Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Shane Hollander,” Ilya purrs, sidling up beside the man who is looking more than a little out of place, holding an empty red solo cup as he watches Svetlana and her girlfriend dance. He’s never actually met Shane, but he knows of him. Of course he does. Everyone knows Shane. He’s been leading the university’s hockey team since he started, and now as a junior, he’s like a campus celebrity. And he’s here, in Ilya’s fraternity’s living room.

There’s that, and the fact that his friend is dating Ilya’s friend, so Shane comes up from time to time, usually when Ilya makes an unsubtle attempt to bring him up. To top it all off, one of Ilya’s frat brothers plays with Shane, so… really, it’s a surprise it’s taken them this long to meet. Ilya just never expected their first meeting to be at a frat party. He sort of thought these things would be beneath Shane, that he’d be at more exclusive hockey parties or bars. Though, Ilya isn’t exactly sure he’d have the confidence to approach Shane if he weren’t looking a little out of place, if this weren’t the homefield advantage of Ilya’s fraternity house. He’s usually either surrounded by people; teammates, women, adoring fans. If he isn’t with a posse, then he’s completely alone, focused and stoic, studying or reading, like there’s some forcefield around him and everyone knows not to approach him when he doesn’t want to be approached. 

The point is, he’s a legend, and Ilya is… A frat bro. A frat bro who is on thin ice, skating by, and fuck, why are there so many ice related metaphors to describe where Ilya is at in life? He’s slacking off, he’s spending his days getting stoned and fucking anyone who will look past that and focus on his good looks or his bedroom prowess, and he has absolutely no business approaching Shane Hollander, so naturally, he has to.

Ilya had watched Shane for a few moments before approaching, the way his eyes were locked onto the woman dancing with Svetlana. He wonders if Shane has a thing for his friend, the one he came in with, the one newly dating Sveta. Ilya can’t think of her name right now. Or, maybe Shane is just like every other guy here, intrigued by two beautiful women dancing together. Ilya would almost be impressed by that; some show that Shane really is just a man, a man with needs and wants, and not some perfect athlete grown in a lab, stellar student, polite, charming, handsome. 

“Hi,” he answers, like it’s a question, like he’s confused why Ilya would even have the audacity to approach him. 

Ilya shakes that thought off. This is his frat, Shane is a guest, and Ilya can talk to him. Plus, he’s a few drinks in, so… Liquid courage and all. He juts his chin out toward the women dancing. “Your friend?”

“Yeah,” Shane answers. “Rose.”

Ilya nods, repeating the name in his head so he doesn’t forget it again. “Your friend is dating my friend.”

“I know,” Shane says, a little bluntly. Okay. Well. There’s the confirmation that Shane knows who Ilya is, because he hadn’t exactly introduced himself. 

“Your drink is empty,” Ilya observes. 

Shane looks down at his cup. “Yeah.”

“You want another?”

Shane seems to think about this, looking between his empty cup and Rose. “I’m okay. I only came because she didn’t want to walk in alone and she’s in good hands now, so…”

Ilya reaches his hand down and takes Shane’s cup from him. “One more won’t hurt,” he says, because he doesn’t want this to end quite yet, and this might be the only chance he ever has to see Shane a little out of place. He kind of wants to make the most of it.

To Ilya’s surprise, Shane doesn’t protest. He follows Ilya to a keg and Ilya refills Shane’s cup with beer, handing it back to him, making sure his fingers brush over Shane’s, just to see if he reacts. He doesn’t. 

“Thanks.”

“You know anyone else here?” Ilya asks.

Shane looks annoyed by the question. “Really? Who do I know here? I didn’t even get asked that at the door.”

Ilya chuckles at that. “No. Not when you come with a pretty woman.”

“Not when I’m a star athlete,” Shane corrects.

“Ah. Yes. That is why,” Ilya says sarcastically. 

“I know Hayden, obviously.”

Ilya groans. Right. Hayden. The other guy in the house who plays hockey, the annoying one who always wants to plan things, who’s always talking about his girlfriend and chores and keeping common areas clean and the reputation of the frat, and a bunch of other things Ilya doesn’t care about. Ilya isn’t close with him. 

“What?” Shane asks sharply.

“Nothing. You are good friends?”

“Yeah,” Shane nods. “Best friends.”

“Of course. Two boring people, makes sense,” Ilya says, a little blunter than he really should be.

Shane makes a sound of annoyance. “Is hockey boring to you?”

“No,” Ilya says simply.

“Right. But, what? Anything besides partying and smoking and fucking your way through campus is boring?”

Ilya laughs again, louder this time, a genuine sound because he’s caught off guard by Shane. Clearly Shane is aware of Ilya’s reputation, then. He wonders if Hayden complains about his annoying frat brother who sleeps in too much and slacks off on chore duties and starts smoking at ten in the morning. Or maybe it’s Rose who’s mentioned Ilya, after his brief meeting where Svetlana had wanted him to meet her girlfriend. Maybe she doesn’t like that Sveta still is friends with his old fuckbuddy and she’d vented to Shane about it. Still, Ilya laughs, because at least Shane has thought of him. And really, he’d expected the golden boy to be… more polite. He’s feisty, which is sort of fun. He also looks downright offended that Ilya had the audacity to laugh at his jab, which pleases Ilya to no end. “Maybe,” Ilya settles on. “Do you want to smoke?”

“I don’t smoke,” Shane answers. 

“Do you want to keep me company?”

Shane takes a long drink from his beer and looks around. “No,” he says, like he’s utterly inconvenienced to even have to be in Ilya’s presence for this long. 

“Okay,” Ilya shrugs like the answer isn’t devastating to him. “So what? You will just stand here alone, watching two women-” Ilya pauses to glance at where Rose and Svetlana have escalated their dancing and are now making out. Huh. He wonders if Rose is bi too and if they’d ever want a third… Probably not. They’d probably prefer Shane, if they were looking for a third anyway. “Making out? Not a great look, Hollander. People will think you are a creep.”

Shane makes an offended sound at that. “Fuck off. I’ll go find Hayden.”

Ilya laughs at that and checks his phone. “Eleven? You’re lucky if Hayden isn’t with his girlfriend in his room by ten thirty.” 

Shane sighs. “Fine. Where are you smoking?”

He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. For all the time he’s spent thinking about meeting Shane, what it would look like, who would be there, he never imagined a scenario where he’d get him alone so easily. “My room. Third floor,” Ilya says. 

“Lead the way,” Shane says, in a tone that suggests Ilya is about to walk them off a plank, rather than bring him to his room. 

Ilya does, bringing them up an old wooden staircase in back. It’s a little less crowded here, away from the thrumming base of the speakers and the crowds of people drinking and dancing, but there are a few people who step aside for Ilya. He has that sort of effect on people; a domineering or maybe (probably) repelling energy that tells people to step aside for him. It’s not a bad thing. 

Ilya leads them up two flights of stairs to the third floor. He’d lived in the dorms as a freshman, and his sophomore year he had to have a roommate at the frat house, but now, his junior year, he’s afforded the luxury of his own room. He leads them down the hall and opens the door, letting Shane in before shutting it behind them. 

It’s an old house, large and brick, with creaky wood floors and white walls with dark wood baseboards and window frames. Ilya likes it. It feels more familiar than the modern apartments many students choose to live in. His room is typical, he supposes. There are red LED lights that line the perimeter of the ceiling. There’s a flatscreen TV atop a dresser, a gaming console and games and controllers. There’s a mini fridge and a small futon in front of the TV. He has posters on the walls; sports teams, bands, bikini models. There’s a shag rug and a laundry hamper, and only a few pairs of socks and underwear on the ground instead of in the hamper. It’s dimly lit, and it’s typical, but Ilya likes it. It’s cozy, in a way. There’s no one to come tell him to take down his unsightly posters or pick up his clothes, and he likes that. It’s his, in a way nothing really has been his before. Sure, his father finances it, sending Ilya an allowance that Ilya tells him is for an apartment. And sure, that means his father can hound him about school, nag him that he needs to study, to get a finance degree, to be disciplined and work hard because he’d been insistent on going to America rather than studying in Russia, much to his father’s dismay. Still, he pays, so Ilya is grateful. 

His bed is against the wall, a queen size with navy sheets and a dark comforter. He walks over to that first and sits down on the edge, reaching into his night stand to pull out what he needs. Once he has it gathered, he looks up to Shane who is still awkwardly standing by the door. 

“Sit,” Ilya says, gesturing to the futon. He watches as Shane obeys, silently sitting down. Ilya sets his tray down and then goes to the mini fridge and pulls out two water bottles and a bottle of vodka. He keeps his good stuff up here. He’s had a few beers since the party started, but he’s not drunk, and vodka sounds like a nice pairing with weed. He grabs a glass from his desk and pours himself a decent amount before capping the vodka and putting it away. Even up here, the music from the party downstairs is audible, but it’s muffled, mostly the bass coming through. 

“You want music? TV?” Ilya asks, before he sits next to Shane, a little closer than strictly necessary. 

“Whatever,” Shane answers in a tone that’s either disinterested or unsure, and Ilya can’t tell which one.

Ilya picks up his controller and turns Spotify on his TV, pressing play on the techno he had on earlier while he studied.  

“You know how to roll a joint?” Ilya asks, taking a sip of his vodka.

“No,” Shane answers. 

“You want me to show you?”

“I don’t smoke,” Shane says again. 

“Okay. What if you meet a pretty girl who does? And she says ‘please, Shane, can you roll my joint for me?’ Then what?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “I don’t think I’m gonna date a girl who smokes.”

“Ah. Is a turn off for you?” Ilya asks, a little amused.

Shane shrugs. 

Ilya isn’t sure what to make of that, so he gets to work. He grinds his weed up and takes out a rolling paper and a filter, and with a practiced efficiency, he rolls a joint. His eyes flick to Shane as he licks along the paper, watching how Shane’s eyes follow his tongue on the movement. When he’s done, he holds the joint out between them. “Look at that. Perfect.”

“Impressive,” Shane says in a bored tone that doesn’t suggest he’s at all impressed. 

“Thank you,” Ilya says regardless. 

“Are you allowed to smoke inside?” Shane asks.

Ilya gives him a sort of incredulous look. “It’s a frat,” he says, gesturing around the room.

Shane shrugs, as if to say, how the fuck would I know?

Ilya lights up and takes a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he exhales, the heavy smoke filling out the space around them. Fuck, it’s nice. Sure, he smoked before the party started, but it’s been a few hours and he’s been socializing and drinking and dancing, and it’s nice to just inhale something familiar, something that will relax him. 

“I won’t get like, a second hand high, right?” Shane asks, interrupting Ilya’s peace. 

