Work Text:
1
Ilya couldn’t really remember the first time he had alcohol.
It was wine, or sherry maybe; it had definitely been something sweet. He remembered trying his best not to scrunch his face too much at the taste of it, somehow sickly sweet and horribly bitter all at once. He remembered his mother whispering not too much now, Ilyushenka as he tried not to cough, and the soft trill of her laughter at his expense, pulling the glass away from his hands.
He remembered Alexei handing him a glass of vodka the night their mother had died, sitting at the table with him in silence, drinking from his own glass as their father made call after call, no tinkling laugh in his ear whenever he coughed at the taste. He remembered the way Alexei had rubbed his back every time he coughed, knocking his elbow gently to keep drinking.
He remembered the first time he was at a party with Marin and Luka and he had his first real drink. Ilya remembered being shocked at how easy it was to drink vodka when it was mixed with beer. He remembered how he had felt warm and the lights at the party had seemed prettier and how much easier it was to let go and dance.
Ilya remembered being excited to drink again.
>>>
Svetlana had the best vodka.
Sergei was gifted so many bottles from his work colleagues that he didn’t even notice when Svetlana started stealing them. He definitely didn’t notice when Ilya and Svetlana would sneak off from their fathers’ boring parties and steal off to a closet or an office and pass a bottle back and forth between them.
She taught Ilya that good, high end vodka didn’t burn going down.
Svetlana also taught Ilya that kisses were even better when the lights were sparklier and the world was fuzzier and bodies were warmer. They were better when they were private and stolen and dangerous, just like drinking alcohol.
Ilya took another swig of the bottle, swallowing with only a slight flinch as Svetlana wrapped her hand around his and made him tilt the bottle to her lips. Ilya watched in fascination as he missed her mouth a little, vodka spilling down her cheek as she drank.
“Fuck,” she swore, wiping her face.
“Are we drunk yet?” Ilya asked, leaning back against the wall.
It felt nice, the support. The wall was firm and it mean that Ilya didn’t have to hold himself up. He’d been feeling so heavy lately.
“You are drunk,” Svetlana said, tapping him on the chin, swaying slightly. Or maybe Ilya was the one swaying. “I am fine.”
Ilya sat forward, taking in her bleary eyes and wet lips. She was definitely swaying. “You are more drunk than me, actually.”
Svetlana made a dissenting noise, shaking her head at him. “You are. You know how I know?”
He raised an eyebrow, reaching for the bottle.
“You’re smiling,” Svetlana said wistfully. “You never smile anymore.”
Ilya huffed out a laugh. “What are you talking about? I smile too much. Papa tells me that all the time.”
Svetlana hummed in disagreement. “No, your real smile. Your old smile.”
Ilya sighed as he tipped his head back against the wall, looking away from Svetlana. He chugged as much vodka as he could without choking, barely feeling the way her hands reached for his biceps. Ilya drank more, needing the buzzing inside his head to stop, just for a moment.
His old smile. The smile he used to smile before his mother died, before Ilya knew how much worse life could get. Before Ilya knew that things never got better, only worse.
“It’s too hot,” he complained. He unbuttoned his shirt down to his waist, pulling it off his chest, trying to get some air.
Svetlana moved closer, taking the bottle away from him and leaning into his chest. Ilya sighed as her hands moved down to his stomach. “I’m cold.”
Ilya pouted at her in faux sympathy and nodded to the bottle. “Drink more.”
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
Ilya complied.
They'd been doing this a lot more lately. Svetlana had started kissing him after his mother had died; the first kisses had been chaste and sweet, gentle against his lips, a comfort more than anything. Then they had gotten older, and the kisses had gotten less chaste.
Ilya knew Svetlana didn’t know what to say to him. He knew that she wanted to help him somehow, but she was too young to know how to make this better. She was young enough that she thought she even could make it better. And Ilya was too young to tell her that it was okay, that nothing she could say and no amount of kisses would make it better, and he loved her all the more for thinking she could fix him.
So he let her kiss him, because feeling mostly numb and warm and having a pretty girl care enough to try was probably the closest he would ever feel to a hug again, and he didn’t think anyone had hugged him since his mother had died, and if kissing was as close as he could get, then Ilya would be greedy and take it.
Having Svetlana feed him vodka and kiss him was the only time Ilya didn’t feel like he was being burned alive. The vodka numbed everything, leaving only warmth in its wake, and the kissing grounded him, proving he was still here, still alive. It became easier after that realisation to sneak sips of vodka with his breakfast, in between school and hockey practise, and before bed.
Neither his father or Alexei seemed to notice that the bottles were being polished off faster and faster.
