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EXPLICIT: Russian Rockstar Ilya Rozanov Videoed Doing Drugs, Trashing Hotel Room At Four Seasons New York
U.S. Promoters Already Pulling Back From Ilya Rozanov’s “STARF*CKER” Tour After Viral Hotel Video
Is Russian Rockstar Ilya Rozanov’s North American Tour DOA?
kitta <3 ilya @ilyyaa_rozyy
istg nothing is hotter than ilya rozanov sweaty and destroying things 🥵🥵
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JP @jpsocool
DADDYYYYYY
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lizzie @dizzielizzie
this is gonna ruin the tour
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clair bear <3 @clairblair3342
he’s taking sex drugs rock n roll wayyyyy too far tbh
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twitter user @fjk_78hu
🚩🚩🚩
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“ILYA!”
Ilya jolts awake with a start. The sunlight creeping in through the gap in the curtains is almost blinding when he opens his eyes and his head hurts like a motherfucker. Ilya groans and feels around in the sheets for his phone. It’s dead. Fuck.
Someone is banging on the door, pounding in tandem with Ilya’s wildly hungover head. He wasn’t sure it was possible for him to get drunk anymore, but apparently some ten-plus shots of disgusting American vodka will do the trick. Ilya groans again as he sits up, rubbing his bleary eyes with the back of his hand.
The hotel room is a fucking disaster. Flashes of last night come back to him – doing shots in the shower, scribbling lyrics on the walls with eyeliner, jumping on the beds on a cocaine high, and yanking out the phone cord when they kept getting noise complaints. Everything was completely endorsed by his entourage, who not only made no effort to stop Ilya from seeing if the twenty-second floor windows were breakable but put money on it. So the mess isn’t entirely Ilya’s fault.
He is the one who wrote society is a cage and sex is the key on the bathroom door, though. Shit. That was a lot more profound when Ilya was wasted.
“ILYA!” The banging continues so violently that Ilya is sure Farah is going to break the door down. “OPEN THE DOOR!”
“I’m fuckin’-” He scoffs when he tries to stand and goes keeling over onto the other bed. Apparently his legs didn’t get the memo that he’s not still drunk. “I’m coming!”
“Today, please,” Farah snaps. Ilya makes his wobbly way to the door and reaches up to open the chain lock before he realizes it’s broken. He opens the door and is nearly plowed down by Farah as she comes storming inside.
“Jesus Christ. Good morning to you too.”
“Actually, it’s not,” Farah snaps. “Any idea why?”
“Uh…”
“Does the name Harris Drover ring a bell?” Ilya shakes his head. “Of course it doesn’t. He’s a fan you picked up in the lobby last night. He caught your entire drunken fun time on video last night. The whole thing.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Farah mocks him. “Jesus Christ, Ilya, do you have any idea what you’ve done? Promoters are already pulling out. You’re losing fans. Venues might change their minds. This tour was already a long shot. I don’t need you making my job a thousand times harder than it already is.”
“Sorry,” Ilya grunts as he flops back onto the bed. Farah rolls her eyes.
“Like hell you’re sorry. God, Ilya. We’re going to have to pull out all the stops if we’re going to save your ass this time. So don’t be surprised if your next show is at a fucking convent or something.”
“Whatever.” Farah always threatens to do something drastic to change Ilya’s image, but she never acts on it. And if she didn’t do it when he got a DUI in Prague or was arrested for possession in Barcelona, he doubts she’ll ever do it.
“Get up,” Farah says grumpily, grabbing his arm and dragging him up. “Take a shower. Change your clothes. I’ve got to find enough cash to tip everyone in this building enough to clean this shit up.”
Ilya groans at the wave of nausea that crashes over him. He desperately needs a big greasy plate of American breakfast food. “Where’s the room service menu?”
“If you think I’m letting you order room service, you’re out of your mind,” Farah says. “We’re already blowing half our hotel budget on cleaning up your mess. You can have a protein bar in the car.”
Ilya scowls. “Where are we going?”
“Emergency meeting. I told you, desperate times call for desperate measures. You're going to clean up your act if I have to strap you down and force you.” Farah flings the curtains open, letting in the bright morning sunlight. “Now buck up, buttercup. It's almost noon. And take a shower. You stink.”
Ilya winces at the bright light and throws a hand up to shield his eyes. “Can't this wait?”
“No. Pop a couple Paracetamol and put on some real clothes.” Farah pats his shoulder. “We're leaving in twenty.”
Ilya pushes his sunglasses further up his nose. He's aware that he probably looks like an asshole wearing sunglasses inside, but he doesn't care. The fluorescent lighting is absolutely killing his head and the coffee Farah had picked up for him in the hotel lobby is only doing so much for his hangover. Besides, the sunglasses hide his every eye roll, and Ilya has already rolled his eyes nearly out of his head with how little he wants to be in this meeting right now.
His PR team – Farah, Ellie, Louis, and Trish – are brainstorming ways to help him “redeem himself” from his latest “scandal”. Ilya things that wording is slightly dramatic; it’s not like he’s killed anybody, but they won’t let it go, so here he is, head down on the table, pretending to pay attention while the four of them desperately shoot off ideas.
“Community service is always a win,” Trish is saying. “A donation to charity, an evening at a gala, an afternoon or two at a shelter…”
“While we’re on tour?” Louis shakes his head. “It’s probably better if we make an apology statement, blame it on someone in the entourage, and drop them off at the nearest bus stop.”
“No one in the entourage is just going to keep quiet and let that happen,” Trish refutes.
“I’m in contact with Red Machine Records,” Farah says over the edge of her computer. “We’re trying to work something out.”
“How will that help?” Ellie asks. “He’s not even signed with them.”
“What if we blame the drugs?” Louis asks. “He misses a few shows, spends a month or two in rehab, and we get a nice redemption arc.”
“Are you kidding? That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard!”
“People saw him snorting cocaine!”
“I know what people saw. That video is everywhere!”
“Red Machine is offering to help us if we can help them,” Farah says. She’s typing like a mad woman, her fingers flying across her keyboard and her gaze fixed on her laptop screen.
“What can they do?” Louis asks. “And what on God’s green earth can we possibly do for them?”
“Have any of you heard of Shane Hollander?” Everyone around the table shakes their heads except for Ilya, who just takes another sip of his disgusting coffee and prays for a meteor to smash into the building and kill them all. “Well, exactly. He’s this little folk-pop artist based out of Montreal, and he’s signed with Red Machine. He’s a good boy, clean-cut, no scandals, all simple love and heartbreak. Red Machine is trying to put him on the map as someone memorable. We need to clean up our image and he needs our notoriety, so…”
“So…?”
“So we set them up,” Farah says, like it’s obvious. “They meet at a show in Toronto, they fall in love, they date for a while until all this blows over, and then they break up. Simple and easy.”
