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Ilya tried to pretend he was not watching Shane and his mother through the window, tried to pretend there was not the smallest, softest smile on his face. He almost didn’t hear David coming up behind him and was almost startled by the hand the man suddenly dropped onto his shoulder. Ilya jumped slightly in surprise, despite priding himself on being unflappable. Fathers made him slightly uncomfortable and formal, the way his own father had been. Regardless, he did turn and offer a stiff smile before his gaze was pulled back out front.
“Does your family know? About you?” David asked, and the buoyantly good mood Ilya was in after being served Russian vodka and a giant pot of pasta dampened considerably. He thought of his father, of the funeral, of nearly punching Alexei. He thought of Russia, and how sure he was that he would never go back. He thought also, briefly, of Svetlana. He sighed, shook his head, shrugged, looked away from the touching mother-son moment and down at the carpet.
“Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry, your father died this past season. My condolences,” David said, assuming that’s what made Ilya clam back up. He wasn’t entirely wrong. He also wasn’t entirely right. Truthfully, it was too heavy a topic for discussion with people he had just met and was trying to impress.
“Thank you. It was…expected, but difficult. And…no,” Ilya said quietly, politely, instead of the rude barb that had been on the tip of his tongue every other time anyone has mentioned his father. Anyone else, and Ilya would have said something biting, whatever their good intentions. It had been the same after his mother died. Any time someone told him how sorry they were, he had wanted to snarl like an injured dog. Ilya knew his shortcomings. He was cruel when in pain. But David’s silence while he waited for Ilya to elaborate was not heavy or oppressive as Ilya expected. It was warm, like he genuinely wanted Ilya to open up. Still, the silence stretched awkwardly until Ilya sighed and his eyes stung slightly. He had spoken of this with so few people. Shane. Svetlana. Scott Hunter, who wryly welcomed him to a club no one wanted to be in.
“My father was traditional. My brother and I don’t speak anymore,” he said eventually, and prayed for no more questions. He spoke slowly, as if considering each word.
“I’m sorry to hear that. What about your mother?” David said after another moment of quiet, this one filled with something Ilya suspected was pity. Ilya shrugged again. It was easier than translating the complex feelings he had about family and Russia and home to someone he had barely met. It was easier than saying this was the first meal cooked by a parent he had eaten in fifteen years.
“My mother is dead. It is okay. I was young, and my brother and I were never close,” he said, then tried to change the subject. The very last thing Ilya wanted to do was discuss dead parents and start crying. But all he knew about Shane’s dad was that he read the New Yorker and bought Russian vodka. Before David could offer more awkward condolences, Ilya thanked him for dinner, hoping it came across as genuine instead of uncomfortable. He smiled, small and shy and uncertain.
“Ah, it was nothing. We’ll come by tomorrow and show you a real Hollander dinner,” David said warmly, waving an arm and clapping Ilya on the shoulder. It felt warm, fatherly, the way Ilya was sure it was intended. He wondered, briefly, if Shane knew how lucky he was to have David and Yuna Hollander as his parents. He suspected he did.
Outside, it looked like both Yuna Hollander and Shane were crying. Then they were hugging tightly, and with an unexpected pang in his chest, Ilya found he had to look away. He blamed it on having spoken of his mother so often these last few days. It was rare now that he missed her quite this acutely, rare that he had moments where he could swear, he could almost feel her arms around him or hear her voice in his ear. She would have loved Shane, and she would have accepted him unconditionally. He had no evidence of this, but he knew it anyway. He clung to the belief like he used to cling to her.
After a moment, Ilya and David watched through the window as outside, Yuna pulled out of the hug and both her and Shane visibly collected themselves. They spoke for a moment, seriously, with Yuna looking thoughtful and nodding. When David spoke up again this time, Ilya did startle slightly. He looked at David with slightly raised eyebrows.
“They both have those serious expressions that usually mean ten-year plans and spreadsheets,” David said, sounding amused, fond, and worried all at once. Ilya chuckled quietly, shoving his mother away from his mind and placing her back in the box he kept his grief in. Instead, he thought of Shane waking him up in the middle of the night to start a charity together so they could present themselves to the public as friends.
“Shane woke me up in the middle of the night last night to share his plan with me,” Ilya said, almost surprised by how utterly adoring his voice sounded as he said it. David laughed loudly, throwing his head back a bit, and Ilya grinned. There was a version of him from not very long ago that was cringing in horror at being so earnest and domestic. Svetlana would surely tease him. But Shane and Yuna were making their way back and Ilya beamed brightly at Shane as he came in through the front door. Ilya had never particularly liked the version of himself that would hate this, anyway. He wasn’t sure yet how much he liked this version, but he liked himself better with Shane than without him.
“We should get back to the cottage. I don’t want to drive in the dark,” Shane said, glancing pointedly at Ilya. Obediently, Ilya nodded, assuming Shane just felt emotionally wrung out like a used towel and needed a break. It had been an exhausting day for him, being outed to his parents. Ilya did not want to tell him that it had been one of the best days he had had in a long time, not when he could see the tension around his eyes and mouth.
They took a few moments to exchange the appropriate goodbyes, extracting promises from both Hollander parents that they would text before showing up the following evening with dinner. Something about grilled chicken and salad because of course it would all fit Shane’s weird bird diet, but Ilya couldn’t help but find himself excited for it anyway.
And although it had been a wonderful day, it was on the drive home that it started to hit Ilya like he had been checked into the boards. They drove on for at least five more minutes before Shane’s jaw began to slowly unclench. Ilya stayed quiet and let Shane think through the evening. As Shane processed and became less overwhelmed, a hundred-pound weight visibly lifted from his shoulders. He almost glowed with relief, and he kept looking over at Ilya and grinning at him and grabbing his hand or knee happily. The sun began to set outside the car, and the views from the window were awash in golden yellows, rich oranges, and the gorgeous vistas Shane had grown up with.
Meanwhile, Ilya thought about Yuna and David Hollander, how they had looked at him and talked to him. He had convinced them to call him Ilya. He knew he had not been fully accepted yet, but he had gotten the feeling from both Hollander parents that it was only a matter of time before they welcomed him as one of theirs. The thought made his eyes sting and Ilya looked, intent and unseeing, out his window. Perhaps Shane was not the only one overwhelmed. Perhaps Shane would not notice the tears in his eyes.
It was not sadness or jealousy he felt. On the contrary, that was one of the best dinners he could remember. Shane’s family was so warm, so accepting, so obvious in how much they loved their son. It made Ilya think of his last family dinner, the one after his father’s funeral: the oppressive silence, the darkness, his brother’s glare, everyone else looking at their plates. Ilya had made sure they had the best food, but it had tasted like ash. There was nothing there he wanted Shane anywhere close to, but Yuna Hollander’s warmth reminded him of his own mother despite how starkly different the women were.
He wanted to tell Shane more about Irina; about how she used to sing to him and how much he missed her smile and the food she cooked and the stories she told. He wanted to tell Shane that he stopped enjoying Russian food when she was no longer there to cook it. He wanted someone else to know her by more than just her husband and her death.