“What? No. We aren’t hotboxing my room, Hollander. You’ll be fine. But if you want a firsthand high…” Ilya says, dragging out the last word as he holds the joint out.

Shane shakes his head and holds up his still mostly full cup of beer. “I’m good with this.”

Ilya shrugs. He doesn’t need to push. It’s a miracle itself that Shane is even here. He takes another inhale, slow and even, and he tilts his head back on the futon so when he exhales the smoke is pushed up, hazy and slow in the still air of the room. He can feel Shane’s eyes on him.

“I’ve never seen you at a frat party,” Ilya says, breaking their silence. 

“I’ve been to like… one or two. It’s not really something I like,” Shane says. 

“So you are just being a good friend to Rose?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I guess. She wanted me here, said it’s Friday night and I’m not allowed to study or go to the gym, so… Here I am,” Shane says. 

Ilya gives him a once over. “You go to the gym a lot.” 

He can’t tell, not under the glow of the red LED lights, but he thinks Shane might blush. “Yeah. For hockey, it’s uh… important.”

Ilya nods. “Maybe I’ve made myself public enemy number one tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Shane asks, before taking a small sip of his beer. 

“If anyone saw me drag you away? The girls would not be happy I took you from them. I imagine many had their eye on you tonight, hm?” Ilya says. If he can’t directly flirt with Shane, he can at least imply other people would like to. “Maybe I’ve taken their one shot at you away. Shane Hollander’s one night out, and Ilya Rozanov steals him away.”

Shane laughs a little at that, a sort of humble, dismissive laugh. “I doubt anyone thought that.”

Ilya lifts an eyebrow as he takes another drag from his joint. “No? Star athlete, gym rat, studious, polite,” Ilya rattles off. “I think they would be very unhappy with me if they knew I had you up here… All to myself.” He adds the last part on quietly, his voice lower. He feels decently stoned now, relaxed and fuzzy and a little looser. He takes one more hit before he puts out the joint on his ashtray. No sense smoking until he’s too tired to stay up; he’ll save the rest for before bed. 

“I don’t know,” Shane answers. “They might not be so interested if they saw how awkward I am at parties.” 

“Okay,” Ilya shrugs, but he’s happy to see the dent in the armor, the acknowledgement that Shane isn’t perfect. “So what do you do instead? For fun?”

Shane thinks on it for a moment. “I don’t know. I just… really like hockey. I guess I like watching movies sometimes, or just… like, hanging out.” 

Ilya groans and lays his head on the back of the futon again. “Boring. Maybe you need to let loose. Your friend Rose is right,” Ilya says, before he remembers what he meant to ask earlier. “You like her?” 

“Yeah? She’s my friend,” Shane says. 

“Mm, no. Like, do you want to fuck her?” 

“What?” Shane asks, his tone sharper. “No. She’s just a friend. Not everyone wants to fuck everyone else, you know? You’re exactly as bad as I heard,” he grumbles out the end part. 

Fuck, Ilya is high. He sips his vodka before resting his head again. “So you’ve heard a lot about me,” Ilya says with a lazy smile. He feels good, his limbs loose, his legs spread wide so he only has to move his thigh an inch more before his knee is touching Shane’s. Shane flinches against it before he relaxes. The room smells smoky and heavily of weed, and the cold vodka feels nice on his throat, and Shane is next to him. 

“I guess,” Shane says, like he realizes he shouldn’t have said that. 

“Come on. What do people say? I want to know,” Ilya says. He’s rubbing circles with his thumb into his own jeans, sensory seeking in his high state, the repetitive feeling and the fabric soothing. He wants to touch Shane, though. He wants to touch his hair, his neck, just to feel. Just to do something with his hands.

“Don’t you know already?” 

Ilya lifts his arm up so it’s on the back of the futon, behind Shane’s shoulders but not touching him. Shane stiffens a bit. “Maybe. What? That I’m an asshole? Lazy? A player?” 

“Sure. All of that,” Shane agrees. 

“Your hair looks soft,” Ilya says. 

“What?” Shane asks, his hand defensively going up to touch his own hair. 

“Can I touch? I’m touchy when I’m high.” 

Shane looks at him a little shocked. Maybe Ilya shouldn’t be doing all of this, but what’s the big deal? 

“You want to touch my hair?” He asks slowly, like he’s trying to make sure he heard right.

“Mm, like play with it,” Ilya confirms. 

“What the fuck am I doing here,” Shane murmurs, but it’s clearly more to himself than to Ilya, so he doesn’t answer. “Sure. Yeah, why not? I’m doing all sorts of things tonight, aren’t I? Why not let you play with my hair,” Shane says, and it’s hard to read his tone. He almost sounds mad, but he leans back a bit, and from there it’s easy. Ilya just has to lift his arm a little closer, and then he’s touching the back of Shane’s neck, the back of his head, where his hair is a little longer. It is soft. 

He idly runs his fingers through it, his nails softly scratching over Shane’s scalp, carding through his dark hair, loose and easy and slow. “Is Rose nice?” Ilya asks.

Shane takes a sip of beer. “Yeah. She’s great.” 

“Good. Svetlana is very nice. I am happy for them,” Ilya says as he continues his ministrations, though he’s switched to mostly scratching Shane’s head, raking his blunt nails over the back of his skull. 

“Fuck,” Shane says. “That feels really nice actually.” 

Ilya grins, lopsided and lazy. “Good. Is nice for me too. I like having something to do with my hands when I’m like this, but… maybe I am too stoned for video games now. So this is nice.” 

Shane leans into the touch a bit more, relaxing, like hearing that Ilya has no ulterior motive in wanting to pet Shane’s head gives him permission to relax into it.

“Are you gonna go back to the party?” 

Ilya thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t know. If I feel like it, I will. I’m happy here, though.”

Shane nods and Ilya feels it against his hand. “Do you smoke everyday?” 

He chuckles at that. “Yes, usually.” 

“Why?” 

“Are you a cop?” Ilya asks. “What’s with all the questions?” He moves his hand down a bit to Shane’s neck as he speaks, and switches from just scratching to putting a little more pressure, massaging the back of his neck in a way he hopes feels nice.

 Shane groans a little. “Fuck, man.”

“Good?”

Shane nods. “Yeah. Yeah that feels really good. Uh, sorry,” he sips his beer and swallows, and Ilya watches his profile as he remembers what he was asking. “No, just wondering.”

“I like it,” Ilya says. “Feels nice. Relaxing, good. You’ve never?” 

Shane shrugs. “I tried in high school once or twice. Just made me cough a lot and I didn’t feel much.” 

Ilya nods. “Sometimes is hard the first time. First few times. If you ever want to try again, you come to me, okay? I will hook you up with good shit, show you how it’s done.” 

“I get drug tested for hockey.” 

“Okay. So maybe after the next drug test. Or before a break.”

Shane laughs a little. “You’re really dedicated, huh? I don’t really… I like feeling clear headed.” 

Ilya shrugs again. “Okay.” It doesn’t particularly matter one way or the other if Shane smokes. He just doesn’t really want Shane to go get high with someone else, which isn’t something he needs to look into more. 

“Why’d you ask me up here?” Shane asks after a few minutes of comfortable quiet, of Ilya massaging the back of Shane’s neck. 

“I wanted to talk to you. We know some of the same people. I am always hearing your name. I thought it was weird we never met, so…” 

Shane nods. 

“Did your friend say anything about me? Rose?” 

Shane turns to look at Ilya. “Like what? She mentioned you met once, for drinks. Svetlana wanted her to meet you.”

Ilya nods. “We are old friends. Me and Svetlana. From before school.”

“From Russia?”

“Yes,” Ilya grins. “What gave it away?”

“Shut up,” Shane laughs. 

“We used to fuck,” Ilya says, and that catches Shane off guard. 

“What?” 

Ilya nods. “Yes. For a while. Nothing serious, just as friends, you know. So, I thought… I don’t know. Maybe Rose would not like me, you know? Like, she would be upset Sveta is still my friend. Maybe Rose would complain about it to you, but… I guess not.”

Shane shakes his head. “No. She didn’t say anything.” 

“Okay,” Ilya says simply before he rakes his nails down Shane’s neck, pushing them just under the neck of his shirt.

Shane shivers in response and lets out a soft sigh. “Fuck… I should probably head out soon,” he says.

Ilya frowns, his brain taking in the words a little more sluggishly than usual. Honestly, he’s very high, and touching someone is nice, and the sounds Shane makes are pretty and arousing, and if it were anyone but Shane, he’d probably already have asked to make out with them. “You have to?”

Shane shrugs. “I think so. It’s late.”

“It’s not even midnight,” Ilya counters.

“That’s late for me.” 

“Okay,” Ilya nods, his eyes lowering to Shane’s lips. Shane turns to face him then, and it’s obvious where Ilya is looking. He flicks his eyes up enough to make eye contact and quirks one eyebrow, just a touch, enough to ask a question. 

Shane is subtle, one quick shake of his head to reject Ilya’s silent question. He really is polite, Ilya thinks. Nothing rude, not even answering, not letting the question out into the open. Just a quick, painless rejection before Ilya can embarrass himself more. 

“Was nice to hang out with you. Maybe I’ll see you at the next party,” he says. 

“Maybe,” Shane answers before he stands up. “See you.” 

Ilya lights up his abandoned joint the second Shane leaves, smokes it all, jerks himself off while sitting on the futon, and crawls into bed after. What a night. 

—

The next time Ilya sees Shane, he’s sitting at a table outside, on the patio of the student union, on the far side of the quad. Ilya is just stepping out of the Econ building, where he thinks he did just okay on an exam. Shane is far away, but he’s easy to spot, his pretty dark hair that shines in the sun. 

Ilya lights up a cigarette and makes a decision. He crosses the south corner of the quad, the pretty, grassy space where students lounge and play frisbee, and he walks to the patio. Shane’s table is covered in open books, his laptop open in front of him, a disposable coffee cup next to it. 

Ilya slumps into the seat across from Shane, startling him.

“Jesus,” Shane says, jolting up, his eyes snapping to Ilya. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Don’t sound so happy about it,” Ilya says, exhaling smoke between them. 

Shane frowns. “Can you put that out?” 

Ilya rolls his eyes, but he does, putting the cigarette out on the metal table before tucking it behind his ear. No sense in throwing away a barely smoked cig; he’ll finish it on the walk home. 

“What do you want?” Shane asks. 

“Wow. You are in a bad mood,” Ilya says. 

Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m studying. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“You’re out in public. There are libraries, study rooms, places to go to study alone, no?”

“It’s nice outside,” Shane counters. 

Ilya looks around, nodding, before remembering his sunglasses are hanging from the v of his shirt. He puts them on, smirking a little as Shane watches him. “Very nice. And you are wasting it studying. Won’t be too many more nice days before it gets cold.” 

