There's an itch in his back that he cannot get.
He's been tossing and turning in bed trying to get it but there's no relief to be had from it. It gets under Shane's skin, making him irritable and grumpy.
Ilya turns his head in his direction with a frown; Ilya is not his best self at 7 in the morning.
"Hollander, you are being impossible to sleep with. What is wrong with you?"
For some reason, Shane feels silly about it. He's a grown adult, he can scratch his own itches —most of the time, at least.
"Nothing," he says, too quickly to be casual. The itch in his back gets worse; it feels as if something is slowly crawling up his spine. He wonders if it's his t-shirt. He fell asleep with one of Ilya's soft, well-worn Raiders t-shirt. He kept it when Ilya left the cottage, as a reminder that his boyfriend — his boyfriend!— had been with him the weeks before. He'd worn it to sleep multiple times in his apartment in Montreal, he knew it was soft enough to sleep in. And Shane had actually washed it with his own unscented soap afterwards, so it wasn't like he was sleeping in a grimy old t-shirt. It was a little cold in Ilya's place in Boston the previous night, so after they fucked their brains out, Shane put on a pair of pajama pants and Ilya's old t-shirt.
Ilya had been very happy to see Shane in his clothes. Extremely. Enough they ended up blowing each other lazily before any sleep happened.
"Hmm," Ilya says, "does not sound like nothing."
Shane should go. Staying the night had been extremely irresponsible when he had to be at the hotel in two hours. But Ilya's warmth had swallowed him whole and he had felt too tender to say no when Ilya asked him to stay.
Ilya turned to his side, facing Shane, and opened his beautiful eyes to stare at Shane. "What's wrong?" he asked, softer this time.
And Shane, whose heart beat faster when Ilya used his soft words on him, could do nothing but reply. "My back itches."
"Your back?"
"Yes," Shane says, trying not to grit his teeth against the sensation prickling his skin.
"Where?" Ilya asked next, his face neutral.
"Just— never mind. Go back to sleep. I have to leave soon though," he adds the last bit as an afterthought, mostly because that'll make him think of something else that's not the frustrating itch on his back. Perhaps if he just stares at a fixed point in the wall, that'll help.
"Tell me where, I scratch," Ilya says, serious.
"You want to scratch my back?" Shane asks, mildly suspicious.
"I'm trying to be good boyfriend."
"A boyfriend who scratches my back?"
"Hollander, it's not big deal. You have itch to scratch… it's like sex, but without me touching your dick."
Shane sputters at that. "It's not like— it's nothing like sex!"
"Well, then it's nothing like sex. Tell me where it itches."
"No."
"Hollander…"
"It's fine, really."
"Shane."
He turns to look at Ilya then. His eyes are still lazy with sleep, but they're focused on Shane, as serious as they ever get. Earnest, if Shane is honest. He sighs and turns his back on Ilya.
"It's like… right in the middle where I can't reach," Shane says.
He doesn't see Ilya's face, but he doesn't have to, he knows Ilya is smiling.
One of Ilya's hands slides under his shirt, Ilya's fingertips as soft as a feather.
"What are you doing?" Shane asks, feeling something warm pool at the base of his stomach.
"Scratching your back," Ilya says, coming closer to Shane, softly scratching his lower back with his short nails. His breath is in Shane's ear when Ilya follows up with, "here?"
Shane shivers, goosebumps form in his arms, his dick twitches in interest.
"Go higher," Shane says, and if his breath comes out uneven after that, that's his own damn business.
Ilya moves his hand upwards, his short nails scratching along the way.
"Better?" Ilya asks, pressing his body against Shane, and he can feel the outline of his dick pressed against Shane's ass.
Shane's cock becomes interested in the proceedings very quickly after that. Still, Ilya's just on the edge of the itchy spot. It's almost there.
"A little higher. Harder," Shane says, his voice more strained than he expected it to be.
