Archive of Our Own

Ilia's parents say that he was a dream baby until he learned how to crawl. 

He was a good sleeper. He didn't fuss in his carseat. He was great for babysitters, let anyone hold him. When he did cry, he was easy to settle with a pacifier and his mom's arms. Baby Ilia was a dream until he learned that he could move on his own.

It was then that Ilia refused to stay still. There was so much to see, so much to explore. He didn't even crawl for very long. Crawling meant that he could pull himself up on the coffee table, which meant he could learn to lift up his feet. Learn to walk. Learn to give his scare his parents half to death every time they dared to look away from him for even a minute, only to be met with a thud or a crack or a crash.

If Ilia could crawl, he could walk. If he could walk, he could run. If he could run, he could get into trouble. He never quite grew out of that.

It meant he could put everything in his mouth, too. He never really grew out of that, either.

Sometimes his mom jokes that he never stopped teething. Hoodie strings, straws, pens, his chain. His fingernails, the inside of his cheek, even Misha's chain when it hung over Ilia's face (which Tatiana does not know about!). His loose baby teeth never lasted long. Ilia was never good at letting things go. As soon as he noticed one was loose, he would worry it with his fingers or his tongue until it fell out.

Ilia's not quite sure why he's like this, why he's always been like this. This thing with his mouth happens the most when he's anxious, when he's thinking, when he's overwhelmed. Ilia learned to stop questioning why his body is the way it is a long time ago. This is just the way things are with him.

Besides, Ilia has enough on his plate to worry about. Especially when he's sharing a hotel room with Mikhail fucking Shaidorov. Especially when the past two nights have definitely been more than a little gay.

It's not like Ilia found out he liked boys by sharing a hotel room with Misha.

He's known for a while now. He didn't really think about it much because he's not gay. Well, not gay gay. He definitely likes girls. Mostly girls, even. He just likes boys sometimes, too.

He always had a crush on Rapunzel growing up. Tangled was Liza's favorite movie as a kid, and Ilia had to pretend that he didn't like it because that's what big brothers do. But he would always watch it with her, acting like he was forced to. When his hair got too long his mom would say that he looked like Rapunzel. He doesn't look like her, not really. It was just the same hair color. She has green eyes and Ilia has blue eyes. Ilia's not a girl, either. He knows that. Sure, he's not the most masculine guy in the world, but he's definitely a guy.

Whenever anyone asked him who his childhood crush was, he would always say Rapunzel. Even if he has to pretend he doesn't like the movie just to annoy Liza. A crush on Rapunzel is way easier to explain than all the other ones.

One could maybe, possibly, perhaps argue that Ilia had a crush on Yuzuru Hanyu. He would ever admit it, but it's probably not entirely untrue. Didn't everyone have a crush on him, though?

He used to watch videos of Yuzuru skate all the time. Studying his edges, his lines. Sometimes on late nights Ilia's mind would stray from strictly skating business. He would find himself focused on the way Yuzuru's body looked in his costume, on the way he smiled. Ilia's admiration would stir in his abdomen until it felt something more like arousal. Ilia would write it off, mostly. He was a teenager, and hormones are weird. It didn't have to mean anything.

He didn't think that whatever he was feeling that first time in Estonia meant anything, either.

Mikhail Shaidorov, age fifteen, representing Kazakhstan at the 2020 World Junior Championships in Tallinn. Mikhail, who asked Ilia to call him Misha. Misha, who was just as shy as Ilia. 

Ilia wanted to be his friend so bad. They spoke the same language, both skaters, both fifteen. They had so much in common. Ilia knew they would get along great, but they both seemed too shy to really talk to each other beyond hello and how are you. Ilia still lingered close to him, offering to translate whenever necessary. It felt nice when Misha thanked him for it.

They added each other on Snapchat before leaving Tallinn. The world shut down a few days after. Ilia missed regular life, missed his friends. Missed Misha too, which was a bit weird. They were hardly friends, didn't interact outside of watching each other's Snapchat stories, but Ilia still wished they did. He tried not to think about it. It didn’t have to mean anything.

Those feelings started to maybe mean something on a movie date during his junior year. Calling it a date was a stretch, really. It was him and a girl from his math class watching Revenge of the Sith in his basement. It was her favorite Star Wars movie, and Ilia hadn't seen it in years. The movie is pretty good, but Ilia's a little too sensitive for the end. He remembers crying watching the clones become the bad guys as a kid.

What he didn't remember was Anakin looking like that.

Padmé was always hot, he knew that. Ilia would probably say he had a crush on her, too. But he had come to... appreciate Anakin with fresh eyes.

It was easy to excuse the way he got butterflies at how Anakin said yes, here against Padmé's lips when she thought it was too risky for them to be kissing. Padmé was there too, it wasn't gay to want to watch a pretty girl get kissed. The scene where Anakin wakes up from a nightmare was harder to explain. The camera barely focused on Padmé at all, a sweaty and shirtless and panting Anakin Skywalker was the star of the show. He tried not to think about it. He was on a date with a girl, for god's sake.

All hope was lost when Anakin fell to his knees and panted out I will do whatever you ask. The way his body reacted was definitely a little gay. Maybe he thought about it later that night alone in his bed, who's to say?

Anakin Skywalker and Yuzuru Hanyu are definitely justifiable man crushes for a guy, though. They're both objectively hot men. It doesn't make him gay. He thought he was just straight with a couple exceptions.

And then there was Misha again.

Mikhail Shaidorov, age seventeen, representing Kazakhstan at the 2022 World Junior Championships in Tallinn. Misha was taller than he was two years ago. His hair was a bit longer, too. He still had the same big brown eyes that kept looking at Ilia. His smile was even prettier than last time, less shy and far more excited. Ilia didn’t get to see it up close until they took their masks off for pictures on the podium.

Ilia wanted to be close to Misha whenever he was around. He told himself it was because he wanted to figure out who was taller now. He couldn’t get close enough because of the social distancing of it all. It sucked.

He still got to translate for Misha sometimes, and it still felt good when Misha said thank you. Hopefully Ilia’s mask hid the way it made him blush.

All the pieces fell into place a few weeks after that second time in Tallinn, when Liza was watching Tangled again. The movie was almost over, and Rapunzel had short brown hair now. It was almost the length Ilia wished he could grow his hair to. Rapunzel, who maybe almost looked like him, was in Flynn Rider's arms like she weighed nothing. Flynn Rider, with his brown eyes and floppy brown hair. Rapunzel almost looks like him and Flynn Rider almost looks like—

He knew then that he had a crush on Misha.

Ilia really did try to ignore it. Him liking boys was his problem, not Misha's. It's a problem that Misha almost certainly does not have himself, and Ilia definitely wasn't going to make things weird.

And then they shared this hotel room. And then there was later.

Ilia still can't believe it happened. That it's going to happen again. It's crazy, this is crazy. Sharing a hotel room with his crush of two years—maybe even four years if he wants to stop lying to himself—was already a big enough hurdle in Ilia's don't make it weird mission. The first day was brutal. He got to see Misha when his skin was still flushed from the shower. A real shower, not the quick rinse-offs at the rink. He got to see Misha's toiletries, know what brands they were and what they smelled like. He saw Misha in his pajamas and Misha saw Ilia in his. Ilia was the last person Misha talked to before they fell asleep next to each other. In different beds, sure, but still next to each other. It had only been a day and Ilia was going crazy.

And then the second night was crazier. The fact that he had a wet dream involving Misha and a car and the details he'll take to the grave was already crazy enough. He failed the don't make it weird mission as soon as the new day started. But then when he woke up, hard as ever and still fuzzy with sleep, Misha was touching himself. He was touching himself and it was for Ilia and it was so perfect that Ilia almost thought he was still dreaming. He pinched himself as hard as he could when he went to go wash his hands after he came. He was definitely awake and definitely came on Misha's command.

Thank god it happened when Ilia was still sleepy. He's not sure he would've been brave enough to do anything while he was fully alert. He got to let himself like it, let himself enjoy being told what to do. He got to let himself enjoy being good for Misha.

He was good for Misha last night, too. Misha was more nervous than he was, which was fair enough. Misha's the one that was caught in the act. Maybe Ilia was too, but he wasn't going to tell Misha that. Misha did not need to know the details of that dream.

They both had to be brave, but Ilia was okay with being brave first. It's only fair, Misha was brave first last night. He climbed into Misha's lap and was a good boy for him. He was good, and Ilia loves being good.

He's gonna be good tonight, too. He's waited all day to be good.

Misha thinks he must have hit his head.

Surely that's it. He hit his head practicing for this show and ended up in a coma. Maybe he let Ilia try to teach him how to backflip and he cracked his head open on the floor. He's probably in the hospital, his mom on the way to sit by his bedside and scold him for being stupid. He's heard stories of people living entire lives in their dreams during comas. That must be what this is, it makes far more sense than whatever the hell has happened in the past 48 hours. This is all one long, painfully elaborate dream. He will wake up soon enough and he'll never have heard Ilia come, never have kissed him, never have made Ilia come himself.

Misha pinches his arm as hard as he can while he waits for Ilia to get out of the shower. He smacks his cheeks, shakes his head back and forth. He's still here. He's still conscious, he's still feeling, the shower water is still running behind the bathroom door. He still got Ilia off yesterday, the night before. Misha still agreed to later when Ilia asked earlier today. Somehow this is all still real. 

He stands up from the bed once he hears the shower turn off. Misha looks for something, anything to do to make it seem like he's not pacing, which he absolutely is. He settles for picking up the glasses case that's falling out of Ilia's bag, places it on Ilia's nightstand. He's being helpful, even friends would be helpful. This is normal, this is fine, this is real.

Misha sits back down on his bed when the bathroom door opens because his knees might have buckled if he didn't. He pretends to be looking at something on his phone but the act doesn't last. Ilia's in a loose t-shirt and his boxers. He didn't even bother with the tiny sleep shorts that make Misha feel like he's going insane, he just had to torture Misha from the very beginning.

Ilia's already driving Misha crazy, been driving him crazy for years, and he has to make it worse. Ilia doesn't even say anything, he just pads over to Misha, stands between his legs. He holds Misha's eyes and drops to his fucking knees.

Misha can't even think of anything to say, anything to do. He's fantasized about Ilia on his knees like this countless times and Ilia's just doing it, Misha didn't even have to ask for it.

Ilia's breath is shaky and Misha doesn't even think he's breathing at all. The eye contact is fucking destroying him and Ilia hasn't done anything more than run his hands over Misha's clothed thighs.

Something flashes over Ilia's face and Misha doesn't have the brain capacity to identify it before Ilia speaks. "Wait."

Ilia rises on his knees until he's eye level with Misha's chest, tangles a hand in Misha's hair and pulls him down. They're kissing, thank god, they're kissing. They haven't kissed since last night and Misha missed it so much. It starts sweet but doesn't stay that way, devolving into tongue and teeth and gasps. Misha loves kissing Ilia like this so much and his cock is aching, pressing so hard against his sweatpants that it's painful.

Ilia must notice how much Misha is coming undone because he runs a hand up Misha's stomach underneath his shirt, drags up the hem until it's at his chest. They have to break the kiss to take their shirts off and it's excruciating. Misha gets over it, though, because Ilia's fingers are trembling as they try to untie the strings of Misha's sweatpants. Ilia settles his ass on his heels, eye level with Misha's cock again. Ilia has the audacity to moan when Misha pulls his pants down and his cock springs free. Misha truly cannot believe that this is real. 

They're both shaking so bad, practically vibrating with the weight of everything. Ilia's brave enough to lean forward, place a kiss on Misha's upper thigh before turning his gaze up.

"Can I?"

Misha can hardly choke out a yeah before Ilia leans forward.

Ilia licks Misha's tip like he's shy about it, a gentle trace before his tongue retreats back into his mouth. He tries again, circling it slowly and Misha hisses. Oh, god, he's never felt anything like this before. Misha's never had someone do this to him, it's only been him and his hand and Ilia last night.

Pretty pink lips wrap around the tip and suck. It feels like Misha got struck by lightning, just pure energy surging through his spinal cord and into his cock. His hand darts out for the back of Ilia's head, tangling in Ilia's half-dry hair before Misha hits the fucking ceiling.

The visual of his dick resting against Ilia's lips while he gazes up at Misha feels straight out of every wet dream he's ever had. Ilia's so beautiful like this that Misha still hasn't remembered how to breathe.

"'s it good?"

Misha's head thrashes back, all of his focus on taking a deep breath. He drops his head on the exhale, desperate to see Ilia again. How is this real? How could any of this possibly be real?

"Yeah, 's good."

Ilia nods like he's trying to learn, internalizing the feedback. Like this could ever possibly be anything other than perfect.

Ilia isn't shy this time. He surges forward, taking maybe half of Misha into his mouth. Ilia's eyes go wide, tears springing immediately. He pulls back a bit like he startled himself, like didn't realize he was going to gag. Misha's probably a pervert for thinking that it's kind of cute. 

He tries again, slower this time. He manages just a bit more of Misha's cock this time, tries to suck. Tries, because a few seconds later he's pulling back and coughing. Those few seconds were still enough to make Misha's vision black out a little.

Ilia's wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gasps in a breath. His eyes are shiny and his lips are all red and swollen and Misha's surely going to wake up soon, right?

"You don't—have to." Misha brushes Ilia's hair away from his face, strokes the back of his head. He's panting like he's the one doing anything other than trying to survive. 

Ilia's not even looking at him, he's just staring at Misha's cock like he's hungry for it.

"Wan' to." 

He sinks down onto Misha's cock again, as far as he can before he's applying suction as he draws back. His mouth is so fucking warm and wet and Misha's moan is as lewd as the sound of Ilia trying not to gag. He's trying so hard, pushing through it. It's the hottest thing Misha's ever fucking seen.

Ilia lasts a bit longer this time before he's coughing again, rolling his eyes with a frustrated groan and trying again without catching his breath. Fuck, he's going to fucking choke himself if he's not careful, and it doesn't even seem like he cares.

Misha's hands won't catch up with his brain and he's hitting the back of Ilia's throat before Misha can stop him. He doubles over at the feeling before he's yanking Ilia backwards by his hair.

"Wait, wawawait," Misha sounds wrecked. Ilia's fighting his grip, trying to fill his mouth again. Misha can barely hold himself upright, fucking hell. Ilia's going to be choking on Misha's cum instead his dick if neither of them are careful.

