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1.
The sun isn't quite above the horizon when Ilya wakes up. Its annoying but unsurprising. If he was alone it wouldn't matter but his nose is pressed into the back of Shane's neck and his body is heavy against Ilya's so he really does not want to move. He manages a half an hour rotating between watching Shane, looking at the sun reflecting on the wall, and closing his eyes and pretending he's asleep before he gets up. Every cell in his body is itching for a cigarette and unable to ignore it, he obliges. Pulling on his boxers and t-shirt from the floor, Ilya pads quietly downstairs and out the glass door. Shortly after they arrived Shane gave him a nondescript white mug to be his designated ash tray for their stay at the cottage, saying something to the effect of "No one will care it if it goes missing so just take it with you when you leave." It's original purpose was satisfying Shane's paranoia that Ilya would leave a cigarette butt in the grass and that would somehow signal to his parents that he had his ex-rival turned boyfriend staying with him (or worse they'd think Shane was dumb enough to start smoking). But now that he had met the Hollanders and they were kind to him, he keeps using it so he doesn't trash the place. Besides, he kind of likes the mug. Despite it's complete lack of any identifying features from the other plain white coffee mugs in the kitchen, it felt personal. Normal. At a hotel, you stick your butts in the flower pot on the balcony and eat the smoke damage costs because you can afford it. At home, you put your cigarettes out in a mug that you own and no one says a thing about it.
The door opens a few minutes later and Ilya doesn't bother to look, trusting God wouldn't be cruel enough to make David Hollander come by for a second unprompted visit. Shane's palm is cold when it slips between the cotton of his shirt and his sternum. There's a weight on his right shoulder where Shane rests his chin. If Ilya wanted he could lean in and smell Shane's shampoo and know he massaged it into Shane's scalp and washed it out for him in the shower last night. It's nice like this. Touching just to touch. Ilya smiles but doesn't say anything, keen to watch the lake's surface ripple and enjoy a rare moment of comfortable silence. That is until Shane's hand dips just below the waistband of his underwear. Now that is something else entirely. And its something Ilya is willing to disturb his newfound serenity for. Shane's fingers curl against his hip and yeah, Ilya is fully certain now that someone woke up in the mood. He turns his head to the left, exhaling a peel of smoke where it won't blow in Shane's face before glancing back over his other shoulder. To his surprise, Shane isn't looking at him or even admiring the scenery for that matter. He's staring straight down at Ilya's mug turned ashtray on the concrete by their feet like it just insulted his mother.
"Have I ever shown you pictures of smoker's lungs? They're all gray and shrunken with tar stuck in them."
The words hang in the for one, two, three seconds while Ilya processes them before he doubles over on himself.
"What the fuck Hollander?" He clutches his stomach as he coughs out a laugh. Somewhere in the trees a distinctly non-wolfish bird twitters along with him like part of an invisible studio audience. It's maybe six in the morning, Shane's hand is in his boxers centimeters away from his dick, and this is what he wants to talk about? God help Ilya, he's in love with this man.
"I'm serious!" Shane lets go of him and Ilya stumbles forward because any grace he has on the ice is not helping him here, "I did this anti-smoking campaign traveling with the team to couple a different schools and the autopsy photos they show those kids are fucking disgusting, Ilya. You need to start thinking about what this is doing to your lung capacity."
Okay, okay, get it together Rozanov. Ilya takes a deep breath in through his nose. He stoops and stubs out his half burnt cig on the ground before flicking it into his mug with the others. With his hands free he takes Shane by his waist and finally kisses his boring boyfriend who cares about boring things like his lung capacity.
"No," Shane grumbles, shoving him away halfheartedly when Ilya tries to push his lips apart, "You taste like shit."
"You like me." He coos, leaning in to kiss Shane's neck instead, playing connect the dots with his tongue against his freckles, "You like when I give you something to bitch about."
"Fuck you." Shane spits with no venom to it at all. He leans his head out of the way to give Ilya unfettered access to his skin.
"Maybe if you're good I'll let you."
2.
"Shane?"
The place is quiet when Ilya arrives. Shane hadn't responded to any of his messages since his flight had landed. Hadn't even had the decency to open them and leave him on read. Which yeah, okay, maybe this is Ilya's penitence for being dog shit at communication in the past but Shane is usually so consistent. Now he gets here and it's like the whole apartment is holding its breath. It makes something slimy in Ilya's gut start to churn. He dumps his bag off just inside the front door and starts wandering. Not in the kitchen, living room, bedroom, or bathroom. Just when he's starting to contemplate whether Shane is home at all, he finds him on the floor of his home gym, laying flat on a yoga mat with his eyes closed and the lights off. Ilya sighs, walking over to him and crouching down at his side.