He wanted to tell Shane that David is nothing like his own father. David was the one who had cooked dinner, who came in with a giant pot of food and an apron. He smiled. He made jokes. He let Yuna take the lead, let her be better at things. Ilya had never in his life met a father more unlike his own. When Ilya had told him about his own parents, David had looked at him like he was already calculating how to break through Ilya’s walls. He hadn’t looked at him with pity, but rather like he could see right through the façade nearly everyone on the continent bought into. That thought made his eyes sting worse, and he sniffed quietly, blinking.
It took a moment, but Shane had a sixth sense for when Ilya was vulnerable. That, or he heard him holding back sniffles and noticed him looking intently awa[GU1.1]y. His hand had tightened its grip on Shane’s before he dropped his hand altogether.
“Are you okay? I haven’t even considered how today might have been for you,” Shane asked, glancing over at him. Ilya swallowed his own guilt and could hear the same guilt choking Shane’s voice too. Shane had been quiet, had been processing everything and adjusting a worldview that had shifted on its axis that day. His parents had found out the truth, and the world had not ended. But nothing had changed for Ilya.
“It was fine, Shane. Honestly. Your parents are…nice. It was a much nicer family dinner than my last one,” Ilya said, quiet but honest. Kindly, Shane didn’t point out that he suspected that was the problem. Ilya tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes, but he could tell Shane noticed that, too, because he made a small noise of concern. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for Ilya’s again, and he was quiet for a moment, unsure what to say.
“I think my parents liked you. Against their better judgment, perhaps, but they did,” Shane said, finally reaching for Ilya’s hand. Ilya clasped their hands together the way they had been before and squeezed.
“I know. They’re wonderful, really,” he said quietly. He hesitated, but remembered the promise they made that first day, to tell each other what they were honestly feeling as long as this visit lasted. This counts, he supposed. “It makes me a little sad, that is all. That my family is not like this. That I do not have one, not really. Your father is nothing like my father, Shane.”
Shane did not say anything. There was nothing, really, to say. With a sigh, Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand in his. He did not let go.
“I know…you won’t be Svetlana’s biggest fan, I understand. But she is like family. If the timing is ever good, I’d love for you to meet her. She does not know about you, of course, but she knows I like men, and she suspects there is one,” he said, hesitantly, and then it was Shane’s turn to sigh. His fingers in Ilya’s tightened and his jaw was clenched, but he nodded stiffly.
“If I have Rose, it’s only fair,” he said reluctantly, hesitation dripping from his voice. It would almost be enough to make Ilya laugh if he did not feel the same about Rose Landry. Instead, he just smiled gratefully at him and lifted their hands up to kiss the back of Shane’s hand. He was content to let the subject drop.
“You’re sure you are okay? You would tell me if you weren’t?” Shane asked when silence lingered too long. Ilya sighed again, smiled a soft, tired smile, and kissed the back of Shane’s hand again.
“I am okay, Shane. Really. I missed something I never had. For a moment. But I had a wonderful time, and your parents are great,” Ilya said, looking intently out the window again. Shane had learned eventually when to drop a subject with Ilya, when to stop asking questions. Either because it was too emotionally raw or because he could not find the words, Ilya had had enough of this subject. Shane fell silent and watched the quiet road.
Another few moments passed, the sun setting a brilliant golden out the window, when they passed a business with a word that Ilya had never seen.
“Shane. What is a dispensary? What does it dispense?” Ilya asked with vague curiosity. Shane laughed somewhat awkwardly.
“Marijuana, Ilya. They sell weed there. Why, do you want to stop?” he asked jokingly. Ilya’s face lit up, eyes sparkling with mischief. If there had been melancholy lingering there before, it melted away. It had been years since he had done drugs, really. The last time was with Svetlana and Sasha at some club in Moscow before he went pro.
“Shane. Shane, turn around. Shane, I want to go to the place they dispense drugs,” Ilya said, and he can tell by the way Shane was clenching his jaw and trying not to smile that he was both annoying and amusing his boyfriend.
“Ilya, we are professional hockey players! We get drug tested!” he said, holding in a laugh.
“Not for weeks! It is perfect time of year. Please? For me. It will be fun,” Ilya pleaded. Shane barely bothered to put up any further resistance, just looked for a place on the long country road to turn around and rolled his eyes. Shane gave him an indulgent look and Ilya grinned rakishly at him. Shane melted, smiled, and shook his head, like he couldn’t believe where he’d ended up. And really, while a look of panic passed over Shane’s face, curiosity settled there quickly after. To Ilya, he did not look like someone who minded the detour. To the contrary, he looked like he would not mind trying it himself. Perhaps that spoke to how intense the day had been.
Once at the dispensary, Ilya waited in the car. He was not even a resident of Canada, and with his Russian passport, he was far too paranoid to risk it. Shane glared at him like he had betrayed him, but reluctantly went in by himself, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders up around his ears, hood of his sweatshirt up as if that would protect his identity.
From the outside, the place looks official, clean, like a boutique. Years ago, Ilya and Sasha had bought weed from a kid they knew in a sketchy stairwell. Through the windshield, Ilya watched Shane pass his ID over the counter, hand shaking with nerves. The kid scanned it without a second glance at the name, but either he did not watch hockey or he just didn’t care.
Still inside the car, it felt like Shane took a very long time, long enough that Ilya got bored of browsing Instagram, updating his Twitter, and deleting emails and started getting slightly impatient and looking out the window for him like a puppy. His fingers tapped a random pattern on his leg. When Shane did finally come out of the dispensary, he came out with his head down. [GU4.1]
When Shane did come out, his shoulders were still hunched up around his shoulders, his collar high and his hat pulled low. Belatedly, Ilya remembered that Shane cared deeply about his image, something Ilya hardly had to do because everyone considered him the Russian Brute. He could get away with almost anything, but Shane got into the car like something hunted. His eyes were skittish, darting around as if someone was lurking behind some nearby tree.
“That was awful. I was so afraid they were going to recognize me,” Shane said, even as he held out a small paper bag with the store’s logo emblazoned on one side. Ilya grinned.
“Did they recognize you?” he asked.
“No. I don’t think they were sports people,” Shane said, but he glared playfully at Ilya anyway. “Take the bag.”
Ilya took it out of his hand and Shane pulled away back onto the main road back to the cottage. The remainder of the drive back was quiet, with Shane’s joy tempered somewhat by the trip to the dispensary and Ilya’s melancholy in a way that sent pangs of guilt through Ilya. He could not help it; it was impossible not to think of his family, of some impossible fantasy where Ilya could be himself and a Rozanov at the same time.
Still, by the time they pulled up to the cottage with the sunset at its most beautiful, both of them were smiling at each other. Ilya’s hand skimmed along Shane’s waist, and Shane turned and kissed Ilya intently before they were even inside the door. Ilya pressed him against it, one hand clutching the bag and the other wrapping tightly around Shane’s waist. Shane only let them stay like that for a few seconds before he pulled away and shook his head disapprovingly. This was a remote area, but they could still be seen, after all.
“Come. I want to smoke this in your little backyard and find snacks,” Ilya said while Shane turned around and unlocked the front door.
