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Shane Hollander, at age 23, had a lot to be grateful for.
A decent job, a great support system, an amazing family, and - though he would never admit it even under the threat of death - the best friend anyone could ask for in the form of one Ilya Rozanov.
Shane and Ilya had met some 15 years prior, and it wasn't a pretty sight. The way Ilya tells it, he was saving Shane from a massive mud puddle on the playground. The way Shane tells it - which is the truth - is that Ilya wanted an excuse to tackle him into said mud puddle. They’d never once agreed on the origin of their friendship, but they had been attached at the hip ever since.
All that to say, Shane trusted Ilya implicitly, just as Ilya did him. They were best friends and they always would be.
It was very important to Shane to remind himself of this, considering what was about to happen, what was about to change.
-
Just shy of Ilya’s 17th birthday, Shane had gone to his house down the street to deliver the cake he and Yuna had made - an hours long process that resulted in Shane covered in more sour cream and honey than he could ever be comfortable with, but Medovik was Ilya’s favorite and he always said it reminded him of home. Shane, who had his own key to Ilya’s house and had since practically forever, let himself in, only to stop short at the sight of Ilya’s bare ass on the couch.
It was like his brain had short-circuited, and he stood there for god knows how long, clutching the cake pan and trying to even his breathing. For what felt like hours, but in reality was probably about seven seconds, he watched the ripple of Ilya’s back muscles as he pressed their classmate into the couch - her name escaped him now, but he would never forget the moment their eyes had met over the arm rest and she had yelped at the sight of him. Her noise of surprise caused Ilya to look over his shoulder, and Shane had set the cake on the side table and high tailed it the hell out of that house.
Shane, as was the case with most things, was resolute to ignore it. Ilya, much to the same degree, was not going to let that happen.
No more than 15 minutes later, Ilya was barging into Shane’s room, flushed and hair still a mess.
“Done so fast?” Shane tried to keep his tone casual and light, two things he had never been a day in his life. “Not what I expected from you, Rozanov.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. It didn’t work.
“Kind of hard to keep going once you realize you have a Peeping Tom, Hollander.” He wasn’t upset, at least he didn’t seem to be, and Ilya was really the only person that Shane was ever confident he was reading correctly. “I walked her home like a gentleman and hopefully she will not tell every girl in our year what a creep you are. Very hard to get laid with a reputation like that.”
“I don’t…” Shane trailed off, at a loss for the right words. Ilya raised his eyebrows, waiting patiently. “Want to.”
“Want to what? Get laid?”
“Well.” He played with the strings of the comforter, unable to meet his friend’s eyes.
“Oh my god, Hollander, just tell me.”
“I’m gay, Ilya.”
The silence coated the entire room in a film that made Shane feel sick. He was still staring down at the unoffending blue and white bedspread when he felt the mattress dip. As he raised his eyes, Ilya was right there, not looking disgusted or shocked, just…happy. Proud, maybe. Shane felt the tears well in his eyes as his best friend looked at him with just as much love as he had for almost 10 years.
The confession had been tearing at Shane for months now, gripping its icy claws into his strong mind and weak heart. He had never even thought the words, let alone said them aloud, and now here they were, out in the open.
“Oh, Shanya.” Ilya reached out his hands to stop Shane’s own fidgeting, clasping them together tightly between them. “Thank you for telling me this.”
In a show of affection that has always come natural for Ilya and was almost always practiced for Shane, he pulled the other man into an embrace, feeling Ilya’s breath whoosh out of him as Shane’s arms tightened far past what was probably comfortable, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
Only when Shane pulled away did he realize silent tears had been streaming down his face, and Ilya gently reached up to wipe them away, which only made Shane cry harder, a warmth spreading through his entire body like a wildfire raging, the sinking feeling he’d had every time his eyes had lingered and his thoughts had wandered gone now with the most important person in the world whispering how it was okay and he was so proud.
When the tears finally dried, their hands having found their way back together at some point, Ilya gave him one last squeeze.
