Ilya had over nine hours on the flight to Moscow to think. He hated long flights like this, hated being so cooped up. Even in the luxury first class seat, his large frame was awkward and uncomfortable in a cramped space for so many hours. He tried listening to music and watching the in-flight movies, but his mind kept wandering back to Shane.
He knew he was fucking up. Every step of the way, he was fucking up.
He was supposed to be happy, he should be on top of the world right now. He'd just had a record-breaking season and capped it off with winning the Calder Trophy. His agent had already called him about new endorsement deals that would make him even more money, and he was sure others would be on the way.
But instead of celebrating, he was miserable. Heading back home to a family that didn't give a single fuck about him or his career — except for the money. And leaving behind the few people who actually cared about him.
Sergei Vetrov had helped him connect with an agent to find and furnish a condo that would be ready for him in Moscow, so at least he didn't have to sleep under his father's roof ever again. But Ilya would still have to see him and his brother, fulfill his family obligations without complaining, and keep his mouth shut. Ilya didn't know if he could do it.
Because now he knew it could be better. For the first time since his mom died, Ilya had felt seen, listened to, cared for. And it wasn't only Shane. The whole team had reached out to congratulate him, even Hayden. Ilya was part of something on the Centaurs, a team that seemed to genuinely care about each other and wanted each other to succeed. It was all new to him.
With Shane, it was that and so much more. And what did he do? He led Shane on, used him, and kept him at arms length. And Shane still offered himself freely to Ilya. He wasn't even bitter about losing rookie of the year. What kind of humble bullshit was that?
Ilya wanted to say yes to Shane's invitation to his family's cottage. Because of course the Hollanders had a house on a lake, of course Shane spent his summers in some idyllic locale with his loving parents. If it was anything like Christmas at their home in Ottawa, it would be like something out of a terrible movie with a heartfelt lesson that Ilya would hate. But the reality… he might not hate the reality.
But the cost of being with Shane still felt too high. Ilya could handle sadness. He could tolerate loneliness and emotional isolation and a nagging sense of emptiness. He'd been doing that for years. Being vulnerable and risking the look of horror on Shane's face — the look Ilya had seen from the few friends he opened up to about his mother after she died — that was too much of a risk. He'd rather Shane hate him for breaking his heart than pity him.
So before he left Las Vegas, after they'd fucked and showered, he told Shane that it was the last time. That they needed to be responsible. That they should just be friends.
The problem was that Ilya couldn't stay away. Even halfway across the world, Shane was always on his mind. He found himself wanting to tell Shane things, send him funny videos he saw, tell him about his summer training with other Russian NHL players back in town, or even just ask what he was doing at that moment. Whatever popped into his head, his next thought was always Shane. And despite the awkward way they left things, Shane always replied. And then he started texting Ilya too.
***
Ilya: scored 2 goals on kuznetsov today
Shane: nice. he's such a dick.
Ilya: he thinks you should have won the calder
Shane: oh. nvm, love that guy
Ilya: 😛
***
Shane: ur missing the best time of year in ottawa
Shane:
Ilya: is also best time in moscow
Ilya:
***
Shane: did you see that ricci was traded to vancouver?
Ilya: no!
Ilya: will miss taking his money in poker
Shane: looks like we're getting pete hofford and a couple draft picks
Ilya: did not think ricci was worth that
Shane: ur an ass
Ilya: yes
***
Ilya:
Ilya: mcdonald's better in russia
Shane: since its garbage everywhere, sure
Ilya: don't lie. you love mcdonald's.
Shane: 😛
***
Almost a month after he'd returned to Moscow, Ilya was expected at some Ministry police commendation ceremony for his brother, and it would be the first time he would see Andrei and his father since returning to Moscow. He'd very easily been able to avoid them with the excuse of hockey training and not wanting to see them at all. But he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't show up, dressed properly and hair combed, to see his brother get this award he likely paid for with a bribe or illegal favor.
He was dreading it so much that he had been ignoring Shane's texts. He couldn't think about Shane right now. He couldn't be laughing about some cute thing he said while in the Ministry building, it just felt wrong.
"Look who's not too good for us anymore," Andrei said as he approached Ilya after the ceremony.
Ilya had stayed in the back, not even bothering to go sit next to his father, and now they were both walking towards him.
"Hello Father. Andrei. Congratulations. I'm sure you did a lot to deserve this," Ilya said with a fake smile.
"This is what you wear to your brother's ceremony?" His father asked, foregoing a real greeting. He was as tall as Ilya, with short-cropped grey hair and broad shoulders that were looking a little more slumped than Ilya remembered. But he still looked intimidating in his uniform and regalia. Andrei next to him looked like a pale imitation.
"Sorry, sir." Ilya hated to apologize — he looked great, he thought, in a button down and trousers — but it was an automatic response from childhood he'd yet to break.
"I told you, he's too good for us now, this must be beneath him," Andrei scowled over at Ilya. Well, he wasn't wrong.
"Not at all," Ilya lied. "Now you have two award-winning sons." He plastered that fake smile back on his face.
"What award did you win?" his father asked, and Ilya's blood boiled. Had his father really forgotten that Ilya just won rookie of the year, or did he really not care? Either way, fuck him.
"Nevermind," Ilya closed his eyes with a steadying breath before he talked back and said something to embarrass himself in public. "I will see you at the house for dinner."
Before he could leave, another man walked up to Ilya with a big smile on his face, and clapped both Ilya and Andrei on the shoulders. Ilya vaguely recognized him, but couldn't be bothered to remember his name or position.
"Grigori Rozanov," the man boomed, "You must be so proud, two accomplished sons!"
"Yes, thank you," Ilya's father straightened up and his face twisted into what might be considered a smile, if Ilya thought him capable of it. "Andrei's service is to be commended."
"And Ilya here," the other man pointed at him. "Rookie of the year in the NHL! Doing Russia proud."
"Of course, of course. If only he had stayed here and played in the KHL," his father gave him a sidelong glance and Ilya simply nodded, gritting his teeth.
"Largest contract for a Russian rookie in NHL history, did you know?" Andrei piped in, crass as always. Money was the only thing any of these people cared about.
The conversation continued and Ilya's mind wandered. As they left the building, he pulled out a cigarette and couldn't help but think about what Shane would have to say about that.
Coach would be pissed. You're going to die of lung cancer. It smells awful, go brush your teeth before you kiss me.
Ilya's heart clenched, and as if summoned by his thoughts, his phone buzzed with a notification.
Shane: haven't heard from you in a couple days. hope ur ok.
Fuck, Ilya missed him. But he didn't reply.
At dinner, Ilya mostly stayed quiet while his father and brother gossiped about Ministry people and his step-mother Polina silently served them. Somehow, though, the conversation came back around to hockey.
"Will be surprised if Ilya makes the Olympic team at this point," Andrei said, clearly goading him. Ilya took the bait.
"I will be captain of the team," Ilya scoffed. "Don't make me laugh."
