Chapter Text
The first thing Ilya did when they got home from Shane's parents' house was ask Shane to teach him spit. He didn’t know it was called spit, but: “The card game that Yuna does not let David beat her in.” Shane found this request touching and happily agreed.
He felt like he was floating. The dinner had been so much better than he had ever hoped. He had known his parents wouldn’t hate him, but he thought they’d be sad – let down, put down, concerned for him. If there was anything beneath their shock and confusion it was relief, like they were worried about him less now than they had been before. And while the circumstances that had led to it were far from ideal, he couldn’t entirely regret them when he felt so weightless in the aftermath. There were still people he was lying to, but his parents were always who he’d felt guiltiest about. Now he was unburdened and ready to enjoy the last few days of Ilya’s visit without reservation.
Maybe a little reservation, if Ilya continued to demolish him at spit. They were usually pretty evenly matched at whatever they competed in, but Ilya took the first three hands easily.
“Beginner’s luck,” Shane said.
“Natural talent,” Ilya countered, as a call came through on his phone. He glanced at the screen and rejected it.
“Who was that?” Shane asked. Ilya looked up at him and Shane hastened to explain his curiosity: “Just because it was Cyrillic, but I thought you weren’t really in contact with anyone in Russia.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Ilya said, dealing out a new hand. “Boyfriends can ask these things.”
“Right,” Shane said, the floating feeling returning to him at the word.
“And you’re right, I’m not,” Ilya said. “It was Svetlana.”
“Oh,” Shane said, and cleared his throat. He’d been feeling pretty vindictive toward her last time she’d come up, but that was before boyfriend and I love you and the charity and coming out to his parents. Shane had evolved. “You could’ve taken the call, you know.”
“I know,” Ilya said. “I did not want to. Not when I am on a roll.”
“You are not on a roll,” Shane said, tuning back into the game.
“I am on a roll,” Ilya repeated, sing-song. It was a game of speed, so they couldn’t really have a conversation once it was in play. It wasn’t until they got through the hand – Ilya taking it again, Jesus, Shane would make them keep playing as long as it took for him to win just one – that Ilya said, “I will call her back, though. Maybe later tonight.”
“Okay,” Shane said, a little confused by the searching note in Ilya’s voice, almost like he was looking for permission. Shane hoped his maniacal jealousy hadn’t been too visible, that he hadn’t made Ilya feel insecure in this friendship that was obviously important to him. He wondered if Ilya had been hesitant to take the call around Shane, worried about how Shane might react. Shane wasn’t sure how he would himself. At least he wouldn’t suck Ilya off in the middle of it, although that was in part because he was pretty sure Ilya would just tell her what was happening.
He began to understand Ilya’s cautious tone when it held over in his next question. “How would you feel if I told her about us?”
Shane looked up, almost wanting to laugh at what should be a ridiculous suggestion – them telling anyone. But it wasn’t, because people knew, Shane’s parents knew, and the world (their world) hadn’t ended. “Would you like to?” he asked.
“Yes, very much,” Ilya said.
“You think she’d be okay with it?” Shane asked. “It’ll come as a shock.”
Ilya made a considering face, wobbled his hand. “Yes and no,” he said. “She knows there is someone. Has known it for a while.”
“Oh,” Shane said, pleased by this. “How long is a while?”
Ilya gave him a look, apparently not willing to indulge him. Shane moved on. “Does she know it’s a guy, does she know you’re bi?”
“Yes,” Ilya said. “She has always known, she does not mind. She will probably be a little mad that I have been spending time with Shane Hollander and have not studied his moving drop pass.”
Shane smiled. “She likes my drop pass?”
“She is easily taken in by flash,” Ilya said, and before Shane could get in a jab about that explaining her friendship with Ilya, the card game started back up. Shane finally won.
After a couple more rounds they went outside and Shane tried to teach Ilya bird calls, but they were all in the fingers and tongue so it just got Ilya turned on. Then Shane tried to brainstorm activities they could do together without Ilya turning it into a sex thing, and Ilya detailed how he would turn each one into a sex thing. This led to them stargazing and making up dirty constellations, which still felt like maybe the most romantic experience of Shane’s life.
