Under Pressure

by dabforpalermo

Summary:

Shane Hollander is struggling to make ends meet. After his best friend Hayden sets up a dating profile for him on a sugar baby website, he learns that there are some men who will pay for anything - even companionship.

Notes:

Woah!! I accidentally wrote 4 chapters of this in one day… oops
Please be mindful that this is an entirely alternate universe- there is really no reference to canon other than character personalities. If that’s not your cup of tea, I respect it.
I’m so excited to post this!!

Chapter 1

Shane’s fingers shake from the cold. It’s his third winter with the same ratty, torn pair of gloves, and Ontario in November seems to get colder and colder each year. He brings his hands up to his mouth and blows a puff of hot air, stretching the kinks out of his neck, and pulls his spring jacket tighter over his body. 

 

“Do you want my scarf?”

 

He flushes, though he assumes he can blame the chilly weather. Hayden is staring at him with an expectant and concerned expression- the kind he hates the most. He shakes his head and grabs his cup. 

 

“I’m good,” he responds. His lukewarm coffee soothes his throat- he tried to cut caffeine, too expensive of a habit, but the withdrawal headaches make it worth having holes in his shoes. They’re inside, but most establishments don’t turn the heat on until after it hits -10. Somehow, it still is warmer than his apartment. “You were- uh, you were saying?”

 

Hayden’s mouth twists slightly, like each word out of Shane only worries him more. He leans in closer, as if someone is watching them, and stares tentatively into Shane’s eyes. “I don’t want you to respond until I’ve finished talking.” 

 

Shane mimics zipping his mouth shut, leaning back in his chair, already dreading this conversation. 

 

“I- uh, god, this is weird,” Hayden stutters, a sigh leaving his lips. “I just- I know it’s the holidays coming up, and uh, you know, with that day coming-“

 

“Hayden.”

 

“You said you wouldn’t talk.” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “Listen, Jackie and I were talking, and we want to give you some money.”

 

Shane’s ears burn in embarrassment. He sits up straightener, his head already shaking. “Absolutely not.”

 

“Buddy-“

 

“No,” Shane cuts him off, his tone sharper than he wanted. He takes a second and tries again. “Look, I- uh, I appreciate it, man, I really do, I just-“

 

“Shut up and let me talk.” Hayden reaches across the table, resting his palm over Shane’s cold hand, and looks at him with the exact same expression Shane’s grown to hate- pity. “You can pay us back when you’re- you know, back on your feet. Not much. Just enough to get you by.”

 

Shane opens his mouth to talk, but Hayden raises his other hand, cutting him off.

 

“You can’t freeze your way through winter, buddy. I know you have this… thing about accepting help or whatever, and- and that might work on everyone else, but not us. We’re worried.”

 

Shane drops his gaze, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and closes his eyes. 

 

“Please, Shane.”

 

He looks up, spotting the hopeful glint in Hayden’s eyes, and shakes his head once more, immediately squashing it. “I can’t take money from you.” 

 

“Yeah, well I can’t let my best friend die,” Hayden says, his voice more serious than Shane’s ever heard it. He pulls back, the tension thick, and exhales slowly through his nose. “Have you ever thought of… like… other options?”

 

“I work every day I can already, Hayden,” Shane sighs, bringing his hand up to rub his temples. “I don’t have time for other options.”

 

“What if-“

 

“Look, Hayden, I really appreciate it,” Shane says, his voice shaking. He needs to leave. He stands, his chair making a loud creaking noise against the tile, and tries to hide his trembling hands. “I just- I can’t. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

 

“You don’t have to be fine, Shane.”

 

“I am,” he says, though it falls unconvincing on his own ears. “I am. I’m okay.”

 

“What if I find something?” Hayden asks, standing as well. “A way for you to make some good money. I know a lot of people in different industries, maybe I could get you a good opportunity.”

 

Shane feels the familiar tightening in his chest that only means one thing. He sucks in a shaky breath and nods, desperate to end the conversation, and grabs his coffee cup. “Sure. I don’t know. I guess. Whatever.”

 

The grin that breaks out on Hayden’s face almost makes this conversation worth it. He pulls Shane into a hug, squeezing him tightly. “Come to dinner on Friday, please. Jackie’s dying to see you.”

 

Shane is about to throw up all over him. He nods into his shoulders, body tense. “Okay. Yeah.” 

 

“Okay, buddy,” Hayden pulls back, grasping his shoulders. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

 

Shane nods, giving him what he hopes is a convincing smile. He waits for him to leave and ducks out the front door, hands grasping for his chest the moment he’s out of sight. He leans back against the alley behind the cafe, trying to suck in a breath, but it keeps getting caught in his ribs. 

 

His hands scramble for his shitty phone, the screen cracked along the edges. He scrolls on autopilot, down dozens of text chains, until he finds the one he’s looking for, his breath coming out quick and uneven. 

 

Mom:

13 months ago:

You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Deep breaths. I’d be there if I could. 

 

He reads the message over and over, his knees going weak, and doubles over, tucking his head between his legs. He must look insane, but he can’t find it in him to care anymore. He’s down for several moments, trying to catch his breath, until a deep, rich voice interrupts him. 

 

“You are dying?” 

 

He looks up, head spinning at the sudden movement, and stumbles with a wave of dizziness. There’s a man standing a few feet away from him, his lips wrapped around a cigarette, and the gaze in his eyes turns from amused to concerned as Shane looks at him. 

 

He’s dressed in a neat, pressed suit- the kind that are only owned and worn by rich assholes. On top is a luxurious winter jacket, fur lined and thick, and he’s wearing the right kind of shoes for the weather. The man quirks an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Seriously, you are okay?” 

 

His Russian accent throws Shane off kilter, and the man takes another step forward, pulling out a custom cigarette case. Definitely a rich asshole. He clicks it open and holds it out to Shane. 

 

“I don’t- I don’t smoke,” Shane says dumbly, watching the man hum and put it back in his pocket. He moves even closer, and Shane catches a whiff of an expensive smelling cologne, the scent burning the inside of his nostrils. 

 

“Is bad business to kill customers behind cafe.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Shane snaps, glaring at him. The absolute nerve of this man to show up in his thousand dollar attire, wave his thousand dollar personalized cigarette case at him, and judge Shane for his behaviour. 

 

The other man holds his hands up in defense, ashing his cigarette out on the ground. He pops it back into his mouth and studies Shane for a moment. Something about his gaze makes Shane feel naked- feel insecure. He shifts his weight and hums a little. 

 

“I do not need to phone ambulance?” 

 

“I said fuck off,” Shane repeats, though his voice doesn’t sound angry, just sounds weak. He tucks his shaking hands in his pockets and looks away, feeling trapped under the man’s stare. He stands up straighter, huffing out a hot breath and kicks himself off the alley wall, his feet slipping on a fresh patch of ice. He’s about to hit the ground when the man grabs him by the waist, holding his weight easily with one hand. 

 

“Woah, woah, easy,” he says, his voice soothing as Shane’s heartbeat rings in his ears. Of course- he has to make himself look even more like a fool in front of the rich, sexy, strong asshole who approached him. “You are alright?”

 

Shane steadies himself, and with the proximity, spots the thick wallet hanging from the back of the man’s pants. It must have slipped when he caught him. Shane nods, heart pounding, and does something he’s never done before-

 

He grabs the wallet. 

 

He quickly tucks it into his jacket, standing up straight and patting the buff man on the arms. He laughs nervously and steps aside. 

 

“Yup. Good. Thank- thank you. Uh. I gotta- uh, I gotta go.” Shane begins walking out of the alley, and by the time he hears a loud hey!, he’s already running, feet slapping against the slushy pavement as he escapes the man he just stole from. 

 

The guilt settles low in his gut as he arrives back at his apartment, checking behind his shoulder every few moments to make sure he’s not being tailed. He catches his breath, slapping the leather wallet down on the table full of overdue bills, and opens it, sorting through the cash, one overarching thought in his mind: 

 

What kind of idiot carries this much cash on them?

 

-

 

“Why the hell did you bring wine?”

 

Jackie studies him, her gaze sharp as she looks him up and down, as if she can see the weight loss through the baggy clothes he threw on. She has flour covering her nose and Shane doesn’t have the decency to duck out of the kiss she presses to his cheek, taking the wine and scoffing. 

 

“Hayden! Shane is here!”

 

Shane knows something is up the moment Hayden turns the corner, shit-eating smirk already resting on his face. He grabs Shane’s wrist and turns to Jackie. 

 

“We’re just gonna go to the basement for a second, babe.”

 

“Why are we-”

 

Shane is tugged down the stairs, then forced onto the couch, Hayden standing excitedly in front of him. His grin only grows wider. 

 

“I found it,” he says, eyes gleaming with joy. Shane doesn’t know the last time he’s ever seen his best friend so happy. 

 

“You found… what exactly?”

 

“I found a way to help.”

 

Shane rolls his eyes, leaning back against the couch. “Hayden, seriously, I-“

 

“Shut up!” Hayden exclaims. He steps closer and holds his phone out, and Shane is horrified to find a pre-made page on a dating website made with all of his information. There’s a picture up, something he had sent Hayden a few months ago. He looks considerably healthier in it, even if you can’t see his face. 

 

Shane- 26, gay, single, interested in puzzles, coffee, museums. 

 

“What the fuck is this?” Shane asks, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Hayden sits next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulder. 

 

“It’s a sugar baby website. Perverted old freaks will pay you just to message with you. You don’t have to do anything weird, don’t even have to have a picture of your face up here. You match with people based on their bios and go from there.”

 

Shane thinks he’s never blushed more in his life. He drops Hayden’s phone on the couch and leans forward on his knees, burying his face in his palms and groaning. 

 

“I’m not having sex with old men for money!”

 

“I just said you don’t have to do anything weird! Just- like, I dunno. Talk to them. They’re all lonely rich guys.”

 

“Hayden, this is fucking ridiculous.”

 

“What other options do you have, Shane?” He levels with him, sounding serious. Shane opens and closes his mouth a few times, coming up with nothing, and Hayden only smiles harder. “See? Just- give it a try, man. If it’s weird and you hate it, you never have to do it again.” 

 

“How’d you even hear about this?”

 

“One of Jackie’s friends met a guy on there. Said she went on two dates with him and he paid off her student debt.”

 

Shane grabs the phone again, sighing quietly as he looks through the likes he’s received already. It’s full of weird, bald old men, with gross sexual innuendos in their bios and who commented eggplant emojis on his page. He swipes left on all of them, until he lands on a certain profile. 

 

His picture is a mirror selfie, in a low hanging pair of grey sweatpants and a black wifebeater. Shane can see his abs through the picture, and his muscles are absolutely jacked. His face is blurred, but there’s a cute mop of curly blonde hair atop his head, and Shane feels his mouth go dry. He scrolls down. 

 

I.R.-  30, bisexual, single, D.  Likes: coffee, cigarettes, hockey. 

 

“He’s the only one that isn’t old,” Hayden provides, hooking his chin over Shane’s shoulder. “And he’s ripped. I’d do it.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Shane says, swatting him away. His finger hovers over the heart button. “What does ‘D’ mean?”

 

Hayden shrugs, reaching over and pressing the heart down. The screen erupts into fireworks, a big ‘you matched’ message appearing, and Shane feels his heart drop. He turns and shoves Hayden, who slaps at him back, and they quickly end up in an impromptu wrestling match before Jackie comes downstairs. 

 

“Will you two ever learn to act your age?”

 

Shane looks up, face flushed and hair a mess, and can’t stop the chuckle building in his chest. Hayden bursts out in laughter, and the two of them lose their shit for a good twenty seconds before a little ding is heard from Hayden’s phone. Their eyes meet, wide, and Shane tackles him once more in order to grab his phone. 

 

I.R.

Hi

 

Hayden honest to god squeals like a little girl, directly in Shane’s ear, and Jackie takes a long breath before heading back up the stairs. 

 

“I don’t even want to know what you two are up to. Wash your gross hands before you come eat.”

 

“Say hi back,” Hayden suggests, breathing right into Shane’s neck. Shane shoves him away by the cheek and turns his body, thumbs fiddling over the keyboard. 

 

Shane

hi

 

The next message is instant. 

 

I.R.

Phone #?

 

“Oh my god, he wants your phone number already!” 

 

“Can you chill the fuck out, you’re stressing me out!” Shane yells, hands shaking as he slowly types out his phone number. He checks it once, twice, three times before sending it off, shoving Hayden’s phone back in his hand. 

 

They go back upstairs, hair still a mess and breath still a little uneven, and Shane makes a point to avoid looking at his phone for the whole dinner. He and Hayden split the bottle of wine while Jackie packs up half a dozen Tupperware containers of leftovers, bagging them up and pressing them into Shane’s hands on the way out. 

 

“Please call me if you need anything,” Jackie says, hugging him tightly. Shane hugs her back and nods into her hair. 

 

“You’ve done enough. Thank you. Both of you.”

 

“No problem buddy. Have fun.” Hayden waggles his eyebrows. 

 

Shane closes the door behind him, beginning the walk back to his apartment, and dares to check his phone once he’s out in the cold. 

 

Unknown Number: 

Shane?

 

Shane hesitates for a long moment before sending back a quick ‘hiiii’. The typing bubble appears almost instantly. 

 

Unknown Number:

I thought I might have the wrong number.

 

Shane stops at a convenience store on the way home, using the rest of the cash he stole to purchase a bag of chips and a new container of dish soap. He types back while the guy rings him up. 

 

nope, it’s me lol

 

Unknown Number:

That is good. 

 

Shane slides the cash over, throwing his items in the bag Jackie packed for him, and exits the gas station, spotting his shitty apartment block a few yards away. His phone buzzes again with a new message, and though Shane has not frequently been on dating apps, he knows the drill. He’ll ask how he is, what he did today, what his favourite colour is, if he has any siblings. He unlocks his front door and flops on the couch, tugging his hoodie string into his mouth. 

 

Unknown Number:

When can we meet?

 

Shane’s heart drops. He gets up, still chewing on his string, and walks over to the fridge for a water bottle. The empty shelves stare at him, and though Jackie’s food will take up a little space, it’s strikingly obvious that he’s dirt poor. 

 

What does he have to lose?

 

He checks the calendar on his wall and types back. 

 

im off work tmrw @ 8, is that too late?

 

Unknown Number:

That’s perfect. 

Meet here:

 

He sends an address, a fancy looking restaurant that’s an hour long walk away from his workplace, and Shane sighs quietly. As he grabs his water bottle, his elbow knocks into the pile of Tupperware containers, sending all of Jackie’s delicious food flying on the ground. 

 

And, well, that’s an omen if he’s ever seen one.

 

-

 

Eight p.m. could not come any slower. Shane wipes the bar table down once more, his fingers sticky and his forehead sweaty, and stares down the clock, willing the last five minutes to move faster. His replacement comes in, tying an apron around her waist and looking over at Shane, who’s already punching out. 

 

“Big date tonight?”

 

“Something like that,” Shane says, grabbing his backpack from the staff room. He’d packed his nicest clothes for the occasion, even took his dads old button up shirt that hangs off of his frame, and he can’t help the tears that well in his eyes when he tugs it on. He quickly shakes the emotion away, pulling on his runners and ducking out the back entrance. At least the pick-pocketed money helped supply him a thicker winter jacket. 

 

He makes the 60 minute walk in just under half an hour. Every time he stops to catch his breath, he’s reminded of why he’s running

It’s okay, his brain provides. Not like this is your last chance or anything. Not like you have a month to catch up on rent before you’re evicted. Being homeless in Canadian winter will be a blast!

 

He takes deep, heaving breaths as he approaches the restaurant, checking his phone again. 

 

Unknown Number:

Say you are here to meet Ilya. 

 

He recites the words to the hostess, ignoring her bitchy, judgemental stare as she looks him up and down. He’s clearly underdressed. She leads him to the back of the restaurant, and Shane feels nauseous, eyes darting all over to find that same curly hair from the profile. 

 

He briefly entertains the idea that he’s been catfished. Why would an attractive, rich, thirty year old man need to pay for companionship? He’s about to turn around when he approaches the booth, a stocky figure looking up. 

 

Oh shit. 

 

“This is nice jacket,” a familiar Russian accent thickens his words. Shane feels his blood go cold. “You use my money to buy?”

 

Oh shit. 

Chapter 2

Notes:

Some trigger warnings for internalized (and externalized) homophobia, religious guilt, panic attacks- all the fun stuff!

Shane has spent a lot of his life questioning his faith. Growing up gay in a relatively conservative Ontario town was not for the weak- and every Sunday in church was spent hiding in the bathroom with an anxiety fuelled stomach ache. He’s always been cautious of what he believes in- was the first kid in his class to call bullshit on Santa and the Tooth Fairy, didn’t understand anything about fate or superstition, and most importantly, he couldn’t believe in God. 

 

It started when he began going to youth groups at the age of twelve. His parents signed him up, said he needed to go out more and be around kids his own age, but kids his age were all dumb and intellectually behind, and his mom mistook his refusal to go as regular social anxiety. It was only a few months later, after listening to the pastor preach about godly marriages between men and women that Shane realized what his issue was. 

 

He started to dig his heels in the ground even more, faking illnesses and homework and finding any excuse not to go. His parents were suspicious about the sudden intense passion Shane had against youth groups and church itself, and when they sat him down to speak to him about it, he had the second longest panic attack of his life. It lasted over an hour, Shane blubbering and crying and hyperventilating while his parents tried every trick in the book to calm him down, and when it ended, he was too exhausted to hide his feelings. 

 

I’m not right, he said, voice cracking. I’m a sinner. 

 

From there on out- Shane didn’t have to go to youth group, but he did have to go on anxiety medication. 

 

His parents did everything right. Though they couldn’t quite comprehend the thought that they may never have grandchildren, and that Shane’s life may be harder because of the way he loves, they got over their own prejudices to support their son. Shane started to read up on religion again- if there was a God above who could love him even though he was different, maybe he could believe in him. 

 

When his parents died five days after Christmas, he stopped believing in God for good. 