“No,” Ilya interjects in horror. “Absolutely not.”
“Ilya…”
“I’m not doing it,” he snaps.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Ellie says. “If they’re actually willing to help us, we should let them. This may be our only chance.”
“I’m not going to pretend to date some stupid Canadian lover boy,” Ilya huffs. “Absolutely not.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Farah says. “If this is what we decide to do, then you’re doing it.”
“I don’t want to,” Ilya snaps.
“I don’t care,” Farah snaps back. “Damage control isn’t pretty. You got yourself into this mess, Ilya, and you’re going to do your part to get out of it.”
“Why can’t I just do the community service or whatever?”
“Because you won’t do community service.”
“I’ll do it,” Ilya assures her desperately. “I will.”
“I say we go with Red Machine,” Trish says. “PLaying the long game seems like our best bet.”
“I don’t want to play the long game,” Ilya whines.
“Shut up,” Farah says. “Okay, Ilya has a concert in Toronto on the eleventh and Shane is opening for BYRNE at the Scotiabank Arena on the twelfth. Priya from Red Machine says we can have Ilya attend BYRNE’s concert and meet Shane after the show.”
Ilya scoffs irritably. “What if I don’t like him?”
“You will,” Farah says, “or the next eight to nine months are going to suck for you.”
“Nine months?” Ilya flops back into his chair with a groan. “Jesus Christ, Farah.”
“Put a sock in it.” Farah continues typing, unbothered by the tension in the room. No one who works for Ilya talks to him like that, but Farah has never been afraid to be tough with him, and honestly, Ilya likes it that way. “You’ve got some documents to sign.”
“So we’re really doing this?” Louis asks.
“Looks like it,” Trish says.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Ellie remarks. “Provided Ilya keeps up his end of the bargain, this could fix everything.”
“Exactly,” Farah says before she turns on Ilya. “We’ll be watching you like hawks. We’ll be scripting every second of your life for the foreseeable future, and if you so much as move one muscle out of line…”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ilya pushes his sunglasses back up his nose with a scowl. “I get it.”
“Okay,” Farah chirps brightly. “Good. We’ll release an apology statement on Twitter and I’ll keep in contact with Priya to figure out all the details. I expect you to behave in the meantime.”
Ilya huffs irritably as he picks at the rim of his coffee cup. He really doesn’t want any part of this stupid plan. This Shane Hollander character seems like Ilya’s polar fucking opposite, and Ilya doesn’t want to hang out with some stupid Canadian lover boy just to fix a problem that doesn’t exist. It may seem like he’s out of control, but Ilya actually has remarkable control over his actions and is choosing to have fun rather than to have a stick up his ass.
Fuck them for trying to change him, anyway. It’s not like Ilya was handed this life. He worked hard to be successful and he still does; he just likes to take the edge off sometimes. And maybe he does party hard, but he’s earned it, and he’s never going to change. Fuck anyone who says otherwise.
Ilya Rozanov Claims Four Seasons Video Was A “Mistake”; “Behavior Not Representative Of Who I Want To Be”
Ilya Rozanov Releases First Statement Since Viral Hotel Video: “We All Make Mistakes”
Canada is boring as hell. Maybe more boring than hell. Ilya has only been to Canada, so he can’t really compare the two, but he can’t imagine anything more boring than this godforsaken country. Everything is so clean and picturesque. The air is so fresh and the sky is so blue. Everyone is so damn nice. It’s like living in a stock photo.
They’re in Toronto for Ilya’s show, and usually, Ilya would be doing some sightseeing around the area, but he’s not allowed out of Farah’s sight right now and there’s nothing to see around here anyway. This means he’s holed up in his hotel room, watching some shit movie playing on the TV while he scrolls through Shane Hollander’s Instagram. He wants to get an idea of what this guy is like before he meets him.
His social media is so… blah. Every post is either an aesthetic photo dump of selfies and sunshine and laughter or a single black and white photo of him onstage with a caption thanking whatever crowd he’d performed for. His only pinned post is a list of BYRNE’s tour dates that he’s opening for. Everything has such precious boy-next-door vibes. It’s kind of disgusting.
Ilya taps on his latest post. It’s got less than two thousand likes, but it has a ton of comments. Shane’s fans seem weird and way too devoted to him. Ilya hopes if one thing comes out of this stupid scheme, it’s that these people will be introduced to an actual personality for the first time in their lives.
Ilya rolls his eyes at the thought. These people are going to think he actually likes Shane Hollander. Enough to date him. And gosh, that idea is so yucky. Ilya wants to puke it up and scrub it all off.
He spends a few more minutes stalking Shane’s Instagram before it gets so boring he thinks he might die, and then Ilya turns off his phone and leans back to stare at the ceiling. The light of the TV keeps changing, making subtle differences in the coloring of the smooth white paint. Ilya watches it for a long moment, trying to guess what he’s watching based on the whispered sound and the flickering lights.
God, he’s so bored. How is he going to survive another three days here? Ilya already wants to jump in front of a train and he hasn’t even met Hollander yet. He can only imagine how he’ll feel in a few days when they actually have to spend time together. He can’t imagine it’ll be great.
Ilya had never heard of BYRNE before this whole ordeal began and he wishes it had stayed that way. He hasn’t even gone on yet – no one has, actually, but his fans are everywhere and they seem like the kind of people that Ilya’s fans would steal lunch money from. Folk fans are weaklings. And there’s so much flannel that it’s making Ilya sick, to be honest.
He’s waiting backstage to meet Shane, who goes onstage in a little less than an hour. He’s the second opener for BYRNE, a little more well known than the first. Ilya was supposed to meet him after watching this terrible concert, but apparently, Shane had been anxious to meet him and couldn't wait until after his set to see Ilya. Ilya can’t blame him; he is ridiculously cool. Everyone should be desperate to meet him.
Ilya tugs at the hem of his jacket for something to do with his hands. Farah had taken all of his cigarettes in the car on the way to the arena, so now it feels like there’s something missing between his fingers. Ilya isn’t anxious, per se, but he could definitely use the little hit of serotonin that comes with the inhale of nicotine. He’s not looking forward to this meeting.
“Stop fidgeting,” Farah hisses, grabbing his hand. “Stand still.”
“I want a cigarette,” Ilya complains.
“Smoking is disgusting,” Farah snaps, “and you can’t smoke in here, anyway. Now stand up straight. They’re coming.”
Ilya scowls, but he obeys, straightening up slightly as a door opens down the hall. A pretty dark-haired woman in a pair of incredibly tall heels comes tapping toward them, waving cheerfully.
“Hello,” she chirps brightly. “I’m Priya Patel from Red Machine Records. You’re Farah?”
“That’s me,” Farah says. “It’s nice to meet you. This is my client, Ilya.”
