Chapter Text
Shane adored his cozy, open-spaced apartment, he loved standing in front of his big windows that let all the sunlight into his room and drenched his bed with the warm morning light. He spent hours in front of them, meditating while watching the sun change the shades of his furniture when it slowly sat, imagining he was also drowning in the constant range of colors he carefully chose for his safe space. Imagining he was part of the natural change and life itself, maybe hoping that the sun could open up places in his heart he never knew how to reach on his own. Show him colors he could never dare to reach out on his own, shades too exciting that Shane's heart always made sure to put a safe distance between them.
This desire materialized itself with every shade he used to decorate his room, they were intentional and drawn from pastel colors. The muted tones surrounded his very organized kitchen, low on the ground sofas and his walls covered by his sketches.
In that meticulous organization, Shane found peace and creativity. Controlled, and sometimes limited, yet a safe place he could play around with his ideas.
Cozy and bouncy sheets covered his bed, also in muted tones and low on the ground, almost looking like it was just a mattress, up on a small platform that elevated his bedroom space from the living room area. Grounding, he thought while picking up the furniture, close to the Earth itself, as a true artist should live. Not high up in the sky, trying to reach the universes he could only dream of but never seemed to buy a plane ticket to. But here, on Earth, with the reality itself.
Shane adored it all, every piece of furniture he had was in a peaceful harmony with each other, orderly and organized, just like his life and his wardrobe choices.
So much so that his friends always joked about how he even dressed up like his apartment, as if he was also a part of that harmony. Shane constantly wore pastel colored put together cozy fits. Being an art student had its benefits; Shane didn't have to put on a jock outfit every day, as he might have felt pressured to do if he were attending a traditional university. He created a space where he could reach out for patterns in big sweaters or shining stars on jeans. With a huge delight, he wore colorful, large cardigans that were cropped right over his light blue jeans, matched with baby tees that somehow always showed a little skin on his back. This style choice brought him 'baby-girl' accusations from his friends, followed by adoring smiles. Just like how loved his apartment was by his friend group, it also brought steadiness to Shane, being known and reliable. Not being the friend who you never know where they would be turning up to next, no, Shane's next move was always predictable and within his routine.
Shane loved his orderly apartment, it complemented his studies and his carefully, over the years perfected routines. From skincare to workout, study schedules to free time activities; Shane had his routines established. An outmost comfort was found in that peace and organization, minimazing danger and risk, allowing the the system he created to put his heart into a cozy little room where he could live with the words 'satisfied' or 'good enough' or 'I have everything I need and I am content, away from moments I don't know the meanings of'.
Or the words 'I don't know what my heart feels when a certain man looks at me with hazel eyes'.
In this utopia Shane created, he reached for satisfaction. Yet, after writing list after lists and cleaning his apartment for hours, he still felt like he put the wrong vase in the wrong corner, or that he misplaced a spoon or a book or forgot to buy something on his list.
He didn't.
He did everything correctly and perfectly. Yet, some corners in his apartment felt like they were missing something, that he accidentally put a glass in the place where something else was supposed be at already. But he didn't have that 'something'. He reached for it, tried to remember. But he could only wonder why the end tables looked funny, with only one of them used. It was always the one on the left side that felt out of place to him, as if someone was supposed to be using it. But no, he always slept on the right side of his bed and used the right side end table, there wasn't supposed to be a mess on the left one, yet his heart searched for the clutter.
Or was there supposed to be clutter somewhere else in the apartment, maybe a shirt or two not perfectly folded? Maybe a book somewhere written in the Cyrillic alphabet, a messy watercolor brush here and there, or shirts that would be big on Shane with tiger patterns printed on them?
He couldn't come up with something. It was as if his apartment was telling him some part of the rooms were missing crucial things, that even maybe his routine was screaming at him to be rewritten by someone who knocked the door at an unexpected time, that his lists were begging to include another certain person's groceries in them. That maybe excitement or wanting wasn't imperfect, and didn't have to be alarming? It was something, it was loud enough for him not to be able to avoid anymore, but he wouldn't put his finger on it. Or couldn't?
Something, something...
Someone?
&&&&&
Ilya Rozanov has never been an ordinary man in Shane Hollander's very organized life. He was as messy as the watercolor paintings he let his brushes give birth to, as if they had a mind of their own, all the bright colors coming together in a chaos.
In very un-harmonious, uncalculated, unplanned ways.
Yet, his watercolors shone and screamed with beauty. Absolute, pure beauty. Genius works of art.
They had the exact soul of the men who created them, who was the most chaotic student and a menace to the whole school. His art supplies unceremoniously spilled everywhere. The artist behind them needed no uncovering, every drop of blood and DNA of Rozanov was painted onto the canvas.
The very un-harmonious perfection and beauty.
'The artist Ilya Rozanov package' came with a beautiful, bright colored mess and his soul proudly shining in every painting he graced with his brushes. You couldn't mistake the artist when you saw one of his watercolors. It was bright as day.
It seemed like, in every way, he was the opposite of Shane. Rozanov showed up to class late but always handed in the most emotionally crafted, beautiful pieces. It never seemed like he spent more than a few hours on his paintings when Shane worked to perfect his for days and meticulously put his perfect touch to every stage of his creations, obsessed over a single brush stroke or a sculpture, and he didn't go out during assignment creation weeks, always was on time for class. Yet, Rozanov could just work on a piece for an hour and make something so beautiful that even professors from other classes would come to inspect it.
Shane sometimes hated how the Russian didn't even inherit the genius artists' earned pretentiousness; he hated how Rozanov never talked about the philosophy behind his creations or how soft the fairies of inspiration talked to him. He didn't even smugly quote anecdotes from thinkers most people couldn't properly pronounce. He simply showed up to class in his black tank tops and leather jeans, usually smelling like cigarettes, probably with a hangover, and painted the next piece in the Louvre.
And at the occasional moments when asked what his secret or inspiration was, he only quickly glanced around the room and simply said he had a muse with a shrug by his shoulders. A beautiful muse he kept drawing pure inspiration from. The way he said it was very easy too, too soft and too real. As if it were obvious as day. That this inspiration was so beautiful that anyone questioning where he draw imagination from was blind. That it was the most obvious thing in the room. That, it was so easy for Ilya to be a great artist, because this thing was the sun or the first time a mother held her baby or the last note of a beautiful concerto, he only had to look and all the beauty poured into him. It was so real to him that this was the way of life, a natural part of his life. It was so real and right there, that he was even a bit nonchalant about its solid existence. It was there, and anyone who couldn't see or even be moved by it a little bit was blind to the world.
More for him to soak up to anyways he would say, he didn't like to share at all. He liked to be the only recipient of this pure stream of sunshine.
Inevitably, certain rumors flowed around the walls of the art school in Ontario, especially between girls he shared a bed with before, wondering which lucky girl was the inspiration behind all those immaculate artworks.
Shane was doing okay with all of this, really.
When they were at class working individually on their projects, Shane wasn't watching how hazel eyes squinted with concertation and how they stole quick glances to the room occasionally, or how dirty blonde curls graciously fell on his forehead after a long day of leaning over the work space, and he certainly wasn't listening to the Russian curse words slipped from pink glazed lips after his brushes slipped from talented but overexcited fingers eager to finish the masterpiece his brilliant mind was currently working on. Or the flirtatious whispers streaming like a waterfall to other girls' ears that drummed on Shane's stomach a little too painfully.
Shane was keeping his eyes and ears on his own work, of course.
He would never admit that sometimes, when his eyes looked for him in the unadulterated moments he lost control of his senses, he would find Rozanvo's already locked in his. Or how the Russian would not break contact, so intense that Shane would almost always be the first one to look away, with an undeniable blush under his freckles.
