Work Text:
Now
“Shane!” the art professor - Professor Bowen please-call-me-Jen - smiles brightly as he edges inside the studio, one hand tight around the strap of his bag as he rethinks his life choices. “Thank you so much for coming. Please, come on in.”
Shane crosses the room to where she’s standing next to a big desk. It’s empty of other people so far, but he swallows as he sees the podium in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of easels and stools.
“I just need you to fill in your bank details and things for me,” Jen continues as she holds out a pen with charcoal-stained fingers. “And then I’ll show you into the changing room. You’re nice and early so your co-model isn’t here yet, but it’s big enough for the two of you, and I’ve set out snacks and drinks for while you wait or during the breaks.”
“Thanks,” Shane manages, as he scribbles down his bank details and signs where indicated.
“Perfect,” Jen smiles at him. “Now, please don’t be nervous. We’re so, so grateful you were willing to do this for us, the students are really looking forward to having new models, and new poses to re-create in their chosen medium…”
She continues talking as she guides him into a little closet (room is being generous, really) off the side of the studio. She shows him where to put his bags and the dressing gowns hung up on the back of the doors, and outlines again the plan for the art class this evening.
“Oh, and perfect timing!” Shane hadn’t thought Jen’s smile could get any brighter but it does as a shadow blocks the little light coming through the closet door, maybe a little taller than Shane and almost as broad as the doorframe. “Ilya, good evening.”
“Hi, Jen,” the warm, slavic drawl has goosebumps rising on Shane’s arms. The man steps through the doorway, and no longer backlit Shane can see all of him; the long legs encased in ragged black jeans, the holey white t-shirt draped over what looks to be an impressive chest, the soft golden curls a halo around a face made for advertisements.
Shane realises with a dawning horror that this is the person he’ll have to stand next to for close to two hours once a week for the next four weeks. Without any clothes on. While people stare at them both.
He’s so fucked.
Two Weeks Ago
“Hey, Shane?” Hayden’s unusually tentative as he knocks on the door of their shared dorm room. “You gotta sec?”
“Sure, bud. What’s up?” Shane looks up from his history textbook, willing to take a break for five minutes as the words start to swim before his eyes anyway.
“Ah, you know how you said you could maybe do with a little extra cash?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, there’s this… I mean, Jackie…”
“Spit it out, Hayd,” Shane frowns as his friend half-fidgets as he sits down on his own bed, barely able to meet Shane’s eyes.
“Look, you know Jackie’s TA’ing for that art professor?”
“...Yeah?”
“Well, the Thursday Life Drawing Class that her professor does is apparently desperate for models.”
“Life drawing? ...No,” Shane shakes his head. “No, Hayd. What?”
Hayden sighs, slumps on his bed. “Jackie’s pretty desperate, she promised Jen she’d help find someone but is finding it impossible.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“My shifts at the bar are Thursdays,” Hayden reminds him and Shane groans. “Just… please, Shane? They pay pretty good, something like $80 per session? They’re a couple hours long, I think, the classes, but obviously you won’t be standing around the whole time.”
Shane sighs, wants to slam his head into the open textbook in front of him and forcibly forget the last five minutes. But he could use the money. He’s not desperate for it, but he is looking to get a new pair of hockey skates as his current ones are pretty worn, and if it is paid that well a couple of sessions would make a good dent in the cost of them, without having to commit to a longer-term part-time job.
He’s not a fan of the idea of standing up naked in front of a bunch of strangers, either, but he’s well used to casual nudity - you can usually expect to see at least a dick or five at any time in a hockey locker room. This can’t be that different in the grand scheme, can it?
And it’s not like anyone in his circle - bar Jackie - are particularly arty, so the chances of them seeing him or finding out are pretty slim.
“Fuck. Jackie doesn’t go to these classes, right?” he asks, and sees the relief as Hayden realises the implications of the question.
“No! No, I promise,” he repeats, a little less emphatically. “Seriously? You’ll do it?”
“I’ll talk to the professor,” Shane gives in. “But only because Jackie’s a fucking queen, and you will owe me for this.”
Hayden nods enthusiastically, promises Shane won’t regret this. He’s not so sure, but he’s said it now, so waits as Hayden passes his details onto Jackie to give to her professor.
For the love of hockey.
Now
“Hello,” the man approaches Shane, holds out a hand that Shane shakes on autopilot. “I am Ilya. Nice to meet you.”
