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Shane is minding his business, as he always does. His hair damp from the shower he had not long taken, glasses hooked on the bridge of his nose as he rereads a familiar hockey book; he was no longer playing the sport but it didn’t make him any less invested. The noise comes abruptly and shocks Shane into losing his page, he closes the book shut and discards it on his bedside table, making a conscious effort to slide the bookmark that was now useless into the front cover.
He goes against his no phone before sleep rule and checks the time, 1AM. He sighs just as another thud sound comes from the wall, silently praying that there is a completely reasonable explanation for the sound. Maybe Ilya had gotten a midnight urge to rearrange the furniture in his room and he was being a little clumsy with it. Yeah, Shane thinks to himself, Ilya is decorating. With this thought in his mind, he sets his phone down to charge again. However, the peace doesn’t last much longer than that because this time when the thudding resumes, it comes with a low groan that tells Shane that Ilya hasn’t decided to revamp his bedroom.
The truth is much worse, yet not so unfamiliar to Shane who had almost a front row seat to Ilya Rozanov’s sex life.
It’s not as if Ilya has a large roster of lovers, all ready to drop everything when he comes calling for them, but one too many times as of late has Shane been subject to awkward kitchen conversation in the morning as he sees another one leave Ilya’s bedroom looking slightly dishevelled. Usually, Shane stays silent and gives the ‘lover’ a moment of privacy to leave with their dignity; and what did it matter to make idle conversation anyway? Shane knew that Ilya didn’t invite people back for a second round.
Shane freezes in his place where he’s sat, on the edge of his bed, when the moans become more rhythmic, matching the way what he assumes is Ilya’s headboard hits the wall that connects their rooms together. He’s jealous, sort of, that Ilya gets so much action. It had been months for Shane, closer to a year, since he’d gotten so much as a kiss out of someone else.
Rose had tried to talk him into going on a date with her theater friend Miles, but it had been very short lived when Shane had denied politely, stating that Miles hadn’t been his type. It hadn’t been a lie at all, because Shane did have a type - and unfortunately for him, his type was Ilya Rozanov, the one man in his life who was completely off limits. Shane had warned himself off wanting Ilya a while ago, there were far more cons in comparison to pros to lusting for your roommate, it would seem. It doesn’t stop him from imagining things though; like how Ilya would look on top--
No.
Shane stops himself before his mind wanders dangerously far for one o’clock in the morning and scrambles to find his headphones in his bedside drawer. Ironically, it had been Ilya who suggested buying the noise cancelling headphones. They proved to be very useful in situations similar to the one Shane finds himself in, except Shane wasn’t really a music person. Sure, he liked some movie soundtracks and songs that may have featured on the radio but he didn’t have an extensive catalogue of music to listen to otherwise. Nevertheless, he fishes the pods out of their case and slips them into his ear, activating the noise cancellation. He couldn’t have a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago.
Three Weeks Ago
Shane arrived home later than usual, it was past ten in the evening when he finally unlocked the door to their shared apartment. Not to his surprise, he could hear Ilya and whoever he’s brought home tonight from the living room. Ilya must have clocked Shane’s absence and decided to be even louder than usual. Fuck.
Shane drops his bag at the door as he discards his shoes and slips his jacket over the coat rack that he shares with Ilya, seeing their jackets lined up together along with their shoes below in the rack would usually have him grinning to himself, the domesticity of it and the way everything had their designated areas without need for discussion. In another universe, one where he allowed himself to think of Ilya as more than his best friend, Shane would come home to him, Ilya waiting on the couch with his arms open ready to greet him with a kiss. But that isn’t reality, the reality is that Ilya has a woman in his bed, giving her everything she could possibly want judging by the sounds that the pair make.
He potters for a moment, makes a beeline for the fridge to grab the remainders of a smoothie concoction that he had prepared that morning to take through to his room. He tries to be a little loud about it, with the hope that Ilya might hear him and tone down the volume, although it doesn’t work. If anything, Shane thinks to himself, has he gotten a bit louder? Ilya is definitely being more vocal, he can’t know Shane is home, there is no way he would be so shameless.
“Fuck,” is the only thing Shane can mutter to himself.
He’s dizzy and he isn’t sure of the reason. He comes to a conclusion quickly, in the middle of the kitchen as his roommate is fucking someone within an inch of their life, that it could be one of three things:
- He’s hungry - he hadn’t eaten a proper, substantial meal since the early afternoon.
- He pushed himself a little too hard with his workout this evening - he had joined Hayden at the gym, Hayden loved watching him squirm. Most likely option.
- He is turned on. Definitely not possible.
Except, it is as if the universe is going completely against him because just as he is about to conclude that he’d had a particularly hard day at the gym, the fabric of his shorts tightens. No. No way.
“This is not happening,” he whispers to nobody but himself.
Before he can risk any more internal humiliation, he grabs his bag from by the door and rushes to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with no attempt of being quiet. Well, it isn’t as if Ilya is conscious of volume levels, so why should he be?
Only when he is in what should be the comfort of his bedroom does he realise that the wall that his bed rests against is the exact wall that he knows for a fact Ilya’s bed rests against too. The noises are louder, is the second realisation Shane has this evening.
He’s grateful that he has the bedroom with the ensuite because he doesn’t fancy his chances of running into Ilya and his guest by using the main bathroom. Thankfully, he gets a few moments of peace in the shower as the sound of running water temporarily drowns (pun not intended) the moans of his roommate out.
Shane takes his time in the shower, rinses the shampoo from his hair and groans when some drops into his eye just enough to feel a sting. The sting is a distraction at least, a distraction from whatever it is that has Shane’s cock standing at full attention, water droplets cascading down the hard length that Shane has desperately tried to avoid paying attention to since he arrived home. He’s consumed by guilt when he realises that the sound of his roommate - his friend - getting off with someone else is what has him throbbing, but not guilty enough to stop the way his hand travels southward, slowly circling and grasping his cock in his hand.
A low moan of his own escapes through his lips as he works himself up to a steady rhythm, grateful that he can no longer hear Ilya’s groans from the bathroom. If he can’t hear Ilya from here then at least he’s fairly certain that Ilya, whose attention is very clearly elsewhere, can’t hear him. With this thought in mind, he lets another moan escape, this time slightly louder.
Shane concludes that he is already too far gone to feel any sense of guilt at his actions, although it doesn’t stop a small pit in his stomach forming. He should definitely not be jerking off to his roommate and whoever. It doesn’t take long nor many strokes of his cock until he feels it in his stomach, so he picks up the pace; all inhibition lost down the shower drain.
“Oh my god,” it comes out just above a whisper as white ropes decorate the glass partition of the shower and Shane isn’t sure what is more concerning: the fact that he has actually just come at the thought of Ilya Rozanov or the fact that it had been the best solo orgasm he’d ever experienced.
He sleeps like a baby that night. Roommate’s guest be damned.
Shane wakes up before his alarm, as he normally does. Sometimes, if he’s feeling like it, he’ll go for a run and then shower when he arrives back but other times he just lets himself have a morning to relax, this was one of those mornings.
He rolls over in his bed and reaches for his contact case inside his bedside drawer, confused when the item isn’t where he would usually have put it. Not paying any mind to the missing case, he assumes it’s probably in his bag or maybe in the kitchen somewhere; he had arrived home last night and ran off to his room to avoid any awkward contact with Ilya. He grabs his glasses instead and slides them up the bridge of his nose. Shane grabs the book he had been attempting to read last night and pads into the kitchen.
He sets his book down on the kitchen island before busying himself by making his favourite granola yogurt bowl as breakfast. Once he has assembled all of the ingredients and placed them in a bowl ready to eat, he mounts one of the bar stools at the island and flips to the last page he remembers reading.
Shane has finished eating by the time the door to Ilya’s bedroom opens. He checks his phone, it reads 9AM. He prepares himself for the awkward small talk that Ilya will try to make with him, as he always does after a busy night, so he’s shocked when it isn’t Ilya who exits the bedroom first.
The woman in question looks put together, as if she hadn’t been crying out Ilya’s name into the wee hours of the night and doesn’t see Shane sitting in the kitchen. It makes her jump when he clears his throat to assert his presence.
“Um, hi,” she says, “you must be the roommate,”
Shane has to make a conscious effort to not roll his eyes, “I must be,” he settles for in response.
