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Maybe he should have ordered a drink after all. Maybe that would ease him into some more comfortable conversation. Maybe it would help him pretend to be interested. Maybe it would make him interested.

Shane’s date is not going well. 

For no particular reason, really. Shane has looked at his watch twice now and he could barely believe his eyes when the second time he looked, it was barely three minutes after the first. 

He doesn’t know why he said yes to this.

Well, he does know why he said yes. He just doesn’t know why he said yes to this man specifically. Shane had thought he was pretty attractive at the time. Even now he was still handsome, sure, but Shane couldn’t see it going anywhere.

How long are dates supposed to be? How long does a dinner have to be?

It’s his own fault. He was at that bar for Rose’s birthday and she had insisted on him talking to at least a couple of guys. This man told him that he was in finance. Shane thought that was a nice and stable job. And now here he is.

Lured in by nice and stable, just to be annoyed by the fact that all he could talk about were stocks and interest rates. 

At least the restaurant is nice. Irina’s, it read in pretty, dark blue letters on the windows and awning out front. His parents had suggested it to him after they had their anniversary dinner there a few weeks ago. It was nicely lit, bustling but still intimate, enough space between the tables so that he can at least hear his date talk, regardless of how interesting any of what he says actually is. The food is wonderful, too, so Shane will probably have to return with a friend or something, to wash the experience of this bad date away. 

When they walked into the restaurant about forty minutes ago, Shane had noticed the bartender. Tall, broad shoulders and defined arms stretching the limit of what a black t-shirt can really do for a man. Big hands, working on bottles, trays, limes. A head of thick blond curls. From his distance Shane couldn’t see what color his eyes were. He could see plump lips and moles splattered across his face and neck, though. Shane had instantly thought he was beautiful. He can’t remember the last time he was so taken aback by a person’s looks, if ever.

It’s not a great start to a date with another guy, Shane is sure of that.

He still has a pretty good view of the bar from where he is sitting. He can see the bartender moving around. He must have looked over there at least ten times already. He tries not to stare, really. It’s rude towards everybody involved.

The thing is, Shane has been too picky. The guy sitting across from him, having dinner with him, is a perfectly nice and good looking guy. He doesn’t need to be Shane’s height or taller. That’s shallow silliness. He doesn’t need to have hands like that or look like that. It’s unrealistic. Shane just needs to get laid already. He can’t just be oggling staff at a restaurant like a fucking creep.

“So, if you want to show me your portfolio, I’d love to look at it,” John says from across the table. “What do you think?”

“My portfolio?” Shane asks. “Of my architectural projects? Yeah, sure-”

“No, your stock portfolio.” 

“Oh,” Shane says and he has to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “No, I’m not really into that.” He glances back at the bar right as the bartender glances over in his direction. Shane makes eye contact with him for barely even a second, but feels his face heat up immediately. Jesus fucking Christ.

Maybe he should just download the apps already. Maybe the meat market is just where he needs to end up eventually, if he doesn’t want to start fantasizing about glimpses he’s catching of strangers. He has avoided it long enough. It’s been over a year since he has so much as been touched by another man.

Or, Rose had suggested, you can go up to someone you find attractive first. You’re always waiting for someone to come up to you. Why not ask someone out yourself? 

Shane would probably rather be alone forever. He just knows that he’ll become a bumbling fucking idiot as soon as he opens his mouth in front of someone who he actually wants to fuck.

Shane gets impatient waiting for the bill, so he decides to do something annoying and approaches the server who waited at his table while she’s standing at the till  helping someone else. Yes, he wants to leave now. Yes, he also needs a closer look at the bartender standing behind the bar, connected to the till. He can’t be that hot up close, can he? 

Shane can see him, out of his periferie, standing closer than he thought. Shane turns to look at him, looks away again and then says: “Hey.” It’s absolutely insane how internally embarrassed he is by even just that word.

The bartender turns, so Shane looks at him again. The eyes are blue. Green maybe? Shane can’t be sure in the warm lighting, but what he is sure about is that the gold cross hanging around his neck adds a twinkle to his eyes.

“You don’t like him?” the bartender asks, voice deep, and coated with an accent.

“What?” he asks, stupidly. His own server has disappeared and the tall blond has now taken her place behind the till.

“Your date. You don’t like him,” he repeats.

“Oh. Yeah, well,” Shane says. Despite being out for years now, Shane still gets a bit nervous about getting clocked in public like this.

“First and last date, then,” he says with a smirk. Jesus.

“Also a good guess,” Shane lets out a breath.

“Did you enjoy the food?” he then asks him.

“Yeah, the food was great. If I ever manage to go on a date again, I’ll think of this place,” Shane says, handing him his credit card.

“Or you can come alone,” he says.

“I don’t think I have it in me to eat at a restaurant alone,” Shane admits.

The bartender looks at the credit card in his hand. “Are you Shane Hollander?”

“Yeah. What, you need an ID or something?”

“No, but you shouldn’t be paying for this. He asked you out, no?”

“Yeah, but… Wait, how do you know that?” 

The infuriatingly handsome smirk appears on his face again. “You are… out of his league. That is what they say, right?”

“Yes. I mean, I’m not saying that I am, but… It doesn’t really matter. I’m the one who wants to leave, so I’m paying the bill. So I can leave.”

“Okay,” he says plainly and shows Shane the screen to add a tip. Shane taps the twenty percent button and turns it back around.

The bartender finally runs the card. Or well, Shane can clearly see him pretend to run the card. “Declined,” he says dramatically. “You should ask him to come pay for it.” 

“No, it’s not. Come on,” Shane says. “Can you please just do it? I don’t want to talk to him anymore.”

“He’s not being a weirdo, is he?” 

“No, it’s not like that,” Shane sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked this many questions when trying to pay a bill at a restaurant.”

“Is he the one who ordered the salmon without the glaze?” the man then asks and actually runs the card this time.

“No, that was me.”

“The glaze makes it good. You know that?”

“It was still pretty good without it.”

“Next time, you should have it with the glaze. But you don’t have to come have dinner alone if you don’t want to. You can come have a drink.” He hands Shane his card back. “I work behind the bar, sometimes.”

“I don’t really drink.”

“Ah,” he says. “Okay. Do you need a receipt?”

“No, thank you.”

“Not even if I write something on it?”

“Like what?”

“Like my name and phone number.”

“Oh,” Shane says stupidly.

The most beautiful man Shane has ever met raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

“No, I can’t do that,” Shane finally says, flustered. “Not while I’m on a date with someone else. That can’t be good.”

He offers Shane a relaxed shrug. “Okay. Have a good night, Shane Hollander.”

It’s not until he’s home in bed, showered, jerked, and staring at the ceiling, that Shane can admit to himself that he probably made a mistake. 

“Of course you did,” Rose says on Saturday over lunch. “Of course, Shane. I get why you wouldn’t hook up with the bartender at a restaurant while you are technically on a date with someone else. It’s bad etiquette, technically. And we don’t condone that, necessarily. But how often does it happen that you meet someone who you’re this attracted to? You have no reason not to go back and get yourself something you want for once.” 

“I don’t think so,” Shane says. “I mean, you should have seen him. Everyone would be attracted to him and he’s obviously not the type of guy looking for something serious. Who knows how often he’s picking up guys like that. And nobody is saying no to him, that’s for sure. I’m the only idiot.”

“Shane, everyone is attracted to you. You’re the one who gets to choose. And who says it needs to be serious? There is nothing wrong with just getting railed by a hot bartender once or twice. I’d say it’s healthy, even. You can keep looking for whatever lawyer or doctor you want to marry in the meantime.” 

“I hear you, but I have never just… gotten railed casually like that. I don’t know if that’s what I want to start doing when I’m pushing thirty.”

“I hear you. You can always just ask him out on a date. Maybe it could be more.”

“Really?” Shane snorts. “You haven’t seen him, Rose. He’s like the furthest thing from a boyfriend there is.”

“Some people have very hot boyfriends. I don’t see why that couldn’t be you.”

“No, this is stupid,” Shane decides. 

Two weeks later, Shane’s friend J.J. sets him up with a coworker. Liam is a lawyer, he’s definitely hotter than Shane’s last date and Shane can only believe J.J. when he says he’s actually interesting to talk to.

So Shane agrees to go on the date. And Shane suggests a restaurant. Irina’s comes to mind. He feels… a bit shady about it. It’s kind of messy to be going on a date with one guy and also hoping to see another guy there, at the date, right?

But Shane does hope to see him there. He can’t help the warmth that pools in his stomach when he thinks about it. Even if it’s just to wipe away the image of him that Shane keeps conjuring up in his mind. He must be embellishing. He must be so horny that he has started to create impossibly hot guys in his head, because there is no way he was that hot.

Shane is disappointed to see a woman standing behind the bar when they push through the door to the restaurant. Maybe he doesn’t work on Saturdays. Shane was there on a Friday the last time.

Whatever. 

His actual date is pretty hot, too. Maybe he doesn’t exude sex appeal like the hot bartender did, but neither does Shane. Neither do most people. 

Shane agrees to a second date. He hesitates about going home with the guy that night. Maybe he should. It’s been so fucking long, maybe he should just get it over with. In the end, he decides against it and calls his own Uber home. 

He is waiting on the curb just outside the restaurant, when a hint of cigarette smoke wafts his way. He looks around.

Oh.

Blocking the entrance to the alley right next to the restaurant, lips around a cigarette, eyes down at his phone screen. Shane doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, why his legs are moving, why the fuck he is approaching someone, at night, who is absolutely a stranger to him.

And no. Shane wasn’t making anything up in his mind. This man is exactly as gorgeous as Shane remembers him being, if not more so.

“Hey,” Shane says, when he is just a couple of feet away. 

The man looks up at him, eyes skeptical at first and then he seems to remember something. “Shane Hollander,” he says.

“Yeah. Sorry, I… don’t know your name.”

“Hm. You didn’t want it,” he says with an amused smirk. “Did you have another bad first date?” 

“It was alright,” Shane says pretty unconvincingly, if the look on the other man’s face is anything to go by. He tries not to trip over you didn’t want it. It’s true. Shane had actively and definitively said no to this man offering him his name and phone number. He was a fucking idiot.

“Is that why he left you here, alone?” he asks. 

“He didn’t leave me here alone. I chose not to go with him,” Shane explains, maybe a tad bit defensive.

“And why is that?” 

“You shouldn’t ask people that.”

“Ask people what?”

“Why they didn’t go home with someone after one date. It’s pretty rude.”

“Ah,” the man chuckles. “Three dates for you then?”

“Fuck you,” Shane snorts. 

“That is rude,” he says. 

“Is your shift just starting?” Shane changes the subject. 

He shakes his head and blows out a puff of smoke. “I was doing some work in the back. Did you like the food?”

“I did. I don’t know about the goat cheese in the fig salad, though.”

“Well fuck you, too, then,” he says with an amused smile. “Did you try the salmon with the glaze this time?”

“I ordered it without the glaze again. I liked it last time.” 