Through it all Shane waited for Ilya to excuse himself to call Svetlana, but he never did. Shane didn’t want to ask about it because he didn’t want to reveal that he for some reason couldn’t forget it, but he figured Ilya had decided to put it off until tomorrow. And he also thought that maybe Ilya didn’t want to leave Shane’s side, but that theory felt very needy and he tried not to foster it.
They were still outside under the stars when Shane yawned. It was past midnight. As though every day since Ilya got there was Christmas, Shane hadn’t wanted any of them to end.
“You are sleepy,” Ilya said, kissing the bridge of his nose and then between his eyes. “Sleepy baby.”
Shane smiled, closed his eyes. Ilya took this as invitation to kiss his eyelids, and then his cheeks. Shane pointed to a spot above his left eyebrow to see what would happen and Ilya kissed there too. When Shane yawned again, Ilya kissed the stretched corner of his mouth. Shane asked, “You think you could carry me to bed?”
Ilya jumped into standing and put his hands on his hips as though surveying the situation. Shane laughed and Ilya rubbed his hands together. “Okay,” he said. “I got this.”
He bent down and slipped his hands around the small of Shane’s back, heaving him up. Shane’s legs automatically wrapped around Ilya’s hips. Ilya had carried him before but this was the first time outside of a sexual context, and it was nice. For Shane at least. Ilya groaned exaggeratedly when he took the steps inside.
“I can walk,” Shane said, dry, even though he really didn’t want to. It felt base, almost embarrassing, but he loved Ilya’s strength. His size. He loved feeling manageable, like he didn’t overwhelm Ilya.
“No, no, never,” Ilya said. “You will never walk again, I will carry you forever.”
“Kind of sounds like a threat,” Shane said. “A way to end my hockey career.”
“Always thinking the worst of me,” Ilya said, and shoved their bedroom door open with his shoulder. Shane was half expecting Ilya to fling him onto the bed, punctuation for their ribbing, but instead he laid Shane down very very gently, gentle enough Shane almost wanted to cry.
“I love you,” Shane said quietly, looking up at Ilya, who was holding himself above Shane on his elbows. He loved how Ilya reacted to that, how much it seemed to shock him, destabilize him. He nodded for a while before repeating the words, first in Russian, then in English. It was the first Russian phrase Shane was beginning to properly recognize. He was working up the courage to repeat it back to Ilya. He remembered a couple Finnish teammates talking about how it was pretty easy for them to tell girls they loved them in English, whereas saying it in their native tongue felt like a much bigger deal. But Ilya had told Shane in Russian first.
Ilya had positioned himself on top of Shane and Shane hadn’t bothered unlocking his legs from around Ilya’s hips, so he felt when Ilya tried to pull away.
“You’re not getting in?” Shane asked, letting himself sound whiny. They were becoming fairly obnoxious, even he could see that, but he sort of loved it. He had never had anyone to get obnoxious about before.
Ilya shook his head. “I will call Svetlana now,” he said, and it would be too dramatic to compare it to a bomb going off, but it did sort of burst a bubble. Ilya tilted his head at whatever he saw on Shane’s face and smiled. “Unless you will be too lonely in bed without me?”
He seemed pleased by the idea, not like he thought Shane was overly needy or possessive. Still. “No, it's fine,” Shane said. “It’s just a little late, isn’t it? You’re sure it’s okay to call her now? I have a rule against calling people past nine.”
“Always so sweet,” Ilya said. “She is night owl. I am surprised how early it was when she first called.”
“Are you?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” Ilya said, frowning, looking a little confused.
“No, sorry,” Shane said. “I mean are you a night owl?” He hadn’t put it together before but it occurred to him that he was always the first to start flagging. Ilya didn’t seem to mind going to bed on Shane’s schedule, but Shane wondered how late Ilya would stay up if Shane wasn’t there.
“No, I am human person,” Ilya said, for some reason playing coy. He planted a wet kiss on Shane’s mouth and then left.
