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The traffic from the airport to Shane’s place is horrendous, so Ilya has a lot of time to brood. He can’t wait to see Shane, but he also can’t help but worry that being boyfriends in Shane’s Montreal apartment – the one Ilya has never been to – won’t be the same as being boyfriends at the cottage.
What if Ilya isn’t a good boyfriend outside the cottage? What if he sets foot into Shane’s apartment and Shane realises Ilya is totally out of place in his real life, the one that’s not made up of dreamy summer days soaked in sunshine and love and everything fitting exactly right?
Ilya’s life since July seems like a dream whenever he thinks about it too hard. He and Shane text each other good morning and video call each other good night. They talk about their day and have phone sex and rant to each other when practice doesn’t go how they wanted. Shane calls Ilya when he’s burnt out from shooting commercials, and Ilya calls Shane when he can’t bear his quiet house.
The elevator ascends up to Shane’s place slowly, even as Ilya wills it to speed up just so he can have a few extra seconds with Shane.
What if Shane finds having Ilya there overnight right before a game too disruptive to his routine? Worst of all, what if Ilya suddenly falls into one of those moods that make him sullen and useless?
As the door opens, Ilya has a wild urge to back away and keep his perfect memories as they are.
Then Shane’s arms wrap around him, and everything fits.
They don’t make it out of the hallway for a good while. Ilya isn’t entirely sure how they’ve gone from embracing tightly to Shane sitting on the floor with his back against the wall while Ilya is sprawled on the rug, still in his coat, sucking Shane’s cock. The how doesn’t matter, anyway. What matters is Shane’s pull on Ilya’s hair, Ilya’s name on Shane’s lips, Shane’s cock heavy and comforting in Ilya’s mouth.
Shane’s fingers are digging into his jaw, tugging at Ilya’s hair. “Ilya, oh god, that’s – I missed you, I missed you, don’t stop. Ah, stop -”
“What is wrong? Shane, did I hurt you? Stop or don’t stop, I don’t understand -”
Shane is panting and his pupils are blown. “I love you, I need you in me, come on, get up. Get that coat off, let’s go.”
Ilya smirks up at him. “In a hurry, Hollander?”
“Like you aren’t.”
Ilya laughs, pushing himself up and getting rid of his coat and shoes. As soon as that’s taken care of, Shane drags him down the hall and into the bedroom. Ilya barely looks around. He wants to see Shane’s apartment, but it’s nothing compared to the desire to fuck Shane, to finally be back inside him where Ilya belongs.
They strip in a hurry, and it isn’t long before Shane throws Ilya a bottle of lube and a condom. Ilya grabs Shane with an arm around his waist and roughly pulls him close for a kiss first.
Shane melts into him so easily that Ilya almost gets distracted. He almost says, You still want me; you still love me here, but that would be pathetic.
Instead he says, “Turn around. Against the wall.”
He can see Shane tremble and swallow hard. “Oh, fuck.”
“Hollander. Now.”
A little noise escapes Shane, a tiny, needy, keening sound that goes straight to Ilya’s dick. Shane straightens and squares his shoulders, though, clearly trying to pretend that to be less affected than he is. Ilya couldn’t love him more, except that he does love him more with every second.
Once Shane has turned around, bracing his hands against the wall, Ilya steps up behind him, palming his ass before digging his fingers into the muscle there. Then he shoves two fingers into Shane without preamble, making him cry out.
“Ilya – f-fuck – oh my god -”
“You can take it,” Ilya tells him. “All that practice you got on our video calls, hm?”
Shane moans, arching his back as Ilya stretches his fingers. “That – you’re making me sound like -”
“Like my little slut, practising to make sure I can fuck you so easy as soon as I see you?”
“Oh god,” Shane wheezes. “Ilya, Jesus -”
Watching Shane shiver and tilt his head in real life is a million times better than seeing the same thing on his phone screen. Ilya is greedy to see Shane just as much as he is to feel him. “That’s all it is with your little toy, though,” he says. “Practice. Nothing compared to my cock.”
