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Ilya needs to get laid.
The Boston Bears won by a slim margin against Ottawa in Ottawa, and now, after a high-stakes game, Ilya finds himself still keyed up. So Ilya does what he does best – he sends out a text as a rallying cry to the team’s group chat.
Ilya: we are going to a club to celebrate. last one there buys shots.
It’s only seconds before responses are flooding in – most of the younger teammates agreeing to come, and some of the vets saying they're sitting this one out. Ilya is lying on his hotel bed, one hand behind his head, the other holding up his phone as he watches for new texts. Once there’s a significant group of teammates who have agreed to go, Ilya pushes himself off of the bed and roots through his suitcase. He tugs on one of his more casual button-downs, not the one he’d worn with his suit earlier, that’s a dusty purple in color, and leaves the top four buttons open. He tucks his shirt into his black jeans, and slips his feet into the only shoes he’d brought that weren’t gym shoes – some fancy loafers Svetlana had insisted were in style these days.
Svetlana.
The thought of her stings, not because he misses her, but because she is an acute hole in his life these days. They dated for years, he’d proposed, for fuck’s sake, but she’d called it off a few months ago. And maybe the wound is still smarting. Maybe Ilya is still hurting, as much as he’s trying to play it off, as much as he’s trying to pretend like he doesn’t need her. The truth is, she was his best friend, his confidant, and maybe he hadn’t been in love with her, but he had loved her, and that had to count for something, right?
With a huff, Ilya puts Svetlana out of his mind. Tonight isn’t about her – it’s about him. He makes his way into the bathroom and checks his reflection, then puts some pomade on his hands and tries to tame his curls. It only half works, but the end product is a slightly sculpted, slightly tousled look that leaves rogue curls falling onto his forehead. He looks damn good. He’s going to get laid tonight, and the world will be right again. Svetlana Vetrova, who?
Ilya meets his teammates in the lobby, and together they all walk over to a club only two blocks away. The group is rowdy, still high off of their win, and, despite the cold night, they take their time as they walk. They rehash winning plays and clap each other on the backs, and Ilya lights up a cigarette as they make their way through the tepid streets of Ottawa. The street lamps cast them in yellow, and the frigid air makes their breath fog in front of them, and Ilya already can feel it – it’s going to be a good night.
As the rest of the team enters the club, Ilya stays outside to finish off his cigarette. He puffs the smoke from his lungs in white clouds and savors the smell of it, how the nicotine hits his bloodstream and sings just right. He watches as people pile inside, and checks out each person as they go by, judging them, searching for someone who might be interested tonight. A few women give him flirty smiles, but they don’t draw his attention. No one seems interesting – until Ilya meets a set of dark eyes framed by thick lashes. The man has high cheekbones dusted with a sea of freckles, and his plush lips quirk into a grin as he holds Ilya’s gaze.
It’s been a while since Ilya has been with a man. Maybe that’s what he needs tonight; to switch it up, dip his toe back into the other side of the pond, forget about women, and entertain himself with the lithe form of this man dressed in all black and sidled up next to a raven-haired woman, whose own dark eyes stare right into Ilya’s soul. The two say something between themselves, and then the man looks back at Ilya again, curiosity obvious in his gaze as he brushes a stray lock of dark hair from his eyes.
Ilya looks away for a moment to stub out his cigarette on the ground, and when he looks back, the man and his friend are gone. His stomach swoops in disappointment, and he regrets not saying something sooner, but maybe Ilya will see him inside.
When Ilya finally makes it into the club, his teammates have a shot and a glass of vodka waiting for him.
“For scoring the winning goal,” Cliff Marlow announces as he pushes both glasses into Ilya’s hands. His friends hold up their shots and clink the small glasses together before everyone tosses back what can only be tequila. Ilya grimaces and takes a fortifying sip of his vodka, then lets his eyes scan the crowd again.
No sign of the dark, handsome stranger from earlier, but the night is young.
