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Ilya felt it the second the penthouse door closed.
Regret.
Pain.
Sadness.
Feelings he had dealt with all his life, in one way or another. But this? This sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach? Radiating pain, actual pain, radiating through his body and out of his skin? He hadn’t felt this since…
Ilya shakes the memory…more like nightmare, from his head but the feeling stays settled on his skin like a sun burn.
Shane.
He wants to run. Run back to Russia. Or run back into Shane’s arms. The intensity to do both is so great he can feel wetness threatening to escape his eyelids. What has he done? How did he let this happen? How could he have been so stupid? He has always prided himself on the fact that his sexual encounters never turn into anything, but what they are meant to be. Even with Svetlana. Yes, he loves her. But the sex between them has never seeped into other aspects of his life. And especially not his heart, at least in THAT way.
But Shane.
With his crooked smile and fucking scattered freckles. One night Ilya even counted them. When he was on top of Shane, moving inside him trying not to cum. 13. Lucky 13. Or maybe not so lucky because this is what Ilya’s life has come down to. Hockey, Vodka, and freckles.
And just like everyone else in his life, Shane always wants more. More attention. More answers. More conversations Ilya is just not ready to have.
“Fuck!” He screams and shoves himself out of bed. He paces, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do now? He knows what just happened was fucking…awful. He knows what he just did to Shane, because he’s done the same thing to himself. But he had to. This whole thing had gone way too long and went way too far. It was just supposed to be a one-time thing. It’s a little fun to take the edge off. Ilya was right about himself. He had always liked trouble. The more dangerous the better. The better the sex was. And the sex with Shane just got better and better.
And now it gotten to the point where Ilya…needs him. Like an itch under his skin that only subsides when he has Shane in his sights. This is more than dangerous.
This is destroying Ilya’s life.
And as much as he knows it has to go away, he needs it not to. It’s the most solid thing he’s has since his mother…
No.
His pacing continues, as he chain smokes and stares at the MVP of the year award taunts him from the table. He didn’t call his father. Or his brother. All he wanted to celebrate in his glory with was Shane. And he had fucked it up. Like everything else.
He doesn’t need Shane. Need is something he is not familiar with. But he wants Shane. Which is worse.
“тупой веснушчатый придурок”, Ilya grabs his phone off the nightstand.
‘Come back.’ He sends.
******
The knock comes 10 minutes later.
No code. No more walking right in.
Because Ilya made him feel like he can’t anymore.
Shane stands, dressed in sweatpants and his hooded sweatshirt, like a barrier. A shield against his body and Ilya’s. Ilya, still in his just his underwear, steps aside so he can enter.
“What?”
Ilya can hear the pain in his voice. Shane quickly clears his throat, as if the pain can be erased by that. He can hear it in himself too. Ilya wants to hold him; erase it that way; but he knows it’s too late for that.
Ilya stares at him, eyes more open than they ever have been. He stares at Shane, taking in his expressions as they change from sadness, curiosity, confusion, until Shane has to look away because it’s too much for him. It’s like he’s frozen in place. Maybe they both are. Frozen in time. Frozen in an endless loop of what does this thing all mean? What’s next? Where do we go from here?
Shane’s simple question lingers in the space between them. How does Ilya answer it. It’s not simple. What? What do you want? What are you thinking? What’s the reason I’m here?
“Are we just going to stand here all night?” Shane makes a motion with his hands, deep inside the pockets of his sweats. “I have an early flight.”
Ilya just stares at him, arms crossed, back against the wall farthest away from where Shane is standing. Yea, because that’s going to do something.
Shane makes an exasperated noise from deep in his chest and shakes his head. “Fuck, Rozanov. What is this? You don’t want me here, but hate to see me go? Are you finally going to answer my question?”
“Which is what?” Ilya finally speaks.
Shane chuckles. “Of course.” He sighs. “What exactly do you want from me?”
Ilya visibly winces. Such a simple question for Shane with no simple answer for him to give.
“Hollander, what you ask, is not that simple.”
Shane starts to take a step toward him and stops himself. “Is it that hard of a question to answer?”
