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Shane Hollander unlocked the door to his cottage and let his boyfriend inside. Ilya made a beeline for the kitchen in search of snacks despite the obscene amount of pasta he'd just eaten.

Shane could only slowly trail after, studying his boyfriend's old Nikes, his legs in those shorts, the way his biceps strained at the arms of the Boston Raiders tee shirt he was wearing. A few hours ago, that outfit seemed inappropriate. A few hours ago, he thought that outfit would somehow be their undoing. A few hours ago, he didn't have a boyfriend.

Boyfriend. He'd remember Ilya's outfit until the day he died.

Shane couldn't just think the word anymore, he had to say it, to form the word with his lips and taste it again. “Boyfriend.”

Ilya pulled his head out from the refrigerator and looked at Shane. “Yes, that is me.”

Shane crossed the kitchen and closed the refrigerator door. He pulled Ilya close by the hem of his shirt, grabbing at him in a way he felt momentarily embarrassed by, that need to be touching him so desperately, but then he remembered that word again, boyfriend, and decided not to be embarrassed anymore or ever again. Not with Ilya. Shane kissed him then, with both tenderness and hunger, and Ilya made a surprised sound in his throat. Shane began pushing him towards the couch, recreating their path that first day in the cottage, which was only days ago but felt like another lifetime.

It took Ilya a moment to catch up, and as Shane was walking him backwards and kissing down his jaw, Ilya said, “Shouldn't we talk about what just happ—” but Shane cut off the sentence by sticking his tongue down Ilya's throat and mentally chuckling at the irony of Ilya's suggestion.

They tumbled onto the couch again, again repeating their actions from that first day. Pressing his body as far into Ilya's as it would go, he was reminded of something else, which gave him another idea. Shane pulled out of the kiss at the exact moment Ilya went deeper. “What the fuck, Shane, come back.” Ilya pulled down on the back of Shane's neck, trying to bring Shane's mouth back to his but Shane held firm.

“Wait. Remember what I said that first day here, that we should try and be honest?”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Yes, Hollander, I remember. You got me on this couch, got on top of me, got me hard as a rock and then wanted to stop because you had an idea about being honest. Just like right now.” He moved one of Shane's hands down between their bodies so he could feel his hardening dick. “Do you have a couch fetish? Or honesty fetish? Or maybe idea fetish?”

Shane, not easily deterred, knew how to blow through playfulness to get what he needed. “Idea fetish, definitely. So I said we should be honest about how we feel.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, sounding exasperated. “And I told you I love you.”

“Yes, and I said it back.”

Ilya grabbed Shane's ass with both hands. “Great, we won at honesty, my prize is blowjob.”

“No, but wait.” Shane could feel himself getting flustered. “Yes, we're in love now. Yes, we're boyfriends now but…there's so much you don't know. There's so much I want to tell you.” Out of nowhere Shane felt tears stinging his eyes.

Ilya Rozanov had never felt such an instinctual flip from playful to serious as he did watching his boyfriend start tugging at his eyelashes. He tried to sit up a little straighter and reached up, gently placing a hand on Shane's to lower it. He simultaneously felt a spike of fear; what did Shane mean? What doesn't he know?

“Hey. Hey. Is okay,” Ilya said as calmly as possible. “What do you mean? What would you like to tell me?”

Shane was silent for a minute, those tears threatening to fall even though they almost never actually did. Ilya could see Shane's brain working over time and he knew by this point to just wait patiently. Eventually Shane said, “Can we switch spots? I think I'd be more comfortable…” and then he gestured toward Ilya's chest. Down. Under. Beneath.

Ilya was happy to oblige. He accepted now that he'd do anything to make Shane more comfortable. He nodded. Shane leaned back and Ilya sat up. They awkwardly switched positions without anyone ever standing up or cutting off physical contact, which Ilya preferred in all circumstances. In truth, he never wanted to not be touching Shane.

They settled in, Shane on his back with his head propped on a couch pillow, Ilya laying fully on top of him, his elbows pinning Shane down but not forcefully. Their faces were so close their noses almost touched. “Better?” he asked, and flashed on the image of Shane laying in a hospital bed.

Shane must have thought the same thing. He smiled up at Ilya and wrapped his arms around Ilya's back. "Yes,” he said. “Bet-ter.”

They lay for a moment in silence, staring at each other. Ilya studied the freckles he loved so much, always looking for ways to connect the dots, always searching for his own name written in the pattern.

Ilya inhaled Shane's scent when he finally began talking. “We’ve known each other a long time. And I think…I think I've loved you for a long time. And in between there were so many things that happened, or I thought, or I did, that I never told you. And I bet you have that too.”

Ilya was scared of his own secrets, but Shane was, of course, correct. He nodded once. Shane continued. “Well now…it feels like I'm keeping secrets from you. And I don't want to keep secrets from you anymore. So I want to tell you all those things. And I want you to tell me. Is that...can we?”

Ilya considered the request. Of course he wanted to tell Shane everything, every secret he ever had. It didn't make it less scary. To let Shane know how long he'd needed him. To tell Shane all the ways he'd hurt. Or acted out. But he would. He just needed to clarify first. “Yes but…so I understand, you mean…” and Ilya pointed to his own heart, and then to Shane's heart. “And not about stealing candy bar when I was 11 and feeling so bad I returned it even though it turned into chocolate puddle in my pocket.”

“Yes,” Shane said. “I mean your heart, my heart. Though I want to hear all the other stuff too.”

Of course he did. Shane was Good. Shane was Perfect. But Ilya found he now meant that as truly and earnestly as possible. “Okey. We will share. But you must start. I need to know what kind of secrets we're dealing with here.”

Shane squirmed underneath him and Ilya relished the sensation. Then he closed his eyes and let out a little huff. My huffy boyfriend, Ilya thought fondly.

Eventually Shane said “Okay,” and opened his eyes. “Do you remember draft day?” Ilya realized Shane would probably start every one of these confessions with “do you remember…” and Ilya felt confident he would always remember. He remembers every detail regarding Shane Hollander.

“Of course I remember draft day. I was number one.”

“A fact I'm sure you will never let me forget. But later, after the gym…” He trailed off, looking at Ilya hopefully, as if to ask “You know what I'm talking about?” Make no mistake, Ilya knew what he was talking about. “After the gym I went back to my room and jerked off. Thinking about you.” Shane started to turn pink and Ilya felt his hands dig into his back a bit tighter, probably fighting the impulse to cover his face.

Ilya felt his own face open up into one of his Shane-specific smiles. He wondered if Shane knew this type of smile was only for him. Maybe that's one of the secrets he could share. Though he knew there were other, more important ones.

He dipped in and kissed Shane hard and fast. “Tell. Me. Everything.” Each word punctuated with a kiss instead of a period.

Shane finally relinquished his iron grip on Ilya's back and his willpower, in order to bring his hands to his face and slowly pull them down, a gesture usually reserved for those in exhaustion or disbelief. Ilya realized Shane was probably a bit in both. “There isn’t much to tell.”

Ilya was still smiling. “Liar.”

“No, really. I didn’t really understand what I was thinking or doing. I didn’t even know all the possibilities of what I could fantasize about. I just felt…compelled…by you.”

“But something had to do it. Is secret for a reason. Or else it would just be random jerk off. What was it?”

Shane reached an arm behind his head and rested on it, closing his eyes, traveling back in time. Ilya wished he could go with him.

“‘More,’” Shane muttered. “I tried to pass the water bottle back, but you said ‘more’ so I drank more. And it scared the shit out of me.”

“Scared you?” Ilya was trying to keep his voice even but he was almost painfully aroused and his heart felt like it was shimmering.

Shane’s eyes opened. “Yeah, scared me. You gave me water, I drank it. You told me to drink more, and I did. I quickly knew in that moment I’d do anything you asked. I think if you’d asked me to blow you right then…I would have. I think. So if there was a moment, a thing, that I thought about, it was you saying ‘more.’”

Ilya considered this, looking into Shane’s eyes, processing the implication. He breathed out a sigh between pursed lips. “Then I think we lied to your parents.”

Shane jolted slightly, clearly not expecting that response. “About what?”

“The summer before. Is not true. Because after the gym, I went back to my room and got off thinking about you. When it was just me alone, eh, is whatever. But you too…” Ilya brought a hand down to brush over Shane’s cheek because he couldn’t help himself. “This began that day. We just didn’t know it yet.”

