Work Text:
The castle and grounds were quiet, the night of All Hallow’s Eve. There were no celebrations; the new church’s austere chapel had no candles burning. Religious services would be woven into the next two days like a heavy woolen blanket.
Shane and the other remaining musicians would be very, very busy.
With that in mind, he lit a candle himself and sat it in the window of his borrowed bedroom. Their signal- his little way of letting Ilya know his door would be unlocked- was particularly necessary, now. He placed it in the window and waited.
Twenty minutes later his door opened softly and closed quickly.
“Wondered if you had already gone to sleep,” he said, letting his eyes drag over Ilya in the firelight of the room. He could not stop himself smiling. Ilya mirrored him.
“I could not sleep knowing you were here with a cold bed.” He stepped closer; Shane did the same without thinking. A moment later, Ilya’s hands were on his waist.
“Oh, my bed is cold?”
“Yes. Luckily for you I am helpful.”
“Very helpful,” Shane grinned. He leaned in and reached for Ilya’s curls, raking fingers through them. With his own eyes closed, he felt Ilya’s words in his chest.
“Can I help keep your bed warm tonight?”
Shane nodded, not bothering with words. The room was so often host to Ilya that it might as well have been a shared space. Even though Marlow knew about the two of them now, it would still undoubtedly be Shane’s room where they spent most of their nights together. That was fine with him. Shane loved nothing more than having Ilya there.
It was not truly his bedroom, of course. No matter which palace the court settled in, none of his borrowed rooms really felt like his. But Ilya’s frequent presence in them helped make them each feel a bit more like home. Ilya’s presence, itself, had begun to feel like home.
Shane was not sure when that had happened.
What he did know was that Ilya’s warmth in his bed felt entirely natural. The scent of Ilya’s skin lingered on his blankets and made him feel safe, even when life at court was frightening. The way Ilya sounded when he slept beside him made Shane dream of mornings in some impossible future where he could wake up that way every morning.
These borrowed bedrooms were where he had learned to trust Ilya. They were where Ilya had opened himself to Shane in return. They were where Shane had given Ilya everything, things he had never wanted to give anyone else. His last room was where Shane had given Ilya his body, but also his mind, his every waking and dreaming thought.
It was where he gave Ilya his heart.
The fact that he could only have Ilya that way in the small pockets of time they found to linger and lounge in their private quarters was bittersweet. It made it all the more precious- and made Shane all the more fearful of the fragile fantasy being torn apart by the realities of life at court. So when they did find themselves together there, he did his best not to worry about what the next morning would bring.
He had far more enjoyable things to do.
Shane leaned into Ilya, letting him unfasten the buttons of his vest. Ilya’s fingers were fast and nimble; he made quick work of the task every time. Usually that only left Shane’s linen undershirt, but the frigid temperatures moving in with the threat of winter meant more layers. A thick, woolen cote hung heavy on his shoulders, now feeling far too warm in the cozy room with Ilya pressed up against him.
When he untied the few places where it was fastened, Ilya reached for the hem of the cote and pulled the whole thing over Shane’s head. He seemed to pause for a moment to think, glancing between Shane and the table near his bed. Ilya dutifully folded the cote over itself and bent to grab the vest, giving it the same treatment. He dropped both neatly on Shane’s table.
Shane was certain he had never been so enamored of someone.
Ilya made his way back over to him, hands finding his waist again like they belonged there. He squeezed. Gentle. Affectionate. Possessive.
“You can keep this on,” he told Shane. He tugged at the linen undershirt. “To keep warm.”
To that end, he walked Shane backward to the bed, stacked with extra blankets for the chilly evening. When they reached it, Shane willingly fell back. He let his legs fall slightly open, leaving room for Ilya to stand between them.
Ilya was still fully dressed. He loved that little game; he would stay clothed as long as he could, reveling in the way it made a mostly-naked Shane squirm. Shane indulged him every time. This time, though, Ilya really pressed his luck.
Instead of slotting himself between Shane’s legs as Shane had intended, he lifted his own leg and placed his foot on Shane’s thigh. His heavy boot stood in stark contrast to the pale, thin layer of linen under it. Shane could not stop himself from going wide-eyed, first with shock and mild disgust, and then… something else.
He bit his lip. Looking down at him, Ilya noticed. He grinned, moving his foot to press right at the meeting of Shane’s thighs.
Shane whined.