The dance floor is already packed, and the colored lights flash and shift as bodies move together to the heavy thrum of an electronica song Ilya vaguely recognizes. He throws back his vodka quickly and flags down a bartender, ordering himself another and thanking the man with a generous tip once a glass is in his hand. He wants to numb himself to everything – to feel nothing and fuck away his sadness.
As if he had a beacon on his forehead signaling his desperation, a woman sidles up next to Ilya. She has round, blue eyes, and her dirty blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and her tight shirt and short skirt leave very little to the imagination. She’s an easy target – too easy, Ilya tells himself. The woman says something to him, and he blinks at her once, then turns away and dips into the crowd of the dance floor, looking for familiar faces. He expects to find teammates, but after only a minute of searching, finds himself face-to-face with the man from earlier. The man with the startling eyes and sharp jaw, the man who looks like he wants to eat Ilya alive.
Fuck yes. Tonight just got even more interesting.
Ilya blinks at this man, and is surprised when a slow smile spreads across his lips, dimpling his cheeks and making him look angelic and youthful. The man’s hair falls tousled into his face, and he’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that Ilya would very much like to rip off of him. But Ilya behaves himself. Instead of reaching for his shirt, Ilya reaches for the stranger’s hip, and tugs him in by the belt loop of his pants. With their bodies pressed flush against each other, Ilya can smell him – he smells smoky and sharp, like a bonfire in the middle of a forest of pines, like the acrid smoke from the tip of Ilya’s cigarette, like the sharp tang of fresh incense lit in the morning sunlight. Their bodies fit together easily, and Ilya moves against him, not being subtle about how attracted to this stranger he is.
Because he stands a good few inches taller than this man, Ilya bends down and lets his lips brush against his ear. “What is your name?” Ilya asks, his accent lilting as the words escape him. The stranger’s hands are braced against Ilya’s pecs, and his thumb strokes right over Ilya’s nipple through his shirt, sending a shiver down his spine.
With a wicked grin, the stranger arches up onto his toes and lets his own lips trail along Ilya’s jaw. They stop at his ear, and his breath catches as Ilya’s fingers dig into his waist, and he breathes out one word, a name. “Shane.”
Ilya’s eyes flutter shut as Shane’s teeth nip at his earlobe, and then he’s flat-footed again, looking up at Ilya with eyes darkened by lust.
“Shane…” Ilya tastes the word on his tongue, rolls it around there like a smooth stone caught between his teeth. He likes the way that word tastes in his mouth, sharp like his vodka, poignant and poisonous and absolutely addictive. Ilya’s head dips, and he presses a kiss to the hinge of Shane’s jaw, and Shane’s hands grip at the front of his shirt as Ilya grinds against him, their hips still swaying to the beat of the music. “I am Ilya,” he offers, and Shane smiles.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Shane asks, his voice beautifully breathless, his question to the point and almost ruthless.
Ilya nods enthusiastically. “Please,” he almost begs, because he’s so turned on simply by Shane’s proximity and he needs relief. He wants to feel Shane’s hands all over him, wants to kiss every inch of skin he can get his lips on.
They make their way off of the dance floor, and Ilya throws back the rest of his vodka, then sets the glass on the bar.
“Do you need to tell your friend you are leaving with me?” Ilya asks wolfishly. His arm snakes around Shane’s waist as they head for the exit, and they get side-tracked as Ilya stops to pin Shane against the club wall and presses needy kisses down his jaw to the elegant column of his neck. A shiver runs through Ilya when Shane tickles the hair on the nape of his neck as his head tilts back to allow Ilya more access.
“Rose can handle herself,” Shane promises breathlessly, and his hands tug Ilya’s hips against his. The bulge in Shane’s pants is impossible to miss, and Ilya grins against Shane’s skin, then nips with teeth and soothes with tongue.
“My apartment is only a few blocks away,” Shane pushes against Ilya’s chest, and he puts space between them unwillingly. His hotel is probably closer, but he doesn’t feel like getting catcalled by any of his teammates still at the hotel, so he follows Shane out of the exit and down the street, the opposite direction of the hotel. Shane’s hand grips his, and Ilya’s other hand goes into his pocket as he looks up at the moon high in the sky and the stars twinkling beside her.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Ilya sighs, and Shane laughs, a thing of music, a symphony of sound that sparks joy deep within him.
