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“You’re staring again.”
Lips twisted into a lopsided smile as dark eyes flicked towards him, amusement shining clearly as Shane met his gaze. The warm glow of the bonfire flickered between them, stars bright and twinkling in the sky above.
“Seriously, Ilya? We come all the way out here, and you’re wasting your time looking at me. You can do that any day.” Shane’s gentle admonishment was barely loud enough to hear over the crackling fire and the steady hum of insects drifting through the trees.
Ilya watched in silence as Shane leaned back, head tilted toward the night sky beyond the warmth of the fire pit.
The lake stretched black and endless beyond them, swallowing the stars whenever the water shifted. Pine and damp cedar lingered in the warm air, threaded through with smoke from the dying fire. Behind them, the cottage lights glowed low and distant – a reminder of everything waiting inside, though neither of them seemed in any hurry to return to it.
Bright eyes traced the curve of Shane’s cheek, following the familiar shape of his jaw, the soft creases beside his eyes, landing on the delicate bridge of his nose. Even in the dark, Ilya knew every freckle scattered across Shane’s skin – constellations he had long since committed to memory, prettier than the stars above them could ever hope to be. His smile widened.
“Is not waste.” The low, deep rumble of Ilya’s voice broke the stillness sitting between them. His smile widened as Shane turned to look at him again. “Is never waste.”
To Ilya, the chance to just look at Shane without fear of being discovered, without having to keep a dozen excuses at the ready, was worth more than a thousand nights stargazing. It didn’t matter that the sky looked fathomless and bright in a way that it hadn’t even back home in Russia, untouched by the haze of city lights that swallowed the stars whole in Boston. None of it compared to seeing Shane at ease by his side.
The tension Shane carried so constantly seemed to loosen out here, slipping from his body piece by piece until something softer remained. His shoulders unknotted. His laughter came easier. Even his smile lost that careful awkwardness it wore around other people. It left behind a version of Shane few were ever allowed to see.
One Ilya thought might be the most beautiful thing in the world.
Ilya pressed closer, his arm coming to rest around the back of the couch – close enough to feel the heat of Shane through the thin layers of fabric, but not quite touching.
“You look different here.”
Shane rolled his head, turning again to look at Ilya. “How so?”
Ilya shrugged, inching his arm closer, wrapping Shane more firmly in his grip. Shane rolled his eyes but didn’t try to push him off or move away. Instead, fingers tangled with Ilya’s. His smile widened.
“Like stars.” A frown flickered across his face as Shane laughed. “That sounded better in my head. Is more poetic in Russian.”
“You’re comparing my freckles to stars. Really.”
Despite his dismissive tone, Ilya could see the way that Shane’s cheeks flared. The pleased little twist at the corner of his lips. Could feel the way that he softened against his side, leaning in, welcoming Ilya’s warmth.
“Don’t make fun of me. Not out here.”
Ilya’s eyes snapped up to meet Shanes.
“I am not.” A broad hand reached out to cup his cheek, guiding Shane’s face towards him. Slowly, as though he feared Shane might vanish beneath his touch, Ilya swept his thumb across that familiar constellation of freckles – the same ones that had left him helplessly enamoured nearly a decade ago, and no doubt would for decades still to come.
“You know,” Ilya said quietly, “I could map these from memory.”
Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Shane looked away, warmth blooming low in his chest. His Ilya; all carefully cultivated arrogance and playboy charm to the rest of the world, yet unbearably romantic in the quiet moments that belonged only to them.
The words caught in Shane’s throat as Ilya’s lips brushed the crown of his head, the other man easing back to stare up at the stars.
Would it be strange to admit he wasn’t the only one?
That Shane could trace him just as easily – every freckle, every scar, every small imperfection mapped into memory over years of looking when he wasn’t supposed to. That even with his eyes closed, he could find the faint silvery line across Ilya’s ribs without hesitation. That he knew him – completely, quietly – in a way that felt like its own kind of confession.
“Even here, you think too loud, Hollander.”
It took a moment for the teasing warmth in Ilya’s voice to fully register. Shane swallowed down the familiar flicker of anxiety before it could take hold, letting it dissolve unfinished in his chest.
He shifted instead, pressing his cheek against Ilya’s chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat met him there – and the way it caught, just slightly, beneath Shane’s touch made something in him loosen.
Shane reached beneath the blanket, tugging it higher around them both before finding Ilya’s free hand in the dark. Their fingers tangled together without hesitation, as though they had always known the shape of each other like this.
“Don’t call me that,” Shane said, voice barely more than a whisper. “Not here. Please.”
The fire cracked softly, the lake wind moving through the trees beyond them, but none of it reached inside the small, shared stillness they had made.
Ilya shifted just enough for his lips to brush Shane’s – featherlight, more breath than kiss – before lingering there a moment longer, as if unwilling to fully pull away. When he did, their foreheads almost touched.
“My Shane,” he murmured.
Shane let out a quiet breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, eyes lifting to meet his in the firelight. “My Ilya.”
“For you, moy lyubimyy, anything.”