“Sorry if we were loud at all last night,” she says, blushing. “I’m Hayley,”
“Shane,” he answers back, though if he were being honest, he’s not entirely interested in holding a conversation. He’s also definitely not going to remember her name by the time tomorrow rolls around and he’s certain that Ilya isn’t going to remember either. It’s safe to say that Ilya has a type, though. Shane notices that just the same as the last few women Ilya has brought home to their apartment, her hair is jet black, just below shoulder length with naturally red cheeks that are adorned with freckles. At least Ilya is consistent, he supposed.
It seems as though Hayley, unlike the rest of the hookups Ilya entertains, isn’t in any rush to leave, nor does she have any sort of shame. Good for her, Shane thinks to himself.
“Do you want a drink? I think we have green tea,” Shane offers, mostly out of politeness and certainly not expecting her to accept the offer.
“Green tea would be great,” Hayley answers back before pulling up a stool opposite Shane, who's apparently busy preparing a mug of green tea. “Have you and Ilya known each other for a long time?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Shane answers as he brings her a mug and sets it down on a coaster (he will not have cup stains on his clean countertop, thank you) in front of her.
“How did you meet?” She continues, very unaware of Shane’s unenthusiasm for small talk.
“We’ve known each other all throughout college, which is where we met, then when we graduated we just thought that the living arrangements were good so we found somewhere together and well, here we are,” Shane trails off, adjusting his glasses as they slip a little down his nose. “It works for us,”
“It’s nice that you’re so okay with him bringing people over,” Hayley says which makes Shane laugh uncomfortably. If only she knew.
“Yeah,” he says, “you get used to it after a while,”
Hayley’s face changes then, it falls a little bit upon the realisation that she is not the only person Ilya has brought into his bed. “Oh, he does this often?”
Shane pathetically stutters through his response, apologising profusely for making it seem like she meant nothing to Ilya, who had yet to show his face, which was unsurprising to Shane but had seemingly unsettled Hayley.
“Not often,” Shane lies, “It’s just happened a few times over the many years we’ve known each other and lived together,”. Shane makes a mental note to pat himself on the back for what he thinks is a good save. Then, in his head, he slaps himself upside the head for making it sound like Ilya will fuck anything with a pulse. It isn’t quite that bad, and maybe Shane wants to piss Hayley off.
Hayley, who is completely harmless and unaware of Shane’s almost seething jealousy, who had hooked up with Ilya in his apartment and got to hear the way Ilya sounded when he lost all control. He comes around from his own thoughts when Hayley, mid conversation, waves a hand in front of his face.
“Sorry,” Shane says, cheeks reddening slightly. “I’m not very good at morning talk, especially with well, you know, people I’m not familiar with,”
Hayley laughs as though she is endeared. “It’s alright, I get it. I imagine this is weird for you,”
Shane doesn’t say anything to that, instead nods his head and downs the rest of his smoothie. He grimaces when he drinks the leftover juice that is now mush at the bottom of the glass, it leaves an uncomfortable taste in his mouth for the second time that morning.
A silence that borders between awkward and uncomfortable blankets over them just as Ilya’s bedroom door opens for a second time. This time the man in question struts out, curled hair dishevelled, evidence of a good night clearly, wearing sweatpants that hang so low on his hips that Shane wonders if there is any point in him even wearing any - although he also thinks that might just be his wishful thinking working overtime. Now was definitely not the time to be wishing Ilya pantsless.
“Good morning,” Ilya says slowly, voice thick with sleep still which has Shane almost writhing in his seat because who sounds that sexy at the ass crack of dawn, really? There’s also an expression of confusion on his face, probably because his roommate of five years is currently at breakfast with his latest conquest.
Because Ilya is polite and not a terrible person, he greets them both before traipsing over to the fridge to find his own breakfast. Shane wonders if he’ll offer breakfast to his guest, but isn’t surprised when Ilya pulls out a pack of bacon and gets to work cooking it on the stove. “Sleep well?” he asks over the sound of frying bacon. There’s the beginning of a smirk at the corner of his mouth that Shane would love to slap off it. Or kiss, who knows.
“Yeah,” Shane says, “like a baby,” he adds for good measure. Ilya didn’t need to know that he’d had to talk himself down from jerking off to the sounds of his moans for the third time in a month.
“Good,” Ilya retorts, looking at only Shane and seemingly forgetting that Hayley was still present, “me too, since when did you wear glasses, Hollander?”
“Since forever, I just don’t like wearing them in front of people,” Shane says, now blushing profusely and possessing the desire to rip his glasses from his face.
“You should wear them more,” Ilya says with a masked nonchalance, “they bring out your freckles more, very pretty,”
Hayley clears her throat and sets her mug of tea, now empty, back down on the coaster before Shane can answer.
“Good morning to you too,” Ilya greets her, finally acknowledging her presence. “You slept well too, yes?”
“You know I did,” Hayley responds flirtatiously, which Shane takes as his cue to leave because Ilya is abandoning the frying pan to appropriately (or, inappropriately according to Shane, anyway) greet his house guest.
“I’m gonna.. Yeah, I’m gonna go and shower and stuff,” Shane stammers out, before making his swift exit before he was forced to witness something that would make him want to claw at his own eyeballs. He contemplates his manners, wonders whether he should say goodbye to Hayley but when he turns around to bid her farewell and probably (hopefully, he silently thinks) never see her again, Ilya has his hands dangerously low on her hips and hers are wrapped around his neck and they are definitely about to kiss, so Shane turns away to protect his peace. He’s not jealous. He isn’t.
Shane showers, a little longer than he usually would in his routine morning shower, just in case Ilya and Hayley had decided to go another round in the kitchen. He really hoped not, hoped that Ilya would have enough respect not to do that in their shared home. It doesn’t stop him from grabbing his over-the-ear headphones once he emerges from the shower though, just in case.
He checks his phone, responds to some emails before texting Rose, his best friend of years, agreeing to meet up for lunch in the week because life had been busy for the both of them and it had been over a week since they had seen each other last. He plans his week ahead, making notes on an app that he has specifically for meal prepping before sifting through his closet in the hopes of finding his favourite blue quarter zip fleece that he’d misplaced. Doing anything at this point to pass the time until Hayley leaves.
A hand lands on his shoulder around twenty minutes later and has him jumping out of his skin, he hasn’t found the item of clothing he’d been looking for but at least Hayley had left, Ilya informs him. He ignores the way his heart jumps a few beats, but he tells himself it’s because Ilya had come into his room unannounced while he blasted a song through his headphones that he’s not sure he even knows the name of.
“Sorry,” Ilya says in a sing-song, playful voice that has Shane so endeared he could cry. “Hayley has gone, just so you know, you can come out now,”
“Thanks,” Shane says sarcastically, then winces at how pathetically jealous he comes across. Shane notices that Ilya has showered, judging by the way his curls are now damp and stick to his forehead, and he’s dressed for the day.
Ilya looks at the headphones that Shane still has covering his ears in question. “I was just making sure I didn’t have to hear anymore noise like last night this morning,” he says in the most monotonous, nonchalant, non-jealous voice he can muster.
Ilya smirks, then wraps an arm that is painfully exposed from the tank top that he had decided to wear today, around Shane’s own covered from top-to-bottom shoulders. “Well, Hollander, you won’t have me so what is a guy like me to do, huh? I have needs,” his tone is amused, teasing, like it always was with Ilya.
This wasn’t anything new to Shane. Ever since the day they had met and Ilya had found out that Shane was gay he had been nothing but extremely supportive, Shane had been grateful for it, anticipating the worst like he had become so used to. But Ilya was a breath of fresh air who had no qualms with flirting with him, like he did with all of his friends, but sometimes - more often than not these days - Shane found himself silently wishing that Ilya could see him as someone he could be interested in, whether it be romantically or sexually. Shane didn’t know which of the two options he wanted more, so he tried not to think about it.
“Having needs does not equal fucking in the space where I eat my dinner, Rozanov,” Shane shoots back and hopes Ilya doesn’t pick up on the smallest hint of bitterness lacing his words. He doesn’t mean to be, really. Shane had never been good at thinking before he spoke. “We all have needs, but we all know how to behave in a communal space,”
“I find it hard to believe that your needs are the same as mine, Hollander,” The way Shane’s last name sounds on Ilya’s tongue has his dick twitching in his sweatpants. He’s glad that his hoodie is oversized enough to cover any unfortunate arousal.
“Well I do,” Shane huffs as a response, “but this isn’t about me, so,”
“I didn’t fuck her in the kitchen, do not worry,” Ilya tells him and Shane tries to ignore the buzz of relief that surges through his body at Ilya’s confession. He makes a conscious effort to keep his face completely neutral, which goes unnoticed by Ilya, so he concludes that he has done a good job of it.
