Chapter Text
Spring 2015
They walk back to Ilya’s apartment, their fingers twining together in the cool air between them. Ilya keeps glancing at Shane, and every time he does, Shane is looking right back at him. He’s scared to believe in this, like he isn’t quite sure this is real. (Those dreams he was avoiding thinking about involved an embarrassing number of mundane things just like this.)
Shane’s eyes shine in the streetlights’ orangey glow, and he has that same look of direct certainty on his face. Ilya just smiles and tugs Shane’s hand a little closer to his body. The few blocks from Cliff’s apartment to Ilya’s melt away in silence, broken only by the quiet noise of cars going by. It’s a weekend, but it isn’t a busy time of night on this street–most of the students here are grad students or the apartments are filled by adults who don’t have anything to do with the university.
At Ilya’s door, Shane pauses and pulls Ilya close. For a moment, Ilya thinks Shane will kiss him right there on the step, while he fumbles with his keys. Instead, Shane just leans into him, tucking his head into the crook of Ilya’s neck. Ilya is overcome. He plants a kiss on the top of Shane’s head, squeezes Shane’s hand, and gently pulls his fingers from between Shane’s, so that he can maneuver his keys from his pants pocket. Shane is unbothered and simply leans even closer, pressing his cheek to Ilya’s neck, while Ilya unlocks the door. They separate a little to get inside and walk down the hall to Ilya’s apartment, and once they’re inside Ilya’s apartment, Shane finally looks a little lost. Ilya doesn’t want to be pessimistic, but he’s been waiting for this. Shane is still so young, and he’s still playing hockey (Ilya doesn’t see a future in which Shane doesn’t play hockey for as long as he can), and Ilya really isn’t sure where he fits in with all of that.
“Come, malysh,” he gently pulls Shane’s coat off and bumps Shane’s own sneaker-clad foot with his own, prompting Shane to take his shoes off. Shane jolts a little and complies, neatly stashing his coat and shoes by Ilya’s things that are already put up by the door. Maybe Ilya should’ve kept that endearment to himself, but he’s used it before (it’s been months now) and Shane seemingly has no idea what it means. Shane lets himself be led into the living room and over to the couch. Ilya can see from the set of Shane’s shoulders that he’s gearing up for something. Ilya pulls him onto the couch and sits close by–close enough that Shane can lean in and feel the press of Ilya’s thigh but not so close that Shane will feel pressured. Ilya’s contemplating what he can even say–how can he try to articulate all the complicated, wonderful things he feels for this boy, this man, but Shane beats him to it. Shane gently takes Ilya’s hand again, moving their joined hands to his lap and gently stroking Ilya’s thumb where it rests across his own fingers.
“Ilya,” Shane’s determined look is back. “I meant it, what I said at the party. I want you. I don’t know exactly what that looks like, but I want this.”
Ilya is tongue-tied, speechless. He feels bowled over by the certainty in Shane’s eyes. He doesn’t exactly believe he’s unlovable, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever see someone so eager to choose him. He just nods and lets Shane continue.
“I–I’m–I don’t know what it will look like next year with hockey, I’m not ready to be out,” Shane looks away from Ilya then, maybe a little worried. Ilya just squeezes his hand. “I know I can’t ask you to wait, but I also couldn’t not try, you know?”
And doesn’t Ilya know. He would give up almost anything for a chance to love Shane out loud. I know, he thinks. I know exactly what you mean.
“And, I know,” Shane is continuing on, “I know you still have your degree, probably three more years minimum, and I know you’ll probably say I’m too young, and I don’t know what I want, but I’ve thought about this!”
He’s so emphatic. Ilya’s shaking his head before Shane can finish and pulling their hands back into his lap.
“No, malysh, I know you. I’m sure you’ve thought about it.” Ilya’s a little shocked to see tears in Shane’s eyes. “This is what you want?”
Now it’s Shane’s turn to nod, and when he bobs his head, one tear starts streaking down his cheek. Ilya can also feel a slight tremble in Shane’s hands where they’re wrapped in his own. Ilya nods, too. “Ok, I believe you. Can I kiss you again?”
Shane’s nodding again (Ilya is briefly and charmingly reminded of a bobblehead), and Ilya lifts one hand to cradle the hinge of Shane’s jaw and bring his face closer. He really might be dreaming now, he thinks.