“Now,” Ilya started, clapping once as he stood. “Do you want to go watch hockey highlights and pretend this didn’t happen for a little bit?”
Shane choked off a laugh, always surprised by Ilya’s instinct to defuse any situation, but agreeing nonetheless. And if Shane noticed how his friend’s eyes were shining a bit in the light of the setting sun filtering through the window, he kept that to himself.
-
A few weeks later, Ilya busted through Shane’s door in much the same fashion as before, this time with a grin on his face and very obvious sex hair. Shane had been having a peaceful afternoon of studying, but he would make an exception for that.
“Jesus Christ, did you even take off the condom?”
Ilya’s grin was more feral than Shane had ever seen it. “Barely.”
Shane then proceeded to let Ilya give him every intimate - and frankly disgusting - detail, cringing most of the time but happy for his friend in a weird sort of way. Ilya, confident in his sexuality, had little to no shame in oversharing. It was no secret that his best friend was attractive, he’d have to be blind not to see that, but he suddenly found himself imagining himself alongside Ilya instead. His hands grasping dirty blonde curls, a deep Cupid’s bow brushing against his–
No. He was absolutely not going to start thinking of Ilya like that. He didn’t know how to feel; they’d grown up together, seen each other through every stage of life. What kind of relationship did they give them, beyond the years of friendship they’ve shared?
When Ilya was done, he shook Shane’s shoulders playfully. “You must experience this.”
“One day, I’m sure.” He hoped his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. “I’m not really in any rush.”
Ilya’s smile softened, looking at Shane with barely concealed affection - he had always been a sucker for Shane, he said. “Of course.”
-
At 19, Ilya bursting into Shane’s space looked a lot different. They had, much to Yuna and David’s amusement and, really, their expectation, decided to go to college together, and therefore room together. Now, their second year in, they shared an apartment off-campus. They bickered as much as before - a key point in their relationship - but it was more domestic. Who forgot to take the trash out (Ilya), who loaded the dishwasher wrong (Ilya), or who ate the last of the candy stash and didn’t replace it (Shane). They had settled into easy cohabitation as much as they had settled into being friends, first a clash of imposing wills that smoothed over into compromise.
That night, Ilya came home, not quite giddy but definitely poorly hiding something from Shane, who looked up from his place on the couch, taking his reading glasses off as he sat up.
“What is it?” It was late, but Ilya had asked him to wait up tonight, not giving a reason, but Shane did it anyway. He’d just have to push back his workout in the morning.
Ilya didn’t answer at first, sitting on the couch and pulling Shane’s feet into his lap, pulling at the strings of the blanket that covered them.
“I think I am, ah, bisexual. At least that was what Svetlana said, after she smacked me upside the head for not seeing it sooner. It makes sense though, I never had a problem with being attracted to everybody, I just didn't know how I would like the sex.”
Shane felt his heart drop to his stomach, a strange emotion rippling through his bloodstream like a drug. “And now you know? About the…physical stuff?”
Ilya nodded. “Sveta took me to a gay bar - ABC, it was called - tonight. Said it would be a good place to test it out.”
“So…”
“It was a good place to test it out. Did you know it is very hard to give a blowjob in a single person stall?” Ilya finally looked at him, that same feral grin from years before decorating his face, like he was completely in his element.
“You know I don’t,” Shane deadpanned.
“I’ll make you a deal then.” Shane arched an eyebrow, and Ilya continued, “If by my 23rd birthday, you are still a virgin, I’ll have sex with you.”
Shane spluttered, swinging his feet out of Ilya’s lap as he sat up. He knew he must look insane, eyes wipe and mouth gaping, but Ilya could not have just said what Shane thought he said.
“Are you insane?”
“Well, yes, but that’s besides the point.” Shane couldn’t help his bark of laughter despite his heart still hammering a hole through his chest. “We trust each other. It gives you time to find your own experiences, but if not, well, you know I’ll take care of you.”