“Y- yeah. Nice to meet you too. I’m Shane.” Shane flushes as he realises he’s holding onto Ilya’s hand too long, tries not to pull it away too quickly.
“This is your first time?” Ilya asks as he turns, dumping his bag on the little table next to Shane’s and immediately stripping out of his t-shirt. Shane’s mouth goes dry as a broad expanse of muscle shifts under skin that looks soft enough to touch and he tucks his hand into his jeans pocket so he doesn’t reach out and press his fingers to a little freckle that stares at him invitingly from Ilya’s right shoulderblade.
“For modelling?” Ilya continues, and Shane realises he’s standing there gaping like an idiot.
“Oh, yeah,” Shane nods, feels the tips of his ears heat and regrets that he’s not any form of cool and collected. “I- a friend asked if I could help out, and, well-”
“The money is good,” Ilya continues for him as if in agreement as Shane trails off, throat drier than the Sahara as jeans are shimmied down strong legs and the roundest ass is pushed in Shane’s direction as Ilya bends over to pick them up and drops them carelessly on top of the duffle bag.
“...Yeah,” Shane agrees, voice coming out a little strangled.
“Do not worry,” Ilya continues, and to Shane’s relief he tugs on one of the dressing gowns, though Shane’s eyes latch onto the movement of his underwear slipping down from underneath (soft black cotton shorts, he notes absently), “this class is all very nice. Very professional.”
“Y- you’ve done this before, then?” Shane asks, even Jen’s told him that Ilya’s one of her regular helpers.
Ilya replies in the affirmative as Shane busies himself with taking off his own clothes, feeling awkward and stiff as he does but Ilya’s pouring himself a glass of water and still barely looking at Shane. “Is one of the few jobs I can do around my studies and visa and things,” he adds casually.
“What are you studying?” Shane asks, folding his jeans neatly and placing them with his t-shirt in his bag.
“Strategic Management,” Ilya replies, “You?”
“History,” Shane shrugs into the dressing-gown and is pleasantly surprised by how soft it is on his skin. He raises an eyebrow at the look Ilya gives him, a spike of irritation sliding through him. “What?”
“No, nothing,” Ilya shakes his head.
“I know people think it’s a boring major but-”
“I did not say that,” Ilya interrupts, “And maybe is a little boring,” he adds, with a soft grin that makes it clear he’s teasing, “but I was thinking it suits you, maybe.”
Shane isn’t sure what to make of that so fiddles instead with the tie around his waist. He can hear soft chatter from the main room and the clock on the wall shows him it’s just gone past the start time for the class.
His stomach riots with nerves and he can’t look at Ilya, can’t do anything but stare at the door and breathe as they wait to be called in.
Fuck. He can do this.
Too late to back out now, anyway.
One Week Ago
“Hi, you must be Shane?” Professor Bowen welcomes him into Art Studio Three as he knocks on the door. “Please, come on in.”
“Thanks,” he steps into the room; takes in the wide windows, covered with a hazy white blind diffusing the early morning light across the space, the smell of oils and turpentine and other things he doesn’t recognise not as cloying as he’d imagined it might be.
“Please, sit,” the professor gestures to a stool in front of the cluttered desk she’s sat behind, tapping at a keyboard with a mild frown as he approaches.
She abandons her computer as he sits, her attention fully landing on him instead.
“Thank you so much for coming in person,” she smiles at him, soft blue eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles, brown hair shorn in a rough bob around her face, pushed back behind her ears and held with a collection of bright pins.
He shrugs, “it’s on my way home from the rink, so not much of a detour,” he promises.
“Oh, yes. Jackie mentioned you’re on the hockey team. But I won’t bore you with small talk,” she waves a lazy hand to his relief, “Thank you for being willing to think about modelling for us. I know it’s not something a lot of people would be comfortable with. But let me tell you a little about what it would entail, what we’d want from you, and you can go away and think about it too if you want.”
Shane nods when she pauses for some form of acknowledgement, and she smiles again before diving into her speech.
She tells him that they’d want someone for 4 weeks or so, for 2-hour sessions on a Thursday evening, as Jackie had told him via Hayden. The majority of students are working on sketching, drawing or painting, but there’s one or two in the class who might attempt working in clay and sculpture.