“Okay? So? What’s your plan for the nice day?”

Ilya shrugs. “I just took an econ exam. Was okay. Probably will go walk around, maybe go chill by the lake.” The lake is really just more of a big pond, but it’s a pretty spot just on the edge of campus that students go to hang out. Ilya likes it there. 

“How was the exam?” Shane asks.

Now it’s Ilya’s turn to roll his eyes, because why is that the part that interested Shane.

“Fine. I don’t know. I didn’t study, really, but…” He shrugs. “I’m good at math, so. I’m sure it was fine,” he answers honestly. What was that saying he kept hearing? C’s get degrees? Fuck, his father would hate his work ethic. That makes him happy, maybe. A way to rebel, even if he’s the one who will suffer from it. Still, he’ll get his finance degree, he really is good at math, he’ll get some boring finance job and stay in America, and it’ll be fine. It’ll work out. He’d rather smoke and party and fuck and enjoy a day by the lake than spend all his time studying like Hollander. And for what? He’ll probably end up playing for the NHL, so Ilya doesn’t get why he’s so focused on school anyway. 

“I don’t like math,” Shane says. “I’m studying sports medicine, so,” he shrugs. “Don’t really need much math.”

Ilya laughs a little at that. “Of course you are.”

“What?” 

“Nothing. It makes sense. Do you want to come to the lake?” 

Shane looks surprised by the question, which Ilya likes. He realizes he enjoys catching him off guard. “Now?” 

Ilya shrugs. “Yes.”

“I…” Shane chews his lip. “Sure. But I have to keep reading this one textbook, so-”

“Okay. You can read by the lake.” 

Shane packs his things up efficiently, putting his books and laptop in his backpack. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, the way he looks with his backpack on. Ilya has a tote bag which is currently holding his laptop, one pen, a weed pen, and a water bottle. He stands only once Shane gets up, and starts to walk off of the quad, trusting Shane to follow. 

“I had fun the other night,” Ilya says once they’re on the sidewalk that leads toward the edge of campus. 

“Yeah,” Shane agrees. “Did you go back to the party after I left?” 

“No,” Ilya says simply. 

“Oh. Figured you would’ve.” 

Ilya shrugs. “The most interesting thing to me left, so…” He turns to face Shane, and he catches him ducking his head a little, but he doesn’t say anything back. “When is the next hockey game?”

“Saturday.”

“Here?”

“Yeah,” Shane nods. 

“Maybe I’ll see if Sveta wants to go with me.”

‘Oh,” Shane says. 

Ilya is quiet then, as he turns the corner to where the sidewalk disappears and turns into a footworn dirt trail, where students have worn the grass away, walking down to the lake. He wonders if he’s overstepped, if it’s weird to say he’ll go to a hockey game. Probably. He’s being too friendly too fast, asserting himself where he isn’t wanted, with one of the most known people on campus. 

There are trees lining the trail, and Ilya looks over to Shane. The sun is dappled across his face, and fuck, he’s beautiful. They walk down to where the trees clear a bit, and there’s the lake, glistening in the sun, with tall, pretty trees lining the further edge of it. There are plenty of students already here, some lounging, tanning, laying on blankets. There’s a frisbee game in one area, a few guys playing soccer in another. There’s plenty of space though, and Ilya leads them to a quieter area, close to the lake. 

“Here okay?” He asks.

Shane nods, and waits for Ilya to sit before he joins him. 

“Fuck, what a beautiful day,” Ilya exclaims, leaning back on his elbows, his feet stretching out in front of him. 

“It really is,” Shane agrees, pulling out a text book. He crosses his legs and sits upright, but it’s clear that he quickly realizes this won’t be comfortable for him. 

Ilya is pleasantly surprised when he lays his book on the grass and lays down on his stomach, stretching out beside Ilya. He can’t help himself from letting his eyes wander, tracing over Shane’s thighs, the curve of his ass in his jeans, the sliver of skin on his back where his black t-shirt has ridden up. 

Ilya lights his cigarette again, and this time Shane doesn’t complain. The way he’s leaning back, propped up on one elbow, gives him a good view of the lake and of Shane’s ass, and he’s content, smoking his cigarette as his eyes flip between both, maybe a little emboldened by his sunglasses.

Ilya finishes his cigarette and Shane turns the page of his book every few minutes, a comfortable silence settling between them. Eventually, Ilya pulls out his water bottle and takes a few long gulps before nudging Shane’s shoulder and holding it out to him. 

Shane hesitates, but then he takes it, swallowing a few mouthfuls before handing it back. “Thanks.” 

“Mm,” Ilya hums. He’s a little fidgety, maybe from the nicotine, or maybe from Shane, so he pulls his weed pen out and takes a few hits. Shane makes a small sound of displeasure, a quiet huff and then a grunt as the smoke which has a distinctive smell wafts over to him, but he doesn’t complain.

“You want back rub?” Ilya asks after a few minutes.

This time, Shane rolls over enough to look at him. “So you just smoke weed and then you ask to touch people? Is that your thing?” 

Ilya can’t help cracking a smile at that. “Maybe.”

Shane huffs, but he rolls back onto his stomach. “Okay. Gentle on my left shoulder,” he says. 

Ilya sits up then and moves forward a bit so he can reach Shane’s back. His large hands run up and down it a few times, just exploratory, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, before he starts to rub his back in earnest. Ilya doesn’t really know much about massages, but he presses into the muscles with the heel of his palm, feeling Shane relax under his hands. 

“What happened to your shoulder?” He asks quietly, as his hand rubs over the area more gently. 

“Got shoved into the boards last week,” he says quietly, his voice soft and distant. 

It shouldn’t, but Ilya can’t deny the way the image of that lights something up in him. Shane is so strong, powerful, skilled, the thought of him taking a hit, getting manhandled… Ilya swallows thickly. “Ow,” he says. 

“Ow,” Shane agrees with a soft chuckle.

Ilya keeps rubbing his back, more idly now as the weed has hit, making him feel fuzzier and relaxed. Eventually, Shan shuts his book and crosses his arms out in front of him, resting his cheek on his hands. 

“Is good?” Ilya asks.

“Mhm,” Shane nods, sounding serene. “So good.”

“You are nice like this,” Ilya says, smiling a little.

“Shut up,” Shane says, but there’s no heat behind it, his eyes closed.

“You want to come back to mine?” Ilya asks after another few minutes of quiet. 

“What?” Shane asks, opening his eyes.

Ilya feels a little panicked then, regretful for asking, for pushing. He should’ve just let this be enough. “Um…” 

“I should get home to study soon.”

“Right,” Ilya says, retracting his hands. “Me too. I think we have a frat meeting actually, so…” He lies. 

Shane sits up then, rolling his shoulders before he turns to Ilya. “Thanks. It was nice to sit by the lake.”

“Yes,” Ilya nods. 

“Come to my next game.”

And that has all the tension, the worry and regret, dissipating as Ilya smiles brightly. “Okay.” 

-

Ilya should have known he’d be third wheeling when he asked if Svetlana wanted to go with him to the game. Of course she’d invite Rose, especially since Rose is friends with Shane. Which is fine, it’s just, now Ilya is watching hockey while his best friend and her girlfriend are snuggled up in the seats beside him, giggling and flirting. It’s fine. 

“Ilya, I didn’t know you were a hockey fan,” Rose says to him at one point.

“Why would you know?” Ilya says, a little sharper than necessary. .

“Easy, boy,” Svetlana teases, elbowing him in the ribs, a little harder than necessary. He deserves it. “Ilya isn’t a hockey fan,” Svetlana tells Rose. “He’s a Shane Hollander fan.”

“What?” Ilya says, his head snapping to her, his eyes narrowed in a glare. “Sveta,” he hisses, embarrassed. Firstly, how would she know, and secondly, why would she say it in front of Rose. 

Rose laughs, bright and pretty. “Who isn’t,” she says easily. Okay. So maybe Svetlana doesn’t know anything and was teasing, and maybe Rose isn’t picking up on any insinuation either. 

“No one is a bigger Shane Hollander fan than me,” Svetlana declares, grinning. 

“Oh?” Ilya asks, because Shane has only come up once or twice in conversation. 

“Mhm. If he hadn’t turned down Rose, maybe we wouldn’t be together.”

Ilya’s eyes must be bugging out of his head at this point, as he looks between the two women. “What?” 

Rose laughs again, and Ilya feels a little bit like he’s being laughed at. “Yes, we would. It was Freshman year, come on. I asked him out, we went on a few dates, he said he’d rather be friends, and… well,” Rose wraps an arm around Svetlana’s shoulder. “Then I realized I was a lesbian, so. Thank you, Shane Hollander.”

“Thank you, Shane Hollander,” Svetlana agrees.

Ilya is silent as his eyes go back to the game, just in time to see Hayden shoot the puck to Shane, and watch as Shane shoots it right into the goal. The crowd erupts, and Ilya finds himself cheering as he watches Shane first pump the air. 

Ilya’s never even watched a hockey game all the way through, but he finds himself entranced, his eyes following Shane rather than the puck. He watches him glide across the ice, watches how he makes it look almost effortless, shooting the puck to another teammate who scores. He watches Shane score another goal, and most excitingly, he watches as Shane rams into another player, shoving them up against the boards. Ilya actually has to clench his fists watching that, letting his nails dig into the flesh of his palms as he wills himself not to get hard watching Shane shove a man bigger than him like it’s fucking easy. Fuck. 

Their team wins, and Ilya only realizes how absorbed he’s been when he sits down and stops cheering and both Svetlana and Rose are grinning at him. 

“Wow. Ilya Rozanov, a hockey fan. Wait until I tell my father, he will be thrilled,” she says.

“Shut up. Is a fun game.” 

“We’re going out,” Svetlana says. 

“Okay,” Ilya nods. “Have fun.”

“You’re coming too,” Rose says, smiling brightly. He sees what Svetlana sees in her. She is very charming, hard to say no to. 

“I am?”

“Yes, Ilyusha, you are,” Svetlana says, taking his hand in one of her hands, and Rose’s in the other. “We are going to a bar to celebrate. With the team.”

“With… the team?” Ilya asks. 

“Yes. Don’t be nervous. I know you’re used to your gross fraternity brothers, and being around big, strong, handsome athletes will be very different-”

He rolls his eyes and pinches her side with his free hand until she’s giggling and dropping his hand to press herself to Rose. 

“What? Am I not a big, strong, handsome man?” Ilya asks. Svetlana just laughs, so he turns to Rose, and he’s grinning now. “Rose Landry, please. Am I big, strong, and handsome?”

She gives him a long, scrutinizing once over, then scrunches her nose. “Hard to say. Not my type. I’m sure some people would think so,” she says with a wink, and then before he can respond, Svetlana is leading them out of the stands, and he’s left to follow like the rescue dog of his very happily coupled friends. 

