyes were watery again, and he was sick of that already. But sometimes anger was stupid and irrational and tried to come out through his eyes instead of his voice, which was unfortunately shaky when he finally managed to speak.

“I don’t care. Clearly I’m not important enough to even deserve an explanation.”

“That’s not true.”

“Whatever.” Shane was not doing this. He was not going to break down or beg or any such thing. Not about something that was just…a hookup. Fuck buddies. Clearly that had not changed despite Ilya’s insistence that there had been no one else for a while. He was probably already back in Svetlana’s bed. Fine. Shane was going to be in someone else’s bed too. As soon as he talked to Rose and figured out what the fuck he was doing.

At their building, Shane went in first and didn’t hold the door, jogging up the steps to the second floor and slipping into #6 before Ilya could catch up with him. He thought he heard Ilya’s footsteps slow in front of his door, and then there was a long moment of silence before they disappeared back across the hall. Somehow that made him feel worse. 

-

Shane walked into The Sinner at 6:55 the next day, pleased to find Rose already there, sitting on a stool near the end of the bar. 

“Tell me,” she said as soon as he slid onto the stool next to her.

Shane huffed a laugh. “Impatient.”

“You don’t usually ask for help. I usually have to drag every bit of information out of you like I’m extracting diamonds. Or whatever. I don’t know how they get diamonds. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. The bartender walked up then. “Whatever Abita you have on tap,” he said when prompted.

Once he had a beer in front of him, he turned back to Rose and sighed, not knowing how he was going to talk about this rationally and wondering why he thought he could.

“Shane,” she said, tapping the bar. “What’s going on?”

“Has Rozanov been at your place lately?”

Her brows pulled together. “Yeah, I guess I’ve seen him a few times already since the semester started last week. Why?”

“If it wasn’t for practice, you’d probably have seen him more than I have.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He left to take a phone call the other day and hasn’t been back. After spending every night together for months…”

She looked at him for a few long beats, expression serious. “That doesn’t sound like him. Have you asked him about it?”

Shane nodded. “All he said is that not everything is about me. Which…rude. I didn’t suggest that it was. But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“Of course you do. I mean, he is kind of an asshole. But I wouldn’t expect him to treat you that way. Something else must be going on.”

“Something that I don’t even get a hint at? I know we weren’t serious, but how do you go from being together every night to nothing?” 

“I think you’re actually handling this much better than I would because I’m ready to go kick his ass right now,” she said. He smiled because her voice was so serious and so Rose, he knew she meant it. 

“I thought things changed…over the holidays. We…” He shook his head. “It seemed more serious. He told me he hadn’t slept with anyone else in months.”

Her eyes went comically wide. “Wow. Really? No, wait. That tracks. He really hadn’t been over to the house as much, and when he was, it was usually just for a little while and out in the common spaces.”

“And now?”

“Yeah, last time I saw him, they went to her room. Sorry. It doesn’t mean they were having sex, though.”

Shane rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I hate this.”

Rose rubbed his back, and it was nice, comforting to have someone he could talk to about this. 

“I know,” she said. “Maybe he just needs time. But if you don’t like it, and Shane, listen to me, you are allowed to be pissed off. And you’re allowed to move on, if you want to.”

I don’t think I can. I think I’m in love with him. Because wasn’t that just the most inconvenient fucking truth? 

“Yeah,” he said instead. “I’ll be fine.”

They sipped their respective drinks for a few moments before Rose said, “Have you seen about all this secret society stuff tied to the murders?”

Shane almost let something slip, his filter not in good shape these days. Luckily he caught himself and said, “Yeah, really crazy. But I guess it makes sense, right? Lots of colleges have secret societies.”

“Well, yeah, but usually the murdery ones are only in the movies.”

Shane laughed. “Fair.”

“At least we don’t have to worry,” she said. “I’m not a man, and you’re not in a secret society.”

Shane quickly took another sip of his beer. “Yeah. Still probably best not to be anywhere alone at night.” He gave her a look.

“Don’t worry, I’m always safe.”

He nodded. “You know you can always call me if you need to.”

“I know.” She snaked an arm around his waist and leaned against him for a second. “You’re a good egg.”

“Not good enough,” he muttered, not even meaning to say that out loud.

“Hey.” Rose put a hand on his cheek and turned his face to look at her. “You are, and Ilya knows it. Whatever is going on, it’s not you.”

Shane sighed and nodded. “Still hurts.”

“I know. You wanna come over tomorrow? Some of my theatre friends are coming by for a game night. Or maybe just a drinking night knowing them. Oh, and Will will be there,” she said, cocking her head and smiling too mischievously. “I can reintroduce you. He’s still single and not having a good time with that. If you need a distraction.”

Shane laughed. Relentless as always. “Maybe. I don’t know if I’m ready to move on to someone else…but maybe just to hang out.”

“Excellent. They’re coming over at 7, but I’ll be home by 5, so come anytime after that.”

They stayed at the bar for another hour, and then Shane walked Rose home. He realized too late that he probably shouldn’t be walking home alone either, but he made it without getting murdered. And the fact that he had that thought so nonchalantly was enough to highlight the fact that he was not in his right mind. Jesus. 

He stopped in the hallway, key in hand, about to unlock #6 when he heard Ilya’s voice from #8. It was low, the words Russian, but even without knowing what they were, Shane could tell they were spoken quickly and angrily. He wanted so badly to knock, hug him, make him tell Shane what was going on and why he didn’t want him anymore. But he couldn’t. They were nothing to each other. Fuck buddies didn’t get to barge in and offer comfort or demand answers.

Instead, Shane went inside #6, took a scalding hot shower, and then lay in bed and fell asleep looking at the selfie Ilya had taken of them in front of The Roosevelt’s Christmas lights, while trying to pretend his life wasn’t a huge mess.

Chapter 11: The truth

Shane showed up at Rose’s place at 6:30 on Friday, and he had been preoccupied all day about the fact that Ilya could be there. With Svetlana. He went anyway and was relieved to find Svetlana and Ali watching TV in the living room while scrolling on their phones, no one else in sight. He followed Rose into her bedroom and sat on the floor, leaning against her bed while she got ready.

“Any new developments?” she asked.

“No. Saw him at practice, didn’t talk.”

She sighed. “Boys. You’re all so bad at communicating.”

Shane scoffed. “I’m not.”

She rocked her head back and forth like she was weighing that. “Maybe not as bad.”

He leaned his head back against the bed. “Everything was going so well. I should have known it couldn’t last.”

“It can last. And it will. Whether it’s with him or someone else.”

“Thanks. Are you still hooking up with that guy?”

“Ugh no. But there is a guy in my lit class who is very cute, and maybe very interested.”

Shane listened to Rose talk about cute lit guy until her friends started showing up. They moved to the living room to play a board game with Svetlana, Ali, Will, Maria, Lucy, and Aaron. Shane had met them all before, though the reunion with Will was slightly, for about 10 seconds at least, awkward. 

After round one of the game, Shane excused himself to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water for himself and some bottles of Stella Artois for a few of the others. Before he could gather everything up, Will walked in.

“Hey,” he said. “Need any help?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. If you want to grab a couple of these,” Shane said, nodding to the glass bottles on the counter.

“Of course.”

“Hey, um. Sorry I never texted you back. About getting coffee.”

Will’s eyes went wide in surprise. “That’s okay. It was no big deal.”

“It was rude. I should have at least texted. Things got unexpectedly…busy,” Shane said, almost snorting at how much of an understatement that was. 

“It happens.”

Will was smiling, and he was so nice. Shane wished he could just like someone uncomplicated. Maybe then they could date, come out together, be a normal couple. 

“Maybe we can still get coffee one day?” Shane asked. Why shouldn’t he try to date someone uncomplicated?

Will nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that. Maybe I’ll even watch a hockey game,” he said. “No promises, though.”

Shane laughed. “Well, I won’t be offended if you don’t.” 

“I mean, you’ve seen my work, right? I assume you’ve been to Rose’s shows.”

“Yeah, a few. Can’t wait for Rent.”

They talked for a few more minutes, and eventually Ali came into the kitchen to grab the beers herself. The game was apparently over, and now it was just drinking night, as Rose predicted.

“Want to step outside for a minute?” Will asked, pointing to the back door.

“Sure.” 

Will sat on the first step leading off the porch, and Shane sat next to him.

“So,” Shane said, wondering if what he was about to ask was rude. “Why aren’t you out? You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. My family is very Catholic. I grew up with a lot of…casual homophobia, we’ll call it. I’m worried they’re going to freak out.”

“I’m sorry. That sounds hard.”

Will nodded. “It’s not like I’m completely financially dependent on them anymore. But…I don’t know. I hate the thought of them rejecting me. I’ve basically just been putting it off. I keep saying I’ll do it next time we’re all together, and every time, I chicken out.”

“Do they live here?”

“Yeah. I grew up in Metairie. They still live in the same house I grew up in.”

Shane knew Metairie was just the suburbs of New Orleans, basically. He’d driven through every time he went to and from the airport, and occasionally went to the mall there when he needed something. He would have thought it sounded nice to have family only 10-15 minutes away, but he’d also never worried that his parents wouldn’t accept him. He hadn’t come out to them yet, but only because he’d still been figuring his shit out. He was fairly certain they’d be okay with it. Supportive even.

“Maybe they’ll surprise you,” Shane said. “But it seems like you have a good friend group here too.”

“I do. They’re like family. I’m grateful for that.”

Shane looked at their hands resting on the step between them and moved his over, taking Will’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. He meant it to be supportive, comforting, maybe. He wasn’t the best at these kinds of things.

Will looked over at him, and Shane could see he once again had the slightest hint of eyeliner on. And once again, he found that he didn’t mind it. Will leaned in, and Shane knew what he was doing and didn’t stop him. Instead, he leaned in too, until their lips were pressed together. It was chaste and brief, both of them pulling back quickly. 

