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house of computer science 🧪💻😎

mark: does anyone have the material for unit 3

mark: better question does anyone even understand it

mark: bc our assistant prof is shit 

mark: doesn’t even teach ngl he just uses his clicker and reads off the slides

amber: dude I was gonna say the same thing!!! please help

amber: anyone??? I know everyone here majors in computer science can anyone lend a hand

mimi: girl. we’re all lost. just wait until prof comes back

mimi: she explains things better 

What happens when you have a terrible assistant professor and your main professor who’s on vacation, and you have an exam worth twenty-five percent of your grade in two weeks?

Chaos. Everyone in the group chat for their major was freaking out. Does anyone have material for unit three lesson four? What about notes? Hello? Anyone? We’re all gonna fail!!! 

And unfortunately, Shane was part of the mess.

Shane: Guys. Let’s not freak out, please?

Shane: I’m sure we can figure something out.

Shane: I have notes, do you guys want those?

carlos: Shane, my man! You are a lifesaver! Everyone thank Shane!!!!!

amber: wooooo!! we love you down, Shane!

mark: thank you man!!

mimi: 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 our beloved captain!! thank you so much for saving us!

jace: hollzy what would we do without you

jace: even off the ice you’re a problem solver we love you dude 

bea: free notes FUCK YES ily captain

jace: enjoy it b4 he starts asking us to pay for them 😭😭

bea: r u seriously trying to give him ideas

Shane: Not a bad idea, actually..

Shane: But. Haha. You’re all very welcome. 

Shane: Let me know if anything is incorrect, I’m struggling with this unit too, you know. 

Shane: But I’ll figure it out. The notes are almost finished uploading, I put them in a drive and I’ll link it when I’m done. 

The unit they were on was challenging, to say the least. New coding scripts that their assistant professor had brushed off (Shane figured he was only “teaching” for the cash) and said they’d understand eventually, as if they had time. Two weeks was comparable to two minutes for college students like Shane. They flew by quickly, even quicker when something important like an exam was inching closer on his calendar. 

And on top of that, Shane also played hockey. Captain of their college’s team, he’d been on a winning streak and although he never struggled to balance sports and academics, with the way their temporary professor was, it was becoming harder to do so. He’d come home, utterly exhausted from shooting pucks all afternoon, and sit down to rack his brain about a new code he just couldn’t seem to figure out. He hated it, hated feeling like he was behind. He knew he was smart, but he could only do so much with an absolutely terrible person instructing him. 

When the drive finished uploading and he’d sent it to the group chat, Shane sighed and sat back in his rolling chair. He’d been at his desk for a while now, seated in front of his computer, staring at the jumbled mess of code on his screen when he’d received all the notifications of his fellow colleagues begging for help. But Shane could only help out so much when he himself needed it, too. 

Speaking of help, he’d asked Hayden for some. Or at least, to help him look around. Hayden didn’t major in the same area as him—something about sports medicine that Shane couldn’t be all too bothered about—and as a result, had frowned and gave him a “sorry man, I don’t know, I’ll see what I can do,” in response. He’d only remembered asking when his phone buzzed again. He figured it was another text from the group chat thanking him or asking him to send a different unit, which he was half right about, but Hayden’s contact also popped up in his notification bar. 

Hayden: Shane

Hayden: party 2nite?

Hayden: to celebrate our recent win. cmon, it’ll be fun

Hayden: what’s a party if we don’t have our captain there

Hayden: and there’s even gonna be ginger ale just for you please come

Shane: Oh. I don’t know. Sorry, Hayd. I have work to do.

Hayden: aaaand he does it again 👎👎👎👎

Hayden: what are you even working on? I thought you were free? 🤨🤨

Shane: Coding stuff. I can't understand it. Our assistant professor can’t teach to save his life.

Shane: I might be stuck for a while, so, no parties. 

Hayden: 🤔

Hayden: oh, i remember when you asked me for help about that

Hayden: you’re in luck Shane

Shane: ?

Hayden: if I help you will u go to the party

Hayden: ur missing out on this say yes  🙌

Shane: Depends. What kind of help?

Hayden: SO

Hayden: I was asking around for you or whatever and this girl said she could help

Hayden: she said something about a tutor?? and that they’re really good

Hayden: all you have to do is pay him for however long a session and boom he’ll help you 💰💰📚📚

Shane would be lying if he said he didn’t perk up at the word “him.” A tutor? Shane would’ve heard of him by now if he was that good, probably through the group chat or something. But it made sense, if the guy was that good to charge money for his services, maybe a lot of students had him on hold since his prices were.. high? Something like that. Whatever.

Shane: Him? Who are we talking about?

Hayden: I think his name is uhhhhhh

Hayden: Lily or something like that

Hayden: I don’t know man I forgot how she said it

Shane: ??? 

Shane: What? A boy named Lily? Wait. Do you mean Ilya???

Hayden: YES thank you

Hayden: He’s on our team actually

Hayden: I know what he looks like he just never told his name I’m horrible at names

Hayden: hes an absolute piece of shit to people on the ice but he’s really smart

Hayden: do you know him 

Well, no shit. Of course Shane knew who Ilya Rozanov was. The thing is, Shane’s had a crush on the guy for.. months. He’d seen him around campus before, sometimes in the locker room after practice and that was it. Kept an eye on him and found out he majored in computer science too—an opportunity to get closer. Then, Shane kept digging and eventually found out he played hockey, too. Practice was at different times for certain people, so it made sense that they barely talked to each other. And even though Shane had interacted with Ilya more than a few times, (in games) he wanted so badly to get closer to him. See what he liked and didn’t like. 

Shane wasn’t the only one who apparently had a thing for Ilya, though. People would talk about him often, say that he was cute—which wasn’t a lie at all—that he was invited to parties often and he went, but never really stayed for long. Not long enough to actually start talking to people and let things go farther. Shane was also many people's campus crush, but he was finally getting a taste of how it felt to actually have one. He’d heard of people saying they paid for a session or two just to talk to him, and he was really sweet and funny and explained things well. If Shane wanted to talk to him, well.. this was his chance.

And he wouldn’t waste anymore time going for it. 

Shane: Yeah, actually. He’s good?

Hayden: according to people who’ve been taught by him yes

Hayden: no joke I’m being serious

Shane: …Okay. I don’t think he’s in the group chat, though. I’ve never seen him talk in it. 

Shane: Do you have his number?

Hayden: Yeah I’ll send it over 

Hayden: now will you come to the party 🎉🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Shane: I guess. Thank you, Hayden.

Hayden: FUCK YES THANKYOU SHANE

The text came just a few seconds later, and.. this was real now. He had Ilya Rozanov’s number, the guy who danced around his head all day and refused to give him a break. A while ago, Shane had begun to wonder how he’d even get the guys number so he could try to talk to him, and now, the universe seemed to be on his side. Ilya was now just a text away. 

Matter of fact, call or text? It was still afternoon, around five pm. But what if Ilya was sleeping or at the gym or busy with whatever? Shane didn’t want to be rude. But he knew if he didn’t do it now, he’d back out and never end up texting him, and Hayden would be confused as to why he’d even asked for help in the first place. So, Shane put Ilya’s number into the new message section—while chewing on his lip anxiously—and began typing. 

Shane: Hi, Ilya. It’s Shane, from hockey practice. My friend gave me your number, and I was wondering if you’re free any time soon for tutoring? I’m pretty sure we have the same major, and I would love your help for the upcoming exam. 

Shane: Also, I’m more than willing to pay you for your time, please let me know when you’re available. Thank you, and have a good afternoon / night.

Shane hit the send button and turned his phone off, setting it face down on his desk. Apart from the occasional peek at his screen, Shane was perfectly fine. Okay, maybe he was a bit nervous. A few minutes went by, still no reply. A twinge of disappointment sprouted in his chest—maybe Ilya was busy, and just didn’t have time at the moment.

Besides, Shane still had the code to figure out, that would keep him busy enough until the party started.

“You said he’s a tutor?” 

“Yup,” Hayden said, taking what seemed to be the hundredth sip of his red party cup. “Really good at it.”

“How come you didn’t know who he was?”

“I don’t see him around much,” Hayden shrugged, setting his cup down at the bar he and Shane were seated at. “He’s at practice a lot, and like I said, I’m horrible with names. I know what the guy looks like—blonde-ish hair and stuff—we’ve talked a few times off the ice, and he’s way too cocky for someone who refuses to, you know, live a little.”

Shane’s brows furrowed at that. “He’s not nice to you?”

A scoff escaped Hayden’s lips. “Uh, no. I kinda started it but, uh, yeah, no. Rude as fuck.” 

But Ilya was nice to Shane. Like, really nice. Maybe it was because Shane was captain or whatever, but in every brief interaction they had, Ilya always seemed to be kind of buzzed around Shane, in a good way. Now that he really thought about it.. when they did have practice together, Shane noticed something. From the corner of his eye, maybe in the locker room while everyone was changing, he’d catch the tiniest of glimpses of Ilya eyeing him. 

He brushed it off at first. Then, another time. In the showers, he’d caught Ilya staring directly at him in the showers. Perhaps Shane was too busy trying not to ogle at Ilya’s water soaked body, that he didn’t even notice Ilya doing the exact same to him. Ilya was kind of different around him. He’d preen and smile and his cheeks would flush red whenever Shane gave him a helmet pat and whisper a good job in his ear, and his eyes would get all wide and excited when Shane told his teammates to cheer for Ilya when he scored. Thank you, Captain, was what he’d always mumble back, sheepishly smiling at him. Shane had also caught Ilya looking over his shoulder a few times during practice to see if he was watching, and would quickly look away and fumble with whatever puck he had. Interesting. 