They walk to the bar together, not the one closest to the arena that a bunch of students will pile into post game, but one a little further, where the players like going after games. Ilya trails behind Svetlana and Rose, smoking a joint. It’s a little chilly tonight, and he’s glad he has his leather jacket on. The two women in front of him hold hands, swinging them between each other playfully. 

“Either of you lovebirds want a hit?” He asks. 

Svetlana shakes her head, but Rose takes the joint and takes a single hit from it, exhaling right in Svetlana’s face which instead of annoyance earns her a kiss. Ilya rolls his eyes at how sweet they are. 

Rose secures them a table at the bar, and Ilya goes to get the first round. He takes a shot of vodka at the bar, just something for nerves, and orders himself a beer, and returns with two gin and tonics for the women. He joins them at the table and relaxes a bit, comfortably stoned and still feeling a little buzzy from watching Shane play. 

Rose checks her phone before speaking. “They’ll be here in a half hour, they’re just showering and changing.”

That mental image certainly doesn’t help Ilya, as he imagines Shane stripping down and showering in the communal space, sweaty and exhilarated after a win, probably. 

“So,” Svetlana says, halting his imagination from straying further. “I saw you talking to him at the party.” 

“What? Yes. We hadn’t met before, so…” Ilya trails off.

“You like him.” 

Ilya isn’t exactly shy about his sexuality, but he also knows when to talk about it and when not to. His fraternity brothers don’t know, of course. Svetlana knows, and the handful of men on campus who have wound up in Ilya’s bed know, so it’s not like it’s a secret he’s keeping, but… he doesn’t advertise it. He supposes it’s silly to worry about Rose knowing, considering she’s dating a woman. 

“He’s nice,” Ilya nods. “He’s like… What I expected. Boring. Serious. Nice. A little funny, maybe,” Ilya says. 

“Wow,” Rose says around the thin straw of her drink. “You kinda nailed it. That’s Shane.”

“Have you made a move?” Svetlana asks. 

Ilya takes a large sip of his beer. “Sort of,” he admits after swallowing.

Rose’s eyes light up. “And?”

Wait. “You…” He isn’t sure how to say it. “Um. You are Shane’s friend,” he says dumbly.

Rose gives him a confused look. “Yes?”

“Okay. So. Um. Have men hit on him before?” 

She laughs, shrugging a little. “Sure. Look at him.”

“You don’t seem like… surprised, maybe. Like, is it weird I hit on him?”

Rose thinks for a moment, clearly deciding what to say. “Shane’s business is his to say, right? But… Well. Okay. How did he respond?”

Ilya looks mournfully into his beer. “He said he had to go study.”

Rose laughs at that, and Svetlana smacks her hand lightly. “Don’t laugh at Ilya’s rejection. I know he is the way he is, but he is a nice boy. Aren’t you, Ilyusha?” 

Ilya forces a half smile. “Sometimes. I would be nice to Shane.”

Both women make an “awwww” sound, which is sort of annoying, but at least it makes him smile. 

“Look. He is hot, nice. He is very popular, hardworking, you know. I don’t know what his type is… um. Women or… but. I think probably, I am not his type,” Ilya says, and it sort of tastes bad, saying it outloud, admitting that Shane is too good for him, that Shane would probably go for another athlete or a student body president, someone accomplished, not someone like Ilya. 

“You’re hot,” Svetlana says. “And you have a good heart. Much more important than a lot of other things.”

“Yes. Well,” Ilya sighs.

It’s then that Rose spots a jukebox and she’s dragging Svetlana to it, leaving Ilya to hold the table for the time being. 

Ilya is almost done with his beer, idly people watching, when a few people walk in. Ilya doesn’t recognize them out of their helmets and uniforms, but it’s clear they’re hockey players, given their size and their energy, excited and laughing as they walk into the bar. He sits up a little straighter then, his eyes on the entrance, watching as more of them come in. A few minutes later, Hayden walks in, and of course, his eyes land on Ilya instantly. A few things cross his face, confusion mostly, but he makes his way to Ilya’s table. 

“Rozanov,” he says. 

“Pike,” Ilya says. “Good game.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Didn’t know you were into hockey,” he says, and it’s a little awkward, only then Shane is walking in and Ilya’s eyes leave Hayden and focus on the beautiful man walking in, his hair still a little wet, dressed in a blue button up and jeans, grinning brightly. 

“Okay, well, good talk,” Hayden says, and Ilya realizes he’d said something else, but he doesn’t for the life of him know what. 

“Yes,” he nods, and watches as Rose spots Shane and runs up to him, wrapping her arms around him. In that moment, it doesn’t matter that Ilya just spent the last few hours with Rose and her girlfriend. He feels jealousy climb up his throat as he watches her pull back and kiss his cheeks while he laughs. Ilya wants to do that, to feel his arms, to wrap himself around Shane, to do a lot more than kiss his cheek. 

Ilya watches as Shane’s eyes scan the bar, probably searching for teammates, and then when they stop, landing on Ilya’s. He smiles softly and gives a single nod of his head, before Rose is dragging him over to their table with  Svetlana following. 

“Come here, sit! You spent hours with your team, now I want you,” Rose says, a little dramatically.

Get in line, Ilya thinks. 

“Hey, okay, okay,” Shane laughs, sitting down. 

“Hi,” Ilya says, lifting his hand up to offer a quick wave, because he’s a fucking loser. 

“Hey,” Shane says smoothly. 

“Good game. Fun to watch.” Ilya cringes at how stilted his words sound.

“Thanks,” Shane says.

“Oh my god,” Svetlana groans. “Ilyusha, will you get us drinks?” 

Ilya is already standing before she finishes her sentence.

“Damn, girl,” Rose laughs. “You have him trained well.”

“Mm, well. He is a good boy. You,” she laughs, leaning into Rose, “are not so easy to train.” 

“Jesus,” Shane mutters. 

“Don’t be homophobic," Rose says. 

“I… What?” Shane asks, with an adorable look of confusion. 

“Hollander,” Ilya interrupts. “What do you drink?”

“Uh, just a ginger ale is good for me.”

“Okay,” Ilya nods, and then he heads to the bar, happy to have a task, a moment to breathe. Only, the bar is filled with hockey players who will no doubt get served before he does, and the only open spot is right next to Hayden. 

“You know Shane?” Hayden asks. 

“Ah, yes. His friend is dating my friend, so…” 

Hayden nods. “Cool.”

“Where is your girl?” Ilya asks.

“On her way. She had a dinner thing with her sorority.” 

A bartender interrupts, taking Hayden’s order, and then Hayden is nice enough to nod to Ilya. “He was here next, he’s with us,” Hayden says. Huh. Ilya would be annoyed for the unsolicited help, if it weren’t for the fact that he probably wouldn’t be served for fifteen more minutes without it. 

He orders, another round of gin and tonics, a beer for himself, and a ginger ale for Shane, managing to balance them all as he makes his way back to the table. There’s been some rearranging, because now the open seat is next to Shane. 

Ilya sits down in it, pulling his beer over to himself, and sliding the ginger ale over to Shane.

“Thanks, man,” Shane says. 

Ilya hates it. He doesn’t want to be ‘man’ or ‘dude’ or ‘bro’ or any of the other things men tend to call him. Not with Shane. 

“Sure,” Ilya says. 

“You had fun at the game?” 

Ilya turns to him. “Yes. Very fun, third wheeling. You played well,” he says. 

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” Ilya hums, swallowing a sip of beer. “I like the part where you pushed that guy.”

Svetlana overhears, because she laughs. “Of course you did.”

Again, he finds himself glaring at her. 

She lifts her eyebrows as if to say what? 

“Yeah?” Shane asks.

“Mm.”

Shane must be feeling a little confident after his win, because he angles himself to face Ilya a little more, and their knees are touching when he asks “What did you like about it?”

Ilya nearly chokes on his beer. 

“Shane,” Rose laughs.

Ilya is getting a little tired of feeling like people are laughing at him and he isn’t in on the joke.

“Don’t torture the guy,” she says.

Shane looks surprised. “I’m.. Sorry! I didn’t mean it like… Nevermind,” he says, but then he’s laughing too, and Ilya is fully on board with laughing again, when Shane is the one doing it. 

“You are very strong. And fast. It looked good. When you shoved a guy bigger than you,” Ilya says. Is that subtle? He thinks it’s subtle. 

“Oh my god,” Svetlana says, but she leans in and rests her head on Ilya’s shoulder for a brief moment. “I like when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” He asks, kissing the top of her head as she pulls away. 

“I don’t know. My Ilyusha is so sweet.” 

“You’re acting drunk off one drink,” Ilya says, slightly scolding. 

“Don’t be grumpy,” she teases. “Rose and I want to dance,” she says, apparently deciding for the two of them, because she’s taking Rose's hand and leading her to the back of the bar where a dancefloor opens up. 

“Remember when I came in and Rose said she wanted me to herself?” Shane says, his eyes watching the women retreat. 

“Yes. I fear we are… what is the food? Chopped kidneys, when they are with each other.” 

Shane laughs hard at that, leaning back in his seat. “Chopped liver,” he manages to say. “We’re chopped liver.” 

“Liver, kidneys,” Ilya shrugs, but he’s grinning. “Either way, we are chopped.” 

Shane manages to subdue his laughter, and he rests his elbows on the table, leaning in. “I’m glad you came to watch.”

“Yes. Me too,” Ilya agrees, sipping his beer. 

“You smell like weed.” 

“I smoked weed.” 

“Gonna ask to pet me again?” Shane asks.

Ilya blushes then. If asked, he would deny it, but he can feel the heat rise on his face. “Shut up,” he mutters. 

“C’mon, it’s two for two so far. Seems like a pattern,” Shane says. 

He’s pushing. Ilya might be stoned, and maybe a little insecure next to the great Shane Hollander, but he knows what pushing buttons looks like. If Shane wants a reaction, Ilya can give him one. 

He leans in a little more, so they’re close, too close to be normal for any onlookers, and when he speaks, his voice is lower, deep and quiet. “I would do much more than pet you, if you would let me,” he says, straightening up as he watches Shane’s face, the way he swallows, the way he lets out a soft breath and picks up his ginger ale, like he needs something to do with his hands. It feels a little good, having one brief moment of the upperhand, feeling like he’s capable of catching Shane off guard. 

“I’m gonna go, uh…” Shane looks around. “Make the rounds, talk to the guys,” he says. 

“Yes,” Ilya nods. “Of course. Go be captain,” he says. Once again, Shane pulls back when Ilya pushes. He’s got to stop fucking pushing if he wants anything to do with Shane, which at this point, it’s glaringly obvious that he does. 

