Archive of Our Own

Ilya doesn’t reply to his texts.

It shouldn’t bother him. He knows how erratic Ilya can be. Some days, Ilya texts him constantly, his words spilling out faster than Shane can read them. Other days, Ilya goes silent, leaving his messages unopened or unanswered like they never mattered in the first place.

Shane knows this is Ilya’s usual behavior. He has known it for a while now, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling uneasy.

They do talk more on the phone these days, sometimes even video calls, but they are still rare, something special that Shane doesn’t want to expect too much from. He wouldn’t call himself a texter, but he’s definitely a better texter than Ilya.

He paces slowly around his condo with his phone in his hand, eyes staring at the screen as if Ilya will text him if he stares hard enough. The last text he sent two days ago is still there. No reply at all.

Still, he needs to ask Ilya something. 

You: Are you busy today after practice? I’ve got today off.

He types the message, but hesitates to send. He doesn’t want to sound needy or clingy. This simple message should be safe and neutral, but he can’t help but to overthink things when Ilya has gone silent like this.

The day off came unexpectedly. Something in his schedule got cancelled last minute earlier this morning and he got a day for himself now, and his first thought is Ilya. They’re only two hours away with Ilya staying in an apartment in Ottawa now, easier for them to meet and more time to be spent together.

He’s thinking about grabbing a meal after Ilya’s practice, or maybe watching something on TV, or maybe having sex, or anything. They don’t even need to do anything. He just wants to be in the same room with Ilya. Yet here he is right now, standing alone in his condo and wondering what Ilya is doing.

He could just drive there.

It’s only two hours away now. That’s nothing. He could get in his car and show up at Ilya’s place casually. It sounds normal, it’s what people who are dating often do, but showing up unannounced feels wrong. It feels pushy, like he’s asking for something Ilya didn’t even offer.

They’re technically dating now, but the word still feels fragile, like it will crack if he pushes too hard. He’s afraid of crossing some invisible line that Ilya has set, that it would make things awkward in a way that he wouldn’t know how to undo.

He hates this part of himself. Always overthinking, second guessing, weighing every possible outcome, always trying to figure out where the line is before he accidentally steps over it, and always worried about something that might not even happen.

Shane shakes his head as if trying to quiet the noise in his mind. With an intake of breath, he presses the call button and lifts the phone to his ear.

The phone rings a few times and Shane already expects a voicemail. This is how it usually goes when Ilya is in his silent mode; he doesn’t reply to texts and doesn’t pick up calls.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” Shane blurts out quickly like he’s afraid the call might disconnect if he doesn’t speak immediately. He didn’t expect Ilya to pick up, so his mind struggles to piece his words now. “Hey. It’s me.”

Of course it’s me. Shane winces internally, feeling stupid.

There’s a brief pause on the other end before Ilya asks. “What’s wrong?”

He notices the hoarseness in Ilya’s voice, like he’s been shouting too much or doesn’t drink enough water, but he doesn’t press it.

“Nothing, I just… uh, what time is your practice today?” He asks.

“This morning. Why?”

“I’ve got today off.” Shane paces around the room again without realizing. “One of the sponsor meetings got cancelled last minute.”

There’s silence.

Shane stops pacing when he senses something off about the call.

“Hello? You there?” He calls out carefully.

There’s a sudden cough, followed by another, and then Ilya clears his throat. “Sorry.”

Shane furrows his brows as he listens to the muted coughs from the other line. “Are you okay?”

“Just feeling unwell.” Ilya says.

“How long have you been feeling unwell?” Shane presses his lips in worry.

“Two days.”

“I’m coming over.” Shane says immediately.

“I’m sick.” Ilya says.

“Yes. That’s exactly why I’m coming over.” Shane already walks to his bedroom. “Go to sleep. I’ll be there in two hours.”

There’s a soft sigh from the other end before Ilya replies. “Okay.”

“Do you need anything?” Shane opens his closet to grab his jacket and a pair of jeans. “I can grab stuff on the way.”