It was the kind of thing he never would have dreamt of before he became entangled with Ilya. The idea of a boot, worn all day and undoubtedly filthy, pressed against his clean, linen undershirt. But that placement meant it was also pressed against the catch of his shirt where it tied to his stockings- just over the place where his cock was fattening with interest. He groaned, unable to pretend he was not on fire at the feeling.
“So rude of me,” Ilya teased. He reached down and untied his boot, keeping it pressed against Shane. “Let me put my boots away.”
Without removing the boot, he moved to unlace it. Shane hissed at the way it ground against him. Ilya knew just how to push him to his limits without pushing past them. It was a skill Shane did not know the origin of- and one which he hoped to learn, himself.
Finally, Ilya lifted his foot. Shane gasped like it had been pressed to his chest. When Ilya placed it on the ground to kick it from his foot, Shane rolled himself around until he was on his stomach, turned to face him. Ilya raised an eyebrow. Shane answered his unvoiced question by crawling to the edge of the bed again, reaching for him.
Ilya stepped closer, letting his hips cant forward slightly as he did. Shane took gentle hold of his legs, wrapping his fingers around as much of his thighs as he could manage. He could see the way Ilya was straining against the fabric of his shirt, still tied to his stockings. Before undoing the ties, he let his head fall forward, pressing his face into the linen that stretched over Ilya’s very visible cock.
It should have been degrading. But as he nuzzled his face against the fabric- against Ilya beneath it- he could not bring himself to feel even a grain of shame. Shane was not sure why he wanted it so badly. Ilya’s fingers raking through his hair as he moved certainly contributed. Shane reveled in the feeling, in the strong scent of Ilya as he breathed against him, at the fact that Ilya was even there, letting him do so.
Like everything about him, it was intoxicating. But like anything that made him pleasantly drunk, Shane did not want to leave it at a single moment. He wanted more.
He reached for the top of Ilya’s stocking. Ilya batted his hand away.
“You do not want to do that.”
It was true, Shane had once teased Ilya for enjoying peeling his own stockings off, but Shane had also lived and learned since then. Oh, how he had learned.
“Maybe I did, this time,” he argued. “How do you know?”
“I just know,” Ilya said simply. “Takes too much time. More time I can spend doing it to you.”
Shane frowned. He sat up and back. “So you get to take mine off?”
“Yes. You want me to.”
Shane’s lips drew up like a coin purse. He could not argue; he absolutely wanted Ilya’s hands on him. The ritual of Ilya kissing down his legs, over his ankles and across his feet every time they were together this way had become one that Shane’s body knew like a native tongue. Rather than protest, he sat back further and prodded Ilya in the chest with his sock-clad foot.
“Then get to it.”
Ilya did not need a second invitation. His fingers flew to Shane’s thighs, untying the knots that held his stockings up and his shirt in place. The tails of the shirt fell away; Shane knew he would do away with them, soon. First, though, he would drag out the process of removing Shane’s stockings- and Shane would pretend not to enjoy it.
To Shane’s mild surprise, Ilya had been telling the truth about the room’s chill. When it hit the bare skin of his legs after they had been wrapped in wool all day, it was unpleasant. Ilya’s warm hands quickly replaced the wool, though, and made Shane forget the cold.
After removing the second stocking, he held Shane’s foot, massaging it for a moment.
“So pretty,” he said, pressing a kiss against the arch of his foot. Shane shivered.
“My feet?”
“You,” Ilya corrected. “Every part.”
He dropped Shane’s foot gently, letting it find its place again before moving to crawl atop Shane on the bed.
“Your feet. Your hands,” he said, taking hold of Shane’s still-healing hand and kissing his palm before letting it go again. He reached up to trace his thumb over the bridge of Shane’s nose. “Your pretty spots. Your eyes.”
Shane drew a ragged breath. Ilya bent to kiss the column of his neck; Shane let his head fall back further, giving him more room. Ilya let his hands roam, pressing his words into Shane’s skin as he trailed fingers over each body part in turn.
“Your arms. Your chest. Your stomach.”
When Ilya’s fingers moved over the narrow strip of hair beneath Shane’s naval, his entire stomach went taut. He shivered again. Ilya seemed very pleased by that. He buried his face in the bend of Shane’s neck, one hand curving around Shane’s hip and following the swell of his ass.
“Your ass. Your perfect dick.”