He needs to fuck someone. Maybe that’s it. He’s in a bit of a dry spell, and he’s letting it get to him. He’s focused on Shane and it’s throwing off his game, and he needs to remember he’s hot. People want him. He’s not Shane Hollander, but he can get laid if he wants to. He just needs to focus on someone else for a little bit to get over this.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his roster. There’s a woman from his finance class who had been fun, a woman he took home from a bar a few weeks ago who seemed down to meet again. There’s the guy who works the front desk of the library who’d sucked Ilya off in the bathroom. He’s the most tempting right now, but as he scrolls through numbers, no one is really pulling him in. Fuck, is this where he’s at in life? Hopelessly pining over the star hockey player, in too deep that he doesn’t even want to shoot a text to someone else for a quick lay? 

He puts his phone in his pocket and looks across the bar. Rose and Sveta are out of view, probably having a great time. Shane is talking to someone, Ilya thinks maybe the goalie. So, Ilya drains the rest of his beer in one go, sends Svetlana a text saying he’s tired, and he heads back to the frat. He goes in quietly, avoids conversation, smokes some more, and just before going to sleep, he follows Shane on Instagram. Whatever. It’s mostly hockey related pictures, nothing too interesting. There’s a picture of him and Hayden in backwards baseball caps looking goofy, a picture of a sunset, a picture of him and Rose at brunch. Boring. Cute. His phone buzzes a few minutes later. 

[11:43 PM]

s.hollzy started following you.

Well. That’s something. 

—

There’s a party on Saturday because the next hockey game is a Friday, and Hayden, being the social chair, has a lot of say when it comes to scheduling. This means that Ilya asks Svetlana no less than three times if she’s going to the game (she isn’t, her and Rose have a date night), and Ilya isn’t going to show up alone. Not that he doesn’t have other friends, just… Well. Okay. He has friends from his frat, some of them who even go to the games to cheer on Haydren, but they aren’t really friends Ilya hangs out with outside of the frat, unless it’s to get wasted at a bar. So. He spends Friday working on his proposal for his business writing class, hitting a bong after every page, and tuning into the campus radio station to see how the game is going.

He’s reasonably stoned and done with the entire first draft of the paper by the time the game ends. Shane will probably go out celebrating, no doubt. It’d been a seemingly easy victory, one Ilya wishes he could’ve watched live. 

Ilya’s phone buzzes, alerting him that Shane’s posted an Instagram story, which ends up just being a repost of the team’s official Instagram account announcing the final score, and Ilya had been too excited to even consider that he’d looked at Shane’s story… eleven seconds after he posted it. Smooth. 

Anyway. He texts Svetlana, because it’s after ten, and maybe date night is over. 

[10:27 PM]

hi

party @ the house tomorrow

She doesn’t answer, so Ilya plays a few rounds of Call of Duty before texting again. 

[10:59 PM]

bring rose too

should be fun

Another half hour goes by, so Ilya opens a beer and finally says fuck it and pulls up some porn. Only once he’s cum, cleaned up, and is back on the futon, does he realize there’s a response. 

[11:32 PM]

Why are you bothering me on date night?

The party was lame last time. 

We can stop by for a bit. Get white wine for Rose, I’m not dragging her out to another gross party where your frat brothers watch us make out if she has to drink shitty beer. Nice wine, okay? 

[11:33 PM]

nice wine. got it. anything for you

[11:34 PM]

????????

[11:34 PM]

what? 

[11:36 PM]

Don’t play dumb. Ask what you want to ask. 

[11:37 PM]

what? i asked. you are coming to the party. is what i want. 

[11:38 PM]

That’s why you texted me twice on a Friday night? It was that urgent? 

Ask, or the answer is no. 

[11:39 PM]

rose could bring her friend

[11:40 PM]

What friend? How will I know if you don’t tell me? Her pretty blonde friend? Her tall friend from acting class? 

[11:41 PM]

is it fun for you? to torture me?

[11:42 PM]

Yes. Very. What friend? 

[11:45 PM]

shane 

[11:46 PM]

Good boy. 

Of course, Ilyusha, she can invite Shane for you.

[11:47 PM]

i hate you

[11:48 PM]

Or she doesn’t have to.

[11:48 PM]

sveta, my dearest friend, my oldest friend, my most beautiful, funny, sexy, gorgeous friend, i love you more than anyone, i am going to buy the nicest wine for you

[11:50 PM]

She’ll bring Shane.

[11:51 PM]

i love you 

—

Ilya gets ready a little more thoroughly than he normally does. This includes cleaning his room, like, actually. He empties his trash, he makes his bed, he puts all his laundry away, he brings any dishes to the kitchen. Somehow, he even manages to find an old vacuum in a closet, and he vacuums his shag rug. It’s presentable, he supposes. There’s also a bottle of a nice Pinot Grigio chilling in his mini fridge, along with a few cans of ginger ale.

Next, he showers, shaves his face, styles his hair with product so it’s slicked back instead of loose and curly. He wears actual fucking khaki pants instead of jeans, and a short sleeve patterned button up instead of a t-shirt. He spritzes on cologne, brushes his teeth, swishes mouthwash around, and fuck it, he even puts on his nice metal watch that looks good with the crucifix he wears. 

He looks hot. Like, actually hot. He is hot; he knows that for a fact. He’s fit and he has a nice face, he supposes. But he’s like… fratboy hot. Dirtbag hot. He’s a specific brand of hot that college girls don’t seem to mind, and college boys seem to actually like, but… This might be the type of hot even Shane Hollander notices.

Of course, this means when he finally steps out of his room to join his brothers who have started pre-gaming the party, he gets a few looks. 

“Shit, Rozanov,” one of them says. “Got a date coming tonight?” 

“No,” Ilya says, catching a beer that’s tossed to him before he plants himself on an empty loveseat. There’s music on, but quieter than it will be later. A few freshmen who are pledging the house come through the door carrying a keg while one of the upperclassmen who no doubt bought said keg direct them on where to put it. 

“What’s with the…” One of them says, gesturing to Ilya’s attire.

“What? A guy can’t want to look nice? Is this shocking to you?”

“Hey man, I always look nice. I’ve never seen you in khakis outside of formal events, that’s all.”

“Fuck,” Ilya says, chugging half his beer in one sip. “Whatever. Is it bad? Should I change?” He asks, which is stupid, really. It’s always stupid to show any bit of insecurity around these guys. 

It’s then that Hayden walks into the room, his eyes landing on Ilya immediately. “Got a date tonight, Rozanov?” he asks, which just sends the other guys into a laughing fit. 

“I’m going to smoke,” Ilya announces, getting up and heading to the back door, even though a few of the guys call after him that they're teasing and to loosen up. 

Shit. Maybe he does need to loosen up. Of course the guys are teasing, and Ilya’s being a fucking stuck up weirdo because he has a fucking crush who may or may not even show up. Ilya’s plan was to smoke a cigarette, but maybe the joint in his pocket is a better idea, so he lights that up, leaning on the wooden structure of the deck in the backyard. It’s after nine, which means in an hour or so, the place will start to fill up. He exhales slowly into the night air. It’s a little chilly, enough to give him goosebumps on his arms, but not enough to permeate. It feels grounding, refreshing in a way. 

He doesn’t even know if Shane likes guys. Probably not. What are the odds, right? It’s just, the way Rose had teased him, it had seemed like maybe…  And then when Shane had rejected him, three times now, if Ilya is keeping track, he’d never done it with any animosity or offense. Maybe he’s just really polite, but Ilya wonders how many straight guys would let him rub their backs or scratch their heads. He pushes the thought away. 

Eventually he makes his way inside, just in time to join a group of his brothers in taking a shot before he cracks open another beer. He hangs out for a bit, making idle conversation with a sophomore in the same major as him, and he plays a game of beer pong with some underclassmen as people start to arrive. The music gets louder, and the few drinks and joint have Ilya feeling good, a little looser, a little less anxious. It’s a fucking party, right? He likes parties, really. He likes dancing with pretty women, he likes joining in circles to smoke, he likes winning at beer pong. He doesn’t necessarily love his frat, but he likes having a group by default. He remembers when he’s first started, how guys would have to scour places for parties they’d be let into. He’s grateful for this aspect. 

He opens another beer and he makes the rounds, chatting with Troy, one of his brothers he actually likes more than the others. He’s a year younger, and he’s nice. Like, actually nice. He’s friendly and actually likes to talk about things, so they chat for a while. It’s some time after ten thirty, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sticking close to the door, keeping an eye on newcomers, when he sees Svetlana come in. She’s easy to spot, beautiful and tall, her curly hair recognizable. Rose is at her side, and behind them is Shane. He looks so nonchalant in a way Ilya certainly doesn’t feel. It’s impressive, really. Ilya knows this isn’t his scene, knows Rose probably had to drag him out again, but Ilya watches him as his eyes skim the room like he’s casually assessing, and then finally, when they land on Ilya, who is completely unsubtle in his staring. Svetlana seems to spot him at the same time, because she crosses the room and throws her arms around him, pulling him close.

“You’re welcome,” she says quietly in his ear. 

Ilya kisses her cheek before he gives the same treatment to Rose, and then he gives Shane a single nod of his head and a “‘Sup?” because he’s fucking lame. 

“Hi,” Ilya says to the three of them. “Um. Wine?” 

“Yes, oh my god,” Rose says, drawing the words out. “I can’t do another night of cheap beer.” 

Ilya laughs a little and nods toward the stairs. “Sveta can bring you to my room, or-”

“No,” Svetalana says, giving Ilya a look he can’t quite read. “We can all go, come on. Don’t make me go through your room.” 

Ilya rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath that it’s in the fridge, but still, he leads them up to the stairs, snagging a few solo cups on the way. Thankfully the party is still fairly tame, and there’s no crowd to push through to get to his room. Ilya brings them to it, and shuts the door behind them once everyone is inside. 

“Wow,” Rose says, looking around. “This actually isn’t disgusting.” 

“Oh, thank you,” Ilya says sarcastically. Shane’s seen it once, of course, and Svetalana has been over a few times, but she’s been with Rose since the start of the semester, so they haven’t fucked in this room. To be fair, they’d only fucked a few times in his old room at the house, because Svetlana didn’t like fucking in a frat house, but… Well. Ilya isn’t sure why he’s thinking about that now. 

“Ilya, did you clean for us?” Svetlana coos. 

“Shut up,” he says, feeling like she’s more of an annoying sibling set on embarrassing him than anything else. “Okay. Wine,” he nods, walking over to the mini fridge where he pulls out the bottle. “Um. Hollander,” he says, looking up to Shane who looks a little startled to be called out by name. “I have ginger ale. You want?” 