“You.” Ilya hums.

Shane smiles, feeling his cheeks warming up a little at the answer. “See you.”

After hanging up, he changes his clothes before grabbing his wallet and keys. When he passes the kitchen on his way out, he pauses and stares at his fridge for a moment, like he’s considering something.

Then he walks over to the fridge, opens it, and starts pulling some ingredients out. He places them all in plastic bags before taking it with him.

He arrives in Ottawa two hours later.

He parks his car, grabs the plastic bags, and enters the apartment building. The elevator ride up feels longer than it should with his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. When the elevator doors open, he steps out and walks down the hallway toward Ilya’s unit.

When he reaches the door, he quickly enters the lock passcode that he has memorized without meaning to memorize. The door beeps and clicks open, and he steps inside.

Ilya’s apartment is nice. It’s clean and spacious, but it feels impersonal. The neutral walls, the modern furniture, the empty coffee table, the random framed art on the wall – they all look like something straight from a catalog. It almost looks like a model home instead of an actual living place.

It’s been a couple of months since Ilya rented this place and moved in, yet this apartment still feels untouched, like it’s only used for showering and sleeping, and maybe that’s all it is to Ilya.

For Ilya, home is still Russia, no matter how complicated that is. It’s not easy for Ilya to completely leave behind the place he was born and raised in. 

Shane sets the groceries down on the kitchen island and sighs quietly. He hopes that one day, Ilya can feel like home here too. It will take time, maybe a little long time, but he will keep on trying to make Ilya feel like home.

After setting the groceries, he walks to the bedroom and opens the door quietly.

The room is dark with the curtains pulled tight against the afternoon light. Ilya is sprawled on the bed with the duvet tangled around his legs, sleeping soundly. Shane closes the door quietly behind him and walks over before sitting on the edge of the bed.

He watches Ilya for a moment, seeing his chest rising and falling, his curls flattened on one side, and his lips parted open. He lifts his hand and cups Ilya’s face, but frowns immediately.

Ilya’s skin is warm, way too warm. He quickly places his palm on Ilya’s forehead, feeling the heat seeping through. Ilya stirs at the touch and cracks his eyes open to stare at Shane. It takes him a second to focus, and then his lips curl into a lazy smile.

“Hey.” He greets.

“You have a fever.” Shane says.

“That’s why I feel like shit.” Ilya hums and closes his eyes again.

“Have you seen a doctor? Have you taken any meds?” Shane’s gaze flicks around the room, scanning for pill bottles, blister packs, or anything.

“No doctor.” Ilya frowns slightly. “I took paracetamol this morning.”

“When did you last eat?”

“This morning.” Ilya says.

Shane exhales through his nose. “I’ll make you something. Do you want to eat anything?”

Ilya blinks slowly at him as if processing the words. “You’ll cook?”

“Yes. I can cook and I like to cook.” Shane says. “What do you want to eat?”

“Anything.” Ilya smiles faintly.

“Okay.” Shane says softly and brushes his thumb over Ilya’s cheek. “Wait here.”

He stands up from the bed and walks out of the bedroom. Once he’s back in the kitchen, he starts unpacking the groceries that he brought and sets them on the counter. He then opens Ilya’s fridge and pulls out some eggs and a bundle of green onions. He pauses momentarily to check how empty Ilya’s fridge is before closing it again.

He washes his hands, grabs the cutting board and knife, and starts preparing. He cuts the onions, the carrots, and the chickens. He then places a cooking pot on the stove and adds the chicken. When it starts to warm, he adds the vegetables and other seasonings. The aroma in the kitchen changes almost immediately as he stirs the pot.

Then, there are footsteps.

He glances over his shoulder to see Ilya padding into the kitchen in his loose T-shirt and sweatpants, hair still messy.

“You should be in bed.” Shane says as he turns back to the stove.

“I just have a cold, not broken legs.” Ilya says. He then walks over until he’s standing behind Shane and then leans forward slightly to peer into the pot. “What are you making?”

