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Shane Hollander knocks on the door, stepping back to wait. He starts to feel self conscious. Like eyes are burrowing into his back. Someone might see him.
He pulls out his phone, ready to send Ilya a text when the door opens.
"Thought it might be you," Ilya grins, yanking Shane in.
Shane startles at the music, the sudden movement, the absolute shining sun that is Ilya Rosanov. Ilya kicks the door closed, kissing Shane against the wood paneled wall.
"What are you doing?" Shane asks when they part.
"Dancing. Having fun. Something boring people wouldn't understand."
"I'm not boring!" Shane huffs with a laugh.
"Then dance with me, Shane Hollander."
"I--" Ilya yanks Shane towards the kitchen. "No, I don't dance."
"So you'll dance with Rose fucking Landry, but not me?" Ilya stops.
"She always made me dance because she wanted to," Shane argues. "I'm shit at it."
"Made you," Ilya rolls his hazel eyes. "Sure. You seemed to enjoy yourself that night."
"So were you," Shane pushes against Ilya's chest. "Letting pretty girls grind all over your, sticking their tongues down your throat."
"So you were jealous," Ilya grins.
"Fuck you!"
"Dance with me like you dance with Rose Landry."
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Because!" Shane yells. "You're different. You're not like Rose. I actually--"
Shane stops himself. Neither of them have said those words aloud quiet yet. Shane doesn't want to break everything. He doesn't want to ruin Ilya's home a second time for either of them.
"You what, Hollander?"
Shane doesn't answer. He puts his arms around Ilya's neck, pulling him close. With a stuttered breath, Shane pinches his eyes shut, swaying his hips to the music. Some upbeat track, common in dance clubs. Far more common in Europe, Shane recalls from the Olympics.
"I knew you could," Ilya smiles before kissing Shane.
"Shut up," Shane avoids Ilya's gaze.
Ilya's hands glide down Shane's ribs, squeezing into his hips. Shane whimpers. The little stings of pain are the best part. Worth it. It shoves Shane towards the edge.
"Dat night," Ilya whispers. "Did you like watching someone else all over me?"
Shane answers without hesitation. "No."
"You didn't think it was little hot?"
"No. Not at all, because--"
Shane stops himself again. Ilya is toxic. Whatever he exhales is a drug to Shane. It makes him lose all inhibitions. But Shane loves it.
"Why not?" Ilya presses.
"Because it should have been me," Shane snaps.
"Mmm," Ilya kisses Shane's cheek. "You want that? Grinding on my hard cock in public for all world to see?"
"I want--" Shane flushes harder.
"Tell me."
"I want the world to know you're mine."
Ilya smiles something dark and teasing. As the song changes, Shane is ripped from Ilya's arms. Ilya brings Shane's back against his chest.
"Dance on me, pretty boy," Ilya taunts. "Let them know."
"I don't know how."
"Just like that night," Ilya's breath ghosts along Shane's ear. "Move to the rhythm."
Shane has a shit sense of rhythm. Any of his music teachers could explain that. Shane wasn't born with it in him.
Shane tries. He doesn't know the song. He knows enough that he can identify it's Lady Gaga.
"It's slow, Hollander," Ilya says. "Slow. Roll. Like you're stretching on ice."
Shane tries. He gets a roll going across his waist.
"Loose," Ilya commands.
Shane obeys the motions Ilya throws him through. Shane dwells on it. Memorizes it. Perfects it. He can't do this wrong.
Once Shane is moving in a way that satisfies Ilya, he changes. Ilya drags Shane's face to his. Shane can't bring himself to look Ilya in the eyes. This is embarrassing. He's spread open. A charcuterie board laid out to enjoy. Shane keeps his eyes closed.
"I wish this was how dat night was," Ilya's breath floats over Shane's lips.
Before he knows it, Ilya is kissing him furiously. Ilya is hard against Shane. But the kisses continue. Almost the same as that girl at the club. Who was she? Was she even aware of what she was doing? Who she was with? Ilya fucking Rozanov and his stupid fucking designer shirt. It was such a horrible sight. Did he not know?
"Hollander," Ilya whispers.
Hands draw across his chest, pulling Shane from his own head. Shane's breathing levels out. Enough that he catches as Lady Gaga singing J'veux pas mourir toute seule.
I don't want to die alone.
Shane pulls himself from Ilya's body only to reattach chest to chest. He kisses Ilya like he is dying. Shane doesn't ever want to leave this stupid, asshole Russian. He even might be a little in love with the fucker.
Ilya lifts Shane onto the island in the kitchen. Shane diligently wraps his legs around Ilya's waist, holding on for dear life. Ilya Rozanov has been the death and rebirth of this new Shane. A phoenix. Burning his prior life to the ground. Who cares about girlfriends or stupid comments during hockey games? This is real. This is what matters.
"Imagine I could do this to you on bar in club," Ilya teases.
Ilya holds Shane by the back of his neck, kissing him hungrily. Shane tightens his legs around Ilya's waist, running rough fingers through his curls. Ilya breaks to kiss Shane's neck and he's gone.
Nothing else matters in this world except Ilya Rozanov. Everything revolves around him.
And Shane loves it.
Ilya pulls open Shane's pants. Shane places one of his hands behind him to steady himself on the counter. Ilya places a teasing kiss on Shane's cock.
"Is okay?" He asks.
Shane nods. Ilya smiles and goes down. Shane closes his eyes, fingers threading through golden curls. Ilya works him the way Shane loves. The way that makes him melt instantly in Ilya's hands. His moans echo off the glass. The fireplace cracks, pulling Shane out for a moment.
Ilya meets his eyes. Shane can't help but fall back apart. He moans, knowing he won't be long for this world.
Ilya was always going to kill him.
"Fuck," Shane grunts.
Ilya takes it as praise. He goes harder, faster. Shane braces himself as an orgasm rocks through him.
The lyrics continue on in the background. I won't cry for you. I won't criticize the things you do. I won't cry for you see, when you're gone I'll still be Bloody Mary.
Despite the music, Shane moans for Ilya. Cries out his adoration, his obsession, his feelings buried deep inside.
"Fuck, Ilya," Shane throws his head back.
Ilya reappears after he's drained the life from Shane, an impish grin plastered across his face. Shane kisses him. Not only to rub that teasing smile away but also maybe because he loves Ilya Rozanov.
"Should we continue?" Ilya asks.
Shane nods. Words have become lost to him.
Ilya takes Shane's hand and leads him to the bedroom. All Shane can think about is how much he loves this ridiculous man.