Maybe in a way, Shane had found his muse, although a muse with a difference of oceans away from Rozanov's. In a rivalry way, lost in the competing game way, always pushing Shane to make better art-kind of way. Not like Rosanov's infamous sweet muse he drew pure beauty from, whoever the fuck she was. Maybe Shane was looking for his own salvation and inspiration in a place where hazel waters drowned him, which brought him a little trouble in the comfort of his own mind. Limited, controlled, only fantasized and never realized. Never dared to be acted upon, yet found a place in his mind that his heart kept pulling made-up stories for Shane to paint on his canvas. He could be fed with that, he thought, it would subdue his hunger to a certain level. This, I can categorize, put in my list, and add to my routine. This; I can understand.
Still, not all things remained understandable. Honestly, most of them were still mysteries to Shane, like why he would feel an ocean of sadness, the same size of the big ocean of difference between his muse and Rozanov's muse, when their eyes didn't immediately find each other across the room.
He really couldn't say.
&&&&&&
"You are inspired by Turner, yes?"
Shane almost broke his neck looking up at where the strong accent came from. Ilya Rozanov was by his desk, again, because he hated Shane and always found an excuse to chirp at him at every chance he got for the last three years. His body was leaning towards the desk with his arms stretched out on either side of the painting, looking down at Shane's work with intense hazel eyes. Shane moved his hand slightly away from his arms to not touch him accidentally. It was enough that their eyes were on the same level; Shane really couldn't risk his life with an unintentional brush on his skin. He stole a glance but Rozanov's hazel eyes were curtained by his lashes, still intently inspecting the half-finished painting.
Shane forgot not to pay attention to his long eyelashes.
"In a way I guess, the concept I have in mind is similar to Turner's style."
He felt so stupid, if it were a professor asking this question, he would explain how he wanted to capture the essence of chaos and led his brush to create his work so unmistakably Shane's. But Rozanov saw right through it, saw who inspired Shane, or worse, he saw Shane wasn't taking risks at all again and went to a safe corner where the art itself was already established by someone else years before Shane was born. He saw right through, that Shane's soul wasn't in it yet and identified which artist's safe corner he hid himself in.
He almost always made Shane want to prove himself, do better and show Rozanov that he was talented too. It fueled him, and that fuel manifested itself in various ways.
Sprinkles of colors of emotions. Right now, it was fury. I am good too, I am good too, see that I am good too.
"Hm." Rozanov responded with an unimpressed look, "I think you should do your own thing Hollander, not steal from others."
It clears it then, that this asshole only came over to tell Shane how uninspired his work was. He struck a nerve too, because this was the exact criticism he would consistently receive from his professors. It doesn't have to be perfect technique, it just has to be you. But what everyone missed was that his perfect techniques and careful designs were the very things that got him into the school, got him scholarships and occasional gallery spots. The perfection and discussion were carved in him, it didn't let him go free with his brush at times. Nothing made him feel wild enough to want to. Except for those sprinkles of colors of emotions that the man in front of him inflicted on Shane.
And there was this other thing, the unofficial rivals title hanging over their head. They were the two recipients of the most prestigious scholarship the school offered.
While everybody had to take an exam to showcase their talents and earn their spots in the university, Shane and Ilya were chosen, specifically recruited by the school board who oversaw the admissions.
Shane's drawings were discovered because of the endless competitions he took part in during high school. Earning himself the first place on, if not all, most of them in his hometown Ottawa, a few of his pieces were printed in Art Magazines.
Truly, he was the golden boy when it came to the youth art scene in Ottawa, praised for his talent and perfection, even though he received the constant 'be free Shane, take risks Shane' criticisms. He was the golden boy, the perfect artist everybody pointed out as an example.
Until Rozanov came out, all the way from Russia, nonetheless.
"Fuck off, Rozanov. Why not try to make one class on time before trashing me?" Ilya's eyes shot up with the obvious irritation in Shane's voice. As if he was overjoyed by it, his lips curved upwards slightly, one side higher than the other.
"Is the truth. Draw a line that isn't straight for once, you might be surprised with what you find out."
Everybody knew all the lines Shane drew were straight. Straight, perfect, his hands were a rubber. He stayed silent while their eyes locked.
"For example," Rozanov straightened up and raised his arms to both sides, amused like a child who was ready to knock down a few toys. "Come to my party Hollander and see how the great artists live."
Before Shane could refuse him like he always did, Rozanov was walking away from the class already, but just before he reached the door, he looked back over his shoulder. "Maybe you'll get inspired." His eyes dared to wink at Shane, and his legs carried him away, not aware of what was left behind.
A perfect straight line who looked at the chaos with longing eyes, was left behind.
&&&&
"I don't know Rose."
On the rooftop where the students came to hang out and smoke, the wind was strong and cold. Every word Shane spoke traveled to Rose with a visible cloud of cold breath.
The university was located three hours away from Ottawa's city center in a small university town. The landscape was beautiful, and the campus buildings were surrounded by beautiful northern American wilderness. Most of the student housing and neighboorhoods students lived in were visible from the rooftop. The classroom where Shane had most of his lessons was on the ground floor overlooking the campus green, but he enjoyed coming higher up to watch the view. Even though, he hated the smell of smoke.
"Since the day school started, that man has hated me. Poked fun at my work and always had something to chirp at me. You know how the last three years were." Shane reminded her, even though their dynamic was known by everyone around them.
The school administration even played into it; the two most talented students they specifically chose for their university were in an unceremonious competition. They made sure to always put their paintings side by side in the galleries and school hallways.
Made sure they were together, always, in one way or another.
Rose sipped her coffee and nodded, "I know, I know."
She knew, except,
Except there was one thing she didn't know. She didn't know the time they almost..
Almost what? Shane convinced himself, many nights before going to bed, that he imagined all that in his head.
There was no logical explanation, maybe he was looking for a piece of creativity he could soak up from a dangerous Playboy, maybe he watched too many romance movies that week, that his mind was interpreting everything as tension. It was a closed deal. It was over-analysed and thought out and concluded that Shane made up that whole interaction. The only real, apparent, and correct reality remained and screamed the fact that Rozanov always hated Shane.
"He is just playing Shane. That's his way of speaking." She said, "But I have to admit you are his favorite. So you get more special treatment from him." She shrugged her shoulders playfully and stared back at the Canadian wilderness the rooftop faced, as if she was scared that her face might reveal something.
There was nothing to be revealed, Shane thought.
"Yes, in a world where special treatment means getting shitted on every day at class." He scoffed.
But his mind wandered, so maybe there is an alternative world out there where special treatment from Rozanov means something else entirely, he wondered if by the hand of the universe whether that place could turn into somewhere where, maybe, Shane could buy a plane ticket to?
Funny.
"Is he also like that with the girls he sleeps with?" The question left his lips like it had a mind of its own and was not guided by Shane's thoroughly organized brain.
Although he needed to admit, when Rozanov was near, all the files in his brain tend to get a bit messy. A bit, Shane forced to prison everything he felt to a two-worded cage, a bit, like a tiny controlled explosion.
"No. I mean, of course, I don't know how he treats them in bed, but he usually doesn't have to put too much work or engage in chatting with them, I guess. We go out, he dances with people, then they leave together. Not much time for chirping or whatever he does with you. I've seen mostly generic, normal flirting."
Maybe the white thin clouds coming from everyone around them smoking was making Shane nauseous, or the November air in Ontario. Definitely not the thought of Rozanov and other people 'dancing and leaving together'. It was the smoke, he got exposed to too much.
"Still such a prick."
"He really is not so bad. He is a good person to talk to, believe it or not. He does this intently listening thing and it's actually really fun to hang out with him. Especially his parties. Ilya knows how to throw a party for sure, you would know if you bothered to show up to even one for all these years."