“I–,” Shane started, not sure how to process this new information. That Ilya would even want to have sex with him. He needed to say no - fuck no - because then their relationship would change and Ilya was the one thing that had been constant for most of his life. He couldn’t possibly. He needed to say no, but instead he found himself saying, “Sure.”
What the fuck, Hollander, his brain supplied helpfully as Ilya’s expression morphed into one of pure glee.
“Oh, my Shanya.” He did look genuinely pleased, which gave Shane hope that something like that would ruin their friendship. If it even happened. Which it definitely wouldn’t. “Now, let’s plan your outfit for tomorrow night.”
“What’s tomorrow?” Shane felt his heart rate tick up again at the expression on Ilya’s face. He knew what his friend looked like when he was plotting, and this was a time unlike any other.
“It’s your turn to go to ABC.”
-
In the following 4 years, Shane could count on one hand the times he’d even been close to losing his virginity. There was something that stopped him every time. The kissing felt wrong or his heart started to flutter - and not in the good way. He panicked. Every. Single. Time.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t…practiced on himself. He had a couple toys and enough stamina to figure out, in a hypothetical sort of way, what he liked and didn’t like.
If he was being completely honest with himself, he was probably subconsciously holding out for the fantasy of Ilya he had created in his head.
It wasn’t too hard to conjure the image - Ilya was adamant about sharing his continuous - and man were they continuous - conquests. It seemed that every time Shane had a date go wrong or a hook up ending in hurried excuses, Ilya found success tenfold, twentyfold, onehundredfold. Each new detail supplied a thread for Shane to cautiously tug on when he was alone with only the low lamp-light and hockey posters to judge him. Flashes of tangled curls and strong hands and a mole-dotted back covered in marks made by Shane instead of whatever nameless guy or girl Ilya had chosen to go home with that night.
If Shane’s adolescent attraction to his best friend had been a hormone-fueled fantasy, his adult fascination was a land of infinite possibility. And positions. And- fuck, Shane couldn’t believe this was really about to happen.
They had talked about it, briefly, over the years. Ilya asking if Shane was still interested and Shane mumbling something in affirmation that sounded more like a death knell than anything pleasant, but Ilya never seemed to mind, laughing it off and moving on to the next subject.
The thing was, for all Shane had been inadvertently waiting on Ilya, he also knew that the act might slowly destroy him from the inside out. If that fantasy came to life, what was he left to do with the broken pieces that would lay scattered once it was over?
It was terrifying and wholly inconceivable, at least until there was a knock at his door.
Shane jolted, even though Ilya had texted him he was on his way. They both knew, despite their round about conversations, that this was the night - they had told their friends they wanted a quiet night in. Just two best friends staying in, having a movie night like the old times, they had said. It was believable enough. In Shane’s mind, no one could possibly suspect a thing. No one could know that his friendly feelings for Ilya had grown into a wildfire of lust and confusion, certainly not the man himself. They would do this, and Shane could get it out of his system, once and for all.
Laughably, Ilya waited on Shane to come to the door, knowing damn well his key ring had sported a copy to Shane’s home the second they’d moved out of their shared apartment the year prior. It seemed Ilya was going out of his way to act as the perfect gentleman. Wasn’t Shane lucky.
“Hi,” he said as the door swung open, smothering a fond smile and the way Ilya oh-so-casually leaned against the threshold, arms holding a beautiful bouquet that only the top half of his face peeked out of. It was silly, and terribly romantic, and completely Ilya. Shane’s heart clenched as the flowers were thrust at him, Ilya sliding past the obstacle he created to slip into Shane’s apartment.
“Nice place.” Ilya took in the walls around him like he hadn’t been there the day Shane had signed the lease. He set the flowers on the counter, turning to his friend with a raised eyebrow. “What? You don’t like roleplay?”
Shane groaned, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. “Should we talk about this?”
Ilya was crossing the distance between their bodies in two quick strides, hands coming up to cup Shane’s face. “Maybe after.”