"They will prefer a player who stayed in Russia. Someone loyal," his father chimed in.
"All the best Russian players are in the NHL," Ilya rolled his eyes. "And I am the best of all of them."
"You should be more humble, don't get cocky. You are young, you could get hurt tomorrow," his father continued.
"Either way, Russia will definitely beat Canada next Olympics, with their little faggy star Hollander as captain," Andrei laughed.
"What did you say?" Ilya clenched his fist around his fork and snapped his head to his brother.
"Oh right, he's your little friend, isn't he?" Andrei laughed and took a swig from the glass of wine in front of him, face getting red with intoxication.
"He's my teammate," Ilya said through gritted teeth. "And he's an incredible hockey player."
"I'm sure he's an incredible cocksucker too, doesn't mean I'd want anything to do with him," Andrei chuckled.
"Shut the fuck up, right now," Ilya seethed.
"Language, Ilya," was his father's only interjection.
"Why, is he your boyfriend? Got him on his knees in the locker rooms like you used to with Nikolai?"
Ilya shot out of his seat, heart pounding and fork still clenched in his hands.
"Whoa, he is, isn't he?" Andrei was laughing meanly still, and Ilya had to use all his restraint to not punch him right there.
"Ilya, sit down, behave yourself," his father droned, eyes down at his plate.
"No," Ilya slammed the fork down. "Fuck this. Fuck you," he spat at Andrei.
And without another word, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.Shane? Are you out here?"
His mom poked her head out the back door and called out over the deck into the back yard.
"Yeah, I'm over here." He leaned over the edge of the hammock and waved to her.
"Oh, good, I thought you had left but your car was still here." She started walking his way.
Shane was spending a couple of days at his parents' house while movers were getting all his stuff into his new apartment. It felt so weird sleeping in his old bedroom, and he wanted to tell his dad to turn it into the home office he'd always said he wanted. He just felt like such a kid being here. It was a feeling he was desperate to escape, but it kept chasing him. He was excited to get into his new apartment and finally live alone.
"Nope, I'm just reading," Shane lied, holding up the book he hadn't opened since he got out here.
It was a gorgeous summer morning, with a light breeze and a few clouds in the sky, and Shane wanted to soak up as much of it as he could. He spent so much time inside rinks and gyms and hotels and cars and planes, that in the summer he really tried to be outside as much as he could. Running in the park and along the Ottawa river, barbequing with his family, getting occasional drinks with Hayden and other friends in town on patio bars, and reading in his favorite spot — the hammock in his parents' back yard.
But the book hadn't held his attention at all, not when Ilya hadn't texted him back for two days. It was unusual; they'd gotten into a steady texting rhythm over the last two weeks, even with the time difference. Shane loved waking up to a string of texts in the morning and sending a bunch for Ilya to find when he woke up. Shane had expected Ilya to pull back again after he told Shane they should just be friends. But it seemed like he really did want to maintain their friendship, and Shane was enjoying the companionship even from afar — even when he still longed for more.
His mom approached and Shane sat up, hanging his legs over the edge of the hammock.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Nothing, really. Just checking in. Can I sit?" She gestured to one of the lawn chairs nearby and Shane nodded.
She turned the chair to face him. "How're you doing, sweetie?"
Her face was all soft concern and Shane wanted to roll his eyes. He wished she would just ask whatever she really wanted to ask.
"I'm fine, mom. Why? Do I not seem fine?"
"Well, no, you seem perfectly fine. Just maybe… a little down the last couple of days. I thought you were excited about getting your own place."
"I am," Shane answered honestly. "I liked living with Hayden, but yeah… definitely feel like it'll be better alone. He's great, but so messy. And with Jackie there all the time… yeah. It'll be good to have my own space."
"Well, good. So, is it something else? Are you still disappointed about not winning rookie of the year?"
"God mom, no, I'm fine, I swear." He leaned over to check his phone, thinking he felt a vibration, but he must have imagined it.
"And… is everything good with you and Ilya?" She pressed on tentatively, apparently determined to get an answer out of Shane. He bit his bottom lip and felt his cheeks get warm, wishing she'd leave it alone, but also wishing he could spill his guts and tell her everything.
"Yeah, uh, sure. Why wouldn't it be? He's… you know, he's in Russia, so…" Shane didn't really know what to say.
"I know, but I know you've been texting a lot, right? That's nice, that you're keeping in touch."
"Oh. Yeah. We have." How did she know that?
"And everything between you two is… good?" She pressed again.
"Mom, yes. Why? What are you trying to say?" Shane knew what she was trying to say. His mom was smart and perceptive, and she knew him really well. He was sure she at least had suspicions about his feelings for his teammate.
"Shane," she sighed. "If you don't want to tell me anything, that's fine. But it does seem like something is up, and you've been checking your phone a lot."
Shane took a few seconds to reply, but said, "I haven't heard from him for a few days. I guess I'm just… worried."
"Worried that something happened to him?"
"Maybe… or… I don't know, worried that he doesn't want to talk to me anymore."
"Oh Shane, I doubt that very much. You guys are so close, I'm sure he's just busy," she said reassuringly, placing a supportive hand on Shane's knee.
"Yeah, you're right."
"Is there… and you don't have to tell me or say anything, but I'm here to listen if you want to…" she started.
Shane's stomach clenched. He was so petrified of what she might ask next, but also, deep down, wanted her to ask it.
"Is there something going on between you boys? Beyond, you know… friendship?"
Shane ducked his head, sure he was red as a tomato now. And that probably gave away enough to let her know the answer.
"I don't really know, mom." He finally looked up at her with sad eyes, finding a comforting gaze looking back. "Sort of? I thought there was. I wanted there to be… but there just can't be."
"Oh honey," her hand was back on his knee. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help."
"Thanks mom. But you know… it's just impossible, with our careers. And I don't think he wants that, either. Not the way I do. He just wants to be my friend. And that's what I should want too."
"You can't help who you love, Shane," his mom offered with the wisdom of someone who knew. "I fell in love with a Centaurs fan — and I'm from Montreal."
Shane laughed, appreciating both the levity and grave seriousness with which she meant it.
"I don't know if love is the word…" Shane lied again. It was the word. "But I get what you mean."
"And there are plenty of wonderful men out there who would be lucky to have you," she said, in classic mom fashion.
"Yeah, well… I think I'll probably be on my own for a long time if I want to stay in the NHL," Shane dropped his gaze again. "But thank you. You're right."
"I won't lie and say it's going to be easy, but Shane — you deserve to find love, and the NHL doesn't have a say in that. Your dad and I will always support you, and I don't want you to feel like you can't live a full life, okay?"
Shane squeezed his eyes closed, trying to hold back the tears. He loved his mom for saying that, but how was he supposed to date men and be the face of the league? But he took a deep breath and said, "Thanks, mom. I dunno what I'll do, but… thank you."
"Would a mom hug help?" she asked, standing.