“Yes,” Shane gasps. “Nothing – fuck – Ilya, please -”
“Please, what?”
Shane ducks his head.
Ilya pinches Shane’s waist with his free hand. “Shane. What do you need?”
Shane whispers something unintelligible, making Ilya grin.
“Hollander. Tell me.”
“Y-your cock,” Shane mumbles. The tips of his ears are flushing.
“Hm, okay.” Ilya pulls out his fingers, hurrying with the condom and lining himself up. He nudges the head of his cock against Shane’s rim. “This is enough, right?”
“Oh, fuck you.”
Ilya would keep teasing, would make Shane beg for it, but it has been two months. He pushes in on one smooth thrust. A punched-out noise escapes Shane, but Ilya doesn’t give him time to recover, just sets a relentless pace that has Shane’s breath hitch with each thrust.
Ilya grabs Shane’s waist with one hand and braces himself against the back of Shane’s head with the other one, pushing him against the wall. Shane groans and rocks his hips, taking a few moments until he manages to match Ilya’s rhythm.
“That’s it,” Ilya pants. “That’s it, push back. Good boy, Shane.”
Those breathy, low moans of Shane’s, the feeling of the dimples in his back under Ilya’s hand, his hole tight and hot around Ilya’s cock, the perfect drag of it – Ilya thinks he might lose his mind. He has no idea how he survived two months without this, without Shane whining as Ilya hits his prostate just right. Two months without tangible proof of Shane needing this, loving this, wanting Ilya as Ilya wants him.
Predictably, they don’t last long. Shane is gasping, shivering, his shoulders shaking as he braces himself against the wall. He slumps back into Ilya’s arms as soon as Ilya’s tied off the condom and tossed it in the wastebasket.
“Oh my god.”
“Good?” Ilya rubs a hand over Shane’s stomach and kisses the spot behind his ear.
Shane nods. “Incredible. Fuck, Ilya, I missed you so much.”
Ilya gently guides him to turn around and presses a kiss to Shane’s forehead. “I missed you, too.”
He carefully brushes a fingertip down Shane’s cheek, where the skin is red from Ilya pressing Shane’s face against the wall. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” Shane says. “I feel so good. You always make me feel so good.”
Ilya kisses the scrapes on Shane’s cheek before dragging him to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
They cook dinner together, or rather, Shane cooks while Ilya stays draped along his back, waddling after him between the fridge and the counter and the stove. Shane acts annoyed, but he doesn’t make Ilya back off, and he turns his head regularly for kisses.
“We should do this more,” Ilya murmurs into Shane’s skin. “Cooking.”
Shane half-turns his head, looking unimpressed. “Oh, yeah? That’s what you want to do on all our days off together?”
Ilya grins and nips at Shane’s earlobe. “Maybe not all of them. But is nice, yes?”
“Yeah,” Shane says. “Reminds me of our time in the summer. And it’s a break from the meal deliveries.”
Ilya hums in agreement. He closes his eyes and rests his head on Shane’s shoulder, trapping him against the counter.
“Ilya,” Shane says.
Ilya huffs.
“You’re being obnoxious,” Shane says. He’s laughing, though.
“You are cruel,” Ilya says. “I do not know this big English word.”
“Yeah, I bet you don’t. Let me move, I need to stir the sauce.”
“I will stir it. Because I am a very good boyfriend.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
“I am!”
“Yes, you are.”
“I should get a reward,” Ilya says.
“Are you telling me earlier wasn’t rewarding enough?”
“Was perfect,” Ilya says. “But I want more.”
“I won’t let you win tomorrow’s game, if that’s what you’re going for.”
“Let me -”
Shane whirls around and grabs Ilya for a kiss. Shane’s mouth is hot and wet and heaven. His hands are framing Ilya’s face, warm and safe and everything is good, everything is finally, finally good again.