“Yes, Ilya!” Priya throws her arms open for a hug. Ilya looks helplessly to Farah, who just shrugs at him. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Shane is on his way; he’s just caught up getting dressed. Puts a lot of thoughts into his outfits, that one. He’s very stylish.”
“I can imagine.” Ilya gingerly pats Priya on the back so she’ll let him go. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, stop. You’re too sweet.” Ilya and Farah exchange a glance behind her back. “Here he comes now. Shane!”
Ilya’s first look at Shane Hollander is… underwhelming. He’s a good-looking guy, but it’s spoiled by his “stylish” outfit; he’s wearing a brown flannel shirt left open over a plain white t-shirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans. It’s boring and safe and exactly what Ilya was expecting.
Shane himself is a handsome man, all pouty pink lips and freckles and bangs curling over his forehead. His eyes are bright like he has high hopes for this meeting. He just radiates harmless good-boy energy. Ilya already knows he’s not going to like spending time with him.
Shane is smiling when he finally reaches them, his pink lips curled around strong white teeth. “Hi,” he says to Ilya, reaching out a hand to shake. “I’m Shane.”
“Uh-huh.” Ilya doesn’t even move to take Shane’s hand, just glancing over his shoulder instead. Shane’s smile falters slightly.
“Ilya,” Farah hisses, jabbing an elbow into his side. Ilya grabs Shane’s hand immediately, giving it a single aggressive shake before he lets it go. “Hi, I’m Farah. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Shane says. That seems to be about the extent of his preparedness to handle the situation. “So, uh…”
“We just wanted to have you meet,” Priya says happily. “We’ll get some pictures of Ilya watching your set and the two of you will be attending BYRNE’s party tonight after the show. That’s where you’ll officially meet, hit it off, fall in love, etcetera.”
“What do we have to do?” Shane asks.
“Not much. Just play your set. Pretend you don’t know that Ilya is here. We’ll get some pictures of you here and there, but other than that, it’s all natural.”
“Not for you,” Farah says to Ilya. “You need to behave yourself. One toe out of line and you may not live to regret it. Am I understood?”
“Yes,” Ilya grunts.
“Alright. We should get to your seat. Cecily’s set is starting and we need pictures of you. We’ll see you two later,” she says to Priya and Shane. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Priya chirps.
“You too,” Shane says, but as he watches Ilya go, he’s not smiling anymore.
The concert is awful. Cecily Hahn, the first opener, is trying much too hard, and BYRNE is just so far from Ilya’s type in music that it almost hurts. So is Shane, to be honest, though Ilya can admit that he actually has some talent. He makes playing the guitar look as easy as breathing and he’s got a voice like an angel. It’s just a shame he’s using it for evil. Folk music really sucks.
Once the concert is over, Ilya is ushered into the car and driven to BYRNE’s party. He really just needs to be photographed so people have proof he was there, but Farah probably isn’t going to let him leave for at least two hours. He’s not looking forward to it; Ilya just wants to skip to the part where he can rinse the day off in the shower and go to sleep. He’s always in the mood for a good party, but he has a feeling this won’t be one of the fun ones that ends with someone naked and someone else in handcuffs.
Boring. Everything is fucking boring.
Farah stays in the car when they reach the club the party is at.
“You can leave in two hours,” she says. “Marco will have the car waiting for you. Behave and be nice. If I get a call asking me to bail you out of jail, I swear to God…”
“I know,” Ilya snaps. “I’ve got it.”
“Okay.” Farah reaches across him to open the car door and Ilya adjusts his sunglasses as he gets out. Cameras are already flashing as he makes the short walk from the curb to the front door and he has to resist the urge to be rude to the yelling photographers. Ilya absolutely hates this part of being famous. Being bombarded by paparazzi fucking sucks.
He slips his sunglasses off once he’s inside. The club is dark, colorful lighting behind the bar and around the dance floor, and some generic techno-pop song is thumping through the speakers above him. Ilya makes his way through the crowd toward the bar. He needs some alcohol in him if he’s going to make it through tonight without causing a scene. Preferably a lot of alcohol.
He orders vodka and tosses three shots back before he asks for a beer and settles himself in the corner of the room. Ilya hopes no one will approach him; he’s like to be able to make his presence known, drink two hours away, and then leave. Alas, he’s not so lucky.
Shane finds him somehow. He looks so out of place in his flannel and jeans, and he’s holding a can of fucking ginger ale as he comes up to Ilya.
“Hi,” he shouts over the music, stopping right next to Ilya and effectively blocking Ilya’s only path of escape. “I was looking for you. We didn’t get much of a chance to talk before the concert.”
“Shame,” Ilya calls back.
“How’d you like the music?” Ilya shrugs noncommittally and Shane nods. “I know it’s probably not really your style.”
“No,” Ilya confirms.
“I hope you had fun.”
“I guess so.”
Shane looks around like he’s racking his brain for something else to say. Ilya wishes he wouldn’t. This interaction is so painfully awkward that he’s almost cringing.
“I listened to your album,” Shane finally says.
“Which one?”
“STARFUCKER. The most recent.”
“What did you think?”
“I liked it,” Shane says. “You’re really talented.” Ilya snorts and Shane frowns. “I’m serious. I read through the credits. You played guitar, drums, keys, and synths, and you mixed half of it yourself. That’s pretty incredible.”
“When your budget is that low, you’ll do what you have to do to get the record out,” Ilya says.
“You shouldn’t downplay it. You did a really good job. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were nominated for Album of the Year.”
Ilya doesn’t know how to take that. Shane seems to intend it as a compliment. Either that or his sarcasm isn’t landing right.
“Thanks,” he finally says.
“Sure,” Shane replies.
They kind of stand there in awkward silence for a long moment before Shane speaks again. As much as Ilya wishes he wouldn’t, he seems to be really trying to keep a conversation going between them.
“First time in Canada?”
“Yes,” Ilya says shortly.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s… quaint.”
Shane doesn’t seem offended by that. “Yeah. It’s very lowkey here. I was born and raised in Ottawa and I’ve bounced around between Montreal and Toronto since I started making music. It’s nice.”
Ilya nods. He wishes he had a cigarette. Canada probably has rules against smoking indoors, but stepping outside wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, not when this conversation takes the cake.
“How’s Russia?”
“Cold.”
“I’ll bet,” Shane says. “You were born there?”
“Moscow.”
“That’s cool. You like it?”
“It’s home,” Ilya says dryly. He’s not sure that he could make it any more obvious that he’s not interested in talking right now. He takes a long sip of his beer. “I have to like it.”
“I bet your family is really excited for you. What with the album and the world tour.”
“Yes,” Ilya snaps. He really doesn’t want to talk about this right now. “My family is thrilled. I’m rich and famous and successful and I can give them anything they want. They’re absolutely over the moon.”
Shane is quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice curling sadly around the apology. “I just figured I’d try to get to know the guy I’m going to be dating for the next year.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Ilya tells him. “All we have to do is pose for pictures. I don’t need to know your life story and you don’t need to know mine.”