 

He was at Hayden and Jackie’s New Years/Housewarming party when he got the call. Car crash, the hospital said. Drunk driver. Dead on impact. Shane’s phone had hit the ground, shattered as it hit their new hard-wood floors, and Hayden had to sit with him and coach him through the first longest panic attack of his life. Jackie called an ambulance for him, convinced he was having a heart attack, but the paramedics confirmed it was nothing to be concerned about. 

 

Funny, Shane thought distantly in his hazed over brain. Nothing to be concerned about. My fucking parents are dead and you think I have nothing to be concerned about? 

 

Shane found out quickly through broker meetings and bank appointments that his parent’s luxurious life was all a front. In reality, they were barely making ends meet. Shane sold the house- well, Hayden sold the house- and he used whatever money he had from it to pay for the funeral. It’s costly enough to bury one person, let alone two. 

 

He wouldn’t have survived had it not been for Hayden and Jackie. He practically moved in with them for two months, allowing them to help him become a person again. Shane went off his medication, dropped out of university, and got a job at the dingiest bar in town. 

 

They are with God now, his distant relatives would say when they phoned him to wish their condolences. Shane wanted to tell them that God doesn’t exist- a real God would never let him feel like this, would never take away his parents, but instead he learned to hum along and thank them for their well wishes. 

 

Now, standing in front of the exact man whose wallet he stole last week, Shane’s starting to think there truly is a God, and he is being punished eternally. 

 

“Uh.”

 

The man- Ilya, if the name he’s using is real, gestures to the booth next to him. Shane wants to run, wants to disappear, wants to grab the butcher knife off the table and slit his own throat, but instead, he just stares blankly. 

 

“I’m- I’m so sorry,” Shane apologizes, squeezing his eyes closed. “I’ll leave-“

 

He goes to leave, but Ilya’s hand comes to wrap lightly around his wrist, the touch sending goosebumps up his arm. 

 

“I did not ask you to leave.”

 

Shane opens and closes his mouth like a fish, the look on Ilya’s face becoming amused, and obediently sits down. 

 

“That’s good. You can follow orders. This will work.”

 

The waiter comes to take their order, and Shane goes to open his menu, but Ilya takes over, speaking to the man in Russian and sending him off. Shane blinks a few times. 

 

“I order for you,” Ilya explains. He looks Shane up and down slowly. “Is nice jacket, really.”

 

“Look, I-“ Shane sighs, vowing that the next time he sees Hayden, he is so going to kick his ass. He quickly takes the jacket off. “I’m sorry. I never- I never do that.”

 

“You never steal wallet?”

 

Shane feels his face burning impossibly redder. “No. I don’t. I just- fuck. I don’t know.”

 

“You know,” Ilya starts, his body language relaxed, a sharp contrast to Shane’s intense posture. “I think all week about pretty boy who stole from me. Every time I close my eyes, I see you.” 

 

Shane swallows thickly. Ilya grabs his glass of water, holding it out to him. He takes it without a word. 

 

“And when I see picture on app, I see the same scar on arm that I saw that day,” Ilya continues, reaching out and gently running a finger along the scar on Shane’s wrist- a jagged, angry line that sticks out like a sore thumb. He should have known. “I am glad I am right.”

 

“What do you want from me?” Shane asks, voice already defeated. He imagines this guy probably wants to fight, wants to beat his ass for stealing or at least shake him for money. Instead, Ilya hums. 

 

“You know what I want. What I am on the app for,” he explains simply. “I have much money and I cannot spend it all. I like helping.”

 

Shane shivers slightly. He looks up, meeting Ilya’s intense gaze. “And- and what do I have to do?”

 

“Nothing you are not comfortable with.” Ilya shrugs. He lets go of where he’s resting his finger on Shane’s wrist and the spot immediately seems cold. “Is up to you.”

 

“You’re paying me, I think it’s up to you,” Shane says bitterly. Ilya refills his water and juts his chin, wordlessly commanding Shane to continue drinking. 

 

“That may be how some do this, but is not how I do it,” Ilya pauses as the waiter brings their food out, two plates with large steaks on each. Shane’s mouth starts watering at the sight. “We come to agreement. Contract.”

 

“And- and if I don’t want to… do anything?”

 

“Do you not?” Ilya asks, turning to face him. Shane flushes. 

 

Truth be told, it’s been nearly two years since he’s been with anybody. Since the accident, he hasn’t thought it relevant to look for a partner, and his only history remains in secret hookups with guys who wouldn’t come out, who wanted to ‘experiment’. Ilya might be a rich, conceited asshole, but by god- he’s attractive. 

 

Ilya smirks at his lack of answer. He gestures to the steak. “Eat.”

 

Shane finds himself obeying, halfway through the first bite before he realizes Ilya’s soft commands do something to him. He nearly moans at the taste of the buttery steak, his eyes closing on impulse. 

 

“Now that is sight I could get used to seeing,” Ilya comments, starting to eat his own food. He orders a bottle of wine, pouring Shane a glass before sipping on his own. Shane downs the glass in one sip, desperate to settle his nerves. 

 

“So, uh, what do you- what do you do?” Shane stutters, cheeks flushed. He pours himself another glass. 

 

“I own many businesses around Canada,” Ilya responds, watching Shane carefully as he takes a long sip of his second glass of wine. He gracefully moves the bottle away from Shane. “But mostly work out of arena.”

 

“Arena?”

 

“Big one.” Ilya gestures with his hands. “My father bought many years ago, then it goes to me.”

 

Shane whistles, chewing on his steak. He goes to drink but finds his glass empty. “Must make a lot of money.”

 

“Would not be here if it didn’t,” Ilya responds easily. He refills Shane’s glass with water. “Drink this. I do not plan on getting you drunk.”

 

“‘M not drunk.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

Shane settles into the flow of conversation, telling Ilya about his job at the bar, the crazy customers that come through. He talks about Hayden and Jackie, about the many crazy memories he has with the two of them. By the end of the night, Shane finds himself relaxed, and somehow enjoying his time with Ilya. 

 

The waiter comes back with the bill, and Ilya pulls his card out of his pocket, a teasing smirk on his face as he pays. He tucks it back into his pocket afterward. “Somebody stole wallet, so now I must hold card all the time.” 

 

Shane’s ears burn. He looks down at the ground. “Look, I’ll- uh, I’ll do whatever. For free. To pay you back for stealing.”

 

“Is not how this works,” Ilya responds, sliding out of the booth. He stretches, his shirt tugging up over his navel, and Shane can’t help but stare at the patch of hair on his lower stomach, leading down below his belt. He catches Shane’s eyes and grins, grabbing his jacket and holding it out for Shane.

 

Shane allows him to pull it over his shoulders, trying not to react when his big hands rub over his arms, smoothing the coat out. He’s so touch starved it’s scary. You’d think with a best friend like Hayden, who has constantly been compared to a koala, he would be sick of physical touch, but it’s the opposite case. 

 

“Where is car?” Ilya asks, holding the door open for him as they step out into the chilly night. Shane clears his throat. 

 

“Oh. Uh. I- I walked.”

 

Ilya pauses, turning to look at him with confusion. “You walked here?”

 

“Yeah. I don’t- I don’t have a car.”

 

If he wasn’t so embarrassed, he would find the baffled look on Ilya’s face amusing. Instead, he toes at some snow on the ground, wishing to disappear. 

 

“I should- uh, I should head out…” 

 

“You are not walking home,” Ilya says decidedly. He walks toward an expensive looking car, unlocking it and opening the passenger door for Shane. “Let me take you home.”

 

“You really don’t have to-“

 

“Enough.”

 

Shane shuts up, sliding into the car, and tries not to react to the strong stench of cigarettes. He must not do a very good job, because the first thing Ilya does when he starts the car is crack the window. 

 

He directs him back to his apartment, forcing himself not to feel too humiliated as they venture into the less safe part of town, but it doesn’t work. Ilya’s fingers are tense around the wheel. 

 

“You can just- drop me off here,” Shane says awkwardly, a few blocks away from his apartment. Ilya ignores him and pulls up into the visitor spot, shutting the car off and stepping out. He follows Shane up to the place, his eyes wide as if he’s trying to watch out for danger, and Shane really wishes he could disappear now. He kicks open his suite and allows Ilya inside. “It’s- it’s nothing special, I know.”

 

“… is nice,” Ilya says, though he doesn’t sound very convinced. He looks at the busted lock on the door in concern. 

 

“Oh, uh, one of the neighbours went crazy a few months back and like- beat the shit out of my door,” Shane explains, forcing a casual laugh into his voice. “Didn’t break it down but she did break the lock.”

 

The vein in Ilya’s forehead looks close to popping. He takes a long breath and looks around, nodding to himself, then back to Shane. 

 

“So,” he starts, leaning against the kitchen table. Shane quickly covers the bills on the table with his jacket, but the damage is done, Ilya already knows he’s poor. He’s expecting a rejection when Ilya speaks again. “I want you to think about it, then call me tomorrow with answer.”

 

Shane’s eyes widen. “You still- you still want to do this?”

 

“Of course,” Ilya responds, tilting his head. “Is not every day I meet beautiful man with funny stories.” 

 

Shane feels his head spin. He needs to sit down. “I- uh, okay, I’m down for it, obviously-“

 

“No,” Ilya interrupts him, stepping closer. He fixes the collar on Shane’s shirt, watching his throat work as he swallows, his eyes still bugging out of his head. “You will take tonight. Then call me tomorrow. You can sleep with it.”

 

“I- uh, it’s- it’s sleep on it.”

 

“Yes. Sleep with, sleep on. Who cares,” Ilya dismisses, rolling his eyes. He gently tugs Shane’s collar and smirks at him. “I look forward to call.”

 

With that, he leaves, closing the door behind him and abandoning Shane in the deafening silence of his empty apartment. He’s breathing heavy, chest rising rapidly just from the proximity, from the simple touch. 

 

Shane does not sleep that night. He tosses and turns, weighing the options in his head, and by eight in the morning, he’s pressing on Ilya’s contact. 

 

“Hello?” His voice is groggy, deep with sleep. Shane kind of wants to record it for jerk-off material, but that’s really weird, so he ignores the thought. 

 

“Did- did I wake you?”

 

“Is no problem,” Ilya mumbles. He can hear the sheets rustling in the background. “You have decision?”

 

“I’ll do it,” Shane says, voice coming out weak. 

 

“What time you work today?”

 

“I’m just leaving now, will be done by four.” 

 

Ilya’s yawns quietly. With horror, Shane realizes he sounds adorable. “I pick you up at four. We make contract.”

 

“I can walk-“

 

“No.”

 

Shane can’t help the smile that appears. He scrubs a hand down his face, cheeks red. “Uh- okay, uh. Thanks.”

 

“Be good boy at work today,” Ilya says, and Shane feels all the blood in his body rush south. “No stealing.”

 

“That was one goddamn time-“

 

“See you at four.”

 

The line clicks.  

 

He’s so fucked. 

 

-

 

Ilya Rozanov is thirteen the first time he knows he’s different. 

 

He is sitting cross legged at Natasha’s birthday party, in a circle surrounded by his peers. He’s not exactly close with Natasha, but they’re still the age in which the whole classroom gets invited to the parties, so he was excited he was able to make it. He brought a gift- a bracelet making kit, filled with beads and strings that he spent his months allowance on. He doesn’t get invited to parties. 

 

His gift sits, still wrapped, in the corner of the room. Everyone is sitting in a circle, a single glass bottle in the middle, and Ilya watches carefully as everyone tries to avoid sitting next to him. 

 

He’s not exactly popular. It’s hard to be, when every waking moment is spent studying and quizzing and learning. He may not have friends, but he has grades, and he is the pride and joy of the Rozanov family, something that fills him with enough motivation to keep moving. 

 

Spin the bottle, Natasha calls it. Says it is an American game. Ilya observes as she spins it, landing on one of their male classmates, and leans across the circle, kissing him gently on the lips. It’s nothing more than a peck, but Ilya’s face flushes, and he can’t take his eyes off of the scene. 

 

They cycle through multiple rounds, Ilya watching the bottle go past him every single time. Eventually, though, it lands on him. He looks up the other end of the bottle, making eye contact with Sasha, who is staring directly at him with an unreadable expression. 

 

The girls all giggle. Sasha shrugs and crawls forward, his hands resting on the ground in front of Ilya’s legs, and uses one of them to reach up to grasp his jaw. He presses his lips to Ilya’s, and fireworks shoot through his body. Sasha pulls away a heartbeat later, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, and Ilya knows he’s supposed to spin the bottle in return, but he stands on shaking legs, racing toward the bathroom. 

 

He cups cold water in his hands and splashes it on his face, trying to control himself. When he returns, they make him spin, and it lands on Irina, a pretty girl that sits behind Ilya in class. She’s shy, quiet, and every boy in class has a crush on her. Ilya would be a fool not to enjoy it. 

 

So, when he moves over to kiss her, and feels nothing compared to Sasha, he knows something is wrong. 

 

No time for this, he thinks. He keeps his head down, ignores his classmates when he sees them in school, tries not to think about Sasha’s lips on his every minute of the day. Sasha gets a girlfriend, kisses her on the dance floor of their senior celebration, and Ilya stares longingly from the bleachers before he feels so sick he has to run to the bathroom. 

 

It was Irina who put a word to it. She walks into the men’s restroom like she belongs there, watching as he cries in the corner like a child. She holds him close, trying to comfort him, and when he stops crying, she sits across from him in the handicapped stall. 

 

“You love him, don’t you?” She asks, her voice soft. Ilya can only nod. She goes on to share about her own crush on Sasha’s girlfriend- how the kiss with Ilya in Natasha’s basement all those years helped her realize she is different. They make a pact- they will pretend to be together. 

 

From there on out, Ilya finally has a best friend. 

 

They graduate together, him and Irina. Hold hands and take pictures and kiss on the cheek. Ilya’s father nods his approval every time she comes over, scruffing Ilya on the back and telling him how proud he is that he finally has a woman to bring home. Irina goes along with it, laughs at the jokes and cuddles up next to him on the couch after family dinners, but only the two of them know one another’s truth. 

 

Ilya goes to business school. Graduates top of his class. Makes a speech that has the audience up on their feet, giving a standing ovation. He’s out at a bar after with Irina and his family when the door opens, and there is Sasha. 

 

He’s grown now, hair shaggier but face clean shaven. He looks miserable. Ilya excuses himself, drunk off of validation and the multiple drinks he’s been gifted, and slides next to Sasha at the bar table. 

 

Sasha spills his guts. Tells him that Tatyana dumped him, cheated on him with another man and got herself pregnant. He’s a mess- crying and blubbering, and yet Ilya thinks he’s never looked so beautiful in his life. He asks Ilya about Irina, about their relationship, and sniffs out the lies instantly. 

 

Ilya is on his knees on the bathroom floor of the bar, Sasha’s pants around his ankles, when his father walks in. 

 

Things change, then. 

 

He moves in with Irina, much to his family's confusion. Tells his father it was simply a mistake, that he was drunk, that he didn’t mean it. He can’t look his father in the eyes the whole time he says this, but he’s the pride and joy of the Rozanov family, so his dad simply tells him to never do such a thing again and puts him through grad school. 

 

He never sees Sasha again. Sometimes he wonders about him, hopes he is well, but Ilya is content. He lets Irina play with his hair while he discusses plans of taking over his fathers businesses one day, how much money he’ll have, how many years of schooling he has left to prepare himself. 

 

Irina makes a joke, then. Something about glucose. Ilya doesn’t pay attention to her, so she says it again in English. Sugar daddy. She explains the concept, says Ilya should look into it one day when he’s mega-rich. Ilya brushes her off. 

 

His relationship with his father becomes tense. He doesn’t understand why Ilya and Irina won’t marry, why they don’t have children together after over a decade. Ilya waits until his father has worked himself up enough one night to scream at him- the first time he’s ever said the truth out loud:

 

I don’t love her, he says, chest heaving. I don’t only love girls. 

 

His father banishes him from the house, tells him to kiss the inheritance goodbye, tells him to have fun fending for himself. He makes his way back home that night and collapses into Irina’s chest, sobbing like he did in his senior year of high school with her. 

 

Irina tells him he will be fine. Says he is a protector, a provider. That anybody will be lucky to have him as an employee. Tells him that his father can go die- he doesn’t need him. 

 

So, it comes as a surprise when, a week after his thirtieth birthday, his father kicks the bucket and leaves millions of dollars to Ilya’s name, including all of the businesses he owns. 

 

Ilya stares down at the bank account statement until his eyes burn. Irina comes home a few hours later, bringing back a woman from the bar, and promptly kicks her back out when she spots Ilya, moments away from a panic attack. 

 

Quickly after, Ilya is on a flight, attending mandatory meetings with people in America and Canada. He goes from being the smartest person in any room to being completely lost- made fun of, patronized, and confused. 

 

“Doooo youuuu neeed a traaaaans-laaator?” A man drawls, as if talking slowly will help his words make sense, and Ilya only blinks at him. They eventually find him a translator, a tall, bitchy woman, who gets the job done, but treats Ilya with none of the kindness he’s paying her to show.

 

So- he does what he does best. He learns. He watches American movies, reads English books, makes Canadian food. He learns how to wrap his mouth around all the vowels in English, how sometimes, Canadians end a sentence like a question, but they don’t really need an answer. He learns jokes, sarcasm, swear words. 

 

Still- he’s the slowest in the room at any given point. 

 

“Ontario,” the lady on the phone says. Ilya sounds it out. “You will be required to attend multiple meetings over the course of a month, so we will put you up in a nice hotel.”

 

“Oh-kay-ah,” Ilya says proudly. He doesn’t know half the words she says, but when she hangs up the phone, he presumes he sounded confident enough to pass. 

 

There are so many rules in English. Adjective goes before noun. Shape goes after colour. Words are shortened and slurred together to make them easier, and the first one Ilya manages on his own is to say n’thanks instead of No Thank You. 

 

When he lands in Ontario, he’s baffled by the scene. He stumbles into a bar his first night, jet lagged and confused, and stares in complete horror as two men kiss on the dance floor. The bouncer approaches him. 