“…He’s nice to me,” Shane glanced down at the pink liquid in his cup that he’d been nursing for the past thirty minutes, and swirled the contents gently again. 

Hayden snorted. “Why wouldn’t he be? You're the captain, everyone likes you.”

“That’s not a good thing,” Shane frowned. 

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t get it. When are we going home?”

“Later. Back to the whole Rozanov shit, if you want the guy to tutor you, ask him. I personally wouldn’t for obvious reasons, but, you do you,”

“Hayd,” Shane sighed. “He’s not bad at all. And plus, if you started it, then I guess that kinda makes sense.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?”

“Obviously. Actually, you know what? You’re probably tipsy, finish that one and it’s water or soft drinks for the rest of the night, Hayden.”

“You act like my mom,” Hayden groaned, before downing the rest of his cup.

Shane scoffed. “Yeah, sure man.”

After around an hour or two, and after a load of coaxing Hayden to go home in promises of him being able to take a nice shower and sleep, they all left. Shane and Hayden left while the rest of their team ended up bar hopping. Speaking of their team, Ilya was supposed to be there—turns out he wasn’t able to make it, which just made Shane even more curious.

When he finally dropped off Hayden and drove to the computer science campus, Shane made his way to his dorm, toed his shoes off, and made a beeline straight for the showers. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, Shane gently shook a towel through his damp hair, a cloud of steam following him into the bedroom. His eyes immediately darted to his desk. The lock screen of his phone was lit up. Shane dropped the towel entirely, his chest tightening. He snatched up the phone, heart hammering against his ribs as he read the notification. 

Ilya replied.

Ilya: hi shane from hockey practice ))

Ilya: yes I am free now 

Ilya: sorry I am replying so late 

Be casual and get a grip, Shane told himself. He quickly finished drying his hair, slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and settled down in his desk chair. He was a fucking wreck, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he drafted, erased, and re-drafted sentences just to say something completely basic as a response.

Shane: Hi, Ilya. How are you?

An almost instant reply.

Ilya: I am ok

Ilya: u?

Shane: Pretty okay. Thank you for asking, and I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well. 

Shane: So, about the tutoring, are you up for talking about it now?

Ilya: yes 

Ilya: is because of exam right? prof is shit 

Ilya: he cannot teach 

Ilya: but do not worry I will teach you )) i am very good at it so no worries 

Shane: Exactly. I wish our old professor would come back sooner, although I’m happy she’s enjoying her vacation.

Shane: But, good thing I came to you, right?

Ilya: yes yes very good thing 

Ilya: I am free next week? if that is ok for you

Shane would complain, because next week was way too far away. But he was going to see Ilya anyway, so he made sure to leave that part out. 

Shane: Yeah. That’s fine with me. What day?

Ilya: Any day is ok

Ilya: would say weekend tho because roommate will not be here

Ilya: ah wait

Ilya: is it you coming over or?

Shane: Oh, no. Do you want to come over? Or should I? It would save you time.

Ilya: lol it is okay

Ilya: i can come over, send ur location and dorm number

Ilya: your roommate will be home? do not want to bother

Shane: Haha, he’s like, never home. Probably with a girl or something. It’ll be fine, I promise. 

Ilya: okay ))

Shane: So, how much should I pay? Price for a two hour session?

Ilya: mmmmmm

Ilya: is $35 per hour 

Ilya: so $70

Ilya: but uh

Ilya: for u it can be $50

Shane: For me?

Ilya: yes yes captain discount

Shane: Wow, Ilya, you really don’t have to do that. I can pay the full $70, it’s fine.

Ilya: no no is ok i want to

Ilya: please take it

Ilya: sorry

Okay, so quite literally everything Shane had thought and noticed about Ilya being all buzzed around him was right. Captain discount, all for him? There was something way deeper to this, and Shane was having fun texting Ilya. Shane would say something, and boom, three tiny bubbles would appear almost instantly. Multiple replies, too. He was so polite, so kind, so eager to talk to Shane. And if Shane said his interest in Ilya wasn’t sparked to a whole new level after talking to him directly, he’d definitely be lying. 

Shane: Okay. If you say so. Fifty it is. So, what day are you coming over, Ilya?

Ilya: what day do u want me to come over

If Shane was truly honest he would’ve said tomorrow, but he’d sound way too eager, so instead, he settled for:

Shane: Is Tuesday okay? My roommate won’t be home.

Ilya: yes ok )) will see u then captain 

Ilya: goodnight shane from hockey practice

Shane: Haha. Goodnight, Ilya.

Ilya reacted with a tiny thumbs up emoji, and Shane stared at the texts on his screen until the display dimmed, casting a soft, blue glow over his darkened bedroom before automatically locking. He set it down on his night stand, turning back to stare up at the ceiling. 

Ilya’s words were so simple, so ordinary, yet they felt so surreal coming from him. Shane tried to visualize what he was probably doing if he was busy just a few minutes ago and just now got the chance to talk to Shane—Ilya sitting on a bench in the locker room, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, heavy pads slung over his shoulders, taking the time out of his night just to reply to him. Or maybe he was in his dorm, comfortable in his pajamas, under the blankets and sprawled out on his bed. 

But the more Shane thought about things, the more he began to dissect his own words. Was he trying too hard to sound casual, or worse, like he was trying to blow Ilya off? He considered picking his phone up again, maybe shoot Ilya another text about how practice went, or a lazy comment about the weather, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t afford to look desperate, not when he had flat out admitted to Ilya that his roommate wouldn’t be home. That was the most obvious invite into his personal space Shane could’ve given, and more than enough vulnerability for one night. 

Shane rubbed his palms down and over his face, letting out a long breath. He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin and getting comfortable, and willed himself to not think about campus crush Ilya Rozanov who he was seeing in just a few days. But as he closed his eyes, his thoughts immediately drifted past the upcoming weekend games. All he could focus on was the countdown to Tuesday night, and the embarrassing realization that he was already wishing the days away. 

The sound of knocking came from his door at exactly seven-fifteen, just as Shane had hoped. He'd been pacing his dorm for the last twenty minutes, checking his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his shirt, running a hand through his hair. Pathetic, really. For someone like Shane, meeting new people was fairly.. okay. It wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but he could crack a joke here and there, and suddenly, he was welcomed. Nervousness happened, but it was rare.

But with Ilya, that was a whole different story. Shane’s heart was beating so fucking fast he thought it might explode. He’d been anticipating this for days now, and it was finally Tuesday night. The crush he had went way back to their first semester, back when he actually began to pay attention to and notice Ilya. Apparently he talked a big game about being flirty and having a reputation with girls, but suspiciously, no one had some shape or form of evidence to back that up. Shane had brushed it off, though. It wasn’t his business. Unfortunately it was now. Shane liked everything about him—the crooked smile he gave him at hockey practice, the bite of his lip he’d do while trying to focus on his aim, the rimmed glasses he’d wear sometimes for whatever reason, and fuck, the way his jeans would hug his thighs and accentuate the curve of his ass when he walked across campus. Shane had to admire from afar, and wait until it was a good time to make a move.

…Which would’ve been never, if he didn’t force himself to actually text Ilya. But Shane always got what he wanted anyway, and for a while now, he wanted Ilya. He had to have him, maybe be greedy and keep the guy all to himself. 

Maybe he could, since Ilya was now at his door. 

Shane took a deep breath before making his way over and swinging it open, and there he was—slightly flushed from the walk over, backpack slung on one shoulder, wearing his glasses, a green hoodie tied around his waist, a black t-shirt with faded Cyrillic letters that fit in all the right places, paired with a pair of sweats. Ilya looked a bit nervous—Shane could see it in the way his fingers gripped the strap of his backpack a little too tightly. 

“Hi, Shane from hockey practice,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Can I, ah, can I come in?”

Shane nodded quickly, stepping aside to let him in. “Sure, of course. Make yourself at home.”

Ilya stepped inside, and Shane caught a whiff of his scent—citrusy soap, linen, the faintest trace of cigarettes. He led Ilya to the small table in the living room of his dorm (which was relatively big, he was thankful for the improved housing), where he’d already set up with his laptop and a few printed sheets of paper. They sat down across from each other, and Shane couldn't help but notice the way Ilya's eyes darted around the place, taking in the posters, the neat bookshelves, and Shane's bed visible through the open bedroom door.

“So,” Shane began, pulling up a new tab on his laptop. “I’ve been stuck on this. This part right here. Can you help me?”

Ilya glanced at the screen before leaning closer, pausing and then nodding. “Ah, yes. Is easy. I will show you what to do for this code.”

For the next hour, they worked through it. Ilya explained with patience, drew diagrams, asked prompting questions, and smiled whenever Shane began to understand. Shane was smart—once he got the concepts, he latched onto them like a lifeline. His brow furrowed in concentration, his lips moved silently as he repeated formulas, and when he finally solved a particularly nasty problem, his face lit up with a grin that almost made Ilya melt right then and there. 

“Oh my god,” Shane sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I actually get it now. I get it. Ilya, you’re amazing.”

Ilya laughed and shook his head. “No, you are very smart. Is not just me. Maybe you needed someone to teach you differently, and I was able to help.”

“I needed someone to teach me properly,” Shane snorted. “I wish they’d fire that professor already.”

“Mm, yes, we can only hope. But, good job, Shane. You did, um, very well.”

Shane looked at him, those eyes soft and grateful. “Thank you. I’ve been stressed about this for so long, I thought it was gonna mess up my GPA,” he sighed. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

You could let me kiss you, was the first thing that flashed through Ilya’s head, but instead he gave Shane a smile and replied, “Is nothing. Want to take a break?”