“You might be disappointed. I don’t really keep many snacks,” Shane said with a quiet laugh. Ilya grimaced and shrugged.
“I forgot about your weird diet. I will find something, not to worry. In the meantime, come. Please,” he said. He took Shane’s hand and tugged him towards the backyard. Shane let himself be pulled easily, though he was staring at the bag with suspicion. Ilya was sure Shane was uncertain about the idea of being high. Ilya knew he tended to dislike things with so many uncontrolled variables and unknowns. But Ilya looked so excited, and it was a night of stepping outside his comfort zone. Shane would push himself and force himself to try it, at least a little.
Most of the lights in the cottage were off, but Ilya didn’t pay attention to that. He stopped briefly in the kitchen, getting them both water and casting a quick, disapproving eye at the contents of the refrigerator. Passing one water to Shane, he tutted at him.
“Ten years, and I still must teach you how to have fun. Are you ready for your next lesson?” he asks teasingly. Setting the bag down on the counter, he dug through it until he could pull out the contents. There were a few slim tubes, each one containing a half-gram joint. Ilya squinted at the first one he pulled out, but the text was tiny and the name was some sort of gibberish English that gave him a headache.
“I know how to have fun, Ilya! Fuck, let me find a lighter,” Shane said, and turned to look for one, only to hear Ilya laugh.
“Shane, sweetheart, I smoke cigarettes. You think I do not have a lighter? Come outside with me. Get high. I have not gotten high since I was fifteen,” he said, brandishing a lighter between his fingers. Shane blushed a bit and followed him through the rest of the cottage to the backyard. The two of them settled by the firepit, though neither of them moved to start one. Instead, Ilya held the joint delicately between his fingers and brought it to his lips, lighting it carefully.
It had been years since he last smoked weed, and he could tell from his first slight inhale that the weed he smoked as a teen in Moscow is nothing like the weed here in Ottawa. He coughed roughly as he breathed out the smoke, glaring at Shane when he laughed at him.
“I thought you were an experienced smoker?” Shane said, laughter still in his voice. Ilya pouted at him and held out the joint. Hesitant and suspicious, Shane took it. He tried to hold it the same way Ilya did, but it looked far less natural on him.
“Sure, of cigarettes. Did you miss the part where I said has been ten years since I smoked this last? And is much stronger than Russian weed,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. Eyes glazing over slightly, he watched Shane’s mouth as he brought the joint to his lips, as he inhaled, as he smirked around the smoke before letting it out in a harsh cough. Ilya was entranced, the way he often was with Shane.
He could hear crickets and the buzzing cicadas in the air. The sun had mostly set by now, leaving them in the soft darkness of twilight. Shane held the joint out to him again, and this time when Ilya took a hit, he didn’t cough. He inhaled deep; he felt it fill his lungs and burn a little. Shane’s eyes were half-lidded. He was staring at Ilya’s lips just like Ilya was staring at his.
“I have an idea,” Ilya said after a moment, still staring at Shane’s mouth, and Shane nodded wordlessly. Taking this as agreement, Ilya took another hit, bigger this time, but instead of letting it out he reached for Shane. He held the smoke in his mouth, cheeks puffing out slightly comically. Shane followed easily, letting himself get pulled into Ilya’s arms. Staring at his mouth again, Ilya pulled him flush against him and pressed their mouths together. When Shane’s mouth opened easily under his, Ilya pushed the smoke into his mouth. Breathing out carefully, he only pulled away when Shane did, coughing slightly.
“What the hell was that?” Shane asked, tears beading at the corners of his eyes after coughing.
“That was shotgunning. You like? Is like kissing,” he said. He could feel the few hits they had taken start to hit him, the way his brain went fuzzy and his limbs felt heavy.
Shane nods, and Ilya could tell by the look on his face that he would like to do it again. The fact was that Shane simply loved kissing. Ilya couldn’t blame him; he does too. He felt so heavy, so heavy perhaps it scared him a bit. He took another hit, breathing in deep and pulling Shane in by the waist to push the smoke into his lungs again. Shane took it easier this time, not rearing back to cough until he cried again. This time, the very moment Shane exhaled the smoke, Ilya pulled him in for a hungry kiss.
They stood like that for long enough that Ilya lost track of time, long enough that when they came up for air, he found he had become quite high. The joint had burned down to its filter, so Ilya dropped it and crushed it under his shoe. He turned back to Shane. Trying to remember the last time he had been high, he took stock of his body. His limbs felt heavy, like moving them was more effort than he was used to. His head was fuzzy, foggy, like it was filled with cotton. His eyes were itchy, as was his throat. He felt relaxed, true, but also like everything was heightened. Ilya had learned young how to keep his emotions below the surface. He thought of them like water, frozen over to ignore the roiling, heaving currents. But now, they felt close to the surface.
“Fuck. I am fucking high,” Ilya said, accent slightly stronger than usual. His voice seemed slow to his ears, like he was speaking more slowly than normal. Shane’s eyes, for his part, were very red. Half-lidded.
“Me too, I think. How am I supposed to feel?” Shane asked. He stepped closer to Ilya, arm wrapping around his waist. Automatically, Ilya pulled him closer. He felt clingy, like if he let go it would tear at something in him that could not be repaired.
“It varies. I feel…heavy. I think I would like to sit down,” Ilya said, blinking slowly. He shook himself a bit like one would rid themselves of the vestiges of sleep, or like a dog shook water off. Shane was so distracted by him sometimes, by his curls and his cheekbones. Now, he got distracted staring at his face. Ilya’s eyes were also half-lidded, also red. His shoulders, like Shane’s, were relaxed. But distractingly, he rubbed his eyes with his fists and sighed like a child. Shane’s lips quirked in a tiny smile, even as his brows furrowed.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked, wishing all at once that he hadn’t done this, that his head was clear.
“Yes, yes, of course. Just a big day. Your parents are so lovely, and so quick to accept you. To accept me, even. And I think the weed is maybe making me emotional. They’re just…so wonderful. Your mother was looking at me like I was a chess board, but your father,” Ilya said, trailing off. Shane stayed silent. Ilya stared off into space; it was much more difficult than usual to put the words into English. “He was so kind. And he is who cooked, yes? I do not know family like this.”
It was only when Shane pulled him back in for a tight hug that Ilya realized there were tears on his cheeks. It made Ilya’s chest feel tight even though his head was fuzzy and foggy. He remembered weed being more enjoyable than this. Ilya had not cried this easily, as easily as he had been these past few days, in years. Not even around Svetlana. He was a Russian man; it was not done. But the weed was getting to his head, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself from spilling everything he was feeling all over Shane’s shoulder.
“Come on. Let’s go sit down and we can cuddle. Honestly, that sounds fucking amazing right now,” Shane muttered, dropping his head to Ilya’s shoulder and turning so his face was pressed into his neck. Ilya hesitated, then cleared his throat. His eyes were stinging, but that could have been from the smoke.
“What if we cuddled in bed? I want to be close to you, feel your skin,” Ilya said, blinking slowly at him, uncharacteristically shy. Shane smiled, the movement just as slow and lazy as every one of Ilya’s. He nodded and took Ilya’s hand. There was tenderness in his eyes despite the looseness that made Ilya’s heart tighten and pound in his chest.