They stared at each other. Shane’s gaze was intense and searching. Then he cracked a smile that only seemed to get wider. Ilya didn’t know if Shane knew about his Shane smile, but he sure knows about Shane’s Ilya smile. And this was it. Ilya felt like he was being warmed by the sun.

“Well?” Shane asked. “What were YOU thinking about?”

Ilya didn’t hesitate. “Coming all over your freckles.”

Ilya expected a nervous laugh, or a “seriously?” or a “fuck you” or maybe even an “asshole.” Instead, Shane propped himself up with one hand and buried the other in the back of Ilya’s curls. “I want that,” he almost panted. “Right now. Please.”

Ilya couldn’t believe someone so boring could consistently surprise him. He kissed Shane, then, pressing him back into the couch. The kisses got hotter, which is saying something because to Ilya, their kisses always started at a 9.5 at least, so he pulled back to check in. “Are you sure? Right now?”

Shane nodded, his eyes glassy. Ilya kissed Shane’s freckles. “I want to fuck your mouth,” he said to them. He felt Shane smile and nod again, under his lips.

Ilya stood up and pulled off his shirt while Shane started pawing at his shorts. He let Shane pull them down for him. Shane’s mouth was moving towards Ilya’s dick almost gravitationally, but Ilya thwarted it. “Not yet.” He straddled Shane’s legs and started unbuttoning his shirt, then his shorts. He needed them both naked. He needed to see as much of Shane as possible, though it would never be enough.

When that was done, Ilya straddled Shane’s chest, planting his left foot on the ground and wedging his right knee between Shane and the back of the couch. “Three things,” he said, holding up his pinky, ring and middle fingers. “One. I love you. Two. Keep your hands down. Put them on your dick, not mine. Three. If you need anything, if anything is wrong, if you’re uncomfortable, if you can’t breathe, I want you to poke me here.” He pointed to a very specific spot on his ribs.

Shane shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Ilya. I love you too, which is why I’m not gonna poke you in your bruised ribs.”

“Shane. Yes you will. If you need to. It will get my attention. If I’m um…” Ilya searched for the right description. “Lost in the sauce.”

“Where did you learn that phrase?”

“Gucci Mane.”

With that, Ilya thrust himself forward, vaulted his chest above Shane’s head, braced himself on the arm of the couch, and let Shane’s mouth find him. And when it did, Ilya did indeed get lost. He fucked Shane’s mouth the way he fucked Shane’s ass, like it was a precious commodity, like it was a drug he was addicted to. Because it was and it was. He couldn’t get enough of fucking this man he was in love with, or loving this man he was fucking. Shane’s mouth felt better than expensive clothing, Italian leather seats, and satin sheets combined.

Shane’s mouth felt holy.

If he looked down at the right angle, he could watch his dick between those beautiful lips and see Shane’s hand working on himself at the same pace. The noises Shane was making were downright obscene.

Ilya was dangerously close and didn’t want to fuck up the main event. He straightened up, letting his legs take all the weight as he slowly, and a little regretfully, pulled himself out of Shane’s face and took himself in hand. Ilya’s eyes were locked on those freckles. He was close enough to Shane’s face to feel his heavy breath on his leaking cock. A moment before he exploded, he clamped a hand down over Shane’s eyes, shielding them from the eruption.

Ilya wasn’t sure who went first. He heard Shane say “Fuuuuuuck” at the same time the first drops landed across those freckles. He couldn’t close his own eyes; he wouldn’t. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of.

He nearly started crying.

His orgasm seemed to last forever. When it was done, he slowly unwedged his knee and removed his hand from Shane’s eyes so he could step back and look.

Shane blinked back at him. He had come everywhere — his stomach, his lips, his freckles, his forehead. It’s a good thing I covered his eyes, Ilya thought.

It was beautiful and arousing and dirty. He wanted to do this for the rest of his life.

Shane hadn’t said a word, but Ilya watched him nonchalantly lick the come from his lips. “Stay there.” Ilya walked to the bathroom in a daze and found a towel to run under warm water. He returned to the living room, to Shane, and knelt down before him.

He went to start cleaning up the mess but Shane grabbed his arm. “I kind of want to stay like this.” He looked blissful and satisfied.

“Mr. I Fold My Clothes Before Sex wants to stay covered in come? I don’t think so. You’ll regret it.” Ilya started with his stomach, leaving Shane’s face a mess for just a little bit longer.

He worked in silence until Shane said, “Ilya?”

“Shane?”

“Do NOT tell my parents about the summer before the summer before.”

***

Shane Hollander was carrying the last of the breakfast plates outside when his boyfriend appeared, wearing one of Shane’s Montreal Metros tee shirts. Ilya still looked sleepy, but otherwise unphased. He flopped down in a chair, yawned and ran a hand through his hair, which this morning could only be described as…no, he couldn’t even describe it. The brain couldn’t fathom all the different things Ilya Rozanov’s hair was doing at once. Ilya then turned his eyes to Shane. The Metros blue seemed to deepen the color, which normally made Shane think of sea glass.

Shane could only gape.

“What,” Ilya said, and pulled at the front of the tee shirt. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Shane didn’t mind. Up until the day that Ilya made him a tuna melt, it had never occurred to Shane that one of the benefits of being with a man was sharing clothes. It was convenient, sure, and Shane felt good in Ilya’s clothes, closer to him somehow. But Shane’s favorite was seeing Ilya in his own clothes. It made him feel slightly nostalgic for something he didn’t get to experience — being in the type of high school relationship where a girlfriend might wear your letterman jacket or jersey number. Shane knew this was some possessive bullshit, but it gave him a thrill nonetheless. Ilya wearing his clothes, specifically seeing him in a shirt that said “Hollander” on the back, denoted some sort of ownership. Shane had waited nine long years for the privilege of owning and being owned by Ilya Rozanov.

“Of course not,” Shane finally responded. “Does it feel weird, though?”

Ilya sat forward and started picking through the bacon for the extra crispy pieces (because he preferred them, and it worked out that Shane didn’t like them). “No, it feels great.”

“Great?”

“Yes. We already decided. Boston not my team anymore. I know I still have one year, but right now all Boston symbolizes is being far away from you. So.” He crunched a piece of bacon. “And. I love wearing your clothes.” Ilya gave a little shrug then, as if it were obvious, or no big deal, or a stray thought he wasn’t sure the origin of.

But to Shane it was continued proof that they were undeniably in sync. Against all odds.

Shane started filling his plate but Ilya grabbed a raspberry directly from the bowl. “Ok, so,” Ilya started and then tossed the berry in the air, catching it with his mouth. Shane briefly worried Ilya would choke. “I owe you one. You tell jerkoff story, I tell jerkoff story.”

“Ilya, it’s not a competition or a game. You don’t have to match me.”

“Can’t it be, though? A little bit?”

“If it makes you more comfortable. Tell me your jerkoff story. Well, wait, you actually already told me one.”

“Doesn’t count. I wasn’t holding that story back. I thought it was…inconsequential. Until your story made it consequential. For me.”

“Did you think about that a lot?”

Ilya paused and Shane was about to elaborate on the question, when Ilya said, “What, coming on your freckles? Ha. No, Shane. Only every time I see you, and every time I think about you in between.”

Shane felt his smile widen. “Why didn’t you say something? Ask for it? You’ve never seemed shy about asking for what you want.”

Ilya shrugged again. “Believe it or not, I did not make a habit of asking the people I was hooking up with if I could come on their faces. It feels…tacky. But now we are in love. And, I didn’t ask for it. You volunteered. And I am grateful.” He started buttering an English muffin.

Shane couldn’t stop smiling thinking about last night. When Ilya told him what he’d wanted (which he assumed at the time was all those years ago, not a constant desire), Shane immediately wanted it too. He thought he might feel humiliated, and that humiliation might feel bad or good. But humiliation never arrived. What he felt was loved. And pretty. Ilya Rozanov spent years telling Shane he looked pretty, but last night was the first night that Shane believed it of himself.

“We can do that again. Whenever you want.” Shane looked right into Ilya’s eyes as he said it, no longer as much of a challenge as it once was.

“Good.” Ilya licked butter off of his thumb. “Now that I’ve seen my come all over your freckles, I don’t think I can live without it. Anyways. I didn’t take a girl home from the club.”