Shane nodded, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of pale stomach, and Ilya had to look away before he did something stupid. Shane stood up, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed two ginger ales from the fridge. 

"Here," he said, handing one to Ilya. "You earned it."

Ilya took it, their fingers brushing, and Shane felt a jolt of electricity shoot up his arm. Ilya's cheeks flushed, and he quickly looked down at the can.

They drank in silence for a moment, the tension building. Shane could feel it, thick and heavy in the air between them. He sat down on the couch instead of returning to his chair, and after a beat, Ilya followed, settling on the opposite end.

"Um, Shane. Can I ask you something?" Ilya said, his voice quieter now.

"Yeah. Anything."

Ilya fidgeted with the design on his can. “Why did you come to me? There are, I think, so many other tutors on campus, so..”

Shane paused. Well, he definitely couldn’t tell Ilya he’s jerked off to pictures of his face before, so that was something. 

"I've seen you around," Shane said carefully. "You’re a good guy, super nice. Plus, my friend told me about you, said you’re smart and he wasn’t lying."

Ilya looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes—a flicker of curiosity, of wanting. "..Thank you. You are really nice, Shane. I mean it."

And then, without thinking, Shane reached out and touched Ilya's knee. Just a light brush of his fingers against the soft fabric. Ilya's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away.

Shane watched him for a moment. “Ilya,” he said softly. 

No response. Ilya’s eyes were glued to Shane’s hand on him.

A small smile formed on Shane’s face. Gently, he took the can out of Ilya’s hand, and leaned forward to place it on the table along with his. 

“Ilya.” He repeated.

Slowly, Ilya seemed to snap out of his trance, and he met Shane’s eyes again. “Mm?”

“What are you thinking about right now?”

Shane watched Ilya’s throat move as he swallowed hard, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Nothing. I—Is nothing, um.. nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” Shane asked, voice low. He shifted closer, fingers now splayed on the lower of Ilya’s thigh, and huffed out a laugh when Ilya shook his head so fast he thought it’d fall off. “Are you sure? You can tell me, you know.”

“Shane,” Ilya breathed out, already sounding wrecked. His breath hitched again when Shane’s hand shifted up, now on the middle of his thigh.

“Yeah? Is this what you’ve been wanting? Tell me.”

Ilya bit his lip, before nodding slowly, breaking eye contact to stare at Shane’s hand again. 

“You’re not subtle about it. I see you staring at me all the time during practice, and don’t think I forgot about the locker rooms, too. I think you’re amazing at hockey, Ilya. Did you want my approval? For me to tell you that you’re doing good?”

“Please,” Ilya choked out. “Am I?”

“You are, Ilya. So good, actually. You know what I’ve wanted since I saw you?”

Ilya shook his head, looking at Shane again. “What?”

Shane leaned in, slow enough for Ilya to back out if he wanted to. But Ilya didn't move—his eyes fluttered shut just as Shane's lips met his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative. Shane's lips moved against Ilya's, tasting the hint of ginger ale, the warmth of his mouth. Ilya whined, and Shane deepened it, sliding his tongue along Ilya's lower lip until he opened for him. Then again, this time more intense. Shane moved to straddle Ilya’s lap, his hands coming up to thread through his curls and cup his face. Using his hand Shane held him in place, sighing softly into it. 

Ilya moaned into the kiss, his hands coming up to grip Shane's shoulders. He was shaking and clumsy, unpracticed—his movements unsure. But fuck, that only made it hotter. Shane could teach him. Shane wanted to teach him.

He broke the kiss, both of them panting. Ilya's glasses were slightly askew, his eyes glazed over and dark. He was this worked up just from kissing. 

"Have you ever done this before?" Shane asked, his thumb tracing Ilya's cheekbone.

Ilya blinked—processing for a moment—and shook his head. “…No. Not.. not with a guy. Not with anyone, really. I'm—" He swallowed hard, embarrassed. "I'm a virgin."

His words sent a thrill straight to Shane's cock. Ilya Rozanov, who talked so much about girls, was a virgin. His to teach. His to guide.

"That's okay," Shane said softly, his voice a whisper. "That's more than okay. I'll take care of you, Ilya. I'll show you everything. But only if you want me to. Can I?”

Ilya's response was to kiss him again, fiercer this time, his hands sliding up into Shane's hair. And Shane groaned, pulling him closer, guiding him back against the cushions.

"Tell me what feels good," Shane murmured against his neck, kissing down the column of his throat. "Tell me what you want."

"I don't know," Ilya breathed. "I don't—I've never.."

“You’ve really never had anything like this before?” Shane asked, pulling back. 

Ilya, even more embarrassed, shook his head again. 

“You are so pretty.. how come? Do you just not want to?”

“I do, but—fuck, I am too nervous to actually do anything.. Is just porn I watch and, um, yeah.”

Shane smiled. Porn, Ilya probably talked all his game using whatever he’d seen in those annoyingly exaggerated videos. He wanted to ask what kind he watched, what his favorite video was, but that was a question for another day. “Are you nervous right now, Ilya?”

“Very.. I do not know what I’m doing, and—”

“Shh. It’s fine. Let me teach you, okay?”

One of Shane's hands slid under Ilya's shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his stomach and the slight tremble of his muscles. Ilya gasped, arching into the touch, and Shane took his time, mapping out every inch of skin, trailing his fingertips up and down, up and down. Shane learned Ilya’s nipples were sensitive—a flick of Shane's thumb there made Ilya jerk his hips up involuntarily, making him whimper.

"Good," Shane said and leaned in, his lips brushing Ilya's ear. "You're learning so fast."

He pulled Ilya's shirt off, then his own, and for a moment they just looked at each other—Shane, lean yet defined, Ilya, a broad frame, with a dusting of moles across his shoulders. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

Shane's hands went to Ilya's waistband, and Ilya's eyes went wide.

“Are we..?”

"Yeah," Shane breathed out. "If you want to. But we'll go slow. I'll tell you everything, okay? Just trust me."

Ilya nodded frantically, shifting to sit up. Shane tugged at Ilya's sweatpants and pulled them down to his thighs, and then his boxers. And there it was—Ilya's cock, hard and leaking, standing proud against his stomach. Longer than Shane had expected, beautifully shaped, the head flushed a deep pink.

"Fuck," Shane groaned. "Look at you."

Ilya's face turned red. "Is it.. is it okay?"

"Okay? Ilya, you’re perfect." Shane leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside, from base to tip. Ilya cried out, his hips jerking, and Shane smiled against his skin. “And you’re big too, you’re so fucking perfect.”

Shane lowered his head and pressed a kiss to Ilya’s stomach before taking his cock into his mouth, and Ilya’s hands flew to Shane’s hair, gripping it hard. He moved slowly, drinking in Ilya’s strained moans and whimpers, and the way he’d tug at Shane’s hair and sink back into the couch. He showed Ilya what it was like to be pleasured, to feel this good—the wet heat of a mouth, the way Shane’s throat relaxed around Ilya’s length to take him even deeper. Ilya was babbling above him and slurring his words, little gasps and moans escaping his lips, his hips thrusting up helplessly into Shane’s mouth. 

“Shane,” Ilya moaned, fisting Shane’s hair. “I-I’m gonna cum, please, I’m—I don’t think—” 

Shane pulled off with a wet pop, and dropped another kiss on Ilya’s stomach before sitting up again. “Not yet. I want you to cum inside me.”

Ilya’s lips parted, his breath hitching, and Shane swore he saw Ilya’s pupils blow so fucking wide. “I-Inside you? But I—how—”

"Shh." Shane kissed him again, soft and reassuring. "I'll show you. You just have to trust me.”

Ilya stared at Shane for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Okay.. If I am, um, bad at this, then sorry.”

Shane laughed softly, shaking his head. “Mm, don’t worry, I'll teach you anyway.” He then paused, as if he was thinking something over. “I don’t have any condoms, though. But, you’re clean, right?”

“Clean?”

“Yeah. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Oh, yeah.. I do. I uh—I got tested a while ago..”

“Oh?” Shane leaned forward, resting his hands on Ilya’s shoulders. “Were you planning something? With someone else?”

Ilya bit his lip before nodding. “With a girl. But I ended up backing out and she was busy that day anyway with presentation stuff so it would not have happened anyway. Was just to be safe, cause, um, you know.”

“Well, good thing I get to have you first, right?”

Oh, fuck. Ilya’s dick gave an interested twitch against his stomach before he nodded again. “Yeah. Wait, ah, if you knew we were going to.. do this, would you have bought condoms anyway?”

Shane smiled and stood up. “Oh. No. Now, stay put, okay?” He walked to his bedroom, glancing back at Ilya before disappearing inside. 

That should not have made Ilya’s head feel a bit dizzy, but unfortunately, it did. Ilya choked back a moan and let his head loll back against the couch cushions while he waited for Shane, ignoring the mess of pre-cum that his dick just kept spilling onto his stomach. 

Shane came back after a bit, now holding a bottle of lube, and sat down on the couch again. “You asked me if I would've bought condoms for this, right? Well, I didn’t wanna waste time, so I already prepped myself.” Shane opened the bottle of lube and squeezed some onto two fingers. 

A moan escaped Ilya's lips. “Fuck, Shane,”

“Just stay still,” Shane instructed, tugging his sweats and boxers down. Ilya caught a glimpse of a damp spot in his boxers and well, he was just as hard as Ilya was right now. He positioned himself over Ilya’s cock, lube slicked fingers curling around the base, lining it up with his entrance. Ilya was fucking trembling, his blunt nails digging into the couch cushioning. “Let me do the work. When I tell you to move, you move. Okay?”

Ilya nodded, his mouth open and his breathing ragged. 