Shane doesn’t think anyone has ever rolled their eyes at him harder.

“What, I like what I like,” Shane huffs.

“How do you know you don’t like the glaze when you’ve never even fucking tried it?”

“I know I don’t like to add sugar to stuff when I don’t need to.” 

“The chef added it. He felt like he needed to.” 

“Are you the fucking chef or something?” Shane asks. 

“Me? No. I just like to eat,” he says with a wolfish grin that makes Shane want to step closer. The man then nods towards the road. “Your car, I think.”

Shane looks back and sees, with some annoyance, that it is in fact his ride that just pulled up. “Guess I’ll see you around,” Shane says.

He blows out another puff of smoke, off to the side and says: “The next time we see each other will be our third time, no?”

“Fuck you,” Shane says again, walking away backwards. “So what’s your name?” he dares.

“You want it now?”

“You know mine.”

“Ilya,” he says. 

“Where’s that from?” 

“Lot of questions for someone who did not want my number,” Ilya smirks at him. “Good night, Shane.”

“Good night, Ilya,” Shane turns around and gets into the Uber. The last thing he needs is for Ilya to see him turn bright red.

“Okay, but what about Liam? How was your date with Liam?” Rose asks. “You were on a date with him for two hours. Why are you telling me about this little five minute chitchat after your actual date?”

“Right, right, right,” Shane says. “Yeah, the date was pretty good. “We’re grabbing lunch on Wednesday.”

“Shane, that’s great. So what is he like?”

“Hm?”

“Liam. He’s a lawyer, right? What does he do for, like, fun?”

“Oh. I think… climbing, maybe? There was a lot of gym talk, which was cool. I liked that. Hey, is it weird for a bartender to also work in the back?” 

“What?”

“He said he was working in the back.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he washes didhes, too.”

“I wonder what he usually does?”

“What would you prefer?” Rose asks, voice dripping in amusement. 

“I don’t know. I like eating more than drinking.” 

“Right. Shane, is your crush on this bartender-dishwasher going to get in the way of you getting an actual boyfriend?” 

“No. No, like I said, I’m seeing Liam again on Wednesday.”

Shane sees Liam on Wednesday. Halfway through the lunch date, Shane decides that he will go on a third date with him. Liam is easy to talk to and for Shane that goes a very long way.

“How about drinks, this Friday?” Liam asks him as they’re walking back to their respective offices, in the same neighborhood of highrise office buildings in downtown Montreal. “We can go back to that restaurant you like. The bar looked pretty nice.” 

“Oh,” Shane says. “That’s cool, yeah.” Shane knows for a fact that he told Liam that he doesn’t really drink, but part of him is kind of happy he forgot. 

“Yes, it’s weird and crazy,” Rose tells him. “My advice is that you either go grab a drink with Liam somewhere else or you go get a drink at your hot bartender’s restaurant alone. Or you and I can go together. I’m dying to see this guy. But don’t bring your date to the bar where the guy works who you actually want to fuck.”

“Right, right, right,” Shane says. Shane is sure she’s right. How could she not be?

Liam pushes through the door first. It’s pretty busy at the bar, but there are two empty stools at the end, far away from where Ilya is currently talking to other patrons. He comes over right when he is done, expression neutral. Or maybe he does give Shane a look that is supposed to mean something. Shane honestly can’t tell. 

“What can I get for you?” Ilya asks. He is wearing a white t-shirt this time, with a checkered red and white teatowel draped over one shoulder. His hair looks reddish gold in the warm, dim lighting of the restaurant. 

“I’ll take a beer to start with,” Liam says.

“Yeah, I’ll take the same,” Shane says.

“Two beers,” Ilya repeats the order and moves away. Shane turns to look at Liam and notices him watching Ilya walk away. He shouldn’t be annoyed by it. Shane has been gawking, too. Still, he’s annoyed by it.

“I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick,” Liam then says and gets up.

Ilya returns with two bottles of beer, just in time to watch Liam head to the back of the restaurant. “Your beer, Mr. I-don’t-drink,” Ilya says and puts the bottle down on a napkin for him. 

“I usually don’t,” Shane feels the need to explain.

“I can get you something else,” Ilya offers. “Coke, Tonic, Ginger ale.”

“No, it’s okay. Really,” he says.

“This is not a first date,” Ilya then states.

“No. Third.” 

“Wow. Good for you,” Ilya says. Again, he seems amused by something Shane is clearly not getting. “So, he’s what? A doctor? A lawyer? A banker?” 

“A lawyer. How did you know that?” 

“Seems like your type.” 

“You don’t know anything about me. Or him,” Shane says. 

Ilya tilts his head in clear disagreement. “You like boring men with boring jobs who wear the exact same suit as you.”

“His suit is grey. Mine is black.”

“You wore the grey one last time. Black looks much better on you, by the way.”

Shane is stunned for a moment. “We came here right after work. Should you be talking to patrons like this?” 

“Like what?”

“And being a lawyer is not boring.”

“Oh, does he do criminal defense?”

“No.”

“Then I think it is probably boring.”

“I’m going to tell your boss you’re an asshole to customers.”

Ilya smiles at that, wide and beautiful. “Would you like something to eat with your drink, sir?” 

“Fuck off,” Shane snorts.

“So rude to wait staff,” Ilya sighs dramatically. “Very bad look on a date. If your twin comes back, and you need something, let me know.” 

“Fuck you, you asshole,” Shane throws at him, but he can’t really keep the smile off his face.

Liam comes back just moments after, but Shane’s mind is entirely on the man behind the bar. He watches Ilya, tracks the movements of his hands when someone orders a more complicated drink, listens to his voice as he makes pleasant conversation with other patrons. Shane is out of it, frankly. And there is no way Liam doesn’t notice. When Shane tries to shift his focus back to his date, all he can really see is the suit and tie that Shane unfortunately does in fact have hanging in his own closet. Do they have the same haircut, too? Is this guy just a whole white version of himself? 

“Let’s just order another drink,” Liam suggests after Shane has to ask ‘What?’ for the second time because he’s not paying attention to the conversation. He’s being a horrible date, he knows that and he also knows this will probably be their last. “Maybe something stronger. Loosen up a bit. It’s been a long week. You seem distracted.”

“Another drink?” Shane echoes the only part of that he cares to give any attention.

“Yeah, let’s do some shots.”

Shane has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He hasn’t done shots since he was in college and he didn’t really care for them then. “I’m good. I’ll have a ginger ale or something.”

“Are you not having a good time?”

“I’m fine, just not much of a drinker,” Shane says and stupidly flags down the entire reason he is distracted in the first place. Ilya comes their way.

“Right. I think you did say something like that before,” Liam says.

Ilya walks up to them with a perfectly neutral expression. “What can I get you?” he asks.

Liam stares at Ilya for a noticeable amount of time, before he turns to Shane and says: “Maybe we should just get out of here.”

“Get out of here?” Shane asks. “And go where?”

There’s a snort behind the bar and when Shane looks up, Ilya has a hand covering his mouth.

“My place. Your place. Whichever. I can show you the new pull up bar I told you about. I installed it.”

“Oh.” Shane fights for his life not to look up at Ilya again. “I’m…kind of…I think I’m getting a headache, actually.”

“Shane,” Liam says. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m not feeling very good,” Shane lies and it’s kind of embarrassing how unconvincing he sounds. “I’m just going to head home, I think.”

“Alright, man. If you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it,” Liam sighs and on his turn, he doesn’t really try to hide his disappointment. He turns to Ilya. “Hey man, can we settle the bill?” 

Ilya comes closer, eyes on Shane’s half empty bottle of beer. He takes the bottles away. Shane sighs. “I’ll settle the bill. I’m sorry to cut the night short. You don’t have to wait,” Shane tells Liam and gets off the stool. Liam shrugs and Shane watches him grab his coat and head for the door. 

Ilya returns, not with the bill, but with a ginger ale instead. “Why are you so bad at this?”

“Shut up, please. And thank you,” Shane says, accepting the can Ilya puts in front of him.

“You want some Advil for your fake headache, too?”

“People are trying to get your attention,” Shane says, gesturing at the other people sitting at the bar. Ilya shakes his head at him, but does leave to tend to a couple further down. The first thing Shane does is crack the ginger ale open and then he texts J.J. that the date with his friend was a bust. He hopes J.J. can forgive him for this disaster. 

He then stares at Ilya for three minutes straight until he comes back.

“I think I’m leaving,” Shane says when Ilya passes by him.

“You think?” 

“After you tell me where you’re from,” Shane says, getting off the barstool. “Russia?” 

“Very good. Bye,” Ilya says with a smirk.

“I still have to pay the bill.”

“I feel bad you have a headache, so maybe this one is on the house.”

Shane rolls his eyes at that and then straightens himself out. “What if… I want a receipt this time?”

The smirk on Ilya’s face widens. “Depends,” he then says and pulls an untouched napkin on the bar towards himself.

“On what?” Shane bites. 

“Will your headache be gone by… let’s say eleven o’clock, tonight?”

“Tonight?” it comes out a little squeekier than he wants it to, but Ilya shrugs as he scribbles his first name, last name and number on the napkin.

“Just a suggestion. You can let me know when and where. If it’s not too wild and crazy for you.” He holds the napkin up for Shane to take. 

Shane does. “I’m not some kind of prude, you know,” he feels the need to defend himself for some reason. “Maybe I’m just not into you like that.”

“Oh, well, you can give that back then-” Ilya reaches over the bar to take the napkin back, but Shane takes a step backwards just in time. 

Shane gets home at nine-thirty. His normal bedtime is around ten. He takes a shower and then stands next to his bed, staring at the napkin for way too long. Ilya Rozanov, it reads. He decides to save the number in his phone, just in case the flimsy piece of paper disappears. And by the time the number is saved in his phone… he might as well send him a message, right? 

Hi

This is Shane.

Hollander.

He writes out his address and then stares at it for a full minute before finally pressing Send. 

He doesn’t immediately get a reply. Because Ilya is working, he reminds himself. But twenty minutes later, he does get a message. Tonight?

If you want, Shane responds.

It’s five past eleven when Shane buzzes him up. Shane can forgive the five minutes, because Ilya clearly took a shower before coming here. He looks good. Better than good. He looks like a wet dream come to life, just for Shane to fuck. It’s a bit surreal to have this man here in his home, away from the dimly lit restaurant.

“I don’t really do stuff like this,” Shane feels the need to say, closing the door behind him, sounding like a cliché even to his own ears.

“Yes, I know.”

“I’ve always just… been with boyfriends, you know.”

“Ah, so you have done it?” Ilya jokes. 

“Fuck off.”

“Is there a reason you are now whoring around with someone like me?” Ilya then asks casually, as he toes off his shoes.

“You want me to spell it out for you?” Shane asks and leads him into the apartment. He stops at the kitchen. “I don’t have any alcohol, but-”

“Show me your bedroom, Hollander.”

“Jesus Christ,” Shane huffs. “Uh.”