“Oh,” Shane says. “Sure. Thanks.” 

So, Ilya stands, opens the wine, pours it into two solo cups and hands one to each woman, before he opens the ginger ale and hands it to Shane, brushing their fingers together. 

“Do you have liquor?” Svetlana asks. 

“Of course.” 

“Let’s do a shot first, then.” 

Rose nods, and Shane sort of shrugs, so Ilya pulls out a bottle of vodka from the little freezer compartment of his mini fridge. It’s not his best one that he sips on, but one that’s closer to empty and fine for shooting. He opens the bottle and hands it to Svetlana first, since it was her idea, and watches as she opens her mouth and tilts it back, swallowing a mouthful of it before passing the bottle to Rose. 

Rose drinks a little less of it and sort of grimaces, and then the bottle is handed to Shane. Ilya watches him with rapt attention, like this single act of drinking vodka from a bottle is the most fascinating thing he can imagine. He watches as Shane tilts his head back and pours, swallowing a decent mouthful of it, one drop of it spilling out, running down his jaw. Before Shane can even wince, he chases it immediately with a pull of ginger ale, and he looks sexy and effortless doing it. Ilya’s mouth feels dry. 

Shane hands him the bottle and wraps his lips around it and kills the last bit of it, before setting it down. “Okay. Everyone have what they need, yes? You want to fucking party or what?” He asks. 

Svetlana rolls her eyes, but she takes Rose’s hand anyway and leads her out. Ilya thinks maybe Rose is in a sorority, so he supposes she likes these more than Svetlana does anyway. Shane is following, with Ilya in back so he can shut the door, only then Shane grabs Rose’s hand for a brief moment before she’s out the door, and pulls her close, whispering something in her ear that makes her smile. Before Ilya can even process it, Shane shuts the door after Rose and spins around, leaving him and Ilya alone in the room. 

“Hi,” Ilya says, the word coming out like a question. 

“You look good,” Shane says. 

Nailed it, Ilya thinks. “Thank you. So do you,” he says. Of course Shane looks good. He’s in khakis too, and a blue shirt, maybe linen, Ilya thinks. He always looks good. 

“Fuck it,” Shane whispers, and then in one stride, he’s on Ilya, one hand immediately gripping Ilya’s curls, the other clutching his side, and he’s kissing Ilya hard, a little desperate. 

Holy fucking shit. 

Ilya feels his knees buckle a little, surprise and pleasure coursing through his veins, and it takes him a second to get with the program, to remember how to move his limbs, but then he does. He moves a hand to Shane’s hip and another to the back of his neck, holding him close. He tilts his head for a better angle, and he deeps the kiss, running his tongue over Shane’s bottom lip. Shane opens for him easily, and then Ilya’s tongue is in Shane’s mouth, holy shit, Ilya’s tongue is gliding against Shane’s, and he’s swallowing a small moan Shane lets out, and when Shane shifts his weight on his feet, he’s hard against Ilya’s thigh. 

Ilya pulls back, despite everything in his body telling him not to. He just has to make sure this is really happening. Shane looks up at him with wide, dark eyes and spit slick lips. 

“Hollander,” Ilya breathes out. 

“Rozanov,” Shane answers. 

“What… I mean. Fuck, I like that. I want that. I just wasn’t expecting…” he trails off, unsure of what to say.

“I just really wanted to,” Shane says. “Did you know I’ve scored the winning goal for three games straight?”

Ilya laughs a little breathy. “No. Maybe. Yes, I knew this. Yes,” he nods. 

“I don’t know. Just… feels like I’m allowed to have fun, you know?”

Ilya doesn’t know, because he’s never not allowed himself to have fun, only other people have tried to hinder that for him, but sure. “And I’m fun, yes?”

It’s Shane’s turn to laugh, light and carefree. “Yeah. I think so,” he nods, his eyes raking over Ilya in a way that feels disarming. “I wanna go play beer pong.”

“What?” Ilya asks, because he’s hard and he wants Shane. 

Shane lifts an eyebrow at him. “What? Did you think we were gonna fuck right now?” He asks, like it’s a preposterous idea, like he wasn’t the one who just sprung himself on Ilya. 

“Maybe?” Ilya says, a little too honestly. Fuck, okay. Yeah. Just because Ilya tends to fuck everyone who wants to kiss him doesn’t mean Shane wants that. Ilya might look the part tonight, but he’s still not like, in Shane’s circles. Shane wants to let off some steam, that’s fine. Ilya will take it. 

Shane picks up his ginger ale again and nods toward the door. “Maybe if you win at beer pong,” he says with a shrug, and Ilya follows, feeling a little bit like he’s reeling. 

They get downstairs, and then Hayden is there, pulling Shane away, introducing him to some of the guys, and Ilya doesn’t really have a reason to join, so he slips away quietly. He finds Troy again, and they drink and talk. Some girl talks to Ilya a bit, and she’s pretty, funny. She tells him she’s an education major and he gets each of them a beer when his runs out, and then one of her friends pulls her away, and he’s alone again. His eyes scan the living room for Shane, but he’s nowhere to be found. Probably he’s with Hayden somewhere, maybe with Hayden’s girlfriend, talking about hockey or something. Maybe Hayden asked him about Ilya, why he was with him, or why Ilya was at the game. Ilya tries not to feel anxious about that, about what could be said about him. Hayden thinks he’s a slacker, a stoner, lazy, a slut, probably. Nothing he particularly wants relayed to Shane.

Eventually, Svetlana and Rose show up, Ilya thinks to put him out of this misery of his own spiralling throughs, but then Svetlana speaks. “I am bored, we finished the wine. We’re gonna go to a bar,” she says. “I told Shane already.”

“He’s staying?” Ilya asks. 

“Yes. He’s with that one guy, the boring one,” she says. 

“Hey,” Rose interrupts. “I like his girlfriend. She’s in my sorority.”

“Okay,” Svetlana shrugs. “He’s still boring. Goodnight, Ilyusha,” Svetlana says, kissing him on the cheek. 

“Night, thanks for the wine,” Rose sings, and then they’re leaving and Ilya is alone again. Fuck, what’s wrong with him? He likes parties, he reminds himself. It’s just, if he thinks about it, parties are a good place to meet people, to hook up, and Ilya doesn’t really want to hook up unless it’s with one person, and he especially doesn’t want to start getting it on with someone only for Shane to see, so… He makes it his mission to find them. 

It ends up being easier than expected. Shane is in the kitchen, with a fucking audience around him. Hayden’s girlfriend is sitting on the counter, with Hayden leaning on it beside her. Troy is there, along with some freshmen, and even another guy Ilya recognizes from the hockey team. Ilya leans on the doorframe watching the scene. Shane is holding a red solo cup now, his ginger ale seemingly finished, and he’s talking about the last game, animated and excited as he retells how he scored his final goal, the group seemingly hanging onto his every word. Ilya doesn’t blame them. 

Shane’s face is slightly flushed, Ilya presumes from alcohol. Ilya is pretty drunk too, if he thinks about it. He’s had two shots and lost track of how many beers, and he can’t help his smile as he watches Shane. The story comes to an end, and someone claps Shane on the back, and then Hayden is talking about hockey, but it’s a lot less interesting when Hayden speaks. Shane seems to notice Ilya in his peripheral, because he turns his head and smiles, and gestures for him to come over. 

Fueled by alcohol and maybe lust, Ilya steps over a little more confidently and stands beside Shane, before whispering to him quickly. “When do I get to beat you at beer pong?”

Shane elbows him in the side, but looks up to Hayden. “Beer pong? Me and you versus Rozanov and…”

“Troy,” Ilya supplies, because Troy hadn’t been half bad when he’d played with him before. 

So, they play beer pong. Ilya is decent. He’s better when he’s drunk, if anything. He knocks out half the cups quickly, with Troy hitting a few himself. 

Hayden is… fine. Jackie, Ilya hears her name, is supportive. Shane isn’t great at first, probably because he hasn’t played much, but there’s something to say about his natural athleticism and his hand eye coordination. After missing the first few shots, he hones in, and from there he’s kind of unstoppable, sinking nearly every shot he makes.

It comes down to two cups. Troy goes first and misses. Ilya lines up, and he sinks it easily, his eyes locked on the opposing team as they gear up for their redemption, their one shot to tie the game and go into a sudden death, or to lose. 

Shane picks up the ball and watches as Shane calculates, lining up his elbow. He’ll make it, Ilya knows he will. He hasn’t missed a shot in five turns. 

Only, Shane overthrows by about a foot, the ball hitting Ilya square in the chest before hitting the floor. 

Hayden makes a sound of frustration but claps Shane on the back and says good game. Ilya’s eyes are locked on Shane, though, because Shane fucking smirks at him, and Ilya knows with complete certainty that Shane threw the game on purpose. 

Ilya needs him. 

“Good game,” Ilya says to Hayden, like he’s on autopilot, but his eyes are still on Shane when he quickly looks toward the staircase to his right. Shane nods, one quick, efficient movement, and then Ilya pats Troy on the back and excuses himself, summoning a frankly impressive level of self control as he calmly walks rather than sprints up the stairs. 

A minute later, he’s in his room, waiting behind the closed door. 

Two minutes after that, the handle turns, and Shane slips inside, shutting the door and locking it easily, like he’s done it before.

“Hi,” Ilya says. 

“Hey,” Shane says a little breathlessly. 

“Do you-” he starts, but in a repeat of earlier, Shane steps forward and closes the distance between them. This time is even more desperate than before, looser and clumsier, as Shane practically collides with Ilya, his hands grappling for purchase against Ilya’s torso, running over his ribcage, then over his pecs. At the same time, Shane kisses him, and time it’s Shane who deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue between Ilya’s lips. 

Ilya can’t help the sound he makes, some needy pathetic mix of a whine and a moan, and he can actually feel Shane chuckle into his mouth before he pulls back. Ilya misses him instantly, the taste of mint and ginger and beer, and his eyes follow Shane’s lips as he pulls back.

“Fuck,” Ilya whispers. 

“Let’s get on the couch,” Shane says, nodding to the futon. Just from looking at him, Ilya can tell he’s a little more put together than Ilya is, which is good. Good for Ilya, at least. He wants this, but he wouldn’t want to have to turn it down or something if he thought Shane was wasted.

“Okay,” Ilya nods. “Fuck. Can I smoke?” 

Shane laughs at that, and Ilya can’t really tell if he’s being laughed at, but he doesn’t really care either. 

“Sure,” Shane shrugs. “You said it helps you relax, right? Looks like you need it,” he says, and fuck, it’s condescending, it’s confident, it’s so fucking hot the way Shane looks at Ilya like he’s nothing more than mildly amused by him.