And then he was being kissed within an inch of his life, the all-consuming fire raging as Ilya’s tongue nudged at the seam of his lips, and a ragged moan escaped without his permission as Ilya allowed his hands to wander, tugging at Shane’s clenched fists that were rigid by his body and maneuvering them to rest on his hips.
Once Shane got one taste he couldn’t get enough, hands roaming to every inch of Ilya he could plausibly touch, from his naturally unruly curls to the biceps that perfectly filled out the sleeves of his black t-shirt, to the ass he has been admiring from afar for years that was clad in grey sweatpants that were already driving Shane crazy. Shane used his grip to press Ilya slightly forward, feeling how he was already mostly hard against his own aching erection.
Shane made a split second decision, dropping to his knees on the tiled floor of the kitchen - pushing away the thought that this memory would probably haunt him for years - and pulling Ilya’s pants down as he went.
The bulge he was met with made Shane audibly gulp, which put a smug smile on Ilya’s face. Listen, they had been friends for years, Shane knew what Ilya was working with. But the prospect of that considerable length taking up his mouth, his throat, his everything, made him equal parts turned on and terrified.
Shane hesitated for only a moment before he stripped the briefs down too and was met with the whole of Ilya. From this angle, he looked like a Greek god, a marblesque creature sent to drive Shane entirely crazy. He let his eyes slip closed, leaning forward to tongue at the slit, moaning as the taste of Ilya burst on his tongue. Ilya groaned in kind, a masculine kind of keening getting considerably higher as Shane worked more and more of Ilya’s length down his throat.
He stopped just as his gag reflex triggered, pulling off with a pop and slightly hypnotized by the string of spit connecting them, eyes tracking as it disappeared into the air.
Ilya pulled him up by his shoulders, initiating a messy kiss that had Shane leaking steadily into his boxers, which is where Ilya’s hand now rested, gripping him through the smooth cotton and whispering, “Bedroom. Now.”
Quick to follow the instruction, Shane headed towards his bedroom, hearing Ilya shuffle behind him until he felt something hit the back of his head.
He turned to find Ilya smiling innocently, now naked from the waist down, and his pants and underwear in a pile at Shane’s feet.
“You’re such a fucking weirdo.” Ilya smiled like it was a compliment - which, considering Shane’s propensity to speak about Ilya with only fondness, it probably was.
“But you love me anyway.” I really fucking do.
Somehow, someway, they made it into Shane’s room; Shane’s clothes were folded neatly on the side table while Ilya’s littered the floor. It reminded Shane of home. Shaking his head, he sat obediently, legs hanging off the side of the bed as Ilya ruffled through Shane’s nightstand drawer. He emerged with a purple dildo, which immediately had Shane covered head to toe in a pink blush, heating deeper as a cock ring was pulled out alongside it.
“Enough, Rozanov.” Ilya looked up, a bit sheepish as he admired his friend's - admittedly small - collection.
“I’m just…thinking,” was his reply, and he stammered on at the sight of Shane’s flat expression. “You never, you know, talk about it. I am imagining you trying to use these things.”
“Oh.”
“Not that I haven’t thought about it before.” Ilya wouldn’t look him in the eye, which was ridiculous considering what they were about to do, the line read as a confession of sorts.
Oh.
Maybe this thing in Shane’s head wasn’t so intangible, maybe they could– no. One comment meant nothing, Shane couldn’t risk their years of friendship on something Ilya was probably only saying because he was horny.
“I’m pretty experienced on my own, I promise.”
“Yes,” Ilya stalked closer now, having taken a condom and lube from the nightstand and placing Shane’s toys back in their rightful place. “But now you will experience me.”
With Ilya’s lips back on his, Shane melted into the mattress, letting Ilya manhandle him until he was settled into the pillows, completely bare and spread for Ilya to feast on.