>>>
Ilya had no idea where he was. He'd followed Svetlana to someone’s house, and they’d caught a ride with one of her cousins to some abandoned warehouse across the city. They had moved onto their second bottle of vodka a while ago, and Sasha was dancing too close to him with all of these people around them.
He felt good. Ilya felt warm, and nothing hurt, not even the massive bruises on his shoulder or ribs or his thigh. His ankle didn’t hurt when he danced on it. His head didn’t hurt when he tipped it back, and he didn’t feel sick or sad or tired or anything other than happy.
Sasha kept handing him shots. Ilya hadn’t asked what any of them were, and after a while, he stopped tasting anything. Peach flavoured vodka, raspberry flavoured vodka... it didn’t matter.
Ilya was drunk. He was drunk and hot, so he stripped off his shirt and closed his eyes as the music thrummed through his body, the bass making his heart beat faster. Someone was touching him, warm hands moving across his shoulders and down his chest, and Ilya wondered if it was possible to feel like this all the time. More hands were on him, and he let himself melt into the touches, the music getting so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts anymore.
He took a fresh cup of something from someone, drinking it fast, smiling to himself at the way the ground tilted a little, everything sounding more distant and the edges of the world looking blurrier every time he blinked.
2
Ilya remembered his first cigarette with clarity.
Marin had stolen a half empty packet of menthols from his older sister. He had shown Ilya and Luka like he’d found gold, and they had cut school early to go to the park and smoke.
It had taken Ilya a while to get the hang of it. Luka talked them through it – how to suck the smoke in and hold it in their mouths for a moment. How to wait for the heat to dissipate for a moment. How to breathe it into his lungs, how to hold it, how not to choke.
Ilya had gotten the hang of it fast. He liked the repetitive motion. He liked having something to do with his hands. He liked having something in his mouth.
Cigarettes didn’t do what alcohol did for him – not that Ilya had expected it to. But he had been pleasantly surprised to feel that he felt better after every cigarette.
>>>
Luka gave him his first joint.
They were at a party Svetlana had dragged them to on a random Friday night. Ilya had drank his body weight in yorsh, cup after cup handed to him by Sasha and Marin, but he still wasn’t as numb as he wanted to be.
Luka had noticed. Luka had nodded for Ilya to follow him out to the smoking area and pulled out a joint, tightly rolled, and winked at him.
“Where did you get that?”
“I know people,” Luka said.
Ilya called bullshit on that; they’d known the same people all their lives. He'd probably gotten it from his brother, the way Alexei bought Ilya’s cigarettes for him.
He watched as Luka lit the joint and inhaled deeply, counting the seconds until he released his breath. It looked easier than smoking a cigarette, oddly.
“Here,” Luka said, handing it to him.
Ilya took it, holding it easily between his fingers, practised now. He mimicked Luka, breathing in deep and holding it for as long as he could before he blew the smoke out of his lungs. “Fuck,” Ilya coughed.
Luka laughed as he took the joint back, taking another hit. Ilya watched his lips curls around the joint, blinking and forcing himself to look away. “Feel good?”
Ilya shrugged as he reached for the joint, taking a second hit. He breathed out slowly, raising his eyebrows in surprise when he already felt something. “Yeah, actually.”
Luka smirked at him. “Works fast.”
“Yeah,” Ilya blinked, frowning to himself.
He didn’t feel much different, not really. He just felt a little softer now. Not numb, but less...just less.
“Another?” Luka offered.
Ilya nodded, passing the joint back and forth between them until they finished it. He followed Luka back inside to the party, sighing contentedly as Svetlana plastered herself to his front.
“Feels better, right?” Luka asked.
Ilya didn’t ask what Luka meant by that. They'd been friends all through school; they might not talk about things the way Ilya did with Svetlana, but Luka knew.
And he did feel better. Like his head was lighter, like all the noise around him was quieter. Everything looked the same, and it mostly felt the same. But Ilya just felt less like he cared.
They finished the joint in relative silence. Ilya followed Luka back to the party, smiling brightly when he saw Svetlana and her friend Lina reaching for him, pulling him into the throng of warm bodies dancing.
He moved to the music with Svetlana, swaying and enjoying the feeling of his entire body feeling lighter than ever.
>>>
Ilya flinched as he tried to take a deep breath, trying to school his face even though he was alone.
Biryukov had checked him into the boards so hard Ilya was sure he had damaged something. He had gone on to play two more periods without complaining about it, but then Prasolov had cross checked him, and Ilya had heard a crack.