“Or not,” Ilya then says, taking a step back. “It’s up to you. I’m a guest.”

“No, yeah, I want to,” Shane clarifies. “It’s just… like I said, I don’t do this. So how casual is casual, normally? I’m not even supposed to offer you a drink? What are the rules?”

“No rules. It’s not that serious. Just sex,” Ilya explains and Shane doesn’t miss the hint of amusement in his voice. It’s not mocking. At least Shane doesn’t think it is. 

“Some people think sex is very serious,” Shane says. 

“Are you some people?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Ilya takes a step forward again, leaving just a foot of space between them. Shane’s eyes are drawn to his lips. He smells vaguely of cigarettes and the mint that he must have taken to cover it up. Shane hates himself for not hating it. In fact, he wants to know what it all tastes like.

Ilya leans in first, slow enough for Shane to register that a kiss is about to happen, slow enough for Shane to close the rest of the gap.

Ilya’s large, strong hands come up to Shane’s waist as he kisses him, warm tongue darting out and sending a smoldering hot, tingling sensation out through all of Shane’s limbs.

Ilya pulls away first and says: “If it helps, you can ask me whatever you ask your boring dates when you are deciding if you want to marry them or not.” 

“That’s not what I do,” Shane objects weakly.

“Three questions. You can pretend we went on three dates.” 

Shane scoffs, his hands wrapped around perfect biceps, as though there is even a chance that Shane would change his mind now. “Did you go to college?”

“No. Is that a red flag?”

“Maybe. For a marriage it’s not optimal.” 

“Okay. Next question.” 

“How is your relationship with your family?”

“Bad,” Ilya answers with another smirk. “Red flag?” 

“Depends on whose fault it is.”

“My fault for being a bisexual.”

“Oh. Bisexual.”

“Ah, another red flag for you?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“You’re so strict. Okay. One more question.”

“What are you looking for in a partner?” 

“Not looking for a partner. Just here to fuck,” Ilya says, the last words mumbled into the skin of Shane’s throat. Ilya pulls back again and looks at him, cocky smile still on his lips. “Did I fail your Husband test?” 

“Obviously,” Shane says and bites his own smile away.

Ilya just keeps smiling at him and reaches a hand up to Shane’s face. Husband material or not, getting his face touched feels intensely intimate, and maybe it’s because it’s been so long since Shane has been touched at all, but he leans into it, presses their bodies flush together and kisses him again.

Shane is not a virgin. No, he has had boyfriends, he enjoys sex, has had plenty of it in his relationships, in various… positions.

The fact that even just the first minute of making out with this practical stranger is turning him on more than he has ever been turned on before, is absolutely puzzling to him. Embarrassing, even. Ilya is gorgeous, sure, but even with his eyes closed Shane can feel just how different this is, how good he smells, how good he tastes and how good this whole thing is about to be. He gets lost in all of it, forgets to be nervous, forgets that he doesn’t really know this man at all. Maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe Shane is now a guy who has one night stands with bartenders and/or dishwashers. 

He had imagined casual sex to be less personal, maybe. More to the point. More functional. But once they’re in Shane’s bed, naked bodies and mouths pressed together, Ilya’s weight on top of him feels warm, heavy and comforting. Maybe it’s the kissing that he hadn’t really considered. Shane had always been neutral on kissing. Some guys were better than others. Ilya could probably win some kind of award for this. Shane misses him on his lips when Ilya kisses him on his neck and then peppers his chest and stomach with pecks and mouths at the inside of his thighs, before finally taking his cock into his mouth.

Shane had made sure he was ready for anything, but realistically he knew that he hadn’t been touched by anyone but himself for over a year now. He knows that the chances he’ll make it anywhere past a blowjob are slim to none.  And Ilya isn’t exactly taking it easy on him either. 

Shane has to look away, the sight of Ilya’s perfect lips stretched around his cock combined by how it feels is too much. 

Ilya slows down a little bit, gently pushing Shane’s legs further apart. Shane’s mouth involuntarily falls open when he feels a finger ghost over his hole. He then feels cold air hit his cock. “Is it okay?” Ilya asks, voice deeper than Shane remembers it being. Shane just nods, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, biting at his lip to stop himself from letting out any embarrassing sounds.

“With my mouth, too? You like that?”

Shane can’t help but let out something at that, a groan all the way at the back of his throat. “Yeah,” he then forces out. “You don’t have to, obviously, but if you want to…”

The next thing Shane knows is that his knees are pushed up to his chest and a warm wet tongue presses up against his hole. Shane’s mouth falls open again, and this time he forgets to be shy about it. With each lap of Ilya’s tongue he can feel his body relax and he can feel the need to be filled up take over.

And Ilya is perfectly tuned in, because right as Shane is about to ask for it, he feels a finger press through, slick with spit. He mumbles something, in Russian, Shane guesses and Shane’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Do you have lube?” Ilya asks and Shane nods. 

Ilya pulls away from him so that Shane can reach into his nightstand. He retrieves the bottle of lube and grabs an unopened box of condoms that has been there for quite a while now. 

“If you want,” Shane says, somewhat nervous, again. 

Ilya chuckles at that and kisses him. “Yes, I want.”

Shane nods. Ilya gets himself ready and settles in between Shane’s legs again. Shane then says: “It’s been a while, so…”

“I’ll take it easy,” Ilya assures him. “If it hurts, you tell me.”

“No, I mean…” Shane starts and he has to let out a breath to gather his senses. “I mean yes, I’ll tell you. But what I really mean is that I might not last long.”

Ilya chuckles again and leans down until their noses touch. “Hollander, I’m about to explode just looking at you,” he says and Shane licks those last few words right out of his mouth. 

Shane might have deluded himself a little bit in the last year or so. He jerked off, got himself off with toys and figured he was pretty satisfied, actually. He knew it was delusional as soon as Ilya even just kissed him, the way his body was immediately on fire. 

And now, as Ilya starts fucking into him slowly, Shane remembers. He remembers how fun this game can be with another person. He also wonders how it’s possible that this might be the most fun this game has ever been for him. How could the first time with a stranger be so much more of a turn on than god knows how often he had sex with his exes? 

Maybe that’s exactly why. It’s the first time, and also the only time. Shane might never see Ilya again. Who knows when Shane will be getting laid again, let alone by someone like him. 

Shane lifts his head off the pillow and gets onto his elbows. He cranks his neck so that he can see with his own eyes how Ilya slides his thick, wet cock in and out of him, with his hands firmly on Shane’s thighs. Shane looks at Ilya’s face, mouth slightly open, eyes hooded, but focused right on Shane’s face. He gives Shane a languid smile when he catches him looking and Shane has never seen something like that, something so beautiful. 

Shane has been trying to ignore his own throbbing cock, worried that if he starts stroking himself, he won’t be able to stop and it will be over in no time. He gives in anyway, wraps his fingers around his own cock and gives it a couple of lazy strokes.

Ilya then reaches out, his rhythm never breaking, and touches Shane’s cheek before he brushes his thumb over Shane’s lips. Shane doesn’t think, just drags his eyes away from where their bodies are connected and looks Ilya in the eyes instead, as he parts his lips and takes the thumb into his mouth. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya moans. “You’re so good.”

Shane responds with his own moan at the simple praise and if he could spread his legs any wider, if he could take this man any deeper, he would. Ilya seems to know, seems to understand somehow, and replaces the finger in Shane’s mouth with his tongue instead. Shane kisses him back with his hands buried in Ilya’s hair. 

Ilya picks up the pace of his thrust and Shane moans again, and then again and again, until his eyes roll into the back of his head from the flood of pleasure that takes over his entire body. 

As he slowly comes to his senses, he feels Ilya’s thrusts turn into slow drags and then they find each other’s mouths again. The desperation has ebbed away, but Shane isn’t ready for this to end just yet. The massive body on top of his own is a welcome warm blanket and he can still feel Ilya’s cock inside of him, and Shane doesn’t mind it, strangely likes it even, as a way to stay connected. He drags his fingers over Ilya’s back as they make out, rakes his nails over Ilya's scalp through soft curls.

Shane doesn’t know how long they are lying there like that, but Ilya eventually pushes himself up far enough to look at Shane.

“Can I wash up here? I don’t live far, but you came on my stomach, and I have never seen so much cum in my life-”

“Shut up,” Shane snorts.

“No, it’s impressive.”

“The bathroom is through there. There are towels in there too.” 

Ilya smiles at him and presses one last gentle kiss on the corner of Shane’s mouth, before he pulls himself out and gets off Shane entirely. 

It’s not cold in the room, necessarily, but Shane certainly feels a loss of warmth, of closeness, of comfort. Shane hears his shower running for barely five minutes. He hasn’t moved an inch, his limbs still heavy, and he feels like if he closes his eyes now, he might have the best sleep he has had all year. 

When Ilya comes out of the shower, he immediately starts gathering his clothes. Shane watches him stand next to the bed, pulling black boxers over an infuriatingly perfect, round ass. Shane looks away. It’s probably rude to stare like that. If anything, he should be getting up and getting dressed, too.

“No need to rush,” Ilya tells him when Shane hails himself upright. Ilya zips up his pants and pulls his t-shirt over his head in a matter of mere seconds, and just like that Shane is the only naked one in the room. He pulls the covers over his crotch, shy suddenly.

“I can find the door,” Ilya adds with a playful wink.

Shane is obviously not the one in a rush, but he decides not to point that out. He gets up and finds his underwear and sweats right where he left them. He puts them on and follows Ilya out of his bedroom and to the front door where Ilya puts his shoes on.

When he straightens himself out, Ilya asks: “That wasn’t so bad, yes?”

Shane fights a smile and loses. “Not bad at all,” he admits, feeling his face heat up.

Ilya reaches out and brushes a few strands of hair away from Shane’s forehead. “If you want to do it again, you can text me,” Ilya says.

“Oh?”

Ilya shrugs. “If you haven’t found your husband by then.”

“Fuck you,” Shane snorts. “I thought you weren’t supposed to hook up more than once if it’s nothing serious.”

“I don’t know where you are learning these things,” Ilya says. “But you can do whatever you want with whoever you want. Especially if it’s nothing serious.”

“Maybe,” Shane then says.

“I will leave it up to you,” Ilya says and before he leaves, he kisses Shane one last time and he leaves him pleasantly warm. Fuzzy even.

Shane has no doubts about whether or not he wants it to happen again. He wants it. 

Real bad. 

He does have plenty of doubts about if it is a good idea or not. If it’s responsible. About how long he should wait to text him. Texting him that same week might come off a little desperate. But his schedule is pretty full for the next two weeks, so maybe he should at least secure a time and date early? And he can’t really wait for Ilya to make the first move. Shane had played it too cool and now Ilya was waiting for him to text. 

He also has to deal with questions from J.J. about why Shane blew off his friend and with questions from Rose about why his third date didn’t really go well. He’s too embarrassed to admit to either of them that he hooked up with the bartender after the date and that it was the best sex he’s ever had. He’ll get around to telling them eventually. 