Shane adjusted uncomfortably at the change in topic. He had kind of hoped they’d ease into talking about the night at the club, but he’s the one who suggested digging up the skeletons in their double closet and had to live with it. “What?” Shane asked, more as a prompt for clarification than a suggestion that he didn’t hear Ilya.

“I saw you with Rose Landry and you saw me with that girl. I’m just saying, I didn’t take her home. Or anyone else. I went back to the hotel and jerked off in the shower. I wished…you were there. I wished you were with me and not with her.”

Ilya wasn’t looking at Shane, he was looking down at his coffee cup. Shane reached across the table and took Ilya’s hand. It had been at least two hours since they’d touched. Two hours too long.

“I’m here now. I’m sorry I wasn’t there then.”

Ilya placed his other hand on top of Shane’s. “I know you are. I am not mad at you. I have never been mad at you. Myself, yes, plenty. But never you.”

Shane maybe wasn't ready to share more about Rose just yet, but he had something he could offer. “That day. Before the club. After the game,” Shane started.

Ilya raised an eyebrow at him.

“I was in the locker room getting changed. And my phone buzzed.” Shane didn't know why this was so hard to get out. Telling Ilya about his draft day self-pleasure didn't make him feel vulnerable, not exactly. It was more a funny punctuation mark on a day he would never forget. And he didn't feel vulnerable taking Ilya's load to the face. But this, this made him feel vulnerable. “When I heard it, it's like I got butterflies. Because for years, any time I heard that sound after we played against each other, that sound meant you. That sound meant this.” He squeezed Ilya's hand tighter. “I swear my hand was shaking when I reached for that phone. And I wished for it to be you. I wanted it to be you. When it wasn't you, when it was Rose, I had this, like, cold coil of disappointment in my gut. The butterflies were dead. They were replaced by guilt.”

Shane knew he and Rose were okay. More than okay. But it didn’t change that he didn’t like how he felt in that moment. It wasn’t fair to Rose. It wasn’t fair to himself. And it wasn’t fair to Ilya. Three people went home unsatisfied.

Ilya got up then and walked around the table. He folded himself into Shane’s lap and Shane was thankful for it. He needed to hold Ilya more than he needed air. Ilya’s thumbs brushed across his freckles and Shane got tingly all over. “I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Ilya said, searching Shane’s eyes. “While you were hoping that text was from me, I was staring at my phone, trying not to text you. I got as far as scrolling down to our last text. I wanted to. But I was scared. I already knew about you and Rose from the…” Ilya held his hand up and made a spinning gesture with his finger.

“Media? Tabloids? Papparazzi?”

“Yes, all of that. And the way things ended that day after I…”

Shane could tell Ilya was nervous or tired. He didn’t really lose words like this anymore. “After you made me a tuna melt?”

Ilya smiled at him. “Yes. After I made you a tuna melt. I figure you moved on.”

“Impossible.”

Ilya kissed him and Shane lost the rest of his senses. There was just the feel of Ilya Rozanov’s tongue inside his mouth, the taste of Ilya’s lips, the feel of Ilya’s hands on his cheeks. He had to stop himself from getting overwhelmed in these moments, regretting the choices made, or not made, and the time they could have had over the years. Because each of those choices made, or not made, led to this moment right here, where his boyfriend, Ilya Rozanov, was working to unbutton his shorts.

“I need you to come in my mouth,” Ilya breathed. He started to sink to his knees but Shane stopped him.

“The concrete.” Shane pointed off to the side of the patio at a water floaty. Ilya winked at him and went to retrieve it. Shane slid further down the chair and laid his head back, basking in the sun and wondering which was warmer. It or Ilya.

Ilya held up the floaty. “You bought this? You pick this out?” It was designed to look like a chocolate donut. With sprinkles.

“Hayden’s kids left it here last summer.”

“That explains it.” Ilya set it on the ground and knelt on it. “I would not give it back.”

Shane Hollander watched his archrival boyfriend, Ilya Rozanov, settle onto a whimsical pool floaty for the sole purpose of giving him pleasure. “Good?”

“Fantastic.” Ilya yanked at Shane’s shorts until they were around his ankles.

Ilya looked up at him. Shane nodded and he watched Ilya slowly wrap his mouth around the entire length of his hard dick. He moaned but didn’t close his eyes. He wrapped his fingers up in Ilya’s hair and watched his name ripple on Ilya’s back as he went up and down, up and down.

Shane began to trace the faded letters. He wanted to say the things he never lets himself say.

H.

“That feels so fucking good, Ilya.”

O.

“Please don’t ever stop fucking me.”

L.

“You’re the only one I need.”

L.

“You’re the only one I want.”

A.

“I just want to please you.”

N.

“You’re so fucking hot.”

D.

“I can’t wait until you’re inside me again.”

E.

“I love being yours.”

The R bunched up in his fist as he came in his boyfriend’s mouth. Shane said, “I fucking love you,” through clenched teeth as he rode it out.

Ilya swallowed, just like he wanted, then rested his head on Shane’s upper thigh.

Shane stroked Ilya’s hair with one hand, and with the other he ran his fingers over his name written across his boyfriend’s back.

***

Ilya Rozanov never wanted to take this tee shirt off. When he put it on yesterday morning, he thought it would get a rise out of Shane. But as soon as he had it on, it became his favorite shirt. Maybe his favorite thing.

He couldn’t, or maybe wouldn’t, explain it to Shane but wearing the shirt made him feel closer to him. It felt like a gesture towards their future, which, just a few days ago, didn’t seem possible. He felt like he was wearing his favorite band’s tee shirt to their concert and asking for an autograph. Ilya was literally wearing his heart on his sleeve. He was Shane Hollander’s biggest fangirl.

And he could tell Shane loved it. All day, Shane pulled and pawed at the shirt. He caressed Ilya’s abs through it. He grabbed Ilya’s biceps. He constantly nuzzled his precious face, his freckles, all over it, inhaling deeply and smelling himself all over Ilya. They were deep in the throes of something primal.

Then Shane made him take it off. Yuna and David were coming for dinner and Shane claimed it would be too much. Ilya thought that David catching them making out was already more than too much, and suspected Shane’s request had more to do with his own reaction to the shirt than anything Yuna or David would think. But Ilya would oblige. Shane’s comfort above all else.

But the minute they were out the door, after making plans to see them one more time before Ilya departed, the shirt was back on. Shane was still locking up in the time it took Ilya to change.

He hasn’t removed it since. Not that they’ve done much since except make out in bed and sleep.

The day started hours ago but they hadn’t gotten up for breakfast, they just cuddled and dozed. Ilya thought Shane was asleep on his chest until he said, “I’m sorry about my parents.”

“Sorry? Why sorry?”

“I just didn’t think we’d have to share any of our time here. Obviously. And now the time is slipping away and we have to share it.”

Ilya patted Shane’s head to move so he could turn on his side and face him, once again almost nose to nose. “Do not be sorry.” He laid a hand on Shane’s cheek. “We have been alone in this for too long. I think your parents…I think it is very good thing. We are going to need a community. When I leave, I will be happy to know you aren’t alone anymore.”

Those eyes were filling up with tears again. My sensitive boyfriend, Ilya thought. Does anyone else in his life know how much he cries? Or is this just for me, too, he wondered. “But I don’t want you to be alone either.”

“I won’t be. You, and Yuna, and David, are just a text away now.”

Shane smiled. “You want to text with my dad?”

“It will be so boring, I cannot wait.”

Shane draped a leg over Ilya and pulled him closer. He stroked one of Ilya’s eyebrows. “Tell me something funny.”

“What you mean, I am always funny, you just don’t appreciate.”

“Hey. I appreciate. I mean something funny about this. About us.”

Ilya looked up at the ceiling, and then around the room and out the windows that surrounded them. “Well. Being here is weird.”

“Weird, like bad?”

“No, no. More like surreal. I watched that segment about you and this place like 100,000 times.”

“You did?” Shane was grinning.

“Yes! I couldn’t stop.” Ilya rearranged his face in an attempt to do a North American accent and flung his arms out wide, gesturing around. “But this is Shane Hollander’s fortress of solitude. Here in Eastern Quebec is the house he had built on a private lake.”

Shane grabbed Ilya’s arms to put them down, but he was laughing. “Shut up, stop it, and that accent is terrible.”

“No, no, but this next part is so good.” Ilya stopped for a moment, remembering and trying to get the cadence exactly right. “It’s my favorite place on Earth? You said it like a question, like you weren’t sure if it was actually your favorite place on Earth or not.”