Sasha had told him to lay off the weed, that it wasn’t going to help with the pain, but Ilya had learned that enough of anything would eventually numb him. He exhaled, immediately holding the joint back to his lips.
It was working; the world became a little fuzzier. The sounds of Alexei banging his way around the apartment became duller. The pain in his ribs went from a sharp throb to a dull ache.
He realised too late that Alexei was in his room, stalking to the window where Ilya was sitting, one leg hanging off the windowsill.
“Papa will kill you if he catches you,” he said, making his way over to stand near Ilya.
Ilya didn’t look at him, unsure of what he wanted.
"I’m out of cigarettes,” Alexei said.
Ilya kicked his bedside table, watching as Alexei opened the top drawer and grabbed his fresh pack. He raised an eyebrow as Alexei took a handful of cigarettes, tucking them into his shirt pocket and leaving Ilya half.
It was more generous than Ilya expected.
He held out the joint for Alexei, gratified when Alexei froze in surprise before taking it. Ilya closed his eyes, listening to Alexei breathe.
“Do you think Mama would be happy to see us smoking together?” Alexei asked.
Ilya snorted. “Would be hypocritical of her to say anything.”
Alexei laughed as he handed Ilya back the joint. “Ah, her secret cigarettes in the turka at the back of the cupboard?”
Ilya laughed with his brother. The sound was so foreign and unfamiliar in the apartment. “Not so secret, then.”
“No,” Alexei agreed, frowning at Ilya before he turned and left.
Ilya smoked in silence, staring out the window, wondering how much it would take to simply tip over and out the window.
3
Ilya remembered everything about the first time he touched a girl.
He had run into Lina on the street. He and his father had argued at dinner, something about his grades and not being allowed to play hockey, Ilya couldn’t remember that part. But he remembered that he’d gone out to cool down, walking his usual nighttime route of two blocks north, three blocks east, two blocks south, and cutting through the nature park with the square looking playground that Ilya was surprised no child had lost an eye on yet.
Lina had been walking back from somewhere and seen Ilya crossing the park, running over to say hello to him, her cheeks pink as she breathed heavily. She had stepped close and asked him if he was cold, and Ilya had grabbed her hand and led her behind a huge tree, out of sight from the street and kissed her.
She had cupped him through his jeans, and he had stuck his hand up her dress and inside her tights, stroking the soft, wet centre between her legs. Ilya had watched her face intently as she had gasped and whimpered and bit her lip, and he had thought more.
He didn’t remember getting off. But he remembered what Lina had looked like when she had.
>>>
Ioanna tasted like chocolate cake and liqueur.
Ilya kissed her as he rolled on top of her, thrilled that his father was travelling for work for the weekend. He had no idea where Alexei was, but he’d thrown down some money on the table and said he’d be back before their father was back on Tuesday.
So he invited Ioanna over, stole condoms from Alexei’s drawer in the bathroom, and asked if he she wanted to fuck.
She had said yes a little too fast, and Ilya knew he didn’t have to play it cool. He had led her straight to his bedroom and taken off his shirt, helping her out of her dress and leading her to his bed.
She smelled like fresh laundry and soap and she kissed him with tongue and she didn’t giggle or flinch when he ran his hands up her thighs or pressed his fingers inside her. She didn’t look away when he leaned up to grab a condom, and she watched with interest as he rolled it on and leaned closer to her.
It was nice, trying this with someone as curious as he was.
Ilya tried to mimic what he’d seen in the videos Marin had showed him from his older brother’s closet, kissing Ioanna as he pressed inside her, moving slow and careful and watching her closely to make sure she wasn’t in pain. When it became apparent that she felt good, Ilya moved faster.
He didn’t take his eyes off of her face as she watched him fuck her, realising quickly that every move that he made affected her. Ilya felt powerful as he moved, smirking to himself every time Ioanna made a sound or tried to pull him closer.
It was better than being drunk. It was maybe even better than being high, being in control like this, having someone at his mercy. Ilya wondered, as Ioanna guided his hand back to her clit, if it always felt like this. If this was why everybody was so obsessed with sex.
He got it now.
>>>
Ilya hadn’t realised the date until it was too late. He had made it through his early morning run, through school, all the way to dinner before Alexei’s girlfriend said something. Ilya had stupidly waited for someone to say something, to acknowledge the day, but both his father and brother were completely silent.
Nobody had anything to say. It was like she never even existed.
Ilya wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to punch a hole through a wall. He wanted to break everything in the apartment and he wanted his fucking brain to shut up.
He stormed out without saying a word and without destroying anything, even though he was desperate to make it known how furious he was. Ilya knew that his father might, might give him today to have a tantrum, but he’d pay for it tomorrow.