"Headache." He says. It's not a question because the answer is pretty obvious. Shane blinks a few time before his eyes focus on him, sort of bleary with pain, "You want aspirin? Ginger ale?"
"Both." Shane grunts, pressing his eyes back shut.
"Okay." Ilya backtracks towards the bathroom. He's never opened the mirrored medicine cabinet before but he assumes on principle that Shane would have something aspirin-adjacent in there. He takes a single tablet out of the bottle and then puts the rest back. He doesn't linger long before heading to the kitchen. He cracks the can of ginger ale and takes off the tab preemptively because that's what Shane does. The tab goes in the pocket of his shorts for lack of a better place to put it.
"Here." Ilya announces his return to the darkened gym.
Shane manages to push himself up onto his elbows and then his hands, it looks like it takes more effort than it should. He watches Shane pop the pill in his mouth and chases it with the entire can of Canada Dry in a quick one two combo that would have been truly terrifying if Shane had any gag reflex to speak of. But he doesn't. Shane grimaces and lays back down. Ilya wonders what exactly he's supposed to do now. He imagines its not exactly pleasant for Shane to have someone staring at him like a wide-eyed doe while his head is being split open. Feeling a bit helpless, Ilya decides its probably better if he's gone, that way he doesn't make things worse somehow.
"I'll be on couch, okay?" He says it soft and quick and doesn't wait for any sort of response before he's moving out of the room.
"Stay." Shane mutters and to his credit, immediately Ilya stops and stays.
When Shane doesn't say anything else, he frowns. 'Stay' where exactly? And do what? Like he can hear his thoughts- which maybe he can when the room is this quiet- Shane pats his chest twice. 'Right here,' the movement says. So, Ilya's supposed to lay down.. on top of him? That's going to help with his headache? Sure, he supposes, alright. He's been asked to do much weirder things and accommodated them for Shane's sake. He can be a blanket. He pads back over on the rubbery floor and lowers himself down so he's basically planking on top his boyfriend. Instantly both of Shane's hands go down the sides of not only his shorts but his boxers too, like a double-packing cowboy putting his guns back in their holsters. Shane exhales and an almost visible wave of contentedness washes over him, the tension melting out of his back and into the floor. While Ilya very much wants to question his methods, the results are undeniable, Shane is more relaxed than he was before. So, if this is what he needs, okay. It wasn't like it was uncomfortable for Ilya anyway, a little strange and borderline erogenous (a combination that in all honesty could describe most of the things Ilya Rozanov does) but not uncomfortable. He could probably sleep here if he tried, though being as jet lagged as he is that probably isn't saying much.
"Thank you." Shane says, his voice sounding steady after five minutes of silence and deep breathing.
Ilya turns his head where it rests, pressing a kiss to the portion of his collar bone left exposed by his tank top, "Anytime, Моя любовь."
3.
Shane Hollander is trying to kill him, punish him at least, that is the only explanation. That's the only explanation for why they've been sitting through an hour of Guardians of The Galaxy and Shane has not stopped drawing his finger back and forth just beneath the waistband of Ilya's boxers. Ilya hasn't caught a single word of dialogue since the opening scene where Meredith dies which is also the only part of the movie he categorically refuses to watch so actually, he's been actively consuming zero minutes of his favorite movie. The worst part is Shane has been completely engaged, enthralled apparently by the film, he hasn't looked away from the screen once this entire time. God, has he even blinked? Ilya glares at his profile, watching the refection of something exploding in his eyes. He doesn't even want anything from Ilya, he's just doing this to be an asshole. Back and forth, back and forth drawing blood and heat through his veins with it, so close but so far from what he needs. Fuck this guy honestly.
Ilya shifts his hips and something hard very unsubtly brushes Shane's hand. The corner of Shane's lips quirk downward and its like Ilya can see the moment the lights turn back on in his head. Finally he looks at Ilya, then he looks down, then he looks back up.
"Seriously?" Shane has the audacity to sound annoyed as if he hasn't been driving Ilya fucking insane, edging him for a hour.
