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Shane jolted at the sound of knuckles rapping on the front door. He shifted around under the sheets and pretended that he was just rolling over to check his phone— of course Ilya noticed anyway.
“Feel on edge, Hollander?”
“As if, Rozanov.”
Ilya let out an amused hum. “Be right back.” Shane sat up, brushing out the creases in the bedsheets and leaning back on the headboard in a way that was hopefully more casual than it felt.
The temperature inside was warm enough that the huge window looking out over the city had fogged up slightly, turning the sharp pinpricks of streetlights and businesses from the outside world into soft glowing rings.
Ilya had left the curtains open and let the window fill the room with gentle orange light. It made everything feel even warmer, softening the edges of Shane’s vision. It almost made Ilya’s skin glow. Shane did his best to not stare too hard. Even if Ilya wouldn’t see.
Ilya grinned at Shane when he came back from the entryway. “American capitalism is beautiful, Shane! Look at what I got, and in underwear.”
Shane snorted. Of course Ilya answered the door in his boxers. “Did you tip the delivery guy?”
“Delivery girl, and of course I tipped the delivery girl. I am not a Karen.”
Shane stifled a laugh. “Good.” He glanced down at the brown paper bag in Ilya’s hands. “So did you really…”
“No, Shane, I got burgers.” Shane raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I got the ones you asked for. No smoking for your poor lungs.”
“My lungs are fine.” Ilya dumped the contents of the paper bag out on the bed. “Smoking is bad for you, Ilya.”
“Not if you’re Russian,” Ilya mused, ignoring the grievance entirely.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Yes it does.”
“No it— “ Shane was interrupted when Ilya tossed two water bottles at him. He managed to catch one, the other smacking into his chest and falling into his lap. “Ouch?”
“Drink.”
Shane unscrewed the cap and took a sip. “Why?”
“It will make you feel better later,” Ilya replied unhelpfully. He crumpled up the bag and threw it at the tiny trash can. It missed and rolled under the dresser. “Ah, well.”
“Ilya. You’re making a mess.” The complaint just made Ilya smile smugly and flop sideways onto the bed, making the tiny bag of gummies bounce in Shane’s direction. Shane took the opportunity to examine the packaging.
“Maximum strength? Fast acting?” He opened the bag and sniffed delicately. Ilya gleefully watched his expression change from curiosity to disgust. Shane’s eyebrows always furrowed in a way that made Ilya want to grab his face and kiss right in between them. “That smells terrible. You want me to eat these?”
“Just one!” Shane’s face crinkled some more, and Ilya felt his resolve soften.
Of course Shane was nervous. He had probably spent his whole life avoiding anything like this. It might have been Shane’s idea in the first place (after admitting that he maybe did get a little too in his head sometimes), but it was only after weeks of texting and Shane listing out the potential benefits and consequences half a dozen times that he finally made a decision.
Ilya had been so careful to explain what might happen, what Shane might feel like. If he didn’t want to do it Ilya would drop the subject entirely. It was that reassurance that had ultimately led to Shane scrolling through a shady-looking website with Ilya on the couch earlier, tentatively pointing to some fruit-flavored edible monstrosity that promised to be calming and focusing.
“Half. Or quarter, if you are worried.”
“I’m not worried! I just…” He sniffed it again and Ilya could see the little stress lines that liked to form around his mouth get deeper.
“Here.” Ilya held out his hand. “Drink more water, and I will go find something to cut one up for you.” Shane dropped the bag in his hand and took a few more swallows from the water bottle. “Good. Back soon?”
“Wait, can I—?”
Ilya sighed, but let his mouth curl upwards so Shane could see it was in good fun. “Of course you can watch, so you know I am not drugging you.”
“That’s not— don’t be an asshole about this!”
“Am I?”
“Yes, you are,” Shane grumbled, standing up to follow Ilya to the kitchen. “How much are you giving me?”
“Oh, a smart question, Shane, was not expecting that.”
“Ilya…”
“Hmph, sorry. I know you are nervous.” Shane didn’t argue, which gave Ilya pause. He turned back towards Shane and ended up face to face with him as Shane had followed so closely behind. “Hello, Hollander. You have heard of personal space?”
“Now you really are just being rude.” Shane did not step back.
“Yes, I am an asshole, we know this,” Ilya said, gentling his tone a bit. Softly, he added, “You still can say no, Shane.” Shane swallowed hard (Ilya watched his Adam’s apple roll and thought about how pretty Shane’s throat would look with a few more purple splotches) and shook his head.
“I’m not backing out now, Rozanov. I saw how much you paid for that. Just… pants stay on, okay?”