Shane almost felt bad. But what he really felt was nothing. No spark, no desire to do it again. And the way Will was looking at him suggested he felt the same. A small amused smile was playing on his lips.

“So,” Shane said. “I think we can tell Rose we tried.”

Will laughed. “Yeah. Maybe she’ll stop trying to set us up. Though, to be fair, you are very attractive, and I wasn’t mad about it.”

Shane nodded. “Thanks. You too.”

“Maybe we can still get coffee? As friends.”

“Yeah…I’d like that. I could use more friends who don’t play hockey.”

“I don’t know if I need more friends who do play hockey, but I’ll make an exception.” Will bumped his shoulder, still smiling. 

They went back inside, and Shane mostly sat back and listened to Rose and her friends talk about whatever drama was happening in the theatre program. He still felt like shit about Ilya, but he did feel a little lighter than he did before he’d arrived. It would be nice to have a friend. A gay friend. He would have to thank Rose. And tell her to never try to set him up again.

He walked home around 11, once again acknowledging that he shouldn’t be walking alone, but it was too late. He made it unscathed, stopping in the hall for a minute, listening. It wasn’t his business. If Ilya didn’t want to talk, then Shane shouldn’t worry about whatever was going on over there. But he did anyway.

He took a shower and went to bed, lying awake for a while before he finally drifted off. Couldn’t have been more than a few minutes later when he was startled awake by his front door opening and then clicking shut. He almost jumped out of bed, but before he could move, he heard footsteps. Familiar footsteps. Then the bed dipped and a warm body was curling around him from the back, an arm over his waist.

“I’m still mad,” Shane said, voice thick with the sleep he was pulled from.

“I know.” Ilya’s voice was soft and sad.

“You’re going to talk to me.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, pressing his face into Shane’s shoulder.

Shane nodded. Ilya kissed the back of his neck, making him sigh. He heard Ilya murmur something against his skin. It sounded like Russian, but maybe he caught the word “blue” somewhere in there. He was too warm and comfortable and couldn’t focus. He drifted off to sleep again, and it was the best he’d slept since the last time Ilya had been in his bed.

-

Shane’s alarm woke him the next morning. Before he even opened his eyes, he reached over, hoping to find a warm body, but the bed was empty.  He thought, for a moment, that maybe he’d dreamed the whole thing, but there was an indent on Ilya’s pillow. Ilya’s pillow. When Andy changed his lock, Shane had given Ilya a spare key. For emergencies. He’d never needed to use it before because they almost always went to bed together, but he clearly had last night.

He sighed and got up and got ready for practice. Ilya was going to talk to him. He was determined, and Ilya had said yes, hadn’t he? Unless he really had dreamt that. In the hallway, he stopped and listened for any sign of life in #8, but it was quiet. Shane decided he didn’t care and knocked on Ilya’s door. Still nothing. Fine. He headed down the stairs and outside into the cold, wet morning, only to stop dead in his tracks. Ilya was standing next to the sidewalk, hands in his pocket, bag slung over his back, waiting.

“I thought you left,” Shane said, walking up beside him.

Ilya shook his head. “Just had to get ready.”

They started walking, the silence heavy between them.

“Are you going to talk to me?”

“Yes,” Ilya said with a sigh. “After practice, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ilya grabbed his hand, and Shane let him, holding tight until they were almost to campus. In the locker room, Ilya went to his usual spot, and Shane took a seat next to Hayden.

“Hey, guess what?” Hayden asked as soon as his butt touched the bench. “I asked Jackie to be my girlfriend, and she said yes.”

Shane looked up in surprise. “Congrats, buddy. That was fast.” 

“I know, but we really hit it off. She’s beautiful and smart, and she doesn’t put up with my shit, which…who knew that would be so sexy.”

Shane laughed, but he felt his chest tighten, both because he’d been so preoccupied with everything else, he’d hardly had time for his friends, and because he was envious. His eyes flicked over to Ilya briefly, and he still didn’t look quite like himself. He was talking to Cliff, smile on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. What Shane wouldn’t give to be able to comfort him in public, to tell his friends…tell them what? He and Ilya were nothing. They were fuck buddies, and now they weren’t even that.

“Good for you,” Shane said. “I’d love to meet her.”

“Yeah, we can do dinner at the house soon. Maybe invite Rose, so I can introduce her to more than a bunch of dudes.”

“Sure. Rose would probably love that.”

“So you two really aren’t back together?”

“We’re not. Just friends,” Shane said quietly. How much easier his life would be if he could just be with Rose… Maybe he could just tell Hayden the truth. About himself. He had to start somewhere, and Hayden would keep it to himself. Maybe he would do it. Eventually.

After practice, Shane left like usual, figuring he’d catch up with Ilya at home. But Ilya was waiting for him as he stepped off campus onto the side street headed that way.

“What are you doing today?” he asked.

“Nothing. A run, homework, the usual,” Shane said. “And hopefully talking?”

“Yes.” 

“So…are you okay?”

Ilya sighed loudly. “Yes. It’s my father. He is trying to make me come back to Russia.”

Shane’s stomach dropped. “What? Like now?”

“After the semester is over.”

“Why?”

Ilya shrugged. “Because I’m of no use to him here. Maybe if I had gone pro for hockey, he would have left me alone. Money and fame would have been enough. But just me, doing what I want…not so much.”

“What does he want you to do in Russia?”

“The same thing he and my brother do, I guess. Police. Maybe he thinks I will be better than Alexei, I don’t know.”

They were coming up to their building, so Shane didn’t say anything else. Upstairs, Ilya followed him into #6, dropping his bag by the door and flopping onto the couch. Shane sat next to him and reached for his hand. When Ilya curled their fingers together, Shane felt his shoulders loosen a touch.

“So…are you going to? Go back to Russia?” 

“I have been trying to figure out how to not do that. Svetlana could help some, but even then, it would be hard to make it work financially without my father’s money. Everything that hockey scholarship doesn’t pay for…I will have to find a job. Working and taking a full course load and playing hockey…” he trailed off into another long sigh. “Might not be possible. If I lose the hockey scholarship, it’s over.”

Shane’s mind was already racing, flipping over ideas, some of them stupid, some of them impossible, some of them straight up dangerous because of the implications. He jumped to one of the latter ones anyway because fuck it.

“You can move in with me. We already practically live together.” Shane amended that by adding, “Or at least we did, until recently.”

Ilya’s eyes dropped when he said that, but then they were back and he was looking at Shane with glassy eyes and a look of…awe or disbelief…something that made Shane want to hug him.

“What would our friends think about the two of us sharing a one bedroom shoebox of an apartment?” Ilya asked, his voice heavy.

Shane looked away, rolled his neck, frustration making him tense. “Maybe I don’t care anymore.”

Ilya licked his lips. “It is not that simple.”

“Why? What else is there? Fees and books and living expenses? Our scholarships cover everything else.”

“I don’t want to depend on other people for things.”

“You said Svetlana can help. I can help. Cliff would help, right? The rest of our team would help, they love you.”

“Not Pike.”

Shane waved a hand in frustration. “He would if he knew how important you are to me,” he said quietly.

“Shane,” Ilya said, his voice low and so thick with something it was barely audible. “Don’t do this.” 

“Why? Why won’t you even consider that we can make this work?”

“I told you, it’s not that simple. If he cuts me off…I might never be able to go back home. To my family. And if I ever have problems with visa, I will have to go back to Russia to nothing. Very bad if it is known that I am…” He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t have to. Shane was part of that particular problem.

“The Order,” Shane said, standing up to pace. “You said that was one of the selling points. Their network, they can help. Plus, once you graduate, you’ll be able to find a job. You’ll be a great coach or teacher or whatever you want.”

Ilya wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were trained on the window, but Shane could tell he wasn’t really seeing it. 

Shane tried to see this situation from Ilya’s perspective. “You don’t want to cut yourself off from your family, though,” he said quietly, sitting back down. He could understand that part. He loved his parents, and the thought of potentially never seeing them again was unbearable. Even if Ilya’s relationship with his father was difficult, the decision to never see him again was much more so.

Ilya nodded slowly. “It should be simple, maybe. They don’t care about me, only what I can do for them. My father…” He shook his head. “Maybe I hate him. But he is still my father.”

“What can I do?” Shane asked, taking his hand again.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” 

“Will you at least stop running from me? Come back to my bed?” It sounded more serious than he meant it. Like he was asking a lover who’d strayed to come home. But they were just neighbors. Just teammates. Just fuck buddies who sometimes shared a bed.

“It’s not a good idea. It will only make things harder.” Ilya’s voice was still so defeated.

“Oh. So you’ve already decided.”

Ilya climbing into his bed last night, this talk, everything…he was already saying goodbye. There were still four months of the semester left. Still nearly that many months left of hockey. Away games where they’d be rooming together. And Ilya wanted them to call things off now, to make it easier. Because they were nothing to begin with.

“Okay.” Shane’s voice was even smaller than Ilya’s now. He had nothing else to say. No right to ask for anything else. Certainly no right to try to come between Ilya and his family. Nor would he anyway, even if they were more.

“I should go,” Ilya said, standing up. “I have an essay to write. See you later, Hollander.” 

Before Shane could even process the “Hollander” and the abrupt departure, Ilya was closing the door behind him, leaving Shane in silence.

-

The next week went by the same way the previous one had. Shane went to practice and tried to ignore the heaviness between him and Ilya, even while they were on the ice. Then he went to class and tried to pay attention. Then he went home to his quiet apartment, the one he wanted so badly when the year started and now dreaded. Then he went to bed, alone. He texted with Rose, he told Hayden to let him know about the dinner, he texted his parents back when he heard from them, reassured them that the semester was going well and there was no news about the murders.