Shane bites his lip. “I just feel like it might be more believable if we actually get along.”
“It’s not going to be believable at all,” Ilya mutters. “No one is going to believe I’d date you.”
Shane frowns, his shoulders visibly tensing. Ilya feels a twinge of guilt in his stomach; he knows how that came across and he swears that wasn't what he'd meant, but it's not really his style to backtrack just to spare someone's feelings. So he says nothing, just watching as Shane detaches himself from the conversation and drifts off into the crowd without another word.
Ilya takes another long sip of his beer, pausing for a moment before he drains the bottle and goes to ask for another. It's going to be a long night.
Bad Boy Gone Good? Russia’s “Rager” Ilya Rozanov Seen With Shane Hollander After BYRNE Concert
The Internet Is Shipping “Hollanov” After Ilya Rozanov Was Spotted With Shane Hollander At Oriole Club In Toronto
💬11K ❤️208.4K
@ilyarozanov
: he’s a freak he’s a devil he’s a ⭐fucker
@mxssysmxssxngss: HOLY SHIT WHATTTT
@linnethernandesz: HARD LAUNCH OF THE CENTURY??!!?
@tomm2929: rozatrova forever
@rozzyynov: dude he broke up with svetlana like a year ago it’s over
Ilya Rozanov Confirms Suspected Romance With Fellow Singer Shane Hollander With Steamy New Photo
💬1.2K ❤️8.3K
@shanehollanderofficial: july dump ☀️🌼💛
@yunahollander: 💛💛💛
@roselandry: LOVE U MUAH
@haydenpike: i did NOT miss slide 4 thank you
@shanehollanderofficial: 😘
@nuts4coconuts: new music???
@shaneholly24: NOOOOO WHAT HE’S GAY???
@jbrown: duh lmao
@lucylopezzz: shaneeee
@starfcker81: they’re so fucking hot together omf
@louisachang: OMG ROSE
Shane Hollander Includes A Selfie With New Boyfriend Ilya Rozanov In Latest Photo Dump
Chloe Baxter @chloe_baxxter
it’s giving 10 things i hate about you and idk why
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izzy pop! @gingerbreadhouses
i thought i was the only one who felt like this lmao
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Daily Ilya Rozanov @dailyilyarozy
y’all he’s SERIOUS about this, he dated svetlana for like 3 years and he NEVER posted her on main
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laure @laure5832
it’s a pr stunt lmao
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eliza! @rozyy_bby
what makes u say that??
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laure @laure5832
it’s super sudden and seems rlly scripted and out of character for both of them
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gwen LOVES shane <3 @hollandbackgurl
shane def would not be in a pr relationship at all much less with him
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Canada’s Shane Hollander and Russia’s Ilya Rozanov: Inside The Industry’s Hottest Couple
Left: Canadian Singer-Songwriter Shane Hollander; Right: Russian Rockstar Ilya Rozanov
Shane Hollander Photographed By Fans At Ilya Rozanov’s Milwaukee Concert
The Canadian star was seen arriving at the Eagles Ballroom on Thursday night, where his new beau was playing his sold-out “STARF*CKER” set
anna @annabananana
holy FUCK he’s so fine
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katie x shane @shanehbby
shane ilusm but i don’t get it 😭😭
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starfcker lover @ilyaastar
what’s not to get, they’re the 2 hottest ppl on the planet dating each other that’s it lol
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BREE! 🇧🇷@breebee
why does he have to date ilya ugh
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tate <333 @tateoneill
ikr like date me instead lmao
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BREE! 🇧🇷@breebee
SO REAL
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#81 @8181818181
why do you have to comment on someone else’s life? they’re obviously happy together
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laure @laure5832
it’s a pr stunt lol they’re not actually together
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#81 @8181818181
still no need to get all parasocial and weird ab it
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iHeart Music Awards Are A Lover’s Affair
From Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov to Lily-Jane Lawrence and Winston Chalfont, romance was in the air on the red carpet tonight
Shane Hollander @shanehollanderofficial
thanks for having us @iheartradio! had a great time 😊
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BREE! 🇧🇷@breebee
shane i’m begging break up with himmmm
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Chelsea Carter @carterchelsea2011
“us” is crazy
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ana s. @anasantana
SO HOT OMGGGG
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Ella loves Ilya @ellalovesilya
they look so happy 🥹🥹
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gwen!?!? @gwendolynsbaby
FAKE NEWS
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currier @ryleighcurrier
that’s a married couple right there
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Lily Lu @lilylulu
WHERE DID THIS PICTURE COME FROM???
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HOLLANOV IS REAL!! @hollanovtruther
ok so this looks suspiciously like cottage crest studios or am i hallucinating?
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ashleigh hollander @hollandrr
ALBUM?? WHEN??
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gab gab @yogabbygabby
THEIR FEET AWWW
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Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander Seen Snuggling At Cottage Crest Studios Over The Weekend
Rozanov hasn’t released anything since 2024’s “STARF*CKER” and Hollander hasn’t released anything since his 2024 single “Wild Heart”. Is new music closer than we thought?
Ilya is fucking miserable. It's been two months since he'd started this stupid relationship with Shane and it's gotten so blasphemously out of hand that he wonders if he'll ever actually escape this living hell he's in. Everywhere he goes, people are taking pictures, swarming him, and asking him questions about Shane. Shane’s music, Shane’s schedule, how he feels about Shane. It’s all Shane, Shane, and fucking Shane, and it’s driving Ilya crazy.
For fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even like the guy! Shane is so gentle and kind with him that it almost feels performative. He holds doors for Ilya, picks up food for him, asks if it’s okay to hold his hand when they’re out in public, keeps his distance when they’re in private. He’s so considerate of what Ilya wants and how Ilya feels. It’s all so painfully polite; Ilya doesn’t believe that Shane is actually like this all the time. It’s got to be an act.
It feels like they’ve lived lifetimes in these two months. Farah had drafted Ilya’s hard launch on Instagram and Priya had coached Shane’s, and just days later, Shane was mobbed arriving at Ilya’s concert in Milwaukee. They attended the iHeart Music Awards together, making a red carpet debut that sent the internet into a tizzy over how good they looked together. Ilya has to admit that they make a hot couple; Shane definitely cleans up nicely, and obviously Ilya is incredibly attractive all on his own. Then Farah had organized a visit to Cottage Crest Studios, a quaint little cabin in Ontario where Shane recorded his album, and made sure they were photographed together. And once the internet started thinking about them making music together, it was over. All of Ilya’s privacy totally vanished.