“Well, good,” Shane quips. “And keep the noise down next time, please,”
Ilya smirks again at Shane’s request, but before he can respond with something that Shane knows will have him babbling like a flustered teen experiencing their first crush, he is ushering Ilya by the shoulders out of his bedroom.
“You’re just jealous that I’m getting some action and you haven’t been laid in months,” Ilya shouts from where he has been abandoned out in the hallway. There’s no malice in Ilya’s voice when he calls out, but the truth in the statement makes Shane want to curl into a ball and cry. He wasn’t usually too bothered about how much ‘action’ he got, as Ilya would call it. However, ever since Ilya had been getting more and more sexually active in the room next door and Shane could hear every little gasp coming from the Russian man, he had found it harder and harder to pretend that he wasn’t even a little sexually frustrated.
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Shane hollers back, slamming the door behind him, shutting himself in his room for not the first time that day.
“I know you want to, Hollander!”
And he does. Hollander does want to, Ilya is so right.
Shane doesn’t know why he agrees, but when Ilya informs him later on in the day that his plans have unfortunately been cancelled, he finds himself sat in their shared living room whilst Ilya sifts through the television looking for a movie to watch. They’re inches apart on the sofa, close enough to share one blanket should it get cold later on when Ilya lands on something that Shane seems to be unfamiliar with. It wasn’t hard to find media that Shane had no clue about, he wasn’t one for movies or television shows.
Ilya presses play on the movie that he knows Shane will probably end up falling asleep ten minutes into. When he’s right and approximately ten minutes later he notices Shane’s head lolling to the side and his eyes fighting to keep open, he almost feels bad. He knows his escapades the previous evening had probably kept Shane up a little later than he usually liked to be awake.
Almost as if he can feel eyes wandering on him, Shane looks over at Ilya and sits upright quickly. He’s blushing again; he finds it to be a common occurrence in the presence of Ilya Rozanov, he doesn’t think that he’ll ever stop it either. No matter how many times Ilya has someone else in his bed, stamping on his heart a little more every time.
“So you won’t see this one again?” Shane asks, ‘this one’ referring to Hayley.
Ilya, who’s distractingly got one hand toying with the waistband of his sweatpants, answers. Don’t ask Shane how he knows this, because he is certainly not staring at Ilya’s hand placement when Ilya has his gaze focused on the TV.
Without looking at Shane again, Ilya shakes his head in lieu of a response.
“She was nice,” Shane continues, pushing for a more articulate answer from the man sitting next to him.
“Yes, she was,” Ilya agrees, then shrugs, “but we are both on the same page, we are not looking for serious, so it works,”
Shane hums and secretly wishes that he could not want to be serious. Sure, he had hooked up with a few guys before that hadn’t been serious, but the more he entertained the thought, the more he knew that casual, no strings attached with Ilya Rozanov would never work out in his favour.
“That’s good then, I suppose,” Shane claims and Ilya hums his agreement, eyes still fixated on whatever was happening on the screen in front of him. “She was pretty too,”
“Maybe I could give you her number then,” Ilya jokes, “you want to talk about her a lot,”
Oh.
“No,” Shane protests, his hands becoming uncomfortably clammy and suddenly the blanket covering him is suffocating. “I just mean, she’s pretty, you’re pretty. You’d look good together,”
What is he doing? He’s digging himself a hole, he knows it. Shane knows that Ilya will find a way to make a joke out of this, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when Ilya looks at him, brows raised and asks “You think I am pretty, Hollander? Pretty boy Shane Hollander calling me pretty? The highest honor,”
“Shut up,” Shane says, knowing how pathetic his preschool comeback sounds. It doesn’t stop him reaching for the nearest pillow and throwing it, with quite some force, at Ilya’s face. The conversation ends there and the next time Ilya sees Shane’s eyes shut, he lets him be.
Luckily for Shane, probably unluckily for Ilya, the week passes by in a blur of work and post-work gym sessions and no more uncomfortable sexual activity or awkward first meetings. The apartment is quiet, except for the ambience of two men co-existing in the same space, exactly the way Shane found comfortable.
He meets up with Rose on Thursday evening, at the Kingfisher which is their local hangout. She’s nursing a new cocktail that Kyle has come up with, although Shane isn’t convinced it actually tastes good and she is just being supportive towards her friend. For himself, he has a ginger ale, no ice and a straw - it’s the same every time no matter how many attempts Rose has made at getting him to try something new for a change.
“So what’s new with you?” Rose asks.
“Not a lot,” Shane says with a sigh, “Ilya brought another girl home at the beginning of the week, I lost sleep,”. He doesn’t tell her that the reason he had lost sleep was because he had been too lost in his own fantasy of having Ilya above him and Rose doesn’t ask either.
“He’s never going to settle is he,” Rose groans. As much as it hurts him, Shane agrees with a nod. She’s right, Ilya had never exhibited any intentions of finding one person to settle with.
“He’s happy, that’s all that should matter,” Shane tells her. Rose hums in response and takes another sip of her far too sweet cocktail.
“Are you happy, Shane?” The question takes him completely by surprise, he doesn’t have a solid, convincing answer planned out.
Instead, he nods and hopes that Rose doesn’t push any further for a verbal response. He has no such luck though. “I’m happy, of course I am,”
“It can’t be easy, watching Ilya bring home different girls every week,” Rose comments, the look on her face sympathetic.
Shane shrugs, “He’s brought home guys before, too,”
“That wasn’t the point I was trying to make,” she says, taking his hands in hers from across the table. “You love him, you live with him and you have to see him take other people to bed,”
“Yeah, thanks, Rose,” Shane blurts out a little harshly, before he backtracks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude, it sucks, yeah. But I can’t really do much about it other than sit back and let it happen,”
“Have you ever talked to him about feelings?”
Shane shakes his head.
“Do you think maybe you should? Maybe you could talk it out and see where things go,” Rose is being a little too optimistic, Shane thinks, but he’s grateful that she’s trying to make him feel somewhat better about the situation he is in.
“Maybe, I don’t know,” Shane answers honestly. Because he doesn’t know, he has no clue how Ilya Rozanov, resident sex god and roommate of years, would react if Shane were to confess his love (and occasionally, his lust) for him. He can picture the rejection in his mind, a picture of Ilya, who is so confident and yet so kind to Shane, placing a hand on his shoulder and telling him that he’s flattered and yet doesn’t feel the same feelings for him. The mere thought of it has Shane spiraling. “I think I just need to get over it,” he finally tells Rose. It’s not a lie, he knows he should probably stop pining for a man who clearly has no genuine interest in him unless it is for a harmless bout of flirting.
“Oh, Shane, you break my heart sometimes,” Rose says with a pout.
“Shut up,” he counters, though it isn’t harsh. “Can we change the subject?”
“Okay,” Rose perks up and the mood is instantly lifted. Shane loved the way his best friend could completely switch up and cheer him up, even when he was feeling his lowest. He thinks he’d be lost without her. “So, you know my friend Miles right?”
Shane hesitates and silently hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it might be. “Yes, I think I’m familiar,”
“Well it’s his birthday this weekend and he’s booked out this room at Ciel’s,” Rose informs him and yeah, this is definitely going where he thinks it’s going. In his mind he is already coming up with a reason as to why he can’t attend. Maybe Ilya needs help putting together a new bed that night or something. Oh, the irony.
“Rose-”
“Will you come? There won’t be too many people there to overwhelm you, just me, Miles and a couple of our theater friends. It’s a club but it’s not clubby, you know?”
“I don’t think that’s my scene, Rose,” he tells her honestly. There was no point in lying to Rose; she could always see right through him, the perks of knowing one another for years on end.
“Shane,” Rose whines dramatically, putting her theater skills to good use. “We haven’t gone out to a club together in ages,”
“Yeah, for good reason,” he replies sarcastically. “Club nights end up with you hooking up with someone and me standing in the middle of the club, overstimulated as fuck and holding the one, same drink all night,”
“Alright, Shane,” Rose retreats, “I won’t force you to come, but I know Miles would love to have you there. Just think about it, okay?”
“Fine,” Shane says wiyh a small smile at her. “I’ll think about it.”
Shane walks Rose over to her theater class because the building isn’t too far from his apartment complex. He's in a good mood after seeing her even if he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he won’t be at Miles’ birthday party on the weekend.
He’d picked up dinner for him and Ilya as a treat in the hopes they could enjoy it together, wanting to surprise him with his favourite greasy takeout that any other time Shane would judge him for eating so he’d forgotten about texting him.