Shane is panting when they break apart. “Do you even know how much I fucking love you?”
“You are forgetting the sauce,” Ilya says.
“Oh, you are so – whatever.”
Shane stirs the sauce. It smells a little burned. Worth it.
As soon as Shane turns back towards the food, Ilya clings to his back again. “I love you, Shane.”
“You say that now.”
“I will show you later.”
“You better.”
Ilya nuzzles the nape of Shane’s neck so he can smell Shane’s shampoo. Shane always smells so clean, somehow. Really good – because he is good. Ilya has no idea how it works, but he’s addicted to that smell.
Shane is still stirring the sauce carefully. “Could you get some plates? This is almost done.”
“Okay,” Ilya says, taking a step back. Then he stops, looking at the cabinets. “Ah, where -”
“Oh.” Shane has turned around, still holding the whisk. His cheeks are pink. “Um, that one, in the middle.”
“Right.”
Ilya takes out two plates. They’re not the same plates they had at the cottage. Of course they aren’t. That would be silly.
Shane is watching him put the plates on the counter. His eyes are shinier than usual. Ilya is desperately looking for a joke to make, but the words get stuck in his throat.
They’re both startled by a hissing noise and the acrid smell of burning food. Sauce is dropping from the whisk Shane is holding onto the stove.
“Shit!” Shane reaches out and wipes it away before Ilya can stop him. “Ouch – oh, fuck -”
“Hey,” Ilya says.
“That was so fucking stupid, why did I -”
“Shane, hey. Shane.”
Shane stills. Ilya recognises this. Shane is waiting for instructions.
Ilya kisses him carefully and turns on the tap. “Here. Put your hand under the cold water.”
“The sauce -”
“I will take care of it.”
Ilya stirs the sauce with one hand and scoops Shane against his front with the other. Shane’s back is horribly tense. Even when Ilya scatters kisses along his neck, he doesn’t relax. He doesn’t even move his arm from underneath the tap after several minutes.
Ilya needs a clean tea towel, but he doesn’t want to make things worse by asking where they are. So he tears off some kitchen roll before gently taking Shane’s hand and patting the skin dry. Then he breathes kisses over Shane’s fingertips.
“Okay?”
Shane nods.
“You want to eat?”
“I – yeah, sure.”
“Okay. You sit. I will bring the plates.”
“I should -”
“Sit down, sweetheart.”
Shane sits, his shoulders pulled up almost to his ears.
They eat almost entirely in silence, except for comments on the food. A horrible, gnawing sensation is spreading inside Ilya’s chest. He fucked it up. Already, on their first day in the real world, he fucked it all up. He should offer to go to the hotel where the team is staying tonight, instead. Shane probably wants him to and is simply too polite to say it out loud.
After dinner, Shane half-heartedly suggests watching a movie. Ilya hesitates for a moment before agreeing. He’s selfish – if Shane isn’t going to ask him to leave, Ilya will take whatever he can get.
Shane selects something seemingly at random, and the awful feeling inside Ilya recedes somewhat when Shane crawls into his arms on the sofa and pulls blankets over them. Ilya holds on tight.
Soon, Ilya has no idea what the movie is about, or how long they’ve been watching. Time seems to pass differently while they’re buried in a cocoon of throw blankets, the only light the glow of the TV. At some point, when it doesn’t seem like Shane is about to get up and tell him to leave, Ilya starts tracing patterns across Shane’s freckles.
Shane doesn’t seem any more invested in the movie than Ilya. Instead he takes hold of Ilya’s free hand in both of his, massaging Ilya’s knuckles with careful attention. He hasn’t commented on the bruises Ilya has from punching fucking Dallas Kent earlier this week, but his intent touch is making Ilya feel an embarrassing amount of butterflies. Occasionally Shane glances up at Ilya, his wide eyes reflecting the TV lights.
“Ilya?”
“Yes?”
“That, you know, that other apartment? That was just, it was, only, I was -” Shane is tripping over his words, apparently desperate to get them out.