She took a sip from her coffee and froze for a second, turned his head to Shane smiling, a playful, dangerous one hanging from her lips. "Maybe that's why he is acting annoyed around you, he keeps inviting you and you never show up."
"He takes the piss Rose, he is not seriously inviting me. Like I said, he hates me." Because of course he is not. His famous parties in his huge house are off limits to people Rozanov hates, and Shane is the first person on that list.
"Ask him then. He told me he invited you to come out tonight. Everybody is going. Honestly, you might not even see him, his house is huge and there are always so many people I don't know. We can just hang out with each other. Hayden, Jackie, Hailey, you and me."
Shane doesn't say anything, he knows his weird dynamic has nothing to do with his friend's relationship with Rozanov and they actually get along well.
Even Hayden is almost always invited to his parties, although some might argue that the dynamic between Rozanov and Hayden is even weirder than Shane and Rozanov.
It is partly because of what Rose said, his huge parties are not cozy places where you would hold a conversation or have to mingle with awkward tension with strangers you don't know. They are always after a big art event that everyone worked tirelessly for and looking to release all that tension by just dancing, drinking and making out, so it makes sense that even Hayden goes.
Nobody really talks as Shane heard, they just trash his house and have fun basically.
All of this information was of course, obtained.
As Shane saw from Instagram, as Shane has heard from people, and as Shane has been made aware by Rozanov himself.
He didn't see or experience any of it on his own. He clung to his coat when the rooftop stopped being fun and refreshing and just cold and cruel with his thoughts.
He never understood Rozanov's urge to fill his house with strangers and mess. Didn't he value any alone time? Why did he always have to be surrounded by an endless sea of people?
"It is also right after the benefactor's event, Shane. We can all go together after the art show is over. You truly deserve it."
&&&&
Shane found himself in his usual spot at the benefactor's event. Staring at his own painting hung right next to Rozanov's.
He let himself swim in the ocean of difference between them.
The whole night passed with cocktails and polite chatter. Mostly sucking up to benefactors, thanking them for their donations and talking about what the students wanted to do after graduation. Which art galleries would employ them, who would they work for, or would they give all this work up for a traditional stable career.
Everything gave Shane a headache. This was his least favorite thing about his prestigious university and his art career. He loved the art itself, immersing in it, creating it, understanding other's path to their finished painting.
He hated being shown off to, that he hated to pretend everything the benefactors said was profound and he hated to be made an object or an investment the school made. So after two hours, he found himself trying to escape by staring at his piece.
The longer he stared, the more flaws he found, especially at places he tried to take risks and didn't follow already established rules. Rozanov's masterpiece hung up right next to it did nothing for his self-esteem.
"They look good together."
The Russian accent found him, right next to him, in front of his own piece. This was also a usual occurrence in these events. He would find Shane in whatever corner he managed to hide that night and tease Shane.
Their paintings stared back at them, side by side like them, not facing each other.
The ocean of difference between them got smaller with Rozanov's genuine voice. And they did, they did complement each other in a way, Shane thought. Chaos and Order.
Maybe it was the champagne Shane kept being handed to but it made him ask a critical question.
"Do you really want me to come tonight?"
Hazel eyes turned to him, the painting Chaos stared intensely at his Order.
&&&&&&
"Oh my God! Someone sedate me." Ilya shouted in the huge lounge, even the loud music and chatter were submissive to his voice, he almost roared.
"Shane Hollander has actually accepted my invite. Everyone must know, alert the media, Shane Hollander is at a party."
"Yeah," Shane turned to Rose with a fed-up abd slightly annoying yet playful look. "I am leaving."
Yet, the thought that Rozanov noticed Shane the second he entered his house was flipping his insides.
Rose had been over the moon when she heard Shane was coming to Ilya's house tonight. They got ready together at Shane's after the benefactors' event and let their shit talk about the donators fill the overly organized apartment. Shane had been nervous, but he convinced himself that Rozanov was not even going to notice Shane being there. He would be drunk with at least two girls hanging from his arms, no space in his mind or body to acknowledge him. Shane would just release some stress and have a good time with Rose, Hailey, Hayden and Jackie. Even though he hated parties, drinking or loud places. Ironic. He was regretting it already.
Rozanov got up from his sofa and walked towards Shane.
Surprisingly to Shane, he didn't have any girls glued to his body, he looked like he was sitting on that sofa all evening alone, watching the door. Like a dog seeking a treat, he closed the space between them.
"Good for you, Hollander. Did you finally decide to stop being boring?"
"Fuck off."
Rozanov side-hugged Rose and raised the white bottle in his hand towards Shane's face obnoxiously. "No. Look, I have gifts. Real Russian Vodka for perfect student."
"Do you at least have some cranberry juice?" Shane grimaced, holding the bottom of the bottle to stare at the Cyrillic alphabet.
"You come into my house and offend me! How dare you try to disrespect my culture Hollander. Very rude boy." With a smile across his face, he pulled the bottle away from Shane and hugged it like it was his child.
Rose laughed. "That's Rozanov and his baby Shane." She pointed her finger. It has earned a proud smile from Rozanov.
"Yes. We went through so much together for you to poison it with your cranberry juice." Rozanov said, not breaking eye contact with Shane.
"I can't drink it straight up."
"Say cranberry juice one more time, and I die." He made a theatrical gesture with his hands, playfully pretending he was falling down. Shane couldn't help but smile to how silly he was being. All that chaos and depth he drew was a far cry from the men in front of them now.
Rozanov caught the smile on his face and leaned closer one more time, face softer. "Just try."
"No thanks. I'll just get some-"
"Ginger Ale. Yes, yes. I have so much Ginger Ale. Don't go crying home yet." He turned towards the bar area in his lounge and led Shane to the table full of different kinds of alcohol. How did he afford all of this? This huge house, with beautiful architecture, stacked with fine drinks for parties almost every week.
He followed Rozanov closely with questions in his mind, tried to distract himself by looking at all the people they were passing, because the opposite would be staring at the back of his curls. And they looked a little too good today.
They looked perfectly in harmony, the individual locks of curls somehow intertwined with each other as if a painter spent hours deciding which direction every dirty blond lock would interlock with each other. The usual mess was in harmony right now, and Shane couldn't spend even more time than he already did at class to decipher them right now. Because-
In the small fridge that stood right next to the table that hosted the alcohol was full of Ginger Ale cans.
And it was the only drink that was being refrigerated.
Everything else was just on the table, caps open, waiting for anyone to grab them and fill their glass.
Except for the Ginger Ale. The Ginger Ale was properly stored and positioned as if it were waiting patiently for something. For someone?
Shane stopped in his tracks and stared at the comparison. Despite juggling with endless questions, his mind only allowed the most obvious one.
"Why do you have so much Ginger Ale?"
"Because I am the best host. I know what my guests want. And there is your Rose, Rose. As sparkly as you like. See. I am best host. Why do you think everyone always comes back?"
"For your manners and delightful conversations?" Shane snarked, grabbing an ice-cold Ginger Ale from his hands. His focus had to be forcefully directed to the cold can and not the warmth radiated from Rozanov's hand.
"Ha-ha Hollander. You say this because you never show up. Tonight it changes. I am going to make you addicted to coming."
Shane blushed.
"Oh-no, what are you thinking about? I knew you were dirty, Hollander. You can't hide it anymore, your secret is out."
Pure mess and chaos, this man, Shane thought. No need to spare one thought, especially at his own embarrassment, that his mind went to a place he wouldn't allow it to go, especially near him, out of pure fright of what might happen if he simply let it.
Other obvious questions quickly filled the space. Why did he invite me? Why is he spending all his time talking to me?
"Right." Shane said and tried to dismiss the grinning man leaning on the alcohol table with an open white shirt that sat a little too well on his body. "Rose do you want to find Hayden and Jackie?"