“Dah, for me? Yes.” Ilya can’t look at him now. He stares at the plush carpet beneath his feet. Carpet in a penthouse he earned fair and square. But Shane? Did he earn him? He deserves his rewards. His trophies. His houses and his endorsements. But does he deserve the man standing in front of him with soft eyes and heart on the verge of shatter?
“Do you want me?”
“I think that is obvious, no?” Ilya answers sarcastically.
“No, not me,” Shane gestures to his body. “Me.” And points to himself. Ilya doesn’t miss its directly over his heart.
“I wouldn’t keep you around if I didn’t, Hollander.”
“Keep me around? I’m not some dog you keep on a leash, Rozanov.” Shane sighs heavily. “Am I ever going to get answers from you?”
“You ask too many questions.” Fuck Ilya needs another cigarette.
“You texted me to come back here! I had left. I was fine.” Shane’s voice cracks at the end. That pain Ilya had felt earlier, returns.
“You were not fine.”
“How the fuck would you know?”
Ilya stands up from against the wall and stalks over to Shane. “Because I was not fine!”
The sudden change in Ilya’s demeanor does not affect Shane. He holds his ground, eyes locked in on Ilya’s. “You weren’t?”
“Of course not! You think this is what I want, Hollander? Fuck!” Ilya turns, rubbing his hand over his face. He’s already said too much even though Shane won’t see it that way.
“Seems to me, you have everything you could ever want.” Shane says gently. He pauses. “Is it not?”
“There are some things…” Ilya trails off.
“You could, you know.”
“What?”
Ilya feels the warmth of Shane’s hand on his back. He runs just 2 soft fingertips between his bare shoulders. “Have what you want.” He whispers.
Ilya’s eyes slide shut from the warmth of Shane’s hand. “Het, no. I cannot. This was a mistake.” As soon as the words leave his lips, he regrets it.
“Me?” Shane shudders out.
“Never.” Ilya barely whispers. “You could never be mistake, Hollander. Me, I made the mistake. To think…”
“To think what?” Shane continues to run his hands all over Ilya’s back. Ilya shivers.
“Fucking is simple for me, yes? In and out. Come and go, so to speak. Move on. Women, men, it does not matter.”
“Obviously.” Shane answers.
Ilya takes a deep breath.
And jumps.
“But with you, nothing is simple.”
He can hear the sharp intake of breath from Shane behind him. His hands stop moving along Ilya’s back and it feels like eternity passing with every silent and motionless second. And then he feels a single, soft kiss right between his shoulder blades.
Something has shifted. The air feels thicker in this moment; still so many unanswered questions linger in the small distance between them. For it feels, for now, at least, maybe Shane will accept that little sentence that to Ilya, says too much.
“Do you want me to go?” Shane asks, his lips still hot and wet against Ilya’s skin.
Ilya turns, eyes closed because he’s afraid if he actually looks into Shane’s eyes in this moment, everything would come crashing down around him and all the things he had been holding close to the chest, just in case, will come spilling out and he wouldn’t be able to take anything back.
’No,’Ilya wants to say. ’I don’t ever want you to go.’
Instead, he decides on. “You could suck my dick.” He opens his eyes and almost falls to his knees from the softness in Shane’s eyes.
“Fuck you,” Shane says gently, a smile on his lips. “You suck my dick.”
“Tsk. You cannot come three times in an hour, Hollander. You told me this, yes?”
A pink blush creeps into Shane’s cheeks and all Ilya wants to do is kiss him. And keep kissing him until their lips are sore and chapped. Ilya realizes he was wrong. He does need Shane. He only feels truly at peace when Shane is near him. Maybe this could be enough. These encounters. These private moments.
For now.
Shane turns and checks the clock on Ilya’s nightstand. “It’s been an hour.”
Ilya smashes his lips hard against Shane’s, all tongue and teeth, and Shane stumbles backwards and Ilya has to wrap his arms around his waist in order for either of them not to fall. They laugh into each other’s mouths and move clumsily toward the bed. Ilya knows the sun will be up soon and they will both get on separate planes to move further and further away from each other once again. Same story, over and over again.
But for tonight, with the time they have left before the sun takes them away, they can do what they do best.
Collide.