He wishes he’d texted now, because when he sets foot into his apartment with a paper takeout bag in hand, he isn’t expecting to see Ilya on the couch, someone straddling his lap and at least at what seems to be second base. He almost drops the bag in his hands, a wave of nausea washing over him, he can’t see Ilya’s hands from where he stands, shocked in the doorway and he doesn’t want to spend any time wondering where they are. Instead, he wordlessly deposits the bag of what would have been his dinner on the kitchen island, suddenly his appetite completely gone, and makes a beeline for his bedroom. One mistaken glance tells him that the woman straddling Ilya in his living room is Hayley - the girl from the beginning of the week.
Ilya having someone over hadn’t been a surprise to Shane, but for it to be the same girl for a second time is what has Shane stumped. Ilya had never done that in all the time they had been roommates. Maybe he was thinking about getting serious, after all. The thought of Ilya, locked down with someone who wasn’t him, to be quite honest, made Shane want to die.
Thankfully, Ilya is seemingly too consumed with Hayley’s mouth on his to even notice that Shane is home and it makes running to his bedroom much easier. Shane slams his bedroom door shut, not caring if Ilya hears it.
It’s only when he fishes his phone from his back pocket does he realise that he is shaking and it’s when he unlocks his phone and opens up the text conversation with Rose that he realises his vision is blurred.
He shoots Rose a quick, simple yet informative text. I’ll see you at Ciel’s on Saturday.
Shane throws his phone onto his bed after unlocking it and then he does something he hadn’t ever done before.
He cries over Ilya Rozanov.
For the three days leading up to Miles’ birthday night, Shane tries (and fails) at avoiding Ilya. He doesn’t know if Ilya ever noticed that Shane had walked in on him and Hayley on the couch but he doesn’t care to find out either, so he doesn’t mention it. Neither does Ilya, thankfully.
“You look pretty,” Ilya tells him when he leaves his bedroom on Saturday, shutting the door behind him. “Going somewhere nice?”
“Just a friend’s birthday,” Shane says cautiously. “I’ll be home late,”
“Wow,” Ilya exclaims, making a point to look Shane up and down and apparently not caring if Shane notices him doing it. “Shane Hollander hitting the club, I never thought I’d see the day,” he can tell that Ilya is trying to make lighthearted banter with him, but he’s not taking the bait. He’s still kind of pissed.
“It beats staying in my room while you and whoever get up to whatever,” Shane counters though his tone isn’t mean; it’s more blunt, standoffish.
“I hope you manage to get some tonight, Hollander,” Ilya calls as Shane makes his way to the door and shrugs on his jacket, “Maybe you’ll stop being jealous every time I bring someone home,”
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Shane calls back as he opens the door. He slams it shut behind him, not looking back to see or hear Ilya’s response.
Rose practically screams when her eyes meet Shane’s as he enters the club. Rose is right in some aspects, it isn’t overly crowded to the point he can’t move and the music is only slightly deafening. He shakes himself out of the annoyance that Ilya had pulled out of him earlier in the evening and tells himself to have a good night.
“I got you a beer,” Rose hands the pint over to him, half expecting him to decline and find a non-alcoholic alternative but he doesn’t. He simply thanks her and takes the beer out of her hands willingly before downing half of it in one swig.
“Thanks,” he says, not completely hating the taste as the alcohol slips down his throat. “That’s really good beer,”
Rose laughs and pulls him over to the table where Miles, who he recognises as Rose’s friend, and a few others that he doesn’t quite recognise sit. Miles clocks him instantly and pulls him into a hug.
“Happy birthday,” Shane shouts over the music which he is certain has been turned up a notch, “thanks for inviting me again,”
“A happy birthday for me indeed,” Miles says. The way he looks Shane up and down doesn’t go amiss by Shane, nor Rose who has a knowing, mischievous grin on her face.
“Glad to be here,” Shane says.
If there is one thing that should be known about Shane Hollander, it is that he is not a dancer. It’s not fair, he thinks as he watches Rose, Miles and a couple of others whose names he has been told but cannot remember, on the dancefloor. He is certain all of them have at least some professional dance training and have no problem adapting their rhythmic dancing to whatever tempo of the song playing on the overhead speakers, club lights flashing to the beat as well. It all seems very coordinated, something that Shane isn’t. It’s why he’s sat at the booth, surrounded by jackets, bags and unintentionally on drink monitor duty and not dancing with the rest of them.
His eyes are drifting across the room, people watching and observing the people around him when his heart stops a little. He’s still on the same drink that Rose had given him and that was over an hour ago by now, still at least a quarter of the way to go.
“No,” he mutters to himself and no one else under his breath. Rose and Miles seem to be having a great time, completely oblivious to anything untoward happening around them.
At first he thinks he’s hallucinating. That his feelings for Ilya are so strong that he has started imagining him in places that he isn’t but then he clocks Svetlana, whom he recognises as Ilya’s longest best friend and he feels like he might die.
Suddenly the room is suffocating, there is too much going on and he desperately wants to get away from Ilya, who is standing at the bar and downing a whole line of shots. Shane knew that Ilya could drink quite a lot before becoming intoxicated, something that he envied as someone who could be tipsy from just two drinks.
He looks back to Rose, wondering if she has clocked him too, but she mustn't have because she locks eyes with Shane and beckons him over. This time, he doesn’t decline. Instead, he downs the final dregs of his beer and makes his way over - much to Miles’ joy.
“I can’t dance,” he states, once again fighting to shout over the music.
“Who cares,” Rose yells back, clearly having the time of her life. “Just follow us!”
So Shane does, or at least he tries to. It isn’t his fault that no matter where he is, if he is in the same vicinity as Ilya Rozanov, there is no doubt that he will feel the pull towards him. He can’t help it that his eyes keep wandering to the bar, where Ilya stands looking downright sinful in a mesh shirt that Shane can see every crevice of his chest, right down to the v-line that leads down underneath his pants. Shane blames the alcohol for the thoughts that cross his mind, thoughts that involve that particular v-line and his tongue becoming well acquainted.
Miles is trying to get his attention and Shane feels bad that his attention is elsewhere. It doesn’t stop Miles from pulling him closer though, Shane lets him. He finally manages to pull his attention away from Ilya when he reminds himself that the tall, beautiful Russian man at the bar is the exact reason he had decided to join Rose tonight - so he lets Miles pull him that little bit closer and tries his hardest not to squirm when he can feel unfamiliar hands trailing underneath the plain white shirt he had chosen for the occasion. The attention is nice, for sure, but Shane can admit that he isn’t particularly excited.
“Relax, Shane,” Miles whispers in his ear and woah, when did he get so close to his face?
“I’m relaxed,” Shane lies, Miles laughs and Shane can tell he isn’t convinced in the slightest. “Sorry,”
“Don’t apologise,” Miles says, pulling away from Shane’s ear and focusing his eyes on Shane’s lips.
Shane feels weirdly exposed, having someone this close and very obviously wanting him when it had been so long. It’s wrong, he knows, but he chances another glance at the bar and low and behold, Ilya is still there except now, he has noticed Shane.
Miles edges closer and closer to Shane’s lips and yet, Shane doesn’t look away from Ilya who is looking - no, glaring in his direction. He looks furious. Shane feels awful at the way his heart rate picks up at a rapid speed when he locks eyes with Ilya again and for the first time ever, he lets himself wonder if there is even the sliver of a chance that Ilya could reciprocate the ever consuming feelings that he has.
Shane isn’t proud of his next move but he knows that Ilya’s reaction will have the answer to his question. So when Miles moves his head closer to Shane’s neck, Shane makes no attempt to move away, as he usually would. Instead, he cranes his neck a little to allow Miles access to pepper light kisses in a trail all the way up to his jaw. All the while maintaining eye contact with Ilya - who looks like he wants to burn a hole through Miles’ body with his eyes.
Shane knows this isn’t a good idea - there’s absolutely no going back from it, but the mix of emotions that had been spiraling all week mixed with the liquid confidence, he thought maybe he could play Ilya at his own game. If there was even a game to be played.
God.
What if Shane had got this completely wrong? What if he had completely fucked his friendship with Ilya up just because he wanted to see him seething with a jealousy that didn’t exist?
Before he can compute what is happening in his mind, he is gently pushing Miles away from him, creating a comfortable distance before grabbing Rose’s hand to get her attention. “I’m going to use the bathroom,”
Rose nods, rubbing his shoulders as a means of comfort. He takes this as her approval and through the crowd of people, of which there is more now than what there was over an hour ago, he slips away to find the bathroom.