Shane laughed at the idea of his dick being perfect- especially in comparison to Ilya’s. But Ilya sounded entirely earnest, and rather than touching Shane there, he brought his hands to Shane’s back, pressing their bodies together. The way they fit was flawless, like pieces carved from the same stone.
Ilya looked at Shane. The expression he wore was one Shane had only seen a few times before. His eyes were light, an almost seafoam color as they searched Shane’s face. They were soft and unguarded. When he spoke, his voice sounded just as gentle.
“All of you.”
When they kissed, it was with a warm sweetness that no honey could rival.
Ilya skirted his fingers up Shane’s sides and back down. Those ghostly little touches raised goosebumps in their wake, making every part of Shane feel awake and alive. The way Ilya touched him was so unlike the way he touched anyone else, so unlike the charismatic noble the world saw at court. There, with only them in the room, he was careful. Reverent. He touched Shane with such tenderness, it was easy for Shane to forget that they could not have this outside their private quarters.
“God, I don’t deserve this.”
Shane had mostly said it the way he might make a sound when he sighed. It was not meant to be heard, but merely to remove the weight of the feeling from his chest.
Ilya answered anyway.
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t mean I don’t want it,” Shane said quickly.
“But why do you say you don’t deserve?”
Shane’s eyes fell closed for a moment. The last thing he wanted was for his own insecurity to rob them of time spent doing more worthwhile things. But Ilya was looking back at him with such concern, such softness; he could not have lied to him if he tried.
“You’re just- I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve this,” he admitted. He sat up, rubbing at his temples. “Especially with someone like you.” He pointed at Ilya with his whole hand, his gestures larger with the anxiety of the moment. “You, specifically. There isn’t anyone like you.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. The corner of his lip twitched, like it was threatening that cocky little half grin Ilya was so prone to pulling whenever someone praised him. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Instead of giving him the adulation he was likely waiting for, Shane gave him the truth as he saw it.
“You look like something poets would worship and priests would burn.”
Ilya’s smile faltered. His mouth hung slack, his eyes fixed to Shane’s. Then, he was reaching for him, pulling Shane to him by the back of his neck.
“And you look like you belong with me.”
When he kissed Shane, it lacked the gentleness of their conversation. This was rougher, almost claiming. Shane could feel the desire in the slide of his lips and tongue, hot and heavy as they took his mouth and then dragged over his jaw and down his neck.
“Hollander, I have loved many women,” Ilya said. His words did not match the ravenous way he was pressing them against the skin of Shane’s collarbone.
Shane’s face scrunched. “Okay, you don’t have to bring it up right now,” he huffed.
“I am making point,” Ilya insisted. “I have had many people in my bed. Women and men. I know beautiful.” One hand still holding the back of Shane’s neck, he used the other to cup Shane’s chin. “And you are most beautiful I have ever known.”
Shane rolled his eyes but let Ilya kiss him again anyway.
“You’re only saying that because I’m the one in your bed now.”
“I am only saying because is true,” Ilya assured him. Then, an idea flashed so obviously across his face, it was as if Shane saw the spark in his eyes that ignited its flame. He stood, pulling Shane after him by the hand. “Come. Let me show you.”
He moved them to stand beside the little writing desk in Shane’s borrowed room. Beside it, a narrow looking glass stood propped against the brick wall. Shane saw himself in the mirror- half dressed and already disheveled- and frowned.
“Ilya-” he started.
“Shane,” Ilya answered, mimicking his tone. He pressed two fingers to Shane’s lips, then replaced them with his own. Once Shane had finally relaxed, he spoke just beside his mouth. “Let me show you what I see.”
Before Shane could ask what he meant, Ilya had taken hold of his linen shirt and hauled it up. Shane allowed it, wriggling helpfully as he pulled it up and over his arms. He even laid it neatly on the desk, just the way Shane himself might have.
Shane bit back a comment at that, content to just enjoy being taken care of. Ilya always took care of him. With one hand, Ilya traced the line of hair that led from Shane’s naval, down to his hard cock. Once there, he wrapped fingers around him, giving him a slow, deliberate stroke. He watched Shane’s face for any sign of resistance. When he saw none, he reached up and took hold of his chin, kissing him again before stepping to the side so Shane could look at himself.
“Do you see?” he asked, holding Shane’s face like it was something crafted from glass. He returned his other hand to Shane’s cock, fingers brushing a ghostly light line up the underside and back down. “Look at him. Most beautiful man in England. Probably in the world.”