He started at Shane’s ankles, kissing the fragile inner bone before resting them on his shoulders. He worked his way slowly towards Shane’s cock, twitching weakly with every ghost of a touch, precome already pooling in the ridges of his abdomen. Shane was lost in this bliss of it until he felt a sharp pain radiate into a pleasurable bloom, Ilya now licking at the bite mark he had engraved into Shane’s inner thigh.
By the time Ilya’s breath finally ghosted over the head of his cock, Shane felt like he could come from a single touch, so keyed up that he was sweating with it. Instead of taking him in his mouth, Ilya pushed on the back of Shane’s thighs, practically folding him in half and exposing his clenching hole.
At the first touch of Ilya’s thumb to his dry rim, Shane let out a noise more animalistic than he had ever produced before, a feral instinct overtaking him for a brief moment as he imagined the knife’s edge of pleasure-pain he would be on if Ilya just pushed in like that. But Ilya, the gentleman he was, placed a whisper of a kiss against his hole before he turned into a sloppy mess - eating Shane out with such ferocity that when he came up for air, his face was covered in his own spit from the mouth down. Shane, overcome with need, pulled Ilya up by his hair, cleaning his face in a way that would disgust him a bit when he thought back on it.
“Stretch me, please,” Shane pleaded, the need to be full cresting in him like high tide. “Need to feel you.”
Ilya fumbled for the lube that had rolled to the edge of the bed, a bit frantic in his movements and not at all like the suave playboy Shane would have thought him to be. Ilya’s reach caused his cock to brush up against Shane’s, still steadily leaking, the glide causing both men to moan in unison. Determined now, Ilya poured some lube onto his fingers - more than necessary, not that either of them cared - and starting Shane with two, already loosened from the ministrations of Ilya’s tongue. Two turned to three turned to Ilya reaching for the condom when Shane grabbed his arm.
“I want, I mean, I think, uh,” Shane didn’t know how to say it, how to get what he wanted, but of course Ilya could practically read his mind.
“I got tested a few days ago, if that’s what you are asking. All good.” Shane nodded, a little dazed at the prospect of feeling him bare; he would never admit it, but it had been his top fantasy starring Ilya Rozanov for years.
“So no condom.” Ilya nodded in affirmation, tossing the foil packet to the side as he lubed up his cock. Shane felt the head notch at his entrance and Ilya rubbed his thighs - now wrapped around the other man’s waist - in reassurance.
As he slid in, Ilya kissed Shane deeply, a welcome distraction from the intrusion. He knew, logically, that Ilya was bigger than his toys, but the feeling of being full to the brink of crying was entirely new. He had never felt pleasure this deep in his entire life, the emotion sparking like a live wire through his body as each limb was lit up from the inside out.
“Okay?” Ilya whispered against his hair once he was fully seated.
“Okay,” Shane replied, voice hushed and still feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Take it slow, please.”
Ilya pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, at such a juxtaposition to the rest of their bodies, before he started to move.
It was gentle rolls of his hips at first, getting Shane used to the sensation, allowing his body to adjust, until it wasn’t enough and Shane was pleading for more. Faster and please and yes tumbled out of his mouth in a variety of combinations, feeling fully enraptured by the fullness.
When Ilya pulled out, Shane whined - so high in his throat it would be embarrassing if he had any brain power to care - grasping at his back like it would keep him there.
“Shhh, malysh, it’s okay. Turn over for me.”
Ilya helped him as his unsteady body struggled to comply, feeling boneless and fucked out already, but willing to make an effort. Finally, he was arranged on his knees, chest to the bed as Ilya slid into him from behind. The change in position and Ilya nailing his prostate on every thrust was getting him close to the edge, too close to the edge. He didn’t want this to be over yet.
“Ilya, please,” he begged, and the thrusts slowed but didn’t stop completely, still rolling his hips in the perfect angle to drive Shane crazy.
‘What is it, sweetheart? Too good?” Shane nearly sobbed as Ilya sped up again, the mixture of toomuchtoogood crashing over him all at once, and he teetered right on the brink. It wasn’t until Ilya wrapped a hand around his middle, pulling Shane’s back to his slick chest that he allowed himself to tip over into bliss.