He finds the sign that directs him to the bathrooms, except he doesn’t quite manage to make it there. Instead, he finds himself standing in his place, no longer with a drink in hand, eyes locked on Ilya who has found someone to occupy his time with. A blonde, slightly shorter than him, who he looks quite comfortable to be kissing. Of course he is comfortable. Except, for some reason that Shane can’t comprehend at the current moment, Ilya doesn’t have his eyes closed, nor is he looking completely lost in this woman who Shane is sure is very nice. No. Ilya is looking directly at him, lips moving against another woman, but eyes never leaving Shane’s.
If this is Ilya’s idea of torture then he’s nailing it.
Shane never makes it to the bathroom. He forces himself to look away from Ilya, swears that he will finally get over him because the ache in his chest, so strong it stretches to the very ends of his body, is too much. Loving Ilya Rozanov was starting to hurt, and he didn’t want to hurt anymore. He didn’t want to seethe with jealousy every time Ilya’s lips were on another, or his hands were roaming on a body that wasn’t his. So this was it, he was going to move on.
Shane doesn’t even notice it but by the time he’s stopped dissociating, he’s outside his apartment building. His cheeks are cold and also slightly damp and he hasn’t realised it until now, in the warmth of the building, but for the second time this week he’s crying and Ilya Rozanov is the reason. His feelings were getting out of hand. Shane Hollander did not lose his composure, not over a man, especially.
He takes the stairs instead of the elevator to get to his front door and unlocks the door, all of his limbs feeling heavy. He can’t wait to get into bed and hopefully hide there for the next two weeks, maybe longer if he can get away with it.
But of course, the world is against him in every way and has other plans for him because he doesn’t notice through the wetness of his eyes and the blurred vision that comes with the tears that Ilya is standing in front of him.
“Jesus, fuck,” Shane says and holds a hand to his chest as if it will stop the way his heart is palpitating. Ilya stands in front of him, changed out of the number he had been sporting at the club and if Shane weren’t mad at him for completely unrelated reasons, he’d be mad that he didn’t get to see Ilya in his mesh shirt for longer. Except Shane is mad at him and he doesn’t want to look at him.
“Just Ilya is fine,” Ilya says as a joke. Shane doesn’t laugh. When it is evident that Shane is in no mood to laugh, Ilya continues. “What the fuck is going on, Hollander?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Shane says and he knows that it’s complete bullshit. So does Ilya, apparently.
Ilya scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. Annoyingly, Shane can see the way his arm muscles flex in the tank top that he’s opted to change into.
“How did you even get home before me when I left before you?” Shane asks, realising that his roommate isn’t going to let this go easily.
“Don’t change the subject, Hollander,” Ilya says, his tone stern and unlike what Shane has ever heard from him before. “What the fuck was that at Ciel’s?”
“What the fuck was what?”
Ilya laughs, “Whatever that show you put on, what the fuck Hollander?”
“Oh fuck you, Rozanov!” Shane exclaims, feeling his blood start to boil at the audacity of the man in front of him. “I did not put on a show, no one asked you to watch,”
“And yet, you made sure I was looking. Didn’t you? I could see it,” Ilya tells him, seeing right through Shane as he always had done. He edges closer to Shane, who steps back for every step closer that Ilya takes towards him.
“Bullshit,” Shane says, it's another lie. He doesn’t think he’d ever lied to Ilya so much in one night. “You wanted me to get some action, you said so yourself,”
“Yeah, I did,” Ilya answers.
“So mind your business,” Shane snaps at him, “because I have had to mind my business every fucking time you bring someone here,”
“Hollander,” Ilya says, coming out in what is almost like a purring. Ilya steps closer into Shane’s personal space until Shane’s backed up against the wall closest to the front door. “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me,”
Shane doesn’t like where this is going and he doesn’t like it one bit. But he nods breathlessly, allowing Ilya to continue. Ilya isn’t even touching him and yet Shane can feel him everywhere.
“Do you wish it were you?”
“What?” Shane asks and lets out a nervous laugh.
“Answer me,” he demands. “Do you wish it were you that I was fucking? Do you think about me fucking you when I’m fucking other people?”
“Go fuck yourself, Rozanov,” Shane protests, refusing to look at Ilya and finding a particularly interesting spot on the floor to focus on instead.
“Look at me, Hollander,” Ilya demands this time around and when Shane says nothing, does nothing in response, Ilya places his hand underneath Shane’s chin, forcing him to look up at him.
Shane is mortified. He is certain now that Ilya is somewhat, if not completely aware of his feelings and the thought of his longest secret finally being out is incredibly overwhelming, it causes a fresh bout of tears to form in his eyes although they refuse to fall. Ilya’s hands underneath his chin, forcing him to look at him also doesn’t help.
“Answer my question,” Ilya says, eyes drifting between Shane’s lips, then back up to his tearful eyes. Shane wants to, he wants to tell Ilya that he wants to be the only person he fucks, the only person who gets to kiss him until he can’t breathe and his lips are stinging. But he can’t do it.
“Fine, I’ll go first then, if you won’t,” Ilya replies to himself after a few moments of silence from Shane. Shane panics internally for a moment, thinking that he’s blown it. He worries that Ilya will take his hand from his chin, retreat and they’ll go back to never speaking about whatever it is that’s going on here. Ilya does remove his hand from Shane, much to the other man’s disappointment. Instead, the hand that had previously held Shane’s jaw rests next to his head against the wall. The placement makes Shane feel incredibly small in comparison all of a sudden.
Ilya leans in and for a moment Shane thinks he might kiss him. Instead, Ilya leans right into his ear; close enough that Shane can smell the remnants of cigarette smoke mixed with what he can only assume is the alcohol he had consumed over the course of the night. “I want you, Shane Hollander,” he finally admits, voice laced with something that Shane can only assume is lust, “I want you so fucking much, more than anyone I have ever wanted,”
There’s a moment of silence while Shane comprehends what Ilya is saying, then there’s a sharp inhale of breath and Shane isn’t sure at this point who it’s coming from. Maybe it’s him, he doesn’t know.
“So, I’ll ask you again,” Ilya says with his eyes completely fixed on Shane’s mouth. Shane feels exposed, he knows Ilya can see the way his cheeks are fully flushed too. “Do you want me as much as I want you?”
And then, Shane finally breaks.
“Fuck yes,” he says, voice trembling a little, “I want you, Rozanov,”
He doesn’t give Ilya a second to respond with words, because moments later Shane has grabbed Ilya’s face with both hands and kisses him square on the mouth. It’s messy, although judging by the way Ilya moans into his mouth, he doesn’t care about technicalities. Of which there are not a lot of.
Ilya kisses him back just as eagerly as Shane is kissing him as if he is the last meal on earth. Shane moans when Ilya slides his own tongue into the warmth of Shane’s mouth and Shane doesn’t know where the confidence in him has come from but he finds himself sucking down on Ilya’s tongue, which drives him crazy judging by the way Ilya presses impossibly closer to Shane, sandwiched between Ilya and the wall behind him. It should be uncomfortable and he’ll probably have some sort of pain in his shoulders tomorrow, but right now he doesn’t care. Not when finally, he has Ilya’s mouth on his and his tongue slipping against his own.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya says when he finally pulls away for a moment. Shane eagerly chases his mouth, not being able to stand the emptiness he feels already at not having Ilya’s lips on his own. The emptiness only lasts temporarily because then Ilya is sliding his hands up and down Shane’s waist, underneath the white shirt he’s wearing, all while his lips are kissing and biting at the juncture between where his shoulder meets his jaw.
Shane doesn’t understand how he had gone so long without having Ilya like this. “We should talk,” he breathes out, although the last thing he would like to do right now is stop whatever this is and have any sort of conversation.
“Later,” Ilya whines and bites down a little harder on Shane’s neck, pulling another moan from him.
“Okay,” Shane goes easily and lets Ilya get to work on his neck again. Ilya’s hands have travelled lower by this point, resting just below Shane’s ass but not before giving it a few playful squeezes that has Shane’s cock twitching, not for the first time. Shane can feel himself throbbing against the fabric of his jeans and suddenly, the urge to take them off is overpowering but he doesn’t move. He wants Ilya to be the one to undress him, which is clearly where this is going.
Two taps to the back of his legs are the warning Shane gets, he understands immediately though and goes willingly when Ilya lifts him against the wall. With his legs wrapped around Ilya’s waist, he can feel Ilya’s own cock also straining against him. It’s so hot that Shane thinks that he might not last long, it had been a while for him since he had felt the touch of someone else.