Shane huffed a laugh and struggled out of the hammock, letting his mom wrap her arms around him.
"I'm very proud of you Shane. And I'm sure you and Ilya will figure it out." She patted him on the shoulders and looked up at him with a soft smile. Shane smiled back and took a deep breath. He wished he could believe that they would figure it out, but he really didn't know.
As they separated, Shane's phone buzzed — he wasn't imagining it this time. He sucked in a breath and spun around to grab it, his mom chuckling as she walked back into the house.
Ilya: can we talk?
Shane: like on the phone?
Ilya: yes
Shane: yes. whenever.
Ilya: in 20 minutes?
Shane: sure. call me then.
Shane scrambled. He didn't know where to put himself. Should he stay here? Should he leave his parents house? Should he shower?
He can't smell you through the phone, idiot.
He decided to go to the park down the street, telling his parents he wanted to go for a run, but really just needed some space to breathe while he waited for this phone call. Shane had no idea why Ilya would be calling him. Their text exchanges had been fun, but never anything beyond surface level chatting. And after not hearing from Ilya for a couple days, Shane was surprised and a little concerned that something actually was wrong.
When the phone finally rang, Shane stared at Ilya's name on the screen for several seconds before answering.
"Hello?"
"Shane."
Ilya sounded relieved, and Shane felt that relief too — down to his bones.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Um… I don't think we've ever talked on the phone before." Shane chuckled awkwardly.
"No. You are right. First time."
What the hell is this about? Is what Shane wanted to ask.
"So… what's up?"
"Can I still come to your cottage?"
Oh my god. Oh my god.
Shane stopped walking along the path, shocked into stillness.
"Yes! Of course! Yes, please come!"
"Yes?" Ilya sounded so tentative, more nervous than Shane had ever heard him.
"Oh my god, Ilya, yes."
"Okay."
He started walking again, faster now, filled with excited energy.
"I'll be there with my parents in two weeks, and then two weeks after that, they'll leave and it'll just be me. So you can come whenever. They'd love to see you, but also… you know… might be nice to have time alone?"
Shane knew he shouldn't be hoping for what he was hoping for, or even suggesting it, after Ilya said they should just be friends. But he'd never expected this to happen, and he couldn't stop his mind from immediately wandering to what he so desperately dreamed of doing with Ilya, alone, in his favorite place in the world.
"I can be there by August 15, I think." Ilya said. Shane nearly did a happy dance.
"Oh, um, yeah, my parents will be gone by then."
"Good."
Good? Good?
Oh god, Shane wanted too much.
"If you fly into Ottawa, it's about a two-hour drive. I can, um, text you the address and directions and stuff."
"Good." Ilya repeated, and Shane could hear the smile in his voice.
"Great."
"Thank you, Shane."
***
Shane paced the living room of the cottage, knowing Ilya should be there any minute and unable to be calm about it at all. He had flown into Ottawa the night before and stopped at his apartment to pack and get his car, and now it was about 1pm, when he'd texted Shane he should be there. But what if there had been traffic? What if Ilya had gotten in an accident?
No. That was not productive thinking. Ilya was going to be here in a few minutes and then… then what?
He'd been playing the scenario over and over in his head the last three weeks, and he couldn't land on exactly what he wanted. He definitely wanted to kiss Ilya. If he was totally honest with himself, he wanted to drag Ilya to his bedroom and keep him in bed for at least 24 hours. But they were just friends now, and Shane needed to remember that.
He'd brought his PlayStation from his apartment along with a bunch of movies, he'd made sure the kayaks were clean and ready to use, he'd stocked up the kitchen with snacks and drinks and even some food to cook, and he'd made sure the extra bedroom had clean sheets on the bed. He'd also gone a little crazy and had some workout equipment delivered before he arrived to turn the basement into a gym, because he'd never spent this long here during the summer, and he couldn't stop his training routine for over a month.
So maybe today they'd just hang out and play video games, and tomorrow they could swim in the lake, workout, and maybe go on a hike. Shane really wanted to take Ilya into the small town about 20 minutes away to stop at the pizza and ice cream spots his family visited every summer.
There was something exciting about the thought of bringing Ilya to these places that Shane had never shared with anyone else. The thought of it made him shiver with anticipation, and he ran his hand through his hair for probably the hundredth time in the last few minutes. Anxious excitement pulsed through his veins and he could feel his heart slamming in his chest.
Just when he thought he might as well sit back down and try to relax, there was a knock on the door and Shane jumped, then froze. Oh shit. This was it. Ilya was here. Fuck.
Ilya is here.
Shane took a deep breath and opened the door. And there he was. Tall and broad, golden brown curls spilling out of a backwards cap, and a tentative smile on his face. He looked so fucking good, Shane nearly tackled him right in the doorway and straddled him. His sparkling hazel eyes were questioning and uncertain, and Shane wanted to wipe all that uncertainty away. He needed to stay calm and remember that they were just friends now.
"You're here," Shane said, and it came out in a raspy whisper.
"I am here," Ilya nodded, smile growing into something warm, uncertainty fading away.
"Um, well, you should come in," Shane stepped back from the door, letting Ilya pass him and walk in. He dropped his duffel bag next to the door, toeing off his shoes next to it, and walked into the living room, looking around.
"Wow," Ilya said with a smirk, taking in the wood-paneled walls and ceiling, rustic lake-themed decor, and plaid sofas around the fireplace. "Very Canada in here."
"We are in Ontario," Shane replied with affectionate irritation in his voice, walking across the room.
"Yes, we are." Ilya turned to him, smile now stretching broad across his face. Ilya was stunning all the time, but when he smiled like that, it felt like getting slammed hard into the boards — it knocked the breath out of Shane.
"So, I can give you the tour, it's not that big, or we can go out to see the lake, or — are you hungry? I got a ton of food, or we could go get pizza in town, or…"
Shane's voice trailed off as Ilya walked towards him, grin turning mischievous. Shane swallowed hard and he instinctively backed up when Ilya approached, which made Ilya chuckle and start crowding Shane until his back hit the wall next to the fireplace.
"Wha - what are you doing?" Shane stammered, looking up at Ilya.
"What do you think?"
"I mean… I thought… you just want to be friends?" Shane started to tremble as he spoke, because Ilya was brushing the hair off of his forehead with one hand, and grabbing his hip with the other.
"Friends…" Ilya hummed. "Yes. We are friends."
Shane huffed a laugh as Ilya's hand drifted from his hair to cup his face. "Um… seems like this isn't something friends should be doing."
Ilya looked contemplative for a moment, then said, "Hmmm. I do not care."
Before Shane could ask what the fuck he was talking about, Ilya was pressing his lips to Shane's and all other thoughts left his mind. Shane was transported back to their very first disastrous kiss in Ilya's kitchen, and he melted into Ilya exactly how he had then, letting Ilya's big arms swallow him up in an encompassing embrace. Ilya licked his tongue across Shane's lips, making him whimper embarrassingly as he opened for him, Ilya's tongue warm and deliciously familiar as it invaded his mouth.