“No, not dreaming,” Shane says quietly, mere inches away from Ilya’s face. He leans in and presses a kiss to Ilya’s lips, and it’s everything Ilya can do not to melt into the couch. Then he realizes he can just melt into the couch, and he leans backward, taking Shane with him so they’re half-lying, half-falling off the couch. Shane giggles into another kiss as they go backwards, and his hands come up to brace by Ilya’s head.
“Hi,” he whispers into Ilya’s mouth. Ilya just sighs and leans up to kiss him again. Here, in this moment, on this couch in his small apartment, he has exactly what he wants. He tries to memorize this moment, just in case it all evaporates tomorrow. Shane leans down to press his face against Ilya’s neck (Ilya can see this might become a pattern), and Ilya wraps both his arms around Shane’s waist, holding him as tightly as he can. He wants to float in this feeling forever.
Eventually they move to the bed, when Ilya’s bad knee gets tired of being pressed into the couch at a weird angle. Shane is finally a little awkward, and he mumbles that he isn’t sure he’s up for anything sex-related tonight and he can take the couch if it’s better, but Ilya is quick to head him off. Sex-stuff or not, Shane is in his apartment tonight, and Ilya will be damned if he passes up the opportunity to just sleep next to Shane. He shoves a pair of boxers and a big t-shirt into Shane’s arms and pushes him into the hall toward the bathroom. They move through brushing their teeth and changing clothes, and Ilya is charmed by how Shane insists on washing his face, only to find that Ilya has some generic multi-purpose body wash instead of face cleanser. Ilya nearly chokes on his toothpaste when he sees Shane’s look of disdain: one side of his lips quirked up and his brows knit in confusion. (Ilya instantly resolves to buy some nicer face wash. Literally tomorrow.)
Shane pauses again once they’re done in the bathroom. Ilya thinks maybe Shane’s been distracted or occupying himself with the specifics of finishing all the tasks associated with getting ready for bed, and now they’ve reached the moment itself, Shane isn’t sure what to do. Ilya offers him a couple choices.
“Do you want this side or the side by the window, malysh. I will warn you, the curtain lets light in at the edges.” Ilya moves behind Shane to touch his back and rub a gentle circle with his hand. He feels a flash of joy at the fact that he’s allowed this now. They’ve always been affectionate, but now he doesn’t have to couch it in being friends and keeping an eye on Shane. He can just touch him. “You can still sleep on the couch, if that’s more comfortable.”
Shane’s shaking his head and turning into Ilya’s arms. “I’ll take the side by the window. You know I’ll probably wake up earlier than you will, anyway.”
“Okay.” Ilya simply holds Shane for a moment, feeling the softness of his t-shirt that Shane’s wearing and the warmth of Shane’s body. He drops a kiss to Shane’s cheek and lets go, gesturing for him to move around the bed. He watches Shane get into his bed, climb under his duvet, and the warm thing in his chest that’s been associated with Shane for months now seems to grow. It feels almost like a flower, unfurling in the sun. Maybe it’s a sunflower, he thinks wildly, maybe I will grow an entire field of sunflowers in my chest, and each time I see this man, all of my heart will turn towards him. Ilya knows that’s a crazy thing to think about someone you’ve barely even kissed, but he’s known Shane for a whole year now, and he may be in quite deep already. He’s always felt things deeply, and this seems to be no exception.
Shane’s blinking at him in the lamp light, and he just pulls down the edge of the duvet and sheet to invite Ilya into bed with him. Ilya wants to scramble gracelessly in and meld himself to Shane’s side, but he forces himself to move slowly and settle in gently. Shane has already been so brave tonight, and the last thing Ilya wants is to scare him. Truthfully, Ilya had been expecting something more dramatic after they got away from the party. He knows Shane pretty well, and Shane has never been good with change. Ilya’s seen him have an entire, multi-minute internal debate about which type of non-dairy milk to get when the coffee shop ran out of his usual option (soy). So, Ilya’s not doubting Shane’s choice, but he is braced for an eventual overflow of feelings.
The glow of Ilya’s bedside lamp is bathing the room in a soft, yellow glow that feels like something out of a dream. Time is moving slowly, like they’ve been suspended in amber, or maybe syrup. He doesn’t want this night to end. All of these thoughts have raced through his head in the time it’s taken him to get in bed. He scrunches down and reaches over to turn off the lamp, and then he leans close to Shane to give him one last kiss. But, one last kiss turns into a dozen, pressed to his cheeks and lips and forehead. Shane returns all of the kisses in kind, his hands caressing Ilya’s face and getting tangled in his curls.