And Shane’s fans are so fucking annoying. Half of them are convinced he’s a hundred percent gay and ship him with Ilya so forcefully that it’s creepy and the other half are teenage girls who see Ilya as a threat to them marrying Shane themselves, which is arguably worse. Regardless of how they feel about Shane and Ilya, they’re always around, recognizing Ilya in public, waiting outside his hotel, pushing the barricade at his concerts, and taking pictures of him doing everything from walking to eating to staring at the wall. They’re more hardcore than Ilya’s own fans are. It’s fucking crazy.
So Ilya is fucking miserable. He’s miserable when Shane is around and when Shane is gone. He’s under the strictest watch by Farah – no drinking, no smoking, no partying, no drugs, just rehearsals and performances every few nights. Ilya is only really allowed to write songs in his free time and he has nothing to write about. He hasn't seen Svetlana since the hotel video was released. He's bored and he's lonely and he's always irritated by something. It's no way to live.
He has a week off from the tour over Labor Day weekend and, according to Farah, he's set to appear on the Tonight Show tomorrow night to promote the next leg of the tour. Shane is supposed to make a guest appearance too; he's arriving in New York in a few hours. A few hours that Ilya will probably be spending lying in his hotel bed and staring miserably at the ceiling.
He could be working on one of his new songs right now, but he doesn't feel very inspired to write. Farah forbade him from including anything that could out their stunt in his lyrics and Ilya doesn't have much else to think about these days, so he's a little strapped for things to write about. He's sure as hell not writing a song about brown eyes or freckles or any of that bullshit.
Ilya sighs. He's hungry, but Farah probably won't be happy if he goes down to dinner. He sits up and feels around on the nightstand for the room service menu. The room is dark except for the dim light coming from the TV, which is playing some stupid American dating show. Ilya feels like his life has become some stupid American dating show – his misery dramatized for the public's entertainment.
He decides to order a burger. With extra bacon. He may as well enjoy the little things.
“Okay, Ilya, you're all set.” Farah tugs on his jacket to straighten it out a little before she reaches up to tousle his hair. “Do you remember how this is supposed to go?”
“Yes,” Ilya grunts. “Answer all of Jimmy's questions, smile, nod, give Shane a kiss.” He glances at Shane, who is looking nervously around the backstage area. “Talk about the tour. Don't mention the stunt.”
“Good.” Farah straightens her own shirt. “You're on in a minute.”
Ilya watches her walk away as he's ushered toward the edge of the stage, Shane right behind him. They're dressed like opposites; Ilya's wearing a casual jacket while Shane is much too overdressed in a hideous ruffled sweater and slacks. He looks nervous, which Ilya supposes is fair considering that this is his first ever TV appearance.
“You'll be fine,” he says in a halfhearted attempt to comfort Shane. “I hear Jimmy is very nice.”
“Yeah,” Shane mutters. Ilya glances at him again.
“What are you so nervous about?”
“Nothing.”
“So stop making that face. It's freaking me out.”
“Sorry,” Shane says, continuing to make the face. “I'm just… we haven't kissed yet.”
“So?”
“We're about to. And I just- I don't- I’ve never-”
“Thirty seconds,” someone whispers from behind them. Ilya rolls his eyes.
“You’re twenty-seven and no one has ever kissed you?”
“I've been kissed,” Shane mumbles. “I just haven't kissed you.”
“And you're scared,” Ilya says. “Why?”
“I'm not scared,” Shane says. “I just…”
“Just what?” Ilya steps closer to him. Shane smells really good, kind of spicy and warm, and the closer Ilya gets to him, the more he smells it. It's intoxicating. “You want me to kiss you right now?”
“No,” Shane sputters. “I don't.”
He kind of trails off like he's unsure. Ilya smiles.
“You sure?”
Shane doesn't answer. Ilya reaches up and grips his chin, his hand gentle as he tilts Shane's face up.
“Ten seconds,” comes the whisper. “Get ready.”
“You ready?” Ilya murmurs. Being the cause of the look in Shane's eyes is the most fun he's had in weeks. He looks petrified, like a deer frozen in a car’s headlights, like Ilya has him completely under his spell.
He nods, just a slight tilt of his head, and Ilya needs no other permission to lean down and kiss him.
It's not much, just a gentle press of soft lips, but Ilya feels everything in such detail. Shane's breath hitches through his nose and comes out stuttering. His shoulders tense slightly, but his hips relax, and after a moment, he sighs softly into Ilya's mouth. Ilya smiles as he pulls back.
“No reason to be scared anymore,” he murmurs. “I hope it was a good first kiss.”
“That wasn't my first kiss.” Shane sounds a little bit dazed. The audience applause is getting loud and Ilya hears someone call his name, and then he's being pushed out onto the stage before he can think of anything to say in response.
“Ilya Rozanov, everybody!” Jimmy Jackson announces his arrival as Ilya comes sauntering out onstage. “Wow, Ilya, it's great to see you. I can't believe it's taken so long for us to meet.”
Ilya pastes on a wide smile as he takes a seat next to Jimmy's desk. The audience is still clapping and cheering, so he doesn't say anything even as it starts dying down a little.
“Now, Ilya, you've had your time in the limelight lately,” Jimmy is saying once the audience settles down. “You're the talk of the town! And it's all thanks to your majorly successful tour. How's life on the road?”
“It's different,” Ilya says. “Not quite what I'm used to. But this tour is a dream come true for me.”
“I'll bet! STARFUCKER came out almost a year before you announced the tour. I know everyone was worried it wouldn't get the attention that Mind of Mine got back in 2022 and I think everyone is glad that you're getting all the accolades you deserve. I can tell how much time and effort you've put into making this happen.”
Ilya nods. None of it is true; he hadn't wanted to go on tour, but Farah had insisted that it would be a good look for his brand, and with how little money he'd had to produce his last album, it would be a good idea. Ilya had reluctantly agreed even though he doesn't like to perform; he prefers being in the studio and making music for himself.
“But that's not your only dream come true,” Jimmy continues excitedly. “For the past few months, everyone has been talking non-stop about your brand new beau!”
“Yes.” Ilya pauses as the crowd erupts into applause, forcing his smile wider. “Shane and I are very happy together.”
“I have to say, it was very surprising to learn that you two were together. You're like polar opposites.”
Ilya lets out a fake laugh. “Well, you know what they say. Opposites attract.”
“That they do,” Jimmy chirps. “Now, we have a little surprise for our audience tonight. Someone special. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mister Shane Hollander!”
The audience erupts into cheers as Shane comes walking out, smiling and waving politely at them. He comes to sit next to Ilya, all of his nervous energy gone as he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Ilya's lips. The audience whistles and claps and Jimmy laughs as Shane settles into the sofa next to Ilya.
“Look at you two! So sweet. How are you, Shane?”
“Doing well,” Shane says cheerfully. “How are you?”
“I'm fine, thank you. I was just talking about you with your partner here. You've had a whirlwind couple months, haven't you?”
“Happiest of my life.” Shane's hand rests on Ilya's knee, giving it a soft squeeze. “It's hard with how busy we both are, but it's worth everything when I get to spend a night or two with Ilya.”