They made out like that for what felt like hours but might just have been a minute or two — Shane pressed against the wall, Ilya holding him in place with a firm hand on his hip and another in his hair, alternating between long slow swipes of his tongue deep in Shane's mouth and light nibbles at his swollen lips. Shane was powerless to do anything but take it all and try to keep up, fighting against the way his knees weakened and tried to buckle under the overwhelming rush of need that surged through him.
When Ilya finally pulled back — only by an inch, resting his forehead against Shane's — he kept his eyes closed and breathed heavily, still grasping onto Shane like a lifeline.
"Ilya…" Shane whispered. "I…"
"I know," Ilya whispered in return. "Shane, I know."
"You know?"
"I fucked up. Fucked this up."
And he was kissing Shane again, softer and sweeter, pouring out his apology with delicate sips from Shane's mouth, moving across his jaw and kissing up to Shane's ear, making him shiver. Ilya finally released his vice-like grip on Shane's hip and started directing them towards the couch, still not taking his mouth from Shane's skin for more than a split second. Shane yelped lightly when his calves hit the couch and he fell back with a thump. Ilya grinned rakishly at him while sinking to his knees between Shane's legs, and all Shane could do was stare open-mouthed, lips still wet.
Ilya pushed two strong hands up Shane's legs, fingers spread and almost stretching the full width of Shane's thighs. He pushed up under the loose fabric of his basketball shorts, rubbing his thumbs across the soft skin of Shane's inner thighs, and Shane's chest heaved with the heady anticipation of Ilya in front of him, looking up at him with hungry eyes.
Shane bit his lower lip into his mouth to stop himself from asking Ilya all the questions rocketing through his mind, knowing they'd have plenty of time to talk. He desperately wanted to know what the hell Ilya was thinking, what had changed his mind, why he was here. Here in Ontario and on his knees in front of Shane and licking his lips. But Shane was painfully hard now, and he needed Ilya's hands or mouth on him like he needed to take his next breath — he'd die without it.
Like he was reading Shane's mind, Ilya pulled his hands out of Shane's shorts and moved to his waistband, tugging lightly and nodding his chin to get Shane to lift his hips. Shane did, not taking his eyes off Ilya as he dragged his shorts and boxer briefs down to his ankles and made room for Shane to kick them off. Shane's mind briefly wandered, wondering if they should move to his bedroom, because this was his parents' couch after all.... But then Ilya's tongue was hot and wet and sliding up his cock, and all other thoughts were wiped away.
"Oh fuck," Shane moaned when Ilya took the head of his cock into his mouth and trailed his tongue back and forth over his slit.
"Dripping for me already, Hollander," Ilya teased while he stroked a hand lightly over Shane's length.
"No I'm not," Shane huffed, not sure why he was embarrassed. Ilya obviously knew how Shane reacted to him after their months of hookups.
"You are," Ilya purred and swiped his thumb over the slit his tongue had just been teasing, drawing out a bead of precum and another whimper from Shane's lips.
"Fine," Shane breathed, "I am. Will you please do something about it now?"
Ilya chuckled, "Da. Okay, since you ask so nicely."
Shane rolled his eyes and mid-eyeroll sucked in a breath as Ilya finally took his cock fully in his mouth and started a slow rhythm. Ilya held eye contact with Shane, whose lips were slightly parted in awe of the sight before him. He had not been expecting this at all, and to have Ilya so gently and sweetly sucking his dick within 10 minutes of arriving was making his head spin. Or maybe it was the blowjob, which was so fucking good. Had Ilya always been this good at this? Oh fuck, he had, and Shane had just gone far too long without it.
Ilya's plush lips lingered on the head of Shane's cock, suckling lightly in a way that made Shane feel like every single nerve ending in his body was in that one spot and he fucking whined with the intensity of it, pleasure bordering on pain. Suddenly, he was on the verge of orgasm, and he didn't want it to end, but he didn't want Ilya to stop — he just let the feeling of ecstasy take over.
"I'm… shit, I'm coming," Shane breathed before his hips jerked and he was spilling into Ilya's mouth. Ilya moaned around him, taking him deep and swallowing every bit of Shane's release, and continuing to suckle lightly until Shane whined with overstimulation.
Pulling off Shane's cock with one last lap of his tongue, Ilya looked dazed and so happy, possibly more free and easy than Shane had ever seen him. Except maybe that day on the beach after the All-Star game.
"Get up here," Shane demanded, pulling on Ilya's arms until he climbed onto the couch and Shane lay back with Ilya on top of him, finally claiming his mouth again.
Ilya's tongue tasted like the salty bitterness of Shane's release, and it was strangely like a breath of fresh air, a visceral reminder of this intimacy that Shane had been missing and longing for. Ilya's heavy weight pressing him into the couch felt the same — so did the press of his hard dick against Shane's thigh. They kissed, unhurried and sweet. Shane sank his hands into Ilya's hair and knocked his hat to the ground, then snaked a hand down between them to squeeze Ilya through his joggers.
Ilya groaned into Shane's mouth and Shane smiled so big that they had to break the kiss.
"Miss me?" Shane asked with another squeeze of his hand.
"Yes," Ilya replied, his breath tickling Shane's neck and his hips pressing into Shane's hand, seeking more pressure. "Has been so long."
"Mmm," Shane hummed, taking Ilya's mouth again, then pulling away abruptly. "Wait, it's been so long? You haven't been with anyone since…?"
Ilya cut him off with a kiss and Shane laughed lightly into his mouth.
"I was trying to say something," Shane complained with a giggle.
"Say something later," Ilya practically growled. "If you do not touch my cock right now I will die."
Shane laughed fully now, and realized he was getting hard again already. He gently pushed Ilya up off of him and said, "Come with me. Let's go to my room." He pulled his shorts back on and grabbed Ilya's hand.
It took them a while to actually get to Shane's bedroom, because Ilya kept pulling him into kisses. They finally made it to the bed, still dressed, but wrapped around each other, Shane's hand down Ilya's shorts and wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. Ilya's hands were massaging Shane's ass — and Shane had a horrifying realization.
"Shit," he cursed.
"What? Something wrong?"
"I don't… this is so stupid. I didn't expect you to want to do this, so I… I don't have any lube."
Ilya laughed, forehead hitting Shane's shoulder as he shook. "You scared me. Is fine, I have in my bag."
"You brought lube to my parents' cottage?" Shane asked, incredulous.
"Of course. Am coming to stay with you for two weeks and you think I will not bring lube?" Ilya retorted, equally incredulous.
More laughter bubbled out of Shane, and he sighed, "Well, you better go get it."
Ilya grumbled into Shane's neck, squeezing him tightly, "Do not want to move."
"Do you want to fuck me?" Shane countered, and Ilya was on his feet in an instant, practically sprinting to the living room to get his bag.