Ilya's hand moves up, scratching the exact spot that has been bothering Shane. The relief is immediate, and it washes over him in waves. He can't help the moan that escapes his throat when Ilya scratches with just the right pressure: his blunt nails feel delicious against his skin and Shane can feel Ilya's cock hardening against his ass, a delicious combination.
"Right there," Shane says, then he feels Ilya's lips on his neck, kissing a trail from the point where his shoulder meets his neck and moving upwards. The next thing Shane was aware of was Ilya's tongue on the shell of his ear, sending a jolt of energy directly to Shane's cock.
"Is that good?" Ilya asks, still scratching his back, softer this time, testing almost.
Shane realizes that his itch is no longer in his back. It's his lips itching to touch Ilya's, to taste him, to savor him before he has to leave and he has to go on weeks without his boyfriend's touch.
"Yeah, I'm good," Shane says. Ilya's hand stills, then moves down, slowly, his fingertips leaving a hot trail behind. Before Shane's brain can catch up, words leave his mouth, unbidden. "Don't stop touching me."
"Hmm," Ilya says right in his ear. His hands have wandered down, teasing the waistband of his pajama pants. "You're wearing too many clothes."
"Ilya," Shane tries —he really tries, okay?
"Turn around," Ilya mumbles.
Shane turns around quickly, completely and utterly pliant to his boyfriend's will.
"I should brush my teeth," Shane says, but he doesn't move away.
"After," Ilya replies, catching his lips in a heated kiss.
They kiss as if they hadn't kissed in months, hungry and desperate, and Shane almost, almost, feels grossed out by their morning breath. Or he would have if Ilya's hands hadn't wandered to his ass, touching and grabbing and pulling him closer, pressing their bodies impossibly closer.
They kiss and the whole world around them stops existing. There's no hockey, no fame, no expectations, just Ilya and Ilya's lips and Ilya's hands and Ilya's cock pressing against Shane's. It feels heavenly.
They kiss and, for a moment, the whole world is just Ilya and Shane, Ilya and Shane kissing, touching, loving each other as if nothing else matters, because nothing else does.
Ilya bites his lower lip and Shane's hips stutter forward, his cock pressing harder against Ilya's. That seems to snap Ilya to attention, and he pulls away slightly, panting. "I want to fuck you. Can I fuck you?"
Shane's response comes by way of Shane pulling away just enough so he can take off his t-shirt. Ilya's eyes follow his movements with a hungry smile. Then, he flips them over, so he's on top of Shane, pressing his body weight as he comes down to kiss him, to devour him. They're both hard and panting now, kissing desperately, moving their bodies in a way that their cocks touch through the layers separating them. Shane feels stupid for putting on pajamas the night before.
Ilya kisses the side of his face, his neck, his chest, then continues moving down until he kisses Shane's stomach, then pulls away slightly to slide Shane's pants down. He throws them carelessly on the floor, then he's pushing down his own pants in a hurry. Shane watches fascinated as Ilya's erect cock is freed, his mouth watering. Ilya kneels back on the bed, settling in between Shane's slightly parted legs. Shane opens them up to give Ilya space and his boyfriend curses in Russian as he looks at him.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he says, his hands caressing up Shane's thighs, stopping at Shane's hips, pressing his lower body down until they're touching again. "So fucking beautiful," Ilya repeats, leaning down to catch his mouth in a hungry kiss.
Shane's hips cant upwards, searching for more friction and Ilya provides it, enough to keep Shane on edge as they kiss.
"I thought you wanted—" Shane moans when their cocks touch just right. "—to fuck me."
Ilya smiles into their kiss. "Impatient."
"Tease," Shane counters.
Ilya pulls back and feels around the nightstand until he comes back with a bottle of lube. He lubes his fingers generously before slipping his hand in between them and reaching into Shane's hole. The lube feels cold as it touches his rim and Shane gasps.
"It's cold, you asshole," he breathes.