The cottage was dimly lit as Shane led him through it. By now, a few days into his visit, it was familiar to Ilya. Even without it being lit, he knew his way from the backdoor and through the house to the bedroom. Ilya glanced out the windows at the view, the moon shining brightly on the lake through the wall of windows, the stars winking in the sky. Ilya had grown up in a city and moved to a different city. He had never seen this many stars. Feeling a tug on his hand, he realized belatedly that he had stopped walking to look out the window. Shane had the same small, fond smile that had been on his face so much recently, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. He was looking at Ilya over his shoulder and pulling on his hand.
Ilya kept walking. His limbs felt heavy, his head full of cotton. Thoughts came at a crawl and translating them to English seemed an incredible task. But Shane just pulled him close by his grip on his hand, and with a mischievous quirk to his lips he shoved Ilya down on the bed and climbed on top of him. Straddling his hips, Shane sat atop him for a second, looking down at Ilya. Like a lazy cat, Ilya blinks slowly up at him. Without breaking eye contact, Shane slides his hands slowly under his shirt up Ilya’s stomach.
*Shane’s POV*
“Take this off,” Shane said in a slightly demanding tone. Instead of obeying, Ilya raised his hands above his head and pouted, only breaking into a playful smile when Shane chuckled in response. Still, Shane pushed the shirt up and off when Ilya raised himself off the bed to allow for it. It left his curls mussed and slightly frizzy, the way Shane liked them most. The moonlight shined through the window on his pale skin, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. Ilya calls Shane pretty, but Shane thinks it’s Ilya who is a truly beautiful man. The best part about the last few days is how much time Shane has been able to spend looking at him.
“You are staring,” Ilya said, and perhaps he was speaking slower. His accent was certainly stronger and more difficult to understand as the words started to slur together. He was looking at Shane with half-lidded eyes and biting his bottom lip. Beautiful. Not a word Shane would have attributed to him at seventeen, all rough edges and attitude, but when he was loose and relaxed and playful like this, he was the prettiest man Shane had ever seen.
“You’re pretty,” Shane declared before he could stop himself, petting Ilya’s abs. He’d blame it on the joint, on being high, but Ilya just let his head fall back onto the pillow and let out a quiet laugh.
“You think so, do you?” he asked cheekily, and Shane could swoon. It was silly, but he missed his accent sometimes. He missed the way Ilya spoke when he was nineteen. When he was drunk or tired or, apparently, when he was high, it slipped out a bit. Every time, it made Shane want to swallow the words directly from his mouth. Shane finished crawling up his body, only to rear back again and pull his own shirt off too. Only then did he tuck himself against Ilya, head under his chin and half on top of him.
The thing was, Shane had never been good at staying still, and right now Ilya’s heartbeat against his ear sounded as powerful as a drum, and his skin was warm and smooth like velvet against his own. Ilya’s breath was slow and steady, his fingers gently tapping a pattern onto his shoulder blade. Slowly, although Shane felt time passing like molasses, he relaxed into Ilya’s grip.
“Shane?” Ilya said eventually. Shane had no idea how much time had passed, but Ilya’s breath was just slightly uneven. When he looked up, Ilya was wiping tear tracks away with his free hand. A noise of concern came out of Shane’s throat. Shane reached up, batted Ilya’s hand away, and wiped them himself. Before he could say anything else, Shane kissed him lightly on the lips. He kissed all over his face until Ilya took his cheeks in his hands and pulled him away.
“Is okay, I am sorry I cry again. I just don’t think I have had such good day since I won Stanley Cup. You introduced me to your parents, Shane,” Ilya said tearfully. He looked down at him, close enough that their noses were brushing. In Ilya’s eyes, Shane could see the deeply lonely boy Ilya must once have been. The boy he had glimpsed when Ilya cried in his arms over losing a father who hated him. Ilya had friends and teammates, but for the first time that day, Shane wondered when he’d had his last home-cooked meal before tonight.
“I think they liked you,” Shane said softly, running a hand soothingly through Ilya’s curls. There’s a small furrow to his brow, and he looked at Ilya like he was trying to do a math problem. Ilya gave him a tremulous smile, fresh tears on his lashes.
“Really?” Ilya said, and Shane couldn’t help but lean up and kiss his nose. Not for the first time, he treasured the fact that he got to see this version of Ilya. For those few months earlier in the season, when Shane was dating Rose and him and Ilya weren’t speaking, Ilya had gone cold. It had been like he wasn’t there. A bolt of ice had gone down Shane’s spine when he realized that this was the Rozanov everyone else had seen all along. To see him like this, or as playful as he had been earlier, or as nervous, was a treasure.
“Yeah, really,” Shane said, voice slightly hoarse with emotion. They had just made this real, but Shane would do anything to keep it. It felt a bit like cradling a baby bird in his palms, being trusted with Ilya’s heart. Ilya smiled, broad and genuine and brilliant as the sun. It wasn’t a grin or a smirk, but a boyish smile that made it impossible for Shane not to capture his mouth in a sweet kiss.
Ilya wrapped a hand around the back of Shane’s neck, deepening the kiss with a quiet moan. As Shane kissed him, he could feel a few of Ilya’s tears drip onto his cheeks. This was now the third time he had the honor of holding Ilya close to him while he cried, and it made him want to wrap Ilya up and never let him go. But now he could taste Ilya’s tears in his kiss, and it also made him want to devour him. Shane moaned into Ilya’s mouth. He could feel Ilya’s hand tighten around his hip even as Shane himself arched and angled towards him. The tenor of the kiss changed from something warm and comforting to something hungry.
Shane shifted so that he was straddling Ilya’s hips. They shifted down subtly, rocking against each other as their cocks began to harden. Ilya broke the kiss and laughed, giggled really, as he mouthed Shane’s neck. Their movements, once lazy and without any real goal in mind, changed in tenor. Their cocks began to harden against each other, and Shane pushed Ilya back down onto the bed. He looked down at him, his boyfriend, this Russian beast everyone feared and Ilya was looking up at him as though he had hung the moon.
Shane pressed his mouth to Ilya’s neck and peppered kisses to whatever skin he could reach. It was summer, and Ilya was known to have lovers, and Shane could leave marks. So he did. He sucked a deep, dark mark right into the spot Ilya’s neck met his shoulder, reveling in the deep, throaty moan Ilya let out. Ilya looked like his head was swimming, like he was drifting somewhere and Shane could ground him. Tears leaked out the sides of his tightly closed eyelids. Feeling soft fingertips brushing away the tears, he opened his eyes with a weak sniffle.
“Ilya, baby, what’s wrong?” Shane asked, and Ilya’s tears increased as he shook his head. This was nothing like the first time he had been high.
“I do not know. I just…I feel so much. With you. I have never felt so much for another person, Shane, and I don’t know what’s happening, because I do not cry! I have cried more with you than I have since my mother died,” Ilya said. He tried to shy away from Shane, who would not break eye contact. Unwilling to let him hide from him, Shane stared him down with an expression that made Ilya feel like he had seen inside his very soul.