"Wait, Ilyukha," He pulls Ilia back harder this time, shakes his head a little once Ilia's mouth is free. They both freeze as they watch the bridge of spit connecting Ilia's bottom lip to Misha's cock break off. Ilia's squirming again, desperate to break free, and Misha's going to fucking die. His free hand springs off of his thigh and pinches Ilia's cheeks together, palm pressed to his chin. Ilia's lips pucker involuntarily and his eyelids flutter. "I said wait."

Fuck, Misha's trying to be stern but Ilia only moans in return. He'll have to remember that for later, if he thinks too hard about it he's going to come all over Ilia's face. Jesus, if he thinks too hard about coming on Ilia's face he's going to come all over Ilia's face. Not yet, no, this can't be over yet.

Tears are sliding down Ilia's cheeks now, fresh ones, despite not gagging anymore. Misha softens immediately, cradles Ilia's face with both hands.

"I j's—hic—I w'na make it good f'r you." Ilia squeezes his eyes shut, tries to turn away.

Misha doesn't let him. His thumbs swipe at the tears on Ilia's cheeks. "It's good, Ilyush, t's so good." Ilia's trying to shake his head before Misha's even done talking.

"No, There's more, there's more 'n I w'na take it. Need to."

Oh god, Misha's so fucked up. Ilia's upset, he's fucking crying, but it's so fucking hot and Misha's so fucked up.

He's crying because he's greedy. Ilia's so fucking greedy that he just can't get enough cock in his mouth, even if it hurts. Ilia's a mess, tears in his eyes and on his face and spit on his chin. He's taking himself apart sucking Misha's dick and he wants more, wants to do more damage to them both. It's all enough to push Misha dangerously close to the edge. One of Misha's hands rushes to the base of his cock and squeezes. Ilia's staring at the hand like he's mad, like he's jealous that it's touching Misha's dick and he's not.

"You're gonna hurt yourself." Misha's tone is gentle, like he's talking to a stray cat and trying not to scare it.

Ilia shakes his head again. "No, I'll be careful, jus' lemme try again, please, please."

Misha's resolve is crumbling. He moans, curls forward a bit. How is Ilia so fucking hot?

His hand slides back around to Ilia's hair, cradles Ilia's head as he coaxes him forward. Ilia has the audacity to sigh in relief before licking a broad stripe up the shaft.

"You can use your hand for what you can't reach, okay?" Misha's not sure why he's talking. He won't last five seconds if Ilia uses his hand, too.

Ilia rolls his eyes, pushes spit out from between his lips and presses it against the tip. "Tha's cheating."

Somehow, even when they're both this worked up, Ilia manages to make him laugh. He's not even trying, he's just ridiculous and deciding (inaccurate!) rules for a blowjob while he's acting like a slut between Misha's thighs. "No, it's not."

Ilia scoffs. "Yes, it is."

Misha doesn't even get to argue before he's engulfed in the heat of Ilia's mouth again.

Ilia's found a rhythm now, working his lips just about halfway down the shaft and sucking as he drags back up. He fucking moans, too. He has the audacity, the absolute gall, to moan just from sucking cock. He's not touching himself, either, both of his hands are digging into Misha's thighs.

Misha is melting. His brain is melting out of his ears, his body is melting from Ilia's mouth. It's too good, it's too much. Misha's getting close, he's really not going to last. Ilia doesn't even seem like he notices.

"Ilyush, y'gotta—'m gonna—" Misha can't form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences. He needs to come so fucking bad, he can't hold it anymore. 

He tries to pull Ilia off of him by his hair again, but oh god, fuck, Ilia just puts his hand on top of Misha's and holds himself there. Misha's trapped, he's fucking trapped, Ilia wants him to come in his mouth.

Misha's falling apart, he's gone, he can't stop it. It takes everything in him to keep his eyes open, to keep watching Ilia as he comes. Ilia's fucking crazy and he moans while he takes it. Misha feels the vibrations shoot through his cock more than he hears it, his own moans and the thud of his heartbeat rattling around in his ears.

Ilia's adam's apple drops before pulls off, swallowing Misha's cum like he likes it. Like he's sated. There's a small pop sound when he lets go and Misha shivers.

"W's that okay?"

Ilia's eyes are wide, still wet. He's flushed down to his chest, lips smeared with spit and puffy. He's so beautiful like this, cockdrunk and desperate for approval. Misha just came so hard that he can hardly believe Ilia even bothered to ask.

Misha pulls Ilia up by his arms with a gentle smile, kisses him slow and sweet. Misha can fucking taste his cum in Ilia's mouth and it's so filthy and unbearably hot. 

"So good." He gives Ilia one last kiss before he's leveraging his grip to flip Ilia over and onto the bed, laughing at Ilia's shocked yelp. Ilia's laughing too, scurrying backwards until he reaches the pillows as Misha follows him. 

Misha's still laughing as he grabs a water bottle off the nightstand, holds it high above Ilia's chest and drops it. Laughs even harder as Ilia scrambles to catch it, chugs half of it. He's smiling around the rim of the bottle.

Ilia squirms like he would rather be anywhere else, but Misha knows him. He crawls down Ilia's body, scrapes his teeth against one of Ilia's hips. Ilia's underwear comes off and neither of them are laughing anymore, the room silent aside from both of them trying to catch their breath.

Misha spits in his hand, wraps it around the base of Ilia's cock. Ilia's whine is pathetic and Misha fucking loves it.

He spits on the tip this time, smiles as he finds Ilia's eyes.

"Your turn." 

Is it crazy to miss sucking dick? Because Ilia misses sucking dick. Misha's dick, specifically.

Except there is no Misha in Virginia. There's been no Misha for weeks since that stretch of shows ended, and Ilia misses sucking dick.

It sounds crazy when he says it like that. Not that he says it to anyone, he only thinks it to himself. It's crazy either way. Sometimes Ilia's pretty sure he thinks with his mouth instead of his brain. Or that his mouth thinks first and his brain has to catch up. It's not like he thinks much with his mouth full, anyway.

Being alone with Misha like that made him nervous. Not in a bad way, of course. Nervous in the way he usually is right before he takes the ice at a competition, like that ball of anticipation that builds in your chest before the drop of a rollercoaster. Well, at least Ilia imagines it's the same. He's not a big rollercoaster guy. Scared of heights.

It's nervousness that evolves into elation when he's good. He's good at skating, and he was good for Misha when they did hand stuff. When they kissed. Misha told him as much. It's easier to be good at that, anyway.

It's not easy to take all of Misha in his mouth at once.

Isn't that the point of blowjobs, anyway? To take all of it? Ilia's changed his mind on the whole using hands is cheating thing, because Misha uses his hand and it's so good that Ilia came embarrassingly fast that first time. But blowjobs from Misha were always going to be good because they're from Misha. Everything about Misha is good. Ilia's had plenty of dreams about getting a blowjob from Misha to know that he was going to like it no matter how far down Ilia's dick he managed to get.

But he's Misha, and Ilia's Ilia. Ilia already knows that he's gonna want this next time they see each other, knew it from the second they started. Misha doesn't owe Ilia next time, though. He could get bored of Ilia and find a girl that sucks dick better than Ilia can and there's nothing Ilia would be able to do about it. 

It's fine, this is fine. Ilia's not nervous in a bad way at all about it. It's fine, it just means that he has to get better at sucking dick. If he's the best at sucking dick then Misha won't find anyone else. 

The problem is just practicing.

Ilia has no interest in just finding someone else with a dick to practice. That feels too weird, too wrong. He's not going to buy a dildo, either. He's not going to risk having one under his parents' roof when it'll just feel like cold plastic in his mouth. That'll feel weird, too.

It just leaves Ilia with his fingers to practice on.

So, he does. His quest to improve his dick-sucking skills starts with his bedroom lights off, late at night. He just goes for it, puts middle and ring finger in his mouth. Sucks on them, tries to push them back a little bit. It doesn't really seem like it's doing much. How's he supposed to know how this is going? He needs direction. Is there an instruction manual for sucking dick anywhere online? Probably not, at least none that Ilia would be able to find without downloading a dozen separate viruses onto his phone.

New plan.

He could just watch porn, couldn't he? See what the professionals do, try to copy them. The way he used to watch Yuzuru to try and absorb his skating skills.

Ilia finds his headphones on his nightstand, double checks that his door is closed. It's so late at night that it's technically morning now, everyone else in the house is asleep anyways.

He goes into a private tab, opens PornHub. It's the only porn website he's ever tried, and it works well enough. He dodges the ads for beautiful single women in his area and searches for 'blowjob'. Clicks the first link.

Ilia gets the ick almost immediately. The video is too overproduced, the moans are too fake. It's too obvious that the blonde woman he's watching is acting. Ilia hates videos like this. It's not even like he needs the pornstars to love each other in real life. Can't they at least pretend that they're doing having sex because they want to and not for the paycheck?

He clicks out, tries a few more videos. Hates them too. All the blowjobs look too... fake? Is that the right word? He wouldn't suck dick like any of these women, even if he could. He debates searching 'gay blowjob' instead, ultimately decides against it. Yeah, he likes guys, but that feels gay. Like, gay gay. He doesn't really want to think about another guy sucking dick, only Misha. And only Ilia's dick, actually. He continues his scrolling

He finds a thumbnail that looks promising. It's shot vertically, definitely from a phone instead of a camera. It's not perfect, but it's closer to what he's looking for. The first hashtag on the video is 'amateur'. Hmmm. Gotcha. He goes back to the search bar, types 'amateur blowjob'.

The results are way better this time. These are videos of real blowjobs between real people, not porn sets with overexposed lighting. Some of the couples in these videos might actually love each other. 

He finds a video that he likes. Really likes, if he's honest. The woman is really hot. Big brown eyes. Messy brown hair that the guy behind the camera holds away from her face in a makeshift ponytail, but her baby hairs still fall in her face. Sharp jawline, shy smile. She's gorgeous.

She's laying on her stomach between the guy's legs in the dimly lit room, starts the blowjob slow and sensual, taking her time with it. Ilia mimics her movements with his fingers in his mouth, and oh god, he's hard. Ilia's really hard.

He props his phone up against the other pillow on his bed, kicks his blankets off. Pulls down his sweatpants with his other hand, wraps it around his dick.

He matches the pace of his strokes with the pace of the woman on screen, both hands moving in tandem. He speeds up as she does, fucking his fingers in and out of his mouth as he comes in his hand. The video ends not long after. Ilia's face is so fucking red when he cleans up.

That video becomes a bit of a go-to for him. He does the same thing a few separate nights, trying to focus more on honing his dick-sucking skills than jerking off. He can't quite help it, though. Something about having his mouth full feels really fucking good.

He can admit that it's not the best teaching tool. Her mouth is closed, he can't quite see what she's doing with her tongue or her throat. There's no practical advice, just Ilia fucking himself a little stupid.

That's when the research starts including text-based materials. All those trashy articles titled things like Blowjob Tips that'll Make Your Man Explode and Oral Sex 101. Reddit posts about How do I deepthroat?? and How do I stop gagging when I suck my boyfriend's dick? He's sure he knows all the tips by now. Squeeze your thumb or hum to stop yourself from gagging. Play with the balls and switch up the rhythm sometimes. Make out with it a little bit, make eye contact, put on a show, all of which he already does, thankfully.

One tip mentioned something about throat numbing spray, so he bites the bullet and buys some one time when he gets a cold. It tastes horrible, like cough medicine amplified by a thousand. It does numb his throat, though. He figures out that he actually prefers to feel it, especially if he has to use this disgusting spray first.

He gets better at it, he can tell. He can touch the back of his throat without immediately retreating now. Sometimes he can even swallow with his fingers like that. His fingers are smaller than a dick, though. It's a skewed measurement of progress.

He misses Misha so fucking much.

Misha's just finished untying his skates when his phone buzzes on the bench next to him.

Ilyukha
bathroom???? pls
Misha
?????

They haven't had time to really see each other since they landed in Italy this morning. They landed at about the same time, and the organizers of this show sent one car to pick them both up. The drive to the hotel was fifteen minutes at most, and they spent it making small talk. How their flights were, what songs they plan on skating to. How they missed each other, even though it had only been a month since the Grand Prix Final in France. How they hope they're roommates if they have to share rooms. Misha kept a close eye on the driver, making sure he didn't react like he understood when Ilia was flirting. If the driver also spoke Russian, Misha couldn't tell.

Misha looks at Ilia from across the locker room. Does his best to ask have you lost your fucking mind? with his eyes.

Ilyukha
plss🥲
Misha
Here??!?
Ilyukha
just head
nothing crazy

Misha lets out a dry laugh. Nothing crazy. Right, sure. Not like they're both fresh out of practice and surrounded by other skaters or anything. No, this is a totally normal and rational situation.

Misha
That is crazy
Ilyukha
i'll be quick i promise
i just need to get it out of my system i can't wait until tonight

Arousal starts to curl in Misha's abdomen as he puts his skates back into his bag. Neither of them had asked for later yet, and yet Ilia just assumed it was happening. It was always going to, if Misha got his way. He just didn't even have to ask. Something about it is far hotter than it should be.

Misha
Are you sure?
Ilyukha
yes i need it
i mean you don't have to if you don't want to but

Who was Misha kidding, anyways? He can never say no to Ilia. Even if it's Ilia asking to get some head in a public bathroom like Misha's some slut.

Misha
No it's okay we can do it
Ilyukha
fuck tysm
the single bathroom by the locker rooms
5 mins
Misha
Okay

This is crazy. This is the craziest thing Misha has ever done, actually. He zips up his bag, stuffs it into the locker he's been using. He wishes he felt worse about this. He feels easy. It was so easy for Ilia to convince him to drop everything and suck his dick in a public fucking bathroom. A public bathroom just a few steps from the rest of their world, no less. Other skaters are going to walk past that door while Misha sucks Ilia's dick and he should feel so much worse about this. What does it say about him that he doesn't?

He reaches the bathroom before Ilia does, looks at himself in the mirror. He's flushed red and he wishes he could pretend it's from his exertion on the ice. He splashes some cold water onto his face. Tries to shake his nerves out through his hands. He should feel used, shouldn't he? Ilia's horny and he just assumed that Misha would agree to this. He flushes harder when he realizes that he does feel a little used, he just kind of likes it. Likes knowing that Ilia will find him if he needs to get off. Maybe Ilia figured this out about him before Misha did himself.

Ilia knocks on the door, mumbles a you in there? so Misha knows it's him. Misha takes a deep breath, unlocks the door. Ilia looks wired. He's flushed too, hangs his personal bag off the doorknob after locking it. He's antsy, shaking his hands out a little bit too. He backs Misha against the wall, kisses him briefly. Not like they're about to fuck, but how couples might kiss each other hello. It almost feels too sweet for what this is. Ilia's eyes are a bit wild when they part. Misha looks down, expecting to find Ilia already hard.