Shane smiled, laughing to soothe his own anxiety at being examined so closely. “I really doubt that.” He turned to face Ilya, kissing him again. Ilya indulged him for a moment. The next moment, he sank to his knees. He looked up from his place there with a devilish little smirk that Shane was certain he would never forget.
“Then I will make you believe.”
Dragging hands up each of Shane’s bare thighs, Ilya stopped where they met. One hand snaked beneath him, toying with his balls. Shane’s breath stuttered. Ilya took that as his invitation to lean forward, holding Shane’s cock in place with his free hand as he wrapped his lips around the head. He flattened his tongue against him, letting it drag its way down his length as he sank lower.
Shane stumbled slightly, grabbing a handful of Ilya’s hair. Ilya steadied him, keeping one head wrapped around his dick while the other slid over his thigh. Once Shane had found his footing again, Ilya’s fingers danced over the skin of his hip, down over the swell of his ass and to the place where it met his thigh again. There, he gently parted Shane’s legs further.
Shane moved them without a moment’s resistance, eager to do whatever Ilya urged him to. In a life he constantly worked to control in whatever small way he could, trusting someone enough to surrender felt achingly sweet.
Ilya hummed as he swallowed around him, dragging his mouth messily down and back up. He let his fingers swirl around the tight muscle of Shane’s hole, only toying with him for the moment. Shane whimpered, unable to stop himself. The promise of what was coming made his whole body hypersensitive.
When Ilya stopped, Shane felt like he might cry. But he looked down and saw Ilya’s beautiful face, flushed skin making his reddened lips look even brighter as he pressed a kiss to Shane’s thigh. That sight might have been worth the pause.
“I will fuck you in front of this mirror every night until you believe me,” Ilya promised, kissing his other thigh to match the first. “In front of every mirror in the king’s castle. A thousand times.” He licked another long, slow stripe up the underside of Shane’s cock, then moved to stand.
Shane helped him to his feet, only then realizing that Ilya was- maddeningly- still mostly dressed. Wordlessly, Shane reached for the ties that held Ilya’s shirt to his stockings. Ilya nodded, letting Shane untie them. He unfastened and shrugged his own vest off. Then he pulled the shirt up and over his head, tossing it onto the desk much less carefully than he had done with Shane’s. He only paused a moment after to pluck the small bottle of almond oil from the place at the desk’s corner where they kept it.
Smiling, Shane took in the sight of him for a moment before Ilya disappeared behind him. Ilya pointed his gaze toward the mirror in front of them.
“Look at yourself,” Ilya said. He looked over Shane’s shoulder, face tilted down against his skin in a way that made his eyes look dark and dangerous. His fingers curled against Shane possessively. “Look at my beautiful English rose.”
My. The word echoed in Shane’s head. He was Ilya’s.
“Yours,” he nodded, half out of his mind with the need that overcame him.
“Mine,” Ilya agreed fiercely. “Only mine.” He uncorked the bottle of oil, dripping some over his first and second fingers before setting it aside. “And I am yours.”
The way those words hit Shane in the chest, he almost wondered if he had heard them properly. He knew he had; Ilya was so close to him that he could feel every syllable, see the words on his lips and feel them vibrate against his skin. But the idea that Ilya not only thought of Shane as his, but of himself as Shane’s in return? It was dangerously close to something they could not have- something Shane had never even dared to think, let alone say aloud.
All Shane could do in reply was let Ilya slide one hand up his back to hold his neck while the other moved to part his legs.
“Relax for me,” Ilya told him, punctuating the command with a Ruthenian word. By now, Shane knew when he was being pet named- even if he did not understand the words. The tone was enough. He sighed fondly and nodded, wiggling his hips backward as he adjusted his posture.
Ilya slid his fingers back and forth over each other to test their slide, then dipped them between the cleft of Shane’s ass.
“Ilya,” Shane said, voice hitching. He did his best to relax; Ilya seemed to be working against him, in that regard. He worked from one finger to two quickly, then slowed the drag of his fingers to a maddening pace, twisting them over each other as he gently worked Shane open. Shane moved up onto the balls of his feet, onto his toes before making himself return to stable footing. Ilya seemed amused.
“Do you see it, now?” he asked, kissing Shane’s shoulder. “Do you see how beautiful you are?”