“Maybe it’s because I’ll let you,” Shane said, soft as if he knew that by speaking too loudly, he would scare Ilya away. Ilya opened his mouth, blinked hard to clear his eyes of tears, and then closed it again. Shane said nothing while Ilya stared at him, gaping like a fish. Tears clung to his lashes and there was a flush high on his cheekbones.
His had not been a family that cried. He had not cried when his father died, nor at his funeral. He had cried after, while talking to Shane. He had cried when he found his mother. Sobbed on the floor, uncontrollably, until Alexei had picked him up and put him in his room and told him to shut up and be quiet. When he broke his leg two years later, the look in his father’s eyes was enough to keep his own dry.
“Where did you go just now?” Shane asked, pushing a hand through Ilya’s curls. Ilya couldn’t help but arch into it a bit, like a cat, and Shane gave a tug before letting go.
“Nowhere. You are right,” he said softly. His long fingers moved Shane’s mouth towards his again, and they kissed sweetly. Sweet like Shane’s smile when they finally pull away, like the matching blushes on their faces. Shane’s eyes were still a bit glazed and red from the weed. His brow furrowed as he looked down at Ilya, as he ran a thumb along Ilya’s bottom lip.
“You always take such good care of me. In bed, I mean,” he said, blush deepening and spreading down his neck. “Let me take care of you tonight.”
Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up, muscles tensing just slightly at the suggestion. But his hands still stroked up and down Shane’s thighs, his eyes taking in every inch of him like they were trying to memorize the sight of him. He would grant Shane any request.
“Are you telling me you would like to fuck me, Shane?” he asked in a quiet, hoarse voice. The blush staining the apples of his [GU7.1]cheeks grows as well, dripping down his neck. There are still tears clinging to his lashes. If this is what it feels like for Shane to be underneath him, Shane can understand why someone would get drunk on the power. Ilya was so pretty, Shane’s chest hurt. So pretty it made his head swim, made him want to make Ilya feel as good as he made Shane feel.
“Yeah. Have you ever?” Shane asked, voice just as hushed. He felt as though were he too loud, some delicate bubble would burst. The world would come crashing back in, or his anxiety would. They could talk about anything, so long as it was within the walls of this room, within the boundaries of these sheets, within the haze of the weed they had smoked. Within the bubble they had created that day, they could try anything. Ilya shook his head, looking up at Shane with something like shyness, biting his bottom lip.
“I have never. But I…I trust you. With you, I would try. If you want to fuck me, Shane, then you should fuck me,” Ilya said. He bit his lip, already red and slightly swollen. “Fuck me, Shane.”
Shane gulped loudly, his mouth dry now that the passing thought was real. Shane said nothing at first, just stayed still for a second before scrambling to press Ilya into the bed and kissing him hard. He licked into his mouth, devouring it like Ilya always did for him, trying to envelop him. Ilya arched his body into Shane eagerly, like he was giving himself to him[GU8.1]. Shane trailed his mouth along Ilya’s jaw and back to his neck. His hands framed Ilya’s face and tugged once on his curls before he slid them down to his chest.
Shane loved Ilya’s chest. He loved the light dusting of hair at the center, he loved the way his abs twitched responsively underneath Shane’s hands, he loved the feeling of his nipples pebbling when his thumbs caught them. Right now, kissing him, with Ilya moaning sweetly and quietly into his mouth, Shane also loved his pecs. Rubbing his nipples, Shane groped Ilya’s chest, rubbing his pecs like they were tits. Eventually, Shane broke away from the kiss with a moan. Ilya’s eyes were glazed and heavy-lidded, and he looked up at Shane like he was drunk on the sight of him.
Shane kissed further down Ilya’s neck and sucked another mark into his clavicle. Then he kept going, kissing a trail in the groove between his gorgeous pecs. And he stopped there. He sucked one of Ilya’s nipples into his mouth, teasing it until Ilya’s hand found its way into Shane’s hair and pulled hard. Shane moaned, but all he did was move to Ilya’s other nipple and give it the same treatment. Eventually, he moved on, licking his belly button. Shane tugged on the hair down by Ilya’s navel with his teeth and grinned up at him when Ilya’s hips jerked up and he could feel Ilya getting hard. It made Shane insane, made him groan into Ilya’s skin and bite a mark into the soft skin beneath his navel.
Ilya just tugged a bit on Shane’s hair again, his own thrown back. His hips kept twitching as he tried not to writhe and wriggle. He was panting, and his skin was becoming salty with sweat. Looking up into Ilya’s eyes, Shane found them slightly glassy with desire. Ilya looked like his head was spinning, his eyes still barely half-lidded. He had his bottom lip in his teeth, look down at Shane like he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else.
By now, Shane could feel him fully hard somewhere under his chest. Shane wasn’t far off. His curls were mussed and starting to frizz where he had been throwing his head against the pillowcase and pulling on them. It was not that Shane was a selfish lover, it was more that Ilya was incredibly selfless and seemed to get off on seeing how crazy he could drive Shane. Rarely did they have the time to spend worshipping each other, and when they did, Ilya relished worshipping Shane. Even more rarely did Shane get the opportunity to return the favor or to see Ilya throw his head back against the pillow because he was so overwhelmed. Shane dug his thumbs into the divots of Ilya’s hips, but soon they returned to his pecs. What came out of his mouth when he looked up at his boyfriend surprised even him, and he blinked at Ilya and felt his blush spread down his chest.
“I…fuck, I want to fuck your pecs. Look at them. You have such incredible fucking tits, Ilya. Please, can I?” Shane said from somewhere around Ilya’s navel. While waiting for an answer, he kissed absently at his happy trail again. Ilya nodded slowly, sluggishly, as though he found his own head too heavy to lift. He had been staring at Shane through heavy-lidded, hazy eyes since they had gotten to bed, but the previous heaviness that seemed to have started to drag him under a cloud of melancholy had dissipated. Ilya seemed grounded, rooted to the bed by Shane’s touch.
“I need words, baby,” Shane said. His hand has snaked up his boyfriend’s stomach and groped again at his pec, rubbing at a dark nipple, still wet with Shane’s saliva. Ilya moaned softly, breathily, and nodded again. When he spoke, it seemed as though it was through cotton. His accent was heavy and his words were slow and thick.
“Yes. Do it. You can do anything to me. Fucking use me,” he said, blinking sluggishly. Shane moaned, head dropping to rest on Ilya’s hips, mouthing absently while he got his heartrate under control. He rested his forehead there for a moment and pressed kisses to whatever skin was underneath his mouth. When he popped his head back up, he lifted himself up and slid up Ilya’s body. They hadn’t done anything but kiss and touch a bit, but his cock was hard and red and bobbing. Shane sat on Ilya’s stomach, which he could feel flexing underneath him when Ilya’s hips twitched. He went back to groping at his chest as he squeezed and massaged his pecs, rolling both nipples beneath his fingers until they pebbled again under his ministrations.
