Chapter Text
"Stay." Ilya said. He was almost pleading.
"I—"
He should say no. He should tell Ilya that he's fucking lost it for asking Shane to stay every time he's in Boston. He should yell at Ilya that asking him to stay is the most dangerous thing in this fucking world. For both of them.
He should yell at him, snap for doing this, but there's such raw emotion in his features. Hazel eyes shining with gold and green and an emotion Shane can't place but that is so pure and genuine, and the slight downturn of his lips... Shane couldn't say no if he tried. It could be life and death, and still Shane would say yes. Because at least his last moments would be with Ilya, who always makes him feel good and who Shane might have called a mistake once, but who he now knows is better than so many other things. Because it’s Ilya.
It’s always Ilya.
"...okay." He relented, and maybe it's okay that he is never able to say no to Ilya, because the way his face lights up could light up Boston in the dark. And when Ilya took his face in his hands and kissed him, soft and tender and heavy with something suspiciously like affection, Shane couldn’t think of why he wouldn't want to stay in the first place. When Ilya handled him back onto the bed, and pulled him against his chest, Shane couldn’t think straight. Ilya is all there is on his mind. Ilya, who wrapped an arm around him and kissed him just passionately enough to make sure it isn't too tender of a kiss; too domestic. Ilya, who held him like they've been together for years (and maybe that's not too far from the truth), but had one hand inching down Shane's chest to the waistband of his boxers.
Ilya, who is always straddling the line between hooking up with Shane and acting like his boyfriend.
He was and always is infuriating, but Shane couldn’t get enough of him; never enough. When it came to Ilya, he wanted his touch, his praise; wanted to see him smile and laugh, wanted to see his nose scrunch up with mild distaste when he's complaining about other players in the league. Shane wanted to be the one to see Ilya without any walls up, when he was relaxed enough to speak or sing softly to himself in Russian. To Shane… it was everything. He wanted to be the one who made Ilya laugh, he wanted to be the one who made him feel good, feel comfortable, feel safe.
Shane had flustered Ilya almost completely, once.
He could hardly remember what he had done, but Ilya’s face had gone a bright crimson; his jaw had dropped, and his eyes had gone completely wide, and it was the most beautiful look Shane had ever seen. Shane had known, then, that there was no way Ilya had ever let anyone else see an expression like that. He had been both floored and endeared.
It was the small things about Ilya that made Shane so very curious about him. The way he furrowed his brows, or the way he drummed his fingers on his thigh when he was thinking. The way he pursed his lips while listening to Shane talk.
A lot of it was what made Shane keep coming back. It was what had him unable to say no.
Ilya was standing with his back to him, now, rifling through his closet and leaving little to Shane’s imagination. He was naked, and Shane couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t stop staring at Ilya’s broad shoulders, at the stark red scratches Shane had left earlier on his shoulder blades and by the small of his back. When Ilya bent over, grumbling, Shane absolutely took a moment to ogle his ass.
“I know you’re staring,” Ilya said, throwing a grin over his shoulder.
Shane met his eyes, and smiled lazily. “Mm, why wouldn’t I?” He replied, nudging Ilya’s ass with his foot. Ilya grabbed his ankle as he spun, and yanked Shane toward him, pulling Shane down to the bed. He yelped, laughing, but he didn’t resist Ilya’s hold, and comfortably rested his ankle on Ilya’s shoulder. “A lot of people have seen your ass, but only I get to really appreciate it.” He continued, and only the uptalk in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.
A while ago, Shane was sure, Ilya would have made a joke about all of his other hookups, but instead, Ilya’s gaze softened, and he cocked his head. He trailed long, lithe fingers along Shane’s leg before he dropped his arm. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s ankle and Shane’s heart leapt into his throat. He reached for Ilya, taking his face in one hand, aware of how close they were. How close they were while both naked and not fucking. He nudged the dip of Ilya’s hip with his other leg, just shy of his dick, and smirked.
“Am I the only one who gets to appreciate this as well…?” He asked in a breathless whisper.
Ilya grinned, and shook his head, letting out a soft laugh. “Sure,” he said. It sounded like he was trying to go for indifference, but there was something suspiciously like affection in his voice.
Shane let his hand drop from Ilya’s cheek, trailing it across his jawline and then down his chest, drumming his fingers along golden skin cooled by a previous sheen of sweat and the cold weather outside. “Why do you ask me to stay?” He asked as Ilya stepped toward the bed, crawling over Shane to loom over him; Shane hooked the leg on Ilya’s shoulder around his waist. Ilya captured his lips in a kiss and didn’t pull back until Shane was gasping and panting and grasping at Ilya’s curls.
“I like having you like this. Why do you accept?” He replied, leaving not even a second between shooting off his question.
“I…” he opened his mouth to reply, only to find himself without a real answer. Why did he accept Ilya’s request to stay when he asked? He never stayed but maybe an hour or so longer before slipping out to make it back to the hotel, but Shane knew he didn’t have to accept. When this had first started Shane never would have agreed in the first place, then he would have argued if he was staying it was only because Ilya wasn’t a half bad houseguest, but these days…
“I can’t say no,” he said after a moment. He wasn’t nearly as horrified as he should have been hearing his voice crack. He’d let way too much emotion seep into his voice when he spoke. “I mean—” a shaky smirk, “who am I to decline another round with Ilya Rozanov?” He amended, hoping that it was enough to distract Ilya.
Ilya peered at him oddly, a question on his lips, but even if he had said something, Shane wasn’t sure he’d had heard it. Staring into Ilya’s eyes felt like staring into a kaleidoscope; a swirl of honey, and yellows and browns and hazel, accented with flecks of green. They reminded Shane of a sunflower field. He found himself lost in his eyes only coming back to the moment when concern briefly flashed through Ilya’s gorgeous eyes.
“Maybe I like spending time with you. Maybe you make me feel…” perfect? Like I’m on cloud nine? Like I'm the most treasured person in the world? Like I’m safe? “Maybe you make me feel good for a change.” He settled on.
Coward, his mind seethed, but the self-satisfied smirk on Ilya’s face made it worth it. “Maybe you make me feel good as well,” Ilya replied, his accent curling over the words and sinking into Shane, He pulled Ilya down, grinding his hips and knowing he’d won and that they were done with this conversation when a soft gasp fell past Ilya’s lips. It was cowardly, to hide his feelings and emotions behind sex with Ilya, but sex would short-circuit his brain long enough to make sure Shane said nothing stupid that he’d regret.
He wasn’t sure Ilya understood the meaning behind his words.
Later though… As Shane was stealthily making his leave, he cast one last forlorn look at Ilya’s sleeping form and the warmth of his embrace, and he wondered if maybe it was he who hadn’t understood the words Ilya had thrown right back in his face. He heaved a soft sigh, and slipped out the door with a shake of his head.
Shane couldn’t say yes next time. He had to decline Ilya’s offer.
He hadn’t even reached the bottom of the stairs when he realized that wouldn’t be happening, though. Saying no to Ilya? As if that could ever happen.