“Goodnight, malysh,” Ilya says softly.
“Night, Ilya,” Shane whispers back.
There’s a certain amount of awkwardness–newness–as they rearrange themselves comfortably, but Ilya thinks it’s all a win, and he spoons up behind Shane and wraps an arm around him. Ilya’s shirtless, wearing only his boxers, and he can feel the press of Shane’s muscular back through the cotton of his t-shirt. He might wake up hot and sweaty, but he’s loathe to separate himself or move the duvet from its position as a delightful cocoon around them.
Shane must have woken up first, because when Ilya wakes up, his head is buried in the pillow by Shane’s hip, and Shane’s sitting up. Ilya thinks Shane looks ethereal in the morning light. There is indeed sun peeking in around the edge of the curtain, and a sliver of pale spring sunshine is falling across Shane’s chest where he’s sitting up against the headboard. The sun is doing a delightful job of accentuating the cut of his muscles, and Ilya takes a moment to appreciate it all in silence before Shane notices that he’s awake. He’s still not sure what to expect from this morning. He’s rarely brought someone home and not had sex with them, so it probably can’t be worse than an awkward morning after (although he prides himself on having very few of those in his history). So, he’s braced for something strange, but when Shane sees Ilya’s awake, Shane just smiles, and it’s like the sun is bathing the room in warm light. Ilya smiles helplessly in return and grasps Shane’s thigh.
“Good morning,” he rasps. He clears his throat and presses a kiss to Shane’s hip. “You want me to brush my teeth, yes?”
Shane nods, looking a little chagrined, but Ilya just smiles and pushes the duvet back. “Is ok, give me one minute.”
He’s back in less time than that, and he gets back into bed so that he can kiss Shane properly, leaning sideways into him. He presses kisses to Shane’s lips and then to both cheeks, his hands holding Shane’s face so he can keep him close.
“Now it’s a good morning,” Ilya murmurs, and Shane blushes. Ilya wants to freeze the moment to keep it forever. Shane smiles and nods.
“Before we get up, I do have a question.” Ilya usually loves avoiding difficult things, he’s practically a professional at it, but he needs to make sure he and Shane understand each other. It’s also that he respects all of Shane’s choices, but he isn’t sure he will survive having his heart broken by this wonderful boy. He doesn’t want to spoil this morning, but he needs to ask, so he sits up a little straighter next to Shane. “I don’t want you to think I’m doubting what you are choosing, Shane. I just, I want to make sure that you know you have options.”
Shane laughs quietly, and Ilya knows it isn’t at him. It’s self-deprecating.
“This is quite the talk for the first morning we’ve woken up together.” Shane shoots him a wry look. Ilya knows a lot of people don’t read Shane well, but he’s never had much trouble. “I don’t want to spoil the moment or be crass, but I have dated other people. I know what’s out there, and I’m sure.”
Ilya is both very relieved and suddenly very jealous. He knows he has no right to be jealous, but he wants Shane all to himself. He’s also a little glad, because he wants Shane to know that he’s desirable and he has choices. Ilya just happens to hope he’s the only choice Shane wants.
“This is good, I suppose,” Ilya gives Shane a small chuckle of his own. “Or I might have done something stupid like suggest you should try dating people, you know, like open relationship.”
Shane shoots him a horrified look, and Ilya quickly scrambles to correct it.
“This is not what I want, but I want you to be sure,” he looks Shane in the eye when he says this. “I do not want you to have regrets because you are choosing me.”
“Ilya,” Shane sounds shocked and a little scandalized. “Ilya, how in the world would I have regrets? You’re my favorite person, and I’ve been thinking about this, honestly, maybe since I met you.”
“Ah,” Ilya seems unable to say much more than that for a moment. “I, ah, I just want you to be sure. This is what you want? I am not saying we are most exclusive, most serious ever, but whatever we are, this is what you want, yes?”
He thinks that he might ask this every day for a long time and hope that Shane’s answer never changes. (Never implies forever, which is a long time, Ilya’s brain unhelpfully supplies.)
“Yes, Ilya,” Shane gives him that blazing, certain look from last night. He’s making hard eye contact, like he can convince Ilya with the power of his mind. Ilya thinks Shane probably can do that with his brain. Shane’s mind is incredible. “Yes, Ilya, I want this. So much it scares me sometimes.”