Jimmy nods. “How did you two meet? I mean, we all know it was at BYRNE’s concert, but what really went on backstage? What ignited the sparks of romance? I can’t imagine it was love at first sight what with all the scandals this one has been through,” he says, gesturing to Ilya.
“It's all fake,” Ilya jokes uncomfortably. “Court-ordered rehab. For the scandals.”
Shane's hand tightens around Ilya's knee. The audience seems to realize it was a joke, but Shane's tension is unmistakable, and Ilya has a feeling that his uncomfortable attempt at humor isn't exactly going to be celebrated by Farah.
“I'm joking,” he bites out, putting his hand on top of Shane's to get him to loosen his grip. Ilya hopes he doesn't look as uncomfortable as he feels. “We met at BYRNE’s party after the concert. I was very impressed by Shane's performance and I wanted to congratulate him. We got caught up talking and I guess the rest is history.”
Jimmy laughs and makes some remark about how sweet they are together, but Ilya isn't paying attention. Shane's fingers are digging into his leg so hard that it hurts and he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Ilya squeezes his hand to get his attention, but Shane only barely loosens his grip.
The rest of the show is tense.
laure @laure5832
I FUCKING SAID IT WAS A PR RELATIONSHIP WHOS CRAZY NOW??
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aimee @aimeehodge
he said it was a joke, this clip is out of context
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Daily Memes @memesdailyy
you cut out the part where he said it was a joke
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BREE! 🇧🇷@breebee
why would he joke about that tho?
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HOLLANOV IS REAL!! @hollanovtruther
probably bc ppl won’t stop bringing it up
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Daily Hollanov <3 @hollanovdaily
THE KISS I’M MELTINGG
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gwen LOVES shane <3 @hollandbackgurl
i’m sorry but no one has yet commented on shane’s jacket lmao what is going on with that
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“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The door to the dressing room slams shut behind Ilya. Shane whirls around to face him, and for the first time since Ilya has met him, he looks angry, his eyebrows scrunched up and his lips curved into a grumpy pout. Ilya leans against the door.
“What?”
“Court-ordered rehab?” Shane scoffs and sighs. “There are enough people who think we're in a PR relationship!”
“And they're right,” Ilya says. “What's the big deal? I said I was joking. Everyone believed me. It's fine.”
“It's not fine,” Shane snaps. “We have at least six more months of this shit. The least you could do is be convincing.”
“I'm very convincing,” Ilya says snidely. “For every one person who's right about what we are, there are a dozen who are wrong, and they seem pretty convinced to me.”
“I know you don't like me,” Shane says, “and if my autistic ass can tell, then it won't be long before all the neurotypical people catch on too.”
“Relax,” Ilya huffs.
“No,” Shane yells. “I have been miserable these past few months. I've tried so hard to get you to like me. What do I have to do, Ilya? Trash a hotel room? Get caught speeding on a cocaine high?”
“We're just very different people,” Ilya says. “Why do you care if I don't like you?”
“Because you don't have a reason! I've been nothing but nice to you since this whole thing started and you've done nothing but make me miserable in return. It's not fair,” Shane shouts. “I'm in this shit situation too. You're not the only one who fucking hates this.”
“Then act like it,” Ilya snaps back.
“What?”
“You're always acting like this happy-go-lucky sweet little lover boy who's never had a bad day in your life. If you hate this, fucking act like it,” Ilya says. “You're so fucking fake.”
“I'm fake?” Shane scowls, his nose scrunching up in anger. “What about that stupid dream come true bullshit you were spouting out there?”
“That was true,” Ilya lies.
“Oh, please. You're the fakest person I know. You don't care about anything.”
Ilya rolls his eyes. “I care about music.”
“No, you don't. You don't care about this album or this tour or about this relationship. God only knows if you've ever cared about anyone in your entire life.”
“Why do you care if I don't care? It doesn't affect you.”
“It does affect me,” Shane snaps. “I'm fucking miserable.”
“Maybe you just need to get that stick out of your ass,” Ilya snaps back. “Go out and get laid or something.”
“With who, Ilya? The only person I'm allowed to sleep with is you!”
Ilya's lip curls into a sneer, but he can't think of anything to say in reply. Neither can Shane, apparently; he just sighs heavily and turns away from Ilya.
“So,” Ilya says carefully after a moment, unsure of how to phrase this. “You think getting fucked would help you feel better.”
It's not a question, and Shane doesn't answer.
“And I'm the only one you're allowed to fuck.”
Shane still said nothing.
“So what if we…”
“You're disgusting!” Shane turns his back on Ilya completely. “You hate me, but you're willing to fuck me? What's wrong with you?”
“I don't hate you,” Ilya says. “I just don't like you.”
“Same fucking difference. I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth,” Shane snaps. “Narcissistic asshole.”
“I know you are, but what am I?”
“Shut up, you fucking child.”
“I'm offering to do something nice for you,” Ilya goads him. “You should be grateful.”
“You really think that hate fucking our way through the next six months is the best approach? Why can't you just be nicer to me?”
Ilya shrugs. “It's not really my style.”
“I've noticed.” Shane huffs, then laughs, a loud, clear, musical sound in the small space. “Jesus Christ. You're such an asshole.”
“You're fucking boring,” Ilya shoots back. Shane looks like he's trying hard not to smile.
“You really want to have sex?”
“I don't care,” Ilya says, feeling the corner of his mouth quirk up. “Since I don't care about anything.”
Shane presses his lips closed. “Come by,” he says. “Room 1221. I might answer, I might not.”
“I might knock,” Ilya says, “I might not.”
He does knock. It’s two AM, the hotel is quiet, and Ilya had changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before he slipped out of his own room and walked two doors down the hallway to Shane’s. Ilya hopes he was joking about not answering the door; the last thing he wants is to be humbled by Shane Hollander. He doesn’t think he’d be able to live with himself.
He knocks gently, a playful little tap tap tap to make light of the situation. Is he really about to have sex with Shane Hollander? Of course Ilya wants to; Shane is gorgeous, and Ilya thinks that if he has to fake date this man, he should at least get to know what those thighs look like when they’re shaking under an orgasm. But wanting to have sex with Shane and actually having sex with Shane are two different things. Ilya isn’t sure how it’s going to change things between them if it happens.
He’s had plenty of casual sex in his life, perhaps more than his fair share. But Shane doesn’t seem like the type of person to be good at one night stands and the last thing Ilya wants is a doe-eyed boy pathetically following him around with dreams of a white picket fence, two kids, and a dog in his mind. The only thing worse than spending the next six months with Shane is spending his whole life with him.
Ilya hears a slight commotion behind the door and a moment later, the lock clicks and the door swings open, revealing Shane standing there in his joggers and a gray t-shirt.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Ilya says. “You answered.”