He couldn’t afford to skate through bruised ribs and a shattered eye socket again. Not with the Prospect Cup coming up.
Ilya was knocking on Svetlana’s door before he even realised where he was. She must have seen something in his face, because she grabbed him and pulled him into the house, dragging him up to her bedroom without a word.
No – she was talking. Ilya just couldn’t hear her. All he could hear was blood rushing through his ears and his heart pounding.
He sniffed as Svetlana brushed her thumbs under his eyes and fuck, he was crying. Ilya tried to push her away, but Svetlana moved closer, pushing him down onto the loveseat by the window, patting him down, probably trying to figure out if he was hurt.
Ilya looked at her when she put her hand on his chest, watching her mouth move and –
She wanted him to breathe. Ilya tried, but his body wasn’t cooperating. Svetlana grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest, taking an exaggeratedly deep breath, nodding when he mimicked her. Ilya took another deep breath, then another, and slowly, the fire in his stomach and the roar in his ears dissipated.
“Ilya,” Svetlana said softly.
He could hear her now, at least.
“Ilya, what happened?”
“Four years,” Ilya choked out.
Svetlana blinked before she seemed to understand him. Ilya wiped his face angrily as Svetlana pushed him back against the couch and climbed into his lap, straddling him.
Ilya expected platitudes. Condolences, maybe. Maybe Svetlana would be more caustic to shock him, tell him that four years without his mother was nothing and that he needed to get used to it.
But she kissed him.
It was nothing like their drunken kisses. There was no loud, thumping music making his stomach vibrate. There were no strobing lights, making everything look like it was moving in slow motion. There were no substances making them want to touch each other more than usual, just for the hell of it.
There was just Svetlana kissing him because she didn’t know what to say.
Ilya kissed her back, because he understood. Because it felt nice to have just one person who cared enough to try to distract him.
Svetlana reached for his belt, and maybe Ilya should have been embarrassed that he was hard while crying about his dead mother, but he’d never really been felt shame before, and he wasn’t going to startfeeling it now.
He kissed Svetlana deeper, letting his hands wander over her thighs before he moved up her body, pulling her shirt off over her head. Svetlana moved closer in his lap, sighing into his mouth as Ilya’s hand disappeared under her dress and pressed a finger to her entrance, relieved to feel that she was wet.
Ilya hooked his finger into her underwear and pulled it to the side, grabbing the base of his cock and angling himself inside her. Svetlana rose up on her hips before sinking down, rolling against him. Ilya let her set the pace, moving in tandem with her as she kissed him, her hands stroking his face delicately.
Sex with Svetlana was different to sex with anyone else. It didn’t really feel like sex at all.
He wasn’t sure if it was better or much, much worse.
4
The first time Svetlana had passed him a little yellow pill, Ilya hadn’t even asked what it was before he swallowed it. She had raised her eyebrows at him and asked him if he even knew what he took, and Ilya had laughed at her and asked if it even mattered.
Then he took the pills again. And again and again.
Ecstasy was fun. He could dance all night and not have to worry about a hangover the next day. He could sneak out of the apartment on a Tuesday night, get fucked up with his friends, and make it to school on time without his head hurting. He could nap at lunchtime in an empty classroom and rally for hockey practise after school. He could push through cooking and eating dinner before tucking himself into bed after dark, and do it all over again two days later.
It was cheap. It was fun. It made his skin feel like it was thrumming with electricity. It made his head feel soft, and it made him want to be somewhere for once. It took him from the lowest low to the highest high. It made him want to fuck and it made him want to stay.
It made it easier to not give a fuck about anything.
Ilya had gotten accustomed to feeling less these days. It was easier to push through the days knowing that he’d get this; the alcohol, the loud music, the pills. It was nice, to think about pills helping someone. To ignore that too many of them could kill him.
It was just nice to know that if he wanted to, he could. They were easy to get. He could get them through Sveta or Sasha or Luka or through the Marija in his history class. He could get a dozen for a night out with his friends, or he could get fifty just for himself. He could feel good and let go and then his head wouldn’t hurt anymore.
He probably wouldn’t. Ilya had things to do; he had hockey to play and cups to win and a father to disappoint and girls to fuck. He had more nights out like this, and he didn’t want to miss any of them.
So, he probably wouldn’t.
>>>
Marin gave him coke for the first time.
It was Luka’s birthday. Ilya had stolen too much vodka to be discreet from his father’s liquor cabinet, and Marin had brought cocaine that he’d bought from his cousin. Ilya had been surprised to learn Kolya had dropped out of university to sell drugs; Kolya was four years above them and so fucking smart. He had played hockey, and had always been patient when Ilya was trying to learn tricks on the ice.