"Tell Jackie she can do better." Rozanov winked at Shane while sipping from his white bottle. His house might be a little too crowded Shane thought, because he suddenly was heating up and short of breath from a wink. It must be all the body heat radiating from everyone in the room.
He broke eye contact with Rozanov and forced himself to focus on Rose looking around for their friends.
"I will come find you, have fun." Rozanov announced before he was dragged amongst the dancing bodies.
What was even playing from the speakers anyway? Was it some high-intensity rhythm coming from the speakers, or was it Shane's own heart making all this noise loud enough to fill the room?
&&&&
For the most part, people really seemed to love Rozanov's party. The majority of people dancing were drunk, there was a line for the bathroom and everyone looked like they were full of extremely hilarious stories, as their sloppy, drunk laughter covered the walls.
Walls without any pictures and shelves without any personal items.
Shane found Jackie and Hayden, then Hailey, then a few of their classmates, and participated as much as he could in the conversations going on around him. Not much of real conversations, he thought, but drunken words mixed with bodies on top of each other. Shane found himself clinging more to the kitchen, occasionally sipping from his Ginger Ale and looking for something in Rozanov's house.
Something, he thought. What does he have in the house that makes him this talented, or rather, what does someone like him choose to put into his home? Shane wanted all his secrets. Something that might reveal his world, or maybe his muse?
A picture of an ex-girlfriend, or an old toy he had when he was little and in Russia, or something that might satisfy the craving Shane was having about this man.
His own house revealed all his secrets, Shane's calendar was carefully marked for each activity, grocery lists showing what he would have for dinner each night, and books he kept close to draw new ideas from.
Something must be hidden here as well.
Shane looked, but couldn't find anything.
Two hours passed. All of his friends seemed to be having a great time and he didn't want to spoil their fun by trying to talk to them when they just wanted to dance, release tension or just, in Hayden and Jackie's case, kiss each other in the corners.
Hailey stuck around with him for the most part of the last two hours. She was a puzzle Shane didn't even want to begin to lay the framework of. Her golden long hair was in a tight bun tonight, she had stars on her face as decorative little stickers and she kept touching Shane.
She was a sweet, nice girl that Shane made friends of, the first day of school. They usually grouped up whenever a project was coming, and Shane really enjoyed the soft energy that she brought to the art. They talked about anything and everything really, but Shane never seemed to enjoy her closeness as much as he did with Rose.
It always felt like he was looking at a box of a puzzle, that something about her wasn't just revealed to Shane yet.
That promise always made him a little on edge around her, but he was never uncomfortable, and he genuinely liked her. Except for the times she became a little too touchy, especially when it was already really crowded and stuffed and loud and overwhelming.
She walked with him when Shane was trying to discover all the secrets Rozanov was hiding, didn't comment on what he was doing, it seemed like she had something else in mind.
Once, Rose said that Shane needs to give the poor girl a bit more attention. He didn't want to uncover what she meant.
"I think I am just going to grab some water. I'll find you, okay? I think I saw Rose there, she must be looking for you."
A flash of disappointment showed on her face but her usual smile found its place fast enough.
"Alright, I'll see you in a bit."
Shane gave a polite smile and went back to the kitchen for the fourth time. He managed to find a clean glass but decided to wash it again.
The kitchen was huge too, and through the doors he could hear the party roaring in the lounge, he tried to focus on the sound of the water for a sprinkle of peace and quiet.
Chaos came in quick enough. "Ah, nice of you to do the dishes Hollander, but don't worry that's not why you are invited."
Caught off guard Shane almost slipped the glass to the sink. He was grinning and watching how Shane was filling his glass. Shane tried to put on a nonchalant front and act like the sudden closeness between their bodies was nothing worth noticing. But Rozanov saw it, again, and played on it.
"Water ha? Wild choice for the party." He teased again.
Shane's answer came quickly.
"I am thirsty." Plain, true.
What wasn't so plain was the look in Rozanov's eyes when Shane chugged the water. Hazel oceans watched him carefully, Shane thought he saw something unadulterated underneath them, but quickly broke eye contact. Suddenly, the water he drank wasn't enough and he needed more.
The heat on his body was coming back more than usual, and this time it was threatening to spread inside.
He put the same bottle to Shane's face again. "Try my vodka? Is special vodka. I have been saving this one for a special occasion, I want to share."
Shane shook his head and dismissed, he didn't feel like drinking anything, especially the way he saw how much Rose drank tonight. He was the designated Uber-caller after all.
Who was Shane without responsibilities?
And what was this special occasion anyways?
Rozanov gave up and drank from his glass some more before pouring the rest of the bottle back into it. He waved his hand to Shane. So, he wasn't just saying one-liners and chirping at Shane today. He was going to make conversation. Or was trying to tonight.
Interesting, and
A little scary for Shane. They didn't have a lot of small talk.
Usually they had the smallest talk.
Just chirp in passing, or Rozanov saying something snarky and Shane walking away.
"So, what art gallery will sponsor you?"
Okay, easy enough. Safe enough.
"I think Montreal. They are very interested in me doing a collection for their anniversary and actually appreciate my technique." He was genuienly really proud to be chosen. The National Montreal Gallery was one of the first to reach out to him earlier this semester. They celebrated the email as a family and started making plans for Shane's new life in Montreal. Although, for some reason, the actual moving part wasn't as exciting for Shane as it was for most of his classmates
His answer didn't seem to satisfy Rozanov.
"Montreal is a bit, how do you say, conservative yes?"
"I mean, they are more traditional in terms of art, I guess. That's why they like that I am more inside the lines, they know I won't surprise them with a crazy scandalous sculpture or whatever." It was true, Shane was known as the proper, golden boy. His mom believed Montreal would be right for his art. And his mom was a very strategic woman, she knew the best, really. So Shane made his peace with it.
Almost.
Shane could tell his answer didn't satisfy Rozanov again by the way he looked, as if he was searching for the right words. His eyes were squinting a little, and his body was leaning more towards Shane, almost like he was waiting for a confession.
"Do you think is a good thing? Having to make art where you have to follow Montreal's rules?"
Shane straightened up and couldn't help the tone of defensiveness in his voice. "That's what I have always done."
Rozanov was quick with his answer. "No, no. Is not what I mean. What you make is beautiful. But if you want to try something new, would they be good about it?"
Beautiful?
Shane’s shoulders gave in softly.
"I guess they won't."
He slowly set the glass on the sink and put his back on the counter like Rozanov, next to him. Both were watching the people dancing and chatting through the kitchen doors that opened up to the lounge.
He couldn't even try to understand, under all that party noise, how Rozanov found a way, yet again, to discover that small corner in Shane's mind and dive right into it, staring directly at Shane’s hidden concerns, too easily, as if Shane didn’t try so hard to put layers of curtains in front of them. The Russian’s features were sharp, his gaze focused on Shane, and seriousness radiated from his body.
"Every artist they sponsor is white and straight."
"I am half-asian."
"Fuck! Really? I have not noticed." Fully smiling, he stopped leaning on the counter and stood directly in front of Shane.
"Shut up." Shane's body made him take a step back.
Rozanov looked a little too beautiful today, and he was getting under the cracks of his brain, and he was already starting to get extremely hot. Maybe he souldn't have come, maybe he should have stuck to his god damn calendar and have a quiet dinner at home, call his parents maybe.
"But what I heard is that they are already putting that on you. You are already different from them, so if in the future you want to draw something else, what happens?"
"I don't know." He genuinely didn't have an answer. What was Rozanov doing, picking his brain in the middle of his party? Shouldn't he be dancing with all the girls. Or maybe he did dance with everyone back there and now it was Shane's turn, because every time Shane looked, Rozanov was smiling so big to someone new. But then what he said shone more clearly in his mind.