Ilya nodded seriously, but then gave Shane an impudent look. “That is my one problem with American capitalism—“
“You only have one problem with American capitalism?”
“—is how it must be convenient all the time, so I have to pay for convenience. I don’t need it in this pretty little bag. How much money do they waste on this package? It is better in Canada.”
"Is it?"
Ilya pulled a single, bright red gummy from the bag and held it up. He wrinkled his nose at the sharply artificial cherry smell. “You are right, this does not smell good.”
“Well, weed doesn’t really smell good I guess.”
“It can smell nice, if you get the right kind. For smoking. But I think they are trying to cover it.”
“It’s not really working.”
“Nope.” Ilya pulled open a drawer and rummaged around for something sharp. He found a pair of zebra-striped safety scissors, determined they looked clean enough, and cut the gummy in half.
“Gross, Ilya, aren’t those for like crafts or something?”
“Or something!” Ilya responded lightly, holding out one of the halves. Shane accepted the offering, but just held it in his hand while Ilya rinsed the scissors in the sink (with a very pointed look towards Shane) and threw the rest of the bag, with the other half gummy, in the fridge.
“You’re not going to take any?”
Ilya waved his hand dismissively. “This is your first time. I am babysitting.”
“Oh, like trip-sitting?”
“Is that what you call it?”
“I guess? I think it’s actually more for harder stuff, like LSD or something. When you could hallucinate.” Ilya gave him a questioning look. “Like, see stuff, or hear stuff?”
“Ah, no, this won’t do that,” Ilya said, “and this is a tiny, tiny amount. You will be fine. Take it.” He caught himself. “Or don’t, throw it away and we can go do something else.” He swiped a hand across the kitchen island. “Maybe on this counter?”
“We are not desecrating the marble,” Shane quipped, and ate the gummy.
“So, I am babysitting you if it’s just an edible.”
“Yeah, just an edible.” Shane felt his entire face screw up when the taste hit the back of his throat. “Oh my god, Ilya, this is gross.”
Ilya watched Shane swallow with difficulty and then stick his tongue out somewhat mournfully. The fake cherry flavor had stained it red. It was extremely enticing. Irresistible, really.
He reached for Shane and slid his hand around the back of his head, pulling him in for a messy, cherry-flavored kiss. Shane went easily, letting Ilya swipe his tongue across his teeth and then deeper into his mouth, trying to taste what was giving his long-suffering boyfriend such a funny face.
Shane was right—the flavor was awful, the combination of fake fruitiness and poorly distilled extract resulting in a sour and altogether unpleasant aftertaste. Still, Shane seemed reluctant to pull away when Ilya did, and his eyes only fluttered back open when Ilya backed away entirely to open the fridge and pull out one of the miniature cans of ginger ale he kept around just for Shane.
“Ack, it is gross. You want to wash it down?”
Shane took the can gratefully and downed half of it in one drink. “That— that didn’t really help. I have to brush my teeth.”
“I’m going back to bed. Be quick.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll meet you there, then.” Ilya let Shane turn around and walk away first before grabbing the half-empty bag of pita chips off the counter and heading back to the bedroom.
“Ilya, we can’t eat on the bed,” Shane complained as soon as he got back.
Ilya huffed out a laugh and replied, “You will thank me later, promise.” He shook the bag. “Actually, it might not be enough. We will see.” He tossed it on the nightstand.
“Do you really think I’m going to get so hungry I can’t wait thirty seconds to get to the table?”
“I think you have not done this before.” Shane clambered onto the bed and settled himself against Ilya’s hip. “Everyone reacts different.”
“What, I can’t be perfectly average?”
“You are not average at anything.”
“Oh don’t—“
“Below average at best, I think.”
Shane reached out and flicked Ilya on the nose. “That’s not nice.” Ilya couldn’t even be bothered to flinch. “You are being extremely rude,” Shane added, shaking his finger disapprovingly.
“Me? Rude?” Ilya grabbed Shane’s wrist and kissed the back of his hand. “You definitely have the wrong guy. And you do have something above average.”
Shane groaned, sensing the trap. “What’s that?”
“Your ass.” Ilya slipped his other hand down Shane’s spine and rubbed gently at his waistband, and didn’t comment on the shiver he got in response. “Would never call it average.”
Shane was willing to let it slide. “Guess I have to trust you, don’t I?”
Ilya flashed a brilliant toothy smile.
“Do you not trust me, Hollander?”
Shane grinned back. “I dunno, Rozanov, should I?”