“Is okay,” Ilya says soothingly, relief dousing him in seconds. Shane wants to talk to him. Shane wants to talk about things, like boyfriends do. “It was different.”
Ilya didn’t even realise back then that it hurt, after all.
“Still.” Shane is looking down at Ilya’s hand, fingertips stroking carefully over Ilya’s knuckles now.
“Is really okay. I am here now,” Ilya says. He almost starts laughing. They are talking, like boyfriends do, to understand. He sighs dramatically. “In this boring, boring apartment, so beige and so blue -”
“Your place is all white and grey!”
“Yes. Is very cool. Stylish.”
Shane pinches Ilya’s forearm and laughs, clearly relieved. Then he snuggles deeper into Ilya’s arms, burying his face in Ilya’s shirt. His breath is hot and damp through the fabric. Ilya squeezes him against his chest and drops kisses into his hair. Everything is warm and good. Shane is here. He wants Ilya to hold him. He loves Ilya, and he isn’t getting up off the sofa and leaving. He’s close and happy again, and giving himself to Ilya in every way that matters.
As always, Shane becomes impatient quickly. He puts his fingers over Ilya’s and drags Ilya’s hand under the blankets, down to where he’s quickly getting hard.
“Greedy,” Ilya whispers, as if he doesn’t love it. He squeezes Shane’s cock, then slowly traces the outline of his erection.
Shane huffs and shifts his hips, pushing into Ilya’s grip. “Ilya.”
“Yes? Tell me, Shane.”
“Ugh. I hate you.”
“For making you talk?”
“Yes. Love you so much.”
“That is not very – decision-making?”
“Decisive?”
“Yes. That. Fuck, Shane, you are so pretty. Beautiful.”
“Shut up, no, I’m not.”
“You are. Do not argue with me.”
“’m not,” Shane mumbles, against all evidence. Then he disappears underneath the blankets, his palms sliding down Ilya’s chest.
“Shane, are you -”
Shane pulls down Ilya’s sweats. Ilya didn’t bother with underwear.
“Ugh, will you shut up?”
Ilya grins at the wall. For this, he’ll shut up anytime.
“Missed how you taste,” Shane says, mouthing at Ilya’s dick. “You have no idea. I thought I was going insane, remembering it so good. Perfect. But I was right.”
Before Ilya can respond – though the only thing he can think of saying is, fuck, Shane – Shane swallows him down again, sucking harder. Ilya wipes spit from the corners of Shane’s mouth and tries not to lose his mind quite yet.
The blankets have slid off Shane’s shoulders. Ilya pulls them back up and tucks them around Shane’s ears so he won’t get cold on the floor. Then he cups Shane’s face, holding him still, and thrusts a little.
The sound Shane makes, some mixture between a gag and a desperate moan, almost sends Ilya over the edge right then.
He pulls Shane off his cock even as Shane clutches his thighs, protesting a little. “Come up here,” Ilya tells him. “Come on.”
Shane blinks up at him. He frowns a little, as if he’s trying to catch up. Then his expression clears, and he nods.
“Lube,” Ilya says. “I will get it, I will come back.”
“No, it’s okay.” Shane shuffles around on the floor a little. “I think we can – I think it’ll be okay without, I’m still – I thought maybe we’d want to, again – I, yeah, so, when I cleaned up earlier, I actually, you know, prepped…”
Ilya groans. “Shane. Fuck. You cannot do this to me.”
“You don’t want -”
Ilya firmly grabs Shane’s jaw. “I want. Very, very much. Come here, in my lap. Is okay?”
“Yeah, please.” Shane shoves down his sweats and underwear, leaving them on the floor, and scrambles to straddle Ilya’s thighs. He practically melts against Ilya’s chest, grabbing Ilya’s face for a kiss neither of them makes any move to break - not until Ilya remembers, full of regret, “We need condoms.”