As far as Misha can tell, he's not, and his compression pants don't leave much to the imagination. It's not like Misha can look for long, though. Ilia's crotch falls out of his line of vision because Ilia is dropping to his fucking knees again.

Misha gasps, tilts his head back against the wall. How could he not? There's no other way to react when Ilia is pulling down his pants and pressing a kiss to his cock through his underwear.

His head is fucking spinning, all the blood draining from his head and rushing into his cock at once. Fuck, this is crazy. This is so fucking crazy. Ilia's pulling his underwear down, too, and Misha has to stifle a moan before Ilia even touches his dick.

This is not how he thought this was going to go. No, this is so much different. He walked into this bathroom expecting Ilia to use his mouth but he's using his cock instead. How could this be happening? Ilia's got a hand around the base of Misha's cock and he parts his lips around the tip, and this can't be real.

Ilia's mouth is so hot and tight and there's no buildup at all. Ilia's lips are sliding towards the ring of his fingers and it's so much. Misha tangles a hand in Ilia's hair, tips his head back down to watch him.

Ilia wastes no time taking Misha as deep as he can. He doesn't have to work his hand around what he can't reach anymore because he can take all of what's left. His other hand digs into the meat of Misha's thigh and oh god, he's never taken this much before. Ilia's not even looking at Misha, his eyes are closed and he's just enjoying this. Fuck, he really likes this, doesn't he? Ilia pulls up, dragging his tongue around the underside of Misha's dick as he does it, pushes spit past his lips and smearing it across the tip with them. Misha wishes Ilia would open his eyes, look at him. They haven't even said anything to each other inside this bathroom, and Ilia always talks with his eyes. He needs to see Ilia's eyes so bad.

The universe must hear Misha's brain and he immediately wishes it didn't. Ilia's eyes open as he sinks down again, looking up to watch Misha feel it. Ilia's eyes are already glazing over and he fucking moans when he realizes that Misha watching him too.

Fuck, looking at Ilia was such a mistake, and Misha's slapping a hand over his mouth before he moans back. Ilia's so good with his mouth, even better than the last time Misha felt it. He speeds up his rhythm, working until it's so sloppy that Misha can hear it.

He can't take his eyes off of Ilia and he knows Ilia is trying to watch him, too. He's having less success, he's somehow so blissed out just from sucking dick that his eyes are fluttering shut. It's hardly been a few minutes but Misha's not going to last at all when Ilia's like this.

Ilia pulls off of Misha's cock, gasps in a deep breath. Fuck, was he choking himself on it? Ilia's hand starts pumping at the pace he set with his mouth and Misha's so not gonna last.

His hand grips Ilia's hair tighter and Misha can feel Ilia trying to take his cock into his mouth again. He's making Misha pull his hair to hold him back and it's so fucking hot that Misha has to lock his knees before he crumbles to the floor.

He pulls his hand away from his mouth, tries his best to form words. "'m not—"

Ilia lets out a whimper, small enough that Misha doesn't think it was for him to hear anyway. "Yeah. Give it t'me."

And Misha's easy.

He pulls Ilia back down onto his dick, lets go of his hair to push it out of his face instead. He needs to see this, all of this, as much as he can. Ilia sucks tighter than he has this whole time and Misha can barely warn him with a strangled c'ming before he's spilling down Ilia's throat.

And Ilia just takes it. He blinks slowly as he lets Misha fill his mouth, like a satisfied cat. It feels like Misha's soul is following his release right past Ilia's lips.

Ilia pulls off once Misha stops coming, maintains eye contact as he swallows. Squeezes Misha's tip and licks up any residual cum. Swallows again as Misha groans at his behavior.

They're frozen in place, trying to catch their breath. Trying to make their brains work again.

Ilia moves first, drops his hands to his thighs with a quiet smack. Lifts them again to hold up two thumbs up. "We good here?"

What? He hasn't even touched Ilia at all. Ilia wasn't touching himself either, Misha felt both of his hands the whole time. We good here. What the fuck is he talking about? 

Misha's face contorts into a confused expression before he can form the words to express it. "You don't—"

Ilia's grabbing his hand, pulling himself onto his feet. "No, I'm good to wait. We have to be quick anyway." He wipes his nose with the back of his hands.

What the fuck is even happening? Ilia's hard, he can see it. This doesn't even make any sense. "You're sure?"

Ilia's walking towards the sink now, washing his hands. Misha tucks himself back into his pants because he almost feels out of place with his dick out, now. Misha can see Ilia smirk through the mirror's reflection. "Yeah, just get me back later."

This is crazy, they both must have gone crazy. Ilia's messes with his hair, furrows his brows at Misha through the mirror. "You good?"

What the fuck does he even mean? You good? Clearly not, clearly neither of them are good, because this is fucking insane. Only insane people do stuff like this.

Ilia's still staring at him, hands hovering over his hair while he waits. Right, it's Misha's turn to talk. "Yeah, I'm—Yeah."

Ilia just laughs as he takes his bag off the door handle, drapes it over his shoulder. Laughs like he knows something Misha doesn't and he's enjoying watching him try figure it out. Like this would make sense to everyone in the world except Misha, like this is totally normal and Ilia didn't just beg to suck his dick without expecting anything in return. Like Misha's the crazy one here for being confused.

Ilia's in his space again, pinning Misha to the wall with two gentle hands on his waist. Ilia kisses him and Misha's so thankful for it because he only would've wasted time if he had to find the brainpower to kiss Ilia first. He can taste his cum on Ilia's lips and it's still as hot as the first time.

Ilia pulls away first and Misha wishes that Ilia was still a little stupid, too. Misha's too stupid to think about ending a kiss right now, but Ilia's not. It's not fair. 

Ilia mumbles against the corner of Misha's lips. "So, later?"

Misha nods, gives Ilia a quick kiss. "Yeah. I owe you."

Ilia laughs quietly. Kisses Misha the same way. "We can do my room this time. I've got a corner room."

It's for the best. Ilia gets loud, and Misha misses the way Ilia says his name when he's about to come.

Misha puts his hands on Ilia's waist, too. Ilia's still a little hard, and Misha's trying his best to ignore it the way Ilia is. "What room number?" 

"Can't remember." He feels Ilia smile against Misha's cheek. "We're all on the same floor. I'm the door right next to the stairs."

His answer is so Ilia that Misha has to laugh and kiss him again. "Which side of the hallway? The stairs entrance is in the middle."

"Um, the side with the ugly painting. I think. Do you know the one I'm talking about?"

Misha's still laughing because Ilia's just ridiculous. "If I knock on the wrong door I'll kill us both."

Ilia laughs, too. "Fine, I'll text you the number when I get back."

Misha kisses him again, for real this time. A long kiss, a goodbye kiss. They've been in here far too long already.

Ilia unzips his bag as they break apart. He fishes out a container of mints, pops one in his mouth. Misha takes one too because he knows that Ilia's mouth will taste the same. That's almost like a kiss, right?

Ilia wraps his arms around Misha's neck, gives him a hug. A goodbye hug, the way friends would. Maybe. Misha doesn't hug any of his other friends like this. Hopefully Ilia doesn't either.

"Cool." Misha's not really sure what Ilia's responding to. Sometimes Ilia just talks to fill the silence. He daps Misha up like they're just friends, like Misha wasn't tasting his own cum on Ilia's tongue a few minutes ago, and it's somehow the craziest part of all of this. "You leave first. Give me a second to like," Ilia glances down at his dick, where he's still half hard. "Calm down."

Misha laughs at this too. This is such an absurd situation that it's just hilarious. "Okay."

He gives himself a quick once over in the mirror, makes sure he doesn't look as crazy as he feels. His hand lingers on the doorknob as he goes to leave. He knows this has to end, it's been far too long. People will look for them soon. It's crazy to say he wants to stay in this arena bathroom forever, but he almost wants to.

"See you later, then?" His smile is shy.

Ilia's smile is shy, too. "Yeah. Later."

Misha knows that this should be a bad idea.

If he were a normal and rational person, he would absolutely recognize that this is a bad idea. He's not, though. And he hasn't been since he met Ilia.

He's in third place at the World Championships right now, for god's sake. The most important free skate of his entire career is tomorrow. He has to be at the practice rink in, what, ten hours? Less? Maybe he should be there already, he has no idea how long he's been in this bed. Time stopped existing the second Ilia entered the room. If he was a normal and rational person, he would've turned down Ilia's request for later. He knows he probably should've. But they've never turned each other down before, and he's always given Ilia anything he wanted.

Besides, Ilia asked for later the night before the short program, too. He had to be at the practice rink even earlier that day, and they couldn't resist each other that night, either. They got each other off and he ended up in third place eighteen hours later. Maybe it's good luck?

It's not even like they're going to fuck, anyway. They haven't done that yet. They've only done hand stuff and mouth stuff, a lot of dry humping and that one time Misha fucked Ilia's thighs and saw god. Never actual sex, though. Misha wants to, of course, and he's pretty sure that Ilia does too. They just exist on borrowed time, on the few nights each year they get to see each other. If they got to exist like a normal... whatever they are, they definitely would've fucked by now. Misha just feels bad being the one to ask. He knows that Ilia's fingered himself before. He's let Misha listen over the phone while he did it. Asking Ilia to bottom for him just feels kind of greedy, especially when they have to be in the best shape possible nearly every time they see each other.

Even still, this is probably not a good idea. A normal and rational person would know this without having to think about it.

Except Misha can't think about anything that's not Ilia.

Ilia, who Misha didn't even get to kiss before he was shoved onto the bed. Ilia, who pounced on him and straddled his thighs and kissed Misha until they were both gasping for air. Ilia, who damn near ripped Misha's clothes off before crawling down his body. Ilia, who's sucking Misha's soul out through his dick. Ilia Ilia Ilia Ilia Ilia.

Sometimes Ilia puts on a show for Misha when he uses his mouth. Bats his eyelashes, slaps Misha's dick against his tongue. Not tonight. Tonight, Ilia's sucking dick like it's for his own benefit and Misha has no choice but to take it.

Misha feels drunk. He feels like the room is spinning and he's falling through all the floors of this hotel and won't stop falling until he hits the Earth's core. Maybe he'd fall through that too, get spat out on the other side. It wouldn't surprise him. This is way too fucking good to be true, the universe can't just be letting him have this. Surely he'll wake up on the other side of the world again soon.

Except he doesn't, he's pinned to this bed by his hips where Ilia's arm holds him down. This is so good and he couldn't run from it if he tried.

Ilia's almost treating Misha like he's not even there. He didn't even do his normal opening routine of licking up the shaft, kissing and sucking on the tip. He just settled between Misha's legs and started working his head up and down, the lewd click of his throat each time Ilia takes as much as he can ringing in Misha's ears. He hasn't even looked up at Misha since he started, he's just taking what he wants. Misha would almost be convinced he didn't even exist anymore if he couldn't see the way Ilia's hips grind against the bed whenever Misha mumbles out praise. Praise that Misha barely even hears, his brain not wasting any capacity trying to process his words when he could be thinking about Ilia instead. Praise that makes Ilia moan around his dick, the vibrations of which only undo Misha further until he's mumbling more praise. They're trapped in this feedback loop and Misha's falling apart at the seams.

Ilia can almost take all of him now, maybe an inch or two left that his mouth can't reach. He's not even using his hands, just taking Misha apart with his mouth alone. He hardly gags anymore, and he can sometimes push through it so he doesn't have to stop. Ilia's eyes are wet and a few tears have slipped out and he doesn't even seem like he notices. He's getting better at this every time and it's going to fucking kill Misha. He's not sure how much improvement he can handle before Ilia's mouth really does stop Misha's heart.

Misha doesn't get any chance to prepare himself for it.

Ilia drops his head again and Misha hits the back of his throat. He's felt it before but it still makes him feel like his heart is going to explode in his chest. It used to be a rare occasion, when Ilia would get carried away and take Misha too far before gagging. He feels it more often now, again and again with each click. He feels it now and he's still feeling it, Ilia holding Misha there for a moment, eyes sparing a glance at Misha before pushing down again and oh god.

He's as deep in Ilia's mouth as he's ever been and Ilia just keeps going, taking shaky breaths through his nose as he takes Misha even further down his throat until his lips reach the base. Oh fuck, oh god, he fucking did it. Ilia's taking all of him, he's deepthroating Misha and it's all so much and Misha's coming before he can warn him.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, 's—hah—I'm so s-sorry—you're so—oh-h-h—" Misha feels like he's being flung into the atmosphere and crash landing onto Earth at the same time. The orgasm absolutely rips through him, sending him writhing and trembling against the bed as he has to just fucking take it.

He's coming so hard and Ilia can only take so much. He pulls Misha out of his throat until the tip is resting against his tongue, spilling the rest where Ilia can taste it and oh, Ilia.

His eyes are closed, hips stuttering against the bed as he moans around Misha's cock. His hips grind against the bed one final time and he's moaning even harder, the hand that's not pinning Misha down scrambling for purchase on Misha's thigh. He's swallowing with Misha's dick still in his mouth, hips twitching softly. He pulls off of Misha's dick entirely now, and it's not until he's whimpering and dropping his head onto Misha's hip that Misha's brain catches up.

Ilia just fucking came in his pants.

Fuck. Fuck. It's almost enough to make Misha comee again, it's so fucking hot that he barely survives it.

He can tell that Ilia's crying before Misha can remember his own name. He manages to find his hands and bring them to Ilia's face, tilting his head upwards to look at him. His eyes are wide, almost scared. He's so embarrassed, Misha can tell. Embarrassed like that wasn't the hottest thing Misha has ever fucking seen.

He strokes his thumbs over Ilia's cheeks, wiping the tears away. "You okay?"

Ilia blinks a few times, furrows his eyes like he has to remember what words mean. Like he has to remember how to talk. "Can you fuck me tomorrow?"

The question hits Misha like a fucking truck. Ilia is fucking insane. He can't just fucking say stuff like that, not when Misha's already spent. It sends a shiver down Misha's spine, making him moan far too loud and making his cock twitch against his stomach.

"Yeah. Yeah, if you want it. A—"

"I wan' it." His voice is raspy and Misha really does think Ilia's gonna kill him someday.

He swipes another tear away from Ilia's cheek. "Okay, I will. Are you okay?"

Ilia's head is heavy, like his neck isn't holding him up at all. Like Misha is the only thing holding him together. "Uh-huh. Made a mess. 'm sorry."

He's so fucking cute when he's blissed out and Misha can't take much more of this. He will, though. He's going to take whatever Ilia gives him forever because there can't be anything better than this. "No, 's okay. You did so good."