“It’s cold,” Shane grouses, and Ilya tugs him in close, presses their bodies together, and nuzzles his face into Shane’s hair.
“Then I will keep you warm,” Ilya purrs, his words leaving his lips on a foggy breath.
The streetlights halo them in yellow, and Ilya looks down as they walk, taking in the shadows beneath them which seem to writhe. He blinks once, twice, when a tendril of a shadow seems to reach out to him, he blinks again, but it must have been a trick of the eye. He’s had two glasses of vodka and a tequila shot, after all, which isn’t nothing. He looks back up and finds Shane looking at him closely, his dark eyes glistening in the lamplight, his lips curving up oh so slightly, his whole expression mischievous.
The walk only takes them ten minutes, and then Shane is leading him up to a very modern apartment building with sweeping glass windows and exposed brick. A doorman greets them, and Shane nods his thanks as the man calls them an elevator. They ride it up to the top floor, the penthouse, and Ilya presses Shane against the cold metal and finally kisses Shane on the lips. He sweeps his tongue along Shane’s bottom lip, and he opens for Ilya, and as their tongues slide together, Ilya moans, fully convinced he made the best decision possible tonight.
The elevator dings as the doors open, and they only break away for a second to leave it. Ilya has Shane pressed against the wall of the hallway once they’re out, and his fingers tug at Shane’s hair as his desperate lips seek Shane’s out again. They make out like that, greedily, hungrily, until Shane pulls away with a burst of laughter. Ilya’s lips just find purchase on Shane’s neck and then across his jaw, and Shane’s hands tangle through Ilya’s curls and tug lightly.
“Let’s… let’s get inside,” Shane murmurs, and Ilya nods, but doesn’t move. He’s too busy sucking a mark onto Shane’s neck, because he wants to leave behind something for Shane. Shane cries out as Ilya’s teeth nip at him, and he pushes, which makes Ilya laugh and fall back against the opposite wall. They both breathe heavily and eye each other up, then Ilya nods.
“We can go inside,” he agrees, and Shane rolls his eyes but laughs as he tugs at Ilya’s hand and unlocks his apartment door.
The inside of the apartment is all stainless steel and clean lines and minimalist furniture. Expensive-looking art hangs on the walls, and the whole place is pristine. If he didn’t know better, he’d think this was a model unit rather than an occupied one, but Shane did have a key, so… he had to live here.
Ilya whistles as Shane steps into the living room space, though the whole floorplan is open with very few walls. “Nice place you’ve got here,” Ilya says, his tone colored with how impressed he is.
With a shy, secretive smile, Shane shrugs his broad shoulders. “Thanks.”
Now that they aren’t in the club, Ilya gets a full look at Shane, and is impressed with who he chose to leave with. Shane is fit, with broad shoulders and thick thighs, and while he isn’t as tall as Ilya, he still stands proud and straight, and has a presence about him. The longer Ilya looks at Shane, though, the more confused he becomes, because there seems to be a… haze surrounding him, and whenever Ilya tries to look at it, at the haze of fog that seems to almost be emanating off of Shane, it floats away.
Ilya chalks it up to the vodka.
In a few long strides, Ilya is in front of Shane again. Shane doesn’t mince words or hesitate – he undoes the few buttons of Ilya’s shirt, then his hands run down Ilya’s chest and back up, stopping to tweak each nipple with his deft fingertips. His lips trail down Ilya’s neck and across his collarbone as he pushes Ilya’s shirt off of his shoulders, and a shy grin spreads over Shane’s lips as he looks up at Ilya and bites his lower lip. “Want to see the bedroom?” Shane asks as his chin dips and he looks up at Ilya through his lashes.