"It'll warm up inside you," Ilya replies cheekily, circling his hole, soft and teasing.
"Come on, Ilya," he urges.
"So desperate for it."
"Yeah, so will you hurry up?"
Ilya huffs a laugh before he slips a finger inside of Shane.
"Jesus Christ," Shane mumbles.
"No, just Ilya," his boyfriend says.
Shane doesn't have brain cells left to complain because just then Ilya starts moving in and out of him, opening him up slowly, too slow for Shane's tastes.
"Go faster. Harder."
Ilya complies wordlessly, pushing his finger faster until it brushes Shane's prostate and a jolt of fire moves from his core to the tip of his toes. Ilya leans down to kiss his chest, tongue lapping at his nipple until it's hard and sensitive under Ilya's mouth.
Shane moans again and Ilya pulls his finger out of Shane, pressing two fingers to his entrance. Shane tries not to squirm as he gets used to the intrusion. Shane's hips stutter when Ilya pushes farther in, until his fingertips brush his prostate again. It's delicious. It's torture. It's exactly what Shane needs.
Ilya doesn't stop, he keeps pumping his fingers into Shane mercilessly, brushing against that sweet spot repeatedly, never enough to scratch the itch that is currently consuming Shane. He needs Ilya inside of him like he needs air. It is ridiculous, but Shane is beyond words, he is running on a pure primal instinct that wants to get off, the itch growing as heat pools at the pit of his belly.
His boyfriend pulls back from Shane's nipple, sitting on his heels to fingerfuck Shane easily. Shane's eyes went to Ilya's gorgeous cock, a bead of precome shining on the top. Shane wanted to run his tongue over it, to taste Ilya's desire for Shane. He couldn't get those words out because Ilya chose that moment to slip a third finger into Shane, slowly sliding into him, stretching him for Ilya's massive cock.
The sounds coming out of Shane's mouth went from hungry moans to desperate whimpers —fucking whimpers— as Ilya rubbed his fingers again and again against Shane's sweet spot. It was excruciating. Shane knows that if he could, he would live inside those little moment of absolute pleasure when Ilya's fingers pump in and out of him with intent. As if he knows exactly the amount of pressure he has to exert inside of him to make him see white —and he does, oh God, he does.
It goes on for a while before Shane starts pleading. Because somehow, Shane always ends up pleading for more.
"Please, Ilya," Shane says. "Please fuck me. I'm—"
"You're what, moya lyubov?"
"So close, so, so close."
"Do you want to come with my fingers up your ass?" Ilya's voice is husky with want. Shane knows that if he says yes, then Ilya won't stop until Shane sees stars. But Shane desperately wants more.
"Wanna come on your cock," he breathes, gasping when Ilya's fingers slide out of him. He can feel his pulse in his hole, open for his boyfriend. He feels as if he's about to come apart at the seams and the only thing that can put him back together is Ilya's expert touch.
Shane looks down and sees Ilya lathering his cock in lube. He lines up but doesn't press inside until Shane whines.
"So thirsty, so desperate," he mumbles, slowly pressing inside of Shane.
His hole burns in the most delicious way possible as it adjusts to Ilya's cock. Ilya slowly eases into him, taking his time until he's fully seated inside.
"Shane," he says, "look at me."
He realizes he closed his eyes at some point, and he opens them at Ilya's command. He glances up his boyfriend's perfect face, his lips puffy and glossy from kissing. Shane wants him so bad he thinks he's going crazy with desire.
"Okay?" Ilya asks.
"Yeah, yeah, please fuck me," he begs. "Please."
"If you ask so nicely," Ilya says, then he thrusts his hips out and into Shane, setting a slow, sinful rhythm that curls Shane's toes.
Ilya leans down and covers Shane's body with his own, his hands moving from his hips, to his stomach, to Shane's chest, grabbing his pecs and teasing his nipple. Shane moans. Ilya doesn't stop, he keeps fucking him, slowly, sensually, kissing his shoulder, his neck, the side of his face, brushing against his sweet spot with every other thrust, his body pressing Shane down to the mattress.
