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Ilya was hurt. That was the first thing Shane noticed when he let him into the apartment, the door shutting behind him in urgency, their lips colliding as if they were both starving.
Okay maybe the slight limp wasn’t the first thing he noticed, after all, but as he turned around to open the door to the bedroom and momentarily separated from him, Shane had approximately two seconds to catch Ilya hobbling behind him, which was just enough. “Wait, you’re hurt.”
Ilya shook his head. “Is nothing.”
Shane grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. “I don’t remember anyone knocking into you.”
“Not hurt, Hollander. Sore.”
“Oh.”
Ilya placed a finger on Shane’s throat. “Didn’t warm up enough.” His grin was lethal. “I guess I was as impatient as you are.”
“I always warm up.”
“Not in bed.”
“Oh.” He felt his face grow hot. It always surprised him that Ilya could make him blush. “Wait, shut up.”
Ilya laughed and let himself be pulled down to the bed, where he immediately took over the gears as was their custom.
Much later, when night had fully engulfed the room, Shane said, “I have a massage gun.”
Ilya hummed somewhere above him. “Are you threatening me?”
Shane slapped his stomach lightly. “For your sore leg. Where does it hurt?”
He saw the outline of Ilya’s face in the darkness. “Thigh. Front and back. Mostly back. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”
“It does if you want help using it.” He heaved himself off the bed and tried not to linger on the whine that escaped from Ilya. “It’s in my closet. Wait here.”
Ilya was still curled up when Shane returned and seemed to not appreciate the light being turned on. “Flip over.”
“Is this your way of asking for another round?”
“I’m trying to help you, you asshole. Get on your stomach.”
Ilya grumbled something in Russian and turned over slowly, giving Shane full access to the back of his thigh. He was still very much naked and Shane did his best to behave as he kneeled over him. “Is it your right leg?”
“Yes.”
Shane placed his hand on it. “Around here?”
“Higher.”
“Rozanov.”
“Is true.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat and could’ve sworn he heard Ilya laugh. Asshole. He turned on the massage gun. “Okay, tell me if it hurts too much.”
Whatever sound Ilya made was drowned out by the massage gun and- whatever other sound Ilya made which replaced it. Shane was too busy navigating the gun to pay him any mind, knowing he was dramatic and tired and pretending he was fine, but it became harder to ignore him when he started thrashing beneath him.
“Hey, hey,” he said, pulling the gun away. “Be still, you drama queen.”
“You are drama queen,” Ilya bit back, craning his neck to look back at him. “Get off, I don’t like it.”
“It’s not about liking, Rozanov. You need some rehab.”
“I need sleep and a blowjob.”
Shane huffed out a laugh. “You can get that afterward, you know. If you ask nicely.”
“Oh, as if you wouldn’t beg me for it- dohon’t!”
Shane had pressed the massage gun into his thigh again, but Ilya’s reaction made him withdraw it quickly. “What? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Ilya seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth. “Put that thing away.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Oh, he thinks he’s funny.” Ilya tried to roll over, but Shane was still very much straddling his legs.
“Hold on for like five minutes, it will help, I promise.”
“No- no! Hollander, I will-” But whatever else he was about to say was overpowered by the massage gun and his laughter, which had Shane absolutely mesmerized until he realized why he was laughing.
“Oh my god, you’re ticklish.”
“Hollander.” Ilya reached back blindly to knock the gun away. “Enough.”
“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” he said, allowing him to turn over onto his back.
“Stop looking so happy about it,” he growled. “I am not.”
“That’s not what I just saw.”
“You hit a nerve.”
“Right, right.” Shane pointed the massage gun at him, which was still on. “So if I massaged the front of your thigh it wouldn’t bother you?”
Ilya clenched his jaw. “No.”
Shane let out a laugh. “So may I?”
It was strangely fun watching him have a silent battle with himself, which was only really visible through the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Yes.”
Shane was expecting it now. The twitch and the laugh, the way he did everything to keep his body still as the massage gun was pressing into his muscle. He had to admit it was endearing. He had to admit he felt strangely proud that, despite pretending not to, Ilya was allowing him to see this.
A spasm went through his body and he reached out, grabbing Shane’s arm and pulling him down, and Shane turned the massage gun off and laughed into his his chest as he waited for him to calm down. “So,” he said, dragging the word out. “A little ticklish?”
He growled, which was both hot and terrifying. “You are a dead man, Hollander.”
“You gonna punish me?” He grinned up at him, which might’ve been the final nail in his coffin because Ilya flipped them over easily after that, and while Shane thought he was reaching down to grab at certain parts, Ilya was actually going for his inner thigh. And it really fucking tickled, it turned out.