“Da. Please,” Ilya practically begs, because he wants nothing more than to see Shane’s bedroom, and all of Shane. He wants to explore every inch of Shane with his teeth and tongue, wants to learn the language of Shane’s curvature, to memorize him so he's painted on the back of Ilya's eyes when he tries to sleep tonight.
Shane leads him by the hand into the next room, where a large California king takes up a good chunk of the room. The lights are dimmed in here, lending to the atmosphere of the moment, and Ilya reaches for Shane, tugs at the hem of his shirt, and pulls it up and over Shane’s head. Shane’s broad chest is toned, and Ilya runs his hands down it appreciatively, then dips his head to kiss Shane deeply again. There is obviously no pretense here – they both know what Ilyla is here for, and they aren’t about to beat around the bush, but instead get straight to business.
With tentative fingers, Shane pops the button of Ilya’s pants. Ilya wriggles his hips so his pants slide down, then steps out of them, then closes the distance between him and Shane again, his own fingers reaching out to undo the belt and button of Shane’s pants. Ilya leans in and captures Shane’s lips again, and Shane’s hands press against Ilya’s pecs, then his thumb and forefinger roll each of Ilya’s nipples again. Ilya moans into Shane’s mouth and deepens the kiss, and their tongues slide together as Ilya explores Shane’s mouth.
When Shane touches his erection through his underwear, Ilya goes weak in the knees. He’s so distracted by how damn good all of it feels that it registers a second after the fact – both of Shane’s hands are busy on his nipples. So what the fuck is –
Ilya pulls away, his expression one of confusion as he looks down at Shane and… stops. Because Shane has… wisps fluttering around him, long arms of shadow that rope around his body and seem to originate at his back. Ilya has never seen anything like it, and he feels lightheaded with the very idea of what he’s seeing. It’s like all of the shadows in the room have been drawn to Shane, and now make up this monstrous thing in front of him – because as beautiful as Shane is now, this is the stuff of fiction.
Now Shane has multiple shadow arms – though they taper, and are closer to the tentacles one would see on an octopus. Ilya can't keep count of how many there are, and they stutter and shift if he tries to look at them too closely, like shadows that are hiding from the light.
He can’t blame this one on the vodka, especially not considering one of these shadow… tentacles is currently nuzzling against the bulge in his underwear, and it feels so damn good that he isn’t even as bothered by it as he should be. Which is fucked up. At least, he’s trying to tell himself it’s fucked up. But Shane is looking at him and with subtle determination, his jaw set and his chin tilted up, almost daring Ilya to say anything.
“So uhh. Does this happen often?” Ilya asks lamely, unsure of what else to say. Because what do you say when the guy you’re hooking up with sprouts shadow tentacles? He could freak out about it, sure, but he’s already deep in it, and he isn’t quite ready to put his pants back on yet.
Shane’s determined look morphs, and his smile is beatific as he leans in and kisses the underside of Ilya’s jaw. “Every now and again,” Shane teases against Ilya’s stubbled skin. “Want to see what they can do?” Shane purrs, and Ilya gulps as he nods, maybe more enthusiastically than he’s proud of.
One of Shane’s shadow limbs tugs down at Ilya’s boxer briefs, and a shiver runs down Ilya’s spine as he looks at the thing carefully. It looks to be made out of smoke or shadow, but Ilya can feel it, firm and solid, against his skin. It’s fleshy, and smooth as satin, as it brushes against the curve of Ilya’s hip, then dips lower and tickles at the back of Ilya’s thigh. Shane also drops lower, then, and before Ilya can register it, Shane is on his knees in front of him. His hand strokes Ilya’s cock once, and then his full lips wrap around the head of his dick and fuck.
“Oh my fuck,” Ilya breathes the words out, and his knees buckle as Shane’s tongue works wonders on his cock. He’s so overwhelmed by how amazing Shane’s mouth feels that it registers a moment later that something is pressing against him, running down his ass and circling his entrance gently. Shane’s eyes look up and find Ilya’s, and Ilya can tell he’s gauging his reaction. Shane’s fingers dig into Ilya’s thighs, and Ilya nods once, a silent consent that he’s far too into whatever the hell is happening right now. Shane’s lips spread into a grin around Ilya’s cock, and it’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.
