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Summary
Rozanov was always a big guy, tall and broad, but he's firmly in the ex-jock category these days, muscles covered by a plush layer of fat. After three months apart, it makes Shane's mouth go a little dry to admire the swell of his chest and the shadow of his navel beneath a snug black shirt. He's not close enough to touch, but it would only take a step, maybe two for Shane to brush up against the swell of his belly.
"You and your brothers are so rude, Shane Hollander." Ilya pulls an exaggeratedly sad face. "Come to my party, drink my booze, and cannot even bother to say hello?"
People are looking at them, some more subtly than others. Ilya loves to spar with him in public, see how far he can push. Usually Shane loves it too, however much he denies it. There's a thrill to it, pushing back, knowing that everyone's watching but no one sees, they have no idea what's really going on between them.
But after a summer of unanswered texts, Shane feels like he's a confused outsider too, and the idea of dropping back into their usual banter sours in his stomach. "Fuck off, Rozanov."
or: Fat Frat Boys AU