Shane kisses him again, slow and deep, his hands coming up to frame Ilya’s face, his tongue pushing between Ilya’s lips.
When they break apart, Shane barely backs away. Ilya can feel his lips move when he speaks. “No. I want you without.”
Ilya freezes. “You want -”
“Only if you want, of course.” Shane’s voice is low. His lashes are fanning his pink cheeks. Ilya has to hold himself back from just toppling him onto the sofa and trying to eat him up. He settles for helping Shane pull off his shirt, kissing his chest as soon as he’s flung the shirt away.
“I want,” Ilya says.
“And it’s – it’s just us, right?” Shane asks. “No one else?”
“No one else,” Ilya promises. “Not since before the cottage. No one else, ever. Everything is good, Shane. Never worry about that. Just us.”
Shane nods, running his fingertips along Ilya’s jaw. “I really want to feel you like that. Inside me, just – just us. Please?” He’s shuddering a little in Ilya’s arms.
“I can – sorry, is stupid, but I want to be sure – I can come inside you?”
“Yeah,” Shane murmurs. “Want you to. Please, Ilya.”
“Fuck,” Ilya groans. “Shane – yes, of course, here – here, let me hold you, okay?”
“Mhm.” Shane drapes himself all over Ilya, their skin touching everywhere. Ilya’s blood is pumping to the rhythm of Shane’s heartbeat.
Ilya slips a hand beneath Shane’s ass and gently lifts him, helping him sink down onto Ilya’s cock. Shane whines, his breath tickling Ilya’s ear. He clamps around Ilya’s cock, trembling when Ilya thrusts up as soon as he’s bottomed out inside Shane.
“Fuck.” Shane sounds almost reverent.
Ilya, for his part, can’t form words. He’s vaguely aware that his jaw has gone slack. His vision is sort of blurry, and Shane’s skin under his hands feels almost foreign, as though Ilya had never touched there before. Shane pushes himself up, using Ilya’s shoulders for leverage. Then he sinks down again, and Ilya’s entire world narrows to the drag of it.
Seven years. If Ilya hadn’t spent the better part of a decade fucking around, if he’d got his shit together and committed, he could have had this seven years ago.
Shane laughs shakily, lifting himself up again, and Ilya realises he actually said that.
“It’s okay,” Shane murmurs. One of his hands moves; his fingertips dig into Ilya’s jaw. “I would have run – oh – run screaming if back then you’d – oh, shit – had your shit together any better than I did.”
“I love you.” Ilya squeezes Shane’s hips, hard. “Shane, I love you, don’t stop.”
Shane shakes his head vehemently. “Never. Feels so – feels so fucking good.”
Ilya peppers kisses up and down Shane’s pecs, until Shane grabs hold of his shoulders again to set a rhythm. Ilya thrusts up to meet him, and slips a hand between them to stroke Shane’s cock, and then he’s coming, inside Shane where he’s meant to be, and Shane cries out and spills between them and babbles, “Oh god, oh fuck, oh fuck, Ilya, oh my god,” and collapses into Ilya’s arms.
Ilya inhales deeply where he’s tucked his face into the crook of Shane’s neck. He can feel Shane’s heartbeat, hear the rustling of his breath in Ilya’s curls. He’s still inside Shane, everything hot and sticky now, and he has to ask, he has to know what it’s like for Shane.
“How does it feel?”
Shane grimaces. “Weird. Wet?”
Ilya laughs. “Wow. Sexy.”
“Not bad, it’s just – ugh -”
Ilya pats Shane’s hip. “Go shower, Shane.”
“Yeah.” Shane stands up. His eyes go wide. “Oh, gross. Gross. It’s, Ilya, I – ew, ew -”
“Okay, okay.” Ilya grabs him around the waist. “Up.”