Ilya’s smile grew wider, more wolfish, and Shane’s face grew pink. Ilya loved when Shane blushed, it made his freckles stand out and his voice just the tiniest bit hoarse. It also made his own face pleasantly warm to know that Shane absolutely trusted him.
Ilya kissed Shane’s palm and carefully extracted his hand from the top of Shane’s boxers. He wrapped his arm around Shane’s torso and squeezed him in closer. Shane did his best to wriggle into all of the empty space between him and Ilya, and dropped his head on Ilya’s shoulder.
“So now what?” Shane mumbled, rubbing his cheek into Ilya’s shirt. Something a little too big, even for Ilya, and with a dumb logo on the front from some team building event. Heather grey, of course.
“We wait.”
“Ugh. How long?”
“Maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour,” Ilya said, using his free hand to reach for the remote. “Maybe two, if you are unlucky! Want to watch something in the meantime?”
“Um. Maybe?”
“Maybe…?”
“Maybe a documentary?”
“Hm.”
“Boring?”
“Yes.”
Ilya found a show about oceans and put it on with Shane’s approval. “You can turn the volume down, I can just read the captions.”
“No, I can watch your boring fish show.”
“It’s not just fish, they have dolphins and stuff!”
“And stuff? You should have said.”
Shane laughed softly. “Asshole.”
Ilya let Shane fidget with his hand, Shane pressing the tip of each finger to the tip of Ilya’s thumb in sequence a few times before tangling them together and squeezing tightly. Ilya squeezed back, hard. Shane did it again, prompting Ilya to repeat it back again.
“You need something?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so?” Shane shuffled his chin a little deeper into Ilya’s collarbone, enjoying the slight scratchiness of the fabric against his jaw. “This is nice.”
“I agree, it is very nice.” Shane settled, holding Ilya’s hand with both of his own and relaxing into Ilya’s shoulder.
The documentary cast a blue glow over the two of them, clashing a little with the orange streetlamps outside the apartment, but Ilya didn’t feel inclined to get up and close the blinds. Shane seemed to be focusing hard on the screen; he certainly didn’t need to be interrupted.
The ocean scenery was nice, and the warmth of Shane’s body curled into his was soothing. He almost didn’t notice Shane had started mumbling something under his breath, too quiet to make out.
“Shane? Do you need something?”
Shane picked his head up from Ilya’s shoulder and looked up, almost bumping his nose against Ilya’s cheek. “Blenny.”
What. “What?”
“Blenny. It’s a fish.” Shane pointed at the screen, where a yellow-striped fish flitted through coral. “That one’s striped and has fangs. With venom.”
“I see,” Ilya said, managing to swallow down his delight so he wouldn’t startle his definitely-high boyfriend.
“Blenny is just… a really fun word to say,” Shane continued with a huge smile. “Blenny, blenny, blenny.”
“Yeah?” Shane started pulling at Ilya’s shoulders and Ilya helped him up. Shane shuffled around a bit, rubbing his hands into the quilted blanket they were laying on.
“Yeah, you should try saying it. Blenny.”
“Blenny.” It was definitely an interesting word, one Ilya wasn’t sure he had heard before, and Shane was having a lot of fun saying it over and over again.
“Yessss, exactly, you get it. Am I acting weird?”
“Oh no, not at all Hollander,” Ilya said impishly. “I think you are acting high.”
“Am I?” Shane let go of the blanket to hold his hands up and flex his fingers slowly. “S’not so bad.”
“I told you, Shane, it is very good for relaxing.” Ilya took both of Shane’s hands in his own and set them down in his lap. “How are you feeling?”
“Mmmm spacey. Like I’m in space.”
“Does space feel nice?”
Shane scrunched up his nose and thought about it long enough for the documentary to cut to a different scene with a different fish. “Oooh, look at that one,” Shane sighed, face relaxing immediately. “That’s such a fucked up fish.”
Ilya snorted and pulled Shane back against him. “Super fucked up. You should probably stay here, since you don’t know how you’ll react.”
Shane ended up slightly more horizontal than before, head tucked into the dip of Ilya’s waist, knees around one of the stray pillows. Shane managed to wrap one arm around Ilya’s thigh and held it tight like an anchor.
“Is this not…” Shane paused to find his words. Ilya kept quiet while Shane thought about what to say next. “Does it get more… strong? Stronger? I think that’s the word, stronger?”
“Sometimes it can, but sometimes it just stays like this.” Ilya rubbed his thumb reassuringly along Shane’s hand. “Lucky for us, you do actually feel it.”
“I do feel it,” Shane said with awe. He tightened his grip on Ilya’s hands, seeking pressure, reassurance, and Ilya reciprocated to give it to him.