“You knocked.” Shane shrugs like it’s obvious why he opened the door and moves aside to let Ilya in. “Come on.”
Ilya steps inside, looking around the room like it’s any different from his own. In reality, it’s not – they have the same king-sized bed, the same ugly taupe curtains, the same flat-screen TV and the same rough gray carpet. Shane closes the door and seals the bolt before he turns to Ilya.
“So…”
“Sex usually starts with you taking your clothes off,” Ilya provides in case Shane really is the blushing virgin he comes across as. Shane just rolls his eyes. “Have you done this before?”
“Yes,” Shane says. “With guys and girls.”
“So you’re bi.”
“No.” Shane takes his shirt off, providing no other explanation as he whips the wrinkles out and folds it neatly. “I’m gay.”
“Okay.” Ilya watches with a strange fascination as Shane folds his joggers as well. “Would you like to fold my clothes, too?”
“Shut up.” Shane pauses once he’s left in his boxers, looking at Ilya. “Did you come here to stare at me, or are we doing this?”
“We’re doing it,” Ilya says, “but not if you fold my clothes.”
Shane rolls his eyes again. “Come on.”
Ilya pulls his hoodie off and tosses it to the floor, kicking off his slides before he pushes his sweats down. He’d purposely forgone underwear just to see the look on Shane’s face when his dick pops out and he isn’t disappointed; Shane lets out a shaky breath and turns bright pink, his eyes darting to the ceiling.
“C’mon, princess,” Ilya teases him. “Take your panties off.”
Shane slips his fingers into the waistband of his boxers as he makes his way over to the bed. His ass is huge even through the black cotton. Ilya really wants to bend him over and eat him out just to see what he’d do. He’s willing to bet no one has ever deflowered Shane like that before.
Shane climbs onto the bed, pulling his underwear off as he does. He folds that too, but Ilya isn’t really paying attention to the fabric. He’s too busy staring at Shane’s dick. It’s longer than average, cut, and flushed pink with his erection as he settles himself against the headboard. It’s nestled in a soft thatch of neatly trimmed hair that thins out over his strong legs and meaty thighs. Ilya’s mouth is watering just looking at him.
“C’mere,” Shane murmurs. He’s still settling in against the pillows as Ilya crawls across the bed toward him. The duvet is overstarched and the mattress is too firm, but it’s a bed and it’ll work just fine for their purposes. Ilya slings a leg over Shane's lap and settles down to straddle him before he cups his cheeks in his hands.
“You still want?”
“I still want,” Shane murmurs immediately. His breath is warm as it fans across Ilya's face. Ilya leans down and kisses him, brushing his lips over Shane's before he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. “Rozanov.”
“Relax,” Ilya murmurs. “I've got you.”
Shane lets out a soft moan as Ilya kisses down to his chin and jaw. He reaches down to touch Shane's thigh, reveling in the way the muscle twitches eagerly toward his fingers before he finally lets himself touch Shane's cock.
Shane makes a strangled noise and reaches up to tangle his fingers into Ilya's hair. He pulls hard enough to make Ilya's scalp sting, but the burn feels nice, and Ilya lets out a muffled moan into his neck.
“Fuck.”
Ilya strokes Shane loosely for a moment before he tightens his grip and runs his thumb over the head of Shane's dick. The motion makes Shane honest to God whimper against Ilya's forehead.
“Oh my God.”
Ilya definitely wants to hear that sound again. He kisses the spot beneath Shane's ear and sucks hard on the soft skin, pulling back to admire the reddish mark he left there. Shane moans in bliss, pulling on Ilya's hair again.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Has anyone ever eaten you out?” The words slip from his mouth before he can stop them, but Ilya doesn't regret them because of the noise they pull from Shane's mouth.
“Jesus fucking- oh...”
“Answer me,” Ilya says. “Yes or no. Has anyone ever bent you over, spread you open, and eaten your beautiful ass?”
Shane whimpers again. “Oh, fuck, no, no one's ever…”
“Say it.”
“No one's ever eaten me out!” Shane's voice cracks over the last few words. “Please do something. Please.”
“So polite.” Ilya trails his fingers down Shane's chest and through the valley between his pecs before he drifts off to tweak a nipple. Ilya's never seen him shirtless before now, or really anything less than two to three layers of clothing, and he has to admit that he likes having Shane like this. He's a mess already, gasping and panting like they've been fucking for hours.
“Rozanov,” Shane whines, tugging on his hair again. Ilya comes up to kiss him, swallowing each of his sweet moans as he jerks his cock with the same excruciatingly slow rhythm he had been using. He's always liked a vocal partner and Shane is proving himself to be just that.
Ilya shifts out of Shane's lap, kissing down his chest and running his tongue around a nipple before he kisses to his navel. Shane sighs when Ilya's breath fans over his cock and his fingers find their way back into Ilya’s hair, scratching gently over his scalp. Ilya moans quietly and teases his tongue over the head of Shane’s cock.
He’s already leaking, pearly drops of salty precum dripping from his slit to Ilya’s tongue. Ilya laps it up eagerly, reaching up to grip Shane’s pec as he closes his lips around him. When he looks up, Shane is looking back, dark eyes wide with lust as they regard him.
“Rozy,” he stutters out, tracing his thumb down the side of Ilya’s face. “Oh my God.”
Ilya hums around him, smiling slightly at the strangled cry Shane lets out. He’s so responsive, squirming and shaking beneath Ilya’s touch, his stomach clenching with every beautiful whimper and moan. Ilya is finally starting to see the appeal of this guy.
He bobs his head to take Shane further into his mouth. Ilya may not be a hundred percent gay, but he loves sucking dick, especially when it renders his partner like this. Shane is already going so sweet and gooey in his arms and every swipe of Ilya’s tongue is eliciting another delirious whine from his lips. Ilya gets an evil idea then and closes his jaw ever so slightly, grazing his teeth lightly along Shane’s length.
Shane gasps and moans, canting his hips up into Ilya’s mouth.
“Fuck!”
Ilya pops off, licking his lips as he comes up to kiss Shane again. “Would you let me?”
“What?”
“Eat you out,” Ilya murmurs. “Can I?”
“Yes,” Shane breathes. “Please.”
Ilya sinks back down, bending Shane’s legs up to his chest and watching the flex of his ass. His hole is so pretty, tight and pink and fluttering eagerly. Ilya runs the pad of his thumb over it before he presses a kiss to Shane’s cheek and swipes his tongue out over him.
Shane lets out this beautiful high moan. “Oh my God.”
Ilya licks over him again, prodding the tip of his tongue into his hole. He sucks in his cheeks and lets a string of saliva drop down to Shane’s skin, which Ilya smears around with his finger before he pokes in the tip beside his tongue. He doesn’t have much practice with eating men out, but Shane doesn’t have much practice with being eaten out, so Ilya supposes it doesn’t really matter. Shane seems like it.