On Thursday night Shane finally sends Ilya a text: Tomorrow at ten? If it was up to him, they’d meet up earlier, eight at the latest, but Shane knows Ilya must be working late. 

Can’t tomorrow. Saturday morning? 11?

A Saturday morning hookup seems like complete lunacy. Shane has his yoga class at exactly eleven and he would have to explain to Rose why he can’t make it to the class and their standing Saturday lunch after. He doesn’t want to do that. 

Can’t in the morning. What about Saturday at 4 pm? Shane rubs at his eyebrow. He should have texted earlier. He knew scheduling this would be a nightmare. 

Have to be at work then. Sunday free all day.

Shane usually visits his parents on Sundays. They live two hours away. He didn’t visit them last weekend because of deadlines, so he has been looking forward to seeing them this week. And again, he doesn’t want to have to explain why he’s cancelling.

Can’t do Sunday. Shane presses send with an exasperated sigh. Ilya’s next reply is:

Ok. What about right now? 

Shane looks around his apartment. It’s not the neatest it has ever been, but presentable enough. Yeah ok. 

“I work from nine to five, but I usually leave the office at six. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I go to the gym right after. Sometimes I work on the weekends, if I have a deadline for a big project. Generally, I’m not available most mornings and afternoons during the weekends,” Shane explains. “And usually I work from home on Mondays.”

They are laid back against the pillows on Shane’s bed, barechested and with the covers strewn over both their laps. Ilya has an arm around Shane’s neck, pulling him close to his chest. Every now and then Ilya runs his fingers through Shane’s hair and it sends warmth all through Shane’s limbs every time he does it. Ilya didn’t immediately dash for the door after his shower this time. 

“Okay, so on Monday I’ll come and we’ll fuck during your break,” Ilya says. 

“No, I didn’t say that,” Shane says. “I’m not having sex in the middle of my work day.”  

“It’s in your own house,” Ilya argues. 

“Tell me your schedule,” Shane says, and he might sound a little demanding.

“You want to schedule the hook up?” 

“No. I mean, I just want to be sure I’m not bothering you during work or whatever. If I text you.”

“You’re not bothering me. But I am free Thursday nights and on Sundays. Monday I start work at three. I work until ten or eleven every day. Sometimes I start early, sometimes I go home late,” Ilya says. “I try to be home by midnight.” 

“Oh?” 

“My dog gets mad at me if I stay out late.” 

“You have a dog?” 

“Yes, big dog.”

“Does she shed a lot?”

Ilya laughs at that. “Is that one of your boyfriend questions? You don’t like pets?”

“I’ve never had one,” Shane admits, and he’ll have to analyse later why he is still asking Ilya these questions.

“Yes, she sheds. I have to vacuum every day. My house and my car.” 

“Sounds terrible.”

“It’s okay. She’s very cute, you know.”

“I guess if it works for you.” 

Ilya stifles a laugh.

“What?” Shane asks. 

“If you ever go on one of those dates again and someone tells you about their pet, you should ask them to see a picture.”

“Why? I don’t want a pet.”

“Hm. You show an interest in someone else, maybe you find out some new things you like.”

“Fuck off. It’s not like I have a crazy list of deal breakers. If I really like someone and they have a dog, I'd probably be fine with it.”

“Probably,” Ilya repeats.

“What do you know about dating anyway? You don’t have a boyfriend either,” Shane says. “Right?”

“Right. And I have never had one. But I know how to get to know people, I think.”

“You’ve never had one?”

“No.”

“Never?

“Hollander.”

“So you’ve just… been having sex like this your whole life?” 

“Hm. You say it like a bad thing.”

“No, I’m not trying to judge or anything. It's just so different from, you know, my life. I’ve had like three boyfriends and that’s it.”

“It’s different, yes.”

“So are you… are you sleeping with other guys right now, or?”

“Right now no other guys, no. Girls sometimes. But not like when I was younger.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, what?”

“Nothing, I just forgot you said you were bisexual. So you, like, sleep with girls more?”

“Usually, yes. I don’t fuck raw, if you’re worried about that.”

“Don’t say ‘raw’. I mean it’s good to know, but… So girlfriends then?”

“What?”

“You said you’ve never had a boyfriend, so I’m guessing you must have had girlfriends.That makes more sense.” 

There’s a pause, before Ilya answers. “No. Also no girlfriends.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” 

“You made the list of all my red flags, Hollander.”

“Still, most people are more forgiving than me.” 

Ilya shrugs. “I’m not lying to you.” 

“Why, then?” 

“Maybe I’m just not good for anyone in that way.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Hollander, these are a lot of questions for just some guy you’re fucking,” Ilya interrupts him, not unkind.

“Fine. Thursdays at eight works pretty good for me,” Shane then pivots, though the abrupt shut down does irk him a little bit. He has to admit he liked talking to Ilya. It was easier for him than talking to most people. 

“I’ve been with a lot of people, but I do not think someone ever put the dick appointment on the calendar,” Ilya says. 

“Well, it’s on the calendar this time. If something comes up, we can always cancel, so. It’s not that serious. It’s casual.”

The standing dick appointment on Thursdays is great. It’s fun, it’s casual, they fuck, they hang out, watch a hockey game or half a movie, before Ilya heads out again.

The only problem Shane has with it, is that once a week isn’t really enough.

Around a month in, next Thursday starts feeling like a lifetime away. He knows that there is technically nothing stopping him from texting Ilya on any other day and just asking him to come over after work. But then again, Ilya said he’s sleeping with girls, too. He might not be interested in seeing Shane more than once a week at all.

“Do you ever like, switch?” Shane asks one night. They’re still in his bed, Ilya is lying on his stomach, naked, one arm folded under his chin and using the other hand to scroll on his phone. Shane is sitting up against the headboard, right beside him, his thigh brushing up against Ilya’s arm. And he has been staring at the curve of Ilya’s ass for about five minutes straight. 

“Me? No,” Ilya says with a shrug, looking up at Shane. “Is that something you want?”

“Not really,” Shane admits. “But I figured maybe… I don’t know. In my previous relationships they’d want to and I would do it, you know.”

“Is that why they ended?”

“No. It wasn’t horrible or anything. Just not… not exactly what I wanted.”

“I feel like if you don’t get exactly what you want, you will start biting people,” Ilya says, giving Shane a gentle bite on his thigh. 

“Shut up. But guys must want you to bottom, right? You would think they want you for your ass specifically.”

Ilya laughs at that.

“Sorry, was that rude?” Shane asks. 

“No,” Ilya chuckles. “No, Hollander, it’s not rude. Men can want whatever they want. It’s not my problem. The good thing about hooking up is that if you don’t get what you want from one person, you can get it from someone else.”

“Is that what you do?”

He shrugs again. “More when I was younger. It’s not really that interesting to me anymore. Young people have time to go fuck two, three people in a week.”

“So if you feel that way, why aren’t you looking for a partner?”

Ilya pauses for a moment, eyes trained on Shane’s face. “What’s so good about it?”

“It’s not as lonely, I think.”

“Is that how you feel? Lonely?”

Shane doesn’t know how this conversation about Ilya’s ass became so personal all of a sudden. But then again, they’re naked in bed, how much more personal does it get? “Sometimes,” Shane admits. “But if I’m completely honest, I still felt pretty lonely even when I had a boyfriend. But that’s just me.”

“You didn’t love him? Or he didn’t love you?”

Shane contemplates this for a moment, though he knows the answer.  “Both, probably. He was nice and everything. I liked him. But when he moved away for work I was just kind of… relieved, you know? Didn’t always have to think about whatever Henry was doing anymore.”

“So you’ve never…”

“What?”

“Been in love?” 

“I don’t know. Probably not,” Shane admits out loud for the first time, even to himself. 

“I haven’t either,” Ilya says, like an admission of his own. He moves, turns around and rests his head on Shane’s thigh, looking up at him. “We’re almost thirty. It is a little bit embarrassing, no?”

“Well, my friends are always saying you have to give people a chance first and you'll fall in love eventually. But I was with Henry for two years and it didn’t happen, so.”

“Then why do two years with him? He fucked good?”

Shane shrugs. “He was alright.” 

“Alright like how?”

“Like good blowjobs, but he wanted to switch a lot, and, well…”

“And you’re very strict.”

“I mean, I would like to be. I get that with a boyfriend sometimes you have to do different stuff, but…”

“You don’t have to. When you’re hooking up, you just find someone else to do it.”

“Some people just want to be with one person, though. It’s worth working stuff like that out in a relationship. It’s not always a perfect match. Probably almost never is.”

“Is that what you are looking for? A perfect match?”

“I don’t know if it exists, really.”

“So negative.”

“Says the guy who has never even been in a relationship.”

“So no topping for you ever?”

“Are you asking?”

“No,” Ilya chuckles. “A finger while getting sucked off can be fun sometimes, but…” 

“I wouldn’t mind doing that,” Shane says. “I think that’s pretty hot, actually.”

“It sounds nice, yes. A relationship, I mean. One person who likes to fuck exactly the way you do, all the time.” 

“It’s not just about fucking, though. There is a lot of stuff in a relationship you need to get right for it to work.”

“Like what?”

“Like… you have to agree on things like finances, politics, family stuff. I know people who broke up because they couldn’t agree on what kind of vacation to go on.”

“What kind of vacation do you like?”

“Hiking. Going up to my parents’ cottage at the lake. Maybe camping.” 

“Sounds horrible.” 

“Shut up. What do you like?” 

“Spain. Greece. The sun. The food.”

“Okay, well. Depending on what people can afford, in a relationship you’d compromise. One year, you do the cottage, the next you do Spain.”

“I also like snowboarding.”

“Really? Me too.”

“Are you any good?”

“Better than all my friends.” 

“And that is like…two people?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“We should do it,” Ilya then says. “Go snowboarding for a weekend.”

“You and me?” Shane practically chokes out. “Why would we do that?” 

“Because it’s fun and we both like it. You do it with your friends, don’t you?” 

“I mean, yeah, but…”

“But you’re not as good as you said you are?” 

“Shut up,” Shane huffs and throws a pillow into his face, as an escape out of this conversation.

A couple of weeks later, Shane receives a text on Monday morning: Are you home? 

Shane replies immediately. Yes. But working. Off at five-thirty. If Ilya wants to come by that evening, Shane wouldn’t say no. 

When’s your break?

Shane looks at the time on his laptop. 11.30. He doesn’t usually take breaks like that. Just eats lunch at his desk when he’s home. But he could…

No, he shouldn’t even be considering this. He can’t be taking dick on his lunch break while working from home. Could he get fired for that? Probably.

No way. Not doing that.

The bubbles appear immediately.

:(

Shane can’t help it, he smiles at that. You can come over after I’m done working. 

Ilya responds quickly again: Can’t. I want to come over at 12. Suck your dick then leave. Will be gone by 12:10 :)

Shane looks at his schedule on his computer. His next meeting is at two. Could he really? Should he? He shakes his head. At himself, really. Okay, but you really have to be gone by twelve-thirty at the latest. 