Shane looked at Ilya with a bit of reverence. “Well I am sure. Now.”

“And I would replay you doing yoga over and over and over. It was pathetic. One time, Svetlana caught me. I tried to act all cool about it but don’t think it worked.”

Shane propped himself up on one elbow. “One time, I was like 15 minutes late—”

Ilya gave an exaggerated gasp. “Shane Hollander was late?”

“Yes. To lunch with my parents. Because I was watching videos of you online.”

Ilya beamed. “You get hard?”

“Extremely. Always. It’s annoying.”

“Maybe to you but I love this about you.” Ilya reached down and rubbed the front of Shane’s underwear. Shane let out a sigh. Ilya had another story. He hoped that by laughing and smiling and rubbing Shane’s dick, Shane would not feel tense or worried about it. “I stubbed my toe.”

“What?”

“I stubbed my freaking toe. At the gym, with my team. The TV was on and they were talking about you and Rose and I got so angry I stubbed my toe getting off my bike.” Ilya couldn’t stop laughing now. “It hurt like a motherfucker and I yelled. Everyone saw it, everyone heard it. And it was the only time, in all these years, I thought oh fuck, they can see it. They can see I am in love with you.”

Luckily, Shane was smiling. “I thought Scott Hunter knew. I mean, maybe he does for all I know.”

“Why you think that?”

“I don’t know if you know about this,” Shane started, and once again Ilya was confident he would know about whatever it was. “But I got into a fight with Hunter one time. After the buzzer, even.”

Yes, Ilya did know about this and has always been insanely curious about it. Very unlikely behavior from both of them. “About what?”

“I taunted him about something, just trash talk. I think I called him old. And he said, ‘You’re starting to sound like him.’ I lost it. And it was probably a bad move that I didn’t bother to ask who he meant.”

Ilya’s dick strained against his underwear. He rolled Shane over and climbed on top of him. “God, that is so hot.” He covered Shane’s neck in kisses. He lingered there long enough to leave a mark.

“Which part?”

Ilya had kissed down to one of Shane’s perfect nipples. He licked it. “That you sounded like me. That I rubbed off on you. That someone noticed it.”

Shane was playing with his hair as Ilya kept kissing and licking. Then he said, “Is THIS weird?”

Ilya stopped what he was doing. “Is what weird?”

“I don’t know. That we can’t have a conversation without fucking each other after?”

Ilya sat back up. “Hollander, are you asking me if it’s weird that two people, who are in love, who never get to be alone together, share their emotions, feel closer, and then want to fuck about it?”

Shane was smiling. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Ok then no, is not weird. What else were we going to do here besides talk and fuck?” Ilya was about to dive back in and pick up where he left off when Shane started laughing.

“Wait, wait. I have one more.” Shane’s hands flew to his face to hide it, laughing through them.

“Oh I can’t wait, this one looks good. Tell me. Put your hands down.”

Shane did as he was told, which riled Ilya up even more.

“Do you remember 1410?” Shane asked.

Did Ilya remember the hotel room number where he first got to touch, and kiss, and taste Shane Hollander? That number was tattooed on Ilya’s heart.

To Shane, he just said, “Of course.”

“I was so nervous. Terrified, really. I changed my clothes like three times while I waited for you. And at one point…I had on a suit. Like a full suit. With a tie and everything.”

Ilya Rozanov erupted into gales of laughter. He fell off his boyfriend back into the bed. He held his belly. He had never heard something so wonderful in his life. His eyes were watering. “Oh my god. You got dressed up for me.”

Shane’s perfect face appeared above his. It was pink with embarrassment and laughter. “What would you have done? Sometimes I think about it and shudder. What in the world was I thinking?”

“You were thinking you wanted to look nice for your first time with a man.” As for what Ilya would have done…he tried to picture it. 19 year-old Shane Hollander opening his hotel room door in a full suit and tie. And dress shoes. “I would have devoured you whole. I would not have been able to resist. There would have been nothing left of you.” He brushed Shane’s cheek again. Then did a backwards summersault out of the bed.

Shane was looking up at him. “Where are you going?” There was a slight whine to his voice, which Ilya found painfully hot.

“Do you have a suit here?”

“What? I mean, sure, probably.”

“Find it. I will make breakfast.”

“Why?”

“What you mean why? I missed out on this. Now I need to see it. And then I will fuck you.”

“You’ve seen me in a suit before. And a tuxedo. And naked.”

Ilya moved back towards the bed and grabbed his boyfriend’s face in one hand, which made Shane’s lips pout in a way that made Ilya salivate. “What were all those things you said to me yesterday? Hm? That I’m the only one you want?” he started Shane off.

“You’re the only one I need,” Shane said, looking up directly into Ilya’s eyes.

“Mmhm. What else?”

“That I can’t wait until you’re inside of me again. That I just want to please you. That I love being yours.”

“Exactly. Remember that. Now go find a suit.”

Ilya released Shane’s face, turned around, and walked toward the kitchen.

Another thing Ilya would never admit: it was more difficult than he’d like to walk away from Shane. It was more paranoia than anything. Even though he knew, he KNEW Shane loved this, Ilya always momentarily feared he walked away too quickly, acted too mean, pushed Shane away instead of pulling him close. This paranoia had been more acute since Tampa. Prior to that, he already found out what it was like to lose Shane Hollander. Now that he knew what it was like to get Shane Hollander back, and then some, he didn’t think he could ever take losing him again.

Ilya started pulling out smoothie ingredients when he finally heard Shane get up and start padding around to rooms Ilya had not yet bothered to look in. He breathed a sigh of relief only the kale could hear.

Since arriving to the cottage, these were some of his favorite moments. He loved the fucking, he never wanted it to stop, but he often found himself swooning at the sound of Shane simply existing in another part of the house.

Ilya ran the blender. When he turned it off, he heard Shane call for him.

“What?” Ilya called back.

“Come to our bedroom, I want to show you something!”

Ilya blushed at the use of “our.” “No, come out here! I made smoothies. No food in the bedroom, remember?”

No response. Ilya gulped his smoothie down while he waited.

Shane appeared, still clad only in his tight little boxer briefs. Ilya grabbed him by his hips, pulled him close, spun him around, and boosted him onto the counter. He grabbed Shane’s cup and held the metal straw up to Shane’s lips.

Shane wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist and pulled him in. “You’re feeding me now?”

“Yes. Drink.”

Shane let Ilya hold the cup and drank it down until there was nothing but a sluurrrp at the bottom. Ilya took his boyfriend’s face in both hands and kissed him. Shane grabbed at the shirt again and balled it up in his fists.

“Okay,” Ilya said, pulling away. “What did you want to show me?”

They walked hand in hand to Shane’s their bedroom. The shades were up, light poured in, and a garment bag hung from the closet door. Shane had made the bed so professionally that a military man or maid at a 5-star hotel would ask for pointers. In the middle of the bed was a stack of neatly folded shirts in varying shades of blue and red.

“I found these,” Shane said. “I thought maybe you might want them.”

Ilya sat on the bed and started looking through the stack. Metros tee shirts from over the years. Slightly different fonts, subtle changes to the logo. Different slogans. Each with “Hollander” and “24” on them. He felt warm all over.

He held one up that looked especially small. “Is this from when you were a kid?”

Shane scratched the back of his head. “I mean, technically. That’s my first ever. From rookie year. I’ve, uh, gotten bigger since then.”

Ilya set that one aside, got up and dumped out his suitcase onto the floor. He placed the stack of tee shirts inside.

“You can leave some of your clothes here if you don’t have room. If you want.” Shane looked sheepish.

“I want. I don’t know what I’m going to do with these but I want them very much, thank you. I can’t exactly wear them out and about. Maybe I put them in safe and only take them out when I’m lonely or horny.”

“So, they’ll never be in the safe, then?” Shane cracked.

Electricity. They both moved towards the bed, then, meeting in the middle, mouths clashing, limbs tumbling. After what seemed like an eternity of saliva and grabbing and grinding, Shane said, “I need you to fuck me.”

Ilya pulled back, slapped Shane’s stomach and said, “Get changed.” On his way out the door, he grabbed the rookie season shirt.

He wanted to leave Shane to his own devices to get changed. He wanted the full effect of being startled by the sight he missed out on in 1410. He pulled off his current shirt and pulled on the rookie season shirt. Shane was right. He’d gotten bigger. This one strained at all the seams and showed off every single one of Ilya’s hard-earned muscles.