The following Friday, however, things caught up to him whether he wanted them to or not because NOU had an away game against Bowling Green in Ohio. Shane stuck with Hayden until they got to the hotel, but then he had no choice but to head to his room. Their room. Because Ilya was already inside, setting his bag down on the bed closest to the door. He glanced up when Shane walked in, his face unreadable.

Shane set his stuff down on the bed by the window. He didn’t know what to do, so he settled on the bed and scrolled through his phone, not really even seeing it. He thoguht about going to hang out in Hayden’s room. But not long after they arrived, they were expected at dinner downstairs anyway. They had catering provided, and one of the coaching staff sent a reminder that they had a two hour window to eat. Shane texted Hayden to meet him downstairs and then left without a word.

By the time he saw Ilya come in for dinner, he and Hayden were nearly done eating. Shane had mostly listened to Hayden talk about Jackie. He seemed genuinely happy, already throwing around the L word, though apparently not to Jackie herself. Shane told him he might want to slow down a little, and Hayden looked at him in surprise, as if he hadn’t considered that he was moving too quickly. What must it feel like to not have to worry about anything in your relationship except telling someone you love them a little too fast? What must it be like to tell them that at all.

Shane was grateful to get back upstairs while the room was still empty. He grabbed his stuff and went to take a shower. A very long, very hot shower, hoping against hope that it would relax him enough to fall asleep without falling apart. When he stepped out, Ilya was back, lying on his bed, phone in front of his face. He glanced up and then back down, making Shane’s stomach drop in disappointment. As Shane was pulling the covers back on his bed, Ilya got up and disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water followed. Shane quickly got in bed, pulled the covers up to his ears, facing away from Ilya’s bed, the lamp on his side off. He wasn’t asleep when Ilya came back out, but he pretended to be.

He heard Ilya’s footsteps, the rustling of his bag, the click of the other lamp going out. Then, and maybe he should have expected it, he felt his own bed dip. Ilya must have sat on the edge, but then it was still for several moments. Shane couldn’t take it anymore, so he pulled the covers down without a word, and then Ilya was stretching out behind him, warm and solid and familiar. He nuzzled into the back of Shane’s neck, lips soft against him, and Shane pressed back into him automatically. Ilya’s lips became more insistent, kissing their way down the curve of his shoulder, making Shane shudder. 

“Please,” he whispered, not even sure what he was asking for. Too many things.

Ilya dragged a hand down his chest, his stomach, over the thin material of his loose pajama pants, fingers brushing his already hard cock. It had been too long. 

“We shouldn’t,” Ilya whispered, but nothing about it sounded convincing.

“Please,” Shane said again, desperation leaking into his voice.

Ilya quickly got out of the bed, and Shane stayed where he was, on his side facing the window, wondering if Ilya had gone to his own bed or was coming back. But a minute later, the bed dipped again, and Shane heard the click of a cap before a hand was under his waistband, a slick finger pushing between his cheeks and then rubbing against his hole. Shane moaned just from that, just from feeling Ilya's touch again after so many days without him.

“Okay?” Ilya asked, his hand stilling.

“Yes. Please, Ilya.” Shane didn’t care if it sounded like begging. Maybe he would beg, just to do this one more time.

Ilya pushed his finger in, but the angle was awkward. He didn’t waste time, just pushed in another, moving them apart to stretch him open. It still felt good, too good, and Shane was already pushing back against him. Ilya finally removed his hand and pushed Shane’s pants down further, tapping his hip so he’d lift them. Then he heard the rip of the condom packet, and he wondered if Ilya would want him to turn over, onto his back or stomach. But before he could ask, he felt Ilya’s cock pushing up against him, both of them still on their sides in a spooning position. Shane didn’t argue, didn’t want to do anything to ruin this moment, especially if it was the last time. 

Ilya pushed into him slowly, the stretch enough to make Shane groan, but it was still so good he instinctively pushed back, forcing Ilya into him faster. Ilya kissed his neck, snaked one hand under his t-shirt to squeeze his chest, his fingers gripping him like he was trying to hold on, like Shane was his anchor. 

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered against his ear. “Missed you.”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Shane said quietly, pushing back again, trying to get him to move faster. Ilya had started thrusting into him, harder but still gentle, and Shane wanted more.

“Easy,” Ilya said. “I don’t want you to be sore for tomorrow’s game.”

“I don't care about that. Want to feel you.”

Ilya pressed his forehead into the curve of Shane’s shoulder. “Shane,” he moaned. “Fuck.”

That was the end of the talking. Ilya kept fucking him, the angle that had been awkward for fingers was much better now, Ilya’s cock sliding over his prostate on every thrust, pushing breathy little noises from Shane. Ilya’s own quiet moans were loud in his ear, his breath warm against him. Shane turned his upper body enough that he could see Ilya’s face, and maybe that had been a mistake. The only light in the room was the dim glow filtering in through the gauzy curtains, but it was enough. Ilya’s eyes were shiny and colorless like this, but Shane could see the emotion in them, could feel it reflected in himself. Were they saying goodbye? Were they saying something else? Maybe just Shane was. Something so much worse that would make goodbye even more impossible. Shane pulled him down into a kiss, anything to distract himself, and Ilya’s lips were the very best distraction. Ilya kissed him like he was going off to war, and Shane wondered how close to the truth that was, wondered how bad it would be at home for him, with his father and without his friends. 

Shane shoved those thoughts away and kissed him back, hoping Ilya could feel how much Shane wanted him, cared about him. Ilya slipped his hand from Shane’s chest down to his cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. It didn’t take long before Shane’s body was on the verge of orgasm. Between the amount of time that had elapsed since the last time Ilya had fucked him and the way he was being so tender and sweet now, even with everything hanging over their heads, Shane couldn’t stave it off. 

“Ilya,” he moaned. “Fuck.” His cocked spurted over Ilya’s hand just as Ilya tensed behind him and let out a low groan while his cock pulsed deep inside of Shane, and Shane could have sworn he heard Ilya murmur his name against the back of his neck, muffled and lost to their shared panting.

Ilya slipped out of him and tied off the condom, but instead of getting up, he reached behind him and grabbed tissues from the nightstand to wipe cum from his hand and lube from between Shane’s legs. He gently tugged at the hem of Shane’s slightly wet t-shirt until it was over his head and tossed it to the floor. Then, without a word, Ilya curled back around him, pulling him close against his chest. Ilya pressed a kiss behind his ear, and Shane sighed happily.

“Please don’t go,” Shane whispered after a while, just on the edge of sleep. He wasn’t sure if he was asking him not to leave the bed, not to go back to Russia, or just not to leave him in general. Maybe all three.

“I’m here.” Ilya’s voice was still sad though, and Shane knew it was temporary.

-

They got back to New Orleans late on Saturday. Hayden had asked Shane to come by the house on Sunday for dinner to meet Jackie, and Shane had agreed. He even invited Rose, as promised, who had miraculously been free and enthusiastically agreed. She was very curious about who Hayden was so head over heels for.

Late Sunday afternoon, Shane walked to Rose’s place first, and then they walked to Hayden’s together.

“Hey!” Hayden opened the door with a big grin. “You made it. Thanks for coming.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this,” Rose said, already trying to peer past Hayden into the house.

“She’s not here yet,” Hayden said, stepping back to let them in. “It’s just me.”

“Where is everyone?” Shane asked, following Rose into the kitchen. 

“JJ and Nick are playing basketball with some of JJ’s friends. And Cliff is awol. Thank god though. This house is always too crowded.”

“So, what’s for dinner, Pike?” Rose asked. “Did you actually cook?”

Rose set the bottle of wine she brought on the counter and looked around.

“Of course not,” Hayden said. “I ordered takeout from the Lebanese place down the street.”

Rose shrugged. “Okay. No complaints here.”

There was a knock on the door, and Hayden moved so fast Shane barely had time to register it. Rose laughed.

“Wow, he’s got it bad, huh?”

Shane nodded. “He’s in love with her already, apparently,” he said quietly.

Hayden walked back in with a pretty brunette beside him. She was smiling at him, and Shane felt his chest go warm with happiness for his friend. Clearly the feeling was mutual between them, or close to it, based on the way Jackie was looking up at Hayden.

“Jackie, this is Shane, and this is Rose,” Hayden said, gesturing at each of them. Shane had hardly seen Hayden look so happy, and that was saying something because Hayden was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy most of the time.

“Nice to meet you,” Shane said and shook her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Good things I hope?”

“Very.”

“I’m thrilled to meet anyone who makes Pike so mellow,” Rose said, shaking Jackie’s hand. “You’re having quite the effect on him.”

Hayden gave her a look, and Rose held her hands up in innocence. “It was a compliment.”

There was another knock. “That’s the food,” Hayden said, disappearing again.

“So, how did you two meet?” Rose asked Jackie, and the two of them went to sit at the table. Shane waited for Hayden by the counter and helped him get everything out of the bags and set up to serve. 

“She’s great, right?” Hayden asked, keeping his voice down.

“Yeah, Hayd, she seems really nice. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, man.”

Everyone got food and wine, or in Shane’s case ginger ale, and sat around the table, eating and chatting. It was really nice, and Shane should have been enjoying it a lot more than he was. He kept thinking about how he wished Ilya were there. Maybe not instead of Rose because he was always happy to have her company, but at least in addition to Rose. He wished he could introduce someone to his friends. He wished he had someone to introduce to his friends. Because even if he could, he couldn’t. The fact that he was thinking about it so hard was the only explanation for what happened next.

“Are you sure you two aren’t back together?” Hayden asked, that playful tone in his voice, eyes squinted teasingly, but Shane could tell the question was genuine. Again.

“I’m gay,” Shane blurted out. He hadn’t even made a conscious decision to say it. It was just there, waiting, bubbling up, and he had to let it out.