Shane sunk down, taking the head of Ilya’s cock inside him. Ilya drew out a moan and his hands flew to grip Shane’s waist, watching as his length disappeared inside of Shane. Ilya was big, and so the sensation was intense—a stretch, a fullness that made Shane’s eyes roll back. But he kept going, inch by inch until he was fully seated on Ilya’s lap, his cock buried deep inside of him. 

“Fuck,” Shane gasped. “Oh fuck, Ilya. You’re so big, you feel so—”

Ilya whimpered, burying his face in the crook of Shane’s shoulder, whining when Shane clenched around him. 

“You’re not gonna cum just from this, right?”

“No, no, will try not to,” Ilya gasped, trying his best to not dig his fingers into the soft skin of Shane’s waist, and shook his head frantically. “But I won’t, ah—won’t last long,”

“I know,” Shane said softly, starting to rock his hips. Gently, he pulled Ilya's glasses off, setting them aside on the couch. “Move, okay? Like this. Follow what I’m doing.”

They found a rhythm—slow at first, Shane's hips grinding down while Ilya tentatively thrusted up. The room filled with the sounds of their breathing, the slap of skin, the wet squelch of lube. Shane leaned forward, bracing himself on Ilya's chest, and Ilya's hands stayed out on Shane’s waist, almost as if he was too scared to put them anywhere else. 

Shane noticed and glanced down at Ilya’s hands, drinking in the feel of Ilya’s cock twitching inside of him while he grinded down. “You don’t have to be afraid to touch me, okay?” He reached down and his fingers curled around Ilya’s wrists, bringing his hands up and pressing Ilya’s palms to his chest, smiling when Ilya gave his pecs a light squeeze. “Do whatever you want.”

“Da, yes, okay. This just—”

“Feels too good, right? Does this feel better than your hand?” Shane choked out, his hands coming up to cup Ilya’s face. 

“Yes, so much better, fuck, thank you Shane,” he moaned. “Thank you, Captain,”

“Faster,” Shane urged, the title sparking something deep inside of him. “Harder. C’mon, Ilya. Fuck me like you mean it. All the, ah, all the porn you watch has definitely taught you something, right?”

Ilya whined and he sped up, finding a pace, his hips snapping up with new confidence. Shane’s head fell back, a string of curses falling from his lips. He's been with plenty of guys, but this—this was different. Ilya’s cock hit spots inside him that made his vision white out, making his head spin and pleasure curl all around his body. 

“Holy shit,” Shane slurred, his words running together. “Oh fuck, I-Ilya, are you sure you’re a virgin? Fucking love your cock, keep going. You’re so deep, can feel you everywhere,” Shane trailed a hand down and pressed on his stomach, nearly coming on the spot when he felt the slight bulge of Ilya’s cock moving in and out, in and out of him. 

“Shane, please, I’m gonna cum soon, c-can’t help it, you feel so good, better than anything,” he whined. Ilya's hands moved to Shane's hips, guiding him, driving deeper, and Ilya nearly drowned in all the noises Shane was making, especially when he managed to hit that spot that made Shane spasm around his cock. He was loud, and Ilya absolutely loved it. 

"You're doing so good," Shane gasped. "So, so good, mm, right there, don't stop—"

Ilya's eyes were glazed over, too lost in everything, lost in how tight Shane was. His thrusts grew sloppy, messy, his breathing coming in harsh pants.

"Close, Shane—I'm gonna—"

"Inside me," Shane moaned. "Cum inside me. Fill me up."

Ilya’s eyes rolled back and he moaned loudly, his hips jerking up, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into Shane. The feeling of hot cum flooding his insides pushed Shane over the edge, and he came with a strangled moan, ropes of white splashing across Ilya's chest and stomach, mixing with the sticky mess of pre-cum and sweat.

They collapsed together, tangled and breathless. Shane's head rested on Ilya's shoulder, and he could feel Ilya's heart pounding against his ribs.

After a long moment, Ilya spoke, his voice hoarse. "Was I.. was I okay?"

Shane laughed, genuinely surprised. “Okay? Ilya, you were perfect. You learn so fast.” He lifted his head to look at him. “I fucking loved this.”

Ilya smiled shyly, his cheeks becoming even more flushed. “You were good too. Thank you, um, for being my first. Would not want to lose it to anyone else.”

Shane pressed a kiss to his neck, nodding. “We can go get cleaned up now, okay? And, um,” he knew this would be a long shot, but wanted to try anyway. “My roommate is with a girl right now. Won’t be home for the rest of the night, he always stays over there. I think that’s his girlfriend or something, I don’t know, he didn’t tell me. Do you wanna stay over, maybe?”

Please say yes. Please say yes, Ilya, I’ve been wanting to be close to you for months now. I still want more of you. 

“Ah. Sure..” Ilya smiled sheepishly. “I am not busy tonight.”

Shane smiled, dropping a feather light peck onto Ilya’s cheek, lingering there for a second. They moved to the bathroom together, the atmosphere of the room now shifting into something softer. Shane turned on the shower and while waiting for the temperature to adjust, turned to face Ilya again.

“Do you wanna take them separately, or..?”

“No, no, together. Will save time.” Ilya smiled shyly.

Once the water was hot, Shane stepped inside, with Ilya following close behind. They washed away the sweat and heat of the last hour in relative silence, the occasional brush of their shoulders or a shared, quiet smile making both of their hearts flutter. Shane squeezed a dollop of body wash into his hands and gently rubbed it over Ilya's back after asking for permission, letting his fingers trace the broad muscles of his shoulders. Ilya leaned back into the touch, a low, relaxed hum escaping his throat.

When they were dry and dressed in the softest, oversized sweatpants and t-shirts Shane could find, they padded out to the living room. Shane grabbed a thick blanket from the closet and tossed it onto the couch while Ilya stood in front of the TV, browsing through the streaming options.

"Pick whatever you want," Shane said, sitting down and stretching his legs out. "And I can sleep on the couch, you’ll take my bed.”

Ilya plopped down next to Shane on the couch after putting on an action movie, settling underneath the blanket. “Is this your way of paying me?” He shook his head and laughed. 

“Oh. No, Ilya. This is aftercare. But I can pay you now, if you want. You said fifty, right?”

Ilya paused before nodding. “You do not have to pay, but.. if you are sure,”

Shane reached for his phone on the coffee table, pulling up his banking app to make the transfer. “Why not? I have to give you something,” he laughed, handing Ilya his phone to put in his info, and typing 50.00 as the amount. “I want to make sure you get it before we fall asleep.”

We.

A part of Ilya clung onto that word. He saw his phone light up on the table, and settled down next to Shane, focusing his eyes on the movie in front of him. The couch was a little too small for the both of them, and even though Shane had offered his bed, none of them moved. 

Three days passed. Then five. Then a week, and two. Shane tried to focus on his own classes, and he should have. The same exam he’d asked Ilya for help on was coming up soon—studying and cramming in as much review as possible should have been his main priority. But unfortunately for him, it wasn’t. His mind kept drifting back to Ilya. Was he thinking about him too? Shane couldn’t tear his thoughts away from the way he had Ilya right where he wanted that night—eyes wide, face flushed red, and so eager to please and make Shane feel good. 

He replayed everything in his head during lectures, during meals, and during the quiet hours where he lay awake in bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, imagining Ilya whining, his voice begging Shane for more, please, right there, you feel so good. 

Was Ilya interested in him also? Or was it just a one time thing, a moment of curiosity for someone inexperienced who now knew what sex was, how it could feel, and had moved on? 

Shane was spiraling, and he knew it. He’d sent a few casual texts—Hey, how’s the homework? Do you need notes? How was practice?—and Ilya replied with short, polite responses. Nothing more. No hints of wanting to come over again. No I miss you or I can’t stop thinking about you. 

And honestly, Shane was starting to think he’d imagined the whole thing. And that it’d be better to move on and forget it happened, maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted this time. 

Then, on a Friday evening, a knock came at his door. He opened it, and there stood Ilya. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a different t-shirt—a plain grey one that hugged his shoulders—and his curls were slightly messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. He didn’t come with anything this time, just himself.

“Hi,” Ilya said, a little breathless. “Sorry I am showing up out of.. nowhere. I realized I left my hoodie here, the green one? I need it back, is my favorite.”

Shane’s heart almost stopped right then and there at the sight of Ilya, standing in his doorway. “Yeah, of course. Come in.”

Ilya stepped inside, and Shane closed the door behind him. The dorm smelled like the candle Shane had lit earlier—linen and sandalwood—and the soft lamplight made everything feel much warmer. 

"Want something to drink?" Shane asked, already heading to the kitchen. "I've got Coke, water, beer.."

"Coke sounds good," Ilya said, settling onto the couch.

Shane grabbed two cans—a ginger ale and a Coke—popped them open, and handed one to Ilya before sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He wanted to sit closer, but he didn't want to freak him out, especially after not talking much for close to two whole weeks. 

They talked. Ilya told him about a concussion he’d gotten last week at practice, how badly it hurt, and how disoriented he felt after. Hours long cram sessions for the upcoming exam, how hard certain problems were to figure out. A lab report that had gone horribly wrong—he'd mixed up the independent and dependent variables and had to redo the entire thing. Shane laughed, genuinely amused, and Ilya grinned back, the previous feelings of heaviness in the air dissipating gradually.

"You're funny," Shane said, shaking his head. "People say that, but I didn't know that it was true."

Ilya shrugged, still smiling. "Wow, Shane. But, I don’t know, I am full of surprises."

"Yeah?" Shane set his can down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What else don't I know about you?"

Ilya's smile faltered. He looked down at his Coke can, fingers tracing the rim. The silence stretched, and Shane could see the hesitation in his posture, the slight tension in his shoulders, the way he bit his lower lip.