While he waited for Shane, Ilya wondered if this was healthy. They were playing some sort of regression game since they returned from Yuna and David’s, poking around in and recontextualizing the past when they finally had the opportunity to start figuring out their future. But no…maybe they weren’t regressing.

Maybe they were repairing.

Shane was correct, as always. They needed to go back before they could move forward. The gaps in their history left unattended would decay into cavities.

The door to their bedroom opened and out walked Ilya Rozanov’s boyfriend. Shane had on a tailored black suit and white collared shirt. His blue tie was perfectly knotted. The black leather dress shoes looked like they’d never been worn. He was even wearing cufflinks.

Shane Hollander did not do anything halfway.

Shane smirked at Ilya and leaned a shoulder against the bedroom door frame. Posing for all those cologne and watch ads really paid off.

Ilya was definitely startled, just not in the way he expected. He felt like everything was happening in slow-motion; the energy felt askew from the norm. This was not the nervous, 19-year old Shane Hollander he propositioned in a shower stall. This was the man he slowly watched grow up. The man who confidently sat next to him at a barstool in Tampa. The man who boldly asked for Ilya’s room number even after everything that had happened. The man who he could now fuck with abandon.

Ilya Rozanov ran to Shane Hollander.

Their chests collided and Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya as their mouths met, shoving his hands up the back of Ilya’s shirt and digging his nails into Ilya’s back. Ilya walked Shane backwards towards the bed, already starting to tug off Shane’s jacket. Shane allowed it to be thrown on the floor and Ilya would watch him pick it up later, after they were done with each other.

Shane heeled off his shoes without breaking contact with Ilya’s lips. Ilya was frantically unbuttoning Shane’s shirt. He didn’t want it off, just open. He loosened Shane’s tie. He pulled Shane’s hair. He felt like a man possessed.

Ilya pushed Shane down and pulled off the suit pants and underwear. He pushed Shane’s knees up towards his shoulders while Shane was whispering, “I need you, I want you” under his breath. He held his own knees in place, displaying himself for Ilya.

Ilya shoved his fingers into Shane’s mouth and let Shane suck on them for a minute before using those fingers to start opening his boyfriend up.

“Yes, Ilya. Thank you.” Shane’s back arched when Ilya got two fingers in. “Fuck, that feels so fucking good.”

Shane was alone on the bed. Ilya was standing over him while he worked his hand inside. “Not as good as my cock will feel, though, right?”

“Nothing feels as good as that.”

Ilya withdrew his hand and pulled down his underwear. He knew Shane was anticipating getting fucked. And he would get fucked. But first, Ilya needed a taste of his favorite meal.

He knelt down and licked his boyfriend. Shane moaned. Ilya stuck his tongue in farther and Shane responded by cupping the back of his head and pushing him even deeper. Shane started grinding on Ilya’s face. Ilya guessed they were both getting face fucked this week. For a moment, Ilya couldn’t breathe but it didn’t matter. He’d found the cure for mortality and it was here in Shane Hollander’s ass.

Ilya lost track of time. He could have been tongue-fucking Shane Hollander for two minutes or two hours. He got lost in the rhythm, the taste, and the background noise of his boyfriend unleashing a monologue of smut somewhere above his head. Ilya was learning now that when his mouth was occupied, Shane would talk. Ilya tried to remember it all to remind Shane of later.

“My ass belongs to you…I never want you to stop fucking me…put your tongue in farther…I want you to eat me alive…I never stop thinking about you…I never stop wondering when your dick will be inside me again…I dream about it and wake up soaked…I wanna bathe in your come…I wanna drown in it. Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.”

He only came back to Earth when Shane quieted and he felt one of his legs move out of position and gently, but purposely, jab a heel into Ilya’s ribs.

Ilya extricated himself from his boyfriend’s ass. He stood up and over Shane. He grabbed the hem of Shane’s crisp white shirt and wiped his face on it. My bossy bottom boyfriend, Ilya thought with pride.

“I need you to fuck me,” Shane gasped.

“What was that? I cannot hear you,” Ilya said.

“I need you to fuck me,” Shane said louder.

Ilya was getting in position and lifting Shane’s ass off the bed, throwing his legs over Ilya’s shoulders. “One more time.”

“I need you to f—”, Shane Hollander practically screamed as Ilya Rozanov entered him.

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Shane sighed, and smiled.

Ilya had never fucked anyone harder. He was standing all the way up, bracing an arm over Shane’s thighs to hold him in place. He was holding Shane up so Shane didn’t have to work at all. Shane’s arms were flung back, there was nothing for him to hold on to, or do, as Ilya pounded into him. He just needed to lay there and take it. And he took it. So. Well. After hours of build up, this was going to be over fast.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yes,” Shane moaned. “I want to feel you leaking out of me later.”

No one would believe the filthy things that came out of that angelic face. Shane got his wish.

Ilya collapsed on top of his boyfriend just as Shane was coming. Ilya could feel Shane’s dick spasming between them. Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s back and squeezed. They lay there, breathing heavily, loath to move from where they were. Ilya did not want to remove himself from Shane — he wanted to live inside of him. But he couldn’t stay; his boyfriend needed attention.

The first thing Ilya did after gently pulling himself out was crawl next to Shane and stroke his damp hair and kiss his forehead. “You did so good,” he murmured between kisses, getting Shane’s sweat on his lips and licking it off. “I love you so much.”

“I am so in love with you,” Shane whispered back, and Ilya could see the tears building up on Shane’s lashes. He did his best to wipe them away.

“Can you sit up? I want to clean you up.”

He helped Shane sit up and as he pulled the shirt and tie off of him, Shane said, “It’s a shame we ruined that shirt. You look fucking hot in it.”

Ilya looked down. The front of the shirt was one big wet stain. “This? This is not ruined. I take it home and jerk off in it when I miss you. It has a long and busy life ahead of it. Come on, let’s get in the shower.”

Ilya ran the shower and stripped off the rest of whatever either of them still had on. He let Shane in first, and followed. They held onto each other tightly under the stream.

***

Shane Hollander was still experiencing a lot of firsts, the most surprising of which was sex fatigue. Only wanting to fuck one person, and only being able to do so for a few hours at a time every few months, a few times a year, meant it never occurred to him that a time would arise when his body needed a break.

But almost 48 hours had passed since he put on that suit for Ilya without an orgasm between them. They were depleted.

Shane and Ilya were currently curled up on the couch under a blanket watching the rain. The rain had started the night he wore the suit and hadn’t stopped. Shane had bolted upright that night at the sound of thunder and once he was awake, he noticed a glow and tinny sound coming from Ilya’s side of the bed. Ilya was out like a light (Shane cursed his ability to sleep through anything) but his phone screen was on and running a video on loop. Shane picked it up to turn it off and saw his own face, screaming at Scott Hunter. Over and over again. Shane fell back asleep smiling, but since then, he would occasionally hear the sound of that clip start playing from random areas of the house. Ilya was watching it constantly.

He loved the sounds of Ilya haunting his house.

Without sex, and without the ability to go outside, Shane felt like he and Ilya were working on a very important part of their relationship: Friendship and cohabitation.

They played video games. Ilya attempted to teach Shane a complicated Russian card game called Durak, but Shane asked too many questions rather than just trying to muddle through it and Ilya got frustrated. Shane told Ilya he’d never played beer pong and Ilya immediately cleared off the dining table so they could play a round.

“Do you have plastic cups? Like red cups?”

“No, I try not to buy disposable stuff.”

“Of course you don’t. Do you have ping pong balls?”

“No, Ilya. I don’t have a ping pong table and I’ve never played beer pong so no, I don’t have ping pong balls.”

“Ok do you have beer?”

“Yes, we have beer.”

“Great, go find something that can work for cups, and something that can work for ball.”

Which is how they found themselves playing beer pong with plastic champagne flutes left over from some event his parents threw at the cottage and a golf ball. Shane was terrible at it, got tipsy, and had to take a nap. Ilya covered him with a blanket.

In between, they kissed. They held each other. Ilya loaded the dishwasher and Shane picked up the socks his boyfriend seemed to leave in random places. They brushed their teeth standing side by side in the bathroom, staring at each other’s reflection in the mirror.

Ilya was working his way through that stack of Metros shirts and today’s was red, with the Metros logo on the back and “Hollander/24” written in blue on the front pocket. Right over his heart. Shane reached over and put his hand on it, and Ilya covered it with his own.