Shane sat on the edge of the bed for a while, listening to the low hum of Ilya talking in the next room. It was in Russian so Shane couldn’t eavesdrop even if he wanted to, but he was trying to pick up on the tone. He wanted to make sure the call was going okay for Ilya. But Ilya must have wandered away, his voice fading out, and Shane sighed and stood. He stripped down to his boxers and went to the en suite to brush his teeth. A couple nights ago Ilya had brought his toothbrush out to him, toothpaste already on it, along with two glasses of water – one to wash his mouth out with, one to spit into – and Shane had brushed his teeth in bed. That had made him want to cry too. It was funny to think he had technically been in relationships before, and technically been a good boyfriend – he had brought women flowers, he had pulled chairs out for them at restaurants, he had texted them good morning and good night. But it was all formulaic, actions he could find in lists online. Real love made you inventive, made you constantly find new ways to show affection without even having to really think about it.
He brushed his teeth and then returned to his bed and wondered how long Ilya would be gone. If Svetlana had been calling to catch up, if they hadn't talked at least since Ilya got here, maybe it would be an hour or even more. That was okay, really it was, except that it would be a little bit of a shock to suddenly go without Ilya for anything longer than the length of a shower. Like a diver coming up to the surface too quick.
Shane didn’t know exactly how long it ended up being because he’d staunchly refused to check the time, but maybe between twenty minutes and a half hour. Considering Ilya was delivering some pretty huge news, that seemed as brief as Shane could selfishly hope for.
Ilya kissed him on the forehead before going to brush his teeth. Shane moved into the center of the bed and pulled the blanket back a little, to remove all possible delays to Ilya getting in with him. When Ilya returned he seemed just as impatient, sliding up against Shane’s body and knuckling at his sternum. Shane put his hand on Ilya’s, unfolding it and pressing it down into his chest. “How was it?” he asked.
Ilya breathed in and out, considering. “Good,” he said. “She didn’t believe me, thought it was joke. She was very shocked, it was funny. She is hard to shock. I enjoyed that.”
Shane smiled. “Why didn’t she believe you?”
“Your parents hardly believed us and your dad saw me grab your ass,” Ilya said.
Shane made a face but couldn’t fault the logic. He ran a hand through Ilya’s hair. “Once she got over the shock?”
Ilya shrugged, then rearranged himself so his head was resting on Shane’s shoulder. “She is happy. She is very impressed with me, that I have Shane Hollander. I told her how good you are to me.”
Shane felt a surge of warm pride. This was different to coming out to his parents, which had been sheer relief. This was somebody from Ilya’s life who knew Ilya, knew how great he was (how great he was in bed, but Shane pushed that from his mind). And now she knew that he was Shane’s, that he had chosen Shane, of all people.
“She doesn’t mind you not telling her until now?” he asked.
“No,” Ilya said. “She knows me, she knows how I am. And she could hear how happy I was to tell her now, so.”
“I’m happy too,” Shane said. “I’m happy for you.”
Ilya lifted himself up on an elbow so he could lean in and kiss Shane, slow and easy. He pulled away sooner than Shane was expecting, his eyes running over Shane’s face. Shane tried not to pout.
“She is in Boston for the next month,” Ilya said.
Shane frowned. “Doesn’t she live in Boston?”
“Yes but she travels a lot for work, like us,” Ilya said. “She is taking next month off. She timed it with my off-season. We planned it. Before you and I made plans, obviously.”
Shane nodded. It was Ilya’s first off-season not going back to Russia, which he’d been very conscious of. Apparently Svetlana had been too. “That’s nice. So you’ll be seeing a lot of her?”
Ilya nodded, still contemplating Shane. “She said, and I agree, it would be nice for you to come visit,” he said, and what he said next seemed to take a lot of guts. “I would like you to meet her.”
“Oh,” Shane whispered. All his mixed feelings about Svetlana were washed away, at least for the moment. Ilya had met Shane’s family, and now he wanted Shane to meet his. Shane blinked. “Yeah, yeah, for sure. I could get away for a day, come by. I’d love to.”
“Okay,” Ilya said. “But what about more than a day? What about a real stay, with me?”