By the time Shane puts his pants back on, it’s one-thirty. The thing is, Ilya showed up in gym shorts and a work out shirt that hugged his chest and biceps in a way that was just. Well, Shane hadn’t seen him like that before, so yes, he got carried away. 

“What gym do you go to?” Shane asks absently as he is fixing his hair in the mirror in his bedroom. He has to at least look normal for his next meeting. 

“Oasis,” Ilya replies, gathering his keys and phone, pocketing them.

“Fancy,” Shane says. “I didn’t think bartenders were making Oasis-money.”

“Sometimes I do more work than that,” Ilya laughs and then asks: “Have you been?”

“To Oasis? Yeah, I do yoga there twice a week.”

“Rich,” Ilya smirks. “Those classes are maybe the most expensive thing there. But you do more than yoga, no?” he says it while squeezing Shane’s bicep.

“There’s a regular gym at my office. It’s just easier, I guess. The gym at Oasis has a bit of a meathead vibe, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes, it does, but people are mostly nice. If you want, we can go together sometime.”

“You want to work out together?” Shane asks curiously.

“Yeah, why not? I like working out with friends. You don’t?”

Friends. There is that word again. “Not really,” Shane says. “Too distracting. Speaking of which, my meeting is starting soon, so…”

“Ah. Okay,” Ilya says.

Shane walks him to the door and has to ask: “Are we still on for Thursday?”

“Yes. You can put me in your calendar every Monday at twelve o’clock, too.”

“We can’t have sex during my workday every week. That’s crazy.” 

“Looked like you had fun to me,” Ilya shrugs. He gives Shane a kiss before he leaves and Shane has to scarf down his actual lunch in the last fifteen minutes left before his meeting starts. He can’t really let the ‘friends’ comment go, though.

That Thursday, they stay in bed until well past midnight, after having sex twice and then talking and making out for another hour. 

“I have to go,” Ilya finally says and he mumbles it into the crook of Shane’s neck between kisses so gentle, Shane was starting to think they were going to just fall asleep like that. And he didn’t mind at all.

“No,” Shane mumbles back without thinking. He has one hand in Ilya’s hair and the other on his neck.

“She won’t fall asleep if I don’t come home,” Ilya says with a defeated sigh. He pulls back to look Shane in the eyes, and all Shane can do is peer back up at him sleepily. Ilya pushes a few strands of hair away from Shane’s forehead. “I know it’s very stupid of me to leave someone so beautiful behind in bed like this,” he then says softly.

The words do something to Shane, they crack something open in him, something that was pushing and pushing and pushing to get through for a while now. He’s too sleepy, too fucked through to fight it tonight. “Monday?” Shane asks, because next Thursday suddenly feels like a lifetime away. 

But worry sets in as soon as Ilya leaves that night and it’s not gone in the morning either. Pretty much as soon as he wakes up he feels the humiliation of his actions. What kind of loser says no when their casual hook up says they have to leave? Ilya has to think he’s clingy. They shouldn’t be spending so much extra time together anyway, right? There were definitely a good two hours there last night where they were not having sex and just talking about Shane’s upcoming project at work. And the Thursday before that was the same. What is this whole making out thing about anyway? Shane didn’t even do this much making out with his ex-boyfriends. Now he’s shamelessly latching onto this random guy’s mouth, and it feels fucking amazing every single time.

He might just be overthinking this whole thing again. Ilya is probably just playful like that with everyone he sleeps with. He called Shane a friend, after all.

The thought of that still makes Shane’s stomach hurt a little bit and that is a problem in and of itself. He spends the rest of the weekend fighting the urge to text him.

And then it’s Monday, twelve o’clock. Shane is giddy to see him and tries to lead Ilya up to his bedroom immediately, but Ilya grabs his hand and pulls him back. “Show me your office.” 

“Oh,” Shane says. “I mean, it’s nothing special or anything.” He leads Ilya through the living room and pushes the door open to his home office. It’s nice, at least Shane thinks so. The designer made sure it was more than four white walls with a desk in the middle, which is probably as far as Shane would have gotten on his own. Instead he now has a rug, a couch, some plants, book cases and nice lamps in his office.

“So fancy,” Ilya whistles.

“Yeah, well-”

Ilya then puts his hands on Shane’s waist from behind and gently nudges him further into the room, towards the nice, three-seater leather couch. “Have you ever done it in here?” Ilya asks, his breath tickling Shane’s ear. 

Shane just shakes his head. He had locked his computer earlier, he knows he did, but he checks it again just in case.

“Everything is in my bedroom,” Shane says, turning around in Ilya’s arms. 

“I want to fuck you right here.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Why not?”

Ilya’s lips are glistening. Shane has been thinking about this for days. Why not? It’s a good question and Shane is sure there are many good reasons, but he can’t really make space for them while his mind is fully occupied by those lips. 

“Do you know where everything is? In my bedroom?” Shane asks and Ilya gives him a nod. “Then go get it.” 

Ilya is out the door in a matter of seconds, and Shane lets out a breath and makes sure his computer is turned off entirely, before he sits down on the couch in his office. He barely uses it, really. He might have lounged on it a total of five times in the three years he has had it. He adjusts himself, feeling the length of his own cock pressing up against his zipper. And for what? Two kisses and the promise of more? A pretty smile? Big hands? 

Shane might be too easy. 

Ilya returns in under a minute. Shane is still rubbing himself through his pants and from the way Ilya looks at him, he sees no reason to stop. 

“Fuck,” Ilya breathes out, and with two long strides he is on his knees in front of the couch, right between Shane’s legs.

And one moment, Shane is wearing all of his clothes, and the next he’s fully naked and getting blown. Ilya fucks him right there, putting Shane into position with purposeful but gentle hands, and Shane is seeing stars by the end of it.

“That was good,” Shane says once he has caught his breath and he has at least his underwear back. He then examines the couch. It looks mostly clean, thankfully.

It earns him a chuckle from Ilya, who is just pulling a shirt over his head, standing right in front of him. “Yes, very fucking good. And you look good, too. Bent over like that.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane says, instictually as he feels his face heat up. And then: “Really?”

“Yes, really. You always look good.”  He says it so casually, so flippantly.  And then: “You have to get back to work now, no? For your big project?” 

“Yeah, my presentation is tomorrow. I’m pretty bad at that kind of stuff, so I’m going to be practising for the rest of the day.” 

“You will do good,” Ilya says simply.

“You don’t know that.” 

“You are very good at your job, no?” 

“Lots of people are good. Projects like this don’t just go to good ideas. There is a whole pitch and I have to sell it and I’m not good at that at all. And this is big, you know. If this goes well, I could be promoted next year. So that just makes me even more nervous.” 

Ilya is just nodding along with Shane’s rambling like it makes total sense to him. He puts his hands on Shane’s shoulders. “Do you think your idea is the best for this project?”

“Of course it is. By a mile. But-”

“Then you should remember that when doing the presentation. You are Shane Hollander and your idea is the best. Also, you are the hottest guy in the room.”

“I don’t know how that is relevant.” 

“It is always relevant. Do you want to do your presentation for me?” 

“Aren’t you going to the gym?”

“I can go later.”

“You really want to listen to my whole presentation? It’s like forty-five minutes long. Most of it is just about cost and materials.”

“I would love to hear it.”

“You’re going to think it’s boring,” Shane says. 

“Yes, probably.” Ilya grabs Shane by the shoulders and moves him to stand facing the couch. He then sits himself down and leans back. “But you can practice and I will get to look at you like this.”

“Like what? Like this? You want me to do it naked?” Shane asks, looking down at himself.

“I was going to let you keep the underwear on, but you can take it off if you want.” 

“This is ridiculous.” 

“Hollander, I’m waiting for my presentation. Also please put those glasses on.” Ilya nods towards the glasses on his desk, next to his keyboard.

“Jesus Christ. Fine. Let me just… pull up the powerpoint.” 

“You made a powerpoint?”

“Of course. It’s a presentation.”

“No, it’s good. People with big boy jobs make powerpoints. Show me.”

“I spent like three hours on it,” Shane says as he turns the screen of his Mac all the way around to face the couch. He puts his glasses on. They actually do help him read what’s on the screen.

“Okay. Hottest guy in the room,” Ilya then says. “Remember that. Stand up straight.”

It’s all very silly. Absurd, even. But Shane forgets he’s as good as naked about five minutes into his pitch. Ilya interrupts him every now and then with a surprisingly astute question. When Shane is finally done, he is actually glad he did this exercise. 

“I think it’ll be much easier with my clothes on,” Shane says when he’s done. “So, what did you think?”

“You did very good.”

“You think you would give me the project?”

“Hm. I would have to hear the other pitches first.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Shane says. Ilya holds a hand up to him. Shane takes it and slides into his lap like it is the most natural thing in the world.

Ilya doesn’t leave long after that, but before he does he tells Shane about a new coffee spot that opened up not far from Shane’s apartment building. “You would like it,” he says. “Very good boring black slow drip coffee.”

“Cool,” Shane says. “Maybe I’ll drop by this weekend with my friend Rose. She loves trying new places like that.” 

“Ah, with your friend Rose,” Ilya says. “Yes, she will like it.”

Shane gets the project. The first person he texts about it is Ilya, who responds with a string of firework emoji's and then emoji's with glasses on.

He gets around to telling Rose the news about the project after their yoga session on Wednesday. On Thursday after work, Rose shows up with Miles, J.J., Hayden and Jackie to celebrate the occasion. Shane is stumped, really. Everybody is already here, they've made reservations, and Shane never told them that Thursday is now a night he is structurally unavailable. 

So he goes. 

And here is the thing. Shane hasn't told anyone about Ilya. He doesn't know why, exactly. It has been a few months now. Rose would never judge him for it, but he knows she'll have questions and Shane isn't ready for any questions about Ilya right now. He doesn't want to think about it too much, he doesn't want to analyse his feelings right now. He enjoys their time together. That's all he wants to make of it for now.

So Shane texts Ilya that he has to cancel for that evening. Ironically, his friends take him to Irina’s. "I can finally see this hot bartender,"  Rose says. and then turns to the rest of the table to tell this almost funny story. It's almost funny, because Shane feels kind of horrible for keeping a huge part of it to himself.

It's a relief, really, that he knows Ilya doesn't work on Thursdays. 

Regardless, it's a very nice night out. Shane orders the salmon again, with the glaze this time, and he can admit that it is significantly tastier that way. When it is time to settle the bill, the server tells them the meal is on the house. 

"Really?" Rose asks. "That's incredible. Who do we thank?"

"The owner is not here on Thursdays, but I'll be sure to pass on the message," the server nods with a smile and disappears again. 

"If he's not here then how does he even know we're here?" Rose questions out loud, to no one in particular. 

"Maybe they just do this for celebrations," Hayden suggests. 

"There is no way they comp an entire bill every time there is a celebration," Rose snorts. "This is not a cheap place, either." 