“Chicken soup. Good to warm your body and help your immune system.” Shane hums.

Ilya goes quiet, looking like he’s deep in thought.

“You don’t like chicken or something?” Shane glances at him.

Ilya shakes his head slowly before speaking. “My mother used to cook chicken soup when I was sick.”

Something inside Shane’s chest softens immediately. He turns a little more toward Ilya and smiles. “Is it like this?”

“A bit different.” Ilya says.

“You can teach me someday.”

“I don’t know how she does it. Can never make the taste right.” Ilya hums, his gaze dropping a little like a disappointed child.

“We can cook and experiment together until we get it right.” Shane keeps the smile on his face. “Maybe you can help me translate a Russian recipe and we can try to do it together.”

There’s a pause before Ilya leans in to press a kiss to the side of Shane’s neck. “Okay.”

Ilya keeps his chin resting on Shane’s shoulder and his arms wrapped loosely around Shane’s waist. Shane can feel Ilya’s body heat seeping through the fabric of his T-shirt and into his back. It’s too warm and it makes Shane frown in worry, even as he keeps stirring the soup.

“You went to practice like this?” He asks quietly.

“I took paracetamol before practice.” Ilya says.

“That’s not how you get better.” Shane sighs audibly.

“Sleep will make me better.”

“Not without proper food and meds.” Shane says and then tilts his chin toward the chair by the kitchen island. “Sit there. The soup’s done.”

Ilya obediently moves away and goes to sit. Shane ladles the soup into a bowl and brings it to Ilya along with a spoon. He sets it down and waits.

Ilya stares at the soup for a long moment  before commenting. “There are many chickens.”

“You haven’t eaten since this morning, so I put in a lot of chicken.” Shane huffs softly.

Ilya doesn’t argue. He picks up the spoon and dips it into the soup.

“Careful. It’s hot.” Shane says automatically.

Ilya blows on the spoon before putting it into his mouth. Shane stays where he is, leaning against the counter across from Ilya and watching his boyfriend eat. Ilya eats slowly at first, then a little faster once he settles into it.

“You are good at cooking.” Ilya states it like a simple fact.

“Thanks.” Shane smiles softly, happy and relieved to see Ilya eating. His gaze then wanders around the kitchen again, searching for something. “Where do you keep your meds, by the way?”

Ilya pauses and glances around too, his brows furrowing like he’s seeing the apartment for the first time.

“Maybe in that drawer.” He points vaguely.

Shane gives him a look and walks over the check. He opens the drawer one by one and lets out a small breath of relief when he finds what he’s looking for. He tears a pill from the blister pack and goes back to the kitchen to fill a glass of water before setting them in front of Ilya.

“Drink this after you finish the soup.” He says.

Ilya looks up at him and stares for a second before chuckling lightly.

“What’s funny?” Shane asks.

“You remind me of my mother. A little.” Ilya drops his gaze back to the soup, still smiling.

The words catch Shane off guard. His brows lift slightly, but the surprise fades into something warm, something that makes his heart ache. He knows how much Ilya loves his mother and how much he misses her. He’s glad that he can provide Ilya some comfort, even if it’s just a little.

After the last spoonful, Ilya sets the bowl aside. He picks up the pill, pops it into his mouth, and drinks the water. Shane watches the entire thing like he’s making sure Ilya does what he’s told, and lets out a breath of relief once the glass is empty.

He takes the glass from Ilya and carries it to the sink with the bowl. The sound of running water fills the kitchen as he washes them.

“Go back to sleep.” He says to Ilya.

There’s a pause before Ilya asks. “Are you going?”

“Going where?” Shane asks back.

“Back to Montreal.”

Shane pauses at the words and turns over his shoulder to look. Ilya is staring at him, quiet yet hopeful in a way that makes something in Shane’s chest tighten.

“No.” He says. “I’m staying here until you get better.”

Ilya smiles at the answer. Without another word, he stands up and heads back toward the bedroom. Shane watches him go for a second before turning back to the sink and finishing up the dishes.