“I mean, I’d love that too,” Shane said slowly. “But I don’t see how—a city is different. There are so many people, it wouldn’t be safe. I’d need a good reason to be in Boston, of all places, and I can’t think of one.”
“Yes,” Ilya said. “This is what I was thinking too. But it would be nice to really have you there for a while, if we can find a way.”
Shane nodded. They had commitments, they couldn’t spend the whole off-season in the cottage. Already Shane was beginning to miss proper training and conditioning. At the same time, and maybe it was just Shane, but their stay in the cottage had made the prospect of going back to only occasionally seeing each other unbearable.
Shane pressed a finger into Ilya’s shoulder, dragged it down. “Who’s the best trainer in Boston?” he asked.
“My trainer,” Ilya said. “Obviously.”
“Your trainer doesn’t work with people who don’t speak Russian,” Shane said. Ilya trained with someone the Raiders had brought in for him special when he got drafted. He was weirdly loyal to him, which Shane supposed he could take as a good sign, considering he had now earned Ilya’s loyalty too. “Who is a trainer in Boston I could go to where it would make sense for me to go to them. Someone who specializes in a skill set I should work on.”
“Your shower head could use some work,” Ilya said.
It could; he always got water up his nose. Still Shane raised his eyebrows. “It’s in your best interest to apologize.”
“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ilya said. “A trainer is a good idea. So you would want to come? And get to know Svetlana.”
Shane hesitated. He’d sort of forgotten about the Svetlana element. He’d want to go to spend time with Ilya, and if it was important to Ilya for him to meet Svetlana he would. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’d love that.”
Ilya fist pumped, which made Shane laugh. “So it begins,” Ilya said. “You will fall in love with Boston and request trade to Raiders.”
“You aren’t even in love with Boston and you’ve been there for years,” Shane said.
“Exactly, I am there,” Ilya said. “You will not be able to resist.”
Shane shook his head. “Never gonna happen,” he said.
“I will make it happen,” Ilya said. “I have secret plan.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Shane nodded and hummed. “Ilya, what’s your secret plan?”
“I can’t say.”
Shane pulled at Ilya’s bottom lip. “Please?”
“Okay,” Ilya said, giving in with a sigh. “I will make you come very very very hard and then when you are all fucked out and hazy I will get you to sign a contract.”
Shane closed his eyes. “It wouldn’t hold up in court,” he said.
“I have very good lawyers,” Ilya said, and kissed him.
They didn’t talk for around twenty minutes after waking up the next morning, brushing their teeth and getting dressed and making out a bit all in silence. Shane only spoke while watching Ilya fiddle with the coffee pot. Ilya really struggled with it, and Shane refused to help. He got his thrills where he could. “I was thinking,” he said, and Ilya glanced back at him for a moment. “You know who would be great at coming up with a convincing hockey reason for me to be in Boston?”
“Who?” Ilya asked.
“My mom,” Shane said.
Ilya turned to him, smiling. “Yes,” he said. “She will give you thirty day itinerary.”
Shane liked how he said the word. “I texted her,” he said.
Ilya frowned but turned back to the coffee. “When?”
Shane scrunched his mouth up. “Five am last night,” he said, and Ilya laughed.
Yuna got back to him by noon, when they were collapsed on the couch after a work out. They should shower but hadn’t yet, gross and sweaty and undoubtedly compromising the cashmere throw. “Huh,” Shane said, reading the text.
“What?”
“It’s mom,” he said.
“She found you trainer?”
“Yeah, Reed Harris, you know him?”
“Yes,” Ilya said, and then laughed in the back of the throat. “All the little guys use him.”
Shane bit his collarbone.
“Why did this make you go huh?” Ilya asked, doing a goofy imitation of the sound Shane had made.
“Well, she also found a study that MIT are doing on athletes,” Shane said. “On our circadian rhythms. There’s rolling recruitment. She said it could be good for me to sign up – make me seem smart, and community-oriented, and—” he looked up to Ilya for this, smiled. “Like Boston doesn’t scare me.”
“Big, brave, Shane Hollander,” Ilya said, absently. “What is—thing, the study thing?"
"Circadian rhythms?"
Ilya nodded.