 

“There a problem?”

 

“N’thanks,” Ilya says, turning away. The bouncer gives him a weird look but leaves him alone. 

 

A man comes up to him after Ilya’s had a few drinks, a younger, hairless looking boy that reminds him of Sasha all those years ago.  He trails his hands down Ilya’s arms and squeezes his biceps. 

 

“I’m looking for a dom,” he says, leaning in. 

 

“No. Is not me. I am Ilya.”

 

The man seems to take pity on him and orders him a drink. He sits patiently with Ilya while he explains that this is a gay bar, using a translator app to get some of his points across. 

 

“Dominant?” Ilya tries. The man nods eagerly. “What is that?” 

 

Back to the translator they go. He explains it’s a provider, someone who takes charge and makes decisions. Ilya thinks back to Irina, to when she had called him exactly that, and nods in return to the man. 

 

The sex is… alright. Ilya doesn’t have much experience to offer up, and the man is clearly looking for a one-night-stand only, so they both walk away with something. But Ilya feels a fire inside of him, a new way to take control in his life that has been completely ripped away from him. 

 

It’s therapeutic. 

 

So, he does more research. He reads and watches and learns, polishing up his English on the way. He falls in love with Ontario, buys a home, keeps it spotless. He finds control in as many things as he can, because although he has managed to prove himself by running these businesses in the last three months, he’s still constantly doubted. 

 

He’s walking back to his car after a particularly rough meeting, where he missed too many cues and got a couple of words wrong. He was laughed at, ridiculed, and compared to his father- three things he hates. But the thing he hates the most is when they talk to him like a child- something that continues to happen every single day. He stops when he sees a figure behind the alley of a cafe, and he needs a place to smoke, so he turns in and checks on the man who appears to be hyperventilating. 

 

There is nothing but beauty and sadness in the man’s eyes when he locks his gaze up with Ilya’s. He snaps at him, ignores him, and for the first time, Ilya feels like he’s being treated like a person. 

 

He feels the same way he felt with Sasha, except this time, all he gets out of it is a stolen wallet. 

 

That night, he calls Irina back home, who makes another sugar daddy joke. That phrase hits him deep, and once he hangs up, he combines his knowledge of the world of dominating and financially supporting someone. He downloads an app, makes a profile, and waits for fate to take over. 

 

He finds fate in the shaky, half-healed scar on the wrist of a profile named Shane. 

Notes:

Holy shit- I am completely blown away by all the love and support you guys left me in the first chapter. It made me want to post every chapter of this at once omg. Thank you guys so incredibly much for your continued kindness, kudos, comments, and love- it means the whole world to me! Let me know what you think :)

Chapter 3

Notes:

Fuck it two chapters in one day

Shane’s practically vibrating out of his skin by the time four o’clock rolls around, his lip completely torn up from chewing on it his entire shift. It’s slow- of course it is on a Sunday afternoon- and he walks away with barely $20 in tips. 

 

So, when Ilya’s car pulls up at 3:58, Shane is already clocked out, standing outside and waiting. Ilya reaches and opens the door from the inside, his eyes tracking Shane up and down as he steps in. 

 

“Um. Hi.” 

 

“Work was okay?” Ilya inquires as he drives. Shane looks down at the new air freshener in the vent, the smell of cigarettes wiped from the car.

 

“Uh. Yeah. It was- it was good. Beer league hockey team came in.”

 

“You like hockey?” Ilya asks as he switches lanes seamlessly. His other hand rests on the panel in between them. 

 

“Yeah. I do. I- uh, I used to play when I was little. Liked it a lot.”

 

“You don’t play anymore?”

 

“God no,” Shane laughs. “I doubt I could even stand up on skates if I tried.”

 

They arrive at a beautiful home, with a long, tree-lined driveway that seems to run for miles. He clicks a button in his car that opens his massive garage, where two more cars sit, untouched. Shane already wants to die before he walks in. 

 

“This is- this is a really nice place,” he comments as they enter the home. Though it’s already giant, it seems even bigger due to the lack of decorations inside. Cream walls, wood floors, sparkling clean surfaces. There’s not a single painting, photograph, or plant to be found. 

 

“Is alright,” Ilya responds. He hangs his key up and juts his chin toward the dining room table, which sits below a large chandelier. Shane toes his shoes off and pads into the home, already feeling incredibly out of place. On the table, there’s a stack of paper. 

 

“Oh- this is like… a real contract.”

 

“Is not binding,” Ilya says. He digs through the fridge and pulls out a couple bottles of Gatorade. “I just like to have… what is it?”

 

“Protection?” Shane offers, watching as Ilya opens the cap to his drink before handing it to him. “I get it. Smart.”

 

“We will go over terms and rules first.”

 

Shane’s leg bounces. Ilya grabs the first paper, uncapping a pen and sliding both over to him. 

 

“You probably write better English than me.”

 

Shane writes Terms/Rules at the very top, his writing shaky and uneven. He hopes Ilya can’t see the trembling in his hands. 

 

“I will go first,” Ilya announces. He takes a sip of his own drink. “I will set rules for you. If you do not like, you can tell me.”

 

“Oh-okay.”

 

“First,” he leans forward. “You will speak up if something is bother to you. Anything I do, or say, you can… what is word?”

 

“Veto,” he supplies. He writes it down. 

 

“Good. Two- you will eat three meals- proper meals- a day. Have to fuel body to work.”

 

Shane thinks back on his empty fridge. His pen hovers over the paper, but he writes it anyway. 

 

“Three, you will come with me to big events as my partner. You will delete app and will not be able to date other people.”

 

Shane writes that one without hesitation. Not like he has much luck in the dating department anyway. 

 

“Four, you will look me in eye when you are talking to me. And use your words.” 

 

His eyes shoot up, getting stuck in the intense gaze. He puts the pen down and scratches the back of his neck. 

 

“I- uh, I struggle, sometimes. With like. Eye contact. All that jazz.”

 

“We will work on it,” Ilya says simply. He nods toward the pen, and Shane sighs before writing it down. 

 

“Five. You will ask for what you want, and be honest with me. I do not want any lies. If I ask something, you are to say the truth. This is most important.”

 

Shane copies his words down, trying to force himself to relax. He could really go for a drink right now. Instead, he takes a sip of his Gatorade. He signs his initial at the bottom, sliding the paper over to Ilya. 

 

“Now. About money,” Ilya says. Shane cringes, though it’s useless, knowing it’s the sole reason he’s here. “How much do you expect to make?”

 

“How much do you expect to pay?” Shane flips the question, looking up bravely. 

 

“Is not what I asked.”

 

Shane blushes, looking down and taking a deep breath. “I don’t- I don’t know what people… make, doing this. I’d rather you, you know, decide and tell me. Anything is a major help, so, you know, I’m not picky.”

 

Ilya hums, tapping the table with his middle finger as he considers. “How about… let’s say $500 a week for first month, then $1000 after?”

 

Shane’s jaw drops. He looks up, shaking his head. “That’s- that’s way too much.”

 

Ilya doesn’t look phased. “Not to me.”

 

Shane’s head is spinning while he considers this. An extra $2000 this month could push him forward, keep him afloat. He could use it for rent, for groceries, for proper winter clothes-

 

He thinks of all the money Hayden and Jackie have spent on him in the last year. Between therapy appointments, meals at their home, water and alcohol and snacks for nights when Shane couldn’t sit by himself. No- no, this isn’t for him. 

 

“Do you have any questions to me?”

 

Shane fiddles with the cap of his drink. “What- what do you get out of this? ‘Cause it sounds a lot to me like you’re just going to be taking care of me and giving me a shit ton of money.”

 

Ilya takes a moment, thinking about his words. “I get… satisfied, from this kind of relationship. And get to help with money. I will not spend the money I have in my lifetime.”

 

“So… this isn’t just about sex?” Shane asks, eyes down at his lap. 

 

“No. Not just sex. Sex is part, sure, but not big part. If you are not comfortable, we do not do anything. I will not make move on you if you are not ready. Is not good for me if you are not good. Any other question?”

 

Shane tries to swallow down his anxiousness, scratching at the scar on his wrist. “What does- uh, in your profile, you had a D in your bio. What is that?”

 

Ilya’s foot reaches out, gently kicks at Shane’s ankle. When he looks up, the other man is smirking. “It means I am dominant.”

 

“Oh,” Shane says dumbly, looking away. “Like- you’re a top?”

 

“Well, yes,” Ilya chuckles. “But is more than that. More… like lifestyle, da?”

 

“Like… like BDSM?”

 

At Ilya’s wordless nod, Shane feels his breath start to pick up. Images of whips and chains, ropes and torture devices appear in his head. He stands suddenly, wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, and coughs. 

 

“Do you have- where’s the bathroom?”

 

Ilya studies him for a brief moment, before pointing in the direction of the hallway. “First door on left.”

 

Shane nods, quickly rushing over and stepping inside. He turns the tap on, gathering cold water in his hands and splashing it on his face, trying to calm himself down. He realizes distantly that he’s picked too much at the scar, because the water turns a light pink as it gathers in the sink. He brings his shaky hand back to grab his phone. 

 

Hayden:

Lmk how things go with this guy cause you have like 300 likes on this app lmao

 

Shane’s chest pulls tighter, and he leaves the tap running, sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor. He tucks his head in between his knees, trying to suck in a deep breath, but he just can’t. 

 

“Hey,” Ilya’s deep voice appears outside the bathroom. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah!” Shane calls, though his voice squeaks. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

 

“Can I come in?”

 

Shane’s breath picks up even more. He scrambles to get up, to fix himself, but he’s just too gone. He brings his hands up to his ears and pulls at his hair. “Yeah.”

 

The door slowly opens. Ilya turns the tap off before kneeling down on the ground, his face set in a frown as he observes Shane. “This is issue, da?”

 

“I just- I need-“ he swallows, biting down on his lip. “Shit.”

 

“What will help?” Ilya asks. Shane can feel him hesitate before he pulls his hands out of his hair, grasping them tightly. The pressure brings Shane back to the surface slightly, alleviating some of the tightness in his ribs. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Shane gasps. He’s had such a shitty track record- first he steals his wallet, then he has a panic attack on his bathroom floor. He’s kissing this job goodbye in his head when Ilya only squeezes his hands tighter. 

 

“Not to be sorry about,” he responds. His voice is soft, softer than Shane’s heard it, and he moves a little closer. “This is lot of information. Normal to be overwhelmed.”

 

“You must think I’m- I’m such a loser,” Shane exhales, eyes still closed. Ilya tugs on his hands a little. 

 

“No. You must think I am loser.” When Shane’s eyes fly open in surprise, Ilya gives him a little self-depricating smile. “I am thirty years old and need to pay someone to be around me. This is loser.”

 

Shane shakes his head. “That’s- that’s not it.”

 

Ilya shrugs, watching as Shane’s breathing evens out. He lets go of his hands and Shane immediately misses the warmth. 

 

“How about we start over,” Ilya suggests. He holds one of his hands out. “I am Ilya Rozanov.”

 

Shane can’t help the stupid smile that grows on his face. He takes a moment before reaching out and grasping his hand, shaking it up and down. “Shane Hollander.”

 

“Hollander is pretty name,” Ilya compliments. It’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to him, here on the bathroom floor after a panic attack. He laughs wetly and drops his legs, laying them out in front of him. Ilya gently drops his hand onto his knee, the touch sending shivers up his spine. 

 

“So is Rozanov.”

 

“Is alright,” Ilya says. His thumb rubs over his kneecap. He’s watching Shane carefully, as if trying to gauge his reaction to things. “Not as pretty as you.”

 

Shane rolls his eyes fondly. He looks down at his hands, taking a deep breath, and looks back up to make eye contact. 

 

“I’m- I’m really sorry about your wallet,” he says quietly. “I don’t… really have an excuse. I just-“

 

“Hey,” Ilya cuts him off gently. His hand moves up the slightest bit to rest on his thigh. “It is done. Over.”

 

Shane’s breath hitches a little at the contact. He stares down at Ilya’s hand- his big fingers, his clean nails. Ilya squeezes his thigh gently. 

 

“You will not let this go, will you?” Ilya asks, exasperated. Shane shakes his head. “Because we do not have arrangement when this happened, there is no punishment. I forgive you.”

 

“Just take what I stole from you out of… whatever you give me.”

 

“No.”

 

Shane huffs in frustration. Ilya’s hand moves half an inch further, gently pinching the skin.

 

“You have control, you say when things bother you,” he reminds him, ducking his head to look at him. “But you are not in charge.”

 

Shane feels a twinge of arousal poke his gut, and he goes to respond, but Ilya is already pulling his hand away and standing up.

 

“Come. Lots to talk about.”

 

Over the next two hours, they discuss specifics. When Shane is to come to events, the ins and outs of the kind of BDSM Ilya is speaking of (not the whips, unless Shane requests). He eventually stops turning bright red at the mention of anything intimate, something Ilya praises him for, but the kind words only make him blush harder. 

 

Ilya drives him back to his apartment after, a little baggie in hand as he walks him back up to his place. He lingers in the doorway when Shane toes the door open, hesitating slightly before handing the bag over. 

 

“What is this?” Shane asks, frowning. Ilya shrugs lamely and looks away. 

 

Shane opens the bag, finding a brand new lock for his door sitting inside. He lets out a small huff of laughter. 

 

“I… I don’t know how to install it.”

 

Ilya rolls his eyes, gently taking the bag from him. He closes the door behind him, making himself at home in Shane’s shitty kitchen, grabbing the couple of tools in his drawer and installing the lock for him without a word. He tests it once he’s done. 

 

“There. No more crazy neighbours.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Shane says quietly. Ilya shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m serious.”

 

“So am I. I want you safe, Hollander,” Ilya retorts. Shane thinks he wants to hear his name repeated in Ilya’s accent. Hollander, Hollander, Hollander. 

 

“Well. Thank you,” Shane blushes. Ilya shoots him a wink before exiting, calling through the door to lock it, and Shane makes a scene out of loudly sliding the lock into place before going to change into his comfy clothes. 

 

Feeling brave, he grabs Ilya’s leather wallet, resting it on his upper thigh. He hums a little, tugging his shorts up a bit more and placing it more provocatively, snapping a picture and sending it to Ilya before he can regret it. 

 

Ilya:

Fuck.

You are going to be a brat, aren’t you?

I have busy week but I come get you from work on Saturday. 

 

He smirks down at his phone and clicks on Hayden’s contact. 

 

Shane:

can u delete the profile for mepls

 

Hayden:

That confident? Or was it that bad?

 

He looks up at his locked door, the new date circled on his calendar, and types back a response. 

 

Shane:

shrug 

 

-

 

“We’ll be away all weekend,” Jackie’s voice is maternal, worried, grating to Shane’s ears. He tips his beer back into his mouth and nods. “There’s no service.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Shane says, though the two of them simply share a look before turning back to Shane. 

 

Truth is, Shane’s a little worried as well. It’s completely asinine, his fear, but Hayden and Jackie have been a phone call away for the last eleven months. He hasn’t had to be alone. 

 

Not alone, his brain reminds him, conjuring images of Ilya’s soothing voice, his big hands, the way he’s confident with every light touch on Shane’s body. He’s half hard just thinking about it. 

 

“You still have those phone numbers saved, right?” Hayden asks, tapping his foot against Shane’s under the table, drawing his attention back up. 

 

“Yep.”

 

“Both of them?” Jackie insists. Shane resists the urge to roll his eyes. “The hotline and non-emergency?”

 

“Yes. Both of them.” 

 

Jackie’s slender hand reaches for his across the table. Shane turns his palm open, allowing her to interlace their fingers, and squeezes her a couple times in what he hopes is reassurance. 

 

“What about you two, hey? Party it up all weekend.”

 

Hayden grins, leaning back in his chair and draping his arm across the back of Jackie’s. “I’m gonna get her drunk this time.”

 

“You will not.”

 

“What’s one drink, Jack?” Shane teases. Jackie pulls her hand back and crosses her arms over her chest. 

 

“Unlike you two, I don’t need alcohol to have fun.”

 

“Lame,” Hayden brings his hand up to run through her hair. Shane’s always been envious of their relationship, their simple displays of affection and closeness to one another. Jackie leans across and kisses him gently before getting up, walking over to Shane across the table and kissing his forehead. 

 

“Gotta go get my dress resized,” she says, ruffling Shane’s messy hair. As soon as she leaves, Hayden nearly hops the table, his grin wide. 

 

“So….?”

 

“So?”

 

“Don’t play dumb, Holly,” he chastises. “How’s your guy?”

 

Shane blushes, looking down at the ground and fighting back his smile. Hayden barks out a laugh. 

 

“Jesus, Shane, I haven’t seen you this giddy in a long time.”

 

“I’m not giddy,” he insists, rolling his eyes. “He’s nice.”

 

“That’s it? He’s nice?” Hayden mocks. He stands up to grab another beer from the fridge, holding another one out to Shane, who shakes his head in refusal. When he had mentioned he was spending the night at Hayden’s, Ilya inquired about alcohol, and told Shane he’s to stay sober. The order had sent a buzz down his spine, low into his groin, and he found himself wanting to make Ilya proud. He finishes his beer and joins Hayden at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. 

 

“He’s nice,” Shane repeats. “Russian. Tall. Loaded.”

 

“Sheesh,” Hayden whistles. “He looking for another sugar baby?”

 

“No.” 

 

Hayden raises an eyebrow at him, bursting into laughter. “Jeez, jealous much?”

 

“‘M not jealous,” Shane squirms. “It’s just- part of our arrangement, I guess.”

 

“I’m happy for you, kiddo,” Hayden says, cuffing him on the shoulder. “It’s about time something good came your way.”

 

And, well, Shane kicks his ass at video games all night- something he hasn’t been able to do since before the accident. He waits until Hayden’s passed out, soft snores coming from his lips, before he grabs his phone, spotting a message from an hour earlier. 

 

Ilya:

How is party?

 

Shane smiles down at his phone. 