"Wait-have you been listening to what they were saying to me?"
He didn't look caught at all, but stopped drinking. He still had a lot of his glass full. He shrugged his shoulders.
"You were next to me, no big deal. I heard what you were talking about, like representing a whole community or whatever. They made you the prince of all of Asia. I mean you need to be somewhere that makes you more free than that yes?"
"I don't know yet. I like Montreal but-" Why was he put to being alone in the spotlight? "What about you?" Shane asked abruptly.
It didn't really seem to bother Rozanov but his eyes drifted to Shane's arms from his eyes. "Ah, anywhere but Russia, really."
"Why?" Tell me. Reveal something to me. So maybe I can understand what's happening in my mind to want to uncover you so much. Maybe if I put it at ease, I can actually move to Montreal.
"Is not a story for the party and I am the best host yes? You don't want my Russia stories now."
"Alright." He took his defeat. Not today then.
After a moment of silence between them with only the laughter of people going in and out of the kitchen, Rozanov spoke again.
"There were people from America today. From Boston. They love me."
"Oh." Shane had to take a sip from his water. Graduation year, everyone moving. Rozanov would probably too. It was only a concept in Shane's mind, never thought anything beyond that. The Russian was extremely talented; no doubt some huge city representative would snatch him. He, only once, during a donation dinner, thought about the possibility.
He couldn't eat after that. So he never thought about it again. Refused to acknowledge the source of his lack of interest on food.
"So you would move to America?" The mask of indifference in his voice wasn't as effective as Shane thought it would be.
"No, no. Too hard for citizenship. And I like Ottawa, I don't think I would move."
Oh, okay. Good.
Good?
Why good? It didn't concern Shane where Rozanov went after graduation. On the contrary, he should be wishing him to go away so he could once again be the golden boy of Ottawa.
He settled to say, "Yes, Ottawa is beautiful."
He couldn't escape from Rozanov's gaze. He was looking so intently at Shane, as if he was committing his every mimic into memory. He looked a little too beautiful today to be playing with Shane's mind. Did more of his buttons come undone while he was out there dancing? Shane couldn't stop staring at his almost-bare chest. Maybe something was happening cosmetically tonight. He has only ever been this out of his mind in the last three years, and that moment was with Rozanov again.
He let the moment slip from his mind and mix with the background noise and smell of the party.
"Then why not stay? Is your hometown." Rozanov took Shane's gaze from his chest to his lips, almost like a physical force.
Shane stared at the Hazel colors in his eyes, a bit of blue, a bit of green, some honey. Just like his watercolor paintings, his eyes were a storm of colors.
Not like Shane's orderly, proper, one shade of brown eyes. "You know that it's my hometown?"
"I have known you for three years, is very obvious thing to know." He waved his hand again, but more softly. Any more and he would be touching Shane. He went on.
"And you can paint what you want in Ottawa, they already love you."
Shane could try to understand this man as much as he could, but he kept being reminded of the ocean of things Shane didn't know about him, while Rozanov knew everything there was to know about Shane.
"I don't know what I want to paint." Again, plain.
"Ah. It can be fixed, a little inspiration." Again, something from Rozanov that wasn't plain.
"Oh, like your muse." Shane mocked but the taste of bitterness in his mouth for reasons his mind wasn't qualified enough to understand, burned him.
"My muse is not something funny. Is delicate to me." He responded with a real flash of emotion in his eyes.
A wind of hurt traveled to the insides of him. Yes, his muse, very delicate to him. He broke eye contact again and stared at the kitchen doors.
"Just tell the poor girl who she is and end everyone's misery Rozanov. Or do you want to be mysterious forever?"
"So you are sure it's a girl?"
"I mean whoelse?"
"Is very sacred to me. You Canadians wouldn't understand the true meaning so I don't say."
It made Shane laugh. "What does being Canadian have to do with it?"
"Too polite, too delicate. Sometimes feels like a performance, you know. Are you afraid to go deeper? Raw?"
His gaze went to the strong muscles under his shirt again. Rozanov was so close and kitchen counter Shane's waist was touching wasn't cold enough to put the heat on his skin at ease. And his mind was only picking up the dangerous keywords.
"No, I-."
"Oh, sorry, sorry. I said raw and your mind flew to another place. My bad, Hollander."
"Fuck off."
Rozanov laughed but didn't push further.
"Anyways, we will see. Still have months to choose what to do next, right?"
"I guess so."
Another small silence filled them. Rozanov went back to leaning his back on the counter, not going far from Shane. A couple came into the kitchen dancing and laughing.
"Do you not dance?" Rozanov pointed towards the door and the couple.
"Not really."
"You should try."
For some reason, Shane heard himself say. "Okay. I will." Like something in his body was waiting to hear a command from Rozanov. As if Shane was just sitting on a beach somewhere and a strong wave touched his toes, letting him know how good the water was.
Shane has always been scared of drowning, but he couldn't deny how beautiful the water felt on his feet. An inviting force.
This answer, finally, seemed to satisfy Rozanov for the first time tonight.
"Good boy. Now I need to be good to my guests. Try not to be boring, please."
&&&&&
Good boy, good boy, good boy.
Shane tried to calm himself and got back to the dry sand where he knew the water couldn't reach him.
He was still staring at the ocean.
It has been half an hour since he heard the words, but his heart couldn't seem to settle. He sat himself on a sofa and pretended he was listening to the grand story JJ was telling everyone, apparently it was very funny too, everybody else seemed engaged.
When he couldn't get more of the laughter and the music, he stood up, unsure of where to go. Just to find somewhere that wasn't crowded.
The real trouble found him before he could take ten steps out of the crowd.
"Having fun, Hollander?" Rozanov grabbed his arm to steady him. Like always, he read Shane and his demeanor too easily.
"Yeah, it's all good. But it's so loud."
"I will turn off the music."
What?
"Just because I said so? No. It's a party, everyone's having fun. I'll leave soon anyway." He looked around. "Once I find Rose."
Hazel eyes flashed with panic. "No!"
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean ugh-блять. I meant that I saw Rose with a guy. Don't go interrupting them Hollander, very rude." Oh, Shane wasn't aware that there was someone at the party Rose was interested in, she never mentioned.
"Oh, shit. Alright."
"This house is really good. Good sound installation. The rooms are usually quiet. Let me show you, so you can take a breath, yes?"
Shane let him. "Thank you."
&&&&
"Who are all these people anyway?" He asked while they were walking on a long hallway going to the other side of his house. Again, why did he live in a mansion alone?
"Ah, friends of friends. Who knows." He answered dismissively, walking a few steps in front of Shane.
"Why so many people? Don't you worry about the mess?"
"Not everyone is scared of mess Hollander. Besides, I have cleaners coming the day after and I lock all my important stuff in my room so I don't care about the rest."
"I like quiet."
"I know. Is why we are in a boring hallway on the other side of the house when the party is all the way over there yes?"
Embarrassment crept in. "You didn't have to come."
He stopped leading the way and turned back to Shane, a glass full of Vodka still in his hand, dangling from his fingertips.
"I am good host. And you actually came this time. I don't mind." His features seemed softer in the dimly lit hallway, and his eyes were dropping a little, probably because of the alcohol he kept drinking all night. Shane knew because Shane watched him all night.
How pathetic.
Shane watched Rozanov's gaze all night, too.
While everything else about him had gone soft with the hours passing, his eyes kept getting more focused and intense on Shane. He didn't understand why, he didn't understand why he wasn't out there dancing with his guests and was in a hallway with Shane.
Shane had to change the subject. Luckily, he had so many questions.
"You don't have many pictures at home. Like of your family and stuff."
"So you have been looking at my house?" He walked back to Shane, seemingly not focused on finding a room anymore now that the voices from the crowd were far enough.