“Yeah,” Ilya nods dumbly. “I do.” No, he doesn’t, but he wants it. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he needs to chill. Shane Hollander has now kissed him twice, and is in his room, and locked the door, and told him to get on the couch. He needs a fucking joint. 

“Turn on music or whatever,” Ilya directs as he pulls the joint he rolled before the party out from his nightstand, along with a lighter. He sits on the futon beside Shane as Shane pulls up Spotify and hits play on the music Ilya had on earlier; some Russian club music he likes to study or clean to. 

Ilya looks Shane over once, then lights up his joint, inhaling deeply before blowing a few smoke rings on his exhale.

Shane snorts a little. “Show off.” 

“Do you want…” Ilya offers, holding the joint out. 

Shane seems to consider it this time. “Hayden smokes weed sometimes,” he says. “Said I’m being paranoid about the testing. Plus, we got tested at the start of the semester, so…” 

“So…” Ilya says, because he doesn’t want to pressure Shane. 

“I don’t wanna cough,” Shane says simply. 

Ilya considers this. “I have a solution.”

“Okay. Sure,” Shane shrugs. 

Ilya moves closer to him on the futon so they’re pressed together, and he inhales again, holding the smoke instead of pulling it all into his lungs. He leans in then, and cards a hand through Shane’s hair, cupping the back of his skull. Shane gets with the program quickly, opening his mouth and closing the distance, and Ilya slowly exhales, their mouths millimeters away as he blows the smoke into Shane’s mouth. Just as he leans in, trying to close the distance, Shane pulls back, and Ilya watches as he pulls the smoke in and exhales it, billowing out around them.

 “Well?” Ilya asks.

Again, Shane shrugs. “Yeah. Not too bad that way. I’m good, though,” he says.

Ilya feels a little desperate for more, a little bit like a live wire, and Shane looks calm somehow. It would be frustrating if it weren’t so hot. Ilya smokes the rest of the joint quickly. He shouldn’t, not really. He’s drunk, and he smoked earlier, and his brain is screaming at him to chill, to keep it together, that he’s not gonna be good for Shane if he gets fucking stoned, but he can’t stop. Each inhale quiets the thoughts, makes his body feel pleasantly buzzed, and finally he sets the burnt roach on the ashtray, leaning back on the sofa.

“Better now?” Shane asks with a tone Ilya can’t read.

“Yes,” Ilya agrees, his eyes glassy, unfocused as he stares at the ceiling. 

“You know, from everything I heard about you, I think people must have been exaggerating.”

At this, Ilya slowly lolls his head to the side to look at Shane. “What?”

“You’ve got a reputation, you know,” Shane starts. “You get around. Thought you’d be a little more…” He chews his lip for a moment, like he’s deciding how cruel to be, how he wants to kill Ilya, “confident. But no. You’re nervous. I guess people like to make things up,” Shane says, and there’s a hint of a smile that looks like a challenge on his face.

“No one is making things up,” Ilya says, but the words feel sticky in his mouth. “I’m… I get around. I’m good in bed.”

Shane snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, so good your old fuck buddy went and got a girlfriend,” he teases.

Ilya laughs, because, fuck… “Wow,” he says. “You are also not what I heard about. Polite Canadian boy can be mean, hm?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m not being mean. I’m being honest. Ilya Rozanov, fucks anything that moves, frat bro, hits on me every chance he gets, yet… Here we are. In your room. And you’re not even trying, are you?” Shane says, his voice a little mocking. “You had to get stoned just to relax around me. All bark,” Shane says, and then he moves, swinging himself around so that before Ilya can process it, he’s in Ilya’s lap, straddling him. He leans in, letting his breath ghost over Ilya’s ear as he speaks again. “No bite.”

Ilya whines at that, and he shifts a bit under Shane, desperate to have his cock, now hard in his khakis, to press against Shane, any part of him.

Shane laughs again, and he angles away for a devastating moment, before he adjusts, settling into Ilya’s lap so that his trapped cock is pressed against Shane’s crotch, and he grinds his hips down on Ilya. “Is this what you want?” He asks.

Ilya nods. “Please. How are you so… have you ever?”

“With a man?” Shane asks.

Ilya nods again, finding speaking difficult. 

“No. But you have, hm? And look at you. Needy,” Shane says, frowning. “So I don’t think experience is everything.” 

“Hollander,” Ilya whines, grinding his hips up. “Please.”

“Please what?” He asks, his voice polite and innocent. 

“I want you,” Ilya says, cursing the way his voice cracks on the word ‘want’. “You know I want you. Wanted you so bad when I first saw you. Please.” 

“What do you want?” Shane asks, and he reaches between them to cup the bulge in Ilya’s pants, giving it a squeeze. “Tell me, maybe you’ll get it.” 

“Want to fuck you,” he says. “Want to be inside you, please,” he begs. He doesn’t think he’s ever begged for sex this easily. Once or twice Svetlana had made him beg to taste her, but it had taken more work, and it was teasing, playful. Ilya had laughed and rolled his eyes and made a big exaggerated show of begging. This? This feels primal. This is genuine begging, because he needs to be inside Shane like he needs air, he needs to feel Shane around him, to sink into him, to fill him up. 

“Why?” Shane asks.

Why? What does he mean, why? Ilya looks at him with confusion. “I’m… I’m so hard. It hurts,” he admits. 

“Okay,” Shane shrugs like this means nothing to him. “Why me, then? Saw you talking with some girl downstairs. Why me?”

Ilya has a brief moment of complete euphoria when he thinks Shane might be jealous. He pushes it aside. “I… You are so hot. Pretty. Beautiful. You are so… Cool. Star athlete. Everyone wants you. You know it, yes? Everyone wants Shane Hollander, and no one gets him,” Ilya says.

Shane looks pleased with this answer. “Okay. So I’m a conquest? And why should you be the one to get me?”

That’s an even harder question. He shouldn’t be, really. Shane could do better. Shane could get anyone. Ilya can’t say he’s a star athlete or popular. He could say he’s hot, but there are plenty of hot people. Instead, he says something he knows for a fact. “No one wants you as much as I do,” he says, pressing his hips up into Shane’s hand, only to get punished with a sharp squeeze that makes him gasp. 

“Is that a good reason? I don’t see how that impacts me,” Shane says. 

“No,” Ilya shakes his head. “Is a terrible reason. Please let me anyway. Please,” he says, breathless. 

“I bet you’d cum right now, if I gave you a few strokes. Wouldn’t that be something? Sex god Rozanov, spilling in his pants before he even gets inside?” 

Ilya throws his head back on the couch again and groans. This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, and he doesn’t know what to think about that. Shane has barely touched him, is teasing him about how he could shoot off right now, and he’s right, he’s absolutely right, and it’s so hot. It’s so hot he almost wants to cum right now, just to see Shane laugh at him, to be disappointed, to leave and tell everyone how shit Ilya was in bed. 

It’s just, more than that, he wants to be good for Shane. He wants to please him. He remembers he has limbs then, and he lifts his hands up to hold Shane’s hips. “You’re right,” he says. “I would. Please let me be inside you first,” he asks. 

“Fuck,” Shane whispers, and it’s the first time he’s sounded affected by this since he kissed Ilya. Ilya forces his eyes to focus, and he takes in Shane. Shane might be teasing him, but when Ilya studies his face, he sees his flushed cheeks, his pupils blown wide, the way his lips are parted. “Okay,” Shane nods. “You’re so…” he reaches down and strokes Ilya’s cheek softly. “You’re desperate for it. You’re so fucking high, aren’t you?”

Ilya nods slowly. 

“Probably couldn’t even give it to me good, could you? Poor thing,” Shane coos. 

“I could,” Ilya protests, but it’s weak. 

“No,” Shane shakes his head and brings his hand down to Ilya’s mouth, his finger tracing over his bottom lip. Ilya opens his mouth and wraps his lips around it, sucking it in. “That’s okay, though. You just lay back,” Shane says, and he slowly fucks his finger in and out of Ilya’s mouth. Ilya’s tongue follows it, and he sucks around the digit. “You want me to ride you?”

“Fu-” Ilya starts to moan, but then another finger is shoved in his mouth and the word gets cut off. 

“I prepped before the party,” Shane says, retracting his fingers. 

“Jesus,” Ilya exhales. 

Shane climbs off of him then, and Ilya misses his weight instantly, but then Shane is unbuttoning his shirt, and Ilya’s eyes follow his fingers as they undo each button, and as he slides the shirt off his shoulders. He folds it and sets it on the other end of the futon. “Where are condoms? Lube?” He asks. 

Ilya doesn’t answer, his eyes locked onto Shane’s chest, on his nipples, hard and bitable. 

Shane snaps his fingers inches from Ilya’s face, and he has a delayed reaction before he flinches. “Table by the bed.”

“Good boy,” Shane says, and he walks behind the futon. Ilya wants to watch him, to follow his movements, but he feels dazed and sluggish and he thinks if he turned his head, he’d get dizzy, so he keeps his eyes staring forward.

When Shane comes back into view, he’s naked, his cock hard and glistening at the tip. He’s so fucking hot. He’s built like an athlete, muscular and strong and perfect. In his hand is a condom wrapper and a bottle of lube. He looks at Ilya expectantly. “Do I have to do everything, or can you undress yourself?”

Right. Fuck. Ilya’s hands fumble with the buttons on his shirt a little, and Shane watching makes it even harder. It feels like minutes, but it’s probably only thirty seconds before he’s tossing his shirt behind the futon. He lifts his hips next, undoing his fly, and he’s efficient when he pulls his pants and briefs down in one go, letting them pool on the ground in a pile.

“Wow,” Shane says, and Ilya’s eyes snap up to him. “Guess people weren’t exaggerating about everything, then” he says, his eyes on Ilya’s cock.

Ilya flushes, unsure if it’s with pride or embarrassment. He wonders if Shane is lying, or if people have talked about it. Would Svetlana mention it? Did they talk about him, did Shane tell Rose and Sveta that he wanted to fuck Ilya? Did they discuss him? 

Shane steps closer, standing between Ilya’s legs. “I guess that explains it, hm? You don’t have to be confident or good when you’re packing that, do you? You just let people use your big,” Shane accentuates the word by leaning down and touching Ilya’s cock for the first time, only it’s not a caress or a stroke, it’s a rude poke that makes Ilya’s cock jerk in the air, “cock, however they want to? Is that it? Just a thick, fat cock for people to ride when you get too fucking stupid to do anything else?” 

Ilya’s cock spurts out pre-cum, and it’s so obvious, bobbing against his stomach, translucent liquid leaking out of it just from Shane’s words. Shane’s laugh cuts through the air and Ilya has to clench his abs and clutch the fabric of the futon or he’ll cum just from being laughed at. “Hollander,” he says. “You are torturing me. Please.” He looks down at his weeping cock. “Look at what you do to me. Please, do something.”