"Oh." Shane frowned. He thought he knew, but it was tricky to define. "Circadian rhythm is like the time your body is on. Do you know the phrase internal body clock?"
"How we get jet lag," Ilya said.
"Yeah," Shane said. "I guess circadian rhythms are like that. It's like seasons but for the body. It says when we do things. Sleep, mostly."
Ilya nodded. "Okay. That is enough? Is that convincing?”
Shane swallowed. To somebody who didn’t know him – if he had to give a public explanation for his presence – then he thought it would be sufficient. But if a teammate asked what the fuck he was doing in Boston, and he talked about Reed Harris and circadian rhythms, they would look at him like he was crazy. “I don’t know,” Shane said.
“Well,” Ilya said. “As convincing as a silent retreat.”
Shane went to hit him but Ilya grabbed his wrist. Shane struggled, pulled himself on top of Ilya, but Ilya got his other wrist too and kept him away. Held up like that, suspended above Ilya, Shane said, “I don’t know how believable it is but I’d take the chance.”
Ilya smiled and let go of his wrists, so Shane collapsed on top of him. Another idea occurred to him. “I mean, she could also come up here,” Shane said. “If you want to see her and if it’s important to you for me and her to spend time together, she could stay here for a while.”
He had to force the offer out. It made logistical sense, but this place was a refuge. Other than Ilya and his parents there wasn’t really anyone he’d want here, not even good friends. Svetlana would be a lot to take.
Ilya looked at him. “These two weeks have been maybe best of my life.”
Shane tried to tamp down his smile. He wasn’t sure he ever did a good job. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I get why this place means what it does to you. You made something beautiful and special and I’m so happy you shared it with me. I have enjoyed all of it.”
Shane moved his mouth around to disguise his smile. “I’m glad,” he said.
“So you know I love it here, yes?”
“I’m getting the idea,” Shane said.
“Good,” Ilya said, and tapped Shane’s cheek. “Svetlana would fucking hate it.”
Despite Ilya’s obvious attempts to soothe Shane, his hackles were instantly up. “What the fuck, why?”
Ilya shrugged. “She is city girl,” he said.
“You’re a city boy,” Shane said.
“I have depth she lacks,” Ilya said. “I think it’s from falling in love with you.”
Shane smiled, buried his face in the bend of Ilya’s neck, his hair tickling Shane. “God,” Shane said, pulling away slightly. “We really do need to shower.”
They showered, ate leftover pasta Yuna and David had sent them home with, and then fell right back on the couch. Shane had his head on Ilya’s chest, half on the rucked up fabric of Ilya’s loose black tank top and half on his warm, still slightly damp skin. Ilya was scrolling through his socials and Shane was watching. After around twenty minutes of instagram stories, Shane frowned.
“Why don’t you follow—anyone?” he asked, chickening out toward the end of the question.
“What?” Ilya asked. “I follow people. This is what this is.”
“Right,” Shane said, and sighed. If he wanted to know this, he’d have to be able to say it. “I mean women.”
“I follow women,” Ilya said.
“Right, but…” Shane faded off. Not the kind of women that showed up on his teammates’ instas.
“What do you want to know, Hollander?” Ilya asked. Shane could tell from the tone change that Ilya had already figured it out, but he was still going to make Shane say it.
“Instagram models,” Shane gritted out. “Or whatever. Just—hot women who post pictures of themselves. Isn’t that where—I know people hook up that way.”
“Yes, this is true,” Ilya said.
“Not you?” Shane asked, and tried not to remember Ilya in that club. “You always met women in person?”
“Not always,” Ilya said. “But I don’t follow them now.”
“What do you mean now?” Shane asked, slowly. “You unfollowed them?”
“Yes,” Ilya said, sounding uncomfortable, which made Shane smile very widely.
“When?”
“On the plane ride up here,” Ilya said after a pause. Shane laughed, delighted. “Because of something exactly like this. Because of you going through my phone all nosy.”
Shane leveraged himself up to look down at Ilya. “And because you don’t need them anymore,” he said, quiet.
Ilya’s eyes flickered over him. “Yes,” he said. “Because I have you.”