Shane ignored him. "Or Russia, don't you miss it?"
"Is complicated." His eyes dropped to his glass. Was he overstepping? Panic filled Shane.
"I am sorry."
"Is okay. I am very okay today. You make it good Hollander." He closed the distance and the same wave that touched Shane earlier, dangerously crept in again.
Rozanov had a sad but extremely soft smile on his face.
"Why did you never come before?"
"I didn't know you were actually inviting me." Simple, truth. Shane truly thought it was part of their routine at this point. He would invite Shane to his parties, saying this one was going to be special and just for Shane, obviously taking the piss, and Shane would say fuck off and leave and never attend any parties that went on for the last three years.
Rozanov's face got closer to Shane and his body closed the distance completely. The tension he built up all night between their flesh almost materialized and burned him.
Only then, Rozanov actually touched Shane's face with his fingertips, right under his eyes, on his freckles.
All of Shane's organs jumped out of his body. He could almost feel his blood physically rushing in his veins. A tinge of Vodka smell filled his nose and made Shane's lips part involuntarily.
His mind screamed.
"Why wouldn't I want a pretty boy in my house?"
His face was so close, his gaze was burning Shane, and his fingers were still caressing his face.
God, help me. I should be-
Pushing him, that's the right thing?
Right?
"Stop." It came out as a whine rather than a command, or even a word, really.
The sound made Rozanov feral.
"Why? Afraid of mess? Is not always bad, Hollander. A little recklessness."
His chest was fully on Shane's. Every part of his exposed skin, from the undone buttons of his shirt, was touching the fabric of Shane's t-shirt.
He tried to think, actually, logically. What were the consequences of letting someone as beautiful as Rozanov be this close?
"You would have to pick it up tomorrow." He answered mostly to himself.
"So, no tomorrow yes? Just right now." His eyes traveled every corner of Shane's face and neck.
"Rozanov."
"You look so pretty."
He stepped back, to admire, as it seemed, his right hand found the small skin on the back of Shane that his t-shirt was exposing. Droplets of ocean water were slowly climbing the skin of the man currently being pushed to a wall. Shane could almost feel the wave hitting him in full force.
Rozanov took a sip from his glass, the bottom almost touching Shane's nose from how close they were standing. Shane forcefully stopped himself before moaning at the sight of Rozanov's throat accepting the drink.
Rozanov's eyes never left his either.
Did Shane manage to get drunk without having any alcohol in his system? Maybe it was Rozanov's perfume. Perfume had alcohol in it right, since he was drowning in it?
"You want it?" Rozanov slowly gestured to the glass, the hazel was burning, all the colors in his eyes combining with each, and Shane could only stare at the beautiful watercolor in front of him.
Shane wanted so many things, his whole body cried with wanting. The waves were threateningly close
He managed to nod.
Rozanov gently brought his drink to Shane's lips and tilted the glass, letting the strong taste hit Shane's mouth.
Shane's whole body trembled from the act itself rather than the alcohol.
The intimate way Rozanov was guiding the glass to his lips made Shane's body go crazy. Crazy in a way that he could only stand there with his arms on his side and could only drink, and drink.
He had never experienced anything more intimate before. He was lost in his eyes.
This man, who only ever looked at Shane to give him an insult, was looking at him with the same want that echoed in Shane's eyes.
He drank hungrily.
He never drank vodka, let alone like it like this. But the act of letting go, letting Rozanov feed the drink to him, indulging in Shane's secluded little world in such a manner made him almost faint.
He gulped the drink without ever letting his eyes leave the hazel ones staring back at him. Rozanov looked as if he was seeing the most beautiful scenery, yet Shane saw something more underneath them.
The joy of being in charge, being the person who made the most organized boy in the university a mess under his hands.
And he was not even touching him in an overtly obvious sexy manner; he was only guiding a drink into Shane's lips.
His eyes left no doubt that he was very aware of his own power.
Shane was about to finish the glass when Rozanov suddenly pulled the glass away from him. Shane shamelessly chased it with his body, lips pouting and hanging in the air, parted and wet with Vodka. Rozanov got closer and put the glass on a side table.
The music and chattering from the lounge filled Shane's ears more clearly in the moments he watched the beautiful men in front of him. The charged rhythms from the dance music matched Shane's heartbeats. As if even the music was obeying Rozanov, or rather, complimenting his power he had over Shane.
He could feel the blood rushing in his veins with what was happening between them right now.
Shane had nothing to compare this feeling to make a better sense out of it, only that his whole senses and body melted with it. Or that he was completely devoted to whatever it was, like he was hearing a melody all his life without knowing what song it belonged to, and Rozanov just named the title with ease.
As if he were the composer of whatever melody Shane was chasing all his life.
After what felt like an unbearable hour, instead of the glass, Rozanov leaned in, offering to take the place of the vodka.
"You want me?" he asked.
Hearing the same question in a different context made Shane jump out of his body. He was already chasing it, mid-pouting, his mind shouting with want. He nodded again, his eyes shifting to Rozanov's glossy pink lips.
Rozanov closed the distance in mere seconds, offering himself as the drink. Shane never tasted anything sweeter. The rush, adrenaline, the taste of vodka on both of their lips, trembled his hands.
It was a hungry kiss, but it screamed tenderness.
Rozanov was holding Shane's neck with one hand and caressing his hair with the other. Shane could do nothing but lose himself in his talented classmate, trying to stand up by holding his golden curls tightly. Feeling the soft curls for the first time under his fingertips, his mind knew he would look for this softness in every fabric he would touch from now on.
Rozanov's tongue found his.
Turns out Rozanov's talents were not limited to art.
Supposedly, this was art too.
And such a beautiful piece they were making together in a dark hallway of this loud party with their tongues.
Shane never wanted to breathe again if it meant taking his lips from Rozanov's. Maybe the mere oxygen he was always meant to welcome into his lungs didn't come from trees; it was made right inside Rozanov's mouth.
How did he ever go on with his life without breathing in Rozanov? Maybe he could change his permanent address to his lips, Rozanov could be his landlord. And how Shane would have loved to be the most well-behaved tenant, making it into his forever home.
Forever home?
Some parts of his brain were glowing with logic, a tiny part, albeit, that completely diminished when he felt Rozanov's hands over his jeans on his cock.
"Mhh," was the only response left his lips in between kisses; he could practically feel Rozanov's smile to his reaction. He was kissing it already.
"Do you want to get on your knees in my bedroom?"
The logic glowed again, very faintly.
"Your bedroom?"
"Or we can go back, and you can suck me in the lounge with everyone watching. All works for me. You choose Hollander. We have already established that there is no tomorrow, yes?"
Shane's "Fuck you." came as a whisper and a half smile, a delicious, delirious smile and he could only playfully punch Rozanov's shoulder a little. Just a little, so that he wouldn't go even an inch away from Shane's body. But Rozanov looked like he wouldn't bulge if Shane were to seriously punched him anyway.
He had no intention of leaving Shane's space.
Shamelessly, Shane loved how determined and strong the Russian men looked. Not opening the distance between them.
"Take me to your room, Rozanov."
Was it the alcohol that was making him this confident, or the men dragging him by his hand to his room in a childlike rush but with the determination of an undefeated army, Shane didn't know.
He had no time to care because the moment they reached his room, Shane's back was against the door and Rozanov was all over him.
Shirts were off in seconds.
"Oh, so without my hand holding your head, you are just melting away, ha?"
"Shut up." Shane whispered, a far cry from the usual tone that carried the words in the classroom.
Rozanov drank him like he drank his Vodka, with passion and utmost care. He poured himself into it, like he had been deprived of it for too long.