"We just got very lucky. Thanks to Shane," Miles says.

On his way home, Shane texts Ilya. Did you tell the owner of the restaurant we were coming?

Ilya responds a few minutes later: ?? 

Shane: They comped our meal. I thought maybe you had something to do with that.

Ilya: Yes I told them to do it.

Shane: They just let you do that? 

Ilya: ?? I can do whatever I want.

Shane: I just don't want you to spend money out of pocket or anything. And I don't want you to get in trouble at work. 

Ilya: Dont worry about me, Hollander. Did you have a nice night?

Shane: Yeah, it was great. Thank you.

Shane starts typing I wish I didn't have to cancel tonight and erases it. He types I'm sorry I had to cancel so last minute and sends it.

He doesn’t get a reply back.

The next evening Hayden calls Shane to remind him that Henry is back in town. The first time he brought it up was during Shane’s celebration dinner and Shane had felt like they spent a considerable amount of time on the topic.

Henry, Shane’s ex. Henry who relocated to Vancouver a little over a year ago. Hayden had introduced them to each other three years ago now, and they had been together for two years. They parted ways amicably, but Shane didn’t really care to maintain all that much contact after he left. Ilya is the only person Shane had confided in that he was relieved when the relationship ended. Henry was a perfectly nice guy, but the relationship had long fizzled out, if there were ever any real sparks to begin with. Henry was nice. Shane liked the idea of having a boyfriend. His friends and parents liked Henry. So Shane liked Henry, too. 

Now, he can’t even remember the last time he had thought of him. Certainly not since he talked about him, just as a memory, with Ilya. He just isn’t part of Shane’s life anymore. Shane is happy to leave him in the past. 

But Hayden can be pretty pushy when he wants to be, so Shane agrees to go to Henry’s welcome-back-dinner. He knows it’s probably a bad idea, that it might send a signal he doesn’t necessarily want to send, but at the same time he doesn’t feel like being an asshole after the very nice dinner his friends arranged for him.

And it’s not just Hayden. 

“I really think he wants to see you again. Like one on one,” Rose tells him on Saturday afternoon, after their yoga class, when they sit down at the coffeeshop Ilya recommended earlier that week. “Henry. Hayden and J.J. keep bringing it up.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shane says flatly. He had stared at the drink menu for a long time, mostly musing on what Ilya might have ordered when he was here. Something sweet, probably. But maybe not too sweet. Shane had settled for the boring slow drip black coffee for himself and he has to admit it is very good.

“So? How do you feel about that?” Rose asks.

“About what? Henry? I don’t feel anything, really. I haven’t thought about him in a long time,” Shane says honestly.

“You guys were pretty great together, though,” Rose says, bumping his shoulder. “And you’re both single, so no harm in catching up, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Shane says, even though he does know. He still hasn’t come around to telling Rose about Ilya, and he is feeling worse and worse about it. “I’ll be there on Friday, but I really don’t want it to be a whole weird thing.”

On Monday morning, Shane receives a text from Ilya that reads: Can’t make it today. Sorry.

Shane is disappointed to say the least.

He replies: Ok. 

And then adds: Everything okay?

It takes a few minutes for Ilya to respond, and when he does it’s with a picture of a chocolate brown dog paw wrapped in white bandages accompanied with the text: No. Everything is terrible.

Shane facetimes him and when Ilya answers, he’s in the driver’s seat of his seemingly parked car.

“Hey, what happened?” Shane asks.

Ilya lets out a deep sigh and then points the phone at the back seat, where a big brown dog is lying on a mountain of blankets, looking the saddest Shane has ever seen a dog look. “Walked on a piece of glass this morning. They gave her stitches and everything.”

“That fucking sucks,” Shane says. “She’s going to be okay, though?”

“Yes, she will be fine. It still hurts, I think, but they said she’ll walk again on her own when she’s ready. Maybe just a day or two.”

“That’s good news. Were you worried?”

“Yes, very. There was a lot of blood. And she never makes those whining noises. But she’s okay now,” Ilya says, like he is reminding himself of that fact. “I was more scared than her, probably. She’s already falling asleep.”

“Are you going back home now?” 

“Yes. If you want, you can come over when you’re done working,” Ilya then suggests. 

“Tonight? Aren’t you scheduled for work?”

“My baby is injured, Hollander. I’m not going anywhere. Come over. I’ll make you something good to eat.”

“You want to cook for me now?”

“Yes, I’m a good host. Not like you, you know, always letting me starve-”

“Oh, fuck off. Everytime you come by you ransack my pantry. Last time there were actually zero snacks left behind after you left.” Shane doesn’t mention that these days he buys most of those snacks specifically for when Ilya is over. 

Ilya laughs and then asks: “So will you come?”

Shane doesn’t really need to think about it. 

Shane has learned a lot of things from his mother, and one of those things is not to show up to anyone’s house empty-handed. On his way to Ilya’s house, he picks up an assortment of slices of cake from the bakery his mother loves. He has no clue what Ilya’s favorite type of cake would be, but he figures he might find out today. He also picks up a bag of what look like the fanciest dog treats ever made at the pet store, and then finally heads to Ilya’s house. 

Ilya lives in a nice neighborhood, in a medium sized brick house with a pretty green front door. It’s the type of house real adults live in, and Shane has a hard time piecing together how a bartender could afford a place like this. He also doesn’t miss the fat shiny black Porshe SUV in the driveway, which Shane parks his Jeep behind.

Shane rings the doorbell and looks out at the street. The sun is already setting and it is getting pretty cold out. The first time Shane spoke to Ilya at the restaurant, it was the end of summer and now it feels like winter is already around the corner. 

It’s been three months. It makes sense that Shane doesn’t know everything about Ilya, but he feels like he actually knows shockingly little. And he also feels like it’s not for lack of trying on his end. They do talk. Shane does ask questions. Ilya just always seems uninterested in delving any deeper than a shrug and a vague answer when Shane tries to ask him about his family, beyond the fact that both his parents have passed away and that he hasn’t been back to Russia in five years.

Maybe Shane should take the hint already and stop trying to make this into something it is not.

But he is here now. With cake. And dog treats.

Ilya answers the door in a relaxed t-shirt and sweats, looking less stressed than he did on the phone that afternoon. Ilya takes the bags from him and takes Shane’s jacket, too. He points at a pair of slippers for Shane to change into when he kicks his shoes off. 

“This is a very good bakery,” Ilya says, examining the paper bag. “We were thinking of partnering with them for desserts at the restaurant.”

“My mom loves them,” Shane offers. 

“Please, come in quickly. She gets curious when someone is at the door and she’s going to try to come over if she doesn’t see who it is,” Ilya says. 

Shane has absolutely no clue what he is talking about, until he follows Ilya into the living room where a fairly large brown dog is trying to scramble off the couch. Shane can’t believe he almost forgot the entire reason he’s here in the first place.

Ilya says something, or multiple things, in Russian and it again takes Shane too long to realise that he is talking to the dog, who settles back down in the nest of blankets and plops her head gingerly on her paws, the injured one on the bottom. 

“Sorry, she only speaks Russian,” Ilya explains. “Or responds to it, you know. But you can say hello.”

“Say hello?” Shane asks. “Like in English?” 

“I mean like pet her. Have you never met a dog before?” Ilya laughs.

“I have,” Shane says, and it is definitely too defensive. Leave it to him to fumble meeting a fucking dog, really. Shane crouches down in front of her, big golden brown eyes looking back at him curiously. She moves her big head to sniffle at him and he puts his hand up for her. The truth is that Shane actually hasn’t met a lot of dogs. He never had one as a child and none of his friends currently have one. The closest he gets to them is when he sees his neighbors take their dogs out around their building. 

Shane is pretty mesmerized with this dog in particular, though. Her fur is so vibrant, smooth and soft that he has to imagine Ilya must take amazing care of her. Shane scratches her on the top of her head and gets an excited pant in return, showing bright white canines and a long pink tongue. 

“I think she likes me,” Shane says.

“Hm. She likes everyone,” Ilya says in a teasing tone and when Shane looks up he is looking down at the both of them with a gorgeous, fond smile that Shane tries his hardest not to interpret. “When she’s feeling better she can show you some tricks, too,” Ilya then adds. He crouches down next to him, with the bag of dog treats Shane bought in his hands. Ilya opens the bag and the smell catches her attention immediately. He hands Shane a couple of pieces. 

“Me?” he asks stupidly.

“You got them for her,” Ilya points out. And then a little more gently, he says: “She’s nice.” 

Without thinking much more about it, Shane holds his hand out for her and in a split second the treats are gone and Shane is left with a somewhat moist hand.

“You can wipe it on her blanket,” Ilya says, which Shane does. Shane then looks at the bandage on her paw. “It’s so sad, but I guess glass is tough to spot on the street.”

“I know. I should have paid more attention.”

“That’s not what I said.” Shane stands up straight and pulls Ilya with him so that they are facing each other. “Accidents like this can happen to anyone.”

Ilya shrugs noncommittally. “I’m normally more careful.” 

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“How would you know?” Ilya then says, putting his hands on Shane’s hips and pulling them flush together, sly smirk playing on his lips. Perfect lips. “You look like you’ve never seen a dog in your life.” 

“Shut up,” Shane huffs. Ilya leans forward and Shane braces himself with his hands gently cradling Ilya’s face as their lips finally meet. The kiss is sweet, but there is that flick of Ilya’s tongue that will never not make Shane’s temperature rise. 

“Are you hungry?” Ilya then asks in a tone so sultry that Shane truly doesn’t know if he actually means for food or if he's offering to bend Shane over right now.

“Yes,” Shane says, because he’s perfectly content with either.

Shane sits at the small kitchen island with only two stools. Ilya had dramatically scooped Anya up off the couch earlier and plopped her down in the corner of the kitchen, stating that if he doesn’t, she will just try to get up to follow them and hurt herself if. 

Shane then watches Ilya move around a well used kitchen with ease, finishing the last preparations of what look like two beautiful restaurant quality plates of food. “I thought you said you weren’t a chef?” Shane says, eyeing the perfectly grilled piece of salmon on a bed of fragrant yellow rice, grilled zucchini slices and even a lemon wedge. Ilya slides the plate in front of him and gives the plate a little quarter turn so that the filet of salmon is perfectly leveled. “This is so pretty.”

“I’m not a chef,” Ilya says, handing Shane a fork. “But I spend a lot of time in a restaurant.” 

“Bartending is not the only work you do, though, right?” 

“Ah. You got me,” Ilya says. “Sometimes I sweep the floors. Wash dishes…”

“I see. And you paid for this house and that car outside with what, your tips?”  

“No, the owner of the restaurant is very generous and pays his staff very well.” Ilya opens the fridge and emerges with a ginger ale and a coke. Ilya then sits down next to him and picks up his own fork. “Please eat, before it gets cold.”

Shane has a million questions and he will get to each and every one of them eventually, after he eats.

While they share a piece of carrot cake for dessert, Shane’s mom’s favorite, Shane finally says. “So you own the restaurant.”