Shane smiled and settled back down on Ilya.
“Give me your phone,” Ilya said.
“What?”
“I am bored of my instagram, let me see yours.”
So Shane handed it over, giddy a little at the trust and entitlement it implied. “I didn’t even have to unfollow anyone,” Shane said.
“No?” Ilya asked. “You didn’t unfollow all the financial advisors and nutritionists, to make it harder for me to make fun of you?”
Shane flushed but said nothing as Ilya opened his stories. The very first one was a nutritionist, which made Ilya laugh. The second was one of Rose’s friends, and when Shane told him that Ilya made a teeth-sucking noise. “They don’t hate you, they don’t want to block you?” Ilya asked. “You are terrible ex boyfriend.”
The person after had posted a photo of their mom’s birthday, and Ilya asked who it was.
“A friend from high school,” Shane said. “We haven’t talked in years, but we like each other’s stuff sometimes.”
Obligingly Ilya liked the photo from the party. Then he tapped into the guy’s profile and started scrolling.
“We didn’t have instagram in high school,” Shane said dryly. “If that’s what you’re hoping to find.”
“No,” Ilya said. “Just getting a feel for things. Besides, I saw all the pictures of you already.”
“What?”
“All over the walls of your house.”
“Oh my God,” Shane said. That hadn't occurred to him at all.
“You have had the same haircut your whole life,” Ilya said. “So cute.”
Shane grumbled and Ilya squeezed his shoulders. He opened a picture of the high school classmate fishing. “Ah,” he said. “You fish?”
“No,” Shane said. “I mean I have done, I can.”
“And you are good at it?” Ilya asked.
“Well. Yeah, why?” It seemed like a weird thing to guess.
“Because as far as I know you are good at everything,” Ilya said, and then left the guy’s profile. Something occurred to Shane.
“Ilya,” he said. “Is Svetlana on here?”
Ilya’s hands stilled. Shane wasn’t sure it was a good idea, either, but suddenly it seemed a lot worse to meet her in Boston with no idea what she even looked like. He should brace himself. God, she was definitely gorgeous. “Yes,” Ilya said, tightly.
“Okay,” Shane said. “Can I see?”
“You want to?”
“No,” Shane said. “Show me anyway.”
Ilya went to the search function and only had to type in sv before she was suggested. It wasn’t just Ilya, a bunch of people Shane followed already followed her.
“What the fuck,” he said.
“She does a lot of work in hockey world,” Ilya said. “You would know this if you had better taste in cars.”
“Fuck you,” Shane said absently, and then repeated it a lot more passionately when Ilya tapped follow. Ilya laughed and Shane shoved him as best he could from his position.
“She will know it was me,” Ilya said. “She knows I want you to be friends.”
Shane let himself be warmed by that, braced himself, and said, “Okay.”
Ilya tapped into her profile. He scrolled quickly, but Shane put his hand on Ilya’s wrist to still him, to actually get a look at the photos. “Holy fuck,” Shane whispered.
Svetlana was gorgeous. And not—Shane could now admit this probably had something to do with being gay, but he’d sort of always thought a lot of the women men salivated over were pretty boring. Not as people! But looks wise. Svetlana was not boring. Her beauty was unique and natural and full of life. She looked like a work of art. She looked fun, most of the pictures from nights out, her smiling or laughing and looking just as beautiful as in the staged photos. Shane could very easily imagine Ilya in the mix, laughing beside her, with his arm around her. He wouldn’t look out of place. Ilya was a work of art too.
Shane cleared his throat. “I don’t recognize her,” he said.
“How would you?” Ilya asked.
“I mean she doesn’t go to your games,” Shane said. “And you guys haven’t been photographed together.”
He could hear the evil smile in Ilya’s voice. “You would recognize her if we had been photographed together?”
Shane couldn’t really spare the mental energy to get defensive. He couldn’t imagine that Ilya was not attracted to Svetlana. She looked like that, and they obviously got on, and he’d been attracted enough to her in the past to sleep with her regularly. Shane knew Ilya didn’t have feelings for her, not romantic feelings the way he had for Shane, but it wasn’t like she’d turned into a blank space. Ilya could still see what she looked like. And Shane knew first hand Ilya had a pretty demanding sex drive. Even when he’d genuinely loathed sleeping with Ilya, Shane had found it impossible to want anyone else. He knew that wasn’t how Ilya worked.