Shane took the moment alone to grin up at the ceiling, still not quite believing that this was happening. He'd mentally prepared for two weeks of friend activities and being in pure agony with the need to kiss Ilya. But Ilya had just stormed in and trampled on that plan, and Shane was not fully processing it yet.
Ilya returned with a triumphant grin and a bottle of lube, which he tossed onto the bed. Shane propped himself up on his elbows to watch as Ilya pulled off his t-shirt, grateful for the opportunity to admire his broad chest, tapered waist, and the trail of hair leading into his shorts. But what was that on his chest?
"You got a tattoo?!" Shane jumped up to get a closer look at the ink on the skin of Ilya's left pec, just above his heart.
"Ah. Yes," Ilya said a little sheepishly, looking down at his chest.
Shane stepped closer and ran his fingers over the tattoo. It was a stylized portrait of a young woman, wearing what looked like traditional Russian clothing, with an eagle perched on her shoulder. Below her feet were words in the Russian alphabet. It was beautiful.
"What does it mean? Who is that?" Shane asked, almost reverently, continuing to trail his fingers over Ilya's chest, transfixed by this change to the skin he was so familiar with.
Ilya swallowed hard and Shane watched his Adam's apple bob.
"Shane," Ilya stilled Shane with a hand over his, exhaling slowly. "Will tell you later. Now, need you to touch my cock or I will explode."
Shane chuckled, "You're always so impatient."
"Has been over a month," Ilya whined. "And you are most impatient ever." He pulled Shane's hand up off his chest and punctuated his sentence with a kiss to Shane's palm, before walking ahead to drag Shane to the bed and shove him back on it.
Shane pushed himself back until his head was on the pillow and Ilya scrambled on top of him and descended onto Shane's mouth with hungry kisses. Shane was so overcome with giddiness and arousal, it took him a couple of minutes to process what Ilya had just said.
"Wait a minute," Shane gasped, as Ilya nuzzled into his neck and pressed wet kisses there.
"Hmmm?" Ilya didn't stop kissing and nuzzling.
"You said it's been over a month," Shane sighed into the feeling of Ilya's mouth on his earlobe.
"Yes. Since Vegas."
"Ilya," Shane pulled Ilya's face toward his so their noses almost touched. "Do you mean it's been a month since we've been together, or do you mean…" Shane had tried to ask this earlier and needed to know. "Do you mean you haven't been with anyone since Vegas?"
Ilya pulled his lips between his teeth and closed his eyes. Without opening them he said softly, "With anyone. Since Vegas."
"Fuck, Ilya," Shane whispered, shocked.
Ilya still didn't open his eyes, just nodded and nuzzled back into Shane's neck, but Shane needed more and he needed it now. He surged up and flipped them, landing with his legs straddling Ilya's hips. He leaned back to yank down the waistband of Ilya's sweats and pull out his dick, which was solid and thick in his hand. Despite having sent Ilya to grab the lube, Shane suddenly wanted nothing more than to make Ilya come with his hands and watch him unravel.
He stroked hard and fast, and Ilya grasped both of Shane's thighs tightly, breathing hard.
"Fuck, Shane, oh fuck," Ilya threw his head back and bucked his hips sharply into Shane's grip.
"I can't believe you fucking left me like that," Shane breathed, feeling a surge of anger. "Told me we had to be just friends. And then you didn't even fuck anyone in Russia? And you show up here, all over me? What the fuck, Ilya?"
Ilya didn't answer, he just writhed under Shane and breathed shallow, desperate breaths, looking like he was trying as hard as he could to not come immediately. Shane upped the ante, wanting to see Ilya come hard, not letting him savor it. He used his other hand to cradle Ilya's balls and tug them a little, the way Ilya had done to Shane multiple times that left him a whimpering mess. Ilya's head snapped up, eyes on Shane's hands working him over, lips swollen from kissing and biting and slightly parted.
"Gonna… come…" He breathed.
"Do it, come on," Shane urged on, voice raspy, nearly as gone as Ilya was.
Ilya's whole body contracted with the power of his orgasm, release splashing up to hit his chest and stomach, and Shane continued his relentless pace, wringing out every bit of pleasure, every last drop of release, until Ilya whimpered, "Stop, stop," with a hand stilling Shane's.
They stayed like that, Shane straddling Ilya, both panting heavily, and holding each other's gaze for a long moment.
A smile slowly crept over Shane's face as he looked down at Ilya, bare-chested and splattered in cum, lying in this bed that he'd been sleeping in every summer since he was 7 or 8, hit with the surrealness of it all.
"I'm sorry," Ilya finally said, stroking his arms up Shane's thighs. "It was… I was... I do not know… was scared." He paused, and Shane let the silence linger. "Still am scared," Ilya said very quietly, and all of Shane's simmering anger disappeared.
He pulled off his shirt, and wordlessly used it to wipe up the mess on Ilya's stomach and chest, then pull his waistband back up. Ilya watched him with a bemused look. Then he shifted off of Ilya and draped himself over his chest, leaning up to kiss him softly — once, then twice.
"I'm scared too," Shane whispered. "But I'm so glad you're here."
"Me too," Ilya smiled sweetly, wrapping his arms around Shane. And they drifted off into a sated sleep.
They awoke to a dark room, with the sun almost below the horizon, then spent the evening eating some frozen lasagna Shane's mom left behind, watching movies, and cuddling on the couch. When it came time to go to bed, Shane hesitated, not sure if he should be expecting Ilya to share his bed. But Ilya just carried his suitcase in behind Shane, plopped it in front of the dresser, and fished out his toothbrush. Shane suppressed a grin as they got ready for bed together and climbed under the covers, Ilya pulling Shane close and falling asleep almost immediately. Shane lay awake a while longer, not quite as tired as jet-lagged Ilya, and buzzing with the completely unexpected events of the day.
***
Shane woke early and let Ilya rest a little longer while he went for a run, and when he got back, Ilya had coffee brewing and eggs sizzling on the stove.
"Sorry for finding all the things in the kitchen, but thought it might be nice?" he asked, adorably tentative.
"Yeah, make yourself at home, really. This is awesome" Shane nodded, delighted at the sight of Ilya cooking in this familiar kitchen. "I'm starving."
So they ate breakfast together, then went for a bike ride to a hiking trail — Ilya made do with a slightly too-small bike, with Shane laughing as his knees hit his arms — before coming back to have lunch on the dock and then go swimming in the lake.
When the sun was low in the sky, Ilya showered while Shane made them sandwiches for dinner, which they ate on the deck overlooking the lake. It was so serene and beautiful, and Shane still couldn't quite believe that Ilya was here, just sitting next to him eating a turkey sandwich. He had a million questions about what Ilya was even doing here, but he was cautious after the last time he'd asked Ilya for details about his life.
"So," Shane started, setting his plate on the glass top table in front of him and turning to Ilya. "How was your flight from Moscow? You haven't really told me much about the trip."