“Wow. When did you figure it out?” 

“Hm. Fifteen minutes ago, maybe.”

Ilya laughs at that.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Every time I called you a bartender, you never cared to correct me?”

“I am also a bartender. It is part of my work. I don’t mind it,” Ilya shrugs. “And I had a feeling you maybe thought it was fun to fuck a bartender.”

“It was fun. But we’ve known each other for a while now.” 

Ilya shrugs again. “I didn’t think it would matter either way.” 

“It doesn’t, but…” but why put up a wall like that? Why keep me away from such a huge part of your life? Why do you not want me to know you? 

“But what?”

“You said we were friends. A friend usually knows what job you do, at the very least,” Shane says. 

“Really? I have friends who work in offices and I do not know what they do all day,” Ilya says. “But maybe I should make a PowerPoint for you. Tell you all about the delivery schedules for meats and vegetables and liquor liscences.”

“You don’t know how to make a PowerPoint,” Shane snorts.

“This is true. I’ll show you my Excel sheets, then. I get good feedback on them from my accountant.”

They stay in that kitchen for a long time. Anya falls asleep in front of the radiator that sends a pleasant warmth into the space, Ilya gives Shane a cream colored zip-up fleece to wear over his t-shirt, he makes them coffee and pulls out more treats for Shane to try. Shane indulges, because it would be rude not to and because he very much likes the twinkle in Ilya’s eyes as he explains something about these almond cookies from Italy and those handmade bonbons from Switzerland. He tells Shane about the chef who he co-owns the restaurant with, Zane, who he has worked with in different restaurants since he was eighteen, before they finally decided to try it on their own a few years ago. There is a hot passion there, that makes Shane want to know every little detail about the endeavor, about Ilya’s entire life, really.

“It’s your bedtime,” Ilya then says, showing Shane the time on his phone. Ten-fifteen. Shane can barely believe it with how time flew by.

“Right, I should head home,” he says, just for show, really. He doesn’t want to go anywhere, at all. He hasn’t even seen Ilya’s bedroom yet. “I have work in the morning.”

“Ah, work in the morning,” Ilya says. “Well you should definitely go then. Or stay. You know.”

“I don’t know,” Shane says, biting away a smile. “I don’t have my toothbrush.” 

“I have twelve brand new cheap plastic toothbrushes for you.” 

“I also don’t have my phone charger.”

“We have the same phone.”

Shane looks at Anya, still peacefully sleeping near the radiator. “Doesn’t she usually sleep in the bed with you?”

"Sometimes, yes, but she is used to company in the bed.”

Shane has to drag his eyes away from the dog to look at Ilya who is staring right back at him. And it really is like an ice cold shower. One moment they’re flirting in a way that has Shane’s heart flutter like it never has before, and the next he is reminded that Ilya has company over often enough for his dog to be used to them in his bed.

“I mean…” Ilya starts. 

“I think I’m just gonna head home,” Shane says, sliding off the stool. 

“Shane.” 

“It just makes more sense. It’s not that far and not even that late.” He doesn’t wait for a response, just leaves the kitchen. He takes off the fleece and hangs it on the coat rack at Ilya’s front door and starts putting on his jacket and shoes.

“Shane,” Ilya says again and when he turns around, Ilya is barely a foot away. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Shane doesn’t even try to decipher what that could mean. “Yeah, no, it’s all good,” he says for no reason at all, because they both know it’s not good. Shane doesn’t feel good about it. He turns around and grabs the doorhandle. “Thanks for the meal, by the way. It was really great.” 

“Will I see you on Thursday?” Ilya asks from behind him and Shane feels a hand on his shoulder. Barely there, just ghosting over it.

“I… I’m not sure. I’ll let you know,” Shane says and leaves.

There is a change of plans that takes deciding about that Thursday out of Shane’s hands. Hayden and Jackie can’t find a babysitter for Henry’s welcome-home-party at the bar they wanted to go to, so instead they hold the party at their home. And instead of on Friday, they do it on Thursday, so that J.J. can be there and also go to his cousin’s wedding on Friday.

It is a logistical nightmare in the groupchat for about two days, before they settle on Thursday night at seven at Jackie and Hayden’s. 

He waits until Thursday afternoon to send Ilya a text. He had opened and closed their text exchange about a hundred times since Monday, but never found the right words. He wants to ask if Anya’s paw has healed up nicely, but he’s not ready to talk about anything else. Does he apologise for leaving like that? Does he just tell Ilya that he really didn’t like Ilya talking about other company when they were together? And what purpose would that serve other than to clue Ilya in on the pathetic fact that Shane likes living in some kind of fantasy world for those few hours a week they are together, in which he could pretend that it is just the two of them. 

And even knowing all of that, it doesn’t take away Shane’s, again, delusional want for Ilya to text him first. Why isn’t he worried about Shane leaving like that? Why isn’t he begging for Shane’s forgiveness for saying something so unbelievable stupid? 

Can’t do tonight. Something came up, Shane texts him. 

He arrives at Hayden’s late. He contemplated not going at all. He really doesn’t feel like going out, but he promised three different people he’d be there, so showing up late it is. Jackie greets him at the door with one of the baby’s in her arms. They do a quick exchange: wine bottle for baby and Shane carries what he thinks is Ruby with him into the living room. He offers everyone a big sweeping greeting and then joins Rose in the kitchen. “Rough day at work?” she asks, putting a warm hand on his back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine, why?” he asks. He leans back agains the kitchen counter and adjusts the baby in his arms. She is looking up at him with big curious brown eyes. Shane always liked the idea of having a family of his own. He thinks back at his own childhood, family vacations, holidays. He would love to be able to offer that to a child who needs it one day. 

And if that is what he wants, he probably shouldn’t be wasting time with Ilya Rozanov.

“You look a little stressed, is all,” Rose says, kindly. 

“Maybe work was a little rough,” Shane then sighs. “But nothing crazy.” He should probably tell her. Tell someone. This has gone on too long for Shane to even understand his own feelings about it anymore. 

Rose nods and then puts on a smile. “Henry has been asking about you.” 

“Rose.”

Jackie joins them in the kitchen and opens the fridge. “What do you want to drink, Shane?”

“A beer is fine.”

“Catching up can’t hurt and you guys look so cute together,” Rose continues. “It’s already a beer night, apparently. You can try to let loose a little.”

“Give her here,” Jackie says, and takes maybe-Ruby out of his hands and does another exchange with a beer. “No using my baby as a human shield. Go talk to him.”

Shane doesn’t want to consider himself a shallow man. Spoiled, maybe. Sure. Lately, he definitely has been. He has been up close and personal with what might as well be one of the most beautiful people walking this planet. Shared a bed with him. Kissed lips so gorgeous that when he wasn’t kissing them, Shane could barely take his eyes off them. He traced the moles on that face, on that throat and chest and those abs and thighs and…

It’s just not fair to compare. 

Henry is perfectly handsome, but any attraction Shane ever felt for him is a distant memory. Hayden and J.J. practically force Shane to sit next to him on the couch and Shane politely listens to stories about him doing the exact same data analyst job he did in Montreal, in Vancouver. And now he’s back in Montreal to do some more of it. 

Shane is spoiled, yes. Ilya could make a story about going from store to store looking for the dog treats Anya likes sound like a three act play. 

Shane really wants to know if her paw healed well. 

“Shane just got a massive new project at work,” Rose says, leaning into Shane and Henry’s mostly one-sided conversation. “He’s designing a new addition to the university campus at McGill.” 

“I’m not surprised,” Henry then says, peering at Shane with a familiar smile. “All that work was never going to be for nothing. You were always so passionate about it.”

“Yeah, no, I still am. It’s going to be fully climate neutral and I hope the rest of the campus can be renov-”

“You know, I feel like all we’ve done is talk about work. It’s almost the weekend. We’re supposed to wash the work week off of us,” Henry cuts him off. 

Shane doesn’t even try to hide rolling his eyes. Why did he let himself get talked into this? How did he get so wrapped up in his own feelings? He could be getting his back blown out by Ilya Rozanov right now. It’s what he should be doing. Being held in massive arms. He gave that up for this?

Shane doesn’t participate in the rest of the conversation. He doesn't stay much longer after that. He gives a sweeping goodbye and heads out, citing having work in the morning. 

He showed up late and left early, but no one can say Shane wasn’t there.

Back home, in bed, he pulls out his phone and opens his text conversation with Ilya.

Sorry about the other night. I know it was weird. I shouldn’t have left like that. He types out the message and deletes it. Ilya hadn’t even responded to Shane’s last message.

Is Anya doing better? he sends.

It only takes a few minutes for Ilya to respond this time. Much better.

Shane’s thumb hovers over the call button for a moment, and he is then startled out of his skin when his phone buzzes wildly with an incoming call. 

Shane answers the call and the screen is immediately filled up with a dark paw, held up to the phone camera by a large, gentle hand.

“She still has stitches,” Shane notes. 

“They should fall out on their own,” Ilya’s voice floats in.

“Is she walking normally again?” 

“Not completely, but she’s doing better.” 

“Good.” 

“You’re in bed already?”

“It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“I thought you were going out.” Ilya finally appears and Shane really hates how handsome he looks, sitting back on the dark couch. 

“I got home half an hour ago.”

“Ah. Not a good date, then.” 

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that.”

“I was just joking, but clearly it was something,” Ilya then says. “Tell me.”

Shane shouldn’t. “Someone I know moved away for a year and he is back in town now. Some friends got together to welcome him back. I thought it would be rude not to go.”

“Someone you know,” Ilya says flatly. 

“Yes.”

“You told me about someone who left to work in Vancouver for a year.” 

“Right.”

“Ah. That man, you said he fucks bad and you never loved him.”

“I don't think I said he fucks bad.”

“Oh, so he fucks good then?”

“It was fine.”

“No, you said blowjobs were good, and the rest was whatever.”

“I should have never told you any of that,” Shane sighs.

“When people ask you how I fuck you tell them it’s fine? Or whatever?”

“I haven’t told anyone about you.” 

There is a pause as Ilya nods, before Ilya asks: “So what now? You’re going back to him?” 

“No. No, but I do feel like my friends expect… something.”

“For you to go back to him?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Hm.”

“So what do you think?” 

Ilya shrugs.

“I just want to know. You have an opinion on everything,” Shane says.

“My opinion is that you don’t sound like you missed him,” Ilya says.

“Not really, no.”

“And I think you like to be fucked good.”

“Shut up. Not everything is about sex.” 

“Okay.” 

“It would be easier if I could just tell them that I’m already seeing someone.” It feels like an admission, like an open door for Ilya to step through, if he wants to. A hand reaching out.

The silence that follows is so long that for a moment Shane thinks the screen froze. But Ilya’s hand is moving slowly, stroking the back of his own head.

“You don’t want to be with some guy you broke up with a year ago. Why is that so crazy? Why do you need another reason for that?” Ilya finally asks.