As Shane takes Ilya deep into his throat, the very tip of a tentacle pushes into Ilya. His head falls back as he’s filled, and a low, guttural moan leaves his lips as his fingers tangle in Shane’s hair. The overwhelming sensation of Shane’s mouth and Shane’s hands and Shane’s tentacles is a lot, and Ilya’s knees give, and he stumbles backwards and falls onto Shane’s bed, causing Shane’s lips to pop off of him. He breathes deeply as Shane follows him, and the tip of the tentacle still in his ass moves inside of him, pressing against his walls, stretching him wider. Ilya’s feet prop up on the bed, and his hips roll, his whole body coming alive with the feeling of being filled and used.
Shane strips off his briefs, then settles onto the bed, and his hands gently trace down Ilya’s pecs to his abs, then give his dick one lazy stroke before he sits up and straddles Ilya’s chest. “Sit up a bit,” Shane instructs as he grabs some pillows and props Ilya up, putting Ilya directly in line with Shane’s dick, which is shockingly normal, all things considered. It’s even of average size, fleshy pink with a slight curve, Ilya thinks vaguely as the head of Shane’s cock pushes at his lips.
And Ilya doesn’t have to be asked twice. His lips part, and Shane’s cock slides in as his hips rock forward, back arching and head falling back beautifully. Shane looks gorgeous from this angle, all chiseled lines and dark shadows. Ilya realizes now that there’s more than one tentacle touching him, too. He’s still being penetrated by one, and two more are snaking around his forearms, pulling his hands up above his head, holding him in place. One more winds around his ankle, and another is twining its way up Ilya’s torso, making him feel completely consumed by Shane.
What he hasn’t taken into consideration is that each tentacle is lined with soft suckers, which adhere to his skin and create soft suction. The tentacles are also not… dry. They’re slick with something, something Ilya is pretty ok not knowing what it is, if he’s being honest. They're soft and fleshy and almost tongue-like, another thing he doesn't want to examine too closely. But the suction of each little cup, the way they cling to Ilya's skin with soft, acute pressure, is stimulating in a wholly new way.
Between the restraining tentacles wrapped around his limbs and the single tentacle still inside of him, Ilya is out of his mind with pleasure. His senses are overwhelmed in the best way, and he feels as if one right touch from Shane and he might fly apart at the seams. Shane’s fingers gently brush across his cheekbone as he looks down at him, his eyes bright and wild, his pink lips quirked up into a wicked grin, and only now does Ilya have the sense to wonder if maybe he’s in deeper than he meant to be.
Too late to turn back now, Ilya thinks, and suckles at the head of Shane’s cock with renewed vigor. Shane’s hips snap, and he fucks deep into Ilya’s throat, and Ilya moans around it as Shane’s tentacle pushes even deeper inside of him. It flexes, and hits the spot that makes Ilya’s toes curl. Shane’s cock slides deeper into his throat, and Ilya’s fingernails dig into his palms as he tugs against the tentacles holding him in place. Shane stretches above him, hands behind his head, back arched as he fucks into Ilya’s mouth again, and tears prick at the corners of Ilya’s eyes as he moans in ecstasy. This is better than anything he’s ever had, and definitely weirder than anything he’s had, as well.
Vaguely, Ilya is aware that his dick isn’t being touched, and he’s still already close to coming. The tentacle in his ass slowly pulls out of him, then thrusts back in, and Ilya’s hips buck, his cock looking for some kind of friction and coming up empty. His tongue swirls around Shane’s cock as he groans out a low noise, and Shane’s hands reach down to tangle through his hair.
“God, you’re so fucking good, Ilya. Doing such a good job for me, taking me so well –” Shane thrusts into Ilya’s mouth again. Ilya opens his throat, swallows around Shane, and works to make him feel as good as Ilya feels right now, like his whole body is vibrating on a new frequency, like his whole brain has been rewired from the pleasure he's experiencing. Shane’s tentacle continues pumping into Ilya’s ass, making him squirm, stretching him deliciously, opening him up, and hitting his prostate with each thrust. His whole body feels like a tightly wound coil, like he’s a time bomb that could be set off at any moment. Shane pants as he rides Ilya’s face, his chest heaving with his breaths, and his fingers tighten in Ilya’s curls, tugging at his hair.