As much as he loves the feeling of Ilya completely devouring his neck, as much as he loves the idea that Ilya is marking him because there is definitely going to be marks in the morning, he misses his mouth on him. So Shane does something about it, because apparently he can now; he snakes one arm from where it is poised around Ilya’s neck and mimics the move that Ilya had done to him not too long ago - he grabs Ilya’s chin with a newfound confidence and guides his mouth to his own. Each kiss gets filthier until Shane’s not even sure they’re kissing anymore, they’re breathing into each other’s mouths and Shane can’t quite believe that he is now the one pulling these downright sinful noises out of his roommate.
He gets no warning when Ilya, still holding Shane with the core strength of a champion, pulls away from the wall but not away from Shane’s lips and traipses them both a little clumsily to his bedroom. Shane notices where Ilya is taking them and before he can open his bedroom door, he pulls away.
Ilya panics momentarily and allows Shane to reconnect with the ground. His eyes search Shane’s for any sign of Shane no longer wanting this, but he finds no sign. Instead, Shane - who has the most enticing grin on his face - pulls him towards his own bedroom. Ilya looks at him questioningly.
“My bedroom,” Shane instructs him, although it comes out breathlessly. Ilya raises a brow and Shane thinks he might as well come clean, because apparently they were being honest with each other now. “I don’t want you to fuck me where you’ve fucked other people,”
Clearly, he has said the right thing because then Ilya is pushing him up against his own bedroom door, kissing him with just as much eagerness and desire as he had previously, fumbling with the door handle to get Shane inside as quickly as possible.
Ilya wastes no time once the door is open, pushing Shane (who goes very willingly) down onto his meticulously perfectly made bed. Shane shrugs himself up the bed and settles on the pillows and Ilya follows shortly after, looming over Shane looking like he could eat him whole.
After a few moments of kissing, of Ilya sliding his tongue into Shane’s mouth and pulling the most delicious moans out of the beautiful man below him, he’s pulling away to remove his tank top and waves a hand at Shane, encouraging him to lose his shirt too. Shane obeys and Ilya makes a mental note of how submissive Shane is - for future reference obviously.
Ilya helps Shane out of his jeans before shucking out of his own, it’s a little awkward but he manages eventually. Any other time, Shane would be having a minor panic over the way his clothes have been completely discarded but the thought completely disappears when Ilya places a hand, then his mouth, over his clothed erection, enticing a low whine out of Shane.
“Please Ilya,” Shane pleads, although he isn’t completely sure what he is begging for. All he knows is he wants Ilya’s mouth on him, everywhere he can. At the sound of Shane’s broken plea, Ilya looks up at him but doesn’t remove his mouth, only moves his eyes.
“What do you want, Hollander? Tell me,” he orders.
“You,” Shane stammers out, breathing heavily. “Your mouth, on me,”
“My mouth on you where?”
Shane knows that Ilya is having far too much fun with how desperate he is for him. He can see it in the playful glint in his eye from where Ilya is now mouthing at him over his underwear. His warm breath has Shane leaking already and he ought to be embarrassed, but the sensation has him unable to form a coherent thought.
“On my cock,” Shane begs. “I need your mouth on my cock, Rozanov,”
It’s all the confirmation that Ilya needs and he wastes absolutely no time in pulling the final item of clothing from Shane’s body, tossing it across the room somewhere that he isn’t interested in locating at the moment and takes Shane into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Shane cries out and throws an arm over his eyes, it is too much and yet it is not enough at the same time. Ilya sucks him like he is parched and the only thing that could quench his thirst is Shane’s cock, pulsing in his mouth. Shane thinks he is probably going to come from Ilya’s mouth alone, and when he starts to feel the slow build up pooling in the pit of his stomach, he reaches both of his hands down to fist Ilya’s curls, attempting to pull him up and off his cock. Ilya doesn’t move, just continues his movement up and down Shane’s aching length, occasionally using his hands to cup his balls as his mouth works overtime on his cock.
Shane’s hips buck into Ilya’s mouth, but it doesn’t seem to affect him in any way. God, Shane thinks, Ilya looks so fucking hot with his mouth full.
“Rozanov, you need to get off me or I’ll come right now,” Shane tells him, voice strained and stomach turning. Ilya doesn’t listen to him, instead hums around the length of his cock and if anything, sucks a little harder, cheeks hollowed out and picking up his pace.
“Oh,” Shane cries when he feels himself about to release, “Rozanov, fuck,” he cries out and watches with heavy eyes as Ilya effortlessly swallows his load. Ilya hums around his cock as he catches every ounce that Shane has to give him and when he is certain that Shane is spent, he lifts his head up and pulls away; but not before giving the tip of his cock a quick kiss.
Shane falls back against his pillows, chest heaving and heart beating about two hundred miles per hour. Nobody had ever made him come with just their mouth before, of course it would be Ilya Rozanov to do that for him. Ilya, who looks just as blissed out as he does, trails kisses upwards until he’s face to face with Shane. Leaning forward, he presses a few, sweet kisses against Shane’s mouth, slipping his tongue past the seam of Shane’s lips. Shane doesn’t waste time thinking of the fact that he can definitely taste himself in Ilya’s kisses and spends more time thinking about the way he enjoys it. He makes a mental note to revisit that thought later, wondering what else he would enjoy doing with Ilya. Shane thinks to himself, in the middle of kisses that involve not much kissing and a whole lot of tongue, that there probably aren't many things on the list of things that he wouldn’t enjoy Ilya Rozanov doing to him.
In the middle of one particularly heated kiss between the pair, Shane pulls away and uses one hand to guide Ilya flat against the pillows of his bed. Ilya looks confused for a quick moment, thinking that Shane has had enough, but that thought dissipates quickly when he watches Shane lower himself to be level with Ilya’s now unclothed cock.
Unlike Ilya, Shane starts off with his hands. He uses both of them to slowly start jerking Ilya off, setting a slow rhythm for himself that he manages to build up quickly until Ilya is groaning above him. After a few moments, his own impatience gets the better of him and he sinks his mouth down slowly onto Ilya’s length. He’s not as confident as Ilya had seemingly been and doesn’t take his whole cock into his mouth straight away but the action pulls out a delicious whine from Ilya anyway. So Shane doesn’t mind. He makes use of his hand by sliding one up and gripping one of Ilya’s pecs, squeezing occasionally.
Ilya’s hands find Shane’s hair and yanks on it unceremoniously, the action has Shane moaning against his dick and he can feel his own start to harden again. It was going to be a long night, it would seem. Not that Shane could find it in him to complain, he had waited long enough for this. He wonders, mouth still working vigorously on Ilya’s cock, if Ilya had waited just as long.
“Mmm, yes Hollander, like that,” Ilya praises him which sends another jolt to his now fully hard again dick, “you take my cock so well in your pretty little mouth,”. Shane finds himself picking up speed at the way Ilya is praising him until a string of moans come from Ilya’s mouth.
Shane thinks, as his mouth continues working Ilya’s admittedly large dick, what it would feel like to have Ilya inside him, to have him completely seated inside him until he could feel him in his entire body.
“Oh, stop,” Ilya says when his hips involuntarily jerk upwards, forcing his cock further into Shane’s mouth, which has Shane choking by accident. Shane pulls away, eyes watering but this time it’s not from upset, it’s from the feeling of Ilya hitting the back of his throat.
“Was that.. Was it bad?” Shane, who is suddenly self-conscious of his skill, asks wearily.
“No,” Ilya is quick to respond, hands still buried in Shane’s hair, which he’s noticed is the perfect length to grip. “Was perfect, too good actually,”
Shane nods, not entirely sure how to respond but he doesn’t miss the way his heart swells when Ilya had told him he was perfect.
“Let me fuck you, Hollander,” Ilya asks, the words coming out almost desperately. “Please, I have wanted to for so long,”
And well, who was Shane to deny him when he had asked so very nicely?
Shane nods, rising from his knees and leaning down to kiss Ilya because it had been far too long for his liking, when in reality it had only been minutes. Shane doesn’t know how he ever went without the feeling of Ilya’s lips on him and he silently hopes, in the middle of devouring his mouth, that he doesn’t ever have to go without again.
Ilya wastes no time at all in flipping them both over so that he has Shane underneath him again, a position which he finds himself becoming extremely fond of in a very short space of time.