 

Shane:

not really a party, just ate and played video games lol

 

Ilya:

Did you do what I asked?

 

Shane:

yea, only had 1 drink and then some water 

 

Ilya:

Good boy. 

 

Shane feels his brain rewire itself, and he’s practically hearing it in Ilya’s voice, the drawl that seems to have an effect on him like nobody ever has. He types and deletes a message a few times before another one pops up from Ilya. 

 

Ilya:

Go to sleep. Is late. 

You will need energy for Saturday. 

Notes:

Having a very bad night and I have my exam in less than 5 hours but wanted to treat my lovelies <3 lmk what you think hehe

Chapter 4

Notes:

HIIII! Exams are finally done! I needed the weekend to just stare at the wall and do nothing, so apologies for not updating for a couple days! I hope this chapter makes up for it hehe

The buzzing of his phone is what wakes Shane up on Saturday. He blinks, rubbing his eyes, and panics when he sees the sun fully risen outside of his window. He grabs his phone, seeing his boss calling, and checks the time on his clock. 

 

Three pm. Four hours after he was supposed to start.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he scrambles out of bed, tripping on his rug and sending himself flying down on the ground. He’s tugging on his work pants like a maniac, running a hand through his hair and pulling a sweater on before sprinting out the door. He runs all the way to the bar, his chest burning with the effort, and begs every being above that he won’t be fired. 

 

“Shane,” his boss greets when he runs into the staff room. “What the hell?”

 

“Sorry- I’m- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I must’ve- I must’ve slept through my alarm, and-“

 

The older man sighs, reaching out and grabbing Shane’s shoulders. “This is the third time this month.”

 

Shane feels his heart drop further. He shakes his head. “I’ll stay late. I’ll come in tomorrow. I’ll- fuck, I’m sorry, please don’t fire me.”

 

“I’m not firing you, kid,” he says, voice exasperated. “Are you… are you doing alright?”

 

“Yeah- yes, I’m okay, I just need to get there to cover-“

 

“You’re not working today,” he interrupts. He gives Shane a once over and sighs. “Look, kid, I’ll level with you. You look like shit. You’ve been like a zombie all month, and I don’t know what’s going on, but either you fix it, or you find a new place to work. I can’t keep covering for your ass.”

 

“I need the money,” he exhales, feeling tears prick his eyes. “Please.”

 

“Julie covered for you. Julie gets your money. Go home and sleep, Shane. Christ sake.”

 

With that, he gently shoves Shane out of the staff room. Julie flips him off on the way out, but he can’t be bothered to retort, feeling close to tears already. He sniffles quietly as he exits the building. 

 

He decides to walk, although he left his new jacket at home, so he shivers desperately the whole way. He’s not too sure where he’s going until he gets there- 

 

The bridge. 

 

Shane hasn’t stepped foot near this bridge since the accident. If he looks close enough, he can still see the damage on the railing from where the tires of his dads Subaru nailed it. He walks the length of the bridge then turns around, stopping at the middle, staring out at the freezing water. 

 

It’s not that he’s having active suicidal thoughts- that phrase has been thrown around in the three months of counselling Hayden and Jackie forced him to after everything went down. He doesn’t want to die, it’s just- sometimes it seems easier. He has to imagine that wherever his parents are is nice, is free of stress and financial burden and a job that hates him, and sometimes, he just thinks about it a little. 

 

Normally, he would call Hayden every time these thoughts plagued his brain. He wouldn’t start the call by saying “hey, I’m thinking of ending my life”- it would be more casual, but they both knew the underlying cause. Shane is about to phone him when he remembers he and Jackie are away for the weekend at a wedding. 

 

“You good, man?” 

 

He looks up, spotting an younger woman staring at him with concern. He’s so fucking tired of everyone giving him the same look. All he can do is nod. 

 

“You sure? Cause, uh, I’m not the smartest person, but people don’t usually lean over the railings of a bridge if they’re doing good.”

 

“I’m fine,” Shane says, the words coming out sharp. She doesn’t even flinch. 

 

“Anyone you can call?”

 

He’s in a wonderful AirBNB with no service. 

 

Shane taps out of Hayden’s contact, about to turn his phone off, when a text from Ilya pops up. 

 

Ilya:

Excited to see you today. 

 

The girl is still staring at him expectantly, and Shane makes a point of moving away from the railing, hesitating for a long moment before clicking the call button on Ilya’s contact. He picks up on the second ring. 

 

“Hello? You are at work, no?”

 

Shane tries to keep his voice steady. “Can you- can you come get me?”

 

“Everything is alright?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he replies, though the girl across from him rolls her eyes. “Just- uh, got called off work today. Went on a walk.”

 

He can hear Ilya shuffling around on the other end. “Is too cold for walk, no?” At Shane’s silence, he sighs. “Where are you?”

 

Shane looks down, off the bridge, and spots a coffee shop. He mumbles out the name of the store and hangs up, his hands turning red from the cold. 

 

“Thanks. I’m- I’ll be good,” Shane says to the girl. She raises an eyebrow.  

 

“I know enough about this shit not to leave you alone on a bridge. Here- I’m going down anyway.” 

 

She grabs an extra pair of gloves from her purse, holding them out, and shaking them in front of Shane when he tries to refuse them. They’re tight on his hands when he pulls them on, but they fill his aching fingers with warmth, so he mumbles a thanks and begins to follow her. 

 

“You know, it probably would have been redundant to jump, considering you’ll freeze to death if you stay outside much longer dressed like that,” she comments once they’re off the bridge. Shane shakes his head. 

 

“I wasn’t gonna-“

 

“Yeah. I hear that a lot,” she cuts him off. She shakes the snow off of her boots as they approach the cafe, holding the door open for Shane. 

 

“Are you some kind of… anti-suicide officer?”

 

The girl scoffs, ignoring him for a moment as she orders two drinks. Shane goes to pay, but she pushes him away, tapping her card, and they go to sit in a booth once they get their beverages.  

 

“That implies that there’s a pro-suicide officer, so, no,” she decides on, once they’re seated. She takes her scarf off and looks much younger than Shane would have guessed. “Just a Good Samaritan.”

 

“Oh,” Shane takes a sip. Hot chocolate. His favourite. “You, uh, you live around here?”

 

“Listen, man,” she says softly, leaning forward in her seat. “Obviously you’re not doing well. Wouldn’t be at a bridge otherwise. And I might not be the smartest, but that mark there makes me think that you know more about this than you’re letting on.” She gestures to his wrist. Shane tugs his sleeve down to his knuckles. “Not the answer, dude.”

 

“I really wasn’t going to…”  

 

“I live down there,” she points out the window, at a shelter that’s shackled up with locks on the windows and graffiti on the walls. “You get yourself in that spot again, you come there.”

 

Shane watches as Ilya’s car pulls up in front of the cafe, the man stepping out and looking inside cautiously. He spots Shane and waves. 

 

“Thanks- uh, thank you. For the coffee. And…”

 

“No problem,” she says quietly. Shane stands, taking the gloves off and handing them back to her, but she refuses them. “Tell me your name and we’re even.”

 

“Shane,” he introduces himself, hand out to shake. She connects their palms and smiles gently. 

 

“I’m Mia. Keep yourself safe, Shane.”

 

He nods once and leaves, hot chocolate still in hand, and barely gets a step out of the cafe before Ilya is throwing his jacket over his shoulders, a stern, worried look on his face. 

 

“You will freeze out here.” Ilya ducks his head to make eye contact. Shane keeps his eyes firm on the ground. “You ate today?”

 

Shane looks at the cup of hot chocolate in his hands and shakes his head. Ilya places a warm hand on his back, right in between his shoulder blades, and gently pushes him into the car, closing the door behind him. 

 

“What is wrong?” Ilya asks once he starts driving, his eyes darting over to Shane every few moments. Shane lets out a shaky breath and looks out the window, watching as they pass the same bridge he was just on.  

 

“Just- I slept through my alarm, and- and it’s like the millionth time this month that I fucked up at work, and I’ve literally never slept in this late, and I ran to work and my boss yelled at me, and- and I think they’re really gonna fire me this time, and-“

 

Ilya’s hand moves from the panel in between them to rest on Shane’s thigh, a little too high up for comfort. He squeezes, noting how Shane immediately falls quiet, and takes a moment before responding. 

 

“Sounds like crazy day.”

 

“And- and then I didn’t even eat anything, and I broke our rule, and I’m not even a week into this and I’ve already fucked up, and I’m sorry, you don’t have to pay me this week-“

 

Ilya slides his hand up further, shutting Shane up again. “We will talk at my home.”

 

He keeps his hand on Shane the whole time, watching his reactions, feeling the way his muscles twitch under his hands. When they pull into the familiar driveway, Shane’s on the verge of a panic attack, thinking about everything he read on punishments. Is Ilya going to tie him up and leave him alone in a room for hours? Is he going to make him kneel on rice and say everything he’s done wrong? Is he going to-

 

“Come,” Ilya requests softly, and Shane blinks to realize he’s already parked the car and is standing outside of the passenger door, his hand outstretched. Shane shakily holds onto his hand, letting him pull him out of the car. 

 

His anxiety seems to build the longer Ilya remains silent. He digs through the freezer and pulls a pizza out, starting the oven and sticking it in. He sets a timer for 45 minutes and turns back to Shane, whose fingers are back on the scar on his wrist, scratching it absentmindedly. 

 

“You are scared,” Ilya observes. Shane shakes his head quickly. 

 

“No, no, I’m good for whatever, I’m good with what- whatever you want-“

 

“What is most important rule?” Ilya asks, walking around the kitchen island and standing in front of Shane. He gently brings two fingers under Shane’s chin and tilts his head up, his gaze soft. “Hm?”

 

“No- no lying,” Shane says, though it comes out more like a whisper. Ilya’s hands feel like they’re burning in the best way possible- the touch just overwhelming enough to cut through the panic in his brain. 

 

“You have bad day. That does not make you bad,” Ilya says gently. He strokes Shane’s sharp jawline. “I want you to tell me what you are afraid of.”

 

Shane swallows thickly, Ilya’s eyes tracking the movement of his throat, and looks away, just past Ilya’s gaze. “I- uh, punishments, right?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

Shane darts his tongue out, wetting his dry, cracked lips. “I fucked up. I broke the rules. I- I get punished.”

 

Ilya hums, moving impossibly closer. “Is my decision. You are so new to this, I do not expect you to follow every rule every time.” He squeezes Shane’s jaw, directing his eyes back to him. “There will be no punishment today. You can relax.”

 

Shane feels the tension seep from his shoulders. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and finds himself getting lost in the array of freckles covering Ilya’s face. Somehow, he’s even more attractive this close. 

 

“I do want to do simple scene with you,” Ilya says, his hand coming down to cup his neck. “After eating.”

 

Shane nods. Ilya tuts quietly in disapproval. He realizes his mistake and clears his throat. “Uh. Yes.”

 

“Good,” Ilya says, a small smile forming on his face. “Go in shower and get warm. I put clothes out for you.”

 

With that, he steps aside, leaving Shane reeling. He leans against the kitchen island, trying to catch his breath, and shakes the tension out of his body. He follows Ilya to a different bathroom, decked out with a giant shower, and hands him a folded pair of sweatpants and a big, oversized hoodie. They smell like Ilya’s cologne, and Shane’s eyes are starting to feel heavy with it. 

 

Ilya gets the water to a good temperature, and right when Shane’s afraid he’s going to stay and make him undress in front of him, he exits the bathroom. 

 

The shower is… unlike anything he’s ever experienced. The water comes from all sides and directly above him, and truthfully, it feels more like a spa than anything. He uses the shampoo and conditioner left out for him, and scrubs the cold from his body with an expensive looking soap. He’s quick to exit and dry off, anxious to face Ilya again, and dresses in the clothes he left on the toilet seat. 

 

Fuck. They smell just like him. 

 

He brings the collar of the sweater up to his nose and inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming scent. He’s huffing the sweater like a freak when a soft knock interrupts him, nearly sending him flying on the ground. 

 

“Dinner is ready,” Ilya calls from outside. Shane waits until his blush is settled before he exits, running right into Ilya’s frame. “You look nice.”

 

“Thanks- I… thank you.”

 

Ilya walks him back to the kitchen, serving their food on a single plate and sitting next to Shane. He directs him to take his bites, watching him carefully, and nods his approval every time Shane’s eyes fall to him. They polish off the pizza in no time, and Shane’s leg starts bouncing with nerves afterward, not knowing what to expect from this ‘scene’. 

 

Ilya takes his sweet time cleaning up, whistling and humming to himself as he tidies, and Shane can only feel the tension building once more. By the time he’s done, he’s about ready to explode, and Ilya simply juts his chin toward the couch. 

 

“Go sit.”

 

Shane shakily stands up, making his way to the long, practically untouched couch that takes up a big chunk of the living room. He sits neatly in the corner, his back straight and his eyes darting around the room, until Ilya finally comes to join him. 

 

“Not there,” Ilya says. Shane stands instantly, his hands shaking at his sides as he looks for another spot to sit in. Great job, Hollander. You fucked up already. Ilya grabs a soft, fuzzy blanket off the back of the couch and folds it, dropping it on the ground. “Here.”

 

Shane looks down at the floor, then back up at Ilya, his gaze clouded with confusion. “Like- like on the floor?”

 

Ilya nods, so he awkwardly goes down, his eyes stuck on Ilya to see if he’s doing it right. The other man hums in approval and sits in front of him, his legs spread slightly, and Shane can feel his breathing start to pick up. He stares up at Ilya, then back down, his trembling hands reaching up toward Ilya’s waistband. 

 

Ilya’s hands softly push his away, his head shaking. “No. Not what this is.”

 

Shane’s breath quickens again. He looks away, face flushed. Of course he doesn’t want you to suck his dick, you moron. He lowers his head and breathes through his mouth. 

 

“Look at me.”

 

Shane shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut. He can’t do this. 

 

Ilya’s hand lands in his hair, his fingers delicately running through them, and the motion sends fireworks all down Shane’s back. He plays with his hair for a moment before he comes down to tilt his chin up again. 

 

“Shane. Look at me.”

 

He cracks an eye, expecting a disgusted, disappointed expression, but Ilya is staring at him with gentle patience, not upset in the slightest. 

 

“Good boy. Deep breath,” Ilya says quietly. “In through nose, out through mouth.”

 

Shane follows his directions, trying to control his breathing, and every time he panics, Ilya is there, his hand stroking his cheek softly. It feels more intense than sex. A floaty feeling starts tingling in his feet, all the way up to his brain, and he can’t describe how he’s feeling- it’s like he’s asleep, but he’s wide awake. 

 

“You are good listener,” Ilya says. He brings his hand back up to his hair, running his fingers through the wet strands. “Answer this- what were you doing outside today with no jacket?”

 

Shane’s eyes feel heavy. He tries to find his words, but they keep slipping away, his mind breaking every time Ilya’s fingernails scratch gently at his scalp. He eventually finds himself, and takes a deep breath. 

 

“I- I wasn’t thinking,” he mumbles, the words slurred around the edges. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

 

“No?” Ilya prompts. “Not thinking of yourself, hm?”

 

“No, no- I don’t-” Shane pants, mouth open. He feels properly fucked out already. “I was bad, I slept in, I missed my shift. I disappointed everyone. I don’t- I don’t deserve a jacket.”

 

Ilya pulls his hand out of his hair, resting it on his own thigh, and Shane’s eyes track the movement. “You do not punish yourself. That is my job.”

 

“I…”

 

“No,” Ilya cuts him off. “I do not want to see that happen again.”

 

Shane swallows thickly. His tongue feels like it’s swollen- like it weighs a hundred pounds in his mouth.

 

“I want you to do exercise,” Ilya says. He leans back a little against the couch and waits for Shane to look up at him. “Eyes.”

 

Shane snaps his gaze up, the calm reminder only adding to the hazy feeling in his mind. 

 

“Good. I want you to repeat after me,” Ilya begins, spreading his legs even further. Shane finds himself shuffling closer to him on impact. “I deserve nice things.”

 

Shane furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “I- uh, I deserve nice things?”

 

“I do not punish myself for mistakes.”

 

Shane’s heart is thumping in his ear. He doesn’t feel panicked, though- just… electric. “I… I don’t punish myself when I make mistakes.”

 

“I am good boy.”

 

“I’m- I’m a good… good boy.”

 

Ilya hums, pleased. He gently taps the inside of his thigh, and Shane would normally feel mortified at the speed in which he moves close and drops his cheek, staring up into Ilya’s eyes, but he can’t find the energy to feel anything other than safe. 

 

Ilya’s hand comes back to rest on his head. He scratches Shane’s scalp again, watching his eyes flutter shut, and Shane feels the way Ilya’s tense thigh relaxes under his cheek. He turns to nuzzle his face into the soft material of Ilya’s sweatpants, a quiet huff of air escaping his lips. 

 

They stay there for god knows how long- Shane on his knees, in between his legs, breathing deeply and slowly. Ilya, whispering kind words in both English and Russian, his voice soothing Shane further into whatever kind of drifting haze he’s in. Eventually, Shane sucks in a sharp breath and opens his eyes, and Ilya is right there. 

 

“You are back with me?” Ilya asks. Shane wiggles his fingers, finding the staticky feeling gone, and instead shifts as he realizes his feet are asleep from where they’re tucked under him. 

 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, rubbing his face along his pants one more time before he lifts himself up. His head feels as though it’s a hundred pounds, dangling off his neck, and he whines quietly as little sparks of pain shoot from his feet. 

 

“Come here,” Ilya pats the couch next to him. Shane- with the grace of a baby deer learning to stand- pulls himself up, landing so that he’s laying horizontally across the couch. Ilya gently pulls his legs onto his lap, his fingers beginning to rub through the tension in his shins, his feet. 

 

“You- uh, you one of those guys with a foot fetish?” Shane asks, half amused and half concerned. Ilya peels off his socks and rolls his eyes. 

 

“No. Body is body. I have fetish for whole person, not one part.” He turns to Shane and smirks. “I do not understand you Westerners who are so concerned about appearance, and labels, and… and Tee-Emm-Zed.”