"Hey," Shane said softly. "You okay?"

Ilya nodded, but didn't look up. "Yes. Just.. thinking. Sorry if I am ruining the moment.”

"No, no, you’re perfectly fine. And about what?”

Ilya paused again before speaking, this time more quietly. "Have you ever.. you know. Done that with someone who, uh, didn't know what they were doing?"

Shane's brows furrowed. "Done what?"

"Had sex," Ilya said quickly, the words tumbling out.

“Oh,” Shane replied. “Well, no. You’re the first. Why?”

Ilya shook his head, still staring at his can. The plain design of it seemed to be very interesting right now. 

“Ilya. You can tell me, tell me what you want,”

“..Can you teach me?”

“Teach you what?”

“How to give head,” Ilya rushed out. “I mean—I’ve never done it. I would not be good at it. I don’t know how to,” 

So that’s what this was about. “You haven’t?”

“No,” Ilya groaned, sounding a little disappointed. “I know that is bad, and..”

Shane let out a slow breath, cutting Ilya off. Oh, Ilya. I have got to keep you to myself. He kept his voice gentle. “I wasn’t asking for myself, or for you to tell me that, it’s okay. Have you, you know, ever received head? Has anyone ever gone down on you? Not even in a past relationship?”

Ilya's cheeks turned a deep crimson. He shook his head, still staring at the can. "Ah, no. I haven't really had relationships," Ilya admitted. "I've always been too focused on school. And I—" He bit his lip. "I didn't know if I'd like it. Or if anyone would want to do it with me. And, uh, no.. I've watched it in porn, though. Sometimes."

Porn, again. "Porn?" Shane's pulse quickened. He shifted closer, his knee brushing Ilya's. "What kind of porn do you watch, Ilya?"

Ilya's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I don't know. Like, men and women. But I kept..." He trailed off.

"Kept what?"

"Kept looking at the guys," Ilya admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "The way they moved. The sounds they made, and um, the way they made it look like sex felt that good. I couldn't stop watching them, is so fucking hot and I can’t help it,"

Shane's heart was pounding now. He moved even closer, his hand coming to rest on Ilya's knee. "You know there are so many people who would love to give you head, right? For free. Just because they want to."

Ilya looked up at Shane, and he let out a shaky laugh. "That's not true."

"It is," Shane said, his thumb stroking circles on Ilya's thigh. "You're gorgeous, Ilya. You're smart, you're funny, you're—" He stopped, letting his hand slide higher. "You're so focused on your studies, you don't even realize how much people want you."

Ilya blinked down at Shane’s hand before looking back up, and he stared at him, his eyes wide. "Do you?"

Shane's breath caught. "More than you know," he said, his voice rough. "And I want to show you something. I want to show you how good receiving head can feel. How fucking good it is when someone knows what they're doing."

Ilya's lips parted. "Shane.."

"Trust me," Shane whispered. "Just for a little while. Let me make you feel good."

Ilya swallowed, then nodded.

Shane didn't waste a second. He slid off the couch, landing on his knees in front of Ilya, his hands going to the button of Ilya's jeans. Ilya watched, his breathing shallow, his hands gripping the couch cushions.

"Just relax," Shane said, easing the zipper down. "Let me do all the work."

He pulled Ilya's jeans down his thighs, then his boxers. Ilya's cock sprang free—already half-hard, longer and thicker than Shane remembered, the head already slick with a bead of pre-cum. Shane's mouth watered.

"Fuck," he breathed, wrapping his hand around the base. "Look at you. So beautiful."

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ilya’s tip, giving small kitten licks over it. Ilya gasped, his hips jerking, and Shane smiled against his skin before taking the head into his mouth.

Ilya’s taste hit him—clean. And undeniably Ilya. Shane figured he’d been waiting for this to happen, and had cleaned up nicely before coming over. Shane moaned, sinking lower, taking him inch by inch until he felt the tip hit the back of his throat. He relaxed, his throat opening, and then he swallowed around him.

“Ohmygod,” Ilya moaned, his hands flying to grip Shane’s hair. “Shane, that’s— I-I’m not gonna last,”

Shane didn't answer. He couldn't. He was too focused on the feeling of Ilya's cock filling his mouth, the weight of it on his tongue, the way Ilya's hips twitched with every movement. He bobbed his head, catching a rhythm, letting his tongue swirl around the head on every upstroke.

His own cock was painfully hard, straining against his jeans. He reached down, unbuckled his belt, and freed himself, his hand wrapping around his cock as he continued to suck Ilya off. Ilya jerked his hips a bit too hard and his cock hit the back of Shane's throat, making him gag, and Shane moaned, his eyes rolling back.

“Sorry, sorry, f-fuck, Shane, I’m sorry,” Ilya slurred above him, his words coming in half formed sentences, his hands in Shane’s hair tightening, now fisting it fully. “M’gonna cum, so sorry, can’t help it,”

Shane moaned around his cock, the vibration making Ilya cry out. He sped up, taking Ilya deeper, faster, his hand working his own cock in time with his movements. He was close—so close—and he could feel Ilya's thighs trembling, his breath coming in harsh pants.

"C-Close, I’m close, oh fuck,” 

Shane pressed deeper, letting Ilya's cock hit the back of his throat, and came with a choked moan, his cum spilling hot and thick over his fingers. The sound of it, the vibration, the sight of Shane helplessly coming while still taking him caused Ilya’s hips to twitch, pure pleasure washing over his body. 

He came with a sharp cry, his back arching, his cum flooding Shane's mouth. Shane swallowed, taking it all, but he didn't stop. He kept going, drawing out every last drop, until Ilya was whimpering and squirming, his hands fisting in Shane's hair so hard it hurt.

“Shane,” he moaned, dropping his head back onto the cushioned headrest. “Stop, pleasepleaseplease, it’s too much—”

Shane didn’t stop. He kept going, and this time, began to swirl his tongue around Ilya’s tip, humming in satisfaction when Ilya’s hips bucked up. He was obsessed with the noises Ilya made, the way he writhed and gasped and begged. He sucked harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive head, and Ilya's whimpers turned into sobs.

“Please,” he moaned. Ilya's hands tugged weakly at his hair, trying to push him away, but he had no strength. His head lolled back against the couch, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent cry as tears began to prickle at the corner of his eyes. His stomach tensed and his body seized, back arching off the couch. His cum shot down Shane’s throat again and Ilya trembled, his legs shaking, pulling at Shane’s hair hard. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks and his chest heaved, a broken moan tearing from his throat. 

Shane swallowed through every pulse, never pulling away, his tongue still lapping at the oversensitive head. Ilya's trembling didn't stop. His hips jerked weakly, and another small spurt of cum landed on Shane's tongue, then another. He finally pulled off, his lips slick, his chin glistening. He looked up at Ilya—at the tears streaking his cheeks, the way his hands were still tangled in Shane's hair, weak and trembling. 

Shane smiled and pressed a light kiss to Ilya’s inner thigh. “How was that?” 

Ilya let out a shaky laugh, his chest heaving. “I think.. I think you have ruined me for anyone else.”

Shane’s grin widened and he moved to sit on the couch, wiping his chin with his hand. “Was that good?”

Ilya nodded, dazed. His eyes dropped to Shane’s lap, and although he wasn’t sure of when Shane had finished and tucked himself in again, there was a visible bulge straining against the fabric. Ilya’s mouth went dry. 

“I want..” Ilya started, then hesitated. His cheeks flushed. "I want to make you feel good too. But I don't.. Have never done it before. I mean, I've watched porn, obviously, but that is different. The guys in those videos always make it look so easy, like they just open their throats and take it, but I know is not that simple. And I don't even know where to start—like, do I just.. put it in my mouth? What about my teeth? Have heard horror stories about teeth. And I don't know how much I can take without gagging—"

Shane reached out, placing a finger on Ilya's lips to stop the rambling. “Shh. You don't have to know anything. I'm going to teach you. You're a quick learner, remember?”

“..Yes. You are right.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be fine. And, are you sure? I came already, you don’t need to.”

“No, no, please,” Ilya frowned and looked at him through his haze, nearly begging, and practically whined when Shane’s thumb traced his lower lip. “I wanna make you feel good, please, Shane,”

“I don’t know.. Are you sure? I don’t know if you can take it. It’s your first time.”

Ilya felt like he was going to fucking cry. He nodded frantically, his breath hitching. “Yes, yes, I can, please.” He rushed out. “Can try. Please? Will make sure I am good at it, I promise, teach me. I learn fast, yes? You even said so,”

“Okay,” Shane laughed, his eyes trailing Ilya already sinking to his knees in between Shane’s legs. “I’ll guide you. And I promise you—I'll tell you exactly what feels good, and I'll stop you if something doesn't. Okay?"

Ilya nodded, his heart thudding. "Okay,” he drawled, mouthing wetly at the fabric, his breath fanning hot against it.

Shane shifted, unbuttoning his jeans down just enough to free his cock. It was slick from before, hard and flushed, the head already wet with a bead of precum. Ilya's breath caught. He'd seen dicks in porn, but seeing Shane's—real, right there, inches from his face—was different. It was thick, veined. Ilya could feel the heat radiating off it.

"Touch first," Shane said softly. "Get used to it. No rush."

Ilya reached out with a trembling hand. His fingers brushed the skin, and Shane hissed softly. Ilya wrapped his hand around the base, drinking in the sight of Shane’s cock twitching in his hand. He ran his thumb over the head, smearing the pre-cum.

Ilya's lips curved into a nervous smile. He squeezed gently, watching Shane's stomach tighten. "Is good?"

"Perfect. Now lower your head. Start by just licking the tip. Use the flat of your tongue."