After what feels like an endless interval, when it feels as though Shane will do nothing but feel him up, Shane finally pushed his strong pecs together, so they make a groove tight enough to slide his cock in. He reached for the lube in the drawer beside the bed and slicked up his cock with it. Only then did he slide his dick between Ilya’s strong pecs and groan loudly.
“Fuck, look at you, look at your tits. You’re so gorgeous; I don’t tell you enough. I don’t tell you enough how fucking pretty you are,” Shane rambled as he fucked fast into the groove he had created. It wasn’t perfect, and Shane was sure it was nothing like fucking actual tits, but he found he was as obsessed with Ilya’s chest as Ilya was with his. For once, he could understand the urge, the way Ilya always wanted to be on top of him. It was intoxicating to see Ilya looking up at him like that, with his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed like Shane was the moon and stars itself.
It wasn’t like what he imagined fucking a woman’s tits would be. Ilya’s tits were not big enough to really create a channel, just the barest illusion of one. But it was enough. It was warm and slick, and Shane’s fingers kept catching on Ilya’s nipples with each thrust. He wanted so badly to cum like this, especially when he could hear Ilya’s hand going to his cock right behind him. Instead, he craned his neck to look over his shoulder and watched Ilya touch himself, groaning. Precum added to the lube in the groove between Ilya’s tits, making it even more slick. Letting out a keen high in his throat, Ilya angled his head down and arched his neck towards Shane’s cock like he was trying to catch the head in his mouth with each thrust. He couldn’t quite reach it.
Shane’s thrusts slowed and then stilled. He wrapped a hand tight around the base of his cock, perilously close to orgasm way sooner than he wanted to be. Biting his bottom lip, he clamped his eyes closed and took a few steadying breaths to stave off orgasm. Ilya let out a pained noise, cheeks flushed a bright red.
“Why you stop?” Ilya asked, panting and flushed, whining. Shane, still gripping his cock tightly, slid down his body to straddle his hips again. Ilya’s back was arched and he was biting his bottom lip, begging to be kissed. His arm was outstretched, reaching for Shane, trying to pull him back. Lube and precum were smeared on his chest, his nipples pebbled and red from where Shane had been rubbing them mercilessly. He was the very picture of lust, like some sort of god. A bit more precum beaded on the tip of his cock, and Shane groaned loudly.
“Didn’t want to cum too soon, baby. I promised you I would fuck you, right? I’m going to make you feel so good, baby, as good as you always make me feel,” Shane said and, took Ilya’s outstretched hand to squeeze it. When he dropped it, it was to stroke lazily at Ilya’s stomach. Ilya hummed, stretching and wiggling like he was preening under Shane’s attention.
“You promise?” Ilya asked, both cheeky and a bit boyishly bashful. Shane chuckled and flicked at his nipple, which made Ilya’s cock visibly twitch.
“Yes, I promise. And I’m going to take my sweet time preparing you, you know. It’s going to feel so fucking good. Do you remember the first time you fucked me?” Shane asked. Ilya’s cheeky grin became something softer, and he reached up again, trying to get Shane to lean down and kiss him.
“Of course I remember. How could I forget? It was the culmination of two years of effort. Never have I chased someone so long. I should have known then how gone for you I was,” Ilya said, and then leaned up to kiss Shane hard on the mouth.
“Shut up,” he retorted with no heat. “You were so careful, so gentle. I didn’t know it was possible to feel pleasure like that. I want to make you feel that good.”
“Then do it. The lube is there,” he said, gesturing in its vague direction. Shane chuckled again and picked up, tossing it from one hand to the other.
“What position do you want to be in?” Shane asked.
“I will get on my stomach. At least at first. Is okay?” Ilya said. Shane nodded and shifted off him enough so that Ilya could flip onto his stomach. By now, most of the pillows had already been pushed off the bed, and Shane picked one up off the floor. He tapped twice on Ilya’s hip, then shoved the pillow underneath them when he obediently lifted them off the mattress. Shane rewarded him by stroking the length of his spine and leaning down to kiss the back of his neck.
“My good boy. You’re sure about this? I know I’ve already asked, but I’m perfectly happy with the sex we’ve been having for the last decade,” Shane said, even as he knelt between Ilya’s legs and kneaded his ass cheeks worshipfully, one in each hand. Shane did not spend enough time admiring Ilya’s ass. It was incredible, round and muscular and dusted lightly with hair. There was even a mole. He loved every inch of Ilya’s body, but tonight he constantly kept mourning the parts of him he had never smothered with kisses. Ilya hadn’t responded, so Shane gave into an animalistic urge and bit down hard on one ass cheek. Ilya moaned, high-pitched and desperate, and nodded as he fell bonelessly against the soft, dark sheets.
“Yes, yes. Is perfect. I am nervous, but this relax me. I want to. I trust you,” he said. Between the weed and how seemingly drunk on pleasure he is, Ilya’s accent was stronger than Shane had heard it in years. He tried to look nonchalant, but the look he gave Shane over his shoulder was far from it. He looked boyish and relaxed, even excited and playful. It was the same way he had been since he arrived at the cottage. There was a sparkle in his eye, and his cheeks were still flushed red. Shane kissed him sweetly.
Not for the first time, Shane was struck by the distance between the Rozanov that everyone in the league knew and the Ilya he had come to know. He was struck by the distance between the Ilya he believed he knew a year ago and the one he knew today. Shane wondered how many people were lucky enough to know this Ilya. He wondered if Svetlana did.
“Well? Are you going to do anything, or just sit there staring?” Ilya said, frustration seeping into his tone. He arched his back, pressing his ass into Shane’s hands. When Shane reached around to touch him, he found his cock to be hard and leaking where it pressed into the bed, despite receiving little attention since they hard started. He keeps getting distracted by looking, by idly touching.
Time seemed to slip away from both of them as they writhed together in Shane’s giant bed. This, he blamed on the weed. Their cocks were hard and weeping. As if without meaning to, Ilya rocked his hips into the mattress, trying desperately to get any sort of friction on it. Shane lightly smacked his ass, and Ilya groaned again.
Shane had looked down to see his boyfriend humping the bed in desperation. He spread his cheeks and spat at Ilya’s hole, tight and pink and puckered. Ilya moaned again, head lolling around on the pillow. His hips twitched again, so Shane put a hand on his lower back and held him down. Shane could tell he wanted to watch, wanted to look at him.
“Is this position okay?” he asked, even as he pressed a finger cautiously to Ilya’s wet opening. When Ilya hesitated before nodding almost shyly, Shane pulled back a bit. “Are you sure? Because it’s easier, but you can have whatever you want, baby.”
“I want to see you,” he said, voice also uncharacteristically shy, almost nervous. Shane wanted to gather him into his arms and smother him with kisses, but he settled on carefully flipping him carefully onto his back, patting his hip until he lifted it and placing a pillow to prop him up. Then Shane picked up the lube from where it had been discarded on the bed and slicked up his fingers. He lifted one of Ilya’s legs and positioned it around his waist, then prodded at his hole with one wet finger again.