“Do you have..” Ilya trails off and before he can even finish his sentence, Shane is saying “in the bedside drawer,”
Ilya laughs at his obvious eagerness before following Shane’s instructions and reaching for the necessities inside the drawer. He pulls out a strip of condoms - maybe it’s wishful thinking that Shane will let him fuck him into the early hours of the morning - along with an almost empty bottle of lube.
“Wow, you have been busy, Hollander,” Ilya laughs, shaking the bottle in Shane’s face just to taunt him for a moment. Shane blushes, thinking back to all the times he had used that exact lube to jerk himself off to the thoughts of Ilya. Thoughts of him exactly where he is right now, on top of him and preparing to fuck him into the mattress. Shane thanks whatever god that there is that it is finally happening.
“Fuck off,” he says a little pathetically and watches with eager eyes as Ilya resumes his position on top of him. He sets the condoms beside him and makes a show of pouring a small amount of the liquid onto his fingers.
“It’s been a while,” Shane says, hoping that he doesn’t have to explain further than that.
“Ah, you must be tight then,” Ilya claims, “I can solve that problem for you, Hollander, do not worry,”
And oh god, Shane doesn’t think he’s going to survive. He’s certainly not surprised that Ilya is easily eight inches (pushing nine maybe). In fact, it makes him harder. He wants to take it all, he wants to be good for Ilya; perfect even.
“It will fit,” Ilya tells him when he sees the way Shane is looking at his length, expression unreadable.
“Fuck off,” Shane says with a nervous laugh, shutting up immediately when Ilya kisses him again, this time it feels comforting. Shane could really see himself getting used to having Ilya like this.
There is no warning when Ilya presses a tip of one of his lubed fingers to Shane’s entrance. The cry that Shane lets out is a broken one, one that goes straight to Ilya’s already solid cock. His mouth finds Shane’s thigh, biting and sucking softly on the tender skin as his finger works Shane’s hole.
“More,” is all Shane can say when he has decided he is ready for another finger and Ilya willingly obliges. It isn’t long at all before Shane is crying at three of Ilya’s criminally long fingers stretching him open. Nor is it long until Ilya is slightly crooking his fingers to find the perfect spot - he does this just like Shane knows how he does everything, perfectly and with an unwavering confidence.
Ilya hasn’t even fucked him properly and yet when Shane glances down at the pure ungodly scene between his legs, Ilya looks completely fucked out, pumping his fingers and definitely making a valiant attempt to mark Shane’s thigh as his own.
“Fuck me, Ilya,” Shane pleads after a particularly rough thrust of Ilya’s digits inside him.
“Patience, Hollander,” Ilya says seductively, pulling away from Shane’s thighs and making direct eye contact with him. “I want to take you apart,”
Shane doesn’t dignify his statement with a response, instead just throws his head back in annoyance that Ilya seems to be having a great time teasing and edging him. Shane tells himself that one day in the near future, if he is lucky enough to do this with him again, that he will repay him with a slow, languid night of sex. See how he likes it.
When Ilya finally concludes that Shane is ready to take him, Shane is already writhing impatiently and maybe, just maybe, slightly overstimulated - it makes him hungrier, makes him want Ilya to pound into him until he is sore all over and able to feel it for weeks later. He knows that if he were to look down now, there would be marks all over his thighs.
Ilya is taking far too long rolling the condom onto his cock for Shane’s liking, so while he waits - impatiently, it is worth noting - he wraps a hand around his aching cock, already leaking, and slowly strokes himself. It’s a short lived sensation of relief though because the second that Ilya, fully naked and cock standing at full length against his stomach, notices he’s ripping Shane’s own hand away.
“No no,” he says, using one of his hands to hold both of Shane’s above his head, keeping them secure and allowing no room for any movement. “You do not get to touch yourself Hollander, you do not get to make yourself come when I have been waiting for years,”
“Years?” Shane all but squeaks, arms still held above him.
“Yes,” Ilya shrugs with a feigned nonchalance. “Years, Hollander. Now be a good boy and do as I say, yes?”
Shane nods, which pleases Ilya.
“If you are uncomfortable you tell me,” Ilya states, to which Shane just nods slightly impatiently. “Words, Hollander. I need to hear you say it,”
Shane huffs brattily, adds an eye roll in there just to get his point across. “I won’t be uncomfortable with anything but if I am, I’ll tell you,”
“Good,” Ilya answers back, leaving a trail of wet kisses from Shane’s lips down to his neck, then to his jawline and neck. It’s an action that has Shane throwing his head back hard against the softness of his pillows.
“Please fuck me now,” Shane is begging now and Ilya, whos hands are still holding Shane’s in place with zero intentions of letting go, knows that he has the man exactly where he wants him.
“Because you are such a good boy,” Ilya teases, the term of endearment going straight to Shane’s cock, “and because you asked so nicely, okay, I will fuck you now,”
“Fucking finally,” Shane huffs underneath him. Ilya stops as he begins to line himself up against Shane’s entrance at the remark, raising an eyebrow that has Shane cowering and backtracking, apologising for the back-talking.
“You carry on like that and I will take my dick and leave,” Ilya lies. There is nowhere in the world he would rather be than here, ready to fuck Shane Hollander within an inch of his own life.
Shane grunts. “Come on, Ilya, fuck me,”
It’s all the encouragement that Ilya needs. He slowly pushes forward, releasing Shane’s hands and using his now free hand to guide his cock, allowing the tip to breach Shane’s entrance. He goes slowly, revelling in the way Shane moans breathily, eyes rolled to the back of his head and head so far back if it were any other situation Ilya would be concerned about his neck.
“Is this okay?” he asks, hoping that the burn isn’t too much for Shane, who is quick to confirm that he is more than okay.
Ilya halts his movement when he is halfway inside of Shane, just allowing a moment for Shane to adjust. He rests his forehead against Shane’s, looking into the swimming pools of brown that are looking right back at him as though he personally hung the stars and the moon.
He doesn’t know how to explain how the feeling of this exact moment has him feeling, so instead he takes a deep breath and says what he had been thinking; perhaps for a long time right now.
“I love you,”
Shane’s breath falters momentarily and Ilya panics. Maybe telling your roommate that you love them mid-fuck wasn’t the way to go. He lets the silence linger for maybe a second more before he makes to pull out of Shane, worried that he may have gotten the completely wrong idea here when Shane, who can clearly see the way Ilya panics, grips him by the jaw with both hands.
“You fucking asshole,” he says hooking his legs around Ilya’s waist, forcing him back inside him but deeper than before, “I love you too,”
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya cries out, and lowers himself and his lips to press against Shane’s. This kiss is less filth and more finally a revelation of years of pent up frustration and love. It is Shane who eventually breaks the kiss, with Ilya still inside him, unmoving.
“Now fuck me like you love me, Rozanov,” Shane demands - and Ilya finally breaks.
His pace changes from slow and careful to reckless abandon. Shane is scrambling with his hands, wanting to touch Ilya everywhere as he pounds into him relentlessly. It’s the best pain he has ever felt.
“You take me so well, Shane,” Ilya rewards him, “Like you were made for me,”
“Oh fuck, Ilya,” Shane cries, his legs spread wide and in the air, stretched out completely so that Ilya can fuck him exactly how he wants. He can’t resist when he pulls Ilya into a searing kiss, hoping that it conveys everything he has ever wanted to express to him. Ilya kisses back, his rhythm not faltering at all in the meantime and Shane thinks that they are finally on the same page.
Sure, they would still need to have a conversation at some point. But the confession of love was enough for him for the time being, especially when Ilya was on top of him and fucking into him recklessly.
“Ride me,” Ilya says, more of a demand than a question or polite request.
Shane doesn’t need to be asked twice - in seconds he is gently pushing Ilya from where he has pressed closer against his body until Ilya pulls out of him. Shane instantly misses the warmth inside of him and makes quick work of pushing Ilya onto his back to rest against the headboard of the bed.
He takes a moment to admire the way Ilya looks. His face is red, beads of sweat are forming at his forehead and the beautiful curls that had driven Shane crazy for years were now damp. Shane thinks that he has never looked more attractive or beautiful than he does at this moment.
Shane settles on top of him with a hand reaching back to guide himself down to sink on Ilya’s length, ignoring the slight sting he feels as he lowers himself until he is fully seated. “Fuck,” he utters out to neither of them in particular.