Shane nods along, mentally notes the key things down but there’s something pretty relaxed about the professor that has him feeling at ease. The soft light and warmth of the studio is also nicer than he’d expected, and he thinks he wouldn’t mind, really, coming back.
“There is one thing I would like to float with you,” the professor finally says, as she draws to the end, “and this is entirely optional, please do say ‘no’ at any point. One of my Tuesday models said that as a last resort he might be able to also help out on a couple of the upcoming Thursdays. We used him earlier in the semester for this class so would prefer not to have him singled out again, but it would be really good if the class could try working with duo poses.”
“Duo poses?”
She explains that he’d be modelling together with this other person. There’d be nothing particularly intimate or anything, obviously, she explains, but naturally since they’d both be nude he’d have to be content with having someone else in his space at a similar level of undress.
She says they’d tried this last year and it had been received well, but of course there’s no pressure.
“Sure,” Shane agrees, maybe a little carelessly but there’s something almost reassuring in the thought that he wouldn’t be alone up on the podium in the room, that everyone would be looking at someone-else-and-him, rather than just him alone. “That’d be fine by me, if the other model agrees.”
The professor's eyes light up and she promises she’ll check, but will email him with the final details, a recap of the key information she’s shared today.
He leaves her smiling after him, anxiety still bubbling in him at the thought of what he’d agreed to, but the professor had been more than emphatic about creating a safe space and he believes her.
He agrees to start the following Thursday, and throws himself back into hockey and history to try and push away the random reminders that creep in every time he stays still for more than five minutes.
Now
Ilya opens at the door at a signal Shane doesn’t recognise, and Shane meekly follows him into the room. He’s a little relieved to see there aren’t too many people in the class, maybe ten or twelve or so, all perched on their little stools.
Jen introduces them both but he’s not given much time to panic before she’s ushering them both up onto the wide podium in the middle of the circle.
“Okay, so we’ll have our warm up first,” she starts, and explains they’ll be switching poses every two to five minutes for the first twenty minutes or so.
Ilya steps up onto the podium first and Shane follows, heart thumping behind his ribs as they settle on the two-metre wide platform. He carefully unknots the belt and hands the dressing gown down to Jen, pointedly not looking at Ilya as he does the same.
They’re directed to stand so they’re shoulder to shoulder, but facing opposite directions, to start. Shane stares at the door to the closet/changing room as he hears Jen instruct everyone to start and there’s the soft rustle of paper and scratch of charcoal and lead across it.
He takes a deep breath, nerves alight where his skin touches Ilya’s but the knowledge that people are watching him, are carefully examining him and drawing him luckily has his body too scared to react, no matter how warm the other student’s body heat is as it bleeds into his.
The first couple of minutes passes indeterminably slowly as he gets used to the sensation of various eyes on him. He’s used to it in hockey, of course, but it’s very different when he’s moving at speed on the ice, blades on his feet and pads and his helmet covering the majority of his skin currently exposed to the elements.
This isn’t even like hockey in the way that no-one is (or is supposed to be) judging him or his actions as they watch him here. His performance isn’t being evaluated, he doesn’t have to make any decisions about where to move, doesn’t have to think about any opponents; all he has to do is stand where he’s put and there’s something almost… calming, about it.
For their second pose Jen asks them to hold each other’s hand, taking a step apart either side and looking back at each other. His gaze meets Ilya’s briefly, and he tells himself he’s relieved when he gets nothing but a professionally blank flash of a smile. He focuses his gaze on Ilya’s shoulder instead, the line of muscle that leads down to his arm and hand with long fingers folded around Shane’s palm.
“Perfect,” Jen calls after another couple of minutes. There’s a couple more short poses on their feet; lifting their arms as if in victory between them, rotating and getting closer again until the last short pose has Ilya’s arm around Shane’s shoulders, Shane’s arm around his waist, the line of his torso hot against Shane’s side, hip-to-hip. Ilya’s skin is just as soft against his palm as Shane had thought, and he wishes almost that he wasn’t so close he can smell the soft musky smell of his deodorant because he smells nice and Shane knows if they were in private he’d be turning his head and breathing in deeper.
They take a short break after that, and Shane wraps his dressing gown securely around him as he steps down from the podium. Ilya does similar, though his dressing gown drapes loosely so it gapes open and shows the curves of his chest, dipping into the lines of his six-pack and… Shane looks away, goes to fetch a bottle of water from his bag.
“Okay so far?” Jen asks as she sticks her head in the closet.