“Is this better?” he asked while his finger teased at Ilya’s rim, feeling how tight his hole was. Ilya groaned loudly, head thrown back and bright red flush high on his neck and cheeks. Shane stared down at him, at the way his curls were beginning to frizz a bit where he’d been thrashing his head around the pillow and the way he kept biting his lip until it reddened and swelled. Shane was the only one who got to have him anymore, and the only one who’d ever gotten this. His heart pounding, he leaned down and kissed Ilya hard on the mouth, feeling as lucky as he had when he’d won the Stanley Cup. He always did with Ilya, when he thought about him, but especially tonight, doing something Ilya had never trusted anyone else to do.
Ilya was nodding, entire face flushed, looking up at Shane like he was the sun itself. Shane wanted to stare at his face while he pushed inside him, even with just a finger, but this part was not unfamiliar. It wasn’t like he had never touched Ilya here before, like his hands had never wandered while going down on him. Kissing his way back down his chest, Shane’s finger continued circling Ilya’s rim pushing in slowly. As he pushed deeper, feeling Ilya stretch around him, he took the head of his cock into his mouth and looked up at his boyfriend. Ilya’s eyes fluttered closed, his face flushed and a curl stuck to his sweaty forehead.
Shane kept going slowly, easing a second finger in only when Ilya had fully relaxed around the first one. If Shane remembered that one conversation they’d had correctly, two was about the limit to Ilya’s experience, even just by himself before he found himself unable to relax. But Ilya still moved like his limbs were too heavy, like the joint they had smoked had unwound tension. Shane was so in love with him, and he only hoped he could quiet Ilya’s brain the way Ilya quieted his. He hoped he could push away the voice in Ilya’s head that warned against being this vulnerable and soft. He was in Shane’s hands, somehow, which were soft despite a career on the ice. Shane, who was looking at him like he was something breakable.[GU10.1]
Shane kept it at two fingers for several long minutes, stretching him and rubbing until he found his prostate and Ilya arched sweetly up. The movement pushed Ilya’s cock deeper into Shane’s mouth, and Ilya let out a string of impressive Russian curses. Shane moaned in return around his cock, and Ilya arched again. Shane felt his cock hit the back of his throat and backed off, kissing Ilya’s thighs when he glared down at him with tears clinging to his lashes.
“Are you ready for a third finger, my love?” Shane asked, and Ilya groaned with a breathy note and nodded. He looked dazed, his hands reaching to run lazily through Shane’s hair. Shane leaned into it, petting Ilya’s hip while he slowly added a third finger. He could be man enough to admit that Ilya’s cock was bigger than his own perfectly acceptable, average-sized cock, but the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Ilya the first time he let anyone do this.
“I am ready,” he said, words thick and accented and syrupy. Panting through the pleasure and the emotion, he nodded again. Shane nodded back, then licked a bit at the head of his cock as he slipped the third finger in slowly. Ilya let out a breath like it had been punched out of him and clamped his eyes shut tight. Tears leaked out the sides , and though his breaths sounded pained his hips arched into Shane’s touch after only a few seconds.
To Ilya, three fingers felt impossibly huge. The tears didn’t stop coming, just as he had worried about. When Shane looked up through his lashes and saw the steady stream of tears, he let Ilya’s cock go with a wet pop.
“Ilya, please, you said you’d tell me if it hurt,” Shane said, brows furrowed and concern coloring his voice. Ilya shook his head, though that only shook loose more tears.
“Am good. Just…full. Full of you. Is a lot of good,” Ilya said, losing even more of his control over English as he got closer to tipping over the edge. His voice was wet, like he was on the verge of crying harder. Shane crawled back up Ilya’s body, kissing along his hipbones and up his chest. Then, as he stretched his fingers inside Ilya, he captured his mouth in a deep kiss. They kissed while Shane found his prostate again until Ilya was rocking desperately, trying to get his fingers deeper.
“Do you want a fourth finger, or do you want my cock?” Shane asked, blushing. He wasn’t really used to dirty talk. Him and Ilya had always been better at speaking with their bodies than with their mouths, however hard they were working to get better at that. Ilya, still pushing himself onto Shane’s fingers, opened his mouth and let out a deep moan before he could form words.
“Cock. My love, your cock,” Ilya begged, voice breathy. He had given up on English now, but Shane had looked up enough Russian to make it out. Shane’s blush only deepened.
He realized his hands were trembling at the same moment he realized Ilya was as well. His hands clung to Shane’s shoulders, then his biceps, then his waist, unable to stay still. His thighs trembled where they wrapped around Shane. He looked up at Shane with an expression he had become familiar with, one of awe that must also have been love, like he was looking into the face of God himself. It was a wonder they hadn’t realized how in love with each other they were before they did. They were not subtle.
Though his hands trembled just has hard as Ilya was trembling, Shane picked up the lube and dribbled enough on his cock that he was sure it would not hurt. He reached for a condom, then hesitated. They were tested regularly, and both had admitted it had been months since they had been with other partners. The previous night, Ilya had fucked him in his bed bareback for the first time. It had been more intense than any other sex they’d ever had. Messy. Gross, even, once they were finished and he’d felt it leaking out of him, but so intense. He wasn’t sure Ilya was prepared for that intensity.
“Do you want a condom? Or just me?” Shane asked. He could remember their first time doing this, all those years ago, the way Ilya kept checking in with him. He’d checked in with him enough times that Shane had been a little annoyed, but in hindsight it made his heart swell a bit with gratitude. He wanted this experience to be as smooth as that one had been, as gentle and perfect. In hindsight, it had probably been the moment Shane had fallen for Ilya.
Ilya opened his mouth and closed it a few times, trying to find words in either of the languages he knew. He clung harder to Shane, both hands and thighs trembling. His breath shuddered.
“Fuck, your cock. Just you,” he said, muddling through the English to be sure Shane understood him. Shane gulped. Twice. His cock, hanging heavy between his legs, visibly twitched. It was coated in enough lube that a bit dripped off it, and Ilya gulped. He moaned again, his eyes open but wet and glassy with pleasure.
“Okay. Okay. We can do that. Fuck, I might not last very long,” Shane said with a breathless laugh that Ilya returned with a desperate twinge to his smile.
“No, me either,” Ilya said. He arched his hips, egging Shane on. Shane lined himself up, but hesitated again. Ilya swallowed a few times, panting like he could hardly find air, and nodded.
With the head of Shane’s cock finally breaching him, he let out a miraculous sound that Shane had somehow never heard before in a decade of sex with this man. A whining keen, high pitched and breathy as Ilya arched into him and clenched around him, forcing Shane to pause.
“Still good, baby?” Shane said soft and sweet, watching the way Ilya’s whole body seemed to flush at the pet name. A shy smile curled his lips as he nodded, making him look almost bashful. No one but Shane got to see this version of Ilya Rozanov. The thought made a possessive urge to keep Ilya to himself grow that he was entirely unused to feeling. Shane remained still until Ilya’s breathing had evened out and he had begun to relax again. By now, he felt like the high from the joint was fading, but he was just as high off Ilya as [GU11.1]he had been off the weed.