They had also taken a break from serious conversation because serious conversation led to sex, but now, hand on hand, under a blanket while a storm raged outside, Ilya said, “I thought of word while we were fucking the other day. It kept popping in my head and I wasn’t sure if it was right so I looked it up.”

Shane kissed his boyfriend’s temple. “What word?”

“Possessed.”

“Like, demons? Or like, I own this lamp, this lamp is my possession?”

“Both, maybe.” Ilya felt around for his phone somewhere in the tangle of their blankets and bodies, tapped on it for a minute and held it up to Shane’s face.

Shane read. Possessed. Controlled or overwhelmingly influenced by something (such as an evil spirit, a passion, or an idea.); Urgently wanting to do or have something.

Shane got butterflies. “And you kept thinking this while you were fucking me?”

Ilya looked up into Shane’s face now. “Yes. I am possessed. By you.”

Shane was overwhelmed. Every time he thought he had wrapped his head around everything — that Ilya Rozanov loved him, that they were no longer completely alone together, that they were starting the work of building a future — some new piece of information would knock him back on his ass. He studied Ilya’s face, the cheekbones and lips he couldn’t get enough of, the sea-glass eyes, and couldn’t comprehend that such a creature was undone by him. That Ilya Rozanov was possessed by Shane Hollander.

Some days, Shane still felt like a little boy compared to Ilya, who looked like a Greek god. He often had a hard time seeing the man he’d become — the man that Ilya saw the other day in the suit, for example.

But today was not one of those days. He kissed Ilya, tongue first, and his body signaled it was ready to be loved again. He too was possessed. Ilya had come up with the perfect word. Shane felt inhabited, and wondered if Ilya was an evil spirit, a passion, or an idea. The thought made him smile in his boyfriend’s mouth.

Shane Hollander had never once considered getting a tattoo but now he could see himself with the word “possessed” scrawled over his fractured collarbone. He was about to say as much to Ilya when Ilya stopped kissing first.

“I wanted to say…” He brushed Shane’s cheek for the 1,000th time that was also never enough times. “I had thought that word before. With you.”

Ilya looked slightly sad and it put Shane on edge. Because Ilya didn’t have to say it. Shane knew what he meant. “At your house?” Ilya nodded. Shane started to back up a bit, to give himself space but Ilya reached for him. “Hey. Hey. I’m not leaving.” He took Ilya’s hand back in his own. “I just want to sit up and focus. If we’re going to talk about this.”

“We are going to talk about this.”

But then he fell silent and Shane wanted to fill the silence. “Ilya, I’m sorry, I—”

“No, please, don’t apologize again. That is not why I am bringing this up. I know you are sorry. But I have never apologized to you. Or explained. And I think I need to in order to…repair.”

“Repair?”

“Fix. Heal.” Ilya pointed to his own heart. He pointed to the “Hollander/24.” “Remember I told you, all those years ago, that that commercial shoot was my idea?”

Shane nodded. He’d never inquired about that further but for once, ultimately felt like he didn’t need it explained. He accepted that Ilya Rozanov had manufactured a scenario to try and get him into bed and then refused to interrogate the implication beyond that. Too scary.

“Ok well, when I want something, I am planner.”

“That’s so hot.”

“Oh shut up. Planning fetish too? Want me to show you my Trapper Keeper full of ideas?”

“Why do you know what a Trapper Keeper is?”

“Lisa Frank. I am not from the moon.”

To Shane, Ilya Rozanov may as well have been from Jupiter. “Okay, okay, please go on, Ilya.”

“Anyways, I planned that day. At my house.” Ilya was clutching Shane’s hand tightly. “I knew we had no morning practice. I knew we had the whole day and night. I prepared food. I got you ginger ale. And I was afraid to act like any of this was a big deal, that me asking you to stay was a big deal, because I didn’t want to scare you off. But it was. A big deal. For me.” He let out a breath.

Shane processed. This is what he’d been waiting to hear. Knowing something and KNOWING something are two different things.

“And then,” Ilya continued, “On the couch. That was the first time I felt completely possessed by you. Or had the word for it, anyway. I felt like I’d totally lost control of myself and given it all over to you. I thought ‘Shane Hollander has finally claimed me.’ ‘Shane Hollander has finally taken what is rightfully his.’ Shane. Hollander. Shane. And then you ran away.”

Shane looked up at the ceiling and blinked away tears. He understood the pain he caused that day, for both of them, but had no idea how to heal it. But this time, instead of wondering, he just asked. “What can I…what do you need from me to repair this, as you said? What can I do to make it up to you?”

Ilya now took Shane’s other hand in his. They were sitting crossed legged on the couch facing each other, holding both hands. “I want…no. I need to know. What would have made you stay? I need to know where I went wrong.”

Ilya’s eyes were filling up with tears and Shane’s heart was breaking. He wanted to lean in and cover Ilya in kisses, but he knew that was not what Ilya needed right now. Because Ilya told him what he needed, clearly and concisely.

Shane cleared his throat to stop himself from crying. “This is really hard, Ilya. I don’t…” The crying happened anyway. Ilya now tried to reach out to Shane, but Shane didn’t let him. “No, it’s okay. You don’t need to comfort me right now.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know that anything could have made me stay. There was no one place where you went wrong. I think that one thing, or another, would have made me freak out and leave. Because I was freaked out! And I don’t think I was as evolved as you were in my feelings, yet. But,” Shane had to clear his throat again, “I am realizing that something that would have probably helped is you being a bit more direct about your intentions.”

“More direct? About my intention to keep you all night and fuck you more? I thought I was pretty direct.”

“Ilya. Stop. Listen to what you’re saying. You’re contradicting what you JUST said. Even when we were talking about this in Tampa, you were still all ‘we fuck, is simple’ when that was clearly the farthest thing from the truth. You made a plan, you made me food, you wanted to cuddle on the couch and watch TV, it felt REMARKABLY different than usual. Fuck, I’m not even sure I’d seen you eat before. I kept taking my cues from you but I had no idea what was going on. Part of me thought I was being fucked with.”

“Fucked with, Hollander? You thought I was just toying with you? For what purpose?”

“I don’t know!” Now Shane Hollander released his boyfriend’s hands and stood up. One look at Ilya’s face and he immediately regretted it. “Sorry, sorry. I’m here. I just…need a minute. Let me pace.”

Ilya Rozanov rested his head on his fist and watched his boyfriend pace. Why was the tangled knot of this day so fucking hard to talk about? It seemed to Ilya that what Shane was saying he had needed was for Ilya to admit his feelings first, clearly and out loud. “Why, Shane. Why did you need me to go first? Why did you need me to spell out that I wanted to hang out with you? Provide for you? Sleep in a bed with you? Be with you, in a situation that did not involve sex all the time? When that was so clearly what was happening?”

Shane stopped in his tracks. “Because! You always went first. You made the first move. And the second. And the third. You’re in control here, remember? And then you changed the rules without explaining them.”

Now Ilya stood up and laughed just a little meanly, though he wished he hadn’t. “I am not in control. I may own your dick, but your brain and your heart belong to you. You ignored texts. You avoided fucking me for TWO YEARS. And then when you were about to walk out and I asked you not to do this, you did it anyways. I am not in control.”

Shane’s eyes blazed. “I was terrified! I was terrified that if I let myself stay there, and enjoy being with you, and enjoy sleeping with you, I would fall even harder, and then it would turn out this wasn’t what you wanted, or I misread the signals, or you didn’t care quite enough to maneuver this shitstorm we’re about to maneuver. I would never recover. My heart would never recover.”

Ilya relaxed. “Shane…” he said calmly. “Can you believe, can you please try to believe, that I felt exactly the same way? Completely separate from the issues with my family, with Russia? That was factor, yes. Of course. Archrivals? Sure, huge issue. But beneath all of that bullshit was the very basic fear that you would reject me. That you didn’t like me the way I liked you. That I was still just a curiosity for you. A novelty. That you wouldn’t want to sit on my couch and eat a fucking sandwich and hang out with me. I am asshole, remember?”

Shane Hollander felt his face change. He felt the tension drop away. They were both so fucking stupid. They had big problems. Huge roadblocks. A million tightropes to walk to reach each other. But at the end of the day, they were both little boys terrified of rejection.