“What -”
Ilya rolls his eyes and lifts Shane, heading for the bathroom. Shane’s legs wrap around his waist, strong and familiar. And, okay, yeah, Ilya can feel it now that he’s carrying Shane, their skin sticking together with sweat, his come leaking from Shane’s hole. It is wet. He’d throw Shane down on the nearest surface and fuck him again right now if Shane wasn’t desperate to get cleaned up, and Ilya wasn’t desperate to fulfil Shane’s every whim. Still, as he walks to the bathroom, he slips two fingers back into Shane.
Shane sighs and puts his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “So gross,” he repeats, but he kisses Ilya’s neck and nuzzles in. Ilya can feel each breath, each rise and fall of Shane’s chest against his own.
“Love how good you feel,” Ilya says. “All warm and full of me, sweetheart.”
“Mhm.” Shane presses a few quick kisses against Ilya’s shoulder, little smacking noises echoing off the bathroom walls once Ilya walks them in there and twists his hand to turn on the spray.
“Can I put you down?”
Shane huffs, clearly unhappy, but hops out of Ilya’s hold. He gives Ilya a haughty look when Ilya tugs at his shoulder, but he does magnanimously let Ilya steer him to turn around and lean back so that Ilya can embrace him and start lathering both their skin. He takes his time, especially when he notices Shane getting more and more relaxed, like the rush of the water and the smell of his soap are lulling him into a trance. At some point, he grinds back against Ilya, maybe without even realising. Shane might squirm and blush when Ilya calls him a slut, but Ilya couldn’t love him more than when he’s insatiable like this – when he behaves like needing Ilya’s cock is something deeply ingrained in him, like the reflex to breathe.
Ilya wraps his arm around Shane’s waist and pulls him against his chest. When he grazes his teeth against Shane’s shoulder, Shane tilts his head to give him better access.
Aside from that small movement, Shane is standing still, his face turned up into the spray. Ilya kisses first the nape of his neck, then the mark he left on his shoulder. He steps out of the shower and leaves Shane to do whatever it is he’s doing – meditating, or calming himself, or maybe resting in a place Ilya can’t quite access.
He eyes the shelf while he brushes his teeth. There’s skincare products he recognises from the cottage, and lots of sunscreen even though it’s autumn now. The same fancy, electric toothbrush that always stood to the right of the sink at the cottage stands on the left here. Ilya stupidly touches it, running his finger down the handle. It’s still the same toothbrush. Ilya blinks at himself in the mirror.
Shane Hollander did this to him.
Ilya’s Shane, who still hasn’t moved, letting the water hit his face and cascade down his body.
Ilya quickly leans into the shower to press a loud, smacking kiss against Shane’s shoulder and groping his ass. The water hits Ilya’s face, making his eyes sting. It’s worth it, especially when Shane laughs, his eyes still closed, his head still tilted upwards.
Shane steps out of the bathroom, looking flushed and soft and dewy, right as Ilya throws the half a million fucking pillows back onto the bed after pulling back the covers. The corner of Shane’s mouth twitches.
“A lot of force you’re using with those pillows.”
“I hate your thing for pillows,” Ilya lies. They’re annoying to move around, but they do look comfortable. They’ll be good for putting under Shane’s hips when Ilya fucks him again in the morning, too.
“Mmmh.” Shane steps forward and wraps his arms around Ilya’s neck, swaying forward into Ilya’s embrace.
“You, ah. Did not like it? Without a condom, I mean?”
“What? No!” Shane leans forward, kissing Ilya hard. “I loved it, Ilya, I swear. I just needed to clean up after, I didn’t expect it to be so, um. Runny? Ew, that’s – anyway. But it felt amazing. I definitely want to do it that way more often, if, if you also want to.”
“Yes,” Ilya says. “Definitely. It felt – very close.”
“Yeah,” Shane breathes. “Close. Exactly.”
Ilya kisses Shane’s damp hair and pulls him in even further. He’s warm and he sounds sleepy and perfect. “Let’s go to bed.”
Shane nods, and Ilya breathes in the scent of his shampoo. He makes himself step away when Shane shivers slightly. Ilya digs around in their drawers until he finds what he’s looking for.