When the next movement has Ilya's abs trapping Shane's cock between them, pressing it, rubbing it at just the right angle, Shane whimpers. "Please, Ilya, harder."
"Harder?" he asks biting his earlobe, running his tongue on the shell of his ear, licking inside with his warm, wet tongue.
"Ilya." It comes out as a prayer. "I need it. Need you."
"You have me, Shane, all of me."
Then he pulls back just enough, bracketing Shane's head with his strong arms, his cross dangling from its chain in between them, catching the light just right, and he snaps his cock deep into Shane, faster, unforgiving.
Shane feels the knot in his stomach tighten and he knows that the minute Ilya touches his dick, he's going to go off. He moans and gasps and whimpers and Ilya grins at him knowingly. He shifts and reaches with his right hand between them to jerk Shane off.
"You gonna come for me, Hollander?"
He is. He is going to come so fucking quickly. Ilya's hand tightens around his dick and he tugs, moving his wrist just so, and Shane is coming. His vision whites out for a moment and he rides the waves of pleasure as Ilya pounds him hard.
Shane clenches around Ilya and his boyfriend babbles something in Russian that Shane doesn't catch before he's spilling insane of Shane, closing his eyes as he comes.
Ilya collapses on top of him, right on top of the mess Shane made of his stomach, not caring a bit that he's now covered on Shane's come. He pulls out slowly, and Shane feels the come dripping out of his hole. Belatedly, Shane realizes they did not use a condom. It sends a tremble down his spine.
After a moment of stillness, Ilya moves to the side, smearing come all over the sheets. Shane is thankful they are in Ilya's apartment and no housekeeping is going to know what he was up to on the bed.
"Sorry," Ilya says, "I should've asked."
Shane wonders what Ilya should've even asked about, but then he feels Ilya's fingers playing with the cum currently dripping out of his hole.
"That's so fucking hot," Shane blurts out before he can fully process the thought.
Ilya grins at him, pushing a the cum back into him with his fingers. "Is it? Can I come inside you now?"
His entire body shudders. It feels like a little too much, he still feels raw from coming. "Fuck, Ilya, I can't go again—"
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't. Too sensitive."
"Pity," says Ilya, withdrawing his fingers. He wipes them on the sheets under them.
Gross.
Shane is about to comment on it, but Ilya's mouth finds Shane's and kisses him softly, lazily. They kiss for a long time, mapping each others mouths as come cools on their skin. It starts to bother Shane at some point, and he pulls back gently from Ilya's kiss with a smile.
"I need to shower."
Ilya hums, then he presses a tender kiss on his shoulder and moves to the side. "Okay. Thank you for staying whole night."
Shane sits up but leans down to kiss Ilya one last time before leaving. It's soft and warm and it drags for longer than it should, and Shane loves it, loves Ilya. He loves him so much, it feels like someone has opened his ribs to make space for the love he has for Ilya. It tears through him and it doesn't hurt anymore. It's everything.
"I need to go," Shane mumbles, leaning his forehead against Ilya's. "I really need to shower now."
"Okay." But they kiss one more time, then it dissolves in a dozen little kisses before Shane finally rips himself from Ilya's side.
He goes directly to the bathroom without looking back because he knows that it he looks back, he's not going to go into the shower; instead, he's going to go right back into Ilya's arms.
Shane uses Ilya's shower gel and lets himself enjoy his shower feeling surrounded by his boyfriend. It makes him wish he could tell everyone how in love he is with this man. It's insane and probably the worst idea he's ever had, but he wonders if it would be so bad, to be Ilya Rozanov's boyfriend in public.