 

“TMZ?” Shane asks, unable to stop the giggle. Ilya squeezes his ankle in retaliation, rubbing his soles gently to bring circulation back. He melts into the soft couch, eyes closing, and tries to overcome the barrier in his head that tells him he doesn’t deserve kindness like this. 

 

“You do not get touched a lot,” Ilya notes, not sounding judgemental, but curious. Shane shifts a little and shrugs. 

 

“I- uh, what do you mean?”

 

“You always jump like I am jerking you off whenever I touch you,” Ilya comments. Shane scoffs, a rebuttal on his lips, but flinches heavily when Ilya drags a hand up his thigh. “See? I feel like molester.”

 

“Sorry… I’m just- jumpy, I guess.”

 

“We will fix,” Ilya says simply. He brings his hand back to his calves and squeezes, keeping Shane firmly in place when he tries to squirm away. “Just keep breathing.”

 

“Nobody’s ever… you know. Done this for me before.”

 

“I can tell.”

 

Shane gently kicks at him. Ilya turns on some movie, an old Disney film that Shane hasn’t seen since childhood. 

 

“I learn English by watching movie,” Ilya says quietly, his eyes glued to the screen. Shane watches as his mouth moves along to the dialogue on screen. “Is different, you know. America, Canada. Speak different languages, even though is same.”

 

“How long have you been here?” Shane asks, finding the courage to rub his foot along Ilya’s thigh. The other man’s eyes dart to him before going back to the TV.

 

“Few months. Come in August.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

Ilya sits up a bit more, gently pushing Shane’s legs off of him. He panics for a moment, thinking he’s overstepped, but Ilya gestures to him to come closer. He moves so he’s faced the opposite way, his head landing in Ilya’s lap, and Ilya’s strong arm coming to rest across his chest. His other hand comes up to his hair. 

 

“My father owns business here. When he dies, I get phone call that I need to come attend to them,” he explains, his jaw tense. Shane kind of wants to kiss him. “I am only supposed to stay until two September, but I stay until ten, then twenty, then October, then November, then I buy home here. I like Ontario.”

 

Shane melts as he cards his hands through his hair, his thumb dropping to brush along his forehead, tracing his eyebrows. He’s never experienced intimacy like this before. It’s easy to forget it’s all a front. 

 

“What do you like about it?” Shane asks, his words coming out as mumbles as he finds himself getting sleepier and sleepier. 

 

“Pretty.”

 

“The city?” Shane offers. He opens an eye. 

 

“Ah, yes. City is fine.” He uses the hand along Shane’s chest to rub circles in his side. “Pretty boy here, too.”

 

Shane closes his eyes again. “Yeah- yeah, I guess some of the guys here are nice looking.”

 

“Not some,” Ilya dismisses. He brings his hand square in the middle of Shane’s chest, as if he’s mapping his body. “Just one.”

 

Shane looks up at him, his face flushed, and tries not to react like a touch starved freak. He turns away from Ilya and moves on his side, facing the TV, and tries really hard not to think about the proximity to his dick. He fails miserably. 

 

Ilya leans back against the couch, his hand moving from his chest to come rub his back. It’s so gentle, yet firm, as he rubs patterns into the sweater. 

 

Mom used to do this, he thinks. Would draw shapes and ask you to guess what she drew. 

 

But Ilya doesn’t have her fingernails, and his mom isn’t alive. He sniffles a little, and can feel the way Ilya tenses under him. 

 

“You are okay?” Ilya asks quietly. Shane nods against his leg. 

 

“Yeah. Yes.”

 

“No lying?”

 

Shane can feel himself drifting to sleep, feeling content for the first time in almost a year. He lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes. 

 

“No lying.”

Notes:

Just so you guys know the next two chapters are my absolute favourite and I'm so excited to post them :) I'm also predicting there will be about 4-5 more chapters of this give or take... I'm up to like 24000 words already and should probably finish my draft at some point.
Let me know your thoughts and opinions! How is everyone doing! I am doing terrible! Hugs and kisses!

Chapter 5

Notes:

I was so excited to post this chapter, this is like the catalyst of the fic and I was kicking my feet and giggling while writing it
Go check out my new WIP, "How Will I Know (If He Really Loves Me)", if you're into some soft dom caretaker Ilya :)

December 2nd. 

 

“Dirty details, please.”

 

Shane rolls his eyes, looking around the cafe anxiously, as if reporters are waiting around the corner to get the scoop on his life. That would imply that people actually care about his life, not just Hayden. 

 

The first transaction sent to his bank account went without a word. Shane was logging in a day or so later, ready to budget for the week, when his eyes bugged out at the number- $2000 sent from Ilya Rozanov. He apparently trusted Shane enough to send the months payment all in one go. 

 

“Nothing really to say.” Shane shrugs. Hayden rolls his eyes at him.  

 

“Nothing to say, huh? You’ve been practically MIA for the last two weeks.” He leans back against his chair. “We’ve been worried, dude.”

 

Shane opens his mouth to retort, then closes it, realizing he really doesn’t have an excuse. Without using Ilya’s money, he’s still more than two grand short for rent, and with approximately one more week before he’s kicked on the street, he’s been working as much as he’s legally able to. And, with Ilya on his ass making sure he’s eating and sleeping properly, he’s barely got enough time to respond to any of Hayden’s million and one texts.  

 

“I want to- uh,” Shane takes a breath. He reaches into his bag and pulls out an envelope. “You’re gonna say no, but I’m not gonna take that.”

 

Hayden gives him a confused look. “What’s going on, buddy?”

 

Shane slides the envelope over the table, watching as Hayden opens it up and immediately hands it back. He holds his hands up defensively. 

 

“I’m not fucking taking this, Shane.”

 

“Hayden, please,” he begs. “It’s- it’s probably less than half of what you guys have spent on me in the last year.”

 

Hayden’s face is pinched with confliction. “Is this… your sugar baby money?” 

 

“Ew. Don’t call it that,” Shane kicks him under the table. Hayden counts the hundred dollar bills inside and whistles. 

 

“Jesus. $2000 in like three weeks?” He closes the envelope and leaves it on the table in front of him. “Shane, did you figure everything else out? Like… rent wise? We won’t take this if this is money you could use it.”

 

Shane takes a long sip of his coffee. “I’m settled, Hayden. I’m making good money. I want to pay you guys back.” 

 

Hayden thinks this over for a long time. “Jackie is gonna kick my ass. Then your ass. Then mine again for good measure.” Still, he gently places the envelope in his pocket, staring at Shane as if he’s trying to find the truth in his words. 

 

Shane feels one weight fall off of his chest. He relaxes, breathing a little easier, and finishes his drink. Hayden takes a deep breath and looks up. 

 

“This… this guy doesn’t have you doing anything you don’t want to do, right?” He asks, his voice nervous. 

 

“God, no,” Shane dismisses. That is entirely the truth. Truly- he’s been itching for Ilya to push him more, to challenge him. They haven’t done an actual scene in the last two weeks, both of them just too busy, and Shane’s horrified at how much time he spends thinking about him. His phone buzzes in his pocket. Speak of the devil. 

 

Ilya:

I have package coming for you in one hour. Is for event. 

 

Hayden watches him carefully. “Jackie’s gonna make fish, and I just got a twelve pack, so you’re good for weekly dinners to return?”

 

Shane puts his phone down and frowns. “No- I… I can’t this weekend. Work thing.”

 

“You never close on Saturdays.”

 

“Other work,” he stresses, watching Hayden make sense of it in his head. 

 

“Shane, you know, I’m really glad things are going well,” he starts, and Shane can hear the but coming. “But if… you know, if things get out of hand, I want you to tell me, okay?”

 

Shane almost scoffs. “I can handle myself fine, Hayden.”

 

“I know you can, buddy,” he says in the same tone adults say to toddlers when they’re having a tantrum. “But everyone needs a little help sometimes.”

 

“You’ve already helped me more than I should ever need in my life.”

 

“No one’s keeping score here but you, man.”

 

Shane huffs, looking down at the ground. Hayden kicks at him again. 

 

“Look, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. I just- I’ve heard how this shit can get, and because I was the one who put you onto it, I want you to know you can turn to me if you need.”

 

Shane looks up, a sheepish little smile on his face, and runs his shoe teasingly up Hayden’s calf. “You love me, don’t you?”

 

“Shut up, idiot.” Then, softer. “Of course I do.” 

 

An hour later, Shane resides in his living room, standing over the nicest suit he’s ever seen in his life. He’s never actually owned a suit, to be fair. He wore one of Hayden’s to his parents' funeral. This is just… fuck you expensive. 

 

He tries it on, afraid to sit down, to stand, or to breathe. The material is soft and soothing on his skin- nothing like Hayden’s itchy suit. It fits him perfectly, stopping at the right spot on his ankle, leaving him enough room in his armpits. He works up the courage to take a picture, sending it off to Ilya before he can pussy out. 

 

Ilya:

Fuck. 

 

Shane frowns down at his phone. 

 

Shane:

… is it that bad??

 

The response is instant. 

 

Ilya:

I am in meeting, with many important people, saying many important things. 

 

Shane:

ok??????

 

Ilya: 

I am supposed to be paying attention to broker. Flew on plane from France. 

 

Shane:

?

 

Ilya:

Instead I am staring at picture of you, trying not to get hard. 

 

Shane’s cheeks flush. He shifts his weight from side to side. 

 

Shane:

ur crazy lol

 

Ilya:

Crazy about you. 

You look incredible.

No words in English to describe. 

 

Shane:

i feel like i look stupid

 

Ilya:

Never stupid. 

Never you. 

I do not want to hear mean words from you. Only thank you. 

 

Shane:

thank you :^)

 

Ilya:

Haha.

You give him nose.

What is ‘lol’

 

Shane:

laughing out loud 

 

Ilya:

Lol :^D

He has big smile and nose. 

I see this on line

8======D

 

He powers his phone off before he can get hard in his new suit. 

 

-

 

He’s nervously pacing outside of his apartment by the time Ilya pulls up, his perfect curls slicked with gel and his face clean shaven. Shane instantly feels even more anxious about his appearance- it’s been a long time since he stepped out of the house looking like this, and next to Ilya, it definitely shows.  

 

“Hi,” Shane greets nervously as he climbs into the car. He doesn’t look at Ilya- can’t, really. He’s too busy fixing his cuff links, smoothing out the material of his pants, and trying not to look like a total idiot. He’s so stuck in his head that he doesn’t realize Ilya hasn’t moved the car yet, only flinches when his warm hand comes to rest on his cheek, tilting his head toward him. 

 

“You look…” Ilya trails off, his eyes scanning all over Shane’s face. Shane bites down on his lip nervously, his eyebrows pinched together. 

 

“That bad?”

 

Ilya clicks his tongue. He runs his thumb along the crease of Shane’s jaw, eyes falling down to his lips, and then back up to his eyes. “Yarche zvozd.”

 

The Russian only makes Shane more nervous. He subconsciously leans into Ilya’s hold. “What does that mean?”

 

“Brighter than stars.”

 

Shane feels the way his cheeks heat up. Ilya’s thumb comes to rest just under his bottom lip, gently tugging it away from the painful bite of his teeth, and worries his finger over the crescent marks he leaves. Shane opens his mouth slightly, heart pounding in his ears as Ilya traces along his lip. 

 

“What- what kind of event is this?” Shane asks, copping out. Ilya stares at him for a beat longer before pulling away, letting his hand drop on Shane’s thigh as he begins driving. Shane doesn’t flinch this time. 

 

“Christmas party,” Ilya says. He squeezes Shane’s thigh, runs his thumb along the material, spends the entire drive trying to soothe Shane the only way he knows how. 

 

“How many people are gonna be there?”

 

“I do not know,” Ilya admits. He risks a glance over at Shane. “You are nervous.”

 

His first instinct is to lie, to shake his head and say its excitement, not nerves. But he knows better by now. He clears his throat and looks out the window. 

 

“A little, yeah.”

 

Ilya squeezes his leg again in reward. “You will be okay. We do not stay long, just enough so they… ah, what is phrase?”

 

“Stay off your ass?” Shane offers. Ilya lets out a small exhale of laughter. 

 

“Yes. Stay off of my ass.”

 

As they pull into the parking garage, Shane gets a look at the people inside- their fancy ballgowns, even fancier suits. This place screams money, something Shane does not. 

 

“Teach me something,” he says as they park, trying to control his breathing. “In Russian.”

 

Ilya raises an eyebrow at him but nods, considering for a moment. “Hmm… say ty khoroshiy.”

 

Shane watches his mouth while he says it, the way his tongue moves, the way his top lip pulls up slightly when he speaks his native language. He repeats it slowly and looks up into his eyes, desperate for praise. 

 

“What does it mean?”

 

“You are good.” 

 

Shane blushes, a small smile forming on his face, and he gets out of the car, hand automatically reaching for Ilya’s open palm as soon as he appears next to him. Ilya is taller than him- not by much, but by a few inches. The difference seems drastic now. 

 

Ilya walks them inside, gently taking his hand out of Shane’s and opting to rest it on his lower back instead. Shane looks around at the sea of people, his breath starting to pick up, but every time he inhales too sharply, Ilya is there, putting more pressure against his back. 

 

“You want a drink?”

 

Shane nods eagerly. Ilya brings him toward the bar, ordering a couple of drinks, and hands Shane his, watching as his lips wrap around his straw and he sucks the whole thing down in record time. Ilya nurses his rum and coke.  

 

“Must have been scary,” Shane comments, if only to fill the silence between them. Ilya moves closer to hear him, his face only a few breaths away. “Coming out when you’re so important.”

 

Ilya shrugs. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of Shane’s face. “I never come out, as anything.”

 

“You mean… your coworkers don’t even know you like men?”

 

Ilya’s hand lingers in his hair, above his ear. “No. This is first time I come to anything like this.”

 

“Shit,” Shane exhales. This puts all the more pressure on him. Ilya watches him carefully. 

 

“My father was asshole,” he starts, somehow moving closer.  “Did not like who I am. He is gone, I have all of his money, his company. I want to run it as I am.”

 

Shane’s eyes fall to his mouth. He really wants to kiss him. “That’s… honourable.”

 

“Honourable. I do not know of word.” Ilya looks away, and Shane can swear there’s a light blush along his cheeks. 

 

“Like- you have honour. You’re good.”

 

“If anyone is good boy here, is you.”

 

Shane relaxes when Ilya rests a hand on his back again, gently leading him into the crowd. Shane introduces himself to multiple people- trying to stop stuttering as much as he can, and Ilya stands patiently with him as he speaks to his coworkers. It’s honestly a fun night, and Shane is starting to feel more comfortable, when a man comes up behind them and grabs Ilya’s shoulders, directing him toward the podium in the middle of the room. 

 

“Come on, speech, Rozy!”  

 

“I do not prepare-“

 

“Just go up and talk, man!” He slaps Ilya’s shoulder, turning to Shane and winking. “Come on, I’ll take care of your boy.”

 

Ilya gives him a look, wordlessly asking if he’s okay, and Shane gives a miniscule nod. He could never imagine a world in which he could get up, unprepared, and say a speech in front of hundreds of people. Ilya makes his way up to the podium and taps the microphone. 

 

“Hi. I am Ilya Rozanov.” 

 

Shane grins, watching him as he begins to talk. 

 

“I like to thank every person for coming tonight. Is nice Christmas party.”

 

Someone next to Shane snickers. It’s the man who pushed Ilya away. He turns to another guy behind him and elbows him. 

 

“Thought everyone could use some entertainment.”

 

Shane looks at him in confusion as Ilya continues speaking. 

 

“I- uh, my father, he… he love business a lot. Like own child. He take- uh.. what is word… happy, in coming in work every day.”

 

The men behind him laugh again. A woman sighs and turns on her heels, walking toward the bar. Someone wolf whistles. 

 

Shane realizes then that this isn’t an opportunity for Ilya to get up and spread positivity, to thank everyone for coming- they’re making fun of him. He realizes the man from earlier still has a hand on his elbow and shoves him off, finding courage he didn’t know he had and walking toward the podium. 

 

“Is- is nice, everyone dressed nice, I- uh…” 

 

Shane takes a deep breath in through his nose and shoulders past a couple more people, ignoring their offended gasps when he wrinkles their thousand dollar suits in order to get past them. He comes up to stand beside Ilya, the man turning to him baffled, and shakily grabs the microphone from the stand. 

 

“Uh- I, uh, I’m Shane Hollander. Ilya’s… partner. I want to be the one to thank everyone for coming.” He looks out, noticing just how many people are now staring at him. He has had so many nightmares that start off this way. “Ilya hit the ground running to take over this business, left his life behind to come and learn a brand new language, learn a whole new world. He talks the world of you guys, and I think everyone should take a moment to consider just how lucky they are to have a boss- to have a man like Ilya Rozanov in their life.”

 

The room goes silent, everyone’s snickering coming to a stop. He can feel Ilya staring into his soul from his side. 

 

“Happy holidays, and, uh, thank you for the warm welcome.”

 

He puts the microphone down with a thud, grabbing Ilya’s hand and dragging him away as a loud noise of feedback erupts through the speakers. The music comes back on, and people begin chatting again, and he’s practically dragging Ilya toward the bathroom with all of his strength. 

 

“What- what was that?” Ilya asks, looking horribly concerned. Shane presses him up against the wall of the bathroom and takes a deep breath, smelling his cologne. 

 

“They- they’re all assholes. They shoved you up there just to watch you struggle.”

 

Ilya pauses, mouth coming into a frown as he hums. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Shane exhales as he looks down. His adrenaline is starting to crash. “I- uh, I couldn’t stand for it. I’m sorry.”

 

Ilya’s fingers come up under his chin, tilting his head up. “You- Shane Hollander, who can not even drink coffee with milk from cow- stand in front of hundreds of people to defend me?”

 

Shane’s gaze darts from Ilya’s eyes, a small smile forming on his face. He realizes just how close they are. “How did you know I’m lactose intolerant?”

 

Ilya ignores him, his eyes falling back down to Shane’s lips again. 