Shane closed the distance that had grown between him and his boyfriend. He held Ilya’s face in his hands and said, “I’m sorry. I believe you. We were stupid and irresponsible to fall in love. And we were stupid and irresponsible with each other’s hearts. But we won’t be anymore. We’re having a fight we should have had eight months ago. Or five years ago. Now will you sit back down, please?”

Ilya dropped back to the couch and tried to pull Shane with him, but Shane sunk to the ground in front of Ilya. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and laid his face in Ilya’s lap. He nuzzled and kissed Ilya’s length through his shorts. “I want a do-over,” he said.

Ilya bunched Shane’s hair into a fist and pulled his head back to look in his face. “What do you mean?”

“Ask me to stay, again.”

“Shane.”

“Ask me to stay.” Shane Hollander wasn’t playing a game. He was trying to mend. Repair. Heal.

Ilya watched the lightning outside for a minute before saying, “Shane…it won’t be the same.”

Shane smiled up at him. He absolutely did not want it to be the same. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Ilya smiled back and studied him. He pulled Shane’s hair harder. “Stay. Please. Possess me again.”

That was all Shane Hollander needed to hear. He slithered up into Ilya Rozanov’s lap and straddled him. He loved the feeling of Ilya’s massive thighs between his legs. He loved the feeling of Ilya’s neck beneath his hand. He pulled Ilya’s face closer and kissed him like he was trying to devour his soul. It was all tongue and lips and nose and spit. It was all biting and sucking. He ground his hardon into Ilya’s abs. Ilya stuck his hand down the back of Shane’s pants. “Fuck, Shane,” he said directly into Shane’s mouth.

Shane tipped his boyfriend’s head back to look in his eyes while he pulled down the waistband of Ilya’s shorts and said, “I’ll never leave you again, Ilya.” He began stroking Ilya firmly but slowly. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I never want to hurt you again.” He kissed Ilya’s forehead and sped up.

Ilya’s breath was picking up. He was looking at Shane intently. Shane adjusted himself so his pants could come down just enough. He was free.

What Shane wanted, more than anything, was to see the moment in Ilya’s eyes that he lost himself, that he gave himself over to Shane and this time, Shane wouldn’t miss it. Before they left the cottage, Shane wanted to locate every fracture created during the last nine years and spackle over it with come and saliva and sweat. He wanted to build something stronger than their bones so that when the outside world trampled on them, the spine of their love wouldn’t break. Their wounds would knit together to form iron.

Shane Hollander is someone who learned from his mistakes.

He took both of them in his hand and Ilya’s head flopped back on the couch. Ilya’s eyes closed in pleasure but Shane said, “Look at me, please.”

If there was any part of Ilya Rozanov he hadn’t already given over to Shane Hollander, it was now gone. Shane watched it die as he said, “You were wrong, before. My heart very much belongs to you, and only you. I wish you could wear my name on you every single day so that you remember you’re mine just as much as I’m yours. Open your mouth.”

Ilya did as he was told. He watched his boyfriend hover over his face, just short of a kiss, while lightning flashed behind Shane’s head and thunder rolled. The wind was howling.

Reality warped as Shane Hollander pushed a pool of spit from between his slutty, pouty lips and let it drop into Ilya Rozanov’s mouth.

Ilya swallowed it and wanted more. He wondered how much spit and semen and blood and tears and sweat he’d have to consume in order for Shane Hollander to be part of every molecule in his body. He wanted Shane Hollander to seep out of every one of his pores. He wanted to suck Shane Hollander dry.

He growled and felt like an animal. Possessed.

Now there was no breathless kissing, or grabbing, or grasping. They were forehead to forehead, eyes open. Ilya wanted to watch Shane watch him come.

“Now,” Shane said, and put his free hand on the back of Ilya’s neck, “Say my name and come for me.”

Ilya Rozanov felt like he was reciting a prayer. “Shane,” he whispered. Shane’s hand worked harder. “Shane. Shane. Shane Shane Shane ShaneShaneShaneShaneShane—”

Shane Hollander couldn’t contain himself. As soon as Ilya spilled and he saw the look of frozen pleasure in his boyfriend’s eyes, he let himself go, never breaking eye contact.

Shane removed his hand, now covered in the evidence of their love, and wrapped it in Ilya Rozanov’s hair. “Claimed. Marked. I love you, and I’m sorry.”

Ilya repeated it back. “Claimed. Marked. I love you, and I’m sorry.”

They had exorcised the demon of that day. The wound was closed and would heal back stronger.

Shane Hollander rolled off his boyfriend’s lap and settled back next to him on the couch. He pulled the blanket back up and rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder.

They watched the storm outside.

***

The rain persisted and so did their lust-tinged love for one another. They decided to clean whatever room they fucked in.

A blow job on the counter meant the kitchen got cleaned. Shane insisted on being the one to take the trash out in the rain. When he returned, his boyfriend was waiting for him with a towel.

A casual, almost bored hand job in the TV room meant Ilya vacuumed all the popcorn kernels and crumbs out of the couch. He got in every crevice.

Shane was desperate to dismantle the nest they’d built in the living room, but Ilya wouldn’t let him do so without first throwing Shane over the arm of the couch and fucking him from behind. They barely took off any clothing.

They agreed to tackle the laundry together. Everything they had touched in the house needed to be washed.

Ilya Rozanov had never thought about what Shane Hollander’s laundry room might look like (it wasn’t shown in the feature on Hollander and his cottage), but if he had, this would probably be it. It was all chrome and dark wood. The lighting was moody. It was full of beautiful plants, unlit candles, and two comfy-looking leather chairs. Shane had invested in not one, but two sets of washers and dryers.

“Why do I feel like I’m in spa and not laundry room? Why do you have two of everything? When you designed this did you imagine doing sex laundry with your boyfriend?”

By the sound of Shane Hollander’s “Fuck off,” Ilya decided it was a distinct possibility.

They each loaded a washer and pushed the leather chairs together so they could face each other, their feet in the other one’s lap.

“We see my parents again tomorrow,” Shane said. “And then a couple more days…”

Ilya didn’t want to think about it. “But not yet. Not now.”

Shane nodded.

There was one more thing Ilya Rozanov really wanted to ask his boyfriend. One missing piece that would help complete the picture of how they ended up right here, right now. But he was nervous. And didn’t know how to phrase it.

“I have something I want to ask you,” he started.

Shane smiled. “Why yes, Ilya, I WILL be your boyfriend.” He batted his eyelashes. Ilya felt his Shane smile. He loved it when his boyfriend was funny. Rare, but magic when it happened. “No, but seriously. Please, ask. I have something I want to ask you too.” Shane gave his foot a squeeze.

“I don’t exactly know how to ask. But. You changed. What changed?”

Shane’s eyebrows knit into a question mark. “When?”

“I don’t know exactly when. I guess that is my question. Let me explain from my view. The last time I see you, you leave me alone on my couch covered in my own come.” Neither of them bristled, a testament to their healing process. “Then, you date movie star. Then you hire stylist, apparently. Then you show up in Tampa, tell me you don’t want to be managed that weekend while fucking me with your eyes, tell me you’re gay, and well now here we are, being extremely gay all over your beautiful cottage. I want to know what happened between you walking out my door, and you sitting next to me on the barstool of confidence.”

Shane did not mince words when he said, “Rose Landry happened.” Now Ilya bristled. Shane nudged Ilya’s leg with his own. “Hey. It’s okay. I owe a lot to Rose.” Shane took a breath. “She clocked me.”

Ilya choked on his own spit. “Rose Landry punched you?”

Shane’s eyes got wide. “WHAT? No. No, no. God, no, Rose didn’t punch me. She clocked me as in, she spotted me.” Ilya still felt confused. “She figured out I was gay. She knew it before I even knew it.”

This is not exactly what Ilya expected. Based on what Shane had said previously, he assumed that when Shane couldn’t get it up for someone as hot as Rose Landry, he put two and two together. But Ilya has been learning that he barely grasped the depths of confusion and denial Shane Hollander had been living in for god knows how long. Ilya’s situation was different. Ilya had the pressure of Russia, his family, and MLH. But he always felt comfortable with who he was and what he wanted at any given moment. He was self-possessed. Until Shane.

Shane was operating under a different set of circumstances, and that is something Ilya took for granted all these years.

“Will you tell me more? About that?” Ilya asked gently.

Shane nodded. “After the second comically bad attempt at sex, we went out to dinner and she started asking me some questions.”

Ilya could tell Shane was getting nervous. He got slightly more fidgety. He was pulling on a string on Ilya’s sock. “What kind of questions?”