Three pairs of eyes were on him in the now silent kitchen. Rose looked surprised, but only because it was unexpected. Jackie looked surprised, probably because of the way it was delivered. And Hayden looked surprised because he just was.

“What?” Hayden asked, confusion twisting his features. “Really?”

Shane let out a long breath. “Yeah. Really.”

Rose grabbed his hand under the table and squeezed, and he was grateful for that little gesture of support and comfort.

“Oh shit. I mean…huh. Maybe that makes sense,” Hayden said. “Is that why you broke up?”

“Obviously,” Rose answered, rolling her eyes. “But he was a great boyfriend while it lasted.”

Shane snorted. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I mean it!”

“Please don’t tell anyone else yet,” Shane said to Hayden. “I’m not ready to like…come out. But you’re my best friend, so…”

“I’m glad you told me. Doesn’t change anything.”

“Thanks, man.” Shane’s chest loosened. A lot. He hadn’t expected Hayden to be too weird about it, but it was still nice to be proved right.

“Wow, gay,” Hayden said softly, looking at his food for a second. “How did I not see that sooner?”

Jackie laughed. “You are a little oblivious.”

“I’m not,” Hayden scoffed. “I mean…okay, maybe sometimes.”

Jackie was looking at him fondly. “It’s okay. I’m not oblivious.” The 'I’ll make up for it for the both of us' unsaid but implied.

They were looking at each other the way Shane probably looked at Ilya. He sighed and gave Rose’s hand another squeeze before he let go and went back to eating, trying not to think about why he looked at Ilya that way, and wishing he could do it right now.

Hayden kept glancing over at him through the rest of dinner, but not with anything other than slight awe and surprise on his face. Like he was going back through 2+ years of friendship and trying to figure out what he missed. Shane would have laughed if he didn’t feel so miserable.

“Are you going to tell JJ and the rest of the guys?” Hayden asked as they were putting the leftovers away while the girls chatted over another glass of wine.

“Yeah, eventually. Not the team, though.” Shane sighed. “I don’t want the locker room to get weird.”

Hayden gave him a sympathetic look. “No one will think anything of it.”

Shane snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Maybe Rozanov. But Cliff seems like he would be cool with it, so maybe Rozanov would follow his lead.”

Shane had to turn away, using the excuse of picking up the last plate from the table. 

“Just keep it between us for now,” he said eventually. “I’m not ready for all of that yet.”

“Yeah, buddy. No worries.”

By the time Shane and Rose left, he was at least feeling a little less miserable than he had at the start of the evening, especially when Hayden gave him a tight hug and a clap on the back on the way out. But the ache in his chest was worse.

“So, anything new with you and Ilya?” Rose asked as they walked back to her place.

“Not really.” Ilya’s situation wasn’t his to tell. “I think we’re just back to friends with benefits, very light on the benefits part.”

Rose snorted. “Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Will. I really thought you two would be good together.”

“I think we’re a little too alike.” Shane didn’t want to assume, but he heavily suspected that working out which of them would bottom might have been an interesting conversation, and he almost laughed out loud. Then he thought about how easy everything was with Ilya and wondered if he’d ever find that elsewhere, and the laughter died on his lips.

 “I do want to get to know him, though. As friends. Might be nice to have a gay friend,” he added.

“He mentioned that. And you absolutely should. Maybe seeing you come out will give him some confidence when he’s ready to deal with his own situation,” she said. “If you decide to come out fully, I mean.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah. We’ll see. It felt good to tell Hayden at least.”

“I’m proud of you. Even if that was quite the abrupt announcement,” she said with a laugh.

“Shut up. You know how I am.”

“Yes, I do. And I love you exactly the way you are.” 

Shane walked Rose to her door and then headed home, already dreading his quiet, empty apartment. 

Once he got home and inside, he opened his laptop to review some notes before class the next day. His phone buzzed a few minutes later.

Cliff Marlow: Hey Shane, I need some help with something. Any chance you’re free to meet me on campus behind the library, near the stone bench? No one else is answering.

Well, that was strange. Cliff never texted him. Evident by the fact that this was the first message in the thread. Shane only had his name and number saved from the team group chat. 

Shane: Help with what? Where’s Rozanov? Or your roommates?

Maybe Hayden was busy with Jackie. And maybe JJ and Nick were still playing basketball.

Cliff Marlow: They didn’t answer.
Cliff Marlow: I crashed my bike and fucked up my shoulder. I need help getting it and the rest of my stuff home.

Since when did Cliff ride a bike? He sighed. Cliff was his teammate and a nice guy. Even with all the weird stuff going on. He should at least go help him out. 

Shane: Okay. Sure.

Cliff Marlow: Thanks, man.

Then Shane opened up another thread and sent a message to Ilya.

Shane: Cliff needs help on campus. He said he crashed his bike and no one is answering. Where are you?

No answer. Shane put his shoes back on and went into the hall, stopping to knock on #8. No answer there either, but he thought he heard some movement inside. So Ilya was ignoring him now. Fucking great. He made his way outside and started the walk to campus, the cool night air pushing through his sweatshirt to send a shiver down his spine. He kept his head down, feet moving carefully over the uneven sidewalk, thinking about Ilya and wondering how he was going to make it through the next four months, not even willing to consider what came after, when Ilya was really gone.

Chapter 12: The confessions

Chapter Notes

Shane was about halfway to campus when he heard fast footfalls behind him.

“Shane!” 

He turned to see Ilya running toward him, faster than he’d ever seen him move off the ice. 

“Shane,” he said again, slowing down next to him. “What the fuck?” he panted. “Where are you going?”

“I texted you. About Cliff.”

Ilya was still trying to catch his breath. “Someone stole Cliff’s phone on New Year’s Eve. He got a new number.”

Shane blinked at him. “What?”

“He had it when he first got to the club that night. Maybe he dropped it, but he didn’t think so. I just texted him, he’s at home.”

“Then who the fuck texted me?”

“Shane, we should call the police. The person who has been harassing Cliff has something to do with the murders.”

Shane’s jaw dropped. “And you know this how?”

“Cliff was…involved. Sort of. The messages he keeps getting, he already told the police. And…” Ilya looked away and then back. “And he was questioned by them about the Tulane girl’s murder last year.”

“Cliff was?”

Ilya nodded. “He was with her at a party that night. They ah…fucked. And then he walked her home. Or at least to where she asked him to.”

“Before she was…” Shane’s brain was trying to catch up.

“Yes. He didn’t do anything, obviously. He was cleared.”

Shane swallowed hard, betrayal settling like a stone in his chest. “You knew the whole time and  never told me? Even after Cliff was my assignment?”

“What was I supposed to do? It wasn’t for me to tell. And it’s not the Order’s business.”

“I wouldn’t have told them that. They probably know anyway. They have something to do with this too.”

“Yes, probably.”

Shane was pissed. And maybe scared. Because who had texted him? He started walking again, leaving Ilya behind.

“Shane!” Ilya shouted, not too loud but loud enough in the quiet of the empty street. “What are you doing?”

“Going to see who’s there.”

“Absolutley not. Are you trying to get murdered?” Ilya caught up with him and grabbed his wrist.

“Let go of me.” Shane shook him off and started walking again, watching Ilya over his shoulder. “You lied, you’re leaving, why do you care?”

Ilya’s arm was still outstretched, his fingers curled in the air around nothing, his face twisting with something Shane couldn't place.

“Because I love you,” Ilya said, reaching out for him again, but it was unnecessary because Shane had stopped dead in his tracks. His feet may as well have turned to concrete.

“What?” He turned to look at Ilya, the yellow light from the streetlamp above them making his hair shine like spun gold, catching the light along with the Mardi Gras beads dripping from the tree branches above them. 

Ilya looked nervous now, his tongue darting out quickly to wet his lips, his jaw tight. “I mean…”

“Say it again.”

Ilya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I love you. And I’m not leaving.”

Shane’s chest, moments ago heavy with betrayal and something else, suddenly felt warm and light, like he was floating. His words were lost in the clouds. He knew his mouth was open, knew he was staring at Ilya in surprise, but he couldn’t make his throat work.

“Sorry, never m—” Ilya started.

“I love you too.” Shane took a step forward as he said it, cutting Ilya off and putting their bodies only inches apart.

Ilya let out a shaky breath and then grabbed him around the waist, pulling him in close until their lips crashed together. It was a near perfect moment, and Shane wanted it to last forever. The night air was cool against his skin, and Ilya’s lips were warm and soft and devouring him, making his skin feel electric. His fingers were tangled in Ilya’s curls, and Ilya’s were cradling his neck and his lower back, pressing them together until the space between them ceased to be, until Shane didn’t know where he ended and Ilya began. 

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Shane remembered where they were and why they were there.

“I really want to go home and do more of that, but what should we do about Cliff’s phone?”

Ilya pulled his own out. “I’m texting him again, then we’re calling the police. Let them handle it.”

He grabbed Shane’s hand and started walking back toward their building, and Shane followed, listening to Ilya explain what was happening on the phone, still slightly in a daze.

“Okay,” he said, hanging up. “They are sending someone to patrol the area as soon as they can. Which probably means in 5 hours, knowing NOPD.”

“I can’t believe I almost went there without knowing.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Really fucking sorry,” Ilya said.

“I know. But I’m still mad. And I love you.”

Ilya laughed. “Fuck. I love you too.”

They were almost back to their building when Ilya’s phone buzzed again. He looked at it and stopped.

“Fucking idiot. Am I the only one around here who watches movies?” He sounded exasperated and worried. “Shit. Cliff is on his way to see who has his phone.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t fucking know. But I can’t let him go. I’m going to see if I can catch him before he gets to campus. Go home, I’ll be back when I can.”