 

“Bogatyye idioty,” Shane whispers, botching the words completely. Rich idiots. Ilya expression morphs from confusion, then amusement, and then a soft grin appears on his face. 

 

“Who do you learn Russian from?” He asks, almost jealous in his tone. 

 

“I looked it up when I went to the bathroom earlier.”

 

Ilya relaxes, his hand moving from Shane’s chin to cup the side of his face. He moves slowly, giving Shane time to pull back if needed, and drops his head, gently connecting their lips. Shane feels like he’s being doused in freezing water- it’s all he didn’t know he needed. His hands come up to grasp Ilya’s suit jacket, tilting his head to the left to deepen the kiss. His world spins, and suddenly he’s up against the tiled wall of the bathroom.  

 

Ilya slides a thigh in between his legs, making him gasp, and expertly dips his tongue in between his lips, asserting dominance in the way he takes over Shane’s mouth. He drinks from the noises Shane makes, swallowing them down like water, and brings his other hand to Shane’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.  

 

“Wait, wait,” Shane gasps against his lips, pulling back only enough to suck in air. Ilya would let him drain all of the oxygen out of his lungs, so long as he could keep kissing him. “Stop.”

 

Instantly, Ilya pulls back, removing himself from Shane entirely. Shane’s knees nearly buckle and he grabs onto the wall, panting heavily, his pupils dilated and his lips wet. 

 

“I didn’t mean- stop stop, just- you’re gonna get me hard in public.”

 

The panic releases from Ilya’s chest. He moves back in, kissing him again, and holds his hand along the smooth plane of Shane’s throat- not pressing, just holding. Shane melts like putty in his hands. 

 

“Home- go- go home,” Shane pants in between frantic kisses. Ilya presses one more quick kiss to his lips before grabbing his hand, pulling him out of the bathroom. 

 

“Hey- Rozzy, you didn’t finish your speech!”

 

“Fuck off,” Ilya says, shouldering past the asshole from earlier. He stops, then turns on his feet, addressing the small group that’s formed around him. “I learn English alone, with no help, no family. You learn English as baby. You are still dumb as baby.”

 

“Yeah,” Shane barks, wincing when everyone’s eyes turn to him. “Yeah…”

 

“You try running business in new language, surrounded by assholes who do nothing to help.” 

 

“Yeah!” Shane echos. Ilya braces a hand in front of him and pushes him back when the man takes another step forward. 

 

“Hey, no hard feelings, Roz. No need to get your angry kitten to attack us.”

 

“He is not angry kitten,” Ilya nearly growls, distraught that they’re going after Shane. “He is mine, and you are fired.”

 

The man’s face falls, and he tries to start arguing his case, but Ilya turns to Shane and tugs him along. 

 

“Come, kitty.”

 

Shane’s mouth is dry by the time they make it back to Ilya’s house. Ilya is still raging, and Shane is too, but he’s too horny to do anything other than sit and watch Ilya pace around the living room. 

 

“I do everything for company. I leave family, I leave Irina. I leave me behind, and they bully me.”

 

Shane’s erection flags. It’s not sexy to see someone you care for upset. He holds his arms out, and Ilya collapses on top of him on the couch, with the grace of a 6’3, 230 pound man in a $800 suit. He buries his face in Shane’s neck, breathing deeply, and Shane realizes how out of his element he is as he rubs at his back. 

 

“You’re amazing, Ilya,” he says quietly. “Those assholes don’t know it, because they don’t want to know it, but I do.” 

 

Shane twitches when Ilya kisses his neck, right in the junction of his throat. “You are amazing.”

 

“I’m really not.”

 

“You get up in front of hundreds of strangers, and do something you are scared of.” 

 

Shane blushes. He buries his hand in Ilya’s gelled hair, if only to keep his face down, away from his gaze. “I’m scared of everything. That’s the issue.”

 

“No, is not issue,” Ilya argues. He kisses him again and pries his head up to look Shane in the eye. “Nothing about you is issue.”

 

Shane swallows thickly, his eyes falling shut when Ilya cranes his neck and presses a soft kiss to his lips, much softer than before. He pulls away and snuggles back on top of him. 

 

“You have work tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah,” Shane sighs. He opens at eight. “I should probably head back.”

 

“Stay,” Ilya says softly. “I drive you in morning.”

 

And who is Shane to refuse?

 

Notes:

Yayyy! Let me know what y'all think :) <3
Thank you guys again for all the support, this is the absolute most one of my stupid fics have had this much positive feedback, love, and comments. I try to respond to every single one of you and I cannot thank you guys enough

Chapter 6

Notes:

TW for multiple panic attacks in this one

Shane should have known something was up, when, 15 minutes before his shift was supposed to end, his boss calls him into his office. Truth be told, he’s been staring at the counter all shift, his brain replaying different moments from last night. The kiss, the sleeping together- it all blends together in his head and plays on repeat. He anxiously stands in the doorway. 

 

“Look, kid, I was trying to think of a way to not sound like a horrible person, but I can’t find it,” he says, watching Shane carefully. “I can’t keep you here.”

 

“You- you can’t what?” 

 

Shane’s heart promptly falls from his ass. His breathing picks up, quick and panicked and out of sorts. His boss gives him a look of complete pity. 

 

“I hate to do this before the holidays, Shane, I just- with budget cuts, and the bar barely making enough to keep us afloat, I can’t pay you to stand there in dreamland until someone needs serving.”

 

Shane’s knees almost buckle under him. He grabs onto the door, shaking his head. 

 

“No, no, I can’t- I need this job, I can’t-“

 

“I’m really sorry, kid. You can pick up your last cheque tomorrow.”

 

With that, he gestures for Shane to leave, and he goes on autopilot, walking out of the bar and out into the back alley. He collapses, landing in a fresh pile of snow, and thinks that this might be the time he’s actually dying. 

 

Distantly, he recognizes his phone in his pocket, and he fumbles for it, trying to find the message from his mom. However, his hands are shaking so bad, and he clicks on Ilya’s contact instead. 

 

He doesn’t even register that he’s pressed call until Ilya’s voice comes out from his speaker. 

 

“Da? Shane?”

 

Shane cries harder- when did he start crying- and he’s sure the only thing Ilya can hear is the horrid sound of him hyperventilating, choking on his own tears. 

 

“Shane? What is going on? You mean to call me?” 

 

Shane coughs, throwing his phone into the pile of snow as he turns over onto his side, throwing up. He gags and gags until there’s nothing left. 

 

“Shit. You are at work still, da?”

 

Shane isn’t sure how long he’s out there in the freezing cold- puking and sobbing and panting. It could be seconds or hours. All he knows is that at some point, he opens his eyes, and Ilya is in front of him. 

 

“What do you need?” Ilya asks, afraid to touch him. Shane leans over and tries to puke again, but there’s nothing to come out, so he just dry heaves. He squeaks in surprise when Ilya grabs his chin, shoving a handful of cold, clean snow into his mouth, shocking his nervous system into obedience. “There we go. Breathe in,”

 

“Can’t- I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-“

 

“Shane,” Ilya’s voice cuts through. He grips his face tightly, holding his head up. “You can. You will.”

 

Shane splutters, his freezing cold hands coming up to hold onto Ilya’s jacket as tight as he can. He manages to suck in a deep breath before he’s practically jumping the other man, shoving his face in his neck and trying to smell him, feel him, breathe through him. 

 

“Is good, good boy,” Ilya says, holding Shane tight. He rubs his back. “We need to get off of ground.”

 

Shane doesn’t care if he freezes here- all he wants is to remain in Ilya’s grasp. He yelps when Ilya stands, lifting him like he weights nothing, and carries him into his car. When he goes to let go of Shane, he scrambles, trying to hold onto him, but Ilya wrestles his way out of the grasp and gets in the drivers seat, immediately offering his hand to Shane. 

 

“What happened?” Ilya asks as he begins the drive to his home. 

 

Shane brings his trembling hand, the one not intertwined with Ilya’s, up to his eye, wiping the tears away. He takes a shaky breath. “They- they fired me.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Said I was- I was distracted,” he admits, choking on another sob. He takes a second before he starts hyperventilating again. “Fuck. I’m so fucked.”

 

“You are not,” Ilya insists. Shane shakes his head. 

 

“No- no, I am. I am.” He pulls his hand away from Ilya and covers his face. “I’m- I’m kicked out of my place next week, and- and I wanted to get Hayden and Jackie Christmas gifts, and- and-“

 

“What do you mean, kicked out?” Ilya asks. He stops at a red light and places his hand back on Shane’s knee- a tether to keep him from sinking away further. 

 

“Fuck. I- I haven’t paid enough in rent in- in months, and I was still so far behind, and-“

 

“Where is money I give you?” 

 

Shane knows he’s in trouble the moment he turns his head, locking eyes with Ilya. He buries his face back in his hands again and mumbles something. 

 

“What was that?”

 

“I gave it to Hayden,” Shane admits quietly. He sniffles loudly. “He- they’ve spent so much money on me, and it’s not fair that I get to live a luxurious life and they’re struggling, and- and so I was going to pay them back before I worried about me.”

 

Ilya is quiet for a moment- a long moment. Shane risks a glance at him and finds him staring straight ahead at the road, jaw tense. 

 

“Ilya…”

 

“Shh. Just focus on breathing,” he says distantly. He gets them back to his house in record time, helping guide Shane inside. He’s shivering, his pants soaked with melted snow, and Ilya carefully takes him upstairs to the bedroom. “Off.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Clothes off. Too wet,” he orders. He opens his drawers and pulls out a fresh pair of sweatpants, watching Shane as he anxiously fiddles with his waistband. “You do not want me to see.”

 

“It’s not that-“ Shane hiccups. He wipes his face again. “I just- you’re so… and I’m so….”

 

“Shane,” Ilya stops. He takes a step forward and cups his face. “You do not have to do anything you are uncomfortable with. But I want to see you.”

 

Carefully, Shane undresses, keeping his eyes low on the ground and avoiding Ilya’s watchful gaze as he changes into the new clothes. After he’s done, Ilya holds his arms out, and he collapses into his hold, sniffling against his chest. 

 

“You will be okay,” Ilya says, kissing the top of his head. “Come. We talk downstairs.”

 

He follows Ilya down to the living room, obeying without a word when the same blanket from weeks ago lands in between Ilya’s legs on the floor. He kneels, head falling already to rest on Ilya’s knee, and tries to breathe. 

 

“Shane,” he whispers, hand carding through his hair. He gently grabs a fistful by the nape of his neck- not tugging, just holding, and Shane’s head comes up on instinct. “What do you need?”

 

“I need- I need you to- to take over,” Shane admits, eyes falling shut. Ilya does tug his hair this time, just enough to sting slightly, and Shane’s eyes fly open. “Please.”

 

“Can do that,” Ilya replies. He leans forward on his other arm and pets along Shane’s cheek. “Why would you not ask for more money?”

 

Shane twitches. He just wants his brain to shut off. Still, he takes a breath and answers. “You’ve given me so much, I can’t ask for more.”

 

“You can,” Ilya counters. His thumb comes up to stroke under his eye. “You will.”

 

“No.”

 

Ilya stops. “What?”

 

“No,” Shane repeats, eyes squeezing shut. “I- I got myself in this mess, I need to get myself out of it. It’s not your job- that’s… that’s just money I’ll owe you back later.”

 

Ilya’s hands are frozen from where they’re resting on Shane’s face. He takes a long moment to gather his words. “This is… not inconvenient, for me. I do this because I want to.”

 

“Yeah, and how many others have paid you back?” Shane asks bitterly. His eyes are still closed. 

 

“How many other what?”

 

“Gold diggers,” Shane says with guilt. “Sugar babies, prostitutes. Whatever you want to call it.”

 

“You are only one,” Ilya says quietly. Shane opens his eyes and furrows his eyebrows. 

 

“You… you haven’t done this before?”

 

“No,” Ilya admits. He pulls his hands away from Shane and leans back against the couch, scrubbing a palm down his face. “I… I do not know what I am doing, Shane. All I know is I meet beautiful boy, who- who makes my heart sing, and try to keep him any way I can.”

 

Shane softens. He looks up at Ilya. “You shouldn’t have to pay me.”

 

“I will give you everything,” Ilya whispers, his hand still over his face. “The house, the cars, the business. Every stupid Canadian dollar in my stupid Canadian bank account. Is all yours, if you want.”

 

“I don’t want that,” Shane says. He braces his hands on Ilya’s thighs. “I don’t. I just… I want you.”

 

Ilya drops his hand, his face flushed. He looks down at Shane. “Then you have to ask for what you need. I cannot read mind.”

 

Shane shifts a little. He huffs. “I don’t want to need anything. I- I want to have met somewhere else and fallen for each other there. I don’t want anything.”

 

Ilya cups the side of his face. “You are everything.”

 

Shane’s eyes flutter shut. He chews down on his bottom lip. 

 

“I will send money to Hayden. I will give money for apartment, if is what you want. But… if you do not want….”

 

“What?”

 

“Stay here. With me,” Ilya offers, his voice sounding nervous for the first time. Shane can’t help but bring his hand up and wrap around Ilya’s wrist, keeping him in place. 

 

“I don’t want to use you,” Shane whispers. Ilya shakes his head. 

 

“Is not using me, Shane. I go from being on my own in Russia to having millions of dollars I can not spend. I buy house, I buy car, I send money home. I have still too much. Is not a burden, spending on you.”

 

Shane tilts his head to press a kiss into Ilya’s palm. “When did your English get so good?”

 

“I have annoying boy who corrects me.” Ilya strokes over his lip. “Who I want to spend forever with.”

 

“I haven’t even known you a month…”

 

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Okay, how is this. We shred contract. Start over. From now on, we are just… Shane and Ilya. Boyfriend.”

 

Shane can’t help the giddy feeling in his stomach. He nods frantically. “You really want that?”

 

“Yes,” Ilya responds. He leans down and kisses the tip of Shane’s nose. “More than anything. But you need to have honesty, Shane. I can not help if I do not know.”

 

Shane nods once more. He wants to ask for help with the apartment, for help with Hayden and Jackie, for help with finding a new job. Instead, he shuffles closer. “Please help shut my brain up.”

 

“Good boy,” Ilya murmurs. His thumb strokes over his bottom lip again, over the years of scarring that came from biting and picking and chewing. Shane lets his mouth drop open, closing his eyes. And can’t stop the moan that escapes him when Ilya’s thumb gently dips into his mouth. 

 

He runs it along the row of Shane’s bottom teeth, feeling every inch there is to offer, before pressing it down against Shane’s tongue. He doesn’t push far, not enough to make him gag, but the intrusion makes Shane wrap his lips around it, breathing through his nose. He looks up at Ilya, cataloguing the way his pupils dilate when he swirls his tongue around his thumb, sucking gently. 

 

“You will ruin me,” Ilya says, voice already broken. He pulls his thumb out with a pop, not giving Shane any time to whine about it before he’s sticking his pointer and middle finger in, pressing back further. Shane’s fingers wrap around his wrist again, his eyes watering, and he forces himself to breathe through it, starting to feel the tingling in his body again. 

 

“You are so good,” Ilya whispers. “So good for me. Asking for what you need. Such a good boy.”

 

Shane feels a tear fall from his eyes. He pushes his head down further, trying to taste as much of Ilya as he can, running his tongue along the different parts of his fingers. Eventually, he settles, and rests his face on Ilya’s leg, drifting off as he sucks gently on his fingers. 

 

“You will be okay,” Ilya says. “Whatever will happen. I am here.”

 

And this time, Shane truly believes him.  

 

-

 

It’s a couple of hours, a tense conversation about financial support, and as many kisses as possible later that Shane decides he’s going to stay with Ilya. He pulls away from his embrace to say something about collecting his stuff from his shitty apartment, and Ilya helps him go upstairs to grab his clothes before offering to take him back and help him pack. 

 

Shane goes to reach for his phone when he doesn’t find it- not in the heap of his still-damp clothes. He digs through them even faster, throwing his pants on the floor and falling on his knees, hands reaching into his pockets with rapid speed. 

 

“No, no, no, no, no,” he repeats, feeling like his ribs are being ripped from his chest. He looks around frantically. “My phone. Where’s my phone?”

 

Ilya frowns. He didn’t see Shane’s phone, but he called him from outside the bar, so he knows he had it on him at some point. 

 

“Maybe fell out in car?” He suggests. Shane grabs his pile of clothes and practically sprints downstairs, out the door into the garage. Ilya follows behind him, confused at his panic, and feels like he’s been punched in the gut when Shane collapses on the ground next to the passenger seat. 

 

“No, no, no, this can’t- I can’t- fuck, fuck.”

 

“Is okay,” Ilya tries to comfort. He moves forward and places a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “We get new phone.”

 

“No!” Shane cries, shoving Ilya’s hand away. “No, no, I can’t get a new phone, I need that one, I need to see the message, I need to talk to her-“

 

“Shane-“

 

Shane manically turns around, reaching into Ilya’s pocket and grabbing his own cell phone. Ilya keeps his hands up defensively, feeling useless as Shane dials a number. 

 

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…”

 

“What’s shakin’ bacon?”

 

“Hayden,” Shane exhales. He holds his hand up to the back of his mouth and takes a shaking breath. 

 

“Shane? Whose number is this? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

 

“Hayden, please,” he sobs, phone falling out of his hand and onto the ground. Ilya falls on his knees next to Shane, clicking the speaker button on the phone and sitting tensely next to Shane. “My phone, it’s gone, it’s broken, it’s- it’s in the snow, it’s gone, she’s gone-“

 

“Shane, buddy, you need to breathe,” Hayden says through the phone, his voice tinny but concerned. “Pinch your nose, like I do for you.”

 

“No, no, I can’t- I can’t-“

 

Ilya snaps into action, hoping he’s understanding Hayden properly, and pinches Shane’s nostrils. Shane is forced to take a deep breath through his mouth. 

 

“There we go, I heard that, good job, buddy,” Hayden says. “Give me a few more of those.”