“Yeah, all good,” Shane promises her, holding up the bottle in explanation. She nods with her usual smile, taps the doorframe lightly before disappearing again.
The break ends quickly and Shane returns to the podium, where he and Ilya are asked to stand facing one another, as if they’re about to start a waltz.
“Hand on my shoulder,” Ilya murmurs as Shane hesitates, not sure what this should look like. He does as instructed, feels the heat of Ilya’s palms and long fingers wrapping around his waist. Ilya’s other hand takes his, lifts them both out to shoulder height. “Leg out, like mine.” Shane looks down, notes the pointed toe and copies him. It’s a little more strenuous than the other poses but not uncomfortable, and he shifts slightly on his feet to distribute his weight better.
“Let me know if at any point you need to drop your arms,” Jen tells them. “We’ll be drawing this for the next twenty-five, thirty minutes or so, so we can take a break if needed at any point.”
She also tells them they’re free to talk if they want, but just to not do anything that might break the pose like nodding their heads.
Shane can’t find anything to say, is trying to distract himself by reciting history or hockey facts to avoid the fact that Ilya’s hand is warm in his, he can feel the lightest shifts of his hair as Ilya breathes. He spends a couple of minutes tracing the lines of the gold orthodox cross that’s hanging from a chain around Ilya’s neck, wonders if he’s religious, whether or not it would be rude to ask.
“Doing okay?” Ilya asks him after a few minutes, as the slow burn of holding their arms up starts to overtake Shane’s thoughts.
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Yes,” Ilya’s expression cracks briefly with a smile. “You are a natural.”
“Oh. Thanks, I guess?”
“What do you think about?” Ilya asks, and Shane almost wishes they could speak at a normal volume, that it wouldn’t be weird but they’re so close together a murmured whisper is all that makes sense. “Wait,” Ilya interrupts before Shane can reply. “Let me guess. You are planning what to have for dinner?”
Shane goes to shake his head before remembering he can’t. “Wrong, I’m afraid,” he murmurs back instead, and their eyes meet briefly, amusement passing through Ilya’s gaze.
“Ah, I see. You are the meal prepper type, then, I think.”
“Nutrition is important,” Shane replies primly, not sure if there’s a tease in there but he thinks probably. “And it’s more cost-effective.”
“So, what? You just cook one thing and eat it over and over again that week? Boring.”
“I need to watch my macros,” Shane replies indignantly.
“Ugh, so boring,” Ilya repeats quietly, but the gentle squeeze he gives to Shane’s waist makes Shane think he’s maybe only teasing again. Maybe? Shane ignores the voice in his head that tells him he doesn’t want Ilya to think he’s too boring.
“Anyway. Thoughts,” Ilya returns to the initial opener. “Must be studies, then? Whatever history test you have coming up?”
“Yeah, in part,” Shane agrees.
“Ah. Hockey is the other part?” Ilya looks slightly triumphant as Shane blinks up at him. “I am fan, I guess,” Ilya explains before Shane can ask. “I used to play, back in Russia. Have seen a few of your games.”
“You don’t play anymore?” Shane asks, even as his brain dissects Ilya’s musculature - he’d be perfect for a hockey player, all long legs and broad wingspan.
“Ah, could not get scholarship for hockey,” Ilya says, and even as he’s playing it off as no big deal there’s a hint of actual sadness under his words, “And did not want to stay and play for KHL, and could not go for MLH draft for… ah, reasons.”
Shane’s not the most tactful but even he can see the conversational landmine and sidesteps it. “You didn’t want to try out for the team anyway?”
“I transferred too late for tryouts. And am in, ah, what is word? Remedy? Class for my English.”
“Remedial.”
“Yes, remedial class. Is only for this semester, but university will not let me sign up for more things until they are happy I have good enough English to get through classes first.”
“That sucks, I’m sorry.” Shane realises absently that his thumb is gently stroking back and forth on Ilya’s shoulder. No-one’s said anything so he lets his brain keep doing it, hopes that it’s something of a comfort rather than distraction.
“Ah, is okay. Have a couple years of university left yet, can try next semester, maybe.”
“Well, if you ever want any ice-time or anything in the meantime, I’d be happy to help.”
“Thank you,” Ilya sounds surprised, and Shane’s a little surprised at himself for making the offer. But something in the heart of him knows instinctively that Ilya’s going to be a good hockey player, and something in Shane’s heart races at the thought of seeing him on the ice.