Shane gave him a look. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

Ilya rolled his eyes and started walking the way they’d just come. “Fine. We’re going around campus, though.”

They headed the same way Shane had come when he’d walked back from Hayden's earlier in the evening, which would put them near the library but with one side street as a buffer. 

“Cliff doesn’t know who’s been harassing him?”

Ilya shook his head. “Someone who thinks he is lying about that night.”

“Are we sure he isn’t?”

“Of course I’m sure. Cliff is an idiot, but he’s harmless." Ilya lifted his hand, palm up, like an offering. "He’s a good person, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“Maybe I can get Hayden to catch up with him,” Shane said, pulling out his phone and calling him. It rang and rang and rang until his voicemail picked up. “Never mind.”

“I’ll call campus police. They should be quicker than NOPD.” Then Ilya was back on his phone, explaining, in somewhat vague terms, what was going on. He hung up and grabbed Shane’s hand again. “They are going to send someone.” 

They walked past campus, almost all the way to Hayden and Cliff’s place, and didn’t run into Cliff or anyone else. 

“Christ,” Ilya muttered, pulling his phone out again and calling Cliff’s new phone. No answer. “Idiot. I can’t leave him.” 

“Let’s go then. To campus.” Shane was already turning back that way. “Maybe it was just a prank. Maybe we’ll run into Cliff heading back home.”

“Yeah,” Ilya said, not convincingly. “Maybe.”

It was dark between the streetlamps, some of which were burnt out anyway. New Orleans was a bit of a mess that way, and most of the time it was endearing and a little comical. Tonight, it was ominous. They walked quietly, neither of them talking, but Ilya had his hand still and squeezed every so often. Shane was still trying to catch up to everything. Ilya loved him. Ilya was staying. Cliff might be in trouble. Shane might have been in trouble. Ilya had stopped him from going. Because he loved him.

“You love me,” he said out loud without even meaning to. 

Ilya glanced over at him, his face softening. “Yes. Didn’t you know?”

“I hoped, maybe.”

“Mm, very annoying. I was not planning to fall in love with boring hockey teammate.”

Shane laughed quietly and squeezed his hand. “Should I apologize?”

“No. Never.” He kissed the back of Shane’s hand and then let their clasped hands swing between them again.

They were almost to campus now, and this time they turned down the side street that would lead them to it. As they got closer to the library, Shane could hear raised voices, but he couldn’t make out who they belonged to.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” That was definitely Cliff. “I didn’t know there was a fucking secret society here until that article came out.”

“They’ve been covering up for someone. I thought it was you at first, but now I think you know who it is.” Shane thought that voice sounded familiar too.

“You’re insane, man. I didn’t do anything. I liked Julie. I would have asked her out again, but she said she wasn’t interested in anything else. I was fucked up about what happened. I told the police everything I knew. If I knew who did it, I would have told them that night.”

Shane could make out Cliff standing feet away from another man. He was about the same height as Cliff, with dark, short hair and broad shoulders. Familiar.

“James?” he said stupidly. And James turned to look at him while Ilya pulled him to a stop.

“You did come after all. Of course you brought him.” His eyes were bouncing between Shane and Ilya. “Two for one. Why not?”

“What are you talking about?” Shane asked, trying and failing to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Someone in your little secret society killed my sister, and now they’re protecting him.”

Shane’s brain stuttered. What the actual fuck was happening? He felt like he’d stepped into a bad movie, and he almost laughed out loud, thinking of Ilya’s earlier assessment that he was apparently the only one who watched them. He also noticed that James was holding something that looked suspiciously like a knife, and Cliff was standing far too close to him. He could also see the blue lights of a police cruiser in the distance, behind James. 

“So you’ve been killing members?” Shane asked, slowly putting it together, trying very hard not to think about how he’d been alone with this man multiple times. 

Ilya grabbed his arm and pulled him backward. He had his phone out, dialing someone. 

“I told them I’d stop if they turned him in. Blame your beloved masks. They’d rather have you all dead than expose themselves.”

“Put your hands up and drop the weapon.” The voice came from the speakers atop the cruiser as it pulled up. Campus police. Maybe the first time they’d ever been useful.

James gave them one last look and then took off in the opposite direction, further into campus. A cop jumped out of the cruiser and set off after him on foot like some kind of cartoon. Shane didn’t know what to do other than look at Ilya, who was just watching, a sickly expression on his face. When they were out of sight, Ilya hurried over to Cliff, who seemed almost too stunned to speak.

“Are you okay?” Ilya asked him.

“Yeah. Fine. What the fuck was he talking about?”

“I don’t know. NOPD are on the way.”

“Marlow, you’re bleeding,” Shane said, stepping up beside Ilya. Cliff’s right arm had a nasty cut.

“I tried to grab my phone from him. That weird fucker pulled a knife out of nowhere.” Then he seemed to register who was there, eyes going wide. “Hollander, holy fuck. I’m sorry I didn’t tell everyone I got a new phone. I almost got you killed.”

“It’s not your fault,” Shane said. “You should wrap something around your arm to stop the bleeding.”

Cliff held his arm up, looking at it in surprise. “It’s fine.”

Ilya nodded down the street where another car with flashing lights was approaching. “That’s probably NOPD.”

The next couple of hours were a blur. It had been NOPD, arriving in record time, apparently more motivated once there was a connection to the campus murders and reports of a knife. The three of them were questioned, and Cliff was taken to the hospital to receive medical attention, which only involved a few stitches. NOPD had someone extract the relevant texts from Shane’s phone for evidence. James had been cornered somewhere on campus and taken into custody, but they weren’t told much more than that. It was well after midnight when they were finally allowed to leave. An officer had kindly offered to drive them the few blocks back to their building, but they declined.

As soon as they were a good distance away from the people still gathered by the library, Ilya grabbed his hand and pulled him close enough that their shoulders were brushing.

“That was really…what the fuck…” Shane said, still feeling out of sorts. “I can’t believe I thought he was nice at the ball.”

Ilya squeezed his hand. “Because you are nice. It’s not a bad thing.”

“So nice I almost got myself murdered trying to help Cliff fucking Marlow.”

“Yes, but please don’t say that again.” Ilya’s voice still sounded shaky. “You would have been fine.”

Shane wasn’t so sure of that. He probably could have fended James off, but not easily. 

“I almost feel bad for him. I mean, someone did kill his sister. Do you think he’s right? About the Order?”

Ilya let out a long breath. “I don’t know. I hope not. But honestly? Probably so.”

“Are we allowed to quit? It sounded like they wouldn’t take that well.”

“Maybe there will be no more Order after this.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

They made it back to their building, the quiet of the stairwell a little unsettling after everything. Upstairs, Ilya followed Shane into #6, barely letting the door close before he had him pinned against the wall, kissing him, desperation and relief evident in the way he was cradling his jaw so gently but smashing their lips together like he was afraid Shane might disappear. As much as Shane wanted to keep doing that, needed to, he also wanted answers. Everything that had happened before all the weird stuff was still hanging in the back of his mind, and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate until they talked about it. 

“Ilya,” he gasped. “Wait.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Kind of freaked out still, but…about earlier. You said you weren’t leaving. Did you mean…what did you mean?”

“I told my father I’m not leaving NOU. I’m staying to graduate. I don’t know how, but…I guess I will figure it out.”

“We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Ilya was blinking very rapidly all of a sudden, his eyes shiny. Shane pulled him in again, this time for a tight hug. Ilya let out a shaky half-sob, half-exhale and buried his face in Shane’s neck.

“I’m scared,” he admitted.

“I know. But it’s going to be okay. You can come home with me over the summer. We can spend it at my parents’ cottage.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You don’t have to stay the whole summer. But I’d love for you to come meet them.” Shane paused. “Well, I guess I need to come out to them first. But I will. I told Hayden I’m gay.”

Ilya pulled back to look at him. “You did?”

Shane nodded. “Earlier tonight, actually. I almost forgot, it feels like days ago now. But yeah, he was good about it.”

“Did you tell him about me?”

“No, of course not.”

“But you will?” Ilya was looking at him strangely.

“No, why?”

“I thought maybe you would want to introduce him to your boyfriend,” Ilya said, one side of his mouth quirking up.

Shane’s mouth was open in surprise again. “Is that…I mean…are we?”

“I think so. Probably. That is usually what happens when you love each other, yes?”

“Yes,” Shane said with a laugh. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“Come on,” Ilya said, leading him into the bedroom. 

While Shane undressed, Ilya pulled his phone out. Shane figured he was texting to check on Cliff againor something, but then Ilya handed him the phone, a campus health lab results page pulled up. An STD panel, all negative. Shane looked up at him.

“What? When did you do that?” 

“A few weeks ago. Before my father…” he trailed off, shook his head once, and then said, “Anyway, I haven’t been with anyone else. And I don’t plan to.”

“Not even Svetlana?”

“No. No one.”

Shane nodded. “Neither have I.” He realized that was technically true, but he also wanted to be honest. “I did kiss someone else, though. I’m sorry, I thought…well, I thought we were over.”

“Who?” Ilya asked while he shed his clothes. He sounded more curious than bothered though.

“Uh, Will. The guy from Rose’s party.”

“Oh, great. I’m over here being celibate, and you are out kissing Mr. Panic! At the Disco?” Ilya scoffed, but he was smiling.

“Shut up. It only lasted like two seconds.”

“Mm, what happened, not good enough?” Ilya asked, pulling him in until their bodies were pressed together.

“No, not even close.”

They kissed until they were both pushing for more, hard cocks rubbing together. Shane climbed onto the bed, and Ilya landed on top of him, stopping briefly to open Shane’s nightstand drawer, and pulled out the bottle of lube, then held up a condom.

“We can still use them if you want,” Ilya said.

Shane shook his head. “No. Not tonight.”