Completely untouched, Shane came in spurts all over the duvet, only held up by Ilya's strong forearm and the force of his stuttering thrusts as he spilled into Shane.
They both collapsed onto the bed, Ilya still nestled inside him and acting as a weighted blanket. After catching their breath, Ilya pushed up on his forearms and slipped out, the feeling of his spend leaking out sending a shiver through Shane’s body. It was a feeling he wasn’t allowed to get used to.
Shane sat up, suddenly realizing the weight of what had just transpired.
“Did we really just–” He broke off as the both of them dissolved into a fit of laughter, the situation so completely foreign that for once they didn’t know what to do. Not in a bad way necessarily, though Shane’s innate fight or flight response was definitely still a potential.
“Yes, yes we did,” came Ilya’s reply as their giggles settled down. The smile on his face was unbearably fond, like this meant something to him. It scared Shane more than the sex. What if he let Ilya in in this way and it all blew up in his face? What if they never spoke again and Shane lost his best friend in the whole world? He knew his fears were maybe unfounded, considering the life altering events they’d already experienced together - the death of Ilya’s fall, Shane’s career-ending injury in college, their mutual respect for their mothers who could have never and would never understand them fully. Was their friendship a strong enough foundation to withstand the harsh weathers of a relationship? The answer was a clear, blazing, neon sign in his head, but panic took over.
“I’m gonna, uh, go clean up,” Shane mumbled as he stood awkwardly, feeling Ilya’s come leak out of him, spreading down his thighs. The sticky sensation paired with his shallow breathing nearly took him out as he stumbled toward the attached bathroom. He managed to toss a washcloth in the direction of his friend before he slammed the door with a quick, “You should probably leave.”
Then Shane, coward that he was, locked himself in the bathroom until he heard the shuffling of Ilya grabbing his clothes, until the front door opened and shut and he was blissfully - or maybe not - alone again.
-
Shane tossed and turned in his bed for hours that night, tormented with fleeting images of his time with Ilya, the ghostly imprint of his hands haunting the ridges of his body. He reached for his phone and checked the time. 3:23am. He sent a text anyway.
Shane
Please come over.
Rose
On my way
-
Four days later, Shane found himself leaning against the bar at ABC - where he did eventually find out for himself that, yes, it was very hard to give a blowjob in a single person stall. Rose, after allowing him exactly one night to mope about the ending of his hookup with Ilya before she started pestering him with activities to keep him distracted. First a spa night, responsible for the bright pink nail polish hiding on Shane’s toes. Then, a craft night that ended with very little crafting and more than a little wine; still, spending a night with his friend had taken the edge off - he and Ilya hadn’t talked at all.
Now was her third night, a trip to ABC was the “ultimate distraction”, she said. It seemed more like a night for her if you asked Shane, but he was a few drinks and no longer actively complaining. He had even begun to sway to the music when a familiar face caught his eye, even through the color-strobing lights. It was a face he had seen day in and day out for most of his life now.
Ilya Rozanov was there, staring at him across the club with an expression like Shane had never seen on him - sadness and confusion and so much hurt. He was going to be sick. He needed to get out of here, now.
Pressing through the throng of sweaty bodies, he fought his way to the exit sign near the back, in the opposite direction of Ilya. He had no idea where Rose was in the crowd of people, and he couldn’t stop to tell her where he was going; he would send her a text when he got home.
He finally stepped out into fresh air, but the relief was quickly replaced with anguish and his slow-moving brain caught up with the events. Ilya was here and Shane was - what even was he? A coward for sure, a bad friend even more so. His back hit the brick wall behind him, body bending forwards to put his hands on his knees. He had just closed his eyes, fighting off the nausea rolling in his gut, when he felt a gentle hand on his back.