When he’s done, he dries his hand and follows Ilya to the bedroom.

The room is still dim with the curtains drawn, but Ilya isn’t asleep. He’s propped up against the pillows with his eyes open, watching the door like he’s been waiting.

“I told you to sleep.” Shane says softly.

Ilya just smiles and pats the empty space beside him.

Shane sighs softly, but then smiles and climbs onto the bed anyway. The moment he settles, Ilya shifts closer to snuggle against him and wrap his arms around him. Shane instinctively wraps his own arms around Ilya’s shoulders to hold him close.

Ilya presses his face against Shane’s chest and closes his eyes, his body relaxing completely. Shane lifts his hand and gently threads his fingers through Ilya’s curls. There’s a comfortable silence for a while with Ilya breathing against his chest.

“I hate fever.” Ilya mumbles suddenly. “My head hurts.”

Shane hums in sympathy. “Do you get sick a lot in the winter?”

“No.” Ilya mumbles. “Moscow is colder than this.”

“So you’re one of those people who never really gets sick, but when you do, you feel like you’re dying?” Shane snorts softly.

“Maybe.” Ilya hums.

Shane smiles and keeps stroking Ilya’s hair, but his smile slowly fades as a thought settles in his head.

“Did anybody take care of you when you were sick?” He asks carefully.

“No.” Ilya says after a quiet beat. “Not after my mother is gone.”

Shane’s chest tightens as he imagines a young Ilya curled up alone and sick in the bed, learning to handle it himself and not expecting comfort from the adults. Shane swallows around the ache and tightens his arms around Ilya.

“Go to sleep.” Shane whispers and leans down to press a gentle kiss to the top of Ilya’s head. “I’ll be here.”

Ilya sighs in content and snuggles closer. Shane keeps his hand in Ilya’s hair, brushing gently as if lulling his boyfriend to sleep.

“Mama?”

The house felt too big and too quiet at night. It’s the kind of quiet that pressed in on his ears until he could hear his own breathing. Everything in this house gleamed from the polished wood, gold-frames paintings, and ceramic antiques, but everything felt eerie. His tiny feet thudded faster against the marble floor as he picked up his pace.

“Mama?” He walked from room to room while calling for her.

He checked the sitting room where there was a faint scent of perfume in the air that lingered after she had left. He checked the dining room with a long table and chairs as if waiting for the guests who never came. He checked the study room and among the shelves lined with books he wasn’t allowed to touch.

“Mama?” He called again, but there was still no answer.

His mother’s bedroom was down the hall, set apart from others and far away than his own, but he had memorized the way since long ago. This was the room he came to late at night after bad dreams. He would pad down the hallway in the dark and knock on the door, and his mother would open it with a smile and pull him into her arms.

He stopped in front of the door and knocked.

“Mama?”

Nothing.

“Mama?” He knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Finally, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The bedroom wasn’t dark this time. The nightlights were still on and his mother was lying on the bed, seemingly sleeping. His heart pounded as he crossed the room to reach her bed.

His mother seemed to be sleeping deeply, so deep that she didn’t even hear his knocks. Her face was pale and she looked frail all over. He stared at his mother’s face before looking at the glass bottle on the bedside table.

He recognized that bottle. It was his mother’s sleeping medicine, something to help her sleep at night, she once said.

But now, that bottle was empty.

“Mama?” He whispered.

She didn’t answer.

When he reached out to touch his mother’s hand, it was very cold. 

Then he realizes that his mother’s chest wasn’t moving. 

His mother couldn’t hear him anymore.

“Ilya!”

Ilya jerks awake and snaps his eyes open, his chest hitching as he gasps sharply. The room swims for a second before Shane’s worried face comes into focus.

“Are you alright?” Shane asks softly.

Ilya freezes, his eyes still wide. It takes him a moment to realize that it was just a nightmare, that he’s waking up in his bedroom with Shane beside him.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Shane asks.

Ilya lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes. “Very bad.”