Shane takes pity on him, because he does do something. He climbs back onto Ilya’s lap, and his skin is hot against Ilya’s. Ilya’s hands go up to grip Shane’s hips, but Shane catches his wrist and drags his hand back, behind Shane, lower, lower, down to his ass. Ilya gets the idea, and he dips his fingers down, tracing down his crack, feeling for the rim of his hole, only-

“Holy fucking shit, Hollander,” Ilya groans when he feels the hard base of the buttplug that’s stretching Shane’s hole. 

“Told you I prepped,” Shane says, but even he sounds a little breathless now. 

Ilya looks up at him in awe, and he gently pushes the base, then pulls it, not enough to remove it, but he toys with it and watches as Shane’s mouth drops open, as a soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck, you are perfect,” Ilya says. “You had this in for the entire party?”

Shane nods, and he gasps as Ilya twists the buttplug inside of him. “Fu-uck,” he gasps. “Yes. Felt it inside me when I threw the fucking beerpong game,” he says. 

“Fuck. I need to be in you,” Ilya says, because it’s all he can think.

Shane tears open the condom and leans down, sliding it onto Ilya’s cock. He’s a little clumsy with it, which only makes him more endearing. No, he doesn’t have experience, but he seems to make up for it in every other possible way. 

“Can I…” Ilya asks, gently tugging at the base of the plug. 

“Yeah,” Shane nods. Ilya is glad that Shane also is apparently at a loss for words too. Slowly, he pulls the plug out. He wishes the position were different, that he could watch Shane’s hole stretch around the thickest part of it, but seeing Shane’s jaw go slack is nice too. Ilya sets the plug on the futon, and he opens the bottle of lube, drizzling some directly onto his cock before he gives himself a few quick strokes, slicking himself up. 

“You are… You’re ready? You are sure?” Ilya asks, because he knows he’s big, he’s a lot to take, and if Shane’s never done this before, he wants to be sure. 

“Yes,” Shane nods. “Plus I’ll be on top, so…” he trails off, but Ilya gets the gist. He’ll control the pace, what he takes, all of it. “You want this?”

“Yes,” Ilya answers firmly, and he watches as Shane lifts himself up. Ilya wraps a hand around the base of his cock, keeping it stable as Shane lines up. He feels the head of his cock press against Shane’s rim, and then Shane lowers himself down slowly. The tight heat is more intoxicating than anything else Ilya has done tonight, burning and suffocating, too much before he’s even fully inside. Shane holds himself up for a few seconds, slowly exhaling with just the head of Ilya’s cock in him, and then he sinks down further, his face scrunching up slightly as he lowers himself down, until he’s fully seated in Ilya’s lap.

“Fuck,” Shane whispers. 

“Is it okay?” Ilya asks, concern outweighing how good it feels. 

“Yeah. S’just a lot,” Shane says, slurring a little. Ilya wonders if he’s drunk too, or if it’s just the pleasure. “You’re bigger than my toy.” 

“Fuck,” Ilya moans. He needs Shane to move. He needs to fuck up into him. He needs more, but he’s patient, still, gently rubbing his thumb over Shane’s hip as he takes a moment to adjust, before he lifts himself up slowly. When he comes back down on Ilya this time, it’s harder, his ass smacking against Ilya’s thighs. He does it again, and it’s slow but firm, deliberate, slamming himself back down. He gasps just as Ilya lets out his own, slightly more strangled sounding noise. 

“You feel so good, fuck,” Ilya moans. “Please.” 

“Please? Do you ever stop begging?” Shane asks, but there’s no bite to it. When he moves again, it’s quicker, and he builds up to a rhythm, riding Ilya in earnest now. He’s good at it, a fucking natural, because of course he is. He’s a natural at hockey, at beer pong, at riding dick. He’s good at everything, and Ilya is wondering what on earth he did to get this lucky to get to experience it. 

“Hollander,” Ilya gasps. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans again. 

“Don’t fucking cum yet,” Shane orders.

Ilya isn’t sure how, but his body listens, holding back the orgasm that is building far too quickly for his liking. He nods dumbly.

“Good. Want to-” Shanee cuts himself off with an absolutely wrecked sounding moan as Ilya must hit the right spot, and Shane slows down, grinding against that angle, letting Ilya’s cock massage the spot that’s making him lose himself on top of Ilya. It’s the prettiest thing Ilya’s ever seen, the way Shane’s blush spreads down his neck, the way his eyes almost roll back in his head. “Want to use you, fuck,” Shane gasps. “Don’t cum until I do.”

Ilya can’t decide if he hopes that comes soon or if he hopes this goes on forever, but the choice isn’t his. He shifts a bit, straightening up, and it makes him go even deeper into Shane. This way he can lean in and wrap his lips around one of Shane’s nipples, sucking it into his mouth, his teeth nibbling on the nub just a little. 

Shane keens, a high pitched sound that shoots straight down Ilya’s spine. “Fuck, like that,” Shane gasps, so Ilya bites down a little harder. He keeps his mouth locked onto Shane as he bounces on his cock, fast and hard, and his movements start to stutter a little. He leans down and tugs Ilya’s hair hard, yanking him back, before he presses his forehead to Ilya’s. They aren’t kissing, but they’re breathing into each other’s mouths, feral and desperate, and then Shane’s body stills and Ilya feels the hot splatter of cum across his abs, painting him, marking him. He feels Shane’s hole clench around him, pulsating and tight, and he has to lean in and bite the crook of Shane’s neck to stop himself from crying out.

“Fuck,” Shane gasps, stilling.

Ilya needs more. He’s so close. He needs to cum, he needs Shane to move again, but he doesn’t dare ask. Shane lifts himself up a bit, pulling up on Ilya’s cock, and for a terrifying moment, Ilya thinks he’s going to pull off, but then he stays there, hovering above Ilya with his cock halfway inside.

“Fuck me. Get yourself off,” Shane says.

Ilya doesn’t need to be told twice. He grips Shane’s hips and he lifts his own off the futon, and he fucks up into the wet heat, hard and uncoordinated, and it only takes a half dozen thrusts until he’s cumming, grunting loudly as he spills into the condom. He slows down, milking his cock inside of Shane until he feels utterly drained, and then he collapses back onto the futon, wrapping his arms around Shane and pulling him down with him.

Shane makes a slightly punched out sound, but he goes down with Ilya, nuzzling into his neck. 

“Fuck,” Ilya murmurs into Shane’s hair. “Thank you.”

Shane lets out a soft laugh at that. “Thanking me? Wow,” he says.

“Shut up,” Ilya murmurs, his soft cock still nestled in Shane. “I live here now. I’m sorry. You can’t go,” he says, nonsensical. 

Shane laughs again, and it’s brighter this time, bubbly and pretty. 

“You were really good,” Shane says, and Ilya beams, his heart doing backflips in his chest. He was good. Shane thinks he’s good. 

“Thank you. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done,” he says, and he means it. 

“Good. It’s late, are you gonna let me up?” 

Ilya presses his nose into Shane’s neck and makes a disappointed sound. “Okay,” he grumbles. 

“I’ve never had a one night stand,” Shane says against Ilya’s hair.

Oh. Right. Of course that’s what this is. Ilya wonders if he’s imagining the taste of bile, or if the drinks are catching up with him. He stays silent. 

“They’re not really my thing,” Shane says after another moment. 

“Oh,” Ilya says. 

Shane pulls away, and his hand goes to grip Ilya’s jaw, not firm, but not gentle either, as he tilts his head up, forcing eye contact. “But you like them, I’ve heard. Is that what you want this to be?”

Ilya isn’t entirely sure what he’s being asked, but he shakes his head slowly. 

“Good. Take me to dinner tomorrow, then,” he says. 

Ilya nods, his voice seemingly gone. 

“I should get going,” Shane says, and he slowly lifts himself up, grabbing a paper towel to wipe off the cum that transferred onto his abs. 

Ilya reaches down and ties the condom off, tossing it in the trash by the futon. “Okay,” he says, as Shane starts to get dressed. “Um. Other people don’t know I… Well, maybe they suspect, and Sveta knows, but…” he trails off. “But I think, um. I would not mind if they knew. I like you,” he finishes, aware that he isn’t making the most sense. 

Shane smiles softly though. “I like you too. You’re…” he brings his pants over and pulls them on in front of Ilya. “Nicer… Than I expected.” 

Ilya laughs. “You’re meaner than I expected.” 

Shane grins at that. “Does it bother you?” 

“No,” Ilya shakes his head instantly. “No. I like it. You can be mean to me whenever you want,” he says. 

“You’re cute,” Shane says, slipping his shoes back on. “I’ll send you my number on Instagram, yeah? We’ll make a plan for tomorrow.” 

Ilya realizes then and there, that he would do absolutely everything in his power to keep being the object of Shane’s affection. Maybe it should scare him. It doesn’t. “Yes. I will pick somewhere nice for you,” he says. 

Shane steps toward the door, but he pauses, looking back. “I don’t think anyone’s ever… I mean. People have wanted me before.” 

“Obviously,” Ilya says. 

Shane rolls his eyes. “Let me finish. No one’s ever like, tried that hard. That’s all. Like, I know I’m… whatever people say. Polite. Maybe aloof. Confident. But,” Shane shoves his hands in his pockets, looking a little nervous. 

“Is okay,” Ilya says softly, encouraging, wanting to know exactly how Shane feels. 

“Like maybe they just wanted the guy in the Hollander jersey, the one getting scouted by the NHL, but they didn’t want me, you know? And uh… Fuck. I’m bad at this.”

“I want you,” Ilya says, sparing Shane. “Every part. Okay? Not just the guy on the ice, even though that guy is very cool. I like this… Sarcastic guy, maybe not so confident sometimes. Guy who laughs at me when we fuck. All of it,” he says, wishing it would come out smoother, but he thinks the message comes across.

Shane crosses the room again and gives Ilya one more kiss, quick but deep, his hand scratching Ilya’s scalp like he’s a dog, before pulling back. “Cool,” he nods. “Gonna head out. Don’t go back to the party, okay?” 

Ilya lifts an eyebrow. “No? Jealous? Want me all to yourself?”

“Shut up,” Shane says, but then he nods. “Yeah.”

Ilya grins at him. He wants to say something stupid, like I feel so lucky to know you, or I think you’re going to be the best thing in my life, or I know I just got you, but I can’t imagine not ever having you, so instead he nods. “Okay. I will go to bed like a good boy,” he says.

Shane’s nostrils flare a little, and Ilya makes a mental note of that. He’s more than happy to be Shane’s good boy. 

“Goodnight, Ilya,” Shane says. 

“Goodnight, Shane.”