Ilya dropped the condom and then settled more firmly between Shane’s legs until they were pressed together from lips to hips. The kiss was hungry and desperate, making up for lost time, filled with their newly confessed love and maybe some leftover fear from what happened on campus. It was hot and sweet and perfect, and Shane melted into it, his hands roaming Ilya’s back, feeling the familiar moles and muscles and warm skin that he’d never get enough of and needed more than anything else in that moment. Ilya pulled back enough to shift himself to Shane’s side, then he slicked his fingers and pressed one into him. He crooked his finger, making Shane’s head tip back, and when it did, Ilya leaned down to kiss his neck, the double sensation drawing a moan from him.

“More,” Shane breathed, impatient tonight, wanting Ilya to be inside of him, on top of him, knowing that this was real and Ilya was his and he could finally have all of him.

Ilya pushed another finger in, stretching him and driving him crazy, each press of that spot pushing a breathy noise from him. When he finally pulled them out, Shane watched him slick his bare cock, the anticipation of feeling him that way, nothing between them, sent a shiver through him. Ilya settled between his legs, pushing them up, and just the feeling of his cock against him had Shane moaning. Ilya pushed in, slowly, his own face showing the barely held back restraint. He leaned his forehead against Shane’s, eyes still open, so intimately close.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel perfect. So fucking good.”

“Does it feel different?” Shane asked, his voice thready.

Ilya nodded against him. “Yes. Fuck. I might not last,” he said, already moving, hips thrusting hard enough to push Shane further into the pillows. Ilya admitting that his control was slipping because they were fucking bare made Shane’s whole body pulse. It felt different for him too, the squeaky slide of the condom replaced with warm, soft skin. He didn’t know if it was a real physical difference or just the extra emotional connection, and he didn’t care; it was perfect.

“Shane,” Ilya whispered against his neck. “I’m sorry for before. That I didn’t talk to you.” His voice was breathy and uneven, each thrust pushing it out of him more forcefully. “I love you.”

“I know. Fuck…I love you too. But—ah, fuck— you can’t do that anymore, okay?” Shane’s voice was no better, his body already getting close to orgasm, and Ilya kept pushing his legs back further, slightly changing the angle. 

“I know.”

The warm, tingly wave started to build in his core when Ilya said, “I’m close. Fuck. Don’t come yet.”

Shane was going to tell him that he wasn’t sure he could do that, but then Ilya was coming. His hips stuttered, and he groaned into Shane’s neck, and Shane could feel the warm pulse inside of him, and it took every bit of his control not to follow Ilya over the edge, especially when he whispered Shane’s name right below his ear, his voice deep and thick with his own orgasm.

Ilya shifted so he could kiss him and then said, “Wait.” Then he pulled out and shifted down the bed, until he was on his stomach, head between Shane’s legs. Shane expected to feel Ilya’s mouth on his cock, but instead, his legs were pushed up again, and Ilya’s face was buried in his ass, tongue lapping lightly against his hole, where Shane could already feel cum dripping.

“Oh fuck, what are you doing?” Shane whimpered. That light brush of soft, wet heat against him was soothing and so fucking good he couldn’t keep the low, needy noises from pushing out of his throat.

Ilya lifted his head briefly. “I want to make you come this way. Is it okay?”

Shane nodded, then said, “Yes, fuck.”

Then Ilya’s tongue was back, flicking lightly against him at first, before pressing flat and dragging up and down and then pushing into him. Shane let one of his hands tangle in Ilya’s soft curls, wanting to feel them, wanting to feel his head moving while he tried to watch, but his eyes kept rolling back, and his body was so overheated and tingling and ready to fly apart. The noises of Ilya’s mouth and tongue against him were filthy and hot and loud in the quiet room, competing only with his own moans that were getting steadily louder. 

Shane was so close, his orgasm hovering, and when Ilya slipped one finger in alongside his tongue, curling it as he lapped around it, Shane’s control broke apart, the waves of pleasure surging through him. It was slower and more of a whole body experience than usual, like he could feel what Ilya’s tongue was doing there on every inch of him, his skin pulsing with it, and when the dam broke, it was a small crack at first, and then suddenly everything gave way and he was coming with a cry of pleasure and Ilya’s name and so much love he could hardly contain it. He knew his fingers were curled too tightly in Ilya’s hair, and he was pressing himself even harder against Ilya’s face, but he had no control over his body.

When he came back to himself, still breathing hard, his body still trembling, Ilya was there above him, eyes soft and moving across his face. He leaned down and kissed him, and Shane kissed him back, hands immediately finding the back of Ilya’s head again, gentler now, but dragging him closer.

“Fuck,” Shane breathed when Ilya pulled back.

“It was okay?” Ilya asked, still there, just above him.

“Yes, fuck. Wow.” Words were hard when you just had your soul sucked out through your asshole.

Ilya laughed and kissed him again.

“Was that your first time…without a condom?” Shane asked as Ilya grabbed a tissue to wipe his stomach.

“Yes.” After he tossed the tissue, he settled more heavily on top of Shane.

“Wow,” Shane said. It felt good to be the first and hopefully only. “So that was also…”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“You keep saying that word,” Ilya said, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone.

“I think I’m still in shock.”

“Shock because of earlier?”

“No. I mean, yes, that too probably. But mostly that you love me. And you’re staying.”

Ilya didn’t say anything, he just leaned down and kissed him again, soft and slow, one hand brushing through his hair, so gentle it made Shane’s heart ache.

“So, are you going to move in when your lease is up?” Shane asked when they broke apart again.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Of course. You basically moved in months ago.”

Ilya let out an amused exhale through his nose. “Yes, basically. But now it will be harder to hide it from our friends.”

“Yeah. We can tell them when we’re ready. At least Rose and Svetlana won’t be surprised.”

“True. Svetlana already knows, mostly. She has been helping me figure things out. She will be very relieved I won’t have to move in with her”

Shane laughed, then said, “I could have helped too.” He brushed a stray curl from Ilya’s forehead.

“I know. I’m sorry. But you are helping.”

Shane sighed happily. “I’m just glad you’re here. I missed you.”

“Me too.”

They stayed like that for a while, tangled together, talking quietly, hands moving over warm skin, comforting and grounding after a strange and very emotional night. When Shane finally fell asleep, it was with the knowledge that this was real and Ilya would still be there in the morning.

-

Ilya woke too early the next morning, before Shane’s alarm. He checked his phone, relieved to see that practice was canceled, as were all morning classes. Campus was closed until 1pm. He pulled up nola.com, not surprised to see that the first article was about what happened on campus.

Shane stirred then. “Hey,” he said sleepily, a small smile on his face.

Ilya put an arm around him and pulled him closer. “No practice or morning classes.”

“Thank god. How long did we sleep?”

“Maybe four hours. We’re in the news,” Ilya said, turning his phone screen for Shane to see. “Not by name yet, but three NOU hockey players were at the scene.”

“Oh god. I need to call my parents,” Shane said. “Does it say anything else?”

“Suspect in custody for the murders of three NOU students. They haven’t named him yet either.”

“What a fucking nightmare. The Order is going to get away with covering up for someone, aren’t they?”

Ilya shrugged. “They are very well connected.”

“I need to take a shower,” Shane said, sitting up. “And then I’m going to call my parents. I’m going to tell them. About being gay, I mean. Maybe they’ll be too relieved that I didn’t get murdered to ask me any other questions.”

Ilya laughed. “Okay. You are going to give them heart attack with too much news.”

“They’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, might freak out.”

“You think they won’t be okay with it?”

“No, I do. I mean…yeah, I think they’ll be fine. But…fuck. I’m nervous anyway.”

“I know. But you’re brave. And I know you’re doing this for me. You don’t have to,” Ilya said, running his fingers through Shane’s soft hair, still mussed from sleep. 

“I’m doing it for both of us.”

Ilya’s chest was too tight and warm, and it was making his eyes burn. “I love you,” he said quietly, pressing his lips to the top of Shane’s head. Would he ever get used to saying that?

“I love you too. I can’t believe I get to say that out loud.” 

Ilya smiled at the similar thought and pulled Shane in closer, ignoring the way his eyes continued to burn.

-

A couple of hours later, Ilya was sitting on Shane’s bed while Shane was in the living room, talking to his parents on a video call. He could hear what Shane was saying, and occasionally Yuna Hollander’s voice. The initial conversation about what happened the previous night had been a little…shrill. His parents did not take the news of Shane being in the vicinity of a murderer very well, and Ilya could certainly relate. 

Once that part of the conversation died down, Shane told them he had other news. He’d practically blurted out that he was gay, like he had to get it out as fast as possible or else it’d never come out. Ilya smiled, but he’d meant what he said…Shane was brave. It was hard for Ilya to even imagine a scenario where he’d willingly tell someone he was related to that he was bi. Svetlana was the closest he’d ever get, and she’d known as long as he had. He’d never had to come out to anyone he cared about and wasn’t sleeping with. 

It sounded like Shane’s parents were both completely fine with it and apologetic that Shane hadn’t felt comfortable telling them before now. He assured them that he had just still been figuring things out.

“I’m also seeing someone,” he heard Shane say, and his ears perked up. “Um, hold on, okay?”

Footsteps, and then Shane was in the bedroom doorway. “Hey, uh…would you want to meet my parents? It’s up to you. You can say no.”

Ilya got off the bed. “I will meet them.”

He followed Shane back into the living room and sat next to him on the couch. Shane’s parents, on the small screen of his phone, propped up against some textbooks on the coffee table, were both looking at him with mild surprise.

“You remember Ilya?” Shane said. 

Ilya had seen Shane’s parents a couple of times when they’d come into town and attended some games. But they’d never been properly introduced.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly.

“We’re…” Shane trailed off, like he was trying to find the word. Ilya didn’t say anything, letting Shane take the lead here. “Together,” he said finally. “He’s coming home with me this summer. We’ll find somewhere else to stay if we have to, but I was hoping we could visit the cottage. If you’re okay with it.”