Suddenly, as if his mind changed on a dime, Shane shoots upright and onto his knees, tugging his dick out from between Ilya’s lips. Ilya's head falls back against the pillows as he catches his breath, chest rising and falling as his fingers flex against the tentacles. The suction cups seem to increase their pressure, causing pinpricks of pain across his skin that is almost a welcome sensation against the deluge of pleasure he's feeling.
“I want you inside of me,” Shane purrs, the words almost slurred with his own desire. Ilya’s eyes widen as he watches Shane's thighs flex, and he wants to reach out, strains against the restraints on his arms with his need to dig his own fingers in Shane’s flesh, to feel him and hold him and mark him up, but the arms just hold tighter, and Ilya huffs in frustration as his head falls back again.
Shane tuts, his tongue clicking against his teeth, and a shadowy tentacle reaches out to wrap around Ilya’s chin. “You wouldn't want to miss the show,” Shane threatens as he directs Ilya’s gaze, eyes bright with mischief, and Ilya holds his head up as a thin tendril of shadow disappears behind Shane. Shane's lips part as he enters himself, and Ilya’s cock bobs against his stomach as it twitches with the show he's being given. Shane’s head falls back, neck arching, and one hand splays on Ilya's chest as the arm slowly thickens. It grows larger, gaining more mass as Shane moans into the space between them and opens himself up with his own tentacle. Shane’s abs flex as he fucks himself, muscles rippling as his whole body spasms with the pleasure he’s experiencing at his own hands. Ilya is helpless to do anything but watch, and Shane’s tentacles flex around him, almost daring him to struggle. It’s like Shane is teasing him – you want this? Come and get it.
And goddamn, Ilya wants. His cock aches with need, his muscles shiver as they strain against his restraints, and his hips buck, trying to gain some reprieve, to give himself a little relief. Shane's cock is leaking precum, and Ilya wants to taste him again, wants to feel the weight of Shane’s dick on his tongue and –
And then Shane is moving back, positioning himself over Ilya’s cock, meeting Ilya's eyes with a dark, lustful look as he doesn't mince words or waste time and just sinks down onto Ilya's dick.
“Fuuuuck,” Ilya moans, and the appendage in his ass swells a little, stretching him wider. Between his own ass getting fucked and Shane’s warmth around him, between his prostate being stroked and his cock sinking inside of Shane, he doesn’t know how long he’s going to last. His whole body convulses with how fucking incredible it all feels. Ilya’s head sinks back into the pillows as his hips rock up, thrusting himself deeper into Shane, who groans, low and guttural, almost a snarl, as his fingertips dig into Ilya’s pecs and his tentacles tighten on all three of Ilya’s limbs.
Ilya’s free foot props itself up on the bed, and he uses the leverage to thrust his hips harder into Shane, who grinds down against Ilya. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, his dark hair is falling into his eyes, and Shane’s cheeks are adorably pink with exertion as he uses one hand to stroke his own cock, the other still braced against Ilya’s chest. Shane’s fingers work himself deftly, and Ilya watches with greedy eyes, takes in the whole scene down to the very last detail, memorizing every second of it because this may be the best he ever has, and it may be the only time he has it.
As if to draw his attention back to what’s important, Shane’s arm that’s inside of him grows again, stretching him to what Ilya thinks must be his limit. It aches so good, and he whimpers as Shane lifts off his dick. It’s only a matter of seconds before Shane is slamming back down onto him, his hips rolling and grinding against Ilya’s, and Ilya knows this is unsustainable. He’s a whimpering, squirming mess, and he can’t hold out much longer.