It felt weird, somehow, to be buying drugs off of him now.
“You’ll like it,” Marin promised, and fuck was he right. Marin had showed him how to snort it, and within seconds, Ilya could feel it.
He felt awake. He felt like he could play an entire game of hockey without needing to rest. He felt excited, even though he wasn’t sure for what. There was blood rushing to his head, but it wasn’t in stress or anger. It was just his body doing body things. It felt like a relief. Like he could breathe again after four fucking days of no smoking or drinking or pills.
“I feel it,” Ilya said stupidly.
Luka laughed as he snorted two lines quickly, coughing softly. “Fuck.”
“Okay, you’re gonna feel like this for a little while,” Marin explained. “Ten, maybe twenty minutes. When you start to feel tired, we do more.”
“That’s it?” Ilya asked.
Marin nodded. Drugs were so easy.
Ilya followed Marin and Luka back out to the party, curious to see how he felt under the shitty flashing lights. It felt the same, but different in a way Ilya couldn’t describe. Either way, he felt happier than he felt without anything in his system.
>>>
Ilya had seen enough movies to know what Kolya was burning. He was a little surprised to see him do it so openly.
“Rozanov! You want to try?” Kolya offered.
Ilya watched as he used a straw to inhale the smoke, looking completely unbothered. Ilya tried to look closer, but Kolya looked exactly like everybody else looked. A little bleary eyed. Alert enough. Tired.
“Maybe,” Ilya said, joining Kolya on the couch. “What does it feel like?”
“Heaven,” Kolya grinned.
Ilya looked out at the party, watching Sasha and Svetlana dance up on each other amidst the throng of people. Everywhere he looked, there was people from school or hockey or his apartment building.
And nobody was looking at him.
It couldn’t hurt to try something new. Everything else he’d tried had felt so fucking good.
Ilya took the straw and nodded at Kolya, watching the smoke rise before he leaned in and breathed deeply.
5
He wasn’t surprised when Sasha kissed him. Ilya was only surprised that Sasha made the first move.
Sasha had been looking at him like that for a while now. At first, Ilya wasn’t sure what it meant. But he’d started to realise, when he figured out that he wasn’t disgusted by it like he should have been – when he’d realised that he’d liked it, and that he wanted to look at Sasha the same way – that it was always going to come to this.
He just hadn’t expected Sasha to be the one to initiate the kiss, and he definitely hadn’t expected Sasha to do it at the rink where Ilya’s entire team and Sasha’s father were on the other side of the equipment room.
Ilya had heard a moan as he kissed Sasha back, and he realised with a hot flush through his body that it might have been him. Sasha just kissed him hungrily, his hands slowly moving up Ilya’s jersey, tucking his fingers into the waistband of his pants –
Ilya pulled back, staring wide eyed at Sasha.
“I knew it,” Sasha smirked at him.
Ilya was tempted to bite back at Sasha; to lie, to say that he was wrong. To tell him that he was slight like a girl and Ilya had just been confused.
But he saw the undercurrent of fear in Sasha’s eyes. Ilya knew how dangerous what Sasha had done was, how badly it could have gone for him had Ilya not kissed him back. Sasha knew the risk, and took it anyway.
Ilya couldn’t tear down that bravery. He wanted to be that brave.
“Perceptive,” Ilya granted him instead.
Sasha leaned close, stealing one more kiss before he pulled away. “Get back on the ice. We'll do this again.”
“Soon,” Ilya said, desperate to regain the upper hand somehow.
Sasha winked as he snuck out of the room, presumably to go back to his father’s office to study, and Ilya rearranged his erection inside his cup, hoping that it would eventually calm down and nobody on the ice would notice it.
>>>
Ilya hated how excited he was to see Sasha that weekend.
Sasha had grabbed him pretty much the second he walked in, pulling him up to Svetlana’s bathroom while the party raged on downstairs. Ilya supposed that everybody would think they were sneaking off to do drugs together, and laughed to himself as he considered a world where that was acceptable, but kissing Sasha wasn’t.
Ilya let himself moan quietly as he kissed Sasha, letting his hands move across his body.
He liked Sasha’s body. He was tall, with toned, hot legs. His shoulders were broad and his stomach was hard and his hands were huge. Ilya sighed to himself as Sasha touched him back, leaning into the warmth of his body a little too easily.
Ilya wasn’t sure what it was about Sasha that was getting him more worked up than he’d been in months. Maybe it was that he always had weed or pills or a hook up to get them into a club without ID. Maybe it was how convenient Sasha was.