They end up falling into more talk about hockey; about the recent start of this year’s MLH season. Shane finds out Ilya’s a Boston fan and rolls his eyes and Ilya pinches his waist when he says he supports Montreal, and it takes everything in Shane not to flinch as he glares at Ilya.
“So. Boring,” Ilya’s definitely teasing that time, even as Jen calls for a quick break and reminds them both gently to keep as still as possible.
They stay quiet the last ten minutes or so they hold the pose, have to take a couple more breaks as holding their arms out like this is more exhausting than Shane had thought it’d be. By the end he’s only holding his arm up because Ilya still is, and like fuck is he going to lose this unspoken competition. He meets Ilya’s eyes as a tremor runs through his shoulder and sees the silent challenge in them, sets his chin as he takes a deep breath through the strain.
“Okay, ten minute break, everyone,” Jen finally calls and Shane exhales sharply as he and Ilya drop their arms and he’s gratified to see Ilya shake his out too, grimacing slightly.
Jen praises them both for their steadiness in holding the post, minus the first little argument over hockey teams, and Ilya accepts a piece of the chocolate that she offers out to him.
“Shane?”
“Oh, no thanks,” Shane declines with a shake of his head.
“He is on diet,” Ilya explains, “but if you do not want it?”
Jen laughs at the wide eyes Ilya offers her and passes him an extra piece of chocolate. “You can have as much as you want, Ilya. No need to beg.”
“Thanks, Jen,” he bites into the square in satisfaction, humming lowly and Shane ignores the heat in his belly at the sound. Fuck, but he’s going to have a lot to process when he gets out of here.
“Okay, for the last pose I might have you a little closer together, if you’d be comfortable with this?” She explains she wants Shane standing and Ilya draped over his back, one arm over his shoulder, head next to Shane’s as Shane turns his own to look at Ilya, the other arm around Shane’s chest, with Shane gripping his wrist gently with both hands.
Shane agrees, is almost glad they won’t exactly be face-to-face. He drinks a little more water, watches as Ilya chats to one of the students with ease, lounging against Jen’s desk in his robe.
Ilya’s warm and Shane won’t say heavy but maybe weighty against his back as they arranged themselves a few minutes later for the final pose of the night. He’s glad he’s used to being on his feet because standing for this long is weirdly tiring, though that might just be the whole getting-used-to-people-staring-at-him thing more than the holding positions. (And maybe the try-not-to-get-aroused-by-Ilya thing that he’s firmly putting in a box labelled denial).
He twists his head to look at Ilya as his hands reach up to fold around his wrist, Ilya’s hand wide and solid on his shoulder, the other arm around his waist holding them pressed together. Shane is not thinking about how he can feel Ilya’s soft dick resting against the swell of his ass, focuses instead on relaxing into the turn of his head, eyes latching onto Ilya’s mouth to give him an anchor. He is a little surprised that it’s so easy to ignore any of the intimacy of it - he’d worried before that he might only be able to focus on that but the amount of focus just needed to hold himself still is more than he’d thought he’d need.
He doesn’t talk again for the last session and Ilya doesn’t push, the sound of pencils and charcoals across paper their only soundtrack. With their permission a couple of the students come up closer, examine specific spots like where Shane’s fingers curl around Ilya’s wrist, or Ilya’s fingers press soft indents into the meat of Shane’s shoulder, and that’s distracting enough when it happens that the last hour passes quickly.
Before he knows it Shane’s tugging on his clothes again, hanging up the dressing gown and trying not to watch as Ilya tugs his t-shirt down over the little happy trail of hair leading into his jeans.
“Thank you both, so much,” Jen says as she sticks her head through the door. “Shane, I hope that wasn’t a bad first session?”
“No, it was, um, good,” Shane reassures her, and he realises as he says it he’s not lying. It was awkward, and a little exposing, but the clear disengagement from the students, the calmness of Ilya at his shoulder, the quiet atmosphere had left him feeling not entirely comfortable, but as close as he can be to it.
“Brilliant! Well, I’ll see you both next week, then?”
Both men nod, and Shane follows Ilya again out of the room and down to the exit of the Art Building.
Shane starts to head down the steps, turns to see Ilya pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it quickly before jogging down behind him.
“You shouldn’t smoke.”