“It’s okay.” Shane says softly. “You’re here. You’re safe.”

Ilya keeps his eyes closed, focusing on Shane’s gentle voice and the warmth of his body. His breathing eventually slows down and his body begins to relax again.

After a moment, he opens his eyes again and looks up at Shane. “Did I… say anything while I was sleeping?”

“No.” Shane says.

Ilya nods faintly and closes his eyes again. Shane runs his fingers slowly through Ilya’s curls, trying to lull him back to sleep. He watches as Ilya slowly falls back to his slumber.

He lied.

He heard Ilya calling for his mother, he heard the way Ilya’s voice trembled with fear as he called for her, he heard the way Ilya’s breath hitched as he jerked in his sleep like he’s trying to escape from his nightmare.

But he didn’t tell Ilya.

He knows Ilya carried his grief in a deeply internalized way. He knows it’s not something Ilya is comfortable speaking about yet. Maybe it’s not something Ilya ever learned how to share, because he knows Ilya grew up being taught to keep everything under control, to keep all the unnecessary emotions hidde.

He just hopes that one day, Ilya will share that grief with him.

But for now, he’ll wait.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to Ilya’s forehead, lingering there for just a second before settling back on the pillows and closing his eyes.

Shane doesn’t realize he has fallen asleep until he finds himself waking up.

The room feels darker now, like the sun has already dipped below the horizon outside. For a moment, he’s disoriented as he gathers his focus, and then he turns his head.

Ilya is right beside him, lying on his side and propped slightly on one elbow. Ilya is staring at him with an intensity that makes him blink again just to be sure if he’s really seeing him.

“Hey.” He murmurs sleepily and lifts his hand to place his palm against Ilya’s forehead. He smiles when he notices that it’s the normal warmth now. “You don’t have a fever anymore.”

Ilya doesn’t say anything. He just keeps looking at Shane.

Shane rubs at his eyes with a hand. “What time is it?”

Instead of answering, Ilya leans in to kiss him.

The kiss catches Shane off guard. He lets out a surprised noise, but Ilya swallows it all by sliding his tongue into his mouth, licking his cavern and stealing his breath away. Shane returns the kiss instinctively, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Ilya’s neck and pulling him closer.

For a moment, Shane lets himself melt into the kiss, and then he feels Ilya’s hand sneaking underneath his shirt. He pulls back just enough to break the kiss and presses his hand against Ilya’s chest.

“You’re still sick.” He says.

“I am very healthy now, Hollander.” Ilya smirks.

Ilya leans down to kiss him again, harder and deeper this time. Their mouths melt together like neither of them plans to catch a breath anytime soon. When Ilya finally pulls back, Shane is breathless and dazed, chest heaving and lips tingling.

Ilya doesn’t give him the time to recover. He pulls Shane’s shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion before throwing the garment aside.

Shane sits up just long enough to unbuckle his own pants and slide them off. Ilya sits back on his knees to peel off his shirt and shove his sweatpants down. Their clothes end up scattered across the floor like they never mattered to begin with.

When Ilya looks up, he sees Shane staring at him. It’s not subtle at all. He can see Shane’s hungry eyes trailing over his body until they stop on his groin. He can see Shane’s throat bobbing when he swallows.

“My eyes are up here.” Ilya smirks.

Shane blinks rapidly like he’s snapped out of his trance. His eyes flick back up to Ilya’s face before he looks away and mutters. “Asshole.”

Still smirking, Ilya crawls over and pushes Shane down to the bed. He leans down and presses his lips against Shane’s neck, kissing slowly at first, and then with more intent. His teeth scrape against the skin and bite into the flesh, not enough to leave any bruises, but enough to leave some lingering red marks.

Ilya’s hands come up to Shane’s chest, squeezing and kneading the flesh until Shane’s breath stutters. He can feel Ilya’s long fingers pressing roughly into his pecs. He lets out a sigh of delight as his hands slide up to Ilya’s shoulders.