Maybe it was just that he wanted Ilya, and Ilya liked feeling wanted a little too much.
Sasha kissed differently to girls. Ilya wondered in the back of his mind if this was how all boys kissed, if this was what girls felt when he kissed them. Sasha was hard and firm and kissed Ilya like he was taking something, and Ilya loved it. It was violent and desperate in a way it had never been with a girl, and Ilya wondered if it was better, or just different.
Ilya heard himself make a pathetic sound as Sasha dropped to his knees and reached for his zipper.
“Yes?” Sasha asked, looking up at him.
Ilya nodded, threading his hand through Sasha’s hair and letting him lick the tip of his cock. He hadn’t realised that he was already hard as he watched Sasha take him further into his mouth. Ilya huffed out a laugh as he watched Sasha, mesmerised. “You’ve done this before.”
Sasha looked up at him and winked. He slowly pulled off Ilya’s cock, sucking at his tip before he let Ilya go. “You’ve never had your dick sucked before?”
“Of course I have,” Ilya scoffed. He had – countless girls had, just as he’d gone down on countless girls. He loved it, making them squirm and cry as they moaned his name and pulled his hair. Just as he’dloved having girls suck him off; he loved when they were sure and filthy about it, and he loved when they were shy and nervous about it. He loved it all.
But Sasha was different. Sasha knew what felt best for them, and he was touching Ilya in all the ways the girls at his school or at the parties he went to hadn’t thought to touch him before. Sasha’s hands were massaging his balls, reaching back to grip his ass, biting at the spot where his thigh met his hip.
Sasha moved to jerk him off slowly, watching Ilya curiously as he worked his length. “You want me to stop?”
“No.” Ilya couldn’t think of anything he wanted less than for Sasha to stop.
“You want me to finish?”
Ilya nodded, taking a deep breath as Sasha tongued at his slit.
“You want to do it to me after?” Sasha asked.
Ilya nodded again, reaching for Sasha and pulling him closer. He wanted to try everything, Ilya realised. He wanted to try everything and everyone and he didn’t give a fuck if it was selfish or dirty or wrong. He wanted it all.
>>>
Ilya watched Sasha so, so closely as he pressed inside him.
Sasha's parents had gone away for the week to celebrate their anniversary. He had text Ilya with a time and told him not to be late. Ilya had hoped they would fuck, but actually being inside Sasha...
He'd done anal twice with Avigeya. She had said that she liked it, but no other girls had asked for it, and Ilya had been more than happy with the sex he was having to not feel like he was missing anything.
He realised, the second he pressed into Sasha’s wet, gaping hole, that he was so fucking wrong.
Sasha sank into the sheets as Ilya moved slowly, moaning loudly as Ilya bore down over him. Ilya felt like he could barely breathe as he groaned and desperately tried not to come immediately.
He watched as Sasha writhed beneath him, studying the ways he was different to the girls Ilya fucked, and how he was the same.
He moaned deeper, but he cried out just as high and desperate. He could take more, but he pushed back the same as the girls, chasing more from Ilya.
Ilya dug his fingers into Sasha’s thigh, spreading his leg wider and fucking into him deeper, determined to get this right for Sasha, for himself.
Ilya hadn’t known this was an option. Not really. He had noticed boys, of course he had. He wasn’t blind.
He'd just never thought he’d actually get to fuck one.
+1
Kissing Shane Hollander felt very much like every time Ilya had smoked with Kolya.
Hollander was all consuming. He had been from the very first time. Ilya could remember every little thing about their CCM commercial. Everything from how Hollander had looked at him when Ilya had skated out onto the rink with him, curious and furious and something else that Ilya wasn’t sure he was imagining, but had hoped was really there. The way Hollander had been unable to keep the smile off his face when the director had told them to look menacingly at each other. The way Hollander had stared at him in the showers, his eyes locked on Ilya’s body, more brazen than any other boy Ilya had ever met.
He remembered everything about that night, too. The way Hollander had touched Ilya’s chest, too spaced out to tell him to take off his shirt. The way Hollander had dropped to his knees faster than anyone Ilya had ever met. The way Hollander had swallowed him down, clearly the first time he had ever done so, clumsy and eager and so enthusiastic that Ilya had half a mind to text Sasha and apologise for not putting in as much effort during his own first attempt as Hollander.
Ilya had thought that he loved this, sucking dick and having his dick sucked, more than anyone else. Then there was Hollander.