Ilya huffed a laugh. "How was my flight? This is what you ask me?"
"I mean… yeah? Isn't that a normal question?"
"Sure," Ilya shrugged. "Was fine."
Ilya set his plate down too, and leaned back onto the couch, stretching his arm out on the back, which Shane took as an invitation. He shifted over until his shoulder was snuggled into the side of Ilya's chest, and Ilya's hand draped around over his shoulder. He heard Ilya sigh contentedly and Shane's heart flip-flopped with happiness. They sat there for a minute or two, sipping their beers and watching the sun begin to set, until Ilya took a breath and spoke.
"Are you not going to ask me why I am here? What happened in Russia?"
"Oh," Shane said with a confused tilt of his head. "I figured you wouldn't want to talk about it."
"Ah," Ilya nodded.
"So, yeah… you don't have to," Shane said, desperately wanting to know, but not wanting to ruin Ilya's visit when he'd just gotten here.
"We can," Ilya shrugged. As if this very thing hadn't been the source of so much mental anguish for Shane these last few months.
"Okay…" Shane replied, waiting, but Ilya said nothing, so Shane sighed and said, "Are you going to talk?"
"You did not ask me," Ilya shrugged.
"You're such a dick," Shane rolled his eyes and lightly elbowed Ilya in the stomach, which earned him a kiss on the temple.
"Ilya, why are you here? What happened in Russia?" Shaned asked over-dramatically.
"Great question," Ilya chuckled. "I do not really feel like talking about it."
"Fuck you, I'm going inside," Shane moved to get up, over this game.
"Noooo, stay, stay," Ilya yanked Shane back. "I will answer."
"You better," Shane grumbled.
Ilya sighed, and Shane waited. After a long beat, Ilya spoke.
"My family — I told you they are not great, yes? My father and brother, they are the same. Both cops, both very old fashioned, they care about money and looking good to the right people. Do not give a fuck about me."
"Ilya… I'm so sorry," Shane turned to look at him, but Ilya shook his head slightly, like he couldn't say this with Shane looking at him. "Sorry. Keep going."
"So I go to this ceremony for my brother, some stupid police award I am sure he bribed to get. My father is so proud, so happy for him. But he says nothing about rookie of the year. Says I should be playing for Russian league. And Andrei… fuck Andrei. Said even more horrible things, I cannot even repeat."
Another long beat passed, and Shane sunk further into Ilya, who was now running his fingers through Shane's hair in a soothing rhythm that Shane suspected was soothing Ilya as much as it was him.
"And so, I realize. Fuck them. I do not have to deal with them. I can be here, where it is good and boring and Canadian."
Shane laughed at that.
"Maybe boring is okay, sometimes, you know?" Ilya asked, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.
"First of all, it's not boring here, Ilya," Shane couldn't help but protest. "We have tons of stuff to do, and look how beautiful it is, and —"
Ilya cut Shane off with a quick kiss.
"And I also realize, I am stupid."
"I could have told you that."
"Shush. I realize I am stupid because you are here, and you are not horrible, and why the fuck am I not here with you?"
Shane turned his whole body to face Ilya, no longer bothering to hold back the giant smile that was squishing his cheeks up into crinkled eyes.
"Yeah, that was pretty stupid of you," Shane said through his smug smile.
"Yeah, well, do not gloat so much, I still can leave," Ilya huffed.
"You're not going to leave, though," Shane pushed himself up and swung a leg over Ilya's lap. "You want to be here with me. You know I…" Shane stopped himself mid-sentence and altered course before he said too much. "You know I want you here and you love it."
Shane knew he was being ridiculous, gloating about Ilya wanting to be with him, but he was so fucking happy to finally hear Ilya say it out loud that he didn't care.
"Maybe I do not like you that much any more," Ilya grumbled while Shane started to kiss his neck.
"Don't lie," Shane kissed the words into Ilya's mouth. "You love me."
Ilya's lips stopped moving and Shane's hands froze on Ilya's shoulders. The words had just slipped out. Shane had never, would never ever mean to say that. But now they hung in the air and Shane pulled back, eyes still closed, hoping Ilya would ignore it and just keep kissing him.
Instead, Shane felt a large hand come up to cradle his face. Shane leaned into it and opened his eyes with a grimace, expecting to see Ilya with a similar pained expression. But he was smiling that fucking crooked grin that melted Shane's heart.
"I do," Ilya nodded.
"What?" Shane's stomach lurched. There was no way.
"I said, I do." Ilya repeated.
"You do what?" Shane almost choked on the words sticking in his throat.
"Love you," Ilya moved his other hand to cradle the other side of Shane's face.
"No…" Shane shook his head.
"No?" Ilya pulled his head back with a confused look.
"I mean… not no!" Shane corrected. "I just… huh? Ilya. You said you love me." He couldn't have been hearing that right.
"Shane," Ilya smiled and nuzzled his nose against Shane's. "I love you. я тебя люблю."
"Fuck," Shane whispered. "I love you." And once he'd said it, he couldn't stop.
"I love you." A kiss to Ilya's cheek.
"I love you." The other cheek.
"I love you." Forehead.
"I love you." Lips on lips.
And then they were kissing frantically, sloppy and hard, teeth and tongues and hands everywhere. Ilya moved his hands from tenderly holding Shane's face to roughly squeezing his ass and urging him into a steady grind into Ilya's lap, eliciting a long low moan out of both of their mouths. They were both hard now, cocks rubbing roughly between layers of fabric while they tangled their tongues together.
Shane pulled his mouth away to go back to kissing Ilya's neck, sucking and nipping and licking his pulse point, suddenly wanting to leave a mark there. No one would see them for weeks, and Shane wanted the reminder of this moment every time he looked at Ilya.
"Oh god, Shane, yes," Ilya moaned and bucked his hips. "I want to fuck you like this, right here."
"Here?" Shane asked, pulling off of Ilya's neck.
"Da, here. I want you to ride me while I watch the sunset," Ilya laughed lightly.
"You're so weird," Shane shook his head.
"You love me," Ilya reminded him with a wink, and Shane beamed back at him, feeling like his face might break from smiling so wide.
"I do," Shane agreed giddily. "Fine, I guess… I guess no one is around. Hold on."
Shane scrambled up off the couch to grab the lube and condom that had gone unused in the bedroom the other day. When he returned, Ilya was naked, in the same spot on the couch, but now sitting on a towel he must have found in the cupboard on the deck.
"Whoa," Shane stopped in his tracks in the frame of the sliding door, transfixed by the sight before him — Ilya sitting legs splayed, lazily stroking his hard cock, in the golden light of dusk.
"Come here," Ilya said in a low grumble that made Shane shiver.
Shane obeyed immediately, shedding his clothes along the way, not even caring where they landed. He'd get them later, now he needed to be touching as much of Ilya's skin as possible. He straddled Ilya's widespread thighs and inched forward until their cocks brushed together and they both sucked in their breath. Shane loved that this position made him taller than Ilya, put him in control, and he ducked his head down to meet Ilya's mouth in a tender, slow kiss, then another, and another.