The flash of the imaginary cameras hurt his eyes. Shane rinses his eyes out once again and grabs Ilya's shampoo. It smells like the sea. Shane loves it. After he's thoroughly washed himself, he turns the water off and hears the blender in the kitchen. Ilya must have gotten up then.
He leaves the bathroom in a towel and goes through the motions to get ready. Once he's dressed, he pads to the kitchen carrying his sneakers in one hand. Ilya has gotten dressed with the same pajama pants he put on the night before, and his old Raiders T-shirt. The one that Shane had stolen before.
"You're wearing my T-shirt," Shane says.
"Your T-shirt," he states. It's not a question, he's just saying it to be an asshole.
"Fine, you keep it then," he says. Then, as an afterthought, "What are you doing up?"
"You didn't eat breakfast," Ilya replies. "I made you protein shake. You drink protein shake, right?"
Shane nods. "You made me a protein shake."
"Obviously."
Shane crosses the distance between them and drops his sneakers on the floor. Then he grabs Ilya's face and kisses him. It's urgent and wet and it curls Shane's toes and he knows that leaving Ilya today is going to be the most difficult thing he does in his life… until he has to do it again.
Ilya breaks up their kiss. "Shane."
"I know."
"You'll be late."
"Just five more minutes," he says —begs, almost.
"Shane," Ilya replies, but kisses him back when Shane presses his lips against his. His hands stay still on his hips, but his fingers twitch as if he's consciously holding back.
Ilya kisses him softly, deeply, as if he wants to tell Shane just how much he loves him and how much he's going to miss him and how much he wants him now. Shane tries to respond in the same fashion: I love you, I'll miss you, I want you now.
Eventually, after what feels like hours but can't be more than 10 minutes, Shane pulls back. "I love you so much."
Ilya's lip trembles, as if he's about to cry on him. Before he can say something that will shatter him to pieces, Shane kisses him one more time. Then he turns around and puts on his sneakers, grabs the travel mug with his protein shake from the counter, and walks to the door.
Shane hears Ilya before he grabs his arm, but he's still surprised when his boyfriend wraps his hand around his bicep, softly.
"You didn't let me say it back," Ilya says.
"I'm so late, Ilya, I—"
"I love you so much, Shane. So, so much."
Shane takes a step back from the door, closer to Ilya.
"Shane," Ilya says when he sees Shane's determined expression. And Shane knows, he knows he has to go. But he can't just leave him like that.
With a final kiss as passionate as the first one they shared the previous night, Shane pulls away and says, "please change the sheets before you go back to sleep."
Ilya smiles, kisses Shane shortly, just a peck on the lips. "Have a safe flight."
"I love you."
"I love you."
Shane takes a step back and smiles at Ilya's beautiful smile. He looks like the goddamn sun, and Shane cannot look at him anymore or he's going to die.
He grabs his bag from where it fell the night before and leaves Ilya's home.
Shane made it —barely— to the bus. He went to the back where he flopped down next to Hayden with a sigh.
"Boston Lily kept you up all night?" Hayden teased.
"Fuck off," he says, but it doesn't have its usual heat.
"You okay, man?" Hayden asks.
Shane nods, unable to articulate why leaving Ilya behind felt like he had given up one of his lungs. He still needs to take deep breaths to make sure he can, but he can't, he can't because Ilya's staying in Boston and Shane will be in New York by the end of the day and—
"I'll be fine," he says, trying to calm Hayden and get him out of his case. "Just… a little tired."
"Oh my God, did you— this morning?"
Shane smiles involuntarily, remembering the feel of Ilya's come dripping out of his ass. Then he shakes his head, trying to clear the image of Ilya fucking him out of his mind. There is no way he's going to get hard thinking about Ilya while on the bus.
"Alright, keep your secrets," Hayden says.
Shane pulls out his headphones and falls asleep before Hayden can tease him about not listening to anything. He dreamed of Ilya, because of course he did. He starts counting the hours before seeing Ilya again, like a lunatic, knowing that Ilya is doing the same back home.