"Да, Shane," He drags the 'a' in the middle of his name out long in the way he only does when he's feeling particularly desperate and self-piteous, "Very serious and all your fault."
"Me? I haven't done anything!"
"Exactly! That is problem!" Ilya uses both hands to gesture to his crotch as if it isn't obvious enough.
"Oh my god, okay." Shane rolls his eyes but a smile is cracking through his exasperated facade. His leg swings over so he can straddle Ilya's lap, leaning in and pressing their mouths together, "Fucking insatiable."
"Your fault," Ilya repeats, "You started this."
4.
It's a rare thing now, for Ilya to look at Shane and be left completely confused. He prides himself on being a Hollander expert, but it seems even experts can be caught off-guard. One thing he knows about Shane is that he likes efficiency, which is why watching him meal prep in the most inefficient way possible is almost.. painful? He's doing everything with one hand seemingly for the sole purpose of keeping a hold on the waistband of Ilya's boxers. He thought at first Shane was trying to tell him to follow, like he was trying to pull him along. But when Shane reached for the refrigerator and Ilya went along with him, Shane had just looked confused.
'Do you need something?' The wrinkle between his eyebrows said.
'What is this?' Ilya tried to signal with his eyes but Shane hadn't understood him. He hummed, turning away again and opening the crisper drawer to grab the strawberries.
So now Ilya knows he's just supposed to stay put and watch. And Ilya can, easily, he can watch Shane do just about anything and find it interesting no matter how much he likes to whine and complain about being bored. He watches Shane wash, dry, cut and portion fruit one handed or at least try to. He could just keep watching but he wants to understand.
"Shane?"
"Hm." He tilts his head towards him to indicate he's listening.
"Why do you do this?" Ilya taps his wrist twice.
Shane looks down at his right hand like he's never seen it before, let alone put it in his boyfriend's underwear. He thinks a moment before retracting his hand away quickly, "It's bothering you."
"I didn't say it was bothering me, Моя любовь," Ilya leans against his side, "I asked why you do it."
"I don't know." Is the immediate response, but he does know and Ilya knows he knows. He can tell Shane's never really thought about how to explain it before. He can hear the thoughts shifting like flour through a sieve, trying to filter out the ones that don't make sense.Ilya knows better than to try to fill the silence while he thinks. "I like the elastic." Shane decides, "I pull on it and it pushes back. Makes me feel like you're real."
"Real?" Ilya prompts.
"Like I can focus on something else and you won't disappear. You won't go away." Shane's face flattens in that way that it does when he says something he thinks he's not supposed to. Something honest. His right hand is limp on the counter top like he doesn't know what to do with it anymore. "That's clingy, isn't it?"
"Да, soooo clingy." Ilya props his chin up on Shane's shoulder to show off the irony of the situation, "My boyfriend wants to keep me around. God, he's terrible, awful man."
"Shut up." Shane mutters, the gentle curve of a smile breaking through his facade, "Asshole."
Ilya grins, "Come on," He snakes an arm around him, tucking both hands securely inside Shane's waistband, "I do the clinging so you can use both hands, okay?"
Shane lifts his right hand and flexes his fingers a few times before nodding "Yeah, okay." He grabs a glass container and holds it over the counter's beveled edge so he can sweep a pile of strawberry slices into it, "This is a lot easier."
"Who could have guessed?" Ilya uses the opportunity to pinch Shane's stomach. "Two handed man needs to use two hands to cook."
"Yeah, yeah whatever." He picks up a green grape and offers it to Ilya, "This one looks gross, you eat it."
It looks like a perfectly fine grape but Ilya doesn't mention it.
5.
"You're sure this isn't weird?" Shane asks. Ilya's laying down on top of him in bed, his hands tucked in Shane's boxers and Shane's hands tucked in his. The sheets are kicked off at their feet.
"No, is fucking weird," He says because it is, "But I like it." and he does.
"Yeah?" Shane doesn't really sound insecure but Ilya figures he wants to hear him say it again anyway.
"I like it, Shane." Ilya noses his way into the crook of his neck, "I like you."
Shane turns his head and presses a kiss to the crown of his head, "I like you too."
"We go to sleep?"
"Mm."
"I stay right here." Ilya curls his fingers around Shane's hip. He feels a deep satisfied hum vibrate in Shane's chest. Yeah, okay, he'll stay. Stay and hope he never has to move again. Convinced of this new life plan for himself, Ilya closes his eyes.