Shane obediently raises his arms and lets Ilya put the hoodie onto him. It’s old and worn and comfortable, and Shane rolls his eyes once he looks down and sees the Boston logo. He doesn’t take it off, though. Ilya already knows he’s going to ‘forget’ it at Shane’s apartment when he goes tomorrow. When he has to leave again.
“Underwear?” he asks.
He knows by now that often, Shane prefers it for sleeping, but he shakes his head as he climbs under the sheets.
Ilya turns off the light and follows him and pulls him close immediately. He rubs his hand down Shane’s back, kneading his muscles slowly. He’d been rough earlier, fucking Shane against that wall. While Shane certainly enjoyed it, Ilya doesn’t want him to be in pain tomorrow. There isn’t any indication of soreness or tension in Shane’s posture now, though. He’s draped himself over Ilya, his body soft and loose and wonderfully heavy, squashing the air out of Ilya’s lungs. It would be heaven at any time, but after almost two months without seeing each other, it’s indescribable. All season, Ilya’s yearned to be back at the cottage, with the sun on his skin and Shane in his arms. This isn’t quite the same – the fact that he has to leave tomorrow is hanging over him, clouding every second – but it’s close. It’s Shane, and it makes him feel like he’s fucking soaring.
Shane has curled close. His eyes keep slipping shut, and he keeps blinking them back open, obviously trying to focus his gaze on Ilya.
Ilya lightly traces Shane’s freckles. “What’s going on in your busy brain that’s keeping you from going to sleep when you are so tired?”
“I don’t want to sleep,” Shane says. “I won’t be able to, really. I want to keep looking at you. It’s been so long.”
Ilya can’t argue with that. He should remind Shane of tomorrow’s game. They should be well-rested. Though, obviously, the same thing will be going through Shane’s mind. Could he consider the time with Ilya worth it? Ilya has no clue how to ask a question like that.
“Can you…” Shane trails off.
Even in the dim light cast by the city and the moon outside, Ilya can see him flush. Whatever he wants, Ilya’s heart beats faster at getting to give it to him, not over a screen, but right here in Shane’s bed.
“What do you want? Tell me. You can have anything.”
Shane yawns, his eyes squinting shut. “Fuck me again,” he murmurs.
“You are very tired,” Ilya says. He traces a fingertip across Shane’s freckles and around his blush.
Shane bites his lip and nods. “Yeah. So, can you please, um.”
Ilya leans in and brushes their noses together. “You want me to fuck you to sleep?”
Shane whimpers, making Ilya smile. He rolls them over and takes hold of Shane’s thigh, pushing it up slowly. “This is why you did not want underwear? To seduce me again? So slutty.”
“No, I – I just knew I’d want to feel you, even if we’re not, like, fucking.”
“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya loves that through all their filthy texts, all their years of having sex, Shane still can’t talk truly dirty. Loves Shane’s wide-eyed gaze on him, so innocent it somehow loops around to being incredibly filthy.
“Please,” Shane whispers.
Ilya kisses the inside of his knee, the tip of his nose. He scatters little pecks across Shane’s freckles, hoping to catch every single one, before sliding their mouths together. Shane brings his arms up, wrapping them around Ilya’s neck, heavy and so real. So soothing after all this time apart.
He wishes they hadn’t showered as thoroughly, or that Shane had prepped himself again, so that Ilya could slide right back into him. Still, getting to prep him is a privilege in itself, and he is still loose from earlier. Ilya is extra generous with the lube anyhow, making Shane squirm for a moment.
“Shhh,” Ilya says. “Was a lot today. Don’t want you to be sore tomorrow.”
Shane tilts his head up a little, smiling lazily. “I’d beat you anyway.”
“Never, Hollander.”
“Yeah, I would.”
Before Ilya can continue to argue, Shane pulls him down into another kiss, languidly stroking their tongues together before sucking on Ilya’s bottom lip.