It doesn’t take long for Ilya to start playing with the nipples. He rubs and pinches them with fingers until they’re perked, just enough to make Shane gasp. He then latches his mouth on one, sucking it deep and flicking his tongue against the nub.

Shane moans and arches his back. His one hand curls into Ilya’s hair, but not pulling. Ilya sucks his nipple so hard until it aches and then scrapes his teeth teasingly, sending shudders down his spine. When Ilya sinks his teeth into the skin, Shane gasps out and tugs onto Ilya’s hair lightly.

“Ilya, don’t bite.” He gasps out.

Ilya pulls back just enough to look at him, leaving his nipple red and wet with spit. He chuckles under his breath and brushes his thumb over the swollen bud like he’s testing how sensitive it’s gotten.

“But you like it, Hollander.” He murmurs knowingly.

Before Shane can retort, Ilya dips down again, taking the other nipple into his mouth and giving it the same treatment. He sucks hard, tongue flicking and teeth grazing just enough to make it sting and throb all at once. Shane’s head tips back, a broken moan spilling out as his body arches against Ilya.

“Y-You’re going to make them swollen, asshole.” Shane hisses.

Ilya laughs lightly and finally leaves the poor nipples. He kisses sore nipples gently as if apologizing before moving on. His lips move downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses over Shane’s sternum and tracing every dip of his muscles. Shane trembles beneath him, his body tight with anticipation as Ilya takes his time.

When Ilya gets lower, his mouth closes around Shane’s cock. He sinks his head down, taking the whole length into his mouth and then starts bobbing his head.

“Oh…!” Shane gasps and then breaks into a breathy moan as the sensation builds too fast.

He can feel his hips twitching every time Ilya sinks his head all the way down and he can feel his thighs trembling when Ilya pulls back up. It doesn’t help that Ilya’s strong hands are grabbing his thighs, his fingers dig hard enough to leave bruises.

“S-Stop— I can’t—” He gasps out, more like a plea than command. His hand finds Ilya’s hair again and tugs it lightly.

Ilya pulls back with a pleased look on his face. The smirk Ilya gives is infuriating and intoxicating at the same time, like Ilya knows exactly how to play with his body. And Ilya does know.

Then Ilya moves up and presses his fingers against Shane’s lips. “Suck.”

Shane obeys the command immediately. He takes Ilya’s fingers into his mouth and sucks on them. He draws it out, letting Ilya feel every drag of his tongue as he licks over each finger. He keeps his eyes locked on Ilya’s the entire time, watching the way his breathing grows heavier and his eyes darken with lust.

When Ilya pulls his fingers out, they’re slicked with saliva. He brings his hand down while Shane spreads his own legs open, welcoming the touch. When Ilya pushes a finger in, his breath stutters and his lashes flutter. It’s slow at first, almost gentle, as if Ilya is testing him. Even after how many times they have done this, Shane notices that Ilya is always gentle at the start of this and it makes his heart swell.

Ilya watches him closely, watching every hitch of breath, every gasp, and every tremor that runs through his body. Ilya then pushes the second finger in and starts thrusting them faster, opening him up for more. Ilya’s fingers are longer and thicker than his own, so they always reach deeper.

“Ah…!” Shane gasps out a moan when Ilya rubs against his prostate.

Ilya lets out a quiet hum of approval before plunging three fingers in. Soft moans spill out from his lips as Ilya hits that spot with fingers over and over again. His stomach tightens and his fingers curl into the sheets, trying to hold on and ground himself.

“I need you.” Shane breathes out, almost like a plea. “I need you inside me.”

The words and the look on Shane’s face are enough to make something inside Ilya snap. He growls and pulls his fingers out. The sudden loss makes Shane whimper quietly. He looks down to see Ilya curling his hand around his own cock and stroking it slowly.

Ilya’s size has always been impressive, almost overwhelming. It’s so thick and so big, so ready to fuck him open and mess him up. It always makes Shane’s mouth go dry just by looking at it. He can see beads of precome leaking from the tip of Ilya’s cock and he can’t leave it dripping away just like that.