Ilya can only nod, finally truly overcome with emotion. He rolls Shane over and drops kisses over all of Shane’s freckles, across his eyebrows, and down to the tip of his nose.
“Okay, malysh, I believe you.” He drops one last kiss to Shane’s lips and then moves so that he’s blanketing Shane with his body. Shane wraps Ilya in a hug, holding him like he’s precious, pressing kisses of his own to Ilya’s forehead and hairline, wherever his lips can reach.
They must drift off again, because when Ilya opens his eyes again, Shane is curled up against his right side, and Shane’s face is pressed against Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya’s right arm is trapped between them, and he can feel the soft cotton of Shane’s boxers against his hand. The cool morning light is giving the bedroom a dreamlike quality, and Ilya feels more at peace than he has in a long time. He lets himself gaze at Shane, indulging in the ability to simply look at him. They aren’t in a rush and no one else will see Ilya looking or tease him (Cliff has been making pointed comments lately about how Ilya keeps looking at Shane whenever Shane’s distracted). Finally Shane stirs a little and curls impossibly closer to Ilya, his nose poking into Ilya’s armpit. Ilya can literally feel every inch of where he’s pressed into Shane, and it feels a little like he’s on fire in the best way. There’s gentle heat licking over every inch of his skin. Realizing there’s nothing stopping him, he leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of Shane’s head.
“Good morning again, malysh,” Ilya whispers. “Moy dorogoy.”
To his surprise, Shane tenses and then flushes pink, keeping his eyes closed. He moves to plant a kiss on Ilya’s shoulder and winds his fingers around Ilya’s, between their bodies.
“About that,” he slowly opens his eyes and lifts them to Ilya’s. “I should probably tell you I know what that means.”
Ilya feels his brain short-circuit. Shane knows what exactly?
“It’s just, um, you’ve been calling me that for a while, it’s basically like ‘baby’ right?” Shane shifts so he’s looking more directly at Ilya, or at least at Ilya’s chin–he’s still avoiding eye contact. “You called me that for the first time last year at a party, remember?”
Ilya feels a bolt of shame go through him, swiftly and decisively, and he closes his eyes. He had been so sure Shane either hadn’t heard him or would certainly not know what it meant. They had been friends for a relatively short time, and Shane had been drunk and hanging off of Ilya, asking to be walked home. Ilya had blurted out, “ok, ok malysh, we will go,” and then proceeded to walk Shane home. In the current moment, his Shane is continuing with his explanation. Shane’s need to explain himself fully is something Ilya loves about him, but it’s also very embarrassing (for llya) in this specific moment. Ilya forces his eyes back open and looks down at Shane.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it,” Shane’s definitely flushed pink now, and the blush has gone all the way down to his chest. “So when I woke up the next morning, I Googled ‘Russian terms of endearment starts with m’ or something and looked until I found it.”
Ilya didn’t know he could be simultaneously so turned on and so embarrassed. He really hopes this isn’t how he finds out about a new kink. He doesn’t have time to dwell on this though, because Shane is stroking his arm and pulling his attention back to the present.
“And then you just kept doing it. I know you’ve said other things too, things you maybe wouldn’t tell me in English.” Shane is looking directly at Ilya’s eyes now, and there’s no way Ilya can look away, not now. “It’s ok. I wasn’t mad then, and I’m not now. It made me think that maybe I actually had a chance with you, and every time you did it again, I’d tell myself not to get too excited, but you’d say it and I just couldn’t help hoping, at least a little, you know?”
Now Shane’s looking away and Ilya is desperately trying to move his gaze back up. He pulls Shane into a sitting position against his headboard and wraps his arms around Shane, using one thumb to tilt Shane’s chin back up.
“You have all the chances, malysh,” he tells Shane. “But you probably don’t need any of them. Ever since I knew you, I have cared about you more than I can say, and now I get to care like this, too.”
Ilya knows it’s too early to use the word ‘love,’ but he’s perilously close to dropping it anyway. Shane’s eyes are suspiciously bright, like they get when he doesn’t want to cry but is dangerously close. He meets Ilya’s eyes and nods, then he buries his face in Ilya’s chest and wriggles closer, so that he’s wrapped around Ilya, lying diagonally across him. Ilya kisses Shane’s head and holds on tight. He hopes he gets to hold Shane like this for a long time.
the end