Ilya almost laughed. Shane was being very brave indeed, asking his parents in front of Ilya. 

“Of course, honey,” Yuna Hollander said, her face pulled into some mix of surprise and awe and maybe concern…Ilya wasn’t sure. “We’d love to have you both. We’re excited to meet you properly, Ilya.”

Shane’s father nodded along with her, mostly silent, but he had a small, very Shane-like smile on his face that almost looked like relief. Like he was glad Shane had someone.

When Shane finally got off the phone with them, he immediately straddled Ilya’s lap and kissed him. “Thanks,” he said against Ilya’s lips. “For doing that. I just really wanted to tell them about you.”

Ilya blinked quickly, his eyes burning for the second time today. All the love he felt kept trying to leak out of his stupid eyes. He would never get tired of Shane being excited about being with him. It felt like the kind of dream that was always just out of reach, and now that it wasn’t…

“Thank you,” he whispered, tightening his arms around Shane before he pulled to look at him.

Suddenly Shane was out of his lap and walking quickly to the front door. Ilya looked over the back of the couch to see him bending down, then standing up with an envelope in his hand. 

“Looks like we’ve been summoned,” Shane said as he pulled the invitation out. “Tonight at 10.”

-

Shane went to his afternoon class once campus opened back up. He was restless, as were all the other students. Everyone was whispering about what had happened the previous night, and he was beyond grateful they hadn’t released his name. The last thing he wanted to do was answer questions. It had been humiliating enough telling the cops he’d gone off alone with James twice. He’d rather keep any further involvement to himself. 

Ilya had texted with Cliff before they left for class. He was fine. They’d let him go home after he got his arm stitched up, no lasting damage expected. He might have to sit out a game or two so he didn’t pop a stitch. Hayden had texted him to ask what the fuck had happened, and Shane told him as much of the truth as he could, which was admittedly not much. Mostly just that he and Ilya had run into Cliff on campus when everything went down. Rose clearly hadn’t heard yet, even though Shane was fairly certain Ilya had texted Svetlana. He was pretty sure Rose was not going to be quiet about it when she found out. Rose was rarely quiet about anything.

When Shane walked into his apartment after class, Ilya was already there, sprawled on the couch, watching some dumb reality show with people in masks. He almost shuddered at the sight of them. After he kicked his shoes off and put his bag down, he immediately crawled on top of Ilya. He was still giddy about the whole thing. About Ilya staying and loving him and moving in eventually. It was a little surreal, even though not much had changed. Just the words that were there. The ones he was allowed to say out loud now.

“Hi,” he said, settling his weight on top of Ilya. “How was class?”

“Pointless. No one could pay attention.” Ilya’s arms wrapped around him.

“Same in mine.”

“What should we do until the meeting tonight?” Ilya asked, snaking one hand down the back of his jeans to squeeze his ass.

Shane laughed. “Maybe that. We can get takeout too. I don’t feel like making anything today.”

“Good. More time for this,” Ilya said, letting his hand drift lower. “Eat first?”

Shane wanted to say no, but it had been a long day and he’d hardly eaten. “Yeah. What should we get?”

“We can walk to Parasol’s. I need something fried.”

Shane made a face. “We’re in the middle of the season.”

“Ugh.” Ilya pushed his head back against the armrest. “Fine. We can go to that new place on Sixth St. They have like twenty different salads. And I can get a sandwich. With bread. And bacon. And cheese.”

Shane shook his head and leaned down to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go now,” Ilya said, sitting up with Shane still clinging to him. “I have plans for after.”

-

At 9:30, Shane was in the bathroom trying to clean up after Ilya’s plans so they could make it to campus on time. When he was dressed and ready, he met Ilya in the hall, and they walked down together. As usual, Ilya grabbed his hand as soon as they were on the sidewalk and didn’t let go until they were on campus. 

“I’m kind of nervous,” Shane said when the chapel came into view. “Do you think we’ll be in trouble for being involved? And knowing what James said about them covering something up?”

“What can they do? Kick us out? I’m not sure that would be a bad thing anymore.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah. True. Everything about this feels wrong.”

Ilya let out a long breath through his nose. “It’ll be fine.”

They reached the chapel doors and followed someone else inside. Ilya turned into a pew near the back, and Shane sat next to him, looking around. Almost every face was grim. There was no one on the stage at the front yet, but the candles in the sconces were lit, light dancing off the stained glass windows and giving everything an eerie glow.

A couple of minutes after 10, someone walked out from the back and onto the stage. It was the man with the full face mask. The one who had questioned Shane in the confessional and stood behind the man in the half mask at the last meeting. Shane remembered they’d had terse words after, even though he hadn’t been able to make them out.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. He was standing at the front center of the stage now. “This is an important meeting, and I need your full attention.”

He reached up and pulled the mask off, revealing a face Shane knew. Dr. Scott Hunter. Shane must have made an audible noise because Ilya turned to look at him.

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

“Some of you may know me. I’m Scott Hunter, professor of philosophy here at NOU. But I was once one of  you. A student here, inducted into the Ordre des Masques.” He paused for a moment, eyes sweeping over the students lining the pews. “It was a heady thing, being invited into a secret society, something I’d only read about, watched in movies. It turned out to be one of the greatest things to happen to me during my time here. I made friends for life, built the kind of network most people only dream of. I met my partner, who was a Tulane student at the time, at the Avenue Trinity ball.” 

Dr. Hunter had an affectionate smile on his face that Shane recognized because he had a similar one when he thought about Ilya. Especially Ilya in his tux and mask at that same ball.

“When I came back here to teach, I was delighted to be invited back into the fold at first. I missed it. Missed the masks and the secrecy and even this chapel. That’s why it took me a little too long to realize that that shouldn’t have happened. The Order was always run by the students. The alumni network is there to act as mentors and provide networking opportunities, but they had their turn. That should have never changed.”

He started pacing along the stage. “Many of you may already know, but some members of the Order were withholding information about the terrible murders that occurred right here in our backyard. We lost three members. Three students who had bright futures ahead of them. Who were loved by their families and friends. An unimaginable tragedy. It has not reached the public yet, but it will soon. I won’t reveal names to you here. Just know that law enforcement is dealing with it. Two high-ranking alumni members were aware that one of our student members took the life of a Tulane student last year. Julie Adams. She was killed in a hit and run, and one of our masks was found at the scene, dropped by our member when he got out to check on her. The police didn’t know what that mask meant. They assumed it was just a prop from a party. However, Julie’s brother knew. As a member of our sister organization at Tulane, he recognized its meaning right away and tried to blackmail our members into giving up the person who committed the hit and run. They decided to protect that student instead. I won’t get into the details, but just know that those alumni and the member responsible for the death of Julie Adams are all in custody now. Tough decisions were made among the rest of our alumni group, but we are not above the law. The Order will not protect you in that way.”

He paused again, visibly centering himself. “I’m here to do what should have been done long ago. I’m turning the Ordre des Masques back over to you, the students. One of our senior student members will take over as President to see out the rest of the year, then you’ll vote as a group for who takes over next year. You can build out your council, get back to our roots of volunteering and supporting the local community.”

He took a deep breath and stepped back. “I know this has been a strange year. Thank you for your patience and for upholding our values. One last thing before I go. While the theatrics and mystique are important traditions of our existence, there will be no more entering of residences without permission. You’ll receive your invitations under the door or in a mailbox. If you can’t be reached that way, emails will be used. Welcome to the 21st century.” Dr. Hunter spread his arms wide, a smirk on his face. “Before I go, can the following people please join me in the back. The rest of you are dismissed for the evening. Have a good night.”

Dr. Hunter listed off three names, one of which was Shane Hollander. Shane looked over at Ilya. “Wait for me?” 

“Of course. I’ll be right outside.” 

He watched Ilya fall into step with Jackson on his way out the front door of the chapel. Shane made his way to the back, bypassing the stage and following the two others who had been named down the hallway toward the room with the confessional booth. 

“Mr. Hollander first,” Dr. Hunter said. Shane stepped inside, and Dr. Hunter closed the door behind him.  “I heard what happened last night. I’m glad you and Mr. Rozanov and your friend made it out relatively unscathed. As you know, Julie’s brother was arrested for the three murders of our members. It should be a pretty cut and dry case.”

Shane nodded, thinking again of James and how close he’d come to being another body. All because some assholes wanted to cover up another murder and keep their secrets.

“He also admitted to harassing Cliff Marlow. I’m sorry that you were asked to report on your friend. That was another problematic decision that I was unable to override at the time. You handled it as well as you could.”

“Thanks,” Shane said, still feeling the wrongness of that, even months later. “I thought you seemed familiar that night.”

Dr. Hunter smiled. “The secrecy around here gets a little out of hand sometimes.” He paused for a moment, then, “That’s not why I called you in here though. We’re starting our next round of recruitment, and I’m helping out until the students get the hang of things. One of our top contenders is someone we think you might be able to vouch for.”

“Me?” Shane asked in surprise.

Dr. Hunter nodded. “Rose Landry. She’s talented, bright, hard working. We think she’d be a perfect fit. Do you agree?”

Shane thought about Rose. She was talented and bright and hard working. Shane was pretty sure she was going to be a movie star one day. Or on Broadway. Whatever she wanted. Having a network like this could only help.

“Yes, I agree. Rose is great.”

Dr. Hunter nodded. “That’s all I needed to hear. I trust your judgement.”

Shane blinked at him, the words stuck in his chest.

“I was on the hockey team when I was a student here too. And my husband coaches rugby here now. I like to make sure athletes aren't passed over in favor of only recruiting the more traditionally academic-leaning students. I was happy to hear your name come up for our previous round of recruits. You’re a great addition, exactly who we want representing us.”