 

Shane’s eyes shoot open, looking to Ilya, and he tries his best to keep himself calm and collected to soothe Shane. He takes a few more of those deep mouth breaths, eventually able to do it on his own, so Ilya removes his fingers from his face. 

 

“Okay, try that again, pal. You lost your phone?”

 

“It’s broken,” Shane corrects, sounding completely weak. “I- I dropped it in the snow, I left it there, it’s- it’s probably stolen, or broken.”

 

Hayden is quiet for a beat. “Where are you?”

 

“I’m at- I’m with Ilya.”

 

Hayden is quiet for even longer. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna come meet you where you dropped your phone, and we’re gonna look together. We can see about getting it fixed.”

 

“I need her…” Shane cries. 

 

“I know, kiddo, I know. It’s okay. Can you give the phone to Ilya?”

 

“Here. I am here,” Ilya says, voice tense. Shane shakily grabs onto the passenger seat, climbing in, and Ilya takes the phone off speaker. 

 

“Hey, man. Listen- uh, Shane’s kind of… peculiar about his phone.”

 

“I see that.”

 

“Can you just send me the address? I’ll come down and grab him. You can drop him off.”

 

“Is at his job. I look, too,” Ilya says. He gets in the drivers seat and hangs up, pulling his sweater off and holding it out to Shane, who takes it without a word. He cranks the heat in the car and drives back down to the bar. “What is on phone?” He asks quietly. 

 

Shane sticks Ilya’s hoodie string in his mouth and chews on it. “It’s- I need it, I need to see it, I can’t- I can’t-“

 

“Okay,” Ilya soothes. He reaches over and grabs Shane’s hands, holding them tightly. “We go find. It’s okay.”

 

Hayden is already there once they pull up. Shane practically launches himself out of the car and into Hayden’s arms, and Ilya hates the spike of jealousy that hits him. He gets out of the car, dressed only in his t shirt, and heads toward the alley as Hayden tries to calm Shane down. 

 

It’s snowed a couple of inches since four pm, and in the dark, it’s hard to see anything. He drops down, getting his sweatpants soaked, and begins to dig in the snow with his bare hands. 

 

His hands are numb by the time he hits something solid. He pulls it out, looking at the shattered phone screen, and rubs the screen with his shirt. He’s shivering so bad that he almost drops it again, but he stands up, completely soaked, and walks it over to Shane and Hayden, catching the tail end of their conversation. 

 

“- is why you need the medication, Shane. How many is that this month alone?”

 

“I have phone,” Ilya says. Shane grabs it at lightening speed, rubbing it between his hands and trying to turn it on, and Hayden just stares at Ilya in disbelief. 

 

“Jesus, man, you’re gonna get sick.”

 

Ilya tries to dismiss him, but Hayden persists, practically wrestling him into his jacket. Shane lets out a shaky sob when his phone doesn’t turn on. 

 

“Shane, look at me,” Hayden tries. Shane shakes his head, shaking his hands out, his breath picking up again. Ilya takes a step forward and grabs him by the back of the neck, squeezing his skin there, and waits for Shane’s eyes to find him. 

 

“There we go. Good,” he says gently. “Breathe.”

 

Shane obediently takes a deep breath. Ilya squeezes him again. 

 

“Is going to be alright. We can go to store and get fixed.”

 

Hayden shuffles awkwardly next to them. “Uh, it’s like… ten pm. I don’t think any electronic stores are gonna be open.”

 

Ilya shakes his head. “Then find one.” He eventually finds one that has just closed five minutes ago, a few blocks away, and piles Shane and Hayden into his car. He speeds down to the place, spotting a young man locking the front door, and quickly calls for his attention. 

 

“Sorry, man, we’re closed.”

 

Ilya opens the glovebox of his car and grabs a pile of bills. “How much you want?”

 

So, $400 later, Ilya is seated in the warm lobby of the tech store, still shivering. Hayden is next to him, his leg bouncing anxiously, and Shane is pacing in front of the counter, watching the employee like a hawk. 

 

“It’s his mom,” Hayden says quietly, breaking the tense silence between them. “She, uh, a couple months before the accident, had texted Shane when he was having a panic attack. He looks at it all the time.”

 

“Accident?” Ilya asks, leaning closer to Hayden. 

 

“He didn’t tell you?” 

 

Ilya shakes his head, watching as Shane chews on his fingernails, leaning across the counter as the young guy tries to fix the phone. 

 

“Car accident last year. Really awful. He- uh, he practically lived with my wife and I. Couldn’t be on his own.”

 

Ilya frowns. “Ah. That is why he is stressed about phone.”

 

“Yeah,” Hayden confirms. “Look, uh, probably not the best time for a shovel talk, but… you’re treating him good, right?”

 

Ilya pauses a moment. “I have not been.”

 

“You- what?”

 

“I do not know about his parents. I do not know about- what do you call them? Panic attack? I do not know how to help. You know.”

 

Hayden softens. He leans back against the chair. “I’ve know him a long time. He doesn’t make it easy to get through all the walls he puts up.”

 

“Is there anything more I do not know?” 

 

Hayden winces. He rubs his thumb over his own wrist, right in the same spot Shane has a scar. “Not for me to tell you, man.”

 

Ilya nods. He looks back up as the sales employee sighs quietly and shakes his head at Shane. 

 

“Can’t be fixed, dude. It was submerged in snow for hours. Even the most expensive phone would be killed by now.”

 

“No, no, no-”

 

Ilya stands, coming up beside Shane and supporting his weight with an arm around his waist. He looks at the kid behind the counter. “Is there way to… transfer message? To new phone?”

 

“Oh. Yeah. That’s easy,” he says. “Just have to connect your iCloud account and you’ve got it.”

 

“What is this cloud?”

 

“It’s like an electronic information system,” Hayden explains quietly. “Hear that, buddy? You can still see it on a new phone.”

 

Shane swallows thickly, leaning against Ilya. “I…”

 

“Give me phone,” Ilya says. “Good one. Best.”

 

The kid sighs, annoyed to be here longer, but Ilya adds another $100 into the pile on his desk, so he puts some pep in his step and gets to work on setting up a new phone for Shane. 

 

“Okay, iCloud is syncing…” he narrates. He hands the new, uncracked phone over to Shane, who frantically scrolls through his messages until he finds his moms contact. A visible burst of relieved air goes through him, and he stares down at the message. 

 

Ilya wordlessly slides his card to the kid, getting him to buy a waterproof screen protector and case. He watches as Hayden comforts Shane, rubbing his back gently. 

 

“Thank you, come back anytime!” The kid calls, causing Ilya to roll his eyes. He gets them back in the car and resists the urge to rest a hand on Shane’s thigh. 

 

“Thank you,” Shane whispers. “I- I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

 

“Do not need to thank me,” Ilya dismisses, pointing toward Hayden. “Is him who helped.”

 

“I didn’t do shit,” Hayden argues. He drives them back to the bar where Hayden’s car is parked. Ilya can see the torn look in Shane’s eyes as he goes to say goodnight to the other man, watching as he steps out of the car. 

 

“You should go home with him,” Ilya suggests. Shane turns to look at him, baffled. 

 

“Huh?”

 

“You said is been a while since you slept over. Go with him.” 

 

Shane lingers in his seat for a minute. “That’s alright with you?”

 

“Of course is alright.” Ilya checks to make sure Hayden isn’t looking and reaches for Shane’s hand. “I get you forever, remember? We come to agreement.”

 

Shane leans forward, kissing him deeply, breathing into his mouth like it’s his lifeline. “You’re really the best, you know?”

 

Ilya pulls back to quickly peck him on the lips. “Bring his jacket back.” He shrugs it off and hands it to Shane. “Text me, da?”

 

“Da,” Shane responds gently. He kisses him once more for good measure before getting out and following Hayden.

Notes:

Pooooor Shane. Also, I had received some comments about payment details regarding being a sugar baby and changed a couple things in the earlier chapters, but this was the plan all along. Yes its completely unrealistic that this would all happen in a month, but this is fiction, and I write what makes me happy (as insane as it may be). Let me know what y'all think! Thank you again for the limitless love and support you guys keep showering me with, it really keeps me going.

Chapter 7

Notes:

Welp!! Here we go!!!
TW for talk of suicide attempt (very brief) and some overall sad things… this chapter was difficult to write but I’m happy with how it turned out

“So,” Hayden starts cautiously, piling another blanket onto Shane for good measure. Thank fucking Christ Jackie’s away for a girls night, or else he wouldn’t be able to handle the fury of two Pike’s. 

 

“So…”

 

“You feel okay?” He asks. “Not nauseous, or dizzy, or anything?”

 

“No. I’m good.”

 

“Okay.” Hayden then reaches up and smacks Shane on the back of the head. 

 

“Ow! Asshole!”

 

“What the hell was that!” Hayden asks. Shane rubs the back of his head in anger. 

 

“What the hell was what? You assaulting me?!”

 

“Grow up, Holly.”

 

Shane shakes his head, completely baffled. “What are you going on about?!”

 

“Shane. My brother. My best friend. The only man I’d welcome with open arms into my bedroom-“

 

“Huh?”

 

“You are so totally in love with that man!”

 

Shane groans, burying himself under the pile of blankets Hayden’s thrown across his shivering body. Hayden kicks at the Shane-shaped lump until he pokes his head out. 

 

“He was so dreamy, he was like- oh, how much money do you want? All of it? Okay! And his muscles- Jesus. Dove into a snowbank in a fucking t-shirt and dug through it like a maniac. Like- I think I have a crush on him!”

 

“You’re straight. And married.”

 

“So? I can’t have a man crush?” Hayden flops down next to him and gets under the blankets as well. “Just admit it.”

 

“Fine! I- I have feelings for him.”

 

“No! Not fine! You’re in love.”

 

Shane pushes at him, and Hayden pushes back, but they manage to stop their wrestling match early this time. Shane’s still exhausted from his multiple meltdowns today, and Hayden- well, Hayden’s just getting old. 

 

“Fine. I might sort of be in love or whatever.” Shane pouts. Hayden squeals and wraps his arms around him. 

 

“My baby boy is in love! And with a totally mega rich mega sexy Russian guy! It’s all a father could ever want.”

 

“Can you be normal about- like, anything? Ever?”

 

Hayden presses a wet, sloppy kiss to his cheek. Shane wipes it away. 

 

“So… what does this mean about your arrangement? Cause that man is whipped for you.”

 

“We- we kind of ceased things,” Shane mumbles. He realizes Hayden has no intention of letting him out of arms length and aggressively adjusts him, trying to get comfortable laying on his side. He doesn’t have as much bulk as Ilya. He buries his face in Hayden’s shoulder and mumbles out, “I’mkindofmovinginwithhim.”

 

“Huh?!” 

 

Shane sighs loudly. “I… uh… I haven’t been totally honest with you, Hayd.”

 

Hayden pinches him. “Clearly.”

 

“I just- I needed help, man. And he wants to give it to me. For some stupid reason.”

 

“Not stupid,” Hayden mumbles. He reaches over for his jacket. “Where’s my damn phone now? I gotta call Jackie.”

 

Shane closes his eyes, listening as Hayden grumbles, until the man suddenly stops in his tracks. 

 

“Uh. Shane?”

 

“What?” Shane snaps, annoyed that Hayden disrupted him from his near slumber. 

 

“What the fuck is this?”

 

Shane looks up, staring at the cheque in Hayden’s hands. 

 

$25,000 

To Hayden Pike 

From Ilya Rozanov 

I.R.

 

-

 

Ilya has barely opened the door before he’s being tackled, legs around his waist and arms around his neck. He opens his mouth to protest, to show his surprise, but Shane just presses his lips to his, shutting him up. 

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ilya pants, adjusting his hold on Shane. “What is this for?”

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

 

Shane jumps off of him, but Ilya keeps his hands on his ass. He’ll take what he can get. 

 

“Ah, many things,” Ilya responds. He squeezes Shane’s ass for good measure. “I have cute boyfriend who is angry for some reason.”

 

“You fucking- you gave my friends twenty five thousand fucking dollars?”

 

“Oh, he got it,” Ilya dismisses. He squeezes Shane’s ass again and kisses him on the cheek. “We will bring your stuff back, da?”

 

“Ilya,” Shane says. He grabs his arm. “Seriously. Why did you do that?”

 

Ilya has the right to look flushed, his cheeks twinging pink and his eyes darting around to anywhere but Shane’s gaze. “He takes care of you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

 

Shane softens. He leans up, connecting their lips together again, and squeezes Ilya’s arm. “You did not have to do that. Whatsoever.”

 

“I do not know of word.”

 

Shane rolls his eyes, but looks around his shitty apartment, all of his belongings packed up neatly. “Did you stay up all night packing?”

 

“I do not want you to worry about it today.”

 

“Jesus,” Shane moves, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and holding him tightly in a hug. “I don’t- I don’t know how to thank you. For this. For everything.”

 

Ilya’s arms snake around his waist. “Just be you.”

 

They make a couple trips to and from his apartment, bringing the boxes back to Ilya’s home, and Shane spends the rest of the afternoon unpacking, trying to keep things neat to match Ilya’s aesthetic.  After many hours of frantic sorting, Ilya clears his throat. 

 

“We are going out.”

 

“We- what? I have so much to do…”

 

“Shane,” Ilya cups his cheek. “We have all the time in the world.”

 

They end up in Ilya’s car, and Shane keeps asking where they’re going, but Ilya only dismisses him. After twenty minutes of driving, then end up at-

 

“Why are we at the arena?”

 

Ilya ignores him again, parking and getting out of the car. He scans his card on the way in, holding Shane’s hand tightly, and weaves him through the many hallways until they reach a single room. 

 

“Sit,” Ilya orders. Shane sits without a word, though he’s still looking around, trying to piece things together. Ilya gets on his knees in front of him, and Shane has to admit he likes the view. “Leg.” He allows Ilya to manhandle his shoes off, tutting at the holes in them. “We buy new ones later.”  

 

Shane watches as Ilya grabs a pair of skates from under the bench he’s sitting on, sliding them onto his feet and pulling the blade up to his thigh, tying them tightly. 

 

“Ilya, I doubt I could even skate. I don’t- I’ll embarrass myself in the same rink the big guys play in.”  

 

“I teach you,” Ilya says. He ties up Shane’s other skate. He dresses Shane up, knee pads and elbow pads, and pulls a helmet onto his head, much to Shane’s protest. 

 

“I’m not a child.”

 

“I do not care. People get hurt. You are not to get hurt.”

 

Ilya throws on his own pair of skates and nothing else. They go down the hallway, Shane’s balance off, but he holds onto Ilya tightly. He leads him through a tunnel, and suddenly, Shane is looking up at almost 19,000 empty seats. 

 

“Woah…” 

 

Ilya grins at him. “Cool, da?”

 

He opens the door, stepping on the ice first, and holds his hands out. Shane hesitates. “I’m gonna fall.”

 

“No you won’t. I catch you.”

 

Shane shakily steps onto the ice, foot sliding under him, and barely has time to yelp before Ilya is gripping him tightly, keeping him upright. He brings the other foot onto the ice, knees wobbling, and holds tightly onto the boards. 

 

“Just breathe,” Ilya says softly. “You have balance. Naturally.” He does a little circle on the ice, all grace, and Shane trusts him enough to carefully push away from the boards. He nearly eats shit once more, but Ilya grabs onto his hands. “I got you.”

 

Ilya skates him around, doing a couple laps around the giant rink, and waits until Shane stops shaking to let go. 

 

“Don’t let go!”

 

“You got it,” Ilya says. “Trust yourself. Trust me.”

 

Shane takes a nervous glide, his skate sliding across the ice, and laughs loudly when he doesn’t fall. He tests the other leg, and soon, he’s able to skate in a straight line without stumbling. 

 

“Good boy,” Ilya praises softly. He’s got this grin on his face that Shane’s never seen before. “You are natural.”

 

Shane gains confidence, skating a little faster, and manages to even go around a bend on the ice. He’s so busy celebrating his own success that he doesn’t realize he’s gaining speed, and as he’s a foot away from Ilya, he also realizes that he doesn’t know how to stop. 

 

He crashes into Ilya’s frame, sending them both flying down, and Shane instantly cups the back of his head, not letting him hit it on the ice. Ilya chokes, the wind blown out of him, but then looks up at Shane’s horrified face and can’t contain his laughter. 

 

“Jesus, Shane. You do not kill me.”

 

Shane relaxes on top of him, letting out a deep sigh of relief, and pulls his own helmet off. 

 

“This sport is scary.”

 

“Yeah, if you are little baby,” Ilya teases. He looks perfectly content to be underneath of Shane, even though Shane knows how cold it must be on his back. “You were getting good.”

 

“I was not…” Shane trails off, eyes falling to Ilya’s lips. He leans forward, kissing him softly, and lets out a surprised noise when Ilya’s tongue slips past his bottom lip, entering his mouth. Ilya drinks all his noises up, moving so Shane’s back is against the ice, and slots his knee in between Shane’s legs. “Fuck…”

 

“You like?” Ilya asks, mouth moving down and tracking along Shane’s jawline. Shane throws his head back, Ilya’s hand protecting it from smacking against the ice, and closes his eyes. “Use your words.”

 

“Yes- fuck, I love it, I love y- I love it,” Shane mumbles. He moans softly when Ilya sucks a mark into his neck. 

 

“Good boy,” Ilya whispers against his skin. “Is too cold for you. Come.”

 

Shane is barely there when Ilya pulls him up off the ice, mind racing, and he allows Ilya to drag him into the change room from earlier, getting pinned to the wall instantly. His mouth is back on his, lips moving against eachother in perfect rhythm, and all Shane can do is clench his fists at his side. 

 

“You can touch,” Ilya says against his mouth. He smirks when Shane brings his hands up to his arms, stroking up and down, and deepens the kiss even further. He pulls Shane’s elbow pads off without looking, discarding them on the ground, and picks up one of Shane’s legs, sliding himself even closer and grinding against Shane. He’s about to pull back to take his shirt off when-

 

“Hey, boss! Ryan saw you come in, I- holy shit!”