The overwhelming urge to have every part of his skin on his mouth made Shane kneel almost too harshly. He didn't care. All the parts of logic he left in his brain were washed away by the big wave of wanting, in the shape of Rozanov. He quickly undid his zipper.
"Fuck."
Shane stared at where the sound came from above him and gave a small lick to his cock. He felt Rozanov's hands on the back of his head. To Shane's surprise, he didn't push; he caressed his hair.
The care he felt radiating from the man above him made him more feral than if he just pushed Shane's head to take more of his mouth. Shane let his mouth open for Rozanov and started sucking.
He didn't know if he could manage to pleasure Rozanov properly since he had never done this before. Although the unfamiliar weight and warmth felt too good in his mouth, he let himself taste the man freely and be lost in the sensation.
Licked him, touched him, stared at him.
"Holy fuck, Hollander, your eyes." Rozanov moaned and seemed like he was trying his hardest to keep his eyes open.
Shane felt proud, he probably wasn't doing a good job, Rozanov certainly received very skilled tongues before, yet the way his knees seemed to be trembling was enough for Shane. He sucked harder and faster while holding the back of his legs. He needed to touch him everywhere.
Rozanov's hands in his hair tightened and slowly guided Shane's head. Shane obeyed and let Rozanov lead the rhythm; his ears were rewarded with a moan after that. The dirty blond curls found the wall. Shane saw him tilting his head toward the ceiling with only his throat visible to him, he found himself aching to see his eyes again.
Rozanov mumbled something in Russian behind his teeth.
"Hollander, wait." Came in between broken breaths.
Shane stopped immediately. Maybe he was doing a worse job than he thought. Maybe he focused more on his own pleasure of having Rozanov's cock in his mouth that he failed to do a good job for the Russian man.
"If you don't want me to come in your mouth right now, come here."
Shane obeyed again, not because he didn't want to have all of Rozanov slipping through his throat to his belly, but because he told him to 'come here'. The thought of kissing him again ruled over his knees and their eyes connected at the same level.
Rozanov took his cock in his hand and started jerking it at a desperately fast pace while guiding Shane's lips to his with the other.
They kissed, and Shane felt the cum on his naked abs.
The warmth radiated from Rozanov's cum burned his insides. It was simply the hottest thing Shane has ever experienced. "Oh, God." He said in between kisses.
"Yes." Rozanov said, out of breath, back to Shane's lips. He grabbed Shane with more power towards his body and hungrily continued to kiss him. It made the cum on Shane's body get in Rozanov's abs too and it coated both of their bodies.
This was the first time Shane had ever liked to see a mess.
"Your turn." Rozanov grinned and made his way to Shane's neck. Shane was so excited to have Rozanov in his mouth just minutes ago that he completely forgot about the aching he felt between his own legs.
Well, not completely.
Rozanov traveled his body with kisses, spreading agonizing warmth on every piece of skin his lips touched. The places he didn't give kisses to were touched by his strong hands. Places his hands didn't touch were already covered by his own cum.
He owned Shane's body with everything.
He was equally as eager as Shane was. Although again, he was more talented than Shane about this too.
The moment Shane felt the tip of his tongue, he knew he was gone. The pleasure was so strong, and even with his hands trying to stabilize him by holding onto the wall did not help how little it took for Shane to come in Rozanov's mouth.
"Shit, shit. I am sorry." He tried to take Rozanov's hair to get his head away from him, but the Russian didn't bulge. He sucked Shane dry.
Maybe he sucked his soul out of his body too, by the way Shane's insides felt hollow. He panted and leaned on the wall, trying to catch his breath.
There was no escaping this moment now.
He knew the second his head hit his pillow every night, Rozanov sucking him dry was going to be the movie playing at the back of his eyelids.
"You didn't have to-"
"I wanted to." The voice came underneath him, slowly traveling back to Shane with more kisses on his belly and nipples.
He found Shane's lips again. A mixture of the taste from both of their skin almost made Shane hard again. If Rozanov kept kissing him this desperately, he knew his cock would be straight up in mere minutes.
But he stopped.
Shane tried to chase his lips again. Rozanov put a small distance between them but didn't loosen his grip from Shane's waist. "Was it okay?"
Shane nodded and tried to kiss him once more. To his agony, he, again, wasn't allowed. "Tell me, Hollander, did you feel good?"
"Yes."
"Good. See, nothing bad comes from a little bit of mess."
Shane nodded, his gaze still locked on the glossy pink lips, but his mind started to wake up with the reminder of the mess. Rozanov's mess, smeared between their bodies.
Shane straightened up more and watched how Rozanov's cum started dripping down on both of their bodies.
What did they just do?
Red alarm lights started to fill his vision. Shane had never done something like this, let alone do it with Rozanov.
Rozanov, who always mocked him, always had something to say to make Shane angry, Rozanov, who always beat Shane. The more talented of the two. The one who threw parties every week and invited Shane, the one who made Shane come so quick that he still hasn't found the time to be embarrassed about it yet.
The Chaos of it all.
The panic must have been clear on his features because Rozanov held him closer to his body and tilted his head with his fingertips.
"Hey, Is okay yes? Is just fooling around. Last year of university. Don't start panicking over me now. We said no tomorrow, yes? Live in the moment, Hollander, is fine." He spat out quickly, like Shane was a droplet of water running through his hands and Rozanov was trying to catch it before it fell to the floor.
Shane couldn't say anything. He always thought about tomorrows, next weeks, next months; all of them carefully planned in his calendar.
There was no space scheduled for this, or for the thoughts he was going to feel after tonight.
"I will clean us up. Wait." Shane almost tightened his hold on Rozanov, but the red alarm lights on his head took over with logic and he let Rozanov separate their bodies. He went into the bathroom attached to the room they barely stepped into.
Shane saw the bathroom light turn on from the far side of the room, shedding some light into the space. For the first time Shane looked at where they actually were. He knew it was Rozanov's room but his gazed was focused on a certain man the entire time, he didn't even register to look at his surroundings.
His curious eyes went around the room. There were only the moonlight and the bathroom light illuminating the space; most corners were still dark. He still couldn't fully see what he was looking at, only a large bed covered with dark sheets and a few clothes messily spread on it.
As if Rozanov took every piece of clothing he had, tried them on, and decided against.
Did it mean he took extra care of how he looked tonight? Took the time to try on different outfits?
No. He probably never ever folded anything in his whole life.
Shane felt the urge to be a part of that bed. Sleep on the right and tidy up that end table thoroughly, put his own books and reading glasses.
Before he panicked himself more with the dangerous thoughts creeping in, Rozanov returned with a wet cloth.
"Here." He offered and cleaned Shane's belly. The aftermath of the buzzing in his body started to calm down with the cloth and Rozanov's careful touch. Shane leaned in and kissed him again.
You are acting like an addict, he thought.
He just wanted to taste Rozanov's lips as much as he could, and luckily for him, Rozanov returned the kiss with equal devotion.
Until they heard a fire alarm.
The alarm was so loud, it echoed in the whole house.
Shane parted their lips with panic. Like the red lightning alarms that were in his mind moments prior, that glowed with logic was now materialized and the universe itself was sending Shane solid evidence of what he actually did.
He heard Rozanov saying something in Russian, the tone sounded like it was a curse.
"Someone probably smoked in the house, it will stop in a second." He said and leaned to kiss Shane again.
But Shane was in reality now, his mind couldn't let his body take over with overflowing, dangerous emotions and he pushed Rozanov sternly with panic.
"Rozanov, please go check it out. If they come looking for you, they will find us together."
"Is okay if they see-"
"No." Shane cut him too quickly before Rozanov said something out of this world. The alarm was so loud that he had to shout to make his voice heard. "Please. They can't know this. Nobody can-"
"Okay, okay. Calm down. I will deal with it." Their bodies separated. Shane almost chased it back.