Shane looked at himself. He had never cared much about his reflection either way. He was a perfectly average-looking man. But in his reflection, he saw a glimpse of what Ilya was talking about. Cheeks reddening, eyes dark, mouth slack as he breathed through Ilya’s ministrations-
“Yes,” he admitted. “You make me feel that way.”
“Good,” said Ilya. He withdrew his fingers and added more oil, sliding them in alongside a third. When he rolled them the same way he had before, Shane bit down hard to keep himself from calling out. Ilya seemed determined to drag those sounds out of him. He twisted and spread his fingers again and again, chasing them.
“I am still going to fuck you a thousand more times so you remember.”
“Please,” Shane begged, suddenly desperate for that promise to be real. He nodded desperately, incessantly, half out of his mind already. “Please- fuck me every night. Every morning. Fuck me until I forget everything else.”
Ilya groaned. Shane felt the movement of his hands, palming more oil before spreading it over himself. He lined himself up with Shane’s hips, pressing him forward and down, adjusting Shane’s stance until he looked comfortable. Once he was satisfied, he pressed the blunt head of his cock against Shane’s entrance, pushing against him just enough for Shane to feel the stretch.
Settling his chin on Shane’s shoulder to watch them together in the mirror, he held Shane’s hips and slid into him, slow and careful.
“I will,” he promised. He gave Shane time to adjust, for his body to accept the stretch and the way his leg muscles had to work twice as hard to keep him upright. Finally, Ilya rolled his hips, measured and slow. When Shane gasped, he turned his face to press a kiss to his neck, then his shoulder. “Tell me how you like it. Tell me how it feels.”
Ilya loved hearing him. Shane knew this; it was something Ilya told him every time they were together. But he would have known, even if he did not admit to it. The way Ilya’s entire body would tense and tighten against him, thrusts deepening and pace quickening when Shane moaned and melted into his touch? That was admission enough.
“Feels so good,” Shane told him. “Always so good.”
And there it was; Ilya’s hips snapped forward. He nosed against Shane’s neck, teeth nipping as he went to leave little marks that Shane could only hope would fade before morning. If it meant more of the hot drag of Ilya’s mouth over him, though, Shane figured it might be worth risking.
“You are good. Take me so well. Perfect for me.” Every phrase was accompanied by the slick slide of Ilya’s cock inside him, driving home his point. He switched to Ruthenian as he lost himself in the rhythm of it, babbling things Shane barely understood against his sweat-damp shoulder. The few words Shane could pick out were fond, the kind of things Ilya mumbled when he did not think Shane was paying attention. One thing he said over and over, a word that was burned into Shane’s memory in multiple languages because of him-
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
As wild pleasure began to tighten in his gut, ready to snap like the loosed bowstring, Shane began to really believe it.
He was beautiful. Especially like this.
With his face flushed and cheeks hot and pink, he watched his own face. He saw Ilya over his shoulder, eyes glassy and unfocused, pupils blown wide even as his eyelids hung heavy over them. He looked up and locked eyes with Shane, grinning as he snapped his hips forward again and again, loving the way it obviously affected Shane.
It became impossible to keep himself quiet. Shane could not hear himself properly, but he knew he was probably being far too noisy. Ilya kept hitting that same spot inside him that always burned white hot, setting his entire body aflame. He struggled to keep himself upright, fingers slipping against the wall as Ilya’s pace showed no sign of slowing.
“There he is,” Ilya cooed. “Nice and loud for me.”
“Sorry. I- I can’t- Don’t mean to,” Shane said breathlessly. “Don’t know how loud I’m being sometimes.”
“Do not insult me,” Ilya growled. He punctuated the command with a slap of Shane’s ass. It made Shane hiss, made him reach over his own shoulder blindly, desperately, grabbing a handful of Ilya’s hair. Ilya pressed his mouth to Shane’s ear. “You are loud because I make you loud. Because I make you feel good. Yes?”
“Yes,” Shane admitted, head falling back onto his shoulder. “God, yes.”
“So let me hear you,” Ilya commanded. “Let the whole fucking court hear you.”
“The- They don’t need to hear that,” Shane argued weakly, not actually caring much who could hear them. The Lord Protector himself could have walked in at that moment and he still would have stammered Ilya’s name and begged for more of his cock.
“They do not deserve it,” Ilya corrected. “But I am generous.”