Eventually, Ilya nodded again. Shane moved slowly, stopping again once or twice to make sure Ilya had adjusted to him. Soon, though, Ilya was urging him on. He had his thighs on either side of Shane’s hips, his blunt fingernails likely leaving marks on his shoulders from how hard he was gripping. When Shane did not move fast enough, he dug his heels into his ass and tried to pull him closer. Despite that, Shane entered slowly.
“More, more, come on, want to feel you,” Ilya begged. His words were slightly slurred, and he blinked heavily from half-lidded eyes. He was beautiful. By now, sweat clung to his brow, making a stray curl or two cling to his skin. There were tear tracks on his face, and his lips were swollen and red from biting them. With one final thrust of his hips, Shane finally bottomed out.
“Holy fuck, Ilya, baby, you’re so…fuck,” Shane whined, trembling even harder from the resisting the urge to move. Ilya let out a cry, voice cracking in the middle. Unable to help himself, with a deep-throated groan, Shane ground his hips into Ilya until he felt Ilya’s whole body jolt. Another cry fell from his lips, followed by a quiet sob.
“Shane, Shane, is so much. Come, come here, want to…And move. Please,” Ilya begged tearfully as he pulled ineffectively at Shane’s shoulders to try to drag him into a kiss. When their mouths met, Ilya let out another sob. He had mostly stopped crying, but he started again now, the kiss quickly turning salty.
Slowly, Shane started moving again. His thrusts were slow, but Ilya pulled him closer, grip moving from his shoulders to hips and back again. Their chests pressed tightly together, and Shane honestly might have been a bit close to crying, too. He could feel every inch of Ilya, both inside and out - . Tthe way his walls fluttered and clenched around his dick, the sting of his nails in his shoulders or hips, the bite of his teeth.
Ilya felt like Shane was surrounding him, enveloping him whole. The first time Ilya had done this with him had not been like this. They had not been able to quite admit to wanting tenderness, not then. Ilya had been careful, but dominant. This was loving, this was worship. Shane had never felt this much for anyone before. It felt like his heart was too big for his chest. It was not just the sex, though, it was the day. It was the trip. It was his parents, and dinner, and making plans to cook for them tomorrow like they were normal partners. It was having the honor of cradling Ilya each time he cried. Ilya clung harder, he pulled harder at Shane’s hips.
Shane kept up a steady rhythm, angling his hips to hit his prostate every thrust. But like they both predicted, it was hardly long before Shane’s hips started losing their rhythm, the cadence of his panting breath speeding up as he grew closer to orgasm. The punched out little groans that Ilya let out with each thrust started rising in pitch and desperation.
It was Ilya who came first, letting out a sharp cry and a curse in Russian. He clenched hard around Shane’s cock; his legs tightened around his hips. Shane felt Ilya cum between them, his cock twitching against their stomachs. Cum hit his stomach, his chest, a drop or two even landing on his collarbone. Ilya kept moaning, kept arching against Shane. Their mouths met, messy and wet and uncoordinated.
“Keep going. Fuck, Shane, want to feel you cum inside me. Come on, come on,” Ilya urges, grabbing at any part of his boyfriend he could reach even as his cock softened against his stomach. It didn’t take Shane long after that. He bottomed out and ground his hips against Ilya’s perfect ass until he came with his own loud groan.
Shane stayed still, cock deep inside Ilya, until it softened enough to easily slip back out. A whimper escaped from Ilya as it did. When they finally broke the kiss, Shane could see that Ilya was still crying a bit.
“God. Shane, my love, how do you not cry every time we do this. I feel…fuck, and my skin feels like it’s on fire and my heart will escape my chest,” Ilya said. His voice was shaking. He wraps his arms tightly around Shane’s waist, keeping him close. His heart pounds.
“Oh, baby, it’s not this intense every time. You enjoyed it, though?” Shane asked. He rested one elbow on the mattress, propping himself up above Ilya. The other came up to push the sweaty, matted curls from his forehead so he could press a firm, loving kiss to Ilya’s sweaty skin.
“I could not do this every time. But yes, I enjoyed. We can do again. Sometimes,” Ilya stuttered, bashful still even now. He seemed to come back to himself slowly, his eyes losing their tearfulness and his body no longer trembling. His breathing was still quick, but as he caught his breath, he pressed kisses to Shane’s neck and jaw.
“Thank you, my love,” Ilya said. He could not quite put into words everything he was thanking Shane for. For sharing his family with him, for caring for him, for loving him, for forcing him to open himself up to loving and being loved too. For sharing his home with him. Shane smiled, tears shining a bit in his own eyes now as he nodded and pressed another kiss to Ilya’s forehead. Then his sharp cheekbone, his jaw, the corner of his lips.
“Thank you. I’ve never done that before, either, and you trusted me so much. You were so good for me, so pretty. Perfect and just for me,” he said, softly against the skin of Ilya’s jaw. Ilya flushed from his neck all the way down his chest and swallowed a few times, seemingly unused to such blatant praise.
“Come here, come back. Want to hold you,” Ilya said after a moment, trying to cover up how much he loved being petted and called praised, caressed. Shane had moved mere inches, but already Ilya grabbed for him.
“Yes, baby, of course. But I have to clean us up. And at least get a towel for us to sleep on; the sheets are soaked,” Shane said comfortingly, petting Ilya’s hair. “Do you want to shower?”
“Usually, yes. Tonight, no. Too tired. Just…hurry back,” Ilya said, a bit demandingly. Shane sighed and chuckled softly, pressing one more gentle kiss to Ilya’s lips before he slipped out of bed. Not bothering to dress, Shane went to the ensuite bathroom for a towel and wet it with warm water. He grabbed a big, fluffy towel from his linen closet and returned, still smiling.
Ilya was still awake, but barely. His eyelids drooped, bottom lip pouting a bit as he began to drop off to sleep. Yet again, something possessive and fond tugged at Shane’s heart, and he made quick but careful work of cleaning both of their stomachs and chests. He urged Ilya’s hips up gently, wiped softly between his cheeks. Neither of them had the stamina, but Shane had a brief, strong urge to lick the cum leaking slightly from Ilya’s hole. Instead, he cleaned him carefully.
“Can you roll over, mon amour?” Shane asked, patting Ilya’s hip. With a put upon sigh, Ilya sleepily rolled over onto his stomach so Shane could toss the soiled pillow onto the floor and cover the wet spot with a towel. He’d gone through more sets of sheets in the few days Ilya had been here than he had in his entire life.
“Sleep now, da?” Ilya asked, hands reaching for Shane. He obliged, sinking back into the mattress and into Ilya’s arms. Much to Shane’s surprise, Ilya was like an octopus in his sleep. It should have been frustrating, overstimulating. It was certainly warm, but Shane still let Ilya wrap his arms tightly around him and pull him close, head tucked against Shane’s chest.
“Yes, Ilya. Sleep now,” Shane whispered. Sleep that was beginning to pull him under as his eyelids grew heavy.
“Tomorrow, we can smoke other joint and make American pancakes,” Ilya said sleepily. Shane laughed, loudly and happily, happier than he had ever quite believed he could be.
“Yes, baby, that sounds perfect,” he said softly. With that, he pressed one last kiss to Ilya’s perfect curls and fell off to sleep to the sound of Ilya’s breathing.