Ilya leaned down and stuck out his tongue, licking a slow stripe across the head of Shane’s cock. He did it again, dragging his tongue over the slit.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Shane breathed. “Take me in your mouth, just the tip. No deeper than that.”

Ilya sank down, holding Shane there for a moment before he pressed his tongue against the slit again, careful to not take too much of Shane, despite his body screaming at him to keep going. Ilya followed instructions, his tongue working diligently. He could feel Shane's cock twitch in his mouth, heard Shane's breath quicken.

“Good job, Ilya. I think you’ve got it. Do you want more?”

Ilya sat up and nodded, looking up at Shane and parting his lips. A moan escaped his lips when the head of Shane’s cock came to rest on his bottom lip, smearing pre-cum all over it. Finally, Shane guided Ilya’s head down, hissing at the warmth enveloping his length. “Tap my thigh twice if it’s too much, okay?”

Ilya hummed around him, adjusting to the weight of Shane’s cock on his tongue. Too quickly he pushed his head down, trying to take more of Shane and he ended up nearly gagging, more tears prickling at his eyes. 

“Shh, I know, but be patient, okay? I need you to relax first. You can show me how good you are then,” Shane said softly, one of his hands coming up to card through Ilya’s curls. 

Ilya pulled off, a string of spit connecting his lips to Shane’s tip and he coughed, grimacing at the roughness of his throat. “..Is okay? Am I doing good, Shane? Please,”

A smile tugged at Shane’s lips. So eager to please, to be praised. “Yes, Ilya. So good, you take me so well. Keep going, okay? Do you want help?”

“Da, yes, please.” Ilya parted his lips again, patiently waiting for Shane’s cock in his mouth again. His eyes fluttered shut again when Shane leaned down to grip his chin, slowly feeding his cock into Ilya’s mouth. Ilya sank down, this time more slowly, a rush of accomplishment flooding through his body when he felt the head of Shane’s cock push past the back of his throat. He bobbed his head experimentally, using his hand to stroke whatever length he couldn’t reach.

“Shit,” Shane moaned, his grip on Ilya’s curls tightening. His hips thrusted up into Ilya’s mouth involuntarily, helplessly unable to stop himself. “Love your mouth, keep going. Just like that, you’re perfect. Doing so good, Ilya,” 

Ilya pushed his head down again, ignoring the feel of his throat starting to constrict again, reflexively trying to gag. His eyes were watering but he kept going. He wanted to do good, show Shane that he could take it and handle whatever Shane wanted. He thought of Shane kissing right after this, his taste lingering on his tongue. The thought made him moan, the vibration traveling right through Shane’s cock. 

“Holy shit, you’re so perfect,” Shane moaned, his hand in Ilya’s hair tightening. He felt two taps on the side of his thigh, and immediately released his grip, pulling Ilya off gently. “You’re okay?”

Ilya nodded lazily, drool spilling from the corner of his mouth. “More,” he pleaded. 

“More? What more could you want, Ilya?”

Oh, Ilya fucking loved the way Shane talked to him. All gentle and sweet, sometimes mean, and he knew he was right where he wanted to be. Despite coming twice already, his dick twitched against his thigh. “Fuck my throat, please, I want it,” his parted his lips wider, eager to take Shane in anyway he wanted. 

“You sure? I don’t wanna hurt you,”

“Yes, yes, won’t hurt me,” he leaned forward, nudging the tip of Shane’s cock with the side of his face, smearing pre-cum all over his cheek. “Can you, um, pull my hair too? I like it, feels good when you do it,” he slurred, words spilling out of his mouth mindlessly.

Shane had to stop himself from coming right then and there. “Okay. Stay still, and open your mouth. Tilt your head up a little.”

Ilya nodded eagerly and complied, looking up at Shane, eyes glazed over and his pupils were dilated so much, dopamine rushing through his body. 

“Relax your jaw,” Shane instructed, and his other hand found the back of Ilya's head, guiding him forward, sliding his cock deeper—past the soft palate, into the tight heat of Ilya's throat. Ilya gagged again, but he forced himself to stay still, to breathe through his nose.

"Good," Shane breathed. "So fucking good. Just relax, okay? You’re okay.”

He pulled back, then thrusted forward again, a shallow stroke. Ilya's eyes watered, but he didn't pull away, letting Shane use him as he pleased. Shane's hips began to move, fucking into Ilya's mouth, making sure to be careful—it was Ilya’s first time after all.

“That’s it, Ilya, take it. Look at me,”

Ilya's eyes, glassy with tears, met Shane's. The image of him was obscene—his lips stretched around Shane's cock, cheeks hollowed with each pull. Shane's grip tightened and he sped up, faster and harder, driving into Ilya's throat. He gagged and moaned around Shane’s length, drool leaking onto his shirt, and his hands stayed planted behind his back, refusing to touch unless Shane said so. And still, he didn’t tap. He wanted this, wanted to be ruined. 

“Close,” Shane moaned, harshly tugging at Ilya’s hair, drawing a whimper from him and Ilya’s throat spasming slightly around his cock. “Gonna cum, Ilya. You want me, uh, oh fuck, to cum down your throat?”

Ilya did the best he could to nod, and his eyes fluttered, but he held Shane’s gaze. The thrusts grew sloppy, Shane's hips stuttering, and then—a hot rush flooded Ilya's throat, thick and salty. He swallowed, instinctively, as Shane's cock pulsed again, spilling more cum down his gullet. Shane's groan was long and ragged, his body shuddering. He held Ilya's head in place, letting the last waves of his orgasm drain into his mouth, before finally releasing him.

Shane slumped back against the couch, utterly exhausted and mind blown. 

“Did I do okay..?” Ilya asked, his voice rough. 

Shane huffed out a laugh and pulled Ilya up into a kiss, tasting himself on Ilya’s tongue. “You did more than okay,” he said softly. “You’re amazing. You learn so fast, Ilya. Good job,”

Ilya preened at the praise, grinning against his lips, a warm flush spreading through him. "Can we.. do that again sometime?"

"Anytime you want. But first, I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? And I have your hoodie, sorry. You left it and.. I didn’t wanna bother you.”

Ilya blinked. “Hoodie?”

“Yes? The one you came over for.”

“Oh. Yes. Right, thank you.” 

Shane paused before it clicked for him, shaking his head and laughing. “Did you really come over for the hoodie or this?”

“Maybe. Cannot tell you that,” Ilya laughed, resting his head against Shane’s thigh and nuzzling into it, sighing softly when one of Shane’s hands came to scratch gently at his scalp. 

Ever since being with Shane, Ilya had developed a.. problem. A big problem. 

The first time Ilya woke up soaked, he thought he'd spilled water in his sleep. His boxers were clinging to his thighs, the sheets dark with a damp patch spreading beneath his hips. He touched it, felt the substance between his fingertips, and his face morphed into pure embarrassment.

Cum. A lot of it. 

He lay there in the dark, his breath coming in short gasps. The dream was already fading, his awareness pulling him out of sleep, but the feeling longered—Shane’s mouth on him, his hands digging into his hips, kissing all over his body, whispering “it’s okay, you’re doing good, just let go for me,” so softly to him. Ilya still wanted more. 

“Blyat,” he whispered into the empty room, his voice cracking. 

That was the first night. The second night, he woke up mid orgasm, hips bucking into the mattress, teeth buried into his pillow to muffle his scream. He came so hard he saw white behind his eyelids, and when it finally subsided, he was shaking, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. He had to change his sheets at two am, creeping to the laundry room like he had committed a crime. And it sure felt like he did. 

The third night, he didn’t even try to go back to sleep. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, ignoring his aching cock. What the hell was going on? Shane was the only thing that kept swirling in his head, and his brain couldn’t let go of him.

“Shut up,” Ilya groaned to himself. 

His brain did not in fact shut up.

The fourth night, it got even more intense. His dreams became vivid. Shane was on top of him, that signature smile of his tugging at his lips, the bulge in his sweatpants pressing against Ilya’s thigh. The hockey stick was propped against the bedframe—why? Why was the hockey stick there? In the dream, it made perfect sense. Shane grinned down at him, talking somewhat casually about hockey, how glad he was to be Ilya’s captain and teach him something far from how to perfect aim.

Ilya came awake with a choked cry, his hand already wrapped around his own cock, stroking desperately. He didn't remember grabbing himself. His hips were moving in frantic little thrusts, and he was making sounds—whimpering, pathetic sounds—that he would rather die if anyone heard.

“Shane,” he moaned, the name falling from his lips like a prayer. “Pleasepleaseplease, fuck, please,”

He didn't know what he was begging for. More. That's all he knew. He needed more. But Shane wasn’t there, and so it was just Ilya, alone in his dark room, pathetically humping his own hand. 

By the fifth night, Ilya was losing his fucking mind. And to make things worse, he should have been getting sleep in for his exam in the morning, but instead he was up once again, thinking. He'd spent the entirety of yesterday avoiding Shane on campus, ducking behind pillars, pretending to be on his phone, pulling up the settings app and checking the weather. He was way too embarrassed to face Shane again. He’d barely replied to any of his texts—so sweet and concerned, asking if Ilya was okay—and Ilya felt absolutely horrible for not responding.

That night, he was wide awake, and didn’t even bother undressing. Around two days ago, Shane had sent Ilya a picture. It was innocent: a selfie of Shane at hockey practice, smiling while holding his hockey stick, his face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. Ilya had caught a perfect glimpse of his freckles, and reacted to the message with a heart emoji—that was all he could’ve done for now. 

Ilya's hand drifted down his stomach, over the waistband of his sweatpants. He was already half-hard, just from thinking about the picture. His fingers brushed the head of his cock, and he shuddered.