Ilia almost smiles, cheeks still bright red. "Thank you."

Misha sits up, cradling Ilia's face just because he can. "You wanna go shower?"

"Come with me?"

Misha can feel himself blushing. He was going to let Ilia shower alone, but now he can't imagine being so far away from him right now. He sounds far too fond when he speaks.

"Okay."

It's nice showering with Ilia. They wash themselves, but it's still nice to exist in each other's space. It feels like a glimpse of a life where they don't only exist on stolen nights.

Ilia's rinsing shampoo out of his hair when he speaks. "You nervous?"

"Yeah." He's so nervous. Nervous to skate, nervous that if he medals he won't be able to seem like a friend when he hugs Ilia, nervous that he's going to embarrass himself when he fucks Ilia tomorrow.

Ilia smiles gently. "You're gonna do so good."

Misha's blushing again. "I did good the other day. Maybe you're good luck."

It's Ilia's turn to blush. He breaks eye contact, finds the conditioner on the shower's shelf. "Maybe."

They step around each other, Misha standing directly beneath the stream now. He tilts his head back to rinse his hair and he misses looking at Ilia already. "Are you nervous?"

"A little?" Ilia's voice isn't as raspy as before, but Misha can still hear it. A reminder of what he did to Ilia. Of what Ilia did to him. It makes Misha's heart race a little bit. "I always get nervous, I think. It's just a lot, y'know?" He sounds shy about it. Misha can understand why. Ilia's heard it from others before. Ilia will be nervous, anxious even, and other skaters say he shouldn't be. They're right, Ilia shouldn't. A mediocre performance for him is better than almost anyone else on the planet. It doesn't help him to hear that, though. It just makes him feel silly for saying anything at all. The others don't notice, but Misha does. Misha wants to know him better than anyone.

He finds Ilia's eyes, reaches for his hand. "I know." Ilia's leaning in, sliding his arms around Misha's waist, hooking his chin over Misha's shoulder. They can never be close enough. "But you are always so brave." Ilia squeezes him tighter. "We will be brave together, okay?"

He hears Ilia sniffle, feels him nod. Misha just holds him like that, rubs his hand up and down Ilia's back. He hopes it's comforting enough. Ilia turns his head to squish his cheek against Misha's shoulder, presses a kiss to his neck.

"And after you win gold—"

"—And you win silver." The words tickle when Ilia breathes them against Misha's neck.

"Okay. And I win silver." Misha laughs at how sure Ilia sounds. "We'll come back here and celebrate." His hand slides down Ilia's back to his ass, squeezes it. He doesn't have to see Ilia's face to know that he rolled his eyes when he laughed. He knows Ilia. Better than almost anyone. Maybe better than everyone, one day. If he's lucky.

Ilia sneaks back out of Misha's hotel room with a kiss goodbye. Another for good luck. One more because Ilia said that you're supposed to say goodbye last. He's in a pair of sleep shorts that Misha let him borrow because Ilia doesn't like feeling sticky. His ass looks so good in them that Misha wouldn't mind if he never gets them back.

Ilia's at the kitchen counter, but not really. He's in his head again, chain between his lips. He misses Misha. He misses Misha because he's asleep and he misses Misha because he's so far away. Nothing on his phone is distracting enough.

His mom looks up from where she's doing dishes at the sink. "Don't forget the Ez-Pass^[1] tomorrow."

Ilia blinks, shakes his head a bit. "For what?"

Tatiana looks at him like he's a little stupid. "The airport?"

"The airport?" What the fuck are they even talking about?

Tatiana looks at him like he's really stupid. "You're dropping off your father and sister?"

Ilia makes a face at her. Sometimes him and his mom get like this, both a little frustrated with each other. It's almost always when Ilia's in a bad mood and needs an outlet. "Since when?"

Tatiana rolls her eyes, drops the sponge. "Since last week! I told you this."

She probably did, and he definitely forgot, because his head is barely here anymore. Ilia's being a dick anyway. "No you didn't." He rolls his eyes, looks at his phone again.

The kitchen gloves hit the counter harder than they need to as Tatiana takes them off. "Yes, I did! I have lessons all afternoon and they have her competition this weekend and it's cheaper to—"

She definitely did tell Ilia this. Oops. He was barely paying attention, he was reading another magazine profile on Misha. Sue him. "Okay, yeah, yeah. I remember. When do we have to leave again?"

Tatiana leans against the counter, looks at Ilia like she's tired. "Five."

Ugh. Why did he agree to this? Well, he always was going to, but DC roads are fucking brutal at rush hour. It'll take forever. "The traffic is gonna be awful!"

Tatiana raises her hands in mock surrender, pushes her hair out of her face in irritation. "I don't set the flight times! My god, you're so cranky lately."

He is. He still doesn't like to hear it, so he'll be worse. "Oh my god, relax, I just forgot."

Tatiana is milling about the kitchen now, tidying things up with a heavy hand to prove she's irritated. "It's because you don't listen!" She throws her hands up in frustration, aims them at him. Closes a drawer with a harder thud than usual. She's mumbling to herself under her breath. "Always on that phone texting your girlfriend—"

Ilia drops his phone. "I don't have a girlfriend!"

She raises her voice a bit, talking to Ilia now. "Or maybe your boyfriend! How would I know? You tell me nothing!"

Ilia's stomach sinks.

Fuck. What the fuck? Why the fuck would she say that? Panic swirls in his stomach, squeezes his heart. What does she know? Why the fuck would she say that?

Ilia tries to act normal, just a regular level of frustrated at their bickering. She can't know that the walls feel like they're closing in, because she would know.

"Goodnight." He storms off towards his bedroom.

"Ilyushka!" He knows that tone. The conversation isn't done, but he's walking away anyway.

"Goodnight!"

He slams his bedroom door behind him, tries to shake his nerves out. Pulls at his hair, rubs at his eyes. Fuck. Why would she say that? How dare she say that?

Ilia tries to rationalize it all as he showers, trying to fend off an anxiety attack. She isn't cruel, she wouldn't bring it up like that if she really knew, would she? Was she just trying to piss him off? Was she just trying to see how he reacted? Fuck, he doesn't know. He doesn't know, and the walls are spinning. He doubles over the sink while he's getting dressed, so anxious his whole body hurts. He's trying to be okay about it, he's trying. He furiously wipes at his eyes as he starts to cry, embarrassed even though no one can see him. He's really trying so hard to be okay and it's not enough.

On nights like this he wants to be with Misha so bad it feels like he's choking on it. It feels far past love at this point, bordering on addiction. It leaves Ilia anxious and agitated when he has to go without it. Leaves his parents to wonder what happened to the son they raised to be better than this.

The sun has barely risen when Misha's alarm goes off.

Fuck, he hates mornings. He would never be awake this early if he could help it. It's easier for him to stay awake until this late instead of waking up this early. Not even Alexey Evgenievich makes him wake up this early when they're training, but Misha's federation must hate him for starting their training camp at 7:00am.

He blindly swats at the nightstand to grab his phone, shut off that blaring alarm. The misery of the morning is assuaged by notifications that Ilia's messaging him. Thank god.

The truth is, Misha doesn't necessarily need to be awake this early. He could probably just roll out of bed and make it to the training facility within twenty minutes. Time zones are just evil, and if he doesn't get to talk to Ilia for a while in the mornings he'll have to go the whole day without him while Ilia slept. That's even more unbearable than having an alarm this early.

Ilyusha
hi r u awake
sorry
ik youre just waking up but can i call u
im rly sorry

Ilia's panicking. Fuck. He always gets like this when he's struggling, acting like he's a burden on Misha. Apologizing like Misha doesn't wake up this early just to call him. He doesn't even text Ilia back, just calls Ilia immediately.

"Ilyusha, wh—"

"I think my mom knows." Ilia's voice is tight, shaky. Misha sits up in bed, takes a sip of water. He needs to wake up faster, fuck.

"Knows what?" His brain is still groggy, voice raspy. Ilia needs him, he needs to fucking wake up. Ilia's spiraling and Misha's too sleepy to read his mind like he usually can.

"Like. Knows, Misha."

"About me?"

"No, about me."  Misha can hear Ilia trying not to cry and it shatters his fucking heart.

They don't have a plan for this. They've always known that they would have to tell their parents eventually. Tell everyone. Everyone that matters, at least. They've just never talked about how it would happen. Telling parents, telling everyone that matters, makes things complicated. Things are already complicated enough, they've been complicated for so long. Misha just wants a little bit longer in this honeymoon period where the only thing that hurts is distance, not the rest of what awaits them.

"Wh-what happened?" Misha turns on the lamp, runs his free hand down his face. Fuck.

"We were like—she w's saying I don't—like—really talk to her anymore, I guess and I could like—that I'm—that I'm always texting my secret girlfriend or my boyfriend and she wouldn't even know and I—" Ilia's trying to take deep breaths like Misha always tells him to, but he's not succeeding. He's breaking, Misha has to be strong for him.

Misha's voice is too small. "Do you think they would be okay with it?" With me?

Ilia makes an even smaller noise, a whimper that makes Misha's heart sink. Like he's in pain. It's taking so much out of him to fight through the panic and use his words. It's so fucking unfair that Misha can't be there with him, holding him and keeping him safe. "I mea—I think? They're okay with other people, I just—oh god, Misha, she knows. She knows, doesn't she?" Ilia chokes on a sob. Misha's chest aches.

"Hey, heyheyhey. Breathe. Breathe with me—"

"Scared, Misha, 'm so scared—" Ilia's crying. Misha's trying not to.

"She might not even know, you're okay, Ilyusha, you're oka—"

"She'll figure it out! Dad, too, fuck, my dad—they'll find out 'nd It'll—I'll—"

"You'll what, Ilyusha? They love you. They love you. It's okay." Ilia's nearly hyperventilating. He's so far gone, beyond reason. Misha tries anyway.

"I just—You know how I am. They'll find out about you too 'nd—fuck, 'm so sorry, Misha, so sorry for all of it—"

A tear slides down Misha's cheek. Oh, his baby. Even when Ilia's like this he still worries about Misha. He needs to hold Ilia so bad that his skin is crawling.

"No, malysh, it's okay. I need you to breathe with me. Can you take a deep breath with me?"

He whines out an okay, lets Misha guide him through a deep breath, another. He's such a good boy, he always listens. Misha loves him so much.

Ilia finds his voice again. It's still shaky but there's more breath behind it. "I jus—I need you here. So bad. You make me feel better, always make me better. 'm sorry—"

Misha truly thinks he can feel his heart breaking. "Don't be sorry, malysh, it's okay. Listen to me. It's okay. What can I do?"

He can't do enough. Ilia is thousands of miles away. Misha knows how many, he's sure, but he can't think about anything else.

"Can you—hic—make me feel better? Like how you—"

"Like—like that?" 

Misha wants to give it to him, so bad. He wants to put him under, let his brain slip away. Ilia's so fragile, so scared. If he cries any louder his parents might check on him and it'll make it worse. But Misha's scared, too. Ilia's not right in the head right now, he would be even more vulnerable and Misha can't even be there to help if—

"Please. Please, Misha. My brain it's—make it stop. Please, you always make it better, you—you have to help me—"

Ilia's working himself up again, like the prospect of being denied is enough to send him spiraling. Misha has always been weak man when it comes to him.

Anything Ilia wants, always. Even after all these years.

"Okay, yeah, okay. Can you lie down for me?" He knows Ilia must be pacing around his room, like he always does. Misha tries to blink back tears. He has to be strong, he can hurt later.

There's rustling on the other end. "Okay."

"Put me on speaker, lyubimiyy."

Ilia takes another shaky breath. "Okay."

"Okay, good job. Are you comfortable?"

More rustling, like Ilia is shedding layers. Misha wishes he knew, he wants to know everything Ilia is doing all the time. "Yeah."

Misha lets his brain start to slip into that headspace, too. Something else always comes over him when Ilia is like this, Misha just has to find it. "Good boy. You're a good boy, you know that?"

"Misha." Ilia's voice is small. Misha distantly wonders if anyone else ever hears him like this.

"Always so good. Can you take a deep breath with me?" He inhales slowly, hears Ilia obey. Ilia waits to hear Misha exhale before he does, too. "Good job. One more, good boy. You're being so good."

They breathe like that a few more times, until it sounds like Ilia could do it without guidance. He still won't settle. "Misha, please, it—"

Misha so desperately wants to give him more. He wants to give Ilia everything he has. He pulls at his own hair, blinks back tears. "Okay, um, you like it when I put my fingers in your mouth, yes? Can you do that for me?"

He swears he hears Ilia sigh in relief once he does. He hums out an mhmm from around his fingers that Misha tries not to think about.

"Good boy. You don't have to talk anymore, okay? I've got you. You just have to listen to me, you're always so good at that."

Ilia hums again. Misha hopes that it's because he agrees with the praise.

"Okay. I-I don't know if she knows, okay?" Misha's trying so hard to not sound scared.

Ilia starts to make a sound of protest, like it hurts to even think about it.

"But listen, shhh, listen. If you wanna tell them one day, I—I'll be there."

"Wha?" Ilia's already starting to slip. The panic starts to loosen its grip around Misha's heart.

"Wherever you are, I'll come to you. I'll be there, okay? We can tell them together." Misha's crying because he can't help it anymore. He wants to rip a hole through the universe and create a portal into Ilia's bed. This must be what hell is like, only being able to promise to the love of your life you'll provide true comfort someday and not just freely give it on demand.

Ilia moans. Misha really can't think about it.

"An-and I'll tell them too. I'll tell them I love you, and I wanna marry you one day. Because I do, malysh, I do. I love you so much. You're so good and you're so brave and I love you." Misha prays to whoever is listening that Ilia can't hear the ache in his voice as much as Misha does.

Ilia whimpers, but it doesn't sound like he's in pain anymore. Misha clings to that sound, runs with it. He couldn't stop talking if he tried.

"You don't have to do it by yourself because I-I'm always gonna take care of you. You know that?" He pulls the phone away from his face to muffle a sob. "I love taking care of you. You're not allowed to feel bad for this, okay? I wanna take care of you forever. I mean it. So don't say sorry. I know you, and you're gonna try. You're not allowed. Okay?"

"Okay." There's no fight in Ilia's slurred voice, thank god. Misha imagines that angels are singing somewhere.

"Good boy. I love you, I love every part of you. Even when you're like this."

It feels so good to say it. To make Ilia hear it.

"One day I'll—I'll ask you to marry me. You'll say yes, right? When I ask?"