Ilya doesn’t exactly slam the door shut, but Shane can’t imagine him being any further away from it. “I just don’t want it to be a whole thing. They know I’ve been dating.”

“So tell them you’re having fun, fucking around.”

“They know I wouldn’t do that.”

“But you are doing that.”

Shane tries to shake the unease, tries to ignore the sting. He knows that they are just fucking around. He knows that. And he actively agreed to that. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s really what I want to keep doing.”

“So you know what you want then?”

Shane knows what he wants. Has known it for a while now. “It’s not really for me, I think. The casual thing.”

“I see.”

“Don’t you…” Shane forces himself to look at Ilya’s face on the screen. “Don’t you ever want more?” 

Ilya pulls his shoulders up and gives Shane a pained look. “I don’t think about it.”

Shane doesn’t believe it. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to believe that Ilya kisses everyone like that. He doesn’t want to believe that Ilya fucks everyone like that, that he lets everyone go on and on about their boring job like that. That Ilya smiles and laughs like that with everyone.

“Okay,” Shane says. “I should go to bed.”

“Goodnight, Shane.” 

Shane wakes up the next morning, after a horrible night’s sleep, to a message from Henry. He doesn’t care to open it until he’s at work:

Hey, we didn’t really get a chance to talk much last night. Tbh, I only agreed to the gettogether because you’d be there. I would love to catch up more, just the two of us. Maybe we can grab coffee this weekend and hike the trail we always used to?

The message annoys him. It’s clear, it’s concise, it’s everything Shane would love for llya to be. Shane responds: yeah ok.

Even if it’s just to tell him in person that he has absolutely no interest in getting back together with him.

So on Saturday morning, instead of going to his regular yoga class with Rose, Shane goes on a hike with Henry. It’s a trail they used to walk often when they were together and Shane might have forgotten how nice it actually is. Not necessarily walking the trail with Henry, but the trail itself. Fall has truly set in, turning some of the leaves on the trees a soft burnt orange, others a bright yellow.

He should probably do this more often. Not with Henry.

Regardless, Shane has an easier time talking to Henry this morning than he did the other night at Hayden and Jackie’s thing. His weird evening with Ilya is a little further away and Shane can honestly use the distraction. It is better than picking up his phone every two minutes in the pathetic hope to see a message from Ilya, anything at all.

But the small talk with Henry is still painful. He also thinks it’s telling for it to be this way with a man who he dated for two years. His mind travels back to Ilya multiple times during the conversation. So funny and engaging in everything he said…

This is really getting pathetic.

“So Hayden and J.J. told me you’ve been dating here and there,” Henry then says, which takes Shane back a little. 

“Here and there,” Shane echoes. 

“Anything serious?” 

And Shane must take too long to answer or something, because Henry follows it up with: “Last I checked you were single. I checked last night, by the way. Figured at least Hayden and J.J. would know.”

“Yeah, no, I’m not really looking for anything serious right now,” Shane lies, because whatever. 

“Right. It can be nice, just being free for a while, but…”

Shane feels Henry’s hand slide into his own, in a move so bizarre it has Shane stunned for a moment. Henry stops walking, pulling Shane back, and keeps talking as he clasps his hand tightly. “I did miss you,” he says. “We were good together. Fit in well with the group, you know? We don’t have to jump right back into it or anything, but maybe we can see where it goes…”

Shane becomes distracted by a big brown dog trudging towards them on the trail, sniffing at the ground and then at Shane’s legs. Shane pulls his hand out of Henry’s frankly annoying grasp and crouches down to pet her. Shiny brown fur, floppy ears, golden brown eyes. It has to be her. But don’t a lot of dogs look alike? 

Shane is about to reach for her collar to see if there is a name there, when his eyes are drawn back to the trail as he hears footsteps crunching on gravel, and a voice so specific, it stops Shane’s heart right in his chest. 

“Anya.”

It is followed by a command in Russian, and she turns her head and then bounces up, dashing back in the direction of where her name was called. Shane watches Ilya make long strides past him, looking as gorgeous as he’s ever looked in nothing more than shorts and a t-shirt. Right beside him is an equally gorgeous girl. She is wearing leggings and…a cream colored zip-up fleece. A fleece Shane knows.

Ilya glances at Shane once, expression ice cold, as he passes them on the trail and moves on to where Anya is patiently waiting for him just a few yards away. Shane watches the girl with him bend down to clip Anya’s leash on and they disappear down the path.

“Pretty cute dog,” Henry says. 

Shane looks at him. He practically forgot he was even there. Shane continues down the trail, feeling worse than he ever has.

Humiliated isn’t a strong enough word. Shane doesn’t know which part of the encounter was worse. Seeing Ilya with that woman or Ilya seeing him with Henry. How fucking sad is that? After Shane explicitly said he wasn’t going back to his boring ex, Ilya sees them with their fingers intertwined. 

And what does Shane have to complain about? Seeing Ilya with some girl, after he made it clear time and time again that they weren’t exclusive? 

But then again, why would just some random girl be holding Anya’s leash? Why would she wear Ilya’s fleece? She’s clearly more than just someone, there is no doubt in Shane’s mind about that. He even considers the possibility that Ilya might have just lied about all of it. What if he actually just has a girlfriend? What if he has had one from the fucking start? What if Shane means even less to him than he already thought he did? 

He spends the rest of the Saturday about as miserable as he possibly can, staring at his tv from under a blanket. A wave of emotion washes over him when he finds one strand of blonde hair on the blanket. So much for never getting his heart broken. 

He knows he doesn’t need to suffer alone. He could call Rose or his mom to vent. He just wouldn’t know where to start. If he’s going to call anyone, it should be Ilya. What he’d say, exactly, is another thing. And if Ilya even cares to hear from him, is another thing also.

He decides to wait until Sunday morning. It rings for quite a while before Ilya finally picks up and Shane’s heart skips a beat when he hears his voice. “Yes,” Ilya says. 

“Hi,” Shane says.

“Hello.”

“How are you doing?” 

“Great. You?” Ilya asks flatly.

“Yeah, fine. So…Anya’s paw must have healed well.”

“Yes.” 

“Good, I’m glad. And what about your girlfriend? Is she doing good?” Shane asks, because he might as well get it out of the way.

“My what?” 

“Your girlfriend. Or wife, even. I don’t know.” 

“Shane, what the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend. My friend is fine. What about you? Was that the famous ex you keep talking about or some new guy?”

“I don’t keep talking about him. And why was your friend wearing your clothes?”

“Because she is always cold. Should I let her freeze?” 

“Whatever. You want me to believe this isn’t the company you have in your bed? I saw her hold Anya’s leash. I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, you saw her hold Anya’s leash? I saw you holding that man’s hand.”

“Well, that was nothing. He grabbed it,” Shane explains.

“Do you like him?”

“No.”

“You have been with him two times this week already.” 

“Why do you care?”

“Of course I care about you. Why are you acting like I did some horrible thing to you? I don’t understand any of this,” Ilya says and the frustration in his voice is so palpable that Shane can imagine him moving his hands. 

“You didn’t,” Shane admits and he wonders if he really is just going to be arguing with a man on the phone. “It’s not like that. You just… You talking about other people you’re sleeping with… I really don’t like that shit. So that just means that this isn’t working. That’s all.” He is.

“That’s all,” Ilya echoes. “When did I tell you about other people I’m sleeping with? Who do you think I’ve been with since I met you?”

“You said Anya is used to sleeping in your bed with company.” 

“Yes. Sometimes my friend watches her when I’m away. She sleeps in my bed with her.” 

“That girl, you mean.”

“Yes, that girl,” Ilya says with a longsuffering sigh. “I should have said it differently.”

“And you’re telling me you’ve never slept with her?”

“I’m not saying that. We did a long time ago. It’s not like that anymore. She has her own boyfriend now.” 

“Why would I believe you?”

“Why would I lie?”

“You lied about the restaurant.”

“You didn’t want to know me, Shane.”

“Yeah, for like two weeks. We got pretty close after that, don’t you think?”

“Did we? Because you did not even want to go get coffee with me. Or do anything else that is not me fucking you in your house.”

Shane is stunned into silence. Coffee?

There is another sigh on the other end and then Ilya says: “Look, I don’t know if this matters. I have not been with anyone else since I met you. I can’t prove it, so it is up to you.”

“Why?” Shane asks.

“Hm?”

“Why haven’t you been with anyone else?

“Because I like being with you more.”

“I asked if you wanted more and you said no.” 

“I said I don’t think about it. This is my problem and it has nothing to do with you, Shane. For a long time I did not think about the future. There was none. I was not planning on being here at all.” 

It takes a moment for Shane to wrap his head around this last part. “In Canada?” he asks, because maybe that’s all he means, maybe it’s not what he thinks- 

“No, not in Canada.” 

“Oh.”

“Listen, I don’t want to get into this.”

“I do.”

“Shane.”

“You said we were friends, so talk to me as your friend. Please, tell me.”

There is a long pause, the longest since they started this hectic conversation, but Shane knows Ilya hasn’t hung up. 

“Until a few years ago, I was depressed. Clinically. I still am, but… I get treatment, you know. I like my life now. With Anya and the restaurant. But just five years ago, this was not even something I thought could be real. And when you ask about relationships… I could never see it for myself. I didn’t want to be someone else’s responsibility in that way. Even now. I feel much better, but it could come back. I don’t want to do that to anyone. Especially not you. You deserve to be happy for real, Shane.”

Shane lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you for telling me,” he says and he is thankful, hopeful even, now that some puzzle pieces have started to fit together. “Can I tell you something now?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. I don’t think I’ve ever been depressed, not the way you describe it. But… more and more lately, I feel like I have wasted a lot of time in my twenties trying to just be… normal. Average. Even though I know I can do better than that. A lot better. People say I work too much, but I know that that’s what I like to do.  Maybe it’s selfish, I don’t know. But maybe if I had pushed myself more, I could have had my own architectural firm by now. And you… I don’t know why, but since I’ve met you, I have realised that I can do so much more. In my career. Just in life. You said that I deserve to be happy for real. I feel that. When I’m with you.”

It’s Ilya’s turn to sigh into the phone. “If that is true, then why did you not want to get coffee with me?” 

“What the fuck is this about coffee? I literally have no clue what you’re talking about,” Shane says, stepping right into the derailment.

“I asked you to get coffee with me at that new place in your neighborhood and you said no, you’d rather go with Rose, whoever the fuck that is.”

“Are you serious? You brought that coffeeshop up once. I thought you were just…letting me know.” 

“Yeah, right. So did you go with this Rose?” 

“I did, actually. It was good.”

“I know it was good. I told you about it.” 

“Oh my god, are you really upset about this? I will go get coffee with you if you stop being weird about it.”

“You also didn’t want to go to the gym with me.”

“I do remember that one and that was your fault. You shouldn’t have called me your friend right after I sucked your dick. It’s disrespectful.”

“And the snowboarding was really just because you lied about being good?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Shane hears Ilya’s laughter, warm and open and beautiful and he can’t wait to hear it every day from now on.