 

Ilya instantly pulls back, Shane nearly falling to the floor, but he manages to keep himself upright. The young man at the door has turned his back away. 

 

“Shit, shit, sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t see anything. Uh. The- uh- the vendors called. They won’t have anyone to restock until tomorrow evening.” 

 

“There is game in morning,” Ilya responds, voice gravelly. Shane kind of wants to record him for future use. “Will not work.”

 

“We have everything here, we just don’t have the staff to stock it all.”

 

Ilya sighs heavily. He runs a hand down his face. “You can turn around. We are not naked.”

 

“Oh, sorry,” he laughs uncomfortably. He waves at Shane, who gives an awkward wave back. “I can, uh, I guess I can stay overnight? Try and get as much done as possible?”

 

“No,” Ilya sighs again. “I will stay. You go home. Do not leave wife home with baby alone.”

 

The man gives him a grateful smile. “Okay, just text me if you need help later.”

 

Ilya watches him go, bending down to untie Shane’s skates. His jaw is clenched. After Shane’s undressed from his gear, he grabs his jacket and hands it to Shane. 

 

“Keys are in the pocket. I will not be home.”

 

“No,” Shane says quietly. Ilya raises an eyebrow. 

 

“No? What is no for?”

 

Shane flushes under the intense look. “No. I’ll stay and help.”

 

“You do not have to-“

 

“I want to,” Shane says quietly. He watches carefully as Ilya unties his own skates, toeing them off, and slides on a pair of shoes. He hands Shane a pair of slippers. 

 

The two of them make their way up far too many stairs, stopping for a breather halfway through when Shane thinks he may die. They finally make it up to the main floor, the lights off, and Ilya flicks a switch that brings power back. 

 

“Okay, they drop all the stuff off in the back, so we put it in the fridges.”

 

“I worked at a grocery store for four years,” Shane brags, then realizes it doesn’t sound like a brag, and doubles down. “I’m good with my hands.”

 

“Oh, I am sure you are,” Ilya teases. 

 

Over the next two hours, the two of them work in tandem, sliding past each other to reach over shoulders and restocking fridges and cabinets. It’s nearing ten when Shane’s stomach growls. 

 

“Oh, shit. You are hungry. Uh- there is resturant nearby, I can call-“

 

Shane shakes his head. “No, you spoil me with the rich food all the time, I want to show you how I used to live it up.”  

 

He grabs a few hot dogs from one of the fridges, throwing them on the grill, and tries to ignore the way Ilya’s eyes are burning into him from behind. He loads them up, as messy as can be, with all condiments available, pickles, and as much cheese as he can fit. 

 

“I survived off of hot dogs for, like, eight months,” Shane admits. He sits on the ground, legs stretched out in front of them, and gestures for Ilya to join him. The man pulls Shane’s legs onto his lap as he grabs his own plate. “Had to learn how to dress them up so they didn’t taste the same every night.”

 

“This was… after the accident?” Ilya says quietly. He feels the way Shane’s muscles tense on him. 

 

“Uh. Yeah. I- how did you, uh, how did you hear about that?”

 

Ilya rubs his free hand along Shane’s calf. “Hayden said, back at the store. Car accident?”

 

Shane’s eye twitches. He looks away, then back at Ilya, and tries to give him the most reassuring smile he can. “Yeah.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ilya asks. His back is starting to ache a bit from sitting on the floor, but he thinks he could sit here forever without complaint if it meant keeping Shane happy. He rubs his thumb soothingly along Shane’s shin. 

 

“Oh. Uh. We don’t- we don’t have to. I don’t want to, like, ruin the mood.”

 

“Is no mood,” Ilya says. He takes a bite of his hot dog and nods. “Good. You are good chef.”

 

Shane laughs quietly, but its surface level. Ilya can tell he wants to talk. 

 

“Okay,” Ilya says. “Eat your food. Then we will talk.” 

 

Shane nods, the order settling him slightly, and makes quick work of their dinner. After they eat, he’s squirming a bit, restless, and Ilya keeps a watchful eye. 

 

“Do you need to kneel?” He asks quietly. Shane shakes his head. 

 

“No, no, I’m good here. I just-“ he sighs. “I haven’t really talked about it in a while. I don’t know where to start.”

 

Ilya brings his other hand up to rest on Shane’s leg as well. He begins massaging the muscles there gently, squeezing softly. “Tell me about them.”

 

A soft smile appears on Shane’s face. “They’re- uh, they were the best parents I could have asked for.” His head tilts to the side from where it’s leaning against the counter, and he stares down at the floor. “My mom. She- she was the most loving person ever. Just, like, so welcoming. To everyone. We had a house full of foster pets all my life because she just wanted to keep the door open for anyone who needed it. And my dad, he was really sensitive. Kind of quiet, but only if he wanted to be. Always knew what to say whenever I had a problem.”

 

Ilya keeps massaging him. He pulls Shane’s legs a little closer. 

 

“They, uh, the accident. Happened on New Year’s Eve. I was at Hayden and Jackie’s when I got the call,” Shane’s voice cracks slightly. He blinks quickly and doesn’t take his eyes off the floor. “I just… I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like every part of me that- that knew how to be a person just… went away.”

 

“I understand,” Ilya says quietly. Shane’s eyes dart to him. “My mother.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Shane says. Ilya dismisses him with a wave of his hand. 

 

“Long time ago.”

 

“Doesn’t make it hurt less,” Shane says. Ilya finds with horror that his own eyes are burning, and he shakes his head, looking away. 

 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. Just- uh, have to go check the, uh…” he moves to get up, but Shane grabs onto his arm, keeping him there. 

 

“Hey,” Shane says quietly. “It’s okay.” He rubs his thumb over Ilya’s forearm, and freezes when Ilya gently grasps his wrist, his thumb running over the thick scar that sits there. 

 

“This was…” Ilya trails off, his voice pinched. “Also accident?”

 

Shane shakes his head. “No.” He sniffles quietly, moving closer to Ilya, and rests his cheek on his shoulder. “Not an accident.”

 

Ilya blinks. He doesn’t quite understand, but he nods anyway. “Well. Is beautiful, like you.”

 

“I-“ Shane takes a little breath. “It was Hayden who found me. I didn’t- I didn’t answer him for a couple hours. He… he kicked my door open, broke the lock. Found me in the bathroom, just… bleeding out.”

 

Ilya wants to say a lot. Wants to ask a lot more. Instead, he lets go of his wrist, his hand landing on Shane’s thigh, and squeezes. “Ah. So Pike was crazy neighbour?”

 

Shane lets out a wet little laugh. “Wouldn’t have been good first date conversation, would it?”

 

Ilya leans over and kisses his head. Shane relaxes into his frame. 

 

“Sometimes, I wish he’d never met me,” Shane admits quietly. Ilya squeezes his thigh again. “I just- I feel like all I do is worry him. Constantly. He and Jackie spent the first year of their marriage babysitting me because- because they thought I was gonna go home and try to- try to kill myself again. They want kids, but they’re so concerned with me that they don’t even have the time.”

 

Ilya thinks carefully of his words for a moment. “You- you are not a sacrifice.”

 

When Shane just blinks at him, Ilya’s worried he’s said the wrong thing, but Shane only smiles softly. 

 

Ilya wants to tell him to never think of himself that way again, to never hate his life so much he tries to take it, to agree to live inside his ribs so he can never get hurt again. Instead, he adjusts his posture so he’s slumped a bit more, back aching in protest, and pulls Shane to rest on him more. He waits until his breathing evens out to whisper the words in his hair. 

 

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

 

-

 

“Is it really a sugar baby if he wasn’t fucking him for money?” 

 

“Shut your trap, Hayden.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hayden responds, but he’s grinning, and Shane really hates the way that he can just tell that Hayden is a little turned on by the fury in Jackie’s voice. Disgusting. 

 

Jackie’s eyes slot from Ilya, to Shane, to Hayden, back to Shane. Her arms are crossed tightly in front of her chest, and she chews down on her bottom lip, as if she’s physically restraining herself from screaming at Shane. 

 

“Maybe- maybe we should go,” Shane says, standing up. “You two need to talk, maybe?”

 

“Don’t you-“ 

 

“Shane,” Ilya interrupts Jackie, looking all too amused. Bastard. “Sit down. Let beautiful woman yell at you.” 

 

Shane flops back down on the couch. Hayden knocks his knee against his in solidarity. Traitor. 

 

“I wasn’t not gonna tell her, Shane,” Hayden defends himself. “She was gonna find the money eventually.”

 

Jackie holds a hand up, shutting him up instantly. She takes a deep, slow breath through her nose and closes her eyes. When she opens them, she’s giving Shane the fakest smile in the world. 

 

“Shane, sweetheart. How long has this been going on?”

 

Shane looks at Ilya, who raises an eyebrow. This is all you. “Uh. Like- almost two months?”

 

“Two fucking months, and I don’t hear anything of it until there’s a $25,000 payment in my bank account?!” She yells, smile dropped. “Are you fucking daft?”

 

“I do not know that word,” Ilya stage-whispers to Shane. He pushes his face away.

 

“Jackie,” he starts, standing up. He takes her hands and squeezes them. “I’m sorry. I just- it’s unconventional, and I didn’t know how- how you’d react, and- and it was your husband who put me up to it.”  

 

“Don’t fall for it, Jackie,” Hayden coaches. “Don’t look in his eyes.”

 

Shane tilts his head down, looking up at her through his lashes, and watches as she melts in real time. She pulls him into her arms and rubs his back. 

 

“It’s okay, Shane. Hayden should have told me.”

 

“Yeah, Hayden. Should have told her,” Ilya says. Hayden reaches over and shoves him. 

 

“And you’re happy?” Jackie says. Shane nods into her shoulder. “Okay. And you-“ she lets go of him, turning to Ilya with a gaze full of anger. “You’re treating him right? And this isn’t- this isn’t for money anymore? You’re not making him do anything he doesn’t want to do? Because Shane is a pushover, he’d do anything if it meant he could make some else happy, and if I find out you’ve taken advantage of that, I will… I will…”

 

“Kill me,” Ilya suggests. He stands as well, joining Shane, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “You have… what is word?”

 

“Consent,” Shane pipes in. 

 

“Consent. To kill me. If I hurt him,” he offers. Jackie’s glare weakens slightly. “I wish I could have been here earlier.”

 

Jackie softens further. She nods, looking between the two of them, and lets out a little breath of relief. 

 

“Okay. I can live with this,” she decides. She doesn’t even hesitate before reaching out and hugging Ilya, who flinches slightly but wraps his arms around her too. “Thank you. I- thank you.”

 

“Do not have to thank me for caring for him,” Ilya says. His voice is a little shaky. 

 

“Well- sure. But I mean thank you for the money. You don’t know how much that will help us.”

 

“Yeah,” Hayden pipes in. He joins their little circle, his hand on Jackie’s back. “Especially, uh, since…”

 

Shane’s eyes widen. “Since…

 

The little grin on Hayden’s face is filled with a source of pure joy that Ilya has rarely seen before. His hand moves from Jackie’s back to rest on her stomach. She leans back against him and laughs wetly. 

 

“Are you…?” Shane trails off. Jackie can only give him a nod before Shane’s practically launching himself at the two of them. 

 

Ilya steps aside, letting them have their moment, and watches as Jackie’s hands come up to Shane’s cheeks, wiping his tears away. It looks rehearsed, well practiced, as if she’s done this many times before. 

 

“How- how far along are you?” He asks, sniffling.

 

“Remember the wedding?” Hayden asks. “Let’s just say I got her drunk.”

 

“Jesus, Hayd…” Shane laughs, moving so he can hug him properly. Hayden hugs him like a koala, kissing him on the side of the head. “You’re gonna be such a good dad.”

 

“And you’re gonna be such a good uncle.”

 

Ilya jumps when Jackie’s hand comes to rest on his arm. He looks at her, then at the guys, then back at her. “Is good. Baby made when drunk. Makes them smart.”

 

She laughs, smacking his arm. “We’ll pay you back some day-“

 

“Ah. Stop,” he says. “If you need anything, you call me.”

 

Shane is still crying when they leave, two new contacts in Ilya’s phone and his heart aching a little. It’s not a bad pain, quite the opposite, and he lets Shane cry it out in the car, holding his hand as they make their way back to Ilya’s- their home. 

 

“Do you want kids?” Shane asks, wiping his face, once they’re home. Ilya shrugs. 

 

“Would be nice.”

 

Shane reaches up and kisses him gently. 

 

-

 

December 25th. 

 

Shane is barely awake when the bedroom door creaks open. Ilya walks in, towel low on his hips, and begins to dig through the closet. 

 

“Mornin’,” Shane mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Ilya turns to him and smiles. 

 

“Good morning,” he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and physically launches himself on top of Shane in bed. “Merry Christmas.”

 

Shane blinks. Oh. That’s why his chest feels so heavy. He musters up a smile anyway and kisses Ilya on the side of his mouth. “Merry Christmas.”

 

Shane feels the metaphorical cloud follow him throughout the morning. He pops his anxiety medication in his mouth- courtesy of a phone call from Hayden where he told Ilya to get on him about the subject. He chokes through breakfast, hops in the shower, and phones Hayden and Jackie. He’s laying on the couch with Ilya, watching a movie, when he shakes his head. 

 

“I’ve got to- uh, I gotta head out. For a bit.”

 

“Where do you have to go?” Ilya asks, pausing the movie. “Everything is closed.”

 

“I just-“ Shane exhales. “I have something I have to do.”

 

“I can come?”

 

Shane blinks. “Oh. Sure. Yeah- that… that would be nice.”

 

So, they get in Ilya’s car, and Shane mumbles out directions. They end up in front of the shelter, at the end of the bridge Shane was on just a month and a half ago, and Ilya’s gaze burns holes into the side of his head. 

 

“What is this?” He asks, puffing his chest a bit more and pulling Shane closer to him when someone under the influence stumbles by. Shane rings the bell next to the door. 

 

The door buzzes and unlocks. Shane steps in, Ilya following, both cautious for separate reasons. The woman behind the counter glances up at them. 

 

“Who are you visiting?”

 

Shane clears his throat. “Uh. Mia.”

 

A wave of children enter, tugging and holding onto one person in the middle- Mia. She picks up one of the toddlers and hauls her onto her hip, grinning at Shane. 

 

“Shane! How are you, man!”

 

“Good! I’m- I’m really good. How are you?”

 

The toddler on her hip reaches up and tugs on her ear. “Been better. Merry Christmas, dude. Why are you here?”

 

Shane reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope- all the money he got on his last cheque and vacation pay out. It’s a measly $1200, but he knows how much that could have changed his life, and he hands it over to Mia. 

 

“Dude. What is this?”

 

“I just-“ he looks back at Ilya and then turns to her again. “You really saved my life that day. I don’t- I don’t know how to thank you, and I really want to, so- here.”

 

Mia puts the kid down and reaches out to hug Shane. “You don’t have to thank me. I know what it’s like.”

 

Ilya looks down as a tug is felt on his pant leg. The kid that Mia was holding stares up at him expectantly, her arms raised, and he looks around for permission before carefully reaching down, picking her up. She snuggles into Ilya’s chest immediately.  

 

“Well, we’re just about to get started on lunch. Do you want to stay?” She asks. Shane looks at Ilya, his eyes softening at the sight, and raises an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Would love to,” Ilya responds, laughing as the kid reaches up and grabs at his mouth. 

 

Shane and Mia help set the table, serving the food and drinks, as Ilya is banished to the kids corner, being smothered by little girls who keep trying to braid his hair. He’s sitting criss-cross apple sauce on the floor, grinning as all the kids fuss over him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Mia says quietly. “We don’t get many visitors around here.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Shane says. “He’s good with them.”

 

The next time Shane looks over, Ilya is leaning back against the wall, two kids in his lap as he reads from a picture book. His accent keeps making them giggle. 

 

“It’s princess, not plincess!”

 

“Ah, sorry, sorry. Puh-rinn-sess,” Ilya corrects, his accent dramatically thick, and the girls just burst out in laughter. Shane can’t help the grin on his face. 

 

“You’re whipped, huh?” Mia teases. Shane rolls his eyes, but he can’t tear them away from Ilya. He pictures him with Hayden and Jackie’s unborn child, with their own kids one day. 

 

After they eat, they head out, stopping to give hugs and promising to come back in the New Year. Shane feels lighter already. 

 

“You ready to go home?” Ilya asks. Shane nods, eyes closing, and leans against the window. 

 

Back at their place, Shane sits across from Ilya underneath the small Christmas tree in the living room, and sheepishly holds out a single wrapped item. Ilya raises his eyebrows. 

 

“You got me present?”

 

“It’s Christmas, Ilya. Duh.”

 

Ilya chuckles, unwrapping the small item, and looks up at Shane in disbelief. It’s been years since he’s been given such a meaningful gift, and he can barely stop the tears in his eyes as he pulls the item out and holds it up: 

 

The brown, leather wallet he took only two months ago. 

 

“Is it too soon,” Ilya starts, running his thumb over the material. “If I say I love you?”

 

“Maybe,” Shane says quietly. He leans forward and presses his lips to Ilya’s. “Then it would be really too soon for me to say I love you more.”

 

It started with desperation, with panic, with a sense of loneliness and fear that Shane wouldn’t wish upon anyone. It started with a negative bank account, with a lifetime of debt, with two best friends who would spend any amount of money to make sure he stayed here- stayed okay. It started with a job that he hated, with a life he hated more- 

 

It started with a wallet. 

Notes:

Don’t fret!! There WILL be an epilogue posted!!! Thank you guys so so so so much for all your support. Please be on the look out for more fics from me, I have so many ideas and all the time in the world to write them hahaha
Let me know what you thought of this story! Follow me on Twitter dabforpalermo lol
I love u guys so much, you’re all so special and amazing, and thank u for everything!!!

Notes:

Please please please let me know what you think! I’m so nervous about doing my first AU fic in this fandom- and my first multi chapter story as well haha
Make sure to follow my twitter @dabforpalermo if you want! I don’t post much but I stalk everyone hehe

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 5 of Hollanov