“I wish you could see yourself right now, Shane,” Ilya says as his hands find purchase on Shane’s hips, applying a slight pressure that would leave temporary lasting marks. Ilya wanted to mark Shane everywhere, to make sure that everyone knew that he was no longer available, that he was Ilya’s and that Ilya was his - completely. Over the course of the evening so far, Ilya had noticed the way Shane’s body had reacted to his praising comments. From the dilation of Shane’s pupils to the way his cock jerked every time Ilya called him a good boy; Ilya knew that he would always find a way to tell Shane how perfect he was, especially if this was going to be the result going forward.
Shane allows himself a few moments of adjustment and the way the two of them just look at each other probably should be awkward, with no words being spoken between them and only the sounds of both of their heavy breathing circulating in Shane’s room but it isn’t. Shane is so comfortable, so content with being sat on Ilya Rozanov’s dick and taking it like a champ.
Then, he finally moves; slowly at first, testing the waters and watching intently as Ilya’s mouth forms an O shape as he uses his cock, placing his palms flat on Ilya’s pecs and squeezing (just because he can and he is just a guy, after all) to use them as leverage. Shane’s rhythm could use some work, Ilya thinks, but it is so completely Shane. His eyes are squeezed shut, breathing coming out in short pants in time with the pace he has set for himself.
“Oh fuck, Ilya,” Shane whimpers, rising and falling back down on Ilya’s cock at a frantic speed. “I love you,”
“I love you too, Shane,” Ilya responds with no hesitation, “you are mine, moya lyubov,”
“I’m yours,” Shane repeats, his heart beating rapidly; he can’t tell if it’s from the endearing pet name that is part of the only Russian that he knows (don’t ask him how) or the speed in which he is riding Ilya.
When he decides it has been long enough, Ilya removes one of his hands from Shane’s waist and tries something. He holds Shane’s jaw, tracing his jawline with the pads of his fingers before presenting him his thumb, protruding the seam of Shane’s lips. He doesn’t say anything to command Shane, doesn’t pressure him into anything he might not want to do but Shane seems eager. He effortlessly takes all of Ilya’s thumb into his mouth, hollows out his cheeks and sucks. Hard.
“You are so, what is the English word,” Ilya says at a loss for words. “Obedient, yes. That’s it,”
The praise goes straight to Shane’s cock, hard against his stomach and bobbing every time he thrusts and he moans around Ilya’s thumb. Ilya thinks that he’ll never see a better sight in his life. His roommate and friend of more than five years nearly, naked and eyes closed, his freckled cheeks a crimson red colour, riding his cock as though it is the easiest thing he had ever done.
It is all these thoughts at once that completely overwhelm him and encourage him to flip them until Shane is beneath him once more, impressively not needing to pull out of him. Ilya fucks into him until Shane is practically screaming, moans so loud that Ilya won’t be surprised if the entire building can hear them. It would be a shame if he could bring himself to care, he wants the world to know that he is the person who gets to make Shane Hollander lose control like this.
“I’m gonna come, Ilya,” Shane wails, although it doesn’t stop Ilya from continuing his brutal pace; not that Shane would want that anyway.
Ilya moans, hums in agreement because he too doesn’t see himself lasting much longer. This time, when Shane reaches for his cock that is hard between both of their bodies, Ilya doesn’t stop him. Instead, he watches with mouth wide open as Shane jerks himself at lightning speed, bringing himself ever closer to the edge.
A few more final thrusts and Shane is coming, white ropes falling over his hands, decorating his chest. The sight in front of him is better than any porn that he’d ever watched and certainly better than anyone else he had ever fucked.
“Oh, god, Hollander,” Ilya manages to breathe out, his thrusts becoming much slower as he chases his own orgasm. Shane lies beneath him, breathing heavily after reaching his own orgasm. The noise Ilya makes as his own orgasm finally catches up to him is one Shane burns in his brain. Sure, he had heard Ilya jerk off, fuck other people and reach his own orgasms many times before but none of them had ever been as intense sounding as this. It’s with this thought that Shane holds him in place and when Ilya comes, he can feel it inside him, even through the latex of the condom.
When Ilya is done, he pulls out of Shane slowly, gentle as to not to hurt him.
“Wow,” Ilya remarks after discarding the condom somewhere that Shane doesn’t want to think about having to find later on. Shane’s head seeks out Ilya’s chest and rests there, allowing him to listen to the now steadier beat of Ilya’s heart. “You have killed me, Hollander,”
“That was the best sex I have ever had,” Shane tells him with sheer honesty.
“Me too,” Ilya reciprocates, Shane grins up at him, leaving gentle kisses wherever he can on Ilya’s warm chest.
It had taken some convincing on Shane’s part, but he managed to convince Ilya that they would need to shower quickly, with a promise to return straight to bed. Once they’re both out and dried, they’re crawling back under the covers, which Shane now has to clean tomorrow. Not that he’s mad about the reason why, he just hated rotating his sheets. It was easily his least favourite chore.
“So,” Ilya begins and Shane thinks this might be the start of an awkward conversation that he knew they had to have. He just wasn’t sure he was ready.
“So,” he echoes.
“I was talking to Svetlana, and she pointed something out that made me realise that maybe I have wanted you for a long time,” Ilya tells him. Oh?
“So tell me,” Shane rises up and uses his hands to rest on Ilya’s chest, looking up at him with eager eyes.
“Well, I think it started way before but I only realised it with Hayley,” Ilya begins to which Shane hums, a little unimpressed that he’s mentioning the girl who had originally caused Shane’s crash out. Maybe he should send her a fruit basket or something to say thank you for setting the wheels in motion. “But Sveta told me that all the people I would hook up with had some sort of resemblance to you,”
“You’re telling me, after we fucked for the first time and told each other we love each other that you fucked women because they looked like me?” Shane asks in disbelief.
“Not exactly, or not.. Intentionally is the word, I think,” Ilya answers, “I just think I looked for you in everyone because I wasn’t sure if I would ever get to have you in the way I wanted to,”
“Ilya, that is ridiculous,” Shane laughs, flicking one of Ilya’s nipples playfully. “But also very sweet,”
“And when did you realise, hm?” Ilya questions him, “Was it the first day that we met? You saw a tall, handsome, Russian man and wanted to.. What are the kids saying these days? Climb me like a tree?”
“You could say that,” Shane answers with pure honesty. There was certainly no point concealing anything now. “And yet, you still brought people here, to our home and fucked them,”
“Do not tell me you didn’t enjoy listening to me,” Ilya says teasingly, intentionally meaning it as a joke but realising he is right when Shane lowers his head to avoid making eye contact.
Ilya taps his head softly, forcing him to look up at him again. “You know, I thought about you every time, whether you were listening, jerking off. Sometimes I even did it to make you jealous. But you never showed signs of jealousy, not until Hayley,”
“You never brought the same person home twice,” Shane replies. “I thought it might be serious, Ilya Rozanov locked down kind of shit,”
“Hayley had freckles, they made me think of you. I think that is why I kept going back, she is nice girl though,” Ilya informs him.
“So, you’re not locked down?” Shane asks slowly, slightly dreading the answer.
“No, I am not,” he says back calmly, “but I would like to be,”
“Well there is someone,” Ilya trails off teasingly, a smirk appearing on his face as he looks down at Shane, carding his fingers through his hair. “He is funny, scary when he is angry and has freckles that I am nuts about,”
“He sounds like a nice guy,” Shane hums, eyes struggling to stay open as much as he wants to stay awake and talk to Ilya, to bask in his warmth.
“He is perfect,” Ilya replies - it is the last thing Shane can hear before his eyes close to the sensation of Ilya’s hands in his hair and slowly caressing the strands.
It is the most peaceful night’s sleep that Shane gets in a long time.
Shane tries not to panic when he wakes up and Ilya is no longer occupying the right side of his bed. He hears him out in the living room, gets out of bed and sifts through his wardrobe for something he can quickly throw on. He opts for a pair of grey sweatpants and nothing else.
When he emerges from the bedroom, Ilya looks just as well-rested and dishevelled as Shane himself does. He’s reading something from a piece of paper, whatever it is has him giggling to himself.
Shane walks over to him and wastes no time in wrapping his arms around his waist, resting his head against the warmth of Ilya’s bare back, placing a gentle kiss to a few of the moles that sit there.
“What are you laughing at?” Shane asks, lifting his head to hook his chin over the broadness of Ilya’s shoulder.
“Look at this, it came through the door this morning,” Ilya says, another laugh escaping his lips as he hands the paper that looks like it has been ripped out of a notebook across to Shane.
We are so happy that you two got your shit together finally, but please in future keep the noise to a minimum. We don’t want to know that Shane is a good boy. ;)
- Troy & Harris, your very tired, sleep deprived neighbours.