And he was. Fuck, was he generous. The way he gave Shane everything, made him feel everything and feel like everything was something Shane could have only imagined, months before. Now, it was nearly every night that Shane was bent over a bed or sitting on a desk or leaned against the fucking wall like this, being fucked like the most beautiful, desirable, perfect thing in the world. Ilya made him feel like he was.
“God, Hollander,” Ilya murmurered, catching the shell of Shane’s ear and biting it as he fucked him. His movements were faster, rougher as their bodies began to slide more with the sweat that covered them both. Taking hold of Shane’s ass again, he sank fingertips into the flesh and held him as his hips slammed against him. His voice wavered. “Hollander, fucking- Shane.”
Shane felt dizzy. It was hard enough to keep his wits about him when he was on his back with Ilya above him. Standing there in front of the mirror, though, he was fighting for more than just his clarity. His legs began to tire, his body betraying him as he came dangerously close to coming.
“Ilya, I ca- I’m going to fall.”
For a moment, it seemed like Ilya would ignore him. His face was pink and shining with sweat. His eyes remained hazy, barely open except to catch the occasional look at Shane and himself in the mirror. But then he was wrapping hands around Shane’s waist and hip, steadying him as he pulled out and took a step back.
Shane groaned, devastated by the momentary loss of Ilya inside him. But then he was being roughly pushed up onto the chair from the corner of the room, which Ilya had moved to sit right in front of the mirror. Shane did as he was wordlessly told, settling on his knees on the chair, his hands on the high back to steady him.
Ilya bent slightly and lined himself up with Shane again, sliding into him with far less grace. Shane tried not to lose himself to the feeling of it, but it was a brief battle. Soon he was moaning Ilya’s name amidst a gasping, stuttering little pattern of ah-hah-ah sounds that the entire castle could probably hear.
The chair creaked loudly. Ilya ignored it, so Shane could only do the same. He felt Ilya’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, fingers clenching to keep hold of him and anchor their bodies together. He kept moving, kept slamming into Shane as he whispered a filthy mixture of English and Ruthenian, none of which Shane could really hear.
Just as he was about to come, Shane crossed one arm over the back of the chair. He let his forehead fall forward onto it, the other hand still tightly gripping the chair’s back. He thought he should warn Ilya, but his body must have done it for him. Before he could finish, his head was pulled back roughly by his hair, forcing his face into view of the mirror again.
“Watch,” Ilya growled. “Watch yourself. Watch me come inside you.”
Shane did. Barely able to hold his eyes open, he watched as his own face tightened and twisted. Then he was coming, entirely untouched, every muscle seizing and then slackening as he squeezed around Ilya’s cock. Ilya kept moving, kept hammering into him for another few seconds, and then he was coming too. He looped an arm around Shane’s waist and held him as he buried himself as deep as their bodies would allow, filling him. Shane’s eyes fluttered closed, enraptured by the feeling.
Ilya held them close for another long moment, still pulsing inside of Shane as they chased their breath. When he finally eased himself out, he did it with kisses dropped across Shane’s shaking shoulders. Shane sighed happily, taking a moment just to lean forward against the chair and let his body rest.
He felt Ilya behind him again a minute later, taking his time carefully cleaning him.
“I can do that,” Shane told him. He felt Ilya press another kiss to his shoulder, then help him turn around to sit down properly. Shane winced; it was already uncomfortable. He could not imagine how much he would be able to feel the lingering memory of what they had done in the days that followed. He also could not bring himself to feel anything other than a quiet thrill at that thought.
“I know you can,” Ilya told him. “I like that you let me.”
And that was them, really. Ilya knew Shane was capable of anything. Everything. Capable of doing and being whatever he wanted to, despite his limitations. Ilya never challenged that. He encouraged it. But he also took care of Shane. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He liked to. He liked Shane.
That was the thought that warmed Shane, even as he began to notice the chill in the air against his sweaty skin.
Ilya wiped his body clean with a damp cloth, then handed Shane another for his face. Only after he was satisfied did he hand Shane his linen shirt.
“Will you let me stay to keep you warm tonight?” he asked, smiling sheepishly at Shane.
Shane grinned, wide and free, not bothering to be coy about how happy that idea made him.
“Of course. If you think maybe we can keep it down for the rest of the night.”
Ilya smiled wider too, offering Shane his hand and pulling him to stand and be kissed. Holding him close, he pressed quiet Ruthenian words against his lips and then-
“No promises.”