“Fuck, whatever,” he muttered. His hand was already moving, curling around his length, stroking slowly. The friction sent a spark of pleasure through his body and he moaned, hips tilting up into his palm. He choked back a groan, his resolve already crumbling. 

He grabbed his phone with his free hand, thumbed it on, and pulled up the photo. The screen glowed in the dim light, illuminating his face. Shane was so beautiful. His eyes were bright, his smile easy, his body strong and healthy and alive. The hockey stick rested against his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around the shaft, and Ilya's mind immediately went to filthy places,wondering what it would be like to have those fingers wrapped around his cock instead. What it would be like to bend Shane over the boards in an empty rink and fuck him from behind, the sound of skates scraping ice and skin slapping skin.

Ilya bit down on the collar of his shirt, shoving the fabric into his mouth to stifle his moans that wanted to escape his mouth. His hand moved faster, eyes locked on the phone screen. "Captain," he whimpered around the cloth, the word muffled and broken.

He didn't know why he called him that. Maybe because Shane was the captain of the hockey team, maybe because in Ilya's fantasies, Shane was the one in charge, the one who led him, the one who guided him through the terrifying yet beautiful mess of sex. Shane had shown him what pleasure was, how good it could feel. Shane had taken him apart and put him back together differently. His mind was forever altered, and Ilya belonged to him now, even if the visibility of it was subtle. 

The fabric of his shirt was soaked with drool, but he didn't care. Ilya’s hand moved faster now, pre-cum coating his fingers, making obscene sounds in the quiet room. He kept staring at Shane’s picture, at his smile, at the hockey stick—

“Shane, I’m close, Captain, I’m gonna cu—”

Ilya sobbed into his shirt as his orgasm crashed into him hard, trembling as rope after rope of cum spilled over his fingers and hit his stomach, even shooting up to hit his chin and the shirt he gagged himself with. He nearly saw stars; he’d cum so hard and for a moment, he thought he was passing out.

His arm went limp, his phone sliding from his grip, the screen still showing Shane's face. His hand fell away from his cock, which was still twitching, a final bead of cum oozing from the slit. He slumped back against his pillows, panting, his heart hammering so hard he could hear his own pulse in his ears.

I’m fucking ruined. 

Ilya had gotten tired of ignoring Shane on campus. He knew it wouldn’t last long, not when he had to physically stop himself from smiling at Shane whenever he saw him. So, three days after Ilya had soaked his sheets and built up the courage to text back, with a “can I come over?”, he found himself standing outside Shane’s dorm, his knuckles hovering over the door. He couldn’t make them connect. 

A few deep breaths later, he finally swallowed his nervousness and raised his hand again to knock, but this time the door swung open before he could. Shane stood there in a loose t-shirt and sweats, a grin spreading across his face. “Hi, Ilya. I was beginning to think you’d never show up,” he said, stepping aside to let Ilya in.

Ilya’s mouth went dry. Shane looked good. Shane always looked good. But today, with the low slung sweatpants and the way his biceps flexed when he leaned against the doorframe, Ilya felt his brain short-circuit. "I, uh, I need.."

"Come inside," Shane said, opening the door wider. His voice was warm. "I was just thinking about you."

Ilya followed him like a lost puppy, his eyes glued to the curve of Shane's ass in those sweatpants. The door clicked shut behind them, and Shane pointed to the couch, humming in approval when Ilya sat down. 

“So,” Shane began, still standing. He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “What do you want to learn this time?”

Ilya’s throat was dry, and suddenly he really wanted a glass of water. “Everything,” he croaked. “I want—I need you to teach me how to, um, how to.. touch myself properly. And how to.. sorry.” He couldn’t say it. His face was burning with embarrassment. 

“How to finger yourself?”

Ilya shook his head. No, not that.

“How to finger me?” 

This time Ilya nodded, looking away. 

Shane laughed, utterly endeared. “We can start with you first. Do you want something to drink? There’s Coke in the fridge. Finish your can and we can start.”

Ilya had never downed a can of soda so fast before. He sipped quickly, ignoring the burn in his throat. Shane noticed and laughed again, shaking his head before guiding Ilya to his bedroom. That was Ilya’s first time in there, and it had never felt so  special before. Shane guided him to the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress with a gentle hand on his chest. Ilya laid back, his heart racing, his cock already straining against his sweats, and Shane sat down on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Remember when I asked you what kind of porn you watch?”

Ilya swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yes.”

“Give me your phone,” Shane said, stretching out his hand, and opening his palm. Ilya handed it to him and watched Shane’s thumb hover over a few things before he handed it back to Ilya, and it was now open on a new tab.

…A porn website. From Ilya’s recently visited.

“Oh,” he mumbled, glancing down at the screen. The first video in his feed was on a frame of a guy holding his cock, and a glimpse of another could’ve been shown if he scrolled. “How did you..?”

Shane shrugged. “Easy to find when it’s the first thing in your search history. But, I’ve been thinking about what you said. Show me your favorite,”

Ilya’s hands trembled as he typed something into the search bar, biting his lip when a familiar video popped up. Two guys on his screen. He looked up at Shane, waiting for permission to play it. 

“This is lesson one. Sit up. Move right in between my lap, okay?”

Ilya shifted, moving to meet Shane and he settled in the comfortable space between Shane’s legs, his back to Shane’s chest. 

“This one’s your favorite? I wonder how many times you’ve watched it,” Shane smiled, one of his arms snaking around Ilya’s waist. 

Ilya’s throat tightened. “A few times..”

“Good. I want you to play it. And I want you to watch it while I teach you how to stroke yourself. Is that okay?”

Ilya nodded, humming softly when Shane dropped  a kiss right under his jaw. He tapped the play button, and the video started. A low moan filled the room, and on screen, a guy with dirty blonde curls was on his knees, mouth open and his tongue sticking out while another—dark black hair—stood over him, gripping his own cock. They looked.. a bit like Shane and Ilya. Ilya’s eyes stayed glued to the screen, but his peripheral vision caught Shane’s free hand moving to his waistband. 

“Take your sweats off,” he said quietly. “All the way. I wanna see you.”

Ilya fumbled with the drawstring, hooking his thumbs under the waistband and pushing the fabric down his thighs. His cock sprang free, already half-hard, the tip glistening. He left the sweats bunched around his knees, too awkward to fully strip.

Shane didn’t comment. Instead, the arm wound Ilya's waist gave him a gentle squeeze, pulling him closer. “Watch the video. But listen to me. I’m going to tell you exactly how to touch yourself, and you’re going to follow my instructions. Okay?”

Ilya nodded, eyes fixed on the screen where the black haired guy was now slowly fucking the blonde’s mouth. 

“First,” Shane said, his voice low and steady, “I want you to wrap your hand around your cock. Not tight. Just a loose grip. Let your palm rest against the head.”

Ilya did as he was told. His fingers curled around his base, the warmth of his own touch feeling foreign. He usually did this in a frantic rush, never pausing to feel.

“Good,” Shane murmured. His free hand came to Ilya’s wrist, curling around it. “Keep going, okay? You’re doing well,”

Ilya’s breath hitched as he dragged his hand down with Shane’s guidance. The friction was good, but different from his usual jerky, desperate strokes.

“Tell me how you used to touch yourself, Ilya,” Shane said softly, his lips just a few inches away from Ilya’s ear.

“Ah, um.. l-like, fast? I don’t know, I always came anyway. Very quick, did not take much time.”

“Show me,”

Ilya paused his movements and Shane’s grip on his wrist loosened, waiting. Slowly, Ilya began to pick up the pace, messily jerking himself off, his hand moving in quick strokes. It didn’t really.. feel that good most times, but it got the job done anyway. Shane’s grip on Ilya’s wrist tightened, stopping him, and he frowned. “Oh, no, poor thing,” Shane cooed gently. “Like that? No wonder you needed my help,” 

Ilya whined, nodding quickly. “Please.”

“Shh, I’ll help you, okay? Keep watching the video.” Shane guided his hand once more, and shifted to cover Ilya's fingers, making Ilya stroke himself again.

Ilya’s hips twitched. A small bead of pre-cum leaked out, smearing under his thumb. He watched the video—the black haired guy was being flipped over now, face down, ass up—and his cock pulsed in his hand.

“Keep watching,” Shane said. “Don’t look at me. You’re learning to pace yourself. I want you to stroke like that for a full minute. Up and down, slow and steady. Don’t speed up, don’t squeeze. Just like that, okay?”

Ilya nodded frantically, moaning loudly. He did as Shane asked, dragging his hand up and down, up and down, and he began to feel his stomach tense. 

“Close,” he warned, tilting his head back, resting against Shane’s shoulder. Ilya’s whole body was buzzing. His cock was painfully hard, and pre-cum dripped onto his stomach, leaning onto both his and Shane’s fingers. 

“Move your hand.” 

Ilya dragged his hand away and was about to whine before it dwindled into a low moan, when Shane’s fingers wrapped around him instead. His hand moved fast, but not the way Ilya did it—it actually felt good. Ilya felt like he was floating, his brain melting into nothing but mush. He could stay like this forever, moaning against Shane’s skin while he took whatever he gave him. 

“Coming,” he slurred. “I’m—I’m, mm, I’m coming—”

Shane kissed Ilya, simultaneously jerking him off while he moaned and whined into his mouth. Shane’s hand kept moving, and he smiled against Ilya’s lips when he felt warm ropes of cum spill over his hand, the video still playing in the background while Ilya trembled in his grasp, shaking and whimpering as Shane stroked him through his orgasm. Ilya broke the kiss, tilting his head to mouth wetly at the skin of Shane’s neck, leaving a trail of kisses before he lazily began to leave a hickey there.