Ilya swirls his finger to loosen Shane up a little bit as he licks him out, trying to gather more spit in his mouth to ease the glide. All sex is good sex in Ilya’s mind, but messy sex is the best kind of sex; the messier, the better. And Ilya can’t help but want to see Shane wet, helpless, and shaking with pleasure.
He’s already making decent progress. Shane is squirming beneath him, moaning, whining, and arching into Ilya’s face. Ilya pulls back to catch his breath, spitting over Shane’s hole and slipping a second finger in.
“Good?”
Shane replies with a broken cry, one of his legs slipping down and kicking into Ilya’s shoulder. “Sorry, sorry!”
Ilya smirks, grabbing Shane’s ankles and moving his legs over his shoulders. It gives him a better angle for his tongue to get further in and he feels his fingers along Shane's walls to his prostate. Shane arches his back.
“Fuck, fuck, Rozanov, oh, God…”
Ilya thrusts his fingers right into Shane's prostate. His thighs are shaking around Ilya's face and his moans are more and more unrestrained the longer Ilya works his tongue into him. He can feel Shane's foot sliding across his back and Shane's hands scrabbling for purchase in his hair, Shane’s thighs around his face and Shane’s taste on his tongue. Ilya feels like he’s drowning in him.
Shane pulls hard on Ilya’s hair all of a sudden, so sharply that Ilya groans in pain. “Stop, stop. I’m gonna-”
Ilya pulls back and stops fingering him. “Don’t cum.”
“I’m trying not to.” Shane’s voice is shaky as he shifts to straighten up. Ilya pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets before Shane climbs on top of him and kisses him. “Please, can I ride you?”
“Fuck.” Ilya groans into the kiss as Shane reaches down to grip his cock. He’s never met anyone who likes bottoming from the top enough to ask for it, but if that’s what Shane wants, that’s what Shane will get. “Are you open enough?”
Shane nods furiously. He’s already moving to get Ilya inside of him like he just can’t wait for it. Ilya is impressed with how quickly he turned into such a little slut. He wouldn’t have expected Canada’s golden boy to be such a freak in the sheets, but here he is, tugging on Ilya’s cock like he’ll die if he doesn’t get to feel it inside him.
“Patient,” Ilya warns him. “You got a condom?”
“I-” Shane stills on top of him. “I don’t.”
Fuck. He guesses they’re not doing this, then. Ilya pulls back with a disappointed grunt.
“I don’t either.”
“It’s fine,” Shane murmurs. “We’ll go without.”
Ilya blinks. He’d been taught to always use a condom; he doesn’t think he’s ever had sex without one. He’s not that reckless. “Without?”
“Do you have chlamydia?” Ilya shakes his head. “Cool. Neither do I. Now fuck me.”
Ilya shifts to lie down against the headboard, sinking into the floppy pillows. “Are you sure?”
“It’s not like you’ll be sleeping with anybody else,” Shane says. “Look, if you really don’t want to, then we can wait. I just…”
Ilya kisses him. “Okay.”
Shane smiles. “Okay.”
Ilya puts his hand up to Shane's mouth and Shane spits into his palm. Ilya uses it to slick up his cock before he moves to line up with Shane's hole. Shane winces at the intrusion.
“Okay?” Ilya asks.
“Yeah.” Shane's mouth falls open as he sinks a little bit deeper. Ilya groans softly; he feels amazing. “It's been a while.”
“I can use my fingers more.”
“No.” Shane gasps and leans his forehead against Ilya's shoulder. “Fuck, you're so- mmm. You're huge.”
Ilya smirks. “I know.”
“Don't be an asshole.” Shane lets out a gasp against Ilya’s chest as he bottoms out. “Oh my God.”
His hands come to grip the top of the headboard, one sliding down to find a place on Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya runs his hands down Shane’s back, feeling into the dimples at the base of his spine before he comes to cup his ass. Shane rocks his hips forward toward Ilya.
Ilya bucks his hips up to meet Shane’s as Shane grinds down into him. He feels fucking heavenly, all tight, wet, and warm, clenching around Ilya as he rides him, and every sensation is multiplied by a hundred without a condom between them. Ilya moans when Shane leans down to kiss him, though the kiss is more breathing into each other’s mouths than anything.
Shane looks like an angel in this light, the golden glow of the lamp casting over the side of his face and highlighting the sharp angles of his nose and jaw. He’s starting to sweat, a soft sheen of it building up on his chest. And every movement is punctuated with a soft whimper or a moan up to the ceiling.
It makes Ilya feel powerful to think, all of a sudden, that he’s the only one who gets to see Shane like this, at least for the next six months. There are so many fans out there who would kill to have Shane naked in their beds, so many fans who hate Ilya because he’s keeping Shane from them, and Ilya fucking won. Shane is his.
In every way that counts. It’s kind of an ideal relationship if Ilya is being honest; he gets to call Shane his boyfriend and he gets to have sex with him, but there’s no emotional obligation to call him before bed or to write songs about him or any of that stupid couple-y bullshit. Plus, Ilya gets to secretly stick it to the toxic fans by giving it to Shane. It’s a win all around.
Shane’s moans start to get louder and his hips start to stutter and lose their rhythm. Ilya grabs his hips to hold him in place as he rocks himself up toward Shane’s body, leaning up to kiss him. Shane moans into his mouth, gasping and rutting eagerly.
“Rozy...”
“You gonna cum?” Ilya asks. Shane whimpers.
“Can I?”
Fuck, he looks so good asking for Ilya’s permission. Ilya kind of wants to make him beg, but he wants to see Shane cum even more.
“Yes,” he murmurs, and with that, Shane is crying out and shooting sticky white over Ilya’s stomach.
“Fuck!”
Ilya isn’t going to last. He sits up and rolls Shane over so he’s lying on his back, thrusting once, twice, and three times more before he’s cumming with a low groan.
“Shit.”
Shane turns his cheek to nuzzle into the pillow as Ilya pulls out, flopping down next to him. He can see a dribble of cum dripping from Shane’s hole and Ilya briefly wonders what Shane would do if he got up and cleaned him up with his tongue right now. But Shane looks tired, his chest still heaving with his ragged breath, so Ilya just reaches for the tissue box on the nightstand and grabs a few.
“All good?”
“All good,” Shane murmurs. Ilya cleans him up gently, wiping his hole and then the head of his dick before he moves on to himself. “All great.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” Ilya says. Shane rolls his eyes.
“Thanks.”
Ilya sighs, scrunching the tissues up in his fist. “I should go.”
“Okay,” Shane says. “See you later.”
“See you later.”
Ilya tosses the tissues into the trash and picks up his clothes from the floor, pulling them on quickly as Shane moves to get under the covers. By the time he reaches the door, the lights are out and Shane is settled comfortably in bed. Ilya slips outside into the hallway, closing the door with a soft click behind him.