He sits up and shifts closer to Ilya, close enough until his head is hovering right above the thick cock. He pries Ilya’s hand aside and leans down to take it into his mouth. It’s impossible to take Ilya all at once, not with this size, but he loves the way it stretches his lips and fills his mouth full. The way Ilya grunts and breathes heavily are enough to make his pulse race.

Ilya’s hand comes to rest on the back of Shane’s head, his fingers running through his dark hair and stroking his head. The touch always makes Shane melt and turned on at the same time, makes him torn between wanting Ilya to spill in his mouth or inside him. 

When he finally pulls back for air, he lays back down on the bed and spreads his legs open without a word. He looks up at Ilya through his lashes, an invitation as clear as anything spoken. He watches as Ilya licks his lips and shifts closer to fit himself between his legs. The next thing Shane knows, there’s something much bigger pressing against his hole.

He braces for it, but his breath still hitches when Ilya pushes in. He can feel the thick length sliding into him inch by inch, spreading him open and stuffing him full. Although this isn’t his first time taking Ilya, it still has the same effect every time. His vision is flickering with sparks, his breath is knocked out of his lungs, and it almost feels like he’s being punched in the gut.

Ilya sighs once he’s all the way in and then bends down to press his forehead against Shane’s. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” Shane breathes out, trying to get his body adjusted to the stretch.

Ilya presses his thumb against Shane’s lips to pry them open. Shane opens his mouth and lets Ilya push his thumb in to press his tongue. He closes his eyes and breathes through his mouth while Ilya keeps it open.

Once his breathing steadies, Shane opens his eyes and looks at Ilya. “What got you so horny while you’re sick, Rozanov?”

“I am not sick anymore.” Ilya says. “I have been wanting to do this since the moment you arrived, but my head was too painful.”

“Now that you’re all better, you can’t wait to fuck me, huh?” Shane huffs out a laugh.

“Yes.” Ilya says shamelessly. “It’s to thank you too.”

“There’s no need to thank me—ah!” Shane’s words turn into a moan when Ilya starts moving his hips.

Ilya picks up his pace quickly. He drives harder, deeper, and faster until Shane’s voice starts to break. The bed is creaking along with their movements and the headboard is pounding against the wall, but this place is expensive enough for a good soundproof system. The reason he rented this apartment is so that Shane can moan as much as he wants without being worried about the neighbors.

“Oh, fuck…! Yes…!” Shane moans at another thrust that sends his body jolting. Every thrust hits his pleasure spot and Ilya is rough, but that’s what makes it feel so good.

“Fuck.” Ilya grits his teeth and pauses to shift into another position.

Shane doesn’t even get to protest at the pause before Ilya grabs one of his legs to throw it over his shoulder and pins the other leg against the bed, forcing him to turn to his side with his legs spread open. Then Ilya bends slightly forward until Shane is almost doing a side-split against him. Shane’s breath hitches in surprise as he flicks his gaze down, watching how far he can spread his legs open without straining himself.

“This okay?” Ilya asks lowly.

“Yeah.” Shane breathes out. Ilya’s cock feels even deeper in this position and he can feel it pulsing against his prostate. It’s so deep and he doesn’t know if he can take more once Ilya starts thrusting again. “It’s just… you feel so deep like this, and I—”

Shane doesn’t even get to finish his words because Ilya suddenly slams into him. Ilya grips his thighs firmly, keeping him in place as he pounds relentlessly, not even giving Shane the chance to catch his breath. Shane moans wantonly, hands fisted against the sheets until his knuckles turn white. Each thrust knocks the breath out of his lungs and rips a scream out of his throat. He is going to lose his mind at this rate.

The more Shane loses his mind, the more pleased Ilya is. There’s always something pleasing about watching the usually reserved and oh-so-perfect Shane Hollander losing himself in pleasure like this. Shane is always beautiful, but Ilya thinks Shane looks more beautiful when he’s fucked open by him.