“Fuck,” Shane breathed. “Did porn teach you that too?”

”No,” Ilya breathed against his skin. “Taught myself,”

Shane smiled, sighing softly when Ilya licked a stripe over the spot he’d sucked on. “You did such a good job,”

Ilya swallowed, his throat dry. The gratitude was overwhelming; he wanted to give something back, not just take. “Lesson two?” Ilya asked quietly, sitting up, and tucking himself back into his sweats.

“Mm, now?”

“Please,” Ilya said, tilting his head to look up at Shane. “I want to make you feel good too. Y-You can teach me, please?”

He shifted, sitting up and pulling Ilya with him. "Alright. First thing you need to know: it's not like shoving a finger in. You have to be patient, gentle. You're opening me up, not forcing. Got it?"

Ilya nodded eagerly, his heart racing. "Okay, I understand,”

Shane leaned forward and grabbed two pillows—one for his head and one for his lower back—and laid back. He tugged his own sweats down, setting them aside to fold later. And there he was, legs spread, letting Ilya drink in the sight of his tight rim, practically inviting him in. 

“Get lube,” Shane ordered, pointing to the nightstand where a tiny bottle of it was. “Lots of it. Coat your index finger, just the tip at first. And go slow."

Ilya bit his lip as he squeezed the cool gel onto his finger, rubbing it around. He knelt in front of Shane, watching his fingers move. His cock, still softening, gave a throb of interest.

"Whenever you're ready," Shane said, a smile playing on his lips. "Circle my rim first. Get me used to the touch."

Ilya leaned in, his lubed finger pressing gently against the tight ring of muscle. He traced a slow circle around it, feeling, and Shane let out a soft sigh.

"Good. Now press, just the tip. Don't force it. Let me push back."

Ilya pushed, and Shane's body responded, his hole yielding slightly. The tip of Ilya's finger slipped inside, and he bit back a moan at the warmth enveloping him. "..Wow," Ilya breathed. His cock stirred at the sight.

"That's it," Shane groaned. "Now hold still for a second. Let me relax around you. Then slide in a little more."

Ilya obeyed, his finger buried just past the first knuckle. He watched Shane's chest rise and fall with deep breaths. After a long moment, Shane pushed back slightly, and Ilya's finger slid deeper, up to the second knuckle.

"Oh, god," Ilya whispered, his voice full of pure amazement. "You’re.." Ilya felt his control slipping, heat building in his stomach. 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Shane's voice was thick. “Keep going, Ilya. Just move your fingers, just how I taught you,” Shane felt Ilya steady into a pace, pumping his fingers in and out, and he allowed himself to sink into the pleasure, a faint trace of it curling around his body. “Fuck, yes, feels so good,” he sighed softly, sinking deeper into the pillows. 

Ilya wanted to try something. He’d seen it before in porn a few times, when whichever girl or boy was getting fingered, the person doing the giving would curl their fingers up inside them, and that always seemed to spark something new. If he got it right.. he could do the same. Very gently, Ilya curled the two fingers he had inside of Shane, and watched his body jerk, Shane’s eyes flying open.

“Fuck, Ilya—”

Never mind, then. He’d definitely fucked up. 

“—Do that again, please,” Shane moaned, pushing back onto Ilya’s fingers. 

Ilya blinked, before letting accomplishment wash over him once again. He repeated the action, his lips parting as he felt Shane clench around his fingers this time. 

“Holy shit,” Shane said, a little breathless. "Where'd you learn that? Porn?”

Ilya shrugged, smiling before doing it again. “Maybe, is secret.” Encouraged, Ilya began to move his finger in and out, each stroke pressing against that spot. Shane moaned openly, his hips rocking back to meet Ilya's hand.

Shane still could not wrap his head around the fact that Ilya was a virgin before he slept with Shane, that that was his first time, that Ilya was here, fingering him like he’s done it with so many other people. He barely even needed teaching. 

“Add a third,” Shane panted, his face contorting with pleasure. He hissed when Ilya added more lube and pressed another past his rim, stretching him even more, the slickness of Ilya’s fingers allowing him to slide in and out quickly. 

"Ah— fuck, yeah," Shane hissed. "So full. Move them together, scissor them a little."

Ilya experimented, opening his fingers inside Shane, stretching him. The heat was incredible, and Shane's moans grew louder, more desperate. Ilya's own cock was fully hard again, and the light dragging of it against the mattress due to the position he was in just made things worse. "Faster," Shane begged, moaning. "Fuck me with your fingers, Ilya. Make me cum just from you, you’re so fucking good at this,”

Ilya complied, thrusting his three fingers in and out with increasing speed, each stroke hitting Shane's prostate. Pre-cum dripped from Shane's cock onto the sheets, and oh, Ilya lost it. He groaned, his rhythm faltering for a moment as he came right then and there, heat flooding his sweats, dazedly fucking his fingers into Shane while riding his own orgasm.

"Don't stop, mm,"

Ilya curled his fingers harder, pressing against that spot relentlessly. Shane cried out, his body tensing, and then he came—ropes of cum splattering on his stomach as he shuddered through his orgasm, his hole clenching around Ilya's fingers.

Ilya slowed, then gently withdrew. He sat back, breathing hard, watching Shane collapse onto the bed, spent.

"Wow," Shane whispered, face flushed. "You're a natural."

Ilya smiled, preening at the praise. “Can I fuck you now?”

Shane laughed, breathless and surprised, his eyes dipping to the very obvious wet spot in Ilya’s sweats. “Did you cum in your pants just from fingering me?”

Ilya’s smile faltered and he looked away, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“That’s so fucking hot, Ilya.” Shane’s smile widened. “But you’re too sensitive, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Ilya's heart sank. "No, I can—"

Shane pulled him closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Next time, I promise. You'll be ready. For now, lie with me. Let me hold you."

Ilya nodded, too drained to argue. Shane gently pulled him even closer, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"You're learning so fast," Shane whispered. "And I'm gonna teach you everything. But you have to let your body rest between lessons. Next time, I’ll let you fuck me so good, Ilya. I know you can do it, you do it better than anyone, better than anyone else I’ve ever had.”

Ilya sighed softly, basking in his afterglow. Better than anyone. A tiny part of Ilya wondered if all the men Shane had been with before were that mediocre, to the point where they couldn’t even satisfy someone as amazing as Shane Hollander.

And on his first try, Ilya had blown all of them out of the fucking park.

All too comfy and relaxed, Ilya mumbled something incoherent into Shane's shoulder.

“What was that?” Shane asked, one of his free hands coming up to lazily scratch at Ilya’s scalp.

“I like you,” he mumbled, burying his face closer and nuzzling against his skin. 

His hand in Ilya’s hair paused, and Shane guessed Ilya thought he’d said the wrong thing and crossed a line, because he sat up almost immediately. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t—”

“..I thought you knew I liked you too?” Shane interrupted. 

Ilya frowned. “I thought you didn’t,”

“Was me telling you that I wanted you the first time we fucked not enough?”

Oh. 

Ilya groaned, laying back down, scolding himself internally. “Um, well.. I want—I want you too. A lot, actually. Will you..”

“Be your boyfriend? Fuck yes. I was starting to wonder if you’d ever ask me,” Shane laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of Ilya’s head. 

Ilya smiled against his skin, closing his eyes. Shane didn’t let go. If anything, he moved closer, breathing in the scent of Ilya’s hair. For a long time, no one said anything. Ilya’s breaths slowed, relaxing.

“You’re a terrible conversationalist, you know that?” Shane whispered, even though his voice was entirely fond. “You ask me to be your boyfriend and then fall asleep? We still have to shower, too. This is gross.”

“Noooo,” Ilya whined, his voice thick with oncoming sleep. He wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist, anchoring himself. “Tired,”

“Too tired to shower?”

Ilya let out a noise in response, sighing softly. 

“You have, like, two minutes. And then, after that, we really need to shower.”

More cramming. Unfortunately for Shane, being a computer science major rarely left time for leisure, and here he was, at his desk again reviewing. He’d been at it for an hour, and with the help of Ilya a few days ago, a few formulas had clicked. And, to make things even better, their old professor was coming back. The entire group chat had agreed on doing something special to welcome her back, maybe a few cards or a small party.

He’d been too deep in thought, not noticing the lighting up of his screen before he finally glanced at it. 

Ilya: hi ❤️❤️❤️

Ilya: hi boyfriend ))))))))))

Shane picked up his phone and couldn’t help himself from smiling at his screen. 

Shane: LOL, hi.

Shane: Hi, boyfriend.

Ilya: when can I come over again

Ilya: or is u this time?

Ilya: miss u captain

Ilya: movie? pleaseeeee

Shane: Maybe. Do you think my roommate will get suspicious of me asking him to go somewhere else almost every week?

Ilya: nooooo he probably does not care

Ilya: pleaseeeeeeeeeee

Shane: Fine. Are you alone?

Ilya: da yes yes please come over

Ilya: I have ginger ale if that will make u walk faster

Ilya: pls hurry

Shane: You’re ridiculous. I’m coming, be patient. I’m putting on my shoes right now.

Ilya: stop texting then 

Ilya: if I tutor u for free will u walk 2x faster

Shane: Ilya, I said I’m coming. And aren’t you the one who said I should stop texting?

Ilya: yes sorry ((

Ilya: [ATTACHMENT: Ilya holding up a can of ginger ale while lounging on the couch, grinning at the camera while in sweatpants and a t-shirt with Shane’s jersey number on it. Messy curls, a dopey grin.]

Ilya: both of us are waiting for you ;)

Shane: Fuck.

Shane: Don’t open it. I’ll hurry up.

Ilya: )))) 😘