“Gonna… I’m gonna come,” Ilya pants as his chest heaves with the herculean effort of speaking. Words feel far away right now, and his grasp on the English language feels tenuous as his mind is currently completely blitzed out, but he manages. Shane’s fingers trail down his cheek, and he leans down, lips catching Ilya’s in a tender kiss, his tongue swiping along Ilya’s lower lip before tangling with Ilya’s.
The appendage in Ilya’s ass thrusts again, and hits him just right. He completely comes undone, shatters as his orgasm rockets through him, and cries out into Shane’s mouth as his cum spills into Shane, filling him up. Ilya feels like his whole body is throbbing with the release. The tentacles holding Ilya in place relax and retreat, and his limbs bonelessly melt into the bed as Shane grinds his hips down one more time, then comes himself, his own release shooting out and onto Ilya’s chest, coating him in ropes of it as Shane’s body trembles and he falls onto the bed beside Ilya.
For a moment, they just breathe. For a moment, everything feels frozen, like the earth shattered with them, like they broke time and space. Ilya’s hand finds Shane’s hair, and he strokes it away from his forehead, then bends to press a gentle kiss to his temple. The tentacles are retreating now, and the shadows dance around Shane’s limbs as if seeking a home, as if retreating from the real world now that their duties have been fulfilled. Shane looks so soft and innocent as he lies there, his dark eyes meeting Ilya’s, his lips curved up in a blissful grin, his cheeks still flushed from it all.
“That… was insane,” Ilya admits as his palm cups Shane’s cheek. Shane’s whole face folds into a smile, cheeks crinkling, eyes dancing as he turns to kiss Ilya’s palm.
“And that’s only the beginning,” Shane teases weakly, and one tentacle swirls around Ilya and taps him on the opposite shoulder teasingly. Ilya swats at it but laughs nonetheless, an easy, disbelieving thing. “C’mon, let’s go shower,” Shane offers. He stands and grabs Ilya’s hand, pulls him up and into the bathroom, and starts the shower. They make out lazily, Shane pressed up against the tiled wall, Ilya’s hand braced against it, as they waited for the water to heat. Once the room is steamy, they step into the glass shower and Shane lathers some soap between his hands. He carefully and soothingly massages Ilya’s surprisingly sore muscles, then uses a washcloth to tend to Ilya’s tender ass.
Ilya looks down at himself in the shower and physically winces when he sees the physical damage Shane has left behind. Small circles of bruises dot along his forearms and wrists, and his torso is ringed in the little bruises. They’re adorable, though he has no idea how he’s going to explain these to his teammates if they’re brave enough to ask.
Shane shuts the water off and reaches for a towel. They both pat each other dry, and Shane is careful of the marks he’s left behind as he trails his hands appreciatively along Ilya’s body.
“You should stay tonight,” Shane offers almost sheepishly. His head is down as he dries himself off, and he’s not making eye contact with Ilya, like he’s scared of his answer, like he’s worried the realization has dawned and Ilya might run away.
But Ilya’s always been an idiot who runs headfirst into trouble, so he tilts Shane’s chin up, captures his lips in a delicate kiss, and smiles. “Of course I’ll stay.”
They curl up in Shane’s big bed, and it’s Ilya’s turn to wrap Shane up in his limbs. He holds him close and savors the sweetness of this man in his arms, buries his face in Shane’s hair, and breathes him in deeply, savoring Shane while he’s still here. Tomorrow, Ilya will go back to Boston, but he’s terrified to leave Shane behind. How was one night’s fuck the most monumental thing in his life?
“Can I get your number before I go tomorrow?” Ilya asks, his words hesitant. He’s not sure Shane is even awake. But Shane moves in his arms and presses a string of stardust kisses along Ilya’s forearm.
“Mhmm. Can I come visit you in Boston?”
Ilya never told Shane he lived in Boston… but that wouldn’t be the weirdest detail from tonight, so he doesn’t dwell on it.
“Da. Yes. I would love that.”
“Good.” Shane rubs his hand over Ilya’s and sighs contentedly.
They fall asleep wrapped up in each other, tangled together thoroughly.