This is a lot. It's so much. They don't talk about marriage much, not like this. They're always husband and wife, not husband and husband. This is more real than it ever has been.

"Yeah, fuck, yeah." The words are shaped around the fingers in his mouth.

"Good, I know you will. Because you're so good, Ilyusha. My good boy. Always been my good boy, ever since that first night." Misha's blushing all over.

Ilia's moaning again, almost shy. "Pleashe?"

Misha doesn't even know what Ilia's asking for but he'll give it. Anything. "What is it, malysh?"

"It'sh—I'm hard, can I—" His voice breaks and Misha moans.

Fuck, Misha's hard too. He hasn't even noticed, he's been so focused on Ilia. Ilia, who's been whimpering and whining with his mouth full this whole time.

"Really? Fuck, okay, yeah, you can touch it." Misha palms himself too.

He can hear the exact moment that Ilia starts to stroke himself. He sounds so sweet, moan breaking in half against his fingers. 

"There you go, I got you, yeah? Does it feel good?"

Ilia huffs, irritated in that bratty way Misha loves. "You feel good."

Misha's cock twitches and he's still crying. Ilia's so fucking hot and he needs Misha so bad. Misha needs him so bad. "I know, lyubimiyy, I'm sorry. I wish I could do it. I could make it so good." Misha's sentence trails off at the end, talking more to himself. Complaining to the universe for depriving him.

"You too? Pleashe—" Ilia's words are so muffled. He must have added another finger to his mouth. Misha feels lightheaded.

"Okay, yeah, for you." Misha's so fucking hard, just drooling precum. He's really not going to last.

Ilia's mumbling to himself and Misha's so glad he can hear it. "F'r me. F'r me."

Misha fucking doubles over, thrashes back against the headboard. "Always, always for you. All yours."

It earns him a moan so sweet that Misha moans back. His brain is slipping too, Misha's outright babbling into the phone. "I'm gonna marry you, 'm gonna marry you, Ilyusha."

Ilia chokes out a sob. He must be so close. "Misha."

Misha's close too. "D'you wanna marry me too?"

He knows the answer. It just feels good to hear it.

"Yeah."

Misha's still talking and he's not even sure what he's saying anymore. It's anything his brain can conjure that he needs Ilia to hear.

"—n' I'll take care of you forever. Whenever you need it, fuck. Because you're mine, my good boy—"

"Pleashe, Mish—"

"You can come, malysh. You did so good." 

Misha can hear Ilia writhing against the sheets, a string of moans escaping from around his fingers. Misha would give anything in the world to witness it. Misha's coming all over his hand not long after.

They both catch their breath, panting in unison.

Ilia finds his words first. "Love you."

Misha sniffles. He's still crying, just from all of it. "Me too, fuck, I love you so much."

They stay on the phone for as long as they can. Ilia lays there quietly as Misha showers, brushes his teeth. He's almost asleep when Misha has to hang up, whispering a quiet I love you before the call ends. It's fucking torture to say goodbye.

Misha's head is still a bit fuzzy as he walks to the arena, checking the prices for flights to Virginia like he finds himself doing more often these days.

If his father and sister know anything about last night's tiff, they make no mention of it. The conversation is completely normal, and there wasn't even much of it. They were flying out of Dulles, not Reagan.^[2]. Traffic wasn't even bad, the drive there was twenty minutes at most. Ilia probably deserved bad traffic. He was a dick yesterday.

He stops at the Dunkin' drive-through on the way home, gets his mom her go-to drink: an unsweet iced tea with lemon, no ice. She loves iced tea but never bothers with the waiting required to make it. She says the store-bought iced tea isn't as good, either. His dad gets her an iced tea from Dunkin' whenever he drives past it and has the time. It's one of the first small acts of love that Ilia knew. Ever since he got his license, he gets his mom an iced tea as an unspoken apology after he's bitchy.

His mom gets home not long after he does, Chipotle bag in hand. Roman and Liza don't like Chipotle, so it's their special treat when they're the only ones home for dinner. An unspoken reminder that she still knows Ilia, still loves him.

She kisses the top of his head as a thank you for the iced tea before she sits down at the kitchen counter next to him. They don't talk much while they eat. Ilia refuses to look at his phone, refuses to even look up.

Tatiana holds her hand in front of her mouth, swallows. "I love you, you know."

Ilia tries not to flinch. Of course this is fucking happening. He just nods, takes a sip of his water so he doesn't have to sound normal.

It's not enough. She nudges him gently with her shoulder. "You know? No matter what." She returns to her food like this is all just normal.

Ilia's eyes are watering. Fuck. She's always so good at dancing around it. "I know. I love you too."

"I know."

They fall back into silence, probably more comfortable for Tatiana than it is for Ilia. It's hard to eat around the lump in his throat.

Ilia closes his eyes when he can tell she's about to talk again, bracing for impact. "How's Amber doing?"

"She's, um, she's good. Why?" His voice sounds shaky. He's so thankful she doesn't ask why.

She takes a sip of her drink, drops her fork. "I worry about her. She has a lot on her plate." She's looking at Ilia now but he won't look back. "I worry about all of you, of course. But, Amber, you know." She tilts her head to the side, shrugs. "I worry extra. Many people are, you know. I root for her."

Ilia tries to wipe at his eyes as discreetly as he can. Not like it matters, she'll notice anyway. She knows him too well. "Yeah, me too."

"Did she find a girlfriend on tour?"

The question is so far out of left field that it makes Ilia laugh. It's an awkward sound, throat heavy with the sobs he's swallowed down. "Nope."

Tatiana rolls her eyes, smacks her tongue. She nudges Ilia's shoulder with her own as she speaks. "What are you good for, then? You didn't help her find one?"

Ilia laughs again. His mom is always so good at this. She can always tell when he's not right, when he's starting to spiral. She's almost the person he trusts the most to help him when he's like this, only behind Misha. She knows when she needs to find him in his head and sit with him there, and she knows when she should make him laugh and feel normal again. She can read him better than Ilia can understand himself. He's defending his queer-women-wingman abilities to his mother after almost crying into his Chipotle bowl and it still somehow feels normal. It's a lot, but it's okay. She's saying that this is okay. Would be okay. That he could be normal, even like this.

Ilyusha
good morningg
can u call me if u have time before u leave
im okay i think
just miss u and wanna talk to u
but dont worry abt it if u cant its okay

Misha's calling him before he even finishes reading the messages. Ilia sounds better than he did yesterday. Still anxious and still feeling guilty that he's anxious, but still better than yesterday. The phone connects after the first ring.

"Hey," Ilia sounds tired. He probably cried before Misha woke up. He hates that he has to sleep at all, that Ilia ever has to wait for him.

"Hey, what's going on? You okay?" His voice is thick with sleep. One time Ilia told him he loves when Misha sounds like this. 

"I, um, talked with my mom tonight." Ilia sniffles. "She knows. She didn't say it but—she knows. So." Ilia sounds so dejected that Misha's heart is breaking again.

Ilia wouldn't want it to have gone this way. He worries sometimes that life exists outside of him and he can't catch on as fast as everyone else. He hates that feeling of being left out of a joke, of someone knowing something he doesn't. Failing to keep a secret this big is probably his nightmare.

"How did it go?"

"Good. She's good with it. Probably just worried about me, I think. Since people are—you know."

"Yeah." Misha knows. He knows too well.

He's never going to be able to marry Ilia in the country he loves because of how people are. Nobody in this entire country, this entire continent, knows who Misha really is. He hasn't been an adult without Ilia taking up so much space in his brain. His heart. His very fucking core. He's the person he is because of Ilia and nobody in his world can know. Maybe one day, but not yet. Not when people control his future in the sport he loves. The sport that's just as much a part of him as Ilia is. That's just as much a part of Ilia as Misha is. Misha knows exactly how people are.

"So it's... you know. I think it's just a matter of time before they—I think I talk about you a lot. They're not stupid." Ilia's voice breaks at the end. Misha's chest feels tight.

They're not stupid. They're not, of course. They're good parents who know their son. Ilia just think that he is, that he's stupid enough to get caught. Like it's a reflection of his character or his intellect that his parent love him enough to pay attention to him. Ilia's always so mean to himself and it kills Misha.

Misha sits up in bed, pushes his hair out of his face. "What do you wanna do?"

Ilia's crying and he sounds mad at himself for it. "I guess I have to tell them sooner rather than later. It—fuck." 

"I can be there next week."

It's impulsive and Misha knows it. He just doesn't fucking care. Not when his baby needs him.

"What?"

"They give us a week off after camp. I'll tell them I need another. I can come visit. We can tell them together, if you want to." Like I promised. I meant it. I mean every word I say to you. I pray every night that your brain will let you believe me.

"It—they'd let you? You can get a visa in time?" There's hope in Ilia's voice, beneath the ache. Misha hasn't heard it in a long time.

"I'll tell them Tatiana Malinina wants to teach me her lutz. They'll figure it out." Misha's laughing softly, hoping it makes Ilia smile a bit.

Ilia's laugh is softer. "She would. She likes you."

The thought makes Misha blush. Ilia's mom intimidated him at first, if he's honest. He didn't get to see her much, but she always felt taller than her short stature. Ilia introduced them once, called Misha his friend like they didn't kiss each other goodbye that morning. She was so warm to him, told him that Misha was always welcome to come visit and train with Ilia, even after only talking once. Misha clung to that, hoped that one day he could. That he could earn a place in Ilia's life.

"Alexey Evgenievich will be so excited. He'll say I could use it." Misha knows his lutz is pretty solid, but if pretending it's not gets him to Ilia, then he has the worst lutz in the world.

Ilia laughs again. Misha misses the sound once it fades into a quiet, sad sigh. "You don't have to." He always thinks he's undeserving of love, of effort. It breaks Misha's heart every time.

"I know. Do you want me to?"

"Um—if you don't mind." Ilia's shy, like they're teenagers asking for a kiss again. Misha was endeared by it then, too. It's only sadder this time.

"I told you I would, yes? I meant it." All of it. Always.

He needs Ilia to want it, to admit he wants it out loud. To want something good and to get it. "Okay. It would be really good to see you."

Misha smiles and his heart is coming back to life from underneath the sadness. "Okay. I'll figure it out, yes? Don't worry about it."

Ilia's crying, but his voice is stronger. "Misha?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. A lot."

He'll never get sick of hearing it.

"I love you too, Ilyusha."

Ilia sniffles, takes a shaky breath.

"No more crying, malysh. What places are you going to show me when I get there?"

He doesn't get to talk to Ilia for as long as he wants to. If he's going to America he has to make some calls, use a lot of his good will and all of his charm to get the pieces to fall into place. Alexey Evgenievich was, in fact, thrilled at the prospect of Tatiana Malinina teaching Misha her lutz.

He buys the plane ticket before he can even call the Embassy and try to secure a visa. It's probably a bad idea, but he doesn't care. The ticket is $12 cheaper than it was last week when Misha checked. It's a steal.

His brain still feels hazy on his way to the rink. Everything feels like a dream, like any second now he's going to wake up and not be able to see Ilia for months. How could this possibly be real? He's moving on autopilot as he puts on his skates, his brain moving a million miles at once hardly thinking of anything at all.

He's barely stepped onto the ice when he's scared halfway out of his skin.

"Mikhail Shaidorov!"

God, Sofia is loud, even this early. Doesn't she hate mornings? How is she so loud right now?

He hasn't even opened his mouth before she's being loud again. It feels like everyone at the rink is staring.

"You stole that sweatshirt from me! It went missing when I did my laundry yesterday! It was you!"

Misha's opened his mouth now, but it's kind of just hanging there. What the fuck is even happening? He glances down at his clothes, it's just another black hoodie. Nothing cra—oh.

Sofia's finger is poking at his shoulder blade now, where Misha is sure that Great Park Ice and Irvine, CA is written across his back. Fuck. He did steal this hoodie, just not from Sofia. It's Ilia's, he got it last summer while training with Raf. Ilia stole one of his hoodies on tour so Misha stole one back. He was in such a rush to get ready this morning that he—fuck.

Sofia skates around to face him. Misha's barely moved an inch. "Ugh. Whatever." She pulls on the sleeve a bit, winks at him. "Just give it back to me after you wash it!"

As fast as she materialized and scared the shit out of him, she's skating away now. He can hear her continuing on to her friends. "Can you believe him? My hoodie!" 

He mouths a thank you when she turns back to make a face at him. She just winks again.

Misha gets shit for wearing a girl's hoodie all day. He just takes it. It's better than the truth, and everyone knows that Sofia is like a little sister to him. A little sister who loves to treat Misha like he's her little brother, even though he's two years older. A little sister that drives him up the wall for sport. She has taught entire team has the English word ragebait because apparently doing that to Misha is her favorite hobby.

He's showered and comfortable in bed when there's a knock on his door. He drags himself out from underneath the blankets, pads over to the door. He should've known who it would be.

Sofia has a bowl of apple slices and a whole lot of audacity. She invites herself into his room and kicks her shoes off. Great.

"Soooo?" She sits down on the edge of Misha's bed, crosses her legs. Misha knows there is absolutely no getting out of this. He's still not gonna make it easy. Serves her right for having no manners.

"So?" He rolls his eyes at her and he makes a face back. He doesn't ask for an apple slice when he takes one from the bowl, sitting next to her on the bed.

She can't keep up the irritated act for long, he can tell. There's a smile creeping onto her face. "Is it his?"

"Who?" He's still being vague even though there's no way out. This is a lot, but it's also Sofia. He can be as annoying as he wants with her, especially with something this big.

She playfully hits his arm and he doesn't hit back. He knows Sofia's rules: if he hits her, she hits him three times. One as revenge, one because he's a boy, and one because he's older. Even if she hits him first. He just takes another apple slice and she doesn't stop him.

"You know!" She smiles, leans in like someone might hear them "Ilia's!"

Misha's caught. He should be scared. Terrified, even. It's weird that he's not. The ball of energy in his chest that should be anxiety feels much more like excitement. He finally gets to talk about Ilia the way he wants to and he feels safe enough to do it. Ugh. Sofia can never know that he thinks this highly of her, he'll never hear the end of it. 

He's a terrible liar and he's terrible at trying to hold back a smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sofia groans in frustration. "Yes, you do! It's fine, I'm not going to tell anyone. Just tell me!"

Misha falls onto his back, hides his smile behind his hands. "It might be."

Sofia gasps like she's shocked. She must have figured it out as soon as she saw Misha in the hoodie and came to his rescue, the shock is probably at Misha giving in so easily. They could go back and forth with each other all day if they wanted to. "It is!"