"You are so beautiful," Ilya murmured into Shane's ear as he raked his hands down Shane's back and gripped his ass. Shane gasped as Ilya groped and squeezed and trailed a finger toward Shane's hole, then circled it gently.
"You're," Shane said with a short intake of air at the feeling of Ilya's finger. "Ilya you're… you're stunning."
Shane pressed the bottle of lube into Ilya's chest, a wordless request. Ilya took the hint and poured some onto his fingers, bringing them back to caress Shane's opening again.
"Fuck, oh god, Ilya that's so good," Shane said this while he ran his hands over Ilya's broad chest, stopping to tease and tweak his nipples the way Shane knew drove him crazy. If Shane wasn't incoherent with need from the feeling of Ilya's finger at his hole, he might have done more, but Ilya slowly pressed in a finger and Shane started losing control, opting instead to hold onto Ilya's shoulders for stability.
They had never fucked sitting up like this, and Shane already knew he wanted it again. He loved the feeling of Ilya's steady weight under him and his arms wrapped around him so tight that they were chest to chest. And as Ilya opened him, Shane was able to bear down on his fingers, seeking the angle he desperately wanted.
"Slow down," Ilya shushed into Shane's mouth. "Let me do this for you."
"Fuck, Ilya, I need more," Shane whined.
Ilya chuckled low, "So needy for me, Shane." He slid in a third finger.
"Yes," Shane whimpered, dropping his forehead to Ilya's shoulder in embarrassment, but unable to deny how needy he was.
"Tell me what you need." Ilya twisted his fingers.
"I need… unf… I need your cock. Inside me. Now."
"So impatient."
"Fuck you, I'm going to take back everything I said before," Shane groaned, not meaning it, but needing Ilya to fuck him already.
"No you won't. You love me," Ilya said, slowly removing his fingers and planting a soft kiss on Shane's neck. "Put the condom on me, and I will give you what you need."
He nipped at Shane's shoulder a few times before leaning back so Shane could sheath him and dribble some lube down his length. Shane propped himself up on his knees, and Ilya lined himself up with Shane's opening.
"Oh, fuck, sweetheart," Ilya threw his head back as Shane sank slowly — so slowly — down his cock, taking all of him until Shane was fully seated on his lap.
Shane was trembling with the feeling of being so full and hearing that pet name again, the one Ilya used the first time he ever fucked Shane — but never again, until now. Ilya loved Shane, and he was holding him, arms wrapped around his back, enveloping him the way Shane craved so much when Ilya was gone, and Shane loved him.
He started to drag himself up Ilya's cock, then slide back down, setting a torturously slow pace that made every inch of Ilya feel like it was tearing Shane apart with pleasure. But Ilya's hands, now holding his hips as Shane rode him, held him together. For several minutes, they continued this way, just breathing together as Shane steadily worked himself on Ilya's cock, Ilya's eyes never leaving the place where he disappeared into Shane, and Shane's eyes locked on Ilya's lush parted lips.
When Shane started picking up the pace, Ilya pulled Shane's chest to his, engulfing him again and trapping Shane's cock between them, making Shane cry out.
"Yes, so good, yes Ilya," Shane babbled into Ilya's neck between kisses and nibbles. "I love you."
At that, Ilya growled and squeezed him tighter, stilling Shane and fucking up into him with powerful thrusts. Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya's neck and surrendered to his control. Ilya had been letting Shane set the pace since he arrived, and Shane was grateful to let it go now and give Ilya the reins. Shane was tired of being in control, tired of containing his feelings and tempering his responses to Ilya and holding back. Now that Ilya was opening up to him, he wanted to let go of everything and just feel.
Shane moaned and whimpered as Ilya pounded up into him, maybe harder than he ever had, and Shane loved it, loved to feel like he was giving Ilya exactly what he needed in that moment. Letting Ilya take whatever he needed from Shane.
Ilya's grunts turned into murmurs in Russian, which made Shane's mind go hazy with lust. The words he repeated over and over again between kisses sounded familiar. Shane was sure he'd heard Ilya say them when fucking him before — maybe he was calling Shane a slut in Russian, god knew Shane felt like one now, being used like this.
Another few thrusts and Shane was hurtling towards orgasm. His cock was leaking precum and sliding across Ilya's hard stomach with every snap of his hips, giving Shane just enough sweet friction to bring him right to the edge.
"Ilya, I'm so close, please," he pleaded. He didn't even know what he was asking for, he just needed more. Ilya slammed up into him impossibly harder — it was like Ilya was letting go of something. This should have been too much for Shane, but it was somehow perfect — the intensity of Ilya fucking him matching the intensity of his feelings.
"Yes, sweetheart, come for me, let me feel you," Ilya gritted out as he pounded into him. "I love you. I love you."
That's what did it. Shane lost control and bucked his hips to meet Ilya's thighs before coming with a shudder and a shout, which he dampened by biting into Ilya's shoulder. Not hard, but enough to elicit a growl from Ilya's chest as his movements became erratic. He held Shane down and pulsed into him for a long, electric moment before collapsing back into the couch and, still holding Shane to him, kissing every part of Shane he could reach.
They stayed like that for several minutes, just breathing together and letting the sounds of the woods surrounding them fill the silence. Eventually, Shane felt disgustingly sticky from the cum sandwiched between them, and forced Ilya up and into the shower, where they lazily kissed under the spray. Once clean and dry, they moved to the couch, where Shane put on a movie.
They didn't talk much, and Shane was okay with that. After their confessions earlier, it was the comfortable kind of quiet shared between two people who had bared a bit of their souls and could just exist together peacefully. When Ilya climbed into bed with Shane, he wore a shy smile, and despite everything they'd said and done that day, Shane felt butterflies in his stomach.
"Can I ask you one more thing?" Shane whispered into Ilya's chest when they were snuggled together in the dark.
"Yes," Ilya pressed a kiss to the top of Shane's head.
"What were you saying earlier? In Russian. When we were… you know."
"When we were fucking?" Ilya asked with a huffed laugh.
"Yeah, then," Shane said shyly, glad they were in the dark. "It sounds like something you've said before… I think you said it back in Vegas?"
Ilya didn't answer for what felt like an eternity, but was probably less than a minute. Eventually, he said in soft Russian, "я тебя люблю."
"Say it again?" Shane prompted.
Ilya spoke more slowly this time, enunciating each word. "я тебя люблю."
"Ya… tebya...lyublyu," Shane repeated in a terrible Russian accent, and flinched when Ilya grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the mouth.
"Wow," Shane pulled back, dazed. "What did I just say?"
"I love you. 'я тебя люблю' means 'I love you.'"
Shane wished the lights were on now, because he needed to see Ilya's face.
"Ilya… you said that to me in Vegas?"
"Yes," Ilya whispered.