“Are you close?” Ilya asks when he feels the squeezing feeling around his cock.

“Yes…! Yes—fuck!” Shane groans and nods his head vigorously. His eyes are glossed with tears and his mouth is hanging open with moans spilling out.

Shane cries out when Ilya slams even harder, so hard that he feels his entire body jolting along. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head, his thighs are clenching and unclenching, and his hips are twitching as his orgasm gets closer. With another hard thrust from Ilya, Shane screws his eyes shut and cries out for his lover’s name, his toes curling and his body trembling as he spills all over the bed.

Ilya is still rocking his hips, chasing after his own orgasm that’s just around the edge. Right when Shane’s vision is starting to turn white, Ilya’s hips finally begin to stutter. Shane can hear Ilya groaning low in his throat, and then he feels something warm spilling into him. He can feel Ilya’s length pulsing inside him and his inside twitches in response as if milking everything to the last drop.

Ilya puts Shane’s leg down and collapses on top of him once he’s done. He stays unmoving for a while, catching his breath and gathering his energy, and then lifts his head up to check on Shane.

“You okay?” He brushes away the hair that’s sticking on Shane’s damp forehead.

Shane cracks his eyes open and stares at him for a moment, dazed, and then he mutters. “You came inside me.”

Ilya smiles, seemingly pleased instead of guilty. “I will help you clean up.”

“Asshole.” Shane laughs lightly.

“You were squeezing me so tight. You didn’t let me pull out.”

“Shut up.” He chuckles and smacks Ilya’s shoulder lightly.

Ilya smiles and leans in to peck his lips. “I’ll pull out now.”

Shane nods, bracing himself, and lets out a quiet gasp at the emptiness when Ilya finally pulls out. Ilya hums low in his throat, eyes dark and pleased as he watches his seed trickling out of Shane’s puffy hole.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Ilya licks his lips.

Shane groans and reaches a hand down, trying to cover whatever he can. “You’re making a mess, you know.”

“It’s my own bed.” Ilya shrugs, unapologetic.

Shane pushes himself upright and stares at Ilya like he’s searching for something. “You sure you’re not sick anymore?”

“Completely recovered.” Ilya says easily.

Shane feels his shoulders dropping in relief, but he still rolls his eyes playfully. “Good. Then you’re definitely helping me clean up properly.”

Ilya smiles before stepping out of the bed and coming to stand right in front of him. Shane blinks and looks up to Ilya’s face.

“What are you doing?” He asks, suspicious.

Without answering, Ilya bends down and wraps his arms around Shane’s waist. With an intake of breath, he lifts Shane clean off the mattress and throws him over his shoulder.

“Ilya!” Shane yelps, startled, but then his protest dissolves into laughter as Ilya makes his way to the bathroom while carrying him effortlessly.

Twenty minutes later, they’re sitting side by side in the kitchen, eating bowls of reheated chicken soup from the afternoon.

Shane eats slowly, his elbow brushing against Ilya’s and their knees bumping now and then beneath the island. After taking the last spoonful of the soup, he glances at Ilya who has also finished his soup and is now drinking some water.

There’s a moment of hesitation before he speaks. “You scared me a little today.”

Ilya puts his glass down and turns to him, his brows knitting in confusion. “What did I do?”

“You disappeared on me instead of telling me that you were sick.” Shane sighs and then continues. “If you’re sick, or hurt, or just… not okay. I need you to tell me.”

The words hang between them. Ilya drops his gaze to his empty bowl, letting the words settle into his head as if he’s trying to understand them fully.

“I don’t know how.” He says after a moment.

Shane’s expression softens immediately. He reaches over and places his hand on Ilya’s thigh. “Just call me and tell me.”

“I’m not used to depending on people.” He admits, and after a beat, he turns his head to look at Shane again. “But I can try for you. If it makes you happy.”

Shane smiles before leaning in to press a gentle peck to Ilya’s lips. “It already does.”

Ilya stares back into those brown eyes and smiles, feeling something warm settling in his chest.