Misha peeks out from behind his hands, nods at Sofia with bright eyes. He can feel the heat of his blushing cheeks against his fingers.

"Misha!" Sofia makes a noise of excitement that Misha couldn't replicate if she tried. She puts the bowl of apple slices down on the bed and smacks Misha's thighs with both hands like she's playing the drums. Cuteness aggression, as she calls it. "Mishkaaaa!"^[3]

He groans at the nickname and sits up to put the bowl on the nightstand, sitting back against the headboard. He's still smiling so hard that it's starting to hurt.

"Tell me! How long has it been?" She's staring at him with wide eyes, the excitement evident on her face. Misha distantly wonders if this is what it feels like when girls talk about their crushes at sleepovers.

"A few months, maybe." Misha's smile turns shy. It feels weird to say the he knows exactly how many days since Ilia became his boyfriend and his wife at the same time, so he doesn't.

Sofia shakes her head, furrows her eyebrows as she eats another apple. "No it hasn't. How long?"

Misha sits up, eyes wide. "How do you—"

He can't even finish the sentence before Sofia starts being Sofia. Between her and Ilia, Misha will have gray hairs by the next Olympics. 

"Oh my god! It's my fault I notice things now? Is it illegal to have eyes?" She falls back against the bed as she starts, drags out her syllables for emphasis. She's standing from the bed and marching over to his suitcase before he can even begin to process what Sofia might have noticed.

"What are you—"

"Relax! I'm just folding your clothes. Jesus. You pack your suitcase like a child." She's pulling a handful of shirts out of his (admittedly messy) suitcase and folding them properly, like it's a normal thing to do. It's normal for Sofia, at least. She gets bored and likes having side quests, as she calls them. "So? How long?"

Misha settles back against the headboard, picks at a loose thread on the blanket. "We, um... A few years?"

Sofia nods like she already knew that and this was some form of pop quiz. She's ridiculous.

"So who else knows?" She's holding two black shirts in front of her face, looking intently. Probably trying to see which one is a darker shade to properly arrange by color.

"Uh, Amber, Alysa, Isabeau, and you now." Sofia nods again. How the fuck would she know? "Andhisparentsnextweek." 

She drops the shirts in her hands, eyes the widest they've been all night. Almost to a cartoonish degree, really. "His pa—Misha! Mishaaaa!"

Sofia's across the room in seconds, shaking him by his shoulders. Misha tries his best to seem annoyed as he laughs.

She grabs another apple slice before she's walking back to the suitcase. "So it's serious! Like serious serious?"

His heart feels so soft. Misha feels so soft. Fuck, he loves talking about Ilia. "Yeah. Serious serious."

She has moved on to sweatpants now, folding them against her leg while she looks at Misha. "Have you said I love you?"

The question almost makes Misha laugh. "Yeah." Long fucking story.

Sofia must see the flash of amusement on his face because she's pointing a finger at him now. "There's more to that. Tell me."

Misha's face is bright red again. "No."

"Yes!" She drops her arms, the smack of her hands hitting her legs serving as emphasis. "You owe me. I covered for you."

"Sofochka."

"Mishka! C'mon, you haven't even told anyone. Don't you want to like—girl talk?"

He does, if he's being honest. He's lived with this secret for so long and he doesn't have to anymore. It's like the part of his heart that carries the secret is getting lighter by the sentence.

His tone is sassy, as she would call it. He still can't hold back a smile. "I'm not a girl." 

She just waves a hand dismissively in his direction. "Shut up! Start talking."

He does. He starts from the beginning, kind of. He says they were originally just hooking up, doesn't say that he was the most perverted roommate ever that first time. He shares as much of a play-by-play as he can without dying from embarrassment. Sofia mills about his room the whole time, taking it upon herself to clean what she saw fit. She interrupted him at one point to say she wishes there was glass cleaner so she could wash the window, because she's weird. She pretends to fall to the floor when she finds out Misha said I love you for the first time during sex.

She shakes him by both shoulders she finds out the details of him going to visit. She pauses for just a second after, and then hugs Misha. A real hug. It feels nice. He needed it.

"I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm serious."

She sounds serious, too. Enough that Misha almost wants to cry that one of the least serious people he knows would get this serious to make him feel safe. He hugs her a bit longer, not ready for her to look at him yet. "You can tell the girls that you know, if you want."

Sofia's sigh of relief is so exaggerated that Misha pulls away from the hug before his eardrum blows. "Ugh, thank you. I have to text Isabeau. I asked her a few months ago if she knew anything—"

"You what?"

"I have eyes Misha!" Eyes that look like they're trying to shoot lasers at him.

"When?"

"After that one show. With the hotel bar? We had a travel day the next day and Ilia left early an—what?"

Misha's face is growing hotter by the second. He knows exactly which night she's talking about. That night. He hides behind his hands again but it's no use. 

"That's, um. Our anniversary."

She jumps up from the bed so she can pretend to fall on the floor again. "Mishaaaa!"

It's hard to sit still in the car ride home from the airport.

Amber jokes that Ilia gets the zoomies when he's excited. That he becomes such a big ball of energy that he just has to move until he gets it all out. His mom used to make him run laps around the house before bed as a child if he was too wound up, and Ilia considers putting the car in park at this red light and sprinting around it a few times.

Misha's here. He's here, in Ilia's car. He flew all the way around the world for Ilia even though he didn't have to, but he did because he loves Ilia and he's here. Ilia hugged him at the airport, kissed him senseless from the driver's seat before they pulled out the parking garage. Ilia got to the airport much earlier than he needed to, and Ilia isn't early for anything. It gave him more than enough time to decide where to park. He's quite proud of his decision, by the way. He picked the garage instead of the parking lot even though it was further away, specifically to make out with Misha before driving off. Ilia was so happy to see Misha that he probably would've kissed him right there at the baggage claim, or in a parking lot in broad daylight. He just wasn't patient enough to beg for it, and the garage was just private enough. He would've kissed Misha in that parking lot forever, but his mom is expecting them home for dinner.

Misha's lips are too far away but he's closer than he's been in so long. Ilia's holding his hand while he drives home and he's never been able to do that before. He's kissing him at every red light, too. They've barely even talked because they both can't stop smiling and nervously giggling and kissing. He's so overjoyed that he absolutely very much does feel like he has the zoomies.

"Flight was okay?" Misha is holding Ilia's right hand in both of his. This is exactly how life should feel all the time.

"Yes. I've only ever flown into the other airport near you. I liked this one more, I think."

"Reagan?"

Misha laughs gently. "How would I know?"

"I don't know why they gave that guy an airport anyway." Ilia holds the steering wheel with his knee just long enough to turn on his blinker with his left hand. Driving with one hand isn't easy but he's going to hold Misha's hand as long as he possibly can before they have to go act like friends in front of his family. 

"Who was he?"

"Some president.^[4]. I'm pretty sure he wasn't even a good one, either."

"You're not sure?" Misha laughs again. He should be asleep right now, it's the middle of the night to his body. But he's not, he's next to Ilia in Ilia's car and he's laughing and full of life.

"No." Ilia laughs too. "He was president, like, a forever ago. History was my worst subject."

"You had good subjects?"

"Shut up!" Ilia could hear the smirk in Misha's voice before he turns to look at him, steal a kiss before the light turned green. "All I really know about him is they said his wife was the throat goat." He says the last two words in English, not even bothering to think of the Russian equivalent of such an expression.

"The—what?" Misha's looking at Ilia like he has three heads, giggling even harder than before.

"The throat goat.^[5]. Like—greatest of all time at giving head. Using her throat."

Misha throws his head back and laughs, and it sounds like Ilia has an angel in the front seat of his car. "How do you even know that?"

Ilia laughs back because Misha's is so contagious. He's not really sure how he knows it, actually. He just does. "I don't know! I feel everyone like knows that."

"What, did she just go around telling people?" The light is green when they approach it and Ilia wishes it wasn't. He wants to taste Misha's laugh.

"I don't know! Look it up." It's a stupid suggestion because Misha pulls his hand away from Ilia's to pull out his phone.

"Yeah, English practice. Reading about how some dead guy's wife's blowjob skills." He's mumbling under his breath as he types and he's so funny that Ilia cackles.

They're not far from Ilia's house. Misha tells him about Nancy Reagan and Ilia tells him about the landmarks of his hometown. They're smiling until they're parked in Ilia's driveway. The car is stopped and Ilia can't kiss him this time.

Ilia has always been brave. He has always tried his best. Today was no different.

Liza was in her bedroom and Ilia knew it had to be right now. He told Misha as much when they finished bringing his bags to Ilia's room, hugged Misha one last time to ground himself.

Ilia led the way down the stairs. He asked his parents to sit down in the living room, each of them taking a chair across the from the couch where Ilia and Misha sat, both fidgeting nervously. 

Ilia opened his mouth a few times, closed it again when he realized he didn't know what words to say. Misha saw his eyes watering and he wanted to just hold him so bad. It took everything in him not to scoop Ilia up in his arms, but he couldn't yet. Not before they knew. Ilia wanted to tell them but his words were failing him and it made all of it worse. Eventually, he dropped his head into his hands, mumbled a quiet you do it to Misha. It made Misha's heart ache, Ilia was still so cute even when he was afraid.

They were brave together. Ilia tried his best, and Misha flew all this way to be there for him. He was scared too, but he would do anything for Ilia.

Misha wasn't all that great with his words either. He told the story backwards by accident. All he could think of was blurting out I'm Ilia's boyfriend.

Roman's eyebrows shot up and he sat back, but Tatiana didn't even flinch.

They were so good about it. They asked the right questions to coax out answers, and Ilia and Misha tried to fill in the blanks.

So you're...

We like both. Both of us.

How long have you....?

Two years, but also only a few months. It's a long story.

How serious is this?

I wanna marry him someday.

Me too.

Are you... being safe?

Mom! Gross! No! Wait, no, not like th—it—we're fine!

They were so, so good about it. They told Ilia that they still loved him, that they've always liked Misha, too. That they just want him to be happy. Tatiana said that she had a feeling since Ilia was little, which made Ilia jump out of his skin a little bit. She said that a mother just knows. Roman said that he had no idea, but it makes sense in retrospect because Ilia's always so Misha Misha Misha in conversations. Ilia just hid his head in his hands again while the other three stifled a laugh.

Him and Ilia sat at the kitchen counter while Tatiana made dinner, holding hands but otherwise on their best behavior. Liza showed up eventually, completely unfazed by the physical affection. She just greeted Misha and commented that Ilia always seemed kind of gay as she filled up her water bottle.

Misha offered to help cook, but Tatiana didn't seem to trust him in the kitchen just yet. Fair enough, honestly. They compromised on him setting the table. Ilia said they had unspoken assigned seats, instructed Misha to set his place setting right next to Ilia's.

He was even interrogated far less than he expected. He didn't feel like he had to do much to earn a spot in this home at all. Ilia's parents were just so, so incredibly good about all of it. Roman even offered him a beer, cautioned that it's cheap American shit. Tatiana scolded at him for swearing at the dinner table.

Roman opens the beers, hands one to Misha. "Where was the layover?"

The beer doesn't taste all that bad. Definitely cheap American shit, but good cheap American shit. "Doha. Only a few hours, though."

Roman immediately rolls his eyes and Tatiana chuckles. "He hates that airport."

"Really?" Misha's smiling, for some reason. He's just so happy to be here that it's bleeding into everything.

Ilia's drinking apple juice instead of beer because he doesn't like beer and he's the cutest thing in the world. "It costs like twenty dollars for a bottle of water."

$18, actually. Misha remembers being incensed as he paid for one.

"Just for them to take it before you get on the plane! Ridiculous." Roman rolls his eyes again before sipping his beer. It's nice to talk about something other than skating. It feels like he can be part of the family one day.

Misha chimes in because the airport really did suck. "The shuttle to the terminal was the worst part."

Roman nods. "One million years to get to your gate. Just the worst."

Tatiana's face is kind when she speaks to Misha. He can't believe he used to be scared of her at all. "How long were your flights?"

Misha takes a sip of his beer, shifts to get comfortable in his seat. "First one was, like, five hours? It left at 3:00am, which was awful. I didn't want to sleep on that one to try and start adjusting to your time zone. Then the layover, then maybe fourteen hours for the second one?"

Liza drops her fork onto her plate. "For Ilia?"

Misha has to stop himself from instinctually saying anything for him.

Ilia rolls his eyes. "Yeah, for me!"

"But Misha's so... cool." Liza almost looks disturbed by what she's learned. Her expression is somewhere between pity and confusion.

"Ilia's cool too!" Misha notices the flash of pride on Ilia's face before it disappears because he notices everything about Ilia.

Liza's face morphs into one of complete skepticism, like Misha tried to tell her the sky is green.

Ilia scoffs. "She hates me."

Misha nudges his elbow with his own. "She does not hate you."

Liza does not agree. "I do hate him."

Ilia just wants to argue. "No you don't!"

Misha turns past Ilia towards Roman and Tatiana. "Are they always like this?"

The joke lands, and they both laugh. Misha feels like he's floating.

Tatiana points her fork between both of her kids. "Stop, you'll scare him back to Doha."

Just the thought of getting back on a plane makes Misha flinch. "No! Not before you fix my lutz."

Ilia can't even jump in to defend Misha's jumps (like he always does) before Liza chimes in again. "Are you training the quad axel?"

Misha shakes his head before taking a sip of his beer. "No. Your brother is crazy."

Liza laughs, and both of Ilia's parents smile. Misha's so happy it makes his chest feel tight. He spent so long thinking he would never be able to have this. But he does, and he's here, and Ilia's here, and it feels like life is always supposed to be this way.

The few hours they spend waiting for Ilia's family to fall asleep felt like torture. It's probably a fucked up thing to say, that Misha wants the people that have been so kind and welcoming to him to go to bed, but oh god, he does. Ilia's family isn't particularly nosy, but they both would rather die than get caught doing something even remotely scandalous. He needs to be alone with Ilia so bad that it feels like he's vibrating inside of his skin.

They had to shower separately, which was a travesty. The only consolation is that Misha smells like Ilia now. The towel smelled like Ilia's detergent. He got to use Ilia's toiletries this time (which he never gets to use!), and his hair smells expensive and like Ilia. He's in Ilia's pajamas, and Ilia is in Misha's. The clothes Misha stole from Ilia to bring back to Almaty don't smell like Ilia anymore, and now everything does. 