“Sometimes, very rare but sometimes, you don’t feel it at all. But you are totally the opposite, I barely gave you any and you already are like this.” Ilya gestured to Shane splayed out across his lap.
“I like this a lot.” Shane giggled. “My face is a little weird.” He rubbed his knuckles against his cheek. “Tingly.” He giggled again and ran one thumb across his lips. “Really, really sensitive. I think I wanna… hm.”
Shane untangled his arm from Ilya’s thigh and tried to push himself up. After several seconds of struggling, Ilya gripped one arm and pushed him over until he was sitting up against the headboard. “Thank you, Ilya.”
“You are like a cat.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You cannot decide if you want to be up or down.”
“Oh.” Shane thought for a moment. “Am I your favorite cat?”
“Of course you are.”
“Yay,” he said, so plainly that Ilya couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He scowled, except it was hard for Ilya to take it seriously when it just made him look like an upset kitten. “Aw, are you making fun of me?”
“No, no, I would never!”
“I think you are,” Shane fussed, turning his head away.
“Maybe I am, but only a little, I promise.” Shane didn’t budge. Ilya leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. “Hey. Shane.” Shane shook his head. “Oh, is it like that, pretty boy?”
Shane took the bait. “You think I’m pretty?”
“Very pretty. Such a pretty face.” Shane still didn’t turn around. “What do I have to do to get this pretty face back?” Instead of answering, Shane crossed his arms. “I see.” Ilya reached out and gently cupped Shane’s chin in his hand, just holding him. “Okay?”
Shane inhaled sharply and pressed his head into Ilya’s fingers. “Mhm.”
Ilya dragged Shane’s chin back towards him, forcing Shane to look his way again. He watched his eyes flutter and focus. “Hello again, pretty boy.” Shane sagged his entire body into Ilya’s, kissing him soft and slow. No more cherry flavor, just whatever was left of Shane’s toothpaste and tiny, heated pants that made Ilya lose his focus.
He curled his fingers into Shane’s hair and tried to drag him closer. Shane pressed in tight, letting out a pleased little sigh and opening his mouth wider so he could push his tongue into Ilya’s mouth and chase the bright, tingling sensation of lips and teeth and tongues clashing.
Ilya broke the kiss first when Shane started panting hard, trying to catch his breath; Ilya pulled back slowly to let a string of spit linger between them for a moment before breaking it and hoisting himself up and over Shane’s thighs to sit on top of him.
Ilya could feel Shane getting restless and hard underneath him through both layers of their boxers, and jerked his hips down roughly to make Shane jolt.
“Hey,” Shane said dumbly, staring up at him through wet eyelashes.
“Hey.” Ilya tipped his head. “You alright?”
“Very.”
“Very alright? That’s good.” Ilya gave him another kiss, short and sweet, and put his other hand on Shane’s face, cradling it. “Do you want something, pretty boy?”
Shane let out a huff, obviously flustered, which Ilya revelled in. “What do you think?”
“I think you are very, very high right now, and it is a lot of sensations at once.”
“It is a lot, but,” Shane shifted his hips, let the sting of arousal zip down his spine, and put his hands on Ilya’s shoulders, “I still really like whatever you’re doing.”
“Oh, do you?” Ilya grabbed Shane by the waist and pulled hard.
“Fuck, Ilya, what are you doing—!”
Ilya hauled him over with a grunt so Shane now was sitting on top of him.
“Rude.” Shane had become even more flushed, gasping and tracing Ilya’s moles with his eyes and grinning stupidly at the thrill of being manhandled like he weighed nothing. “You’re so rude, Ilya.”
“Your dick doesn’t think I am rude,” Ilya countered, working Shane’s hips down into his lap. Shane whimpered and dropped his head to Ilya’s shoulder, mouthing clumsily at his neck.
“Ilya…” He whined, Ilya still grinding leisurely and listening to the noises coming from his distractable, overwhelmed boyfriend.
“Something wrong, pretty boy?”
“I wanna… ah.” Shane grunted and buried his face in Ilya’s shirt.
“You have to use your words, sweet thing,” and that got a reaction out of Shane that Ilya had never seen before, Shane fucking whining pitifully and dragging his lips up Ilya’s neck to his mouth to give him another sloppy kiss.
The ocean on television cast Shane in a pale blue haze, highlighting miles of unmarked skin that Ilya felt the need to rectify immediately.
Shane whined again when Ilya dragged his lips away from his mouth and down to his neck. Ilya nipped at the sensitive skin under Shane’s chin, and when Shane groaned and jerked his hips desperately he sucked a bruise on the spot he had bitten and laved his tongue over it, half-apologizing half-hungry for more of Shane’s desperate noises.