Shane left the condoms on the nightstand earlier this afternoon, so there’s no need for Ilya to ask where they are, no need to upset Shane again, to make him almost cry again. Ilya is grateful as he reaches for the box.
“We will not make a mess now,” he reassures Shane as he rolls on the condom. “Everything clean and neat.”
Shane smiles at him, blissed-out, his face scrunching up. “Thank you. Tomorrow, we can go without again.”
“Yes? You really liked it?”
“Fuck, Ilya. So much. Felt like you belonged to me.”
“I do.” Ilya pushes in just a little, watching Shane’s eyes flutter shut and his lips part on a sigh. Ilya strokes his fingertips across Shane’s freckles. “So pretty.”
Shane hums contentedly, smiling, his eyes still closed.
Ilya rocks his hips in as slowly as he can. He wants Shane to feel every motion, every inch of him. They’d barely taken a second to breathe earlier – both times – too intent on making each other come. It had been perfect, but the slow way is always perfect, too. Shane makes it perfect.
Maybe it’s the night sky outside, or the smell of Shane’s laundry detergent. Maybe it’s Shane still wearing Ilya’s hoodie, or those fucking freckles. Whatever the reason, Ilya feels like Shane might be all that’s tethering him to the world right now.
Very softly, he kisses Shane’s forehead. “The sweetest thing I have ever seen.”
Shane mewls at that, his toes twitching against Ilya’s bicep. Ilya dips his head enough to kiss the pad of each perfect toe even as he angles deeper into Shane on the next thrust.
“So beautiful. Everything about you is perfect. I love you, sweetheart.”
“You, too,” Shane breathes. “You’re so good… missed you, love you.” He reaches up and drags Ilya’s head down, gets them closer, his fingers opening and closing in Ilya’s curls. Not for the first time, Ilya is grateful for Shane’s diligent yoga practices that make it so he can fold Shane in half like this, that allow them to get this close.
Shane’s breath is coming in little puffs against Ilya’s lips. When he blinks his eyes open again, it takes a few long moments for him to focus his eyes on Ilya’s face. “Always fuck me so good,” he mumbles. “I don’t, Ilya, I need -”
“You can stroke yourself for me,” Ilya tells him without stopping the slow movement of his hips. “You will do it exactly right. I know you will. Going to look so beautiful for me when you come, Shane.”
Shane doesn’t even bother to pull up the hoodie, just sneaks a hand underneath the hem. He’s still got one hand in Ilya’s hair, and he’s hanging onto Ilya’s gaze now, lips parted and wet. When he comes, he presses his head back into the pillow and tugs on Ilya’s hair hard enough to hurt – hard enough that Ilya only needs a couple more thrusts to follow him.
When Ilya helps Shane out of the hoodie, Shane curls his fingers into the material, holding on. “This is mine.”
“I will leave it here for you,” Ilya says. “But it has to be washed, yes?”
Shane scrunches up his nose in disgust. “Oh, yeah, right. Okay.”
Ilya kisses him quickly. He rushes to throw away the condom, deposit the hoodie in the laundry basket, and take a washcloth back to Shane to clean him up.
When everything is taken care of, he slips back under the sheets, seeking Shane’s warmth in the middle of the bed. The mattress creaks as he pulls Shane in.
“This is your bed,” Ilya whispers.
Shane blinks at him. “Huh?”
“Nothing. I am so – I am so happy to be here, Shane.”
“So ‘m I,” Shane mumbles. “Don’t leave. Stay with me.”
“I will.” Ilya knows it’s not a promise he can keep – they don’t even have half a day left together until they have to separate to go to the game. But he could never tell Shane no when he’s sweet like this, his eyes finally staying shut, clearly about to fall asleep.
Really, Ilya has known for a good long while now that he can just never tell Shane no.
“Gonna kick your ass tomorrow,” Shane slurs, burrowing closer. Then he’s out like a light, curled up in Ilya’s arms.