“She was telling me her friend Miles was gay, and asked if there were any gay hockey players. I totally clammed up. I didn’t know why she was asking.”

Ilya closed his eyes briefly, feeling the anxiety his boyfriend must have felt in the moment. Anxiety aside, Ilya couldn’t help himself. “Is now good time to tell you I saw Miles in the club? He made eyes at me.”

Shane smiled. “Can you blame him?” Now they beamed at each other. “Anyways. She just eventually sort of said she suspected I’d rather be kissing Miles, and that the sex wasn’t a problem, because it wasn’t something that could be fixed. I didn’t say much. But the part that really…changed things…for me is…she asked me if I’d ever been with a man.”

Ilya squeezed Shane’s foot now. “Did you tell her?”

Shane nodded. “I did. I said yes. It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done in my life. Maybe second only to driving to my parents house last week. Giving you my room number in that locker room was easy by comparison.”

“I have told you. You are brave. You are one of the bravest people I have ever met.”

They took another smiling and staring break. “After I said yes, she was, like, calmly asking me if it was different, if it was better with a man and, Ilya, all I could see was you.” Shane’s eyes welled up, which made Ilya’s eyes well up. “Because it is so much different. And so much better. And that’s when I knew.”

Ilya felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Knew what?”

“That I was gay. And in love with you. And had been for some time. And I needed to get you back. It changed everything.”

The washing machines buzzed. Ilya wiped a tear from his cheek as they stood up. He pulled Shane into a hug. “I hope I can meet Rose someday,” he said into Shane’s ear. “So I can thank her.” They kissed. It was sweet and hopeful and full of love.

They parted and started switching the laundry in silence. Loads into dryers, loads into washers. Come-stained sheets and blankets, sticky Metros shirts.

“Okay,” Ilya said as they settled back into their comfy chairs, pulled even closer now so they could intertwine their limbs. “Thank you for sharing. You said you had question for me, too. Ask.”

Shane Hollander couldn’t have predicted Ilya’s question would dovetail so nicely with his own. It felt good to finally tell him about Rose. He hoped, at the very least, Ilya would stop acting jealous about her. There was no need. Shane Hollander only had eyes for Ilya Rozanov. “Okay yeah, um. So we say “I love you” a lot, as we should. And we say things like “NOW we are in love.” And when you were telling me about stubbing your toe, you said you were afraid everyone could see you were in love with me. And so, I guess…” Shane cleared his throat. “WHEN were we in love?”

Ilya stared at him for a long time, stroking Shane’s big toe with his thumb. Shane started to get nervous. But then Ilya spoke. “Do you know? The exact moment you fell in love with me? You said you knew after that conversation with Rose Landry. But that you had been for some time. Do you know?”

Shane had thought about this a lot. He believed Ilya would answer him so he didn’t want to point out that Ilya was deflecting the question back on Shane. Maybe Ilya needed Shane to answer first. Shane could give him that.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever know for sure, so much of it was so confusing for me. But when I think about what it feels like to love you and know that I love you, I think I can trace that feeling to Las Vegas.”

Ilya raised his eyebrows. “Rooftop, or Penthouse?”

Shane chuckled. “Penthouse. Well, and the bathroom before the penthouse. I was so fucking pissed at you before that. And then I just caved. In your presence, I just…fucking caved. I honestly didn’t know I had it in me to give up so easily. It felt humiliating, but eye-opening. And telling you I needed you for the first time felt humiliating. But there was a reason I felt humiliated. I didn’t completely understand it at the time. But I think I was in love with you.”

Ilya nodded. Shane couldn’t read his expression. It looked a bit sad, a bit worried, and a bit pleased all at the same time.

Shane watched his boyfriend take a deep breath and blow it out through puffed cheeks. “I have spent hours, maybe entire days trying to figure out when I fell in love with you,” Ilya started. “And honestly, Shane, some days I think maybe…maybe it was love at first sight the first time I saw those freckles.” Shane couldn’t process the amount of feelings he had at this suggestion so he just waited for Ilya to continue. He could tell, however, that he had the stupidest fucking grin on his face. “But then I would think…no. That is too easy. Love at first sight is too easy. What we have done is hard. I knew right away I needed to come on those freckles sometime, of course, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“So, I also don’t know that I will ever know for sure when I started loving you. But I will tell you that I knew I had problem after that first night at your apartment. Casual fucking did not feel like that for me. It felt different. I felt different. And when I left I felt like I still had part of you with me. And that part never went away.”

Shane could feel the tears stinging his eyes again. He tugged at his eyelashes. “I possessed you,” Shane whispered.

Ilya nodded once. He spoke quietly. “I am sorry I was not nicer to you in Vegas. Penthouse. I regret the way I treated you. It was very complicated.”

Shane scooted as close to his boyfriend as he could get and smoothed his hair. “I don’t want you to apologize to me anymore about the past. I know you’re sorry. I am too.”

They held each other silently for a minute before Ilya said, “There is something else I want you to know.”

Shane pulled back and held Ilya’s face in his hands. “Okay.”

Ilya started crying and Shane braced for whatever came next. “You woke me up to tell me your charity plan, your plan for our future, yes? And I told you I loved you.”

“Yes. I will never forget it, Ilya. What about it?”

“It was not first time. It was not first time I told you I loved you.”

Shane lost all his words. He just kept holding Ilya’s face and wiping his tears and searching his eyes. He replayed a million conversations, mentally scrolled through a million texts. He briefly wondered if “boring” was some sort of euphemism or meant something different in Russian.

Russian.

“Russian? Ilya, did you tell me in Russian?”

Ilya nodded furiously and batted away tears. “On the phone. After my father’s funeral.”

Shane got tunnel vision. He pulled Ilya close, he wrapped Ilya up in him. “Ilya, I didn’t know, Ilya, I’m so sorry. I need you to know I would have said it back.”

“Shane, Shane, I know you didn’t know. I didn’t want you to know. I wasn’t ready for you to know. But sometimes, after, I would get worried.”

“Worried?”

“That somehow you knew. That you picked something up or recognized something. Or attempted to translate. Or could just hear it in my fucking voice and knew what I was saying.”

Shane felt his eyes get wide. He held Ilya’s head firm and looked into his eyes. “Ilya. No. I need you to know, it is important to me that you know, I would never, ever do that. That was just for you. I was never going to ask about it again.” Ilya held his hands against Shane’s and nodded. “As for picking something up, the only thing I understood was “Svetlana.” And I was still never going to ask about it again, even after you said you could marry her. Ok?”

“Okey.” They embraced fiercely. For a while Shane could only hear the tumble of the dryer, Ilya sniffling in his ear, and the pounding of his own heart.

Shane pulled back to look at his boyfriend again. “Can I…would you be willing to tell me what you said?”

Ilya sniffed. “In Russian or in English?”

“In English, this time, please.”

“Of course. I will do anything for you.” Ilya Rozanov brushed Shane Hollander’s freckles. “I said that all I had was Svetlana. I said that I loved Svetlana. But not like I love you. I said that all I want is you. It is always you. And that I am so fucking in love with you and don’t know what to do about it.”

Shane Hollander’s heart cracked open. He kissed Ilya’s lips and cheeks and hair. He swallowed Ilya’s tears. He murmured, “I’m so fucking in love with you, I love you so much” to each pore on Ilya’s face.

After he thought he had accounted for every one, Shane stood up and reached a hand out to Ilya. “Will you take me to bed, please?”

Ilya grabbed his hand and stood up. “Always. But sheets are in dryer.”

“I have extras, Ilya.”

They started walking towards the bedroom hand in hand. The rain was stopping and the sun was peeking out. “Don’t you have like a million other beds we can use?”

“I do. But I want our bed.”

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov made the bed together. When it was done, they undressed each other slowly, taking their time. Ilya waited for Shane to fold his clothes.

They kissed.

As Shane’s boyfriend began touching him, he heard the sound of a lighter clicking. He heard a puck dropping. He felt the steam of a shower. He remembered the color of the bedspread in room 1410. He tasted vodka on his lips.

When Ilya entered his boyfriend’s perfect body, he saw the purple lights of a dance floor. He heard the sound of ice, under his feet and in a glass of ginger ale. He felt the slick plastic of a hotel key card. He saw a blue hoodie in a stairwell.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov broke and then healed each other. They rattled around in each other’s souls. Possessed.