“You like that?”
His brain felt soft, like it was slowly melting away. Ilya kissed another stinging bruise further down his neck. Shane took a moment to catch his breath, limbs loose and vision a little hazy. “Like what?”
“Hmmm. You know what.” Shane turned his head away, mortified, but Ilya just grasped his chin and tugged him back in his direction, smiling wickedly at the dazed way Shane looked him up and down. “You like being my pretty boy? My sweet thing?” Shane nodded silently, eyes wide. “Words, Shane?”
“Yes, I def—hm—I like it,” Shane managed to stammer out. Ilya rewarded him with a thoroughly filthy kiss and a roll of his hips, forcing another heated sigh out of Shane.
“You are mine, sweet thing?”
“Yours, yours, yours…” Shane couldn’t help it, murmuring the words as a reminder and as a reassurance, in a way that electrified Ilya. He pressed his thigh up into Shane’s clothed cock. Shane panted, and—
“Oh, Shane,” Ilya groaned with a chuckle, “Are you humping my leg like a dog?”
Shane whimpered softly and managed to lift his head up to meet Ilya’s gaze. He gave Ilya a lazy grin, enjoying the lightness in his head and the pleasure rushing through his body. “And if I am?”
“You are? You want to cum on my leg in your underwear, like a pretty boy deserves?”
Shane grasped at Ilya’s curls, dragging him into a sloppy, open mouthed kiss that had Shane whining and laughing in equal measure to the feeling of skin on skin sending electricity down his spine. He shivered and gasped for air, letting Ilya slide his tongue deeper into Shane’s mouth, and his lips tingled. His head was light, his mind far, far away from anything approaching coherent but he knew he was safe in Ilya’s arms and he was a pretty boy—
“Good, my sweet thing, my pretty boy, my good boy—“
“Fuck, Ilya!” Shane let out a keening sort of sob and came, thrusting down into Ilya’s thigh, the fabric of his boxers soaking through and leaking just a little bit onto his skin. His whole body shook, hips twitching, every rub against the cotton almost painful with how sensitive he had gotten. The emptiness that had filled his head left him floating in the pleasure of it, the fuzzy bubbling sensation that grew from between his legs, up his stomach and into his lungs making him dizzy.
He couldn’t help grinding into Ilya’s leg a few more times and Ilya took his face in his hands, cradled his head and rubbed soothing circles on his cheekbones. Shane pressed into Ilya’s fingers, panting, and his entire body collapsed into Ilya.
His lingering shakes and shudders were met with large, warm hands rubbing up and down his back, his ribcage, down his thighs, squeezing gently, brashly, at his ass for a brief moment before returning to massage at his hips. When the room stopped spinning as much and he could finally open his eyes and look up at Ilya, he found Ilya pink and glistening with sweat, breathing heavily, smiling fondly.
Shane offered a small smile back. “Hi,” he said, almost shyly.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
“Hello, Shane. How are you feeling?”
Shane pressed his face into Ilya’s shirt, laughing giddily. “I feel great, Ilya. Really, really good.”
“That is good to hear.” Ilya stroked Shane’s spine gently. “Do you want to get cleaned up?”
“No, not yet,” Shane sighed. “You’re warm.”
“Are you cold? Poor Shane.”
“A little.” Shane curled his legs up and pressed his bare feet to Ilya’s leg, making him jolt.
“Why are your toes so cold?” Shane gave a poor attempt at a shrug, unwilling to move away from Ilya’s body heat. “No, no, I cannot stand for this.” Ilya pulled away from Shane and got off the bed, to Shane’s enormous distaste that he tried desperately to convey by collapsing to the mattress, sighing in lament and stretching out one hand towards the empty space left behind. “You are cold, we will go shower.”
Shane perked up at the thought of a long, steamy shower. The wet fabric of his boxers was starting to chafe. His skin was too sticky, and he was dizzy. The fitted sheet on the mattress had been pulled out of place, and wrinkled uncomfortably against his skin. “Yes, please?”
“Let me help you up?”
Shane managed to make it to the edge of the bed on his own and stand up, but he let Ilya guide him into the glass-walled shower.
“Hey, Ilya? Did you…”
Ilya laughed at Shane’s bashfulness. “There will be time for that later, my pretty boy,” which made Shane tremble, “but you are cold. Join me?” Ilya turned the faucet on and waited until steam started filling the room.
“Fine, fine. Will you wash my hair?”
“What do we say, when we want something?”
“Please wash my hair?”
“Of course, sweet thing.”