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Ilya tilted his head, slow and deliberate. “Who you fucked before me.”
Shane choked on his drink. “Jesus, Ilya.”
“What?” Ilya shrugged.
“Normal question. I want to know if I should be offended.”
Shane shook his head.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you are avoiding.” Ilya leaned closer, voice dropping. “Come on. How many?”
Shane stared at the TV. “Does it matter?”
“Everything matters.” Ilya smirked. “Especially if they was good.”
Shane hesitated just long enough for Ilya to notice.
“Oh,” Ilya said, amused. “There it is. You had someone.”
“Not really,” Shane muttered.
Ilya laughed. “Not really is not number.”
“…One.”
Ilya blinked. “One?” Then he
barked out a laugh. “Shit. That’s cute.”
Shane’s jaw tightened. “Fuck off"
“What?” Ilya grinned wider. “I like knowing I ruined you for everyone else.”
Shane didn’t smile.
Ilya noticed. “Guy or girl?”
Shane swallowed. “…Guy.”
Ilya hummed. “Okay. So tell me.” He leaned in, teasing. "Did he fuck you better than me?”
Shane rolled his eyes.
Ilya raised a brow. “No answer Hollander? Did he make you moan and squirm like I do?”
“No,” Shane said quickly.
Ilya relaxed. “Good. Because I would hate that.”
Shane’s fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans.
Ilya kept going anyway.
“What was wrong with him? Bad hands? Couldn't fuck you hard enough Hollander?”
Shane shook his head. “Opposite actually.”
“Fucked you too hard?,” Ilya said.
Shane swallowed hard. “He was just rough, not like you.”
Ilya frowned. “So bad sex?.”
“Yeah it was bad”
Ilya squinted at him. “Bad how.”
Shane shrugged. “Like I said. Too rough.”
Ilya leaned back, studying him. “Rough is many things.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Jesus, don’t psychoanalyze it.”
“I am not,” Ilya said mildly. “I am asking.” A beat. “Hands rough?”
“Everything,” Shane muttered. “Too fast. Too much.”
Ilya hummed. “You ask him to slow down?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“He didn’t, really.”
Ilya’s gaze sharpened. “When was this.”
Shane frowned. “Why does it matter?”
“When.”
Shane exhaled. “Start of my rookie season. Like—right at the beginning.”
Ilya went still. “You were how old.”
“17,” Shane said flatly.
Ilya’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed even. “First season. New team. New city.”
Shane nodded, irritation creeping in. “It wasn’t some big thing. I was stressed, I was trying not to screw anything up.”
Ilya tilted his head. “You were exhausted.”
“Yeah.”
“You were uncomfortable.”
“I guess.”
“And you tell him.”
“Yes.”
“And he ignore.”
Shane sighed. “Ilya, people misread signals.”
“What signal you give,” Ilya asked quietly, “that say ‘keep hurting me.’”
Shane opened his mouth, then shut it. “I didn’t stop him.”
“That is not what I ask.”
Shane’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t exactly—”
“Tell him to stop?” Ilya finished.
Shane swallowed. “…Yes.”
The room went silent.
Ilya didn’t move. Then he sat forward, slow.
“You said no,” he repeated.
“At first,” Shane said quickly. “Early. It wasn’t—”
Ilya stood.
“Say again.”
Shane flinched. “I said no.”
Ilya laughed once, sharp and furious. “And he continue.”
“Yes, but—”
“That is rape.”
Shane shook his head immediately. “No. It’s not.”
Ilya turned fully toward him now. “You were 17, a fucking kid. First year. You say no. He ignore. That is rape.”
“Don’t,” Shane snapped. “Don’t do that.”
“Why,” Ilya shot back, “because word makes it real?”
“Because I didn’t fight him,” Shane said, voice cracking. “Because I went home with him. Because I didn’t want to cause problems—my rookie season, Ilya. I couldn’t afford to be a thing.”
Ilya’s anger sharpened into something cold and precise.
Shane’s hands curled into fists. “It was just bad sex.”
“Bad sex is awkward,” Ilya said firmly. “Bad sex is disappointing. Bad sex does not involve you saying no.”
Shane whispered, “I just wanted it to end.”
Ilya went very still.
“That,” he said quietly, “is not something you say about sex.”
Shane looked away.
Ilya didn’t touch him. Didn’t crowd him. Just said, steady and certain, “Someone raped you.”
“Stop,” Shane breathed.
“I will,” Ilya said, voice low. “But not because you did something wrong.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then, softer, “You did nothing wrong.”
Ilya’s chest tightened for a second, his eyes narrowing. “Wait. You only ever had him and me?”
Shane nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Ilya’s jaw clenched. “And he… hurt you.”
Shane swallowed and met his gaze. “But you don’t. You're nothing like him. Ilya, if I ever said stop or no, I know you’d stop. I trust you. I feel safe with you.”
Ilya blinked, his doubt gone as fast as it came. “Of courseI would stop.”
Shane nodded, a small, shaky smile forming. “I feel alive with you. I want your dominance, your commands. I love that you take control. I feel safe with you. I love when you fuck me Ilya"
Ilya leaned in again, grin sharp. “So you love how I’m dominant while I fuck you, huh, Hollander?”
Shane flushed but didn’t look away. “Yeah. I do.”
Ilya chuckled, low and pleased. “Fuck, you don’t even hesitate. You love when I tell you what to do. Love when I take control, when I tell you what to do.”
Shane nodded, voice quiet but steady. “Because it’s you.”
Ilya paused for half a second, then softened just a notch. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “Because I know you’re watching me. You’re paying attention. You don’t miss things.”
Ilya’s thumb brushed along Shane’s jaw, rough but gentle. “Damn right I don’t. You think I don’t notice when you tense up? When you need me to slow down?”
Shane swallowed. “I know you would.”
“You say stop,” Ilya said plainly, “I stop. No questions. And then I take care of you. I ask what you don’t like but I always stop. Promise me Sweetheart, if you want to stop, you say stop please?"
"I promise"