Rozanov looked extremely annoyed when he stepped back from Shane's embrace.
"Stay here. I will go make the alarm stop and come back okay? I am not done with you. You are staying here tonight."
He left Shane in his room.
Staying with him?
Suddenly, being alone alerted every sensation in Shane's body. He wasn't even going to come to this party and now he was alone in Rozanov's room waiting for him to come back. And apparently going to stay the night?
To do what? Were they going to have sex? Was he going to let Rozanov fuck him?
His body desperately glowed with want. It was such a different sensation, being hungry for someone; Shane couldn't figure out how to file it in his brain. His feet carried him to Rozanov's bed. He wouldn't actually stay the night tho, right? Sleep in this bed? Whatever Rozanov had in mind would be over before the sun was up and he would be sending Shane on his way after he was done with him.
But,
What would it be like to fall asleep next to him? Under his strong arms, legs all mixed together, Shane's nose buried in his neck. He was almost scared to touch the sheets.
No, no, no.
No tomorrow, he said. Just fooling around.
Okay, that was easy enough. Shane could categorize that. Just sex. How out of body Shane felt when it came to this man could be suppressed, put in a box and hidden under the bed.
All Shane felt today was sex drive anyway, his body was hungry, and Rozanov was a damn good chef. Nothing more.
Shane accepted it.
The fire alarm stopped soon enough.
But Rozanov didn't return for the next fifteen minutes. Uneasiness filled Shane's body. He picked up his phone to check the time and saw messages from both Rose and Hayden, asking him where he was.
Shit.
He completely forgot about everything else that wasn't about Rozanov.
Rozanov, who forgot to return to Shane, and left him here.
How humiliating.
Maybe it was a game, maybe he was coming back with people just to show them how he had Shane Hollander waiting for him like an obedient dog in his room for him.
Fuck this.
Shane messaged Rose and Hayden to meet him in front of the house, put his shirt back on and ignored the white shirt he ripped apart from Rozanov half an hour ago on the floor. He left the room quickly and passed the hallway he kissed Rozanov for the first time without looking at anything but straight ahead.
He was in the lounge soon enough with chatter and loud music. People were starting to leave, it was past two a.m. Anyone who was still here was drunkenly dancing.
Before he spotted Rose or Hayden, he saw Rozanov.
He was talking with Cliff Marlow. Rozanov looked angry and was talking fast with hand gestures, explaining something.
There was a girl hanging onto his arms.
A blonde, tall girl was touching his biceps while Rozanov was shouting over the speakers with his eyebrows furrowed and eyes focused on Marlow. His attention wasn't on the girl, but he also wasn't stopping the girl clinging to him. She was practically dancing on him.
Shane felt like throwing up when the girl got on her tiptoes and kissed Rozanov's cheek. Shane saw Rozanov freeze and turn back to the girl with a puzzled expression.
Shane couldn't watch anymore and simply got himself out of the big house. His heart absolutely did not want to see Rozanov kiss that girl back.
His mind screamed at him to make him understand one more time. Clearly, this time, that Rozanov needed no time to replace Shane's touch.
How quick and easy it was for him to find the next person he could seduce, kiss, lick, or perform whatever spell he cast on Shane. How simple it was for him to find and let someone kiss the places Shane worshiped moments ago. It was so easy for him, so simple.
Shane was so easy to seduce, too.
Just another one of his conquests.
Know your place. Accept where you belong.
You fooled around for mere minutes, if that. It's gone now. And even in the future, if you were to want to do something like this again, it would be just that. Simple, easy, fooling around.
No tomorrow. No place in his life.
If you accept this, then you can have him without any harm. You can have Rozanov's body.
Just fooling around was what Shane wanted anyway, right?
While he waited for Rose and Hayden to come find him, he watched the big white house that guarded the secrets of whatever Shane had felt or dared to hope.
No, no, no. He felt nothing.
He was just a conquest. It was only Rozanov's dangerous, reckless self asking for more mess. And what was messier than the most organized boy in the university?
He would be a great claim for Rozanov.
The wave that washed him was quiet now, waiting, gathering more water from the shore to hit Shane with a bigger wave maybe, but it didn't touch him now. It was far enough that Shane could ignore it.
The tide was in the stage of drought, allowing logic to fill that space. The logic whispered for the last and final time: You are just a prize, or rather a game for Rozanov, something to collect after being rejected so many times by Shane when he invited him to his house parties.
The November cold in Ontario burned his skin.
&&&&
The Uber back home was silent. Rose was so tired that she was drifting in and out of sleep. Shane was so grateful because all the words escaped his brain; he only wanted to stare out from the window and watch the roads, emptying whatever overwhelming drop of ocean he had left inside. As if a pipe was attached to his heart, pumping all the ocean water out.
For God's most cruel trick, Shane lived very close to Rozanov's house. Where Rozanov's big house was behind a gate with other white houses surrounding it, Shane lived a few streets away on the top floor of his newly built apartment. Rose lived further away than both of them, so they dropped her off first. Shane walked with her to her apartment door, made sure she was okay and at her bed, then got back into the Uber, looped back to where they started, back to Rozanov's neighborhood, back to Shane's studio apartment.
&&&&&&
Something happened.
It shifted things in him. Not just the physical intimacy, even though it hit him like a force, it changed some things Shane had been doing about his life.
Rozanov made him question a lot of things by just asking a few questions. Especially how he was feeling about Montreal.
He accepted what he would always be to Rozanov. One of his conquests, but it didn't mean Shane couldn't take away things from their shared heat, however short that was.
Maybe, Rozanov was right. He found new inspiration in the mess they created.
With a radical decision, Shane decided to try a new thing. To test the waters. See what other galleries would be more open to sponsoring him if he were to try art he had never made before, art that was out of his perfect box. His box, which was drawn with the straightest of lines.
He didn't sleep a wink the whole night. His mind was buzzing with Rozanov's voice while his body buzzed with his touch.
&&&&
"I want to draw a nude painting for the new assignment." He announced to Rose and Hailey in the small caffe they were having their lunch.
Honestly, it wasn't anything radical for his classmates or his teachers; everybody indulged in more risky waters before. There were thousands of nude paintings hanging from the walls in the university, or in the art shows they presented.
But, never from Shane, the golden, proper boy.
"That's amazing! Showing more range and painting something you have never tried before is honestly such a good idea."
He was grateful for Rose. She always had his back with her endless support.
"I can volunteer." Hailey jumped into the conversation with a smile.
"I need a male nude model." Shane clarified, and it made Hailey's face fall a little, but she kept her smile, offering a small 'Oh'. She turned back to her salad.
"I need to hang up a call sheet and see who is interested. I am actually a little scared, but if I am not going to push myself now, I never will. Next year, I will be commissioned by a gallery and mostly paint for them, you know?"
Rose offered an understanding smile. "It's going to be so good Shane. I am so excited to see it. You definitely will crash it."
They went on with their lunch for a while.
"Oh, by the way, Rose, how did it go with that boy?" Shane asked.
"What boy?"
She looked genuinely confused, which made Shane confused.
"Rozanov told me you were hooking up with someone, that's why I didn't come get you earlier."
"I didn't hook up with anyone Shane. I was actually looking for you too. You were gone for a while."
&&&&&
In the library, later that day, Shane was printing the call sheet and saw Rozanov for the first time since last night at his party.
He tried to keep his focus on the printer and act like his mind wasn't full of him in the hours they were apart. But the moment he felt the man approaching him, his body betrayed his mind and shifted closer to him involuntarily, chasing the high he felt hours later.
Rozanov snatched the paper from the printer, dismissing Shane's protests.
He turned to Shane and gave him his usual snarky smile, he leaned into Shane's ear as he was going to tell him a secret.
"You are getting used to having naked men in your room, Hollander."