Ilya had felt like he’d taken every possible drug under the sun when Hollander had touched him. Ilya felt drunk, unsteady on his feet as he’d climbed out of the bed and hoped Hollander would invite him to stay. He'd lingered by the door, hoping Hollander would stand and kiss him, would send him off with one more touch, but Hollander had curled in on himself, and Ilya’s high had faded before the door had shut behind him.
Part of Ilya felt like it was a warning. Do not get any closer. Do not do this again. The comedown might kill you.
He ignored himself, of course. Ilya had never met a high he hadn’t chased, and he wasn’t going to stop now.
And still, Ilya was not prepared enough for the first time they fucked.
He had chased Hollander for months. Years. Ilya could sense the fear in Hollander – the uncertainty of letting Ilya fuck him, of feeling like he was giving away something that he wasn’t ready to give back. The fear of handing over control, as if Ilya had any at all.
Finally getting Hollander into bed was a herculean feat. It required patience that Ilya hadn’t known he’d possessed, and begging where Ilya had never begged before. Part of Ilya had thought that it couldn’tbe that good. They had put this off for so long, fantastising about it and picturing it and imagining it that there was no possible outcome but disappointment. He had expected that the sex would be good in the way all sex was good. He expected them to get off and get on with it. He just hadn’t expected it to be so –
Ilya had opened Hollander up slowly, so, so slowly. He was determined to make this perfect, to make sure Hollander would want him again. To have him chase Ilya this time.
And then he had laid Hollander down on his back, settled between his legs, pressed inside, and Ilya had felt a high so intense that it was like every high he had ever felt all at once.
Ilya hadn’t expected to be the first one to fall.
He felt cock drunk and useless as he fucked Hollander. Ilya watched Hollander carefully, so fucking carefully, making sure that he felt good. All Ilya wanted was for Hollander to feel the way he did – high, hot, good for one thing and one thing only. He wanted Hollander to understand that Ilya existed for this, only for this: to make Hollander come. He wanted Hollander to crave Ilya’s kisses the way Ilya craved his, needing the hit of Hollander’s red lips and sweet mouth to get him through another day. He wanted Hollander to feel the empty space that Ilya carved out for himself inside of Hollander, to not feel whole until Ilya was inside him again. He wanted Hollander to want, to need, the way Ilya did.
Ilya made sure to watch Hollander with rapt attention, noting every hitched breath and gasp and push of his hips. He made sure to catch every bead of sweat rolling down his neck with his tongue, as if he could swallow enough of him to consume him, to take Hollander with him.
He fucked Hollander so hard that Ilya had to stare at his face and watch closely, making sure Hollander really was loving this, that he wasn’t in pain or pushing through any discomfort.
“Tell me,” Ilya begged.
“Good,” Hollander slurred, his face mushed against he sheets. “More, Rozanov, please.”
Ilya couldn’t imagine not giving Hollander exactly what he needed. Ilya wondered if he was blessed somehow, that exactly what Hollander needed was what he needed.
Watching Hollander come untouched against the sheets made Ilya feel like he was ascending to heaven itself. It felt even better than the time he had done four lines then smoked all of Kolya’s gear.Watching Hollander moan his name and reach back for him made Ilya wonder what the fuck he was going to do now when he needed a hit of something to get him through the night, because absolutely nothing was going to feel as good as this, and Ilya knew it.
He wondered, when he was in the taxi heading back to the hotel, what it was about Hollander that made Ilya feel like a virgin. Hollander was just a hot person – Ilya had fucked a lot of hot people. He'd fuck even more.
But Hollander was under his skin, electric and hot and setting him on fire. He was nothing like Sasha, or the guys he had anonymously hooked up at underground clubs in the last couple of years. He was nothing like Svetlana, who would fuck him when he was lonely or needed comfort.
Shane Hollander was something else entirely. Ilya just wasn’t sure what.
He rode the high of that night for weeks. He could feel Hollander’s touch all over his skin, warm trails of his fingers, even when he was out on the ice. He could feel Hollander’s mouth on him, seeing him in place of the pretty girls that were on their knees for him. He could taste the sweetness of Hollander’s come on his tongue with every sip of vodka, every bite of food, like it was the only taste that mattered. He could hear Hollander’s moans in every vocal on every trance track he listened to, sure that Hollander was haunting him.
He felt high, even when he was completely sober.
Marleau even asked him why he looked so fucking happy. Ilya was honest and said he’d had the best sex of his life, and he was looking forward to going back to Montreal for another round.
>>>
Shane was his.
Ilya had never felt so outside of his own body and so inside it at the same time. He had tried to explain it to Shane, but Ilya had brought up the feeling of being high and Shane had frowned at him and shaken his head.