They’re sitting against Ilia’s headboard now, playing MarioKart. There’s even a respectable amount of space between them, leaving room for jesus, or however that expression goes. They’ve finished eight races since Tatiana popped in to say goodnight. They both held their breath, hoping she didn’t insist on Misha sleeping in the guest room. There was no need for that anyway, they were obviously two respectful and appropriate young men who would never do anything scandalous. The space between them proved that, of course. Besides, it’s not even like Ilia can get pregnant. Unfortunately.

Ilia shuts off his TV before the game can show highlights of Misha coming in first place on the last race. Misha would accuse him of being a sore loser if they weren’t both so antsy, stealing glances at each other every time they could afford to look away from the screen.

Ilia checks the time on his phone, absentmindedly toys with his bottom lip with his thumb. “They’re probably asleep by now.”

Misha can’t help but smile, almost giddy. He’s waited so long for this, to have Ilia like this. Not in some hotel room, but somewhere that felt like home. He’s in Ilia’s country, in Ilia’s house, in Ilia’s bed, in Ilia’s clothes. He never thought he would get to have this. Ilia smiles back at him.

Misha pats on his thighs twice. “C’mere, throat goat.”

Ilia barks out a laugh as he settles in Misha’s lap, clearly caught off guard by the silliness of it. “I—that’s not even true!” 

“Oh, so you give great head and I’m not even allowed to call you the throat goat. Right, okay.” Misha scoffs and rolls his eyes, committing to the absurdity.

“Shut uppp,” Ilia whines, dropping his head to Misha’s neck. He’s blushing, the praise still striking a nerve. It’s so fucking cute. Misha pushes again.

“You’ve been great at it since you first had a dick in your mouth but no, Ilia Malinin, always so humble—”

“No I wasn’t!” Ilia snaps his head up to look at Misha, suddenly becoming shy once again. He drops his gaze down to where he fidgets with his hands. “I had to practice to get this good.”

“Putting everything in your mouth is not practice.” Misha holds Ilia’s cheek in his hand, runs his thumb over his mouth. Watches his bottom lip bounce back into place. 

“It’s not even that, I—” Ilia’s mouth snaps shut, a flash of panic in his eyes. A telltale sign that his brain didn’t catch up to his mouth in time, that he started to say something he didn’t want to. 

“You what?” Ilia won’t meet Misha’s eyes.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, eyes a bit watery. He rolls his lips between his teeth, drops his head to look at his hands again. He knows that Misha never lets go of what Ilia tries to hide from him, that it’s only a matter of time before he caves.

“No, what?” Misha tries to guide his head up, but Ilia resists. Misha can see the shadow of his eyelashes blinking rapidly, no doubt trying not to cry.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Ilia.” Misha thinks that it might be unfair, his stern voice always makes Ilia relent. Perhaps they're even. Ilia could get Misha to do whatever he wants no matter how he sounds.

“I just—I practiced when we couldn’t see each other, ‘s all.” He rushes to wipe a tear as it falls like Misha wouldn’t notice it. Like Misha doesn’t notice everything.

Something angry twists in Misha’s chest. Something like jealousy, bitterness. Maybe he misunderstood what Ilia meant a few months ago when he said that it had only ever been Misha. He knew, rationally, that it didn’t have to be, that Ilia could still love him if he had been with other people. The other, uglier side of him liked that it had only ever been him, that Misha worried for nothing all those nights he cried about the possibility of Ilia having someone else. 

“With who?” He aims for casual and misses it by a mile. It sounds just as bitter as he feels.

Ilia snaps his head up to look at Misha, the look of panic in his eyes even more intense than the previous time. “No! No, no. No, it’s only ever been you, you know that.” He strokes Misha’s cheek briefly. The relief hits Misha like a drug. “It was just, um. With myself.”

Misha’s clearly not following. He knows Ilia doesn’t have any toys, he’s asked before when Ilia cried about feeling too empty over the phone one night. He’s not sure how else Ilia could—oh. Oh. Can Ilia really do that? Is that even possible?

His eyes are as wide as dinner plates, mouth dropping open and shock and a bit of fear. Ilia must not be following either, because he looks confused at Misha’s reaction.

“You can…?” Misha glances between Ilia’s mouth and his crotch.

Ilia’s eyes shoot just as wide once he figures out what Misha’s implying. “No! No, oh my god. I don’t think people can even do that.” They both flush in embarrassment at the mixup, laughing for only a second. “I would just, um. With my fingers?”

Misha’s brain stops working. There’s no way to misunderstand that. There’s no way to think about anything else.

“What?”

“I would—see how far I could take them without gagging, I guess?” 

 Misha’s bones are melting into his blood. He can’t move, he wants to kiss Ilia and hold him and touch him everywhere but he can’t move, can’t even think. “Oh.”

“I just—didn't want you to find someone better at it.” Ilya gave him a watery smile, a feeble laugh. Like this wasn't as big of a deal to him as it was. Like this wasn't incredibly vulnerable to admit. Like he wasn't being so brave for Misha, always so brave.

Misha opens his mouth a few times, closes it again. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to make Ilia okay. His head is fucking spinning, no words are coming out. He’s so fucking hard and Ilia’s too in his head to notice. This is torture.

“‘nd I guess I liked it too, you know? I don't know. Felt good? Maybe?” Ilia’s starting to spiral. Misha can’t take another second of this. Of Ilia thinking he did something wrong by trying to be good. By making himself feel good. Like Misha will ever be able to move on from this.

He says the only thing he can think of, as stern as he can. “Ilyusha.”

Ilia starts to squirm. “If you don’t want—”

“Take your clothes off.”

Ilia finally looks at him again, eyes all wet and vulnerable. He doesn’t look as scared as before, but still so fucking fragile. He nods gently, shifts to the other side of the bed. Misha already misses the weight of Ilia's body in his lap. He tries to take the moment of reprieve to ground himself, but the display in front of him is so erotic it’s hopeless. Ilia’s shedding his clothes, Misha’s clothes. Revealing more of his body that Ilia has said is Misha’s, too. It’s not fair. Misha can never give Ilia enough. Everything he has, everything he is, is Ilia’s forever.

He adjusts so he’s sitting at the middle of the headboard, wanting Ilia to feel comfortable when he sits back down. Ilia probably already feels like he’s falling, he doesn’t need to feel like he’s going to fall off the mattress, too.

He settles in Misha’s lap, far more shy than the first time. Misha finds the coordination to rest his hands on Ilia’s thighs. Ilia’s hard too, his tip leaving a stain of arousal on Misha’s shirt. Ilia’s shirt. They both groan.

“Did you buy lube?” Misha’s proud of himself for being able to think rationally. That he can think at all, really.

Ilia leans over to open the first drawer of the nightstand, pulls out a bottle of lube, hands it to Misha. There’s no box of condoms. Misha smirks. Of course he didn’t buy any.

Misha squeezes some lube onto his fingers, discards the bottle on the bed next to them. He brings his clean hand up Ilia’s chest while he waits for the lube to warm against his skin. Nothing but the best for Ilia.

Misha separates his two middle fingers from the others as he holds his hand in front of Ilia’s mouth, presses them to his bottom lip. Ilia opens his mouth without even having to be asked to, and Misha’s fingers slide in until his second knuckles rest on Ilia's bottom lip. 

He sees the relief wash over Ilia immediately, eyelids fluttering as his face relaxes. His expression morphs again when Misha starts to circle Ilia’s hole with his fingers, not even attempting to hide how much he needs them.

“Like this?” Misha nods towards Ilia’s mouth. His voice sounds raspy and far away from his ears. 

Ilia doesn’t speak, hardly even shakes his head no. Misha doesn’t even think to remind him to use his words because Ilia tilts his head forward and takes Misha’s fingers down to the palm.

Misha gasps. He knows he has big hands, long fingers. Ilia didn’t even hesitate. He’s still pressing down on Ilia’s tongue, maybe even beyond his tongue at this point. If he straightened his fingers he would be touching the back of Ilia’s throat. He can feel Ilia’s throat tighten, but he doesn’t gag. He’s so fucking good at this. How is Ilia so good at this?

Misha rewards him with his middle finger on his other hand breaching the tight ring of muscle. Ilia’s throat vibrates with his moan and Misha swears can feel it reverberate up to his elbow. Ilia lazily sucks on Misha’s fingers, like it’s more for him than it is for Misha. 

“Fuck, you love this.” Ilia nods as much as he can, bobbing his head. Spit runs down Misha’s wrist and drips onto his shorts. Ilia’s shorts. It’s too fucking hot in this room.

He presses against Ilia’s prostate, and Ilia grinds back against his hand. He’s barely been inside of Ilia for a minute and Ilia’s trying to take more. Greedy. Misha loves it. He can never give Ilia enough.

“Another? Already?” Misha’s so hard he can feel a wet spot forming where he leaks arousal.

Ilia’s mouth opens enough to speak. “Pleashe.”

Misha’s easy.

His ring finger joins his middle as he pumps them into Ilia. He tries not to think about doing this to Ilia with a wedding ring on one day. He’s hard enough as it is.

Ilia takes it, almost too well. His jaw goes slack, moans too loud. Spit runs out of his mouth onto his own cock this time, breaking the moan in half and rising an octave. Too fucking loud.

Misha pulls his pruning fingers out of Ilia’s mouth, replaces them with his own tongue. He couldn’t bear another second without kissing Ilia. It’s teeth and tongue and spit and sometimes braces because they’re too far gone to be careful. Misha can finally tangle his hand Ilia’s hair now, holding Ilia as close as he can. His fingers speed up as they fuck Ilia open and Ilia’s jaw goes slack. Ilia's brain is practically leaking out of his ears, can’t think hard enough to kiss back. He just lets Misha lick into his mouth and it’s driving Misha insane.

Ilia’s greed shows its face again. He’s moving his hips, trying to bounce on Misha’s hand. Misha lets go of his hair, spanks Ilia as hard as he can without it being too loud. “Don’t wear yourself out. You’ll ride me when you’re ready for it.”

He can feel Ilia shiver at the words, but Ilia is still greedy. He huffs, rolls his eyes. His hips still again but Misha barely notices because Ilia is surging forward and scraping his teeth against Misha’s adam's apple, biting into the skin beside it. Misha nearly comes in his shorts.

The insane part of him wants to let Ilia do what he wants. Mark him, claim him, let everyone know who Misha belongs to. Unfortunately, his survival instinct kicks in. Misha genuinely thinks he would die if Ilia’s parents saw evidence of what he lets Ilia do to him, either from embarrassment or their own hands. 

“You fucking brat.” Misha spits the words out between clenched teeth, clutches Ilia’s hair in his hand as he feels Ilia smiles against his neck. He yanks Ilia’s head back, presses his fingers deep inside of him as a distraction. Misha struggles to take his shirt off with one hand because Ilia would probably kill him too if he took his fingers out right now. Ilia decides to help eventually, helps Misha pull the shirt off of his torso until it hangs limply from his arm.

A hand in Ilia’s hair again, shoving his head into Misha’s shoulder. Ilia takes the hint and bites, laves over it with his tongue. He bites even harder when Misha surprises him with a third finger. Misha almost hopes he breaks skin. He’s insane and he wants Ilia to claim every part of him, to taste his blood and have his teeth inside of his flesh. Everything he has belongs to Ilia, even if it hurts.

Ilia’s outright shaking as he sucks another hickey into Misha’s shoulder. He fumbles with the waistband of Misha’s shorts, frantic to get what he wants. It’s moments like these where Misha remembers why he thanks god for Ilia every night. Thanks god for everything about him, including his insatiable need to be fucked.

“Yeah? Are you ready?” Misha presses against Ilia’s prostate again, watches as his body feels it.

There’s a wet smack noise as Ilia detaches from Misha’s shoulder, rests his forehead against the last hickey he left. “Please. Please, fuck. Please.”

Ilia rises on his knees so Misha can slide his shorts off and Misha already misses the pressure of his body. Of his thighs on top of Misha’s, of his forehead on the fresh bruise. It hurt and Misha needs more of it. It’s like Ilia is pressing the marks he left deeper into Misha’s skin, claiming what’s inside of him too. Misha fucking loves it.

Ilia still whines when Misha’s fingers leave him, like he’s not about to get what he’s been desperate for. He’s too far gone and too greedy to think straight. He’s always been so pretty this way.

Misha shakes his shirt off of his wrist, digs his heels into the mattress to slide his sleep shorts down. No underwear, of course. If he’s going to wear Ilia’s clothes he’s going to dress like him, too. 

Ilia’s whimpers out a c’mon and Misha can barely focus enough to coat his dick in lube. He wipes his hands off on his shirt, mindful of not making Ilia sticky in the way he hates. Ilia doesn’t even give Misha time to get situated, just lines Misha’s cock up with his hole and drops down.

They both take a minute to writhe in pleasure and remember how to breathe. No matter how many times he’s inside of Ilia he’s still never ready for it. Every single time he feels Ilia all tight and ready for him it overloads his brain completely.

Ilia’s not much better off. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, hands scrambling for purchase on Misha’s skin. One hand settles on Misha’s bicep, the other between Misha’s collarbones, pressing against his chain. Misha wishes that Ilia would slide his hand up and choke him. Remind Misha who he belongs to. How much Misha would let him do.

He loses the train of thought because Ilia starts working his hips in small circles, adjusting to the intrusion. Misha's talking before he can even form another coherent thought, mouth moving and he can’t stop it.

“Do you remember the first time I touched you?” Their foreheads are pressed together and he breathes the words against Ilia’s lips. Breathes in Ilia’s whine in return.

“Y-yeah.” Ilia barely lifts off of MIsha, thighs twitching as he sinks down again.

“I came so fast.” Misha thinks he’s smiling, or something close to it. Ilia’s taking what he wants and Misha's in heaven. 

Ilia’s almost built a rhythm now, using Misha’s cock like it’s his own personal toy. All Misha can do is cling to Ilia’s waist, his hips, his thighs. He can’t get enough. Ilia’s eyes flutter open, a look of confusion blooming amidst the arousal contorting his face. “I came first.”

“Barely. I had to hold it.”

Ilia’s pace falters, hips suddenly jerking forward at the confession. His fingers are trying to dig into the skin of Misha’s sternum but there’s nothing there to hold. Misha coaxes his hand up to the base of his neck, lets Ilia rest it there. His head is already fuzzy by the time Ilia groans and applies a gentle pressure to the sides of his throat.

“I started—back home.” Ilia’s found his rhythm again, a faint, repetitive slap of their thighs meeting rattling in Misha’s ears. “I would practice h-holding it. Because I knew I wouldn—fuck—wouldn’t last if you ever let me fuck you.”