"What the fuck?!" Shane shoved him, heart fluttering with affection, but also furious. "You told me you love me right before telling me we had to just be friends?"
"I said already I was stupid," Ilya pointed out wryly.
"Yeah, you fucking are," Shane grumbled. "That's so annoying, I've been holding it in for months, and you just did like it was nothing."
He was annoyed, but he was also burrowing into Ilya's chest with an uncontrollable need to be closer to him.
"For months?" Ilya asked into Shane's hair. Shane could hear the smile in his voice.
"Shut up," Shane muttered.
"No," Ilya purred. "Want to say it again."
"What?"
"I love you."
Shane sighed sleepily and said, slowly and probably butchering it, "Ya… tebya...lyublyu."
***
Shane woke up the next morning to Ilya between his legs, toying with the waistband of his boxers. Realizing he was already hard, Shane blushed but didn't stop Ilya from taking him in his mouth, and Ilya didn't stop Shane from immediately returning the favor. They moved from the bed to the kitchen for breakfast, then the gym to workout, and then outside for a run. After lunch, they took out the kayaks and followed that with a swim and landed on the dock, where they made out lazily in the sunshine.
This became their routine: morning sex, working out, enjoying the lake and the hiking trails, eating meals together, and touching each other constantly. They riled each other up throughout the day, and by the time the evening rolled around their resolve finally broke and they took each other apart frantically or slow and sweet, or maybe a little of both.
On the afternoon of the fourth or fifth day after Ilya arrived, they had decided to race each other in the kayaks, which inevitably ended with Ilya reaching a long arm out to tip Shane over, and then jumping in the lake after him. It turned into a race to the dock, which ended in a sort of wrestling match that left them both breathless.
Now, Ilya lay on his back, catching his breath and blocking the sun with an arm flung over his face. Shane took the opportunity to stare at the expanse of golden skin that shone in the late-afternoon glow. He raked his gaze over Ilya's forearm stretched over his eyes, then down his flexed bicep, and down further to his chest, where Shane's eyes lingered on the tattoo there. Realizing he'd never brought it up again, and needing to touch Ilya again (it had been a few minutes, and Shane didn't want to waste a second of this time alone), Shane sat up and reached out a hand to brush over the still-damp skin of Ilya's pec.
Swatting at Shane's hand, Ilya complained, "Ah! Tickles. Stop this."
Shane laughed lightly in response and pulled his hand away.
"Tell me about your tattoo, and I'll stop tickling you." He leaned over Ilya, blocking the sun, and Ilya lowered his arm to look back up at Shane. He looked a little sad, and Shane wondered if that was the wrong thing to say. As if sensing Shane's anxiety, Ilya ran a comforting hand down the arm Shane was propping himself up on.
"Will tell you after we get a beer," Ilya smiled, sadness still lingering in his eyes.
"Okay," Shane nodded and climbed to his feet, sticking out a hand to pull Ilya up too.
Handing Ilya a beer on the deck, Shane took the chair next to him and asked again. "So, tell me about the tattoo."
Ilya sighed, looking down at his chest.
"Is Mother Russia," Ilya explained. "Is like… a symbol of Russia. Our people and our country. And on her shoulder, is an eagle, from the Russian… what is the word? I do not know. Another symbol." He shrugged. "Is like, to represent what I love about Russia. My father, my brother, I do not want to honor them. Maybe I do not like to be there as much, but Russia is still… me."
Shane nodded, thinking he understood, or at least trying to. It was hard for him to conceptualize not feeling so proud of his family and where he came from, but he could absolutely understand wanting a symbol of what he did like about his home on his body.
"And what do the words say?" Shane asked, gesturing to the Cyrillic letters below the drawing of the beautiful young woman with an eagle on her shoulder.
"Ah," Ilya took a long pull from his bottle of beer and put it on the end table. Tracing the letters with his finger he said, "It says 'Irina.'" He swallowed hard. "Irina is my mother. Was my mother."
"Oh," Shane whispered. Watching as Ilya's chest rose and fell, he gazed at the letters, which were right over Ilya's heart. "Is that her?"
Shane's eyes flitted to Ilya's, and they were looking a bit glassy and red. Shane wanted to take Ilya into his arms right there and hold him, but he waited, letting Ilya speak.
"Yes," he cleared his throat, still looking down at the tattoo. "I do not have many pictures of her, but a few. I showed the tattoo artist. So… is my country, and is my mother."
Ilya finally made eye contact with Shane and smiled a timid, sad smile, and it was like Shane was seeing a flash of the young boy Ilya used to be. He didn't want to make Ilya uncomfortable, but his vulnerable expression gave him hope that Ilya really did want to share.
"How did she die?" Shane asked with a hesitant whisper.
"An accident," he said sardonically.
"An accident?" Shane asked. His hand was on Ilya's arm now…
"Yes," Ilya said, with a tight, humorless smile. "She accidentally swallowed a whole bottle of pills. Oops."
Shane froze, then squeezed Ilya's arm tightly.
"Ilya," Shane said softly. "I'm so sorry." Ilya pursed his lips and shook his head… he looked like he was fighting back tears, and Shane's heart was shattering for Ilya.
"How old were you?" Shane asked.
"Twelve." Ilya hesitated, worrying his lip for a long time before he said in a creaky voice, "I found her."
His voice broke on the last word, and Shane was on his feet, hauling Ilya up with him. Shane engulfed him in his arms and held him tight, letting Ilya bury his face on his shoulder. He held him there, stroking his back and offering whatever comfort he could.
In Shane's eyes, Ilya was so strong, so effortlessly himself in a way that could intimidate as much as it could make everyone around him more confident. He was funny and charming and when he smiled it was like the sun — and Shane couldn't begin to fathom the depth of grief that he had to push through to become this beacon in Shane's life. Shane wished he could protect him from this awful thing that had happened so many years ago, but now all he could do was hold him.
"I don't want you to think she was weak," Ilya said. "She wasn't. She was...amazing. But she was so sad. And my father was so hard on her and..."
"You're so strong," Shane murmured in his ear. He kissed his temple. "You're incredible. I love you so fucking much."
Ilya pulled his head up and looked down at Shane, tears welling in his eyes. He blinked them away before pulling Shane into a long, languid kiss. It felt like the last of the tension that had been lingering around Ilya since he arrived was leaving him through this kiss, and Shane was more than happy to take it and release it if he could.
"I love you, Shane," Ilya choked out after he pulled back from the kiss. "Thank you."
"Let's go inside, yeah?"
Ilya nodded, and followed Shane to the couch. He collapsed onto Shane, who grunted and laughed. They tangled themselves together, Shane carding his hand through Ilya's hair and holding him in the peaceful quiet of the afternoon.
Shane felt surprisingly unburdened, like Ilya sharing the most vulnerable part of himself had actually lifted a weight from Shane's shoulders. It didn't feel heavy — on the contrary. Shane felt lighter than he had for months, knowing now, truly, that Ilya trusted him.