“Hey,” the voice murmured, soft assurances in pretty accented English washing over his body. He finally opened eyes, partly straightening his body so he could look up and see, unsurprisingly, Ilya. Ilya, who had always had a sixth sense for Shane’s panic attacks. Ilya, who had always helped through it, no matter when or where.
Ilya. His best friend. His lover (ew). His everything, if he was being honest.
Shane couldn’t control the sobs that wracked through his body, launching himself at Ilya, who caught him as always. He had no idea how long they stayed like that, clutching each other as the bass thumped through the walls and people chattered as they passed the alley. It was just them, for a moment. No one else existed outside of their bubble.
When they finally broke apart, Shane’s crying had subsided and Ilya’s cheeks were shining as well. They locked eyes, a question sparking in each other, and Ilya leaned forwardly, slowly, until Shane met him in the middle, the kiss bursting an emotion he could no longer name. They only separated when Shane’s phone buzzed. He gave Ilya an apologetic look.
“It’s probably Rose, wondering where I am with our drinks.” Ilya leaned back enough for Shane to pull the device from his pocket huffing a laugh at her series of messages.
Rose
Where are our drinks
Shaneeee
Oh shit theres ilya
wait
FUCK YES
you BETTER give me the details tomorrow
be safe shaney bear :)
Shane gave the last message a heart reaction, tucking his phone away again and Ilya smiled at him in amusement.
“So,” Ilya started at the same time Shane said, “Are we going to–”
They pressed their foreheads together, not willing to part even as they couldn’t control their laughter. It was always so easy with Ilya. It always had been.
“Let me take you home,” Ilya breathed into his mouth.
“Okay,” Shane breathed right back.
-
It was late, much later than Shane ever went to bed, but there was a conversation to be had.
They were both tucked into opposite sides of the couch, Ilya having taken some clothes from the drawer Shane kept for him there. Their toes were pressed together, a gesture of intimacy Shane had never desired from someone else, though he could admit he and Ilya did it fairly often. He thought the space of the couch might make this conversation easier, but he wasn’t sure it would ever be easy.
“So,” Ilya started again, and this time Shane didn’t interrupt. “Can we start with why you kicked me out?”
“Ilya, you have to understand. I’ve never, that was– it was the best experience of my life.” Shane stumbled over his words, trying to piece his thoughts together. The alcohol was long gone from his system, but his brain still felt like mush. He sat up, feet hitting the floor as he reached for his mug of tea. His eyes were locked on the floor as he said, “I think I’ve - for a while now - that we weren’t just friends. At least not to me.”
“It just happened, one day, maybe that day. Your 17th birthday. I don’t know how but suddenly you weren’t just my buddy Rozanov, you were Ilya and you were everything. When we– after, I freaked out. Because how could you ever feel the same? You’re Ilya - you charm everyone in the room, you get laid whenever you want, it’s easy for you to be like that. And then there’s me, you know me. I’m boring, I’m noth–”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Shane Hollander. You may think a lot about yourself, but let me tell you what I think.” Written on his face was not just pure determination, but a glimmer of genuine heartbreak that turned Shane’s stomach inside out. “Yes, you are a little boring. But I like your boring. I like the way your brain can hold a million little facts, how smart you are. I like how you keep me grounded, and how you help me through the times when my brain is not so kind. Fuck that, I love it. I love you, Shane.”
By the end of his rant, Ilya’s chest was heaving, eyes glimmering with unshed tears - from sadness or frustration, Shane couldn’t tell. They had gravitated closer as the words spilled from Ilya’s mouth, now pressed together from shoulder to knee, Shane’s hand clutching Ilya’s knee as if to prove he was real.
“Holy shit,” was Shane’s initial response, because how could this be real? How could Ilya know every one of his inner fears and calm them so completely? When Ilya started to pull back, Shane clutched at him again, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s shoulders. “I love you too.”
The kiss that followed was unlike any they had shared. It tasted of tea and confessions whispered during sleepovers and the fragile balance of their relationship stopped in time for just a moment to be entirely perfect.
It was always easy with Ilya, Shane had said. This would be no different.