Ilia moans again, still far too loud. Far too fucked out to care. Misha raises his hand to Ilia’s mouth, presses his thumb against his tongue. Not even that is enough. He grips Ilia’s chin with his other fingers and pulls him forward, kissing him around his thumb. Ilia’s fucking himself so good that Misha can barely breathe.

Another confession against Ilia’s lips. “Wanted it to be good for you.”

Ilia shudders in his lap, hands shifting to grip Misha’s shoulders. Feeling the pressure of Ilia’s fingers against the marks on his neck makes Misha’s cock twitch.

“Alwaysh sho good.” The praise is slurred, fighting through saliva and Misha’s thumb on its way out of Ilia’s throat. It fucks Misha up all the same.

He kisses Ilia again because he just can’t help it. Ilia’s lost all semblance of control with his hips, frantically humping against Misha so his cock rubs against Misha’s abdomen. Misha needs Ilia to come like he needs oxygen.

Ilia coming is always his favorite part of sex. His sweet Ilia, who always carries so much, who is always so scared that he’s not being careful enough about something somehow, who Misha can never take care of enough. Watching Ilia surrender to pleasure and just allow himself to feel good gets Misha off like nothing else.

Misha spits in his free hand, which makes Ilia whimper somehow. He wraps it around Ilia’s cock, each drag of Ilia’s hips thrusting his cock into the warmth of Misha’s hand. Ilia can’t outrun the pleasure if he tried. His mouth is full, his ass is full, Misha’s hand is full. Misha’s dangerously close to coming just from the sight.

Ilia blinks a few times, tries to focus on Misha’s eyes. “C’n I come pleashe?”

A wave of deja vu crashes into Misha.

That first time Ilia was in his lap, when they both felt what it was like to touch each other for the first time, Ilia asked to come with the same words. Misha remembers, he still hears it in his dreams sometimes. That night is seared into his brain forever. Does Ilia remember? Has he just always been this good?

Ilia’s whine cuts through Misha’s thoughts, desperately waiting for permission. He’s so close, cheeks red and eyes begging. Misha couldn’t deny him anything. Not tonight, not when they’re both like this.

“Yes, c’mon, give it t’me.” He’s barely choked the words out before Ilia falls apart, cum landing on Misha’s abdomen. Fuck, Misha can see it and he can feel it on his skin and Ilia’s gripping him so tight and he’s moaning so beautifully and Misha has no choice but to follow him over the edge.

Neither of them move in the moments after, only staring at each other with dazed eyes as they try to catch their breath. Misha’s thumb is still in Ilia’s mouth, tongue laving against it gently. It’s so cruel that it’s impossible to stay like this forever.

Misha shifts to grab his shirt from the floor, having fallen off of the bed at some point. Well, attempts to shift. Ilia wraps his arms around Misha’s neck in a panic, pinning him in place with a whine.

“Shhh, shshshh, I’m just grabbing the shirt.” His hand pulls out of Ilia’s mouth, brushes some of Ilia’s hair out of his face. “We gotta clean up a little bit, or I’ll get sticky.”

It’s a perfectly rational point. They both know Ilia hates feeling sticky, and Misha’s shirt has been sacrificed as tonight’s cleaning rag. Ilia, however, in his infinite wisdom, refuses.

Ilia untangles his arms from around his Misha's, lets them hang loosely from his shoulders instead. He peels Misha’s hand away from where it was holding Ilia steady at his waist, wraps his hand around the wrist. 

Ilia, who never fucking runs out of ways to stop Misha’s heart, drags Misha’s thumb through the smear of Ilia’s cum on his stomach, and lifts it to his mouth. Misha’s eyes go wide as Ilia makes a show out of sucking Misha’s thumb clean, moaning and even fucking winking. As he licks his own fucking cum off of Misha’s thumb. 

Misha groans, drops his head back against the headboard in disbelief. Ilia cannot possibly be from this earth. It’s a miracle of the universe that someone like Ilia Malinin could possibly exist. “You’re unbelievable.”

Ilia has the nerve to laugh.

They get to shower together this time, a correction of the absolute injustice of earlier. They even behave, mostly, aside from a slight detour where Misha has to give Ilia some hickeys to get even. Otherwise, they're perfectly respectable young men with matching hickeys on their shoulders.

Misha carries Ilia back to bed just because he can, strokes his hair out of his face as he settles against the pillow. Ilia's in his glasses, unbelievably beautiful. Misha's so tired, but the night can't end yet. He needs to give Ilia more. Anything Ilia wants. "Do you need anything?" 

Ilia looks up at him with those doe eyes that always make Misha fall to his proverbial knees. Sometimes his actual knees, too. "Milk?"

He's so fucking cute that Misha's chest tightens. "Is that some kind of innuendo?"

He knows it's not, that Ilia is a notorious milk enjoyer, but Ilia's inevitable reaction is too enticing to pass up. "Wh—no! You're so gross." They both laugh, a bit delirious from exhaustion. "I drink warm milk before bed."

Something in Misha’s heart breaks. I drink warm milk before bed. Not sometimes, this is something he just does. Misha knows this, Ilia mentioned it in an interview one time. Ilia’s just never told him. In all the nights they’ve spent together, nights where Misha has done everything he can to take care of Ilia, he’s never been able to do this. There’s so much he can’t do in hotel rooms, even less from the other side of the world. It’s not fair.

He presses a kiss to Ilia’s forehead, needing to feel that Ilia’s here. That Misha’s here, in the place where Ilia feels safest. “Okay, do you want me to go get you some?”

Ilia pouts a bit to himself, shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m coming with you.” Ilia starts to sit up in bed, trying to fight off sleep and the way his legs still feel weak. “Just—give me a second.”

Ilia’s trying to be independent for some reason, attempting get up on his own. He furrows his brow in concentration, yet makes zero effort to actually stand. Like a child trying on ice skates for the first time. He’s fucking adorable. “Yeah?”

Ilia nods. “Yeah.” He tries to stand up, abandons the effort before he’s an inch off of the bed. Huffs in frustration. Misha can’t help but smile. “Help please?”

Misha scoops Ilia into his arms, hooks Ilia’s knees in the bend of his eyebrow. They call it bridal style in English. It’s fitting. He can’t believe Ilia even tried to walk on his own. He doesn’t need to, Misha’s here. Ilia melts into his arms this way and it’s perfect. 

“I can’t carry you down the stairs.” He wants to, dreading letting go of Ilia. Unfortunately, the instinct for life preservation kicks in again. For both of them.

Ilia groans, tilts his head back to emphasize his point. Always dramatic. “Whyyyy? It’ll be fine.”

Misha giggles, stops walking a few feet away from the start of the staircase. “Your parents will kill me if I drop you.”

Ilia huffs again, glares because he knows that Misha’s probably right and he hates it. He holds Misha’s hand as they walk down the stairs, though. Neither of them can bear to be too far from each other.

Misha scoops Ilia back into his arms once Ilia reaches the last step, carries him towards the kitchen. Sits him down on the kitchen counter, just like he’s been doing in bathrooms all over the world for so long. There’s so much more space to take care of Ilia here.

Ilia’s feet sway gently, balancing his weight on his palms. “Open that cabinet?”

Misha follows where Ilia’s pointing, opens the cabinet above the dishwasher. He sees a Snoopy mug on the bottom shelf, grabs it immediately.

Ilia laughs gently. “How’d you know that one’s mine?” Misha just gives him a knowing look. Of course Misha knows, he’s worked hard to know everything about Ilia. He can see Ilia blush in the dim light from underneath the microwave.

He walks to the fridge, finds the milk. Sets the mug on the counter next to Ilia, pours slowly. Ilia turns to watch.

“Okay, that much.” Misha obeys, the mug just a bit past half full. “Now microwave it.”

Misha gives him a teasing look, holds back a laugh. “Microwave it?”

Ilia pouts. “Yeah! It’s faster that way.” Misha kisses him before crossing the kitchen because he has to.

“Do one minute and one second. You have to stop it with one second left so it doesn’t beep.” Misha smiles to himself, punches one minute and one second into the timer. He loves when Ilia has a system and he gets to be part of it.

The timer has 48 seconds left when he feels Ilia wrap his arms around Misha’s waist, rest his chin on Misha’s shoulder. Kisses the side of Misha’s face. “Missed you.”

Misha turns his head to face him. He missed Ilia, too. He misses Ilia any time he’s anywhere that’s not pressed against Misha's body. “It’s only been like a minute.”

“Still missed you.”

Misha brings his hand up to ruffle Ilia’s hair, kisses his forehead. Turns back to the microwave with only a few seconds left, makes sure to stop it with exactly one second left. Exactly how Ilia told him to.

Ilia walks back to the counter, sits back down where Misha put him. His smile is soft and genuine as he accepts the mug from Misha’s hands. “Thank you.”

Misha’s eyes are watering. Life should be like this all the time. “Of course, kotik.^[6].” Ilia scrunches his nose at the nickname.

They exist quietly like that while Ilia drinks his milk. Misha has to blink back tears when Ilia offers him some wordlessly, shakes his head no with a fond smile.

Ilia notices Misha staring, the way he’s near tears. “What?”

Misha shakes his head gently again. “Nothing.” He takes Ilia’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “You’re just…” Misha just smiles again, not even sure if there’s any words in any language that encapsulate all that Ilia is. All that he means to Misha.

If Ilia doesn’t understand, he doesn’t press further. “Oh! Um, open that cabinet again?”

Misha obeys, looks to Ilia for further instructions. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but he’ll do anything Ilia asks.

“The, the,” Ilia snaps his fingers a few times, seemingly searching for the word in Russian. Gives up. He always slips more into English when he’s sleepy. “The water bottle. The blue one?” He finishes the thought in Russian, bouncing between the two languages like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Misha started working on his English once he noticed Ilia’s affinity for speaking both languages at once.

Misha reaches above him to grab the reusable blue water bottle. It looks like the one Ilia uses all the time, just a different color. Ilia pulls the mug far enough from his mouth to speak again. “That can be your water bottle while you’re here.”

There’s something so domestic about it that wraps around Misha’s heart. He nods, mumbles a quiet thank you. He wipes at his eyes as he fills up the water bottle at the fridge, too exhausted to not be moved to tears by something so small like his boyfriend letting him use his spare water bottle.

Ilia finishes the last sip of milk as Misha returns to him, full water bottle in hand. Misha takes the empty mug from his hands, washes it in the sink. Dries it with a dishtowel, puts it back in the cabinet. Ilia mumbles out a gentle thank you, and Misha’s heart sings.

They’re in the kitchen a few hours later, this time with Ilia’s whole family. Ilia tried to skip breakfast, but Misha doesn’t let him.

Roman is teaching Misha how to use their fancy Keurig. Ilia has no idea himself, he doesn’t drink coffee. Ilia sits at the kitchen counter, laying his cheek on the marble with his arms stretched out in front of him. No breakfast in sight. Misha nudges him as he walks past on his way to the cabinet with mugs.

“Eat.”

Ilia groans. “It’s fine.”

He glares at Ilia, voice turning stern. “Eat.”

Ilia slinks out of his chair, pouts as he grabs a bowl and a box of Frosted Flakes. Misha watches intently as Ilia sits back down, eats a spoonful of cereal without milk. Misha and Tatiana share an exasperated glance.

Misha sighs. “At least with milk please?” Ilia rolls his eyes, tries to scowl at Misha. He just raises an eyebrow, and Ilia reaches across the counter to grab the milk and add some to his bowl. The standoff makes Tatiana laugh into her coffee cup.

There’s at least a dozen mugs in the cabinet, but Misha grabs the Snoopy one and heads back to the Keurig. Ilia’s not going to use it, Misha already poured him a glass full of orange juice.

Liza watches Misha from where she’s sitting next to Ilia, shocked expression on her face. “Oh, so he gets to use it?”

Ilia rolls his eyes again. “Yes.”

Misha turns back around, confused at the exchange. “What?”

Liza takes a bite of her food, tilts her head to towards Ilia. “That’s his mug. He doesn’t let anyone use it.” Misha’s pretty sure he hears Ilia kick at Liza’s feet under the counter. 

Misha blushes. “Oh, I can—”

Ilia speaks around a mouthful of cereal. “No! ‘s fine.” 

The siblings look at each other like they’re both mad that the other exists right now. Apparently they’re both cranky in the mornings. Misha shares the same exasperated glance as before with Tatiana, Roman too. He wants to spend every morning like this.

"Ilyushka! Why are you distracting my favorite son?" 

It's Tatiana's coach voice, but Ilia can still hear the smile within it.

He is distracting Misha, if he’s honest. Amber would absolutely describe his behavior as the zoomies right now. He can’t help himself, Misha’s with him on his home ice on his home rink. Ilia drove them here together in his car and gets to show Misha around another place he calls home. He’s so happy he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

They can’t be boyfriends here, not yet. They’re not the only ones here, so they can only be best friends. It’s awful, but they’ve done it for so long already. They can manage.

It’s hard to manage, though, because his mom just referred to his boyfriend as family. His boyfriend, who is absolutely beaming at him at the comment. It all makes Ilia feel like he’s going to start flying. 

“Wh—he just got here! How is he your favorite?” It’s in Ilia’s nature to protest, even though he’s so excited he could burst. He’s smiling so hard, Misha’s smiling so hard.

Tatiana’s smiling too. “See how he’s warming up and you’re not?”

Ilia makes a show of sighing dramatically and starting to warm up, earning a laugh from his boyfriend. His mom probably rolls her eyes but Ilia can’t be bothered to look at anyone else other than his boyfriend, who’s here. 

“Can I teach him how to backflip later?” Ilia calls over his shoulder to his parents, still not even sparing them a glance. He can look at his parents whenever he wants, he hardly ever gets to see the way Misha’s eyes light up with amusement this close up. 

Roman laughs as Tatiana makes a noise of protest. “What, and I send him back to his mother with a concussion?”

Misha at least has the decency to look at Ilia’s parents when he speaks. Unfair. He should have to look at Ilia forever. “What, you don’t think I can land it?”

“I don’t want to find out!” Tatiana tries to hide her smile, and Ilia wants to scream like a little girl. His boyfriend is joking around with his parents like they’re his family too and Ilia can’t even kiss him about it.

Misha holds up his hands in surrender as Roman nods his head silently behind Tatiana. Ilia and Misha both laugh as she whips her head around to face her husband. “You’re just as bad as them!”

They’ll have to wait for later, then. When Tatiana goes home before Roman to start making dinner. It won’t take much to convince Roman to hold the other side of the backflip harness. It’s funny that later this time is a completely different secret than usual. 

Tatiana tries to fix her face as much as she can. “Go. Start warming up before I separate you both!”

Ilia doesn’t think he stops smiling the entire day.