“You’ve never been high?” Ilya had asked him, kissing his neck.
“I mean, I've tried stuff,” Shane shrugged, panting slightly. “But it never felt good. I don’t know what it is about my body or whatever, but weed made me paranoid and sick to my stomach. Coke made me sleepy. X nearly knocked me right out.”
Ilya laughed at him. “Is that why you like sex so much?” Ilya trailed his hands down Shane’s bare chest, the hard muscles twitching under Ilya’s touch.
“Maybe?” Shane looked at him intently, threading his fingers though the hair at the nape of Ilya’s neck and pulling slightly. “I mean, not all sex. Nothing feels like this.”
Ilya nodded, agreeing easily, thrusting up into Shane. “No. Nothing feels like this.”
He rolled his hips up, sighing happily as Shane pushed him back into the sunlounge, moving his hips faster.
Shane looked so beautiful like this, his skin darkened by the sun, his freckles more obvious than normal. His cheeks and chest flushed pink with the effort of fucking himself on Ilya’s cock, his lips spit slick and trembling.
Ilya spread his legs wider, planting his feet on either side of the chair, his stomach swooping with the feeling of his impending orgasm. Unbidden, Ilya remembered the feeling of straddling the windowsill in his childhood bedroom in Moscow, leaning out of the window as far as he could before he lost his balance and his stomach dropped, thinking he might fall fourteen stories and die.
This felt like that, but better.
Ilya slapped Shane’s ass, watching his body ripple and shake. It blew his mind, even after all these years, how Shane was solid muscle, strong and thick, rippling when Ilya pushed him just right. He moaned as Shane moved faster, reaching behind him to roll Ilya’s balls in his palm, smirking when Ilya’s hips bucked violently.
“Remember when you used to keep your socks on during sex?” Ilya taunted.
Shane tried to laugh, but he was too close to coming, too unable to breathe properly. “I never did that.”
“Yes you did,” Ilya muttered, grabbing handfuls of Shane’s hips and squeezing. “Did you think back then you’d be riding me out here in public like this?”
Shane's cock twitched, drooling against his own stomach as Ilya teased him. “Shut up.”
“I did,” Ilya breathed. “I knew it from the showers that you were like this.”
Shane moaned as he slapped Ilya’s chest. Ilya got the message, sitting up and pulling himself closer to Shane, wrapping his arms around his waist. Shane fell into him, grinding down onto Ilya’s cock, his breathing becoming shallow and short. Ilya stared up at Shane, wondering how he ever got so fucking lucky –
Shane cried out as he came, thrusting short and sharp, his cock spurting between their stomachs. It was enough to push Ilya over the edge, coming inside Shane with a shout much louder than he usually was, just because he could.
He let Shane push him down and lay by his side for a while, catching their breath quietly. Ilya let his eyes fall shut as Shane caressed his hip, letting the sun beat down on him. Between Shane’s heartbeat against his chest, the blood rushing through his ears and the high of his orgasm, Ilya could have sworn he was back on the dancefloor at some shitty house party in Moscow, high and fucked and feeling better than ever.
>>>
Shane was crying. Shane was crying, but Ilya could see the sheer need for more on his face. He could feel it in the way Shane dug his nails into Ilya’s shoulders, cutting through the skin. Ilya ground his hips harder into Shane’s, kissing the inside of his wrist resting against his shoulder.
Shane looked so fucking beautiful. His eyes were completely far away, his hair sweaty and sticking up in every direction, and his perfect skin was a deep, bright pink with exertion.
Ilya had never seen anything more perfect in his entire life.
“Ilya,” Shane moaned into his throat.
He nodded, bending his head to kiss him. Ilya couldn’t speak if he tried. All he could do was try to breathe and fuck and thrust and touch Shane, mouthing at his nipples, flushed deep brown and touching every expanse of skin he could reach.
Shane was saying something, but Ilya couldn’t hear a thing. It was like he was high, so fucking high, too high to speak or move. Except for his hips; he couldn’t stop moving his hips.
He tried to speak, tried to say Shane’s name, but he wasn’t sure anything came out. He gripped onto Shane tighter, pulling him closer, needing more. More, always more.
Shane gave it to him. Shane always gave Ilya more.
Ilya kissed him, trying to convey to him how grateful he was that Shane let him have this. How much he loved him, how good Shane made him feel. Shane would always say I understand better than you think or you make me feel the same. But Shane couldn’t know.
Nobody could understand how Shane could lift Ilya up from feeling so low he could barely breathe to this; to better than he’d ever felt in his life. That was just for Ilya to know.