“Oh,” Shane said softly, the word 'husband' repeating in his head. “Thanks, Dr. Hunter.”

“Alright. Get out of here and enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Hollander.”

He held out a hand, and Shane shook it, still trying to process everything. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

He walked out, past the two other students, and through the now empty chapel. The flickering candles and glowing stained glass looked peaceful now, the ominous air of earlier had dissipated. Ilya was waiting right outside the doors.

“Everything okay?” he asked, immediately taking Shane’s hand.

Shane nodded. “Yeah. I’ve taken a couple of classes with him. I like him a lot. Apparently, he's married to a man.” Shane said it softly, surprise still there. He looked around, but they were alone. “He asked me if Rose would be a good recruit.”

“Ah, yes. Makes sense. She is a good choice.”

Shane laughed, thinking about what her reaction would be. “Yeah. I’m just relieved that things are going to be like…normal now. Hopefully.”

“Normal and boring, just how you like it,” Ilya teased.

“Shut up.” 

They’d just stepped off campus onto the neighboring side street, and Shane stopped walking, pulling Ilya against him for a kiss that went on a little too long. By the time they made it back to their building, they were both itching to pick up where they left off. In Shane’s bedroom, they undressed and tumbled into bed.

Shane was on top, cradled between Ilya’s knees, looking down at him. Ilya’s golden brown curls were a mess, from walking home in the windy, damp air, and from Shane’s fingers running through them. His cheeks were a little pink, eyes bright, a small, sweet smile on his face.

“You’re staring,” Ilya said. 

Shane smiled and brushed a thumb across his cheek. “I want to make you feel good tonight.”

“I always feel good with you.”

Shane leaned down to kiss him. “That’s sweet. But you know what I mean.”

And Shane made good on what he said. He kissed every inch of Ilya’s skin he could reach, pressing lips to every mole, his nipples, his collarbones, the trail of hair running from his navel to his cock, the soft skin at the crease of his thighs, and eventually to the tight ring of his hole, where he spent a long time using his tongue to learn what Ilya liked and then making him fall apart beneath him, the way he’d been wanting to for so long. He knew Ilya wasn’t as comfortable with this as he was, and his chest had swelled when Ilya had immediately given him a small nod as soon as he’d asked if he could. 

When Ilya’s whole body was flushed and trembling and he had Shane’s hair in a death grip, Shane reached up to stroke his cock while his tongue continued to lap at him, and Ilya came with a loud moan and Shane’s name on his lips, almost a whisper, reverent and precious. After, Shane crawled up and stretched out beside him, pressing small kisses to Ilya’s lips and temple, brushing his hair back, while Ilya’s eyes fluttered and he caught his breath.

“Fuck, Shane. You are trying to kill me.”

Shane huffed a small laugh. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Sorry. Come here,” Ilya said, pulling Shane back into a kiss and reaching down to stroke his cock. It didn’t take long before Shane was coming, already so close to the edge just from watching Ilya overcome with pleasure. 

Shane cleaned them both up and then curled against Ilya, resting his head on his chest. They had practice in the morning. Then classes. A game on Friday night. An essay due the following week. The world had not slowed down just because Shane was suddenly allowed to tell Ilya he loved him, which seemed a bit unfair, really. But he rested easy anyway, knowing that they’d get to do this every night now. Knowing that the murders and the Order weren’t hanging over their heads anymore. And most of all, knowing that Ilya loved him back.

-

A few months later - May

“Are we there yet?” Ilya whined from the backseat beside him.

“Fuck off, Roz,” Cliff said from the driver’s seat. “It’s only a 3 hour drive, stop being a whiny bastard.”

Ilya was smiling and shoving more sour gummy worms into his mouth. “You drive like a grandmother.”

“Blame Pike.”

Hayden was driving the other car that was a little ways ahead of them on I-10, heading east to Alabama. Before everyone parted ways for the summer, they’d decided to rent a house in Gulf Shores and have a beach weekend. Shane was sitting in the backseat on the passenger side, Ilya in the middle, Svetlana beside him. Cliff had volunteered to drive, and Rose had somehow lucked out and got the front passenger seat. She had headphones on and was leaning against the window, ignoring them all. Hayden, Jackie, JJ, Nick, and Mitty were in the other car.

“Who let Pike drive anyway?” Ilya asked. “He is Canadian, probably doesn’t even know how roads work here.”

“Hey,” Shane said, elbowing him. “I’m Canadian.”

“Exactly.”

“Fuck off,” Shane laughed. He felt good. Relaxed and happy. The hockey season had ended well for them, and he’d aced all of his classes. Ilya had officially moved into his apartment. After the beach trip, they were heading to Ottawa for a few weeks, and then Ilya would go back to New Orleans to spend time with Svetlana while Shane stayed in Canada for a couple of extra weeks with his parents. But the real game-changer was that he and Ilya had come out and told all of their friends about their relationship. All the ones on this trip anyway. Everyone had taken it well, after some initial surprise and a few pointed comments about Shane’s choice in men that were at least mostly in jest. Mitty and JJ had accepted that he was gay with even less surprise than Hayden. It felt good to be able to just exist now without overthinking every movement, every look, every comment. To be able to watch Jackie and Hayden and not feel envious of how easy it was for them to be together. They still weren’t out to the team at large, deciding to keep it out of the locker room, for the sake of distractions and possible consequences. But being out with their friends was enough for now.

They made it to their rental early in the afternoon without anyone getting kicked out of the car. The house was right off the beach, just one street to cross to get to the sun-baked sand and slightly gross foamy water of the Gulf. Shane had made a face when they’d first walked out and set up chairs and umbrellas, but Ilya had no hesitation. He dropped his stuff and strolled out into the water, letting the bubbly waves wash over his legs before he swam out further.

“Come on,” he yelled at everyone else. The girls were already under their respective umbrellas, drinks in hand, and they were clearly not going in. The rest of them eventually made their way to the water, even Shane. Ilya grabbed him by the hand and pulled him further out. 

“This is kind of gross,” he said, feeling little pieces of shell and who knew what else beneath his feet. “Why is the water sort of brown?”

“Is this your first time here?” Ilya asked.

“Yes.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “How have you lived in New Orleans for three years and this is the first time you’ve been to the beach?”

“I don’t know. I usually spend Spring Break catching up on school stuff.”

Ilya laughed. “I love you, my boring Shane.”

“Shut up. I love you too.”

“Next time we will go further down the coast. The water gets bluer.” 

Next time. Shane could still hardly believe he and Ilya had a lot of next times to look forward to. 

He eventually escaped the questionable water and settled on the beach next to Rose to watch Ilya and Cliff wrestle in the murky surf like kids. It somehow devolved into a game of chicken with JJ and Hayden vs. Cliff and Ilya. Shane cheered and laughed with Jackie, Rose, Svetlana, and Mitty, and he may have felt a little guilty about how loud he whooped when Ilya knocked Hayden into the water.

By the time the sun started going down, everyone else had made their way back to the house, while Shane and Ilya sat on the beach alone together.

“How are you feeling?” Shane asked, tangling their fingers together in the sand.

“Sunburnt,” Ilya said, looking at his pink shoulders.

Shane snorted. “I told you to reapply. I’ll rub aloe on you later. But I meant about…not going home.”

Ilya would usually be on his way to Moscow now, and while he hadn’t talked much about it, Shane could tell it was weighing on him.

“I don’t know. It’s a little…mm, you know, like weight off my back. I always dread it. But it is strange, knowing I won’t see them.”

Shane nodded. “Maybe one day, right?” He hoped, for Ilya’s sake, that his family wouldn’t permanently cut him out of their lives.

“Maybe,” Ilya said softly, and that one word held a mountain of hope and fear. Shane would do anything he could to help Ilya get to the other side, whatever that held.

“I’m glad you’re coming home with me. I think you’re going to like the cottage,” Shane said, leaning against him. “It’s relaxing. And my dad will grill everything that can possibly go on a grill…and probably a few things that shouldn’t. You’ll be sick of burgers by the time you leave.”

Ilya wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned in to kiss him. “Thank you. For inviting me.”

They stayed like that until the sun had dipped entirely behind the horizon, the orange glow reflected on the water giving way to the dim dusky purple of twilight, the sound of waves lapping drowning out the noise from further down the beach. It was perfect in every way, and Shane couldn’t help but think how grateful he was that his year hadn’t quite gone as planned.

Chapter End Notes

Hiii, thanks for reading! Okay so...here's the thing. I'm never writing a mystery ever again. This shit was hard. This fic almost ended me. If you hate how I wrapped it up...don't tell me lmao. It was mostly for the vibes anyway. I really just wanted to play with Hollanov in college, and most of all, in my city (and New Orleans is perfect for weird mysterious shit, am I right). And I wanted to try something new…no regrets (maybe some regrets). I bow down to mystery writers everywhere (it's one of my fav genres)...my respect for you has increased x10000.

So...a few behind-the-scenes notes. I didn't want to have a big scene with the murderer...just thinking about writing a villain monologue for James pissed me off. I also didn't want a whole confrontation where either Ilya or Shane got hurt saving the other. In fact, I originally was going to have them just go home after the first "I love you," and hear about everything the next morning. But I figured we needed at least a little more resolution than that.

Also, I don't want it to seem like I wrote Shane as a damsel in distress that Ilya had to save. For me, they need each other equally, just in different ways. And the only reason Shane was in trouble was because he is so nice and couldn't resist helping his idiot teammate, the love of his life's bestie. That's not a flaw or a weakness! Plus, he totally could have taken James if he needed to (I get to decide that here, so).

Okay. Thanks again for reading! I'm on threads @ shadow_lilies1 and tumblr @ shadowlilies1. And like I said...if you hated the end...no need to tell me! :)