“I’m going to ask a bitchy, mean-spirited question, and I need you to be honest.”
“What?”
Shane chewed his lip until Ilya pulled it free. “Are the photos doing all the work?” he asked, cringing at himself. “Like, is she one of those people who looks amazing online and then you meet them in person and they’re kind of normal?”
“Oh,” Ilya said. “No, I am sorry. She is beautiful.”
Shane groaned and pulled Ilya’s rucked up tank top over his head, so he was trapped in the warm dark against Ilya’s chest. Ilya laughed, one hand cupping the back of Shane’s head, over the black fabric, and the other skating up and down Shane’s spine. Shane never wanted to move again. They stayed like that for a while without speaking.
Then: “Why did you think I wanted so bad to fuck you, when we first met?” Ilya asked, casual.
“I don’t know,” Shane said, flushing.
“Lies,” Ilya said. “You are overthinker, I know you had your theory.”
Shane sighed, cast his mind back to that first year. It was easier to admit to, hidden away like this. “I thought maybe you liked how neurotic and repressed and inexperienced I was. I thought undoing that was fun for you. And it was obviously risky, which you like.”
“Yes, that is all true,” Ilya said. “But also you were fucking hot. Obviously I think this now because I am in love with you, but even back then I thought you were most beautiful person. In different way than now, it didn’t make me feel warm, but I still thought it. You must know this, yes? That you are beautiful.”
Shane stayed quiet.
“Objectively,” Ilya continued. “I know it about myself, I am hot, people find me hot. I know because people tell me. They must tell you too. All these deals you have, it’s not just because you’re a star. Is because you’re handsome and people want to buy things with your face on them. You know this, right?”
“I guess,” Shane said, cringing. He wondered if Ilya could tell he was blushing, just from the heat of his cheek against Ilya’s skin.
Ilya made a dissatisfied noise. “How do you only guess?”
“I mean, you’re right, people have said it,” Shane said. “But hearing it and feeling it are different things.”
“You don’t believe it when people say it?”
“No, it’s not that,” Shane said. “It’s more just that it doesn’t feel real. Or relevant. Like, I believe that’s how I’m seen, I guess. But not—and there are different kinds of beautiful.”
“Ah, and you are one of the bad kinds,” Ilya said, sarcastic.
“Not bad,” Shane said. He didn’t want to say boring because he didn’t want to sound like he was accusing Ilya of making him feel insecure. He knew that wasn’t how Ilya meant it. “Just not… spectacular.” Ilya was spectacular. So, it seemed, was Svetlana.
Ilya squeezed the nape of his neck. “I have done a bad job, then,” he said. “Maybe I have said all the nicest things only in Russian. I will work harder to let you know what I see.”
“Yeah, but you’re in love with me,” Shane said, smiling.
“Is not just me.” Ilya said. He didn’t elaborate for a while and then said: “Heart breaker. First time I heard this phrase I thought of you.”
Shane brushed his nose over Ilya’s strong heartbeat and Ilya hummed. “Not my heart, you love me too much. But other people.”
Shane scoffed. “What other people?”
“Everybody,” Ilya said. “People who see you in coffee shops. Fans whose jerseys you sign. You are breaking their hearts.”
It was a ridiculous premise, but it pleased Shane to imagine Ilya perceiving him as holding that much power. “I don’t care,” he said. “As long as I don’t break yours.”
Ilya extracted him from his tank top, stroking through Shane’s hair. Shane was conflicted, not sure if he wanted to move upward to Ilya’s mouth or downward to where he was hardening against Shane’s leg. From barely anything at all, just from having Shane near. Ilya made the decision for him, guiding him up to a kiss. Shane’s mind blanked out with a peaceful putter like an old computer shutting down. This really was the best way to deal with his bitterness and insecurities and general mess. He had no hope he would ever untangle it, but Ilya could make him forget it existed for a while.