Ilya rolls his eyes at him, “Mm,” is all he gives, and Shane doesn’t know how to argue against that. “See you next week, Shane.”
Ilya turns and heads down the path the opposite way Shane needs to go, and Shane turns quickly on his heels to head home too, silently hoping Hayden won’t ask him how it went.
One Week Later
Shane turns up for his second art class to find Ilya already there, sat on the table in the corner of the closet/changing room with a notebook on his lap, frowning down at the words.
“Hey,” Shane dumps his bag on the other end of the table as Ilya looks up.
“Hello, Shane. Good week?”
“Yeah, thanks. You?” Shane is not thinking about how he’s had erotic dreams every night since last Thursday; of warm hands around him, a muscled torso pressed against his back, a dick that had been soft growing hard against his ass… He shakes himself quickly, pushes the thoughts as far away as he can.
He’d worried a little, that he wouldn’t be able to turn it off in the second class, but there’d been something as he’d crossed the threshold into the art studio that had flicked a switch in his brain and although Ilya’s mere presence is enough that little thoughts seep through, it’s easier than he’d anticipated to remain a little distant.
“Mm,” Ilya’s chews on the edge of his pen as he returns back to his book. “Have presentation tomorrow, is very annoying.”
“Annoying how?”
“Just annoying,” Ilya blows a short raspberry. “I am good at public speaking, good at, ah, connecting with my audience,” he adds a quick wink and Shane forces an eye-roll though he can see it. “But can be hard to make ‘macroeconomics and inflation’ particularly exciting.”
Shane huffs a laugh. “Sounds pretty interesting to me,” he admits. “Though I think we’ve established I’m boring.”
“Mm,” Ilya eyes him as Shane strips and pulls on the dressing gown as before.
“Do you want to go through it?” Shane asks, gesturing at the notebook. “You can pretend you’re presenting to me and I’ll give you feedback? Will you have notes, or is it a powerpoint-type deal, or?”
“You would do this?”
“Sure,” Shane shrugs, pulling out his water bottle and readjusting his clothes so they’re neatly stacked on top of his bag. “We’ve got, what, two hours? So long as you don’t need your notes or anything and we can talk again I’d be happy to listen.”
“Okay,” Ilya agrees, a quiet vulnerability in his voice Shane hasn’t yet heard. “Thank you.”
The second session goes similar to the first, except this week they’re trying seated poses. The podium now has a sofa across the middle, and the circle of stools has been moved to a semi-circle facing the seating instead. They start side by side, legs dangling off the podium as they sit sort of back-to-back and then Shane’s directed to swing around so both his legs are across Ilya’s lap. For the third and final short pose they move to the sofa, Shane directed to sit on the back of it, Ilya on the cushions with his head resting against Shane’s knee.
Ilya gives Shane a quick rundown of the presentation and what he needs to cover and Shane listens intently, letting the words and new information push away everything else: the eyes on them, the temptation of letting his eyes wander down Ilya’s chest, the scratch of pencil in the background.
They have a quick break and are settled back on the sofa again, this time with Ilya sitting - leaning forward with his elbows braced between his knees, chin resting on a hand - and Shane slumping down so his own elbow is resting lightly on Ilya’s shoulder, as if some kind of guard dog to Ilya’s head boss.
Ilya can’t speak with his chin pressed into his palm like this, so Shane focuses on the side of the room. He realises five minutes in, as one of the students comes up to get a better look at his hand on Ilya’s shoulder, that his thumb has been stroking back and forth again across soft skin. He stills, gets a quick thank you glance from the student and focuses his eyes at the line where the wall meets the ceiling again to try and clear his head.
He feels a little flustered as the half an hour comes to an end, and uses the excuse again of his water bottle to disappear briefly into the closet. He has to push Ilya’s t-shirt over slightly to access his bag, and before he knows it he’s folded the other man’s clothes and laid them neatly on top of the black duffle bag.
He flushes, but he’s not going to undo his hard work, and maybe Ilya won’t notice anyway?
He heads back into the studio before he can be called back, walks over to where Jen and Ilya are talking.
“Oh, Shane, perfect,” Jen steps back a little to let him join their conversation. “We’ve had a request for the next pose, but it is maybe a little more intimate than what we’ve done so far, or would maybe normally ask.”
She explains Ilya would sit on the sofa and Shane would straddle him, knees by his hips as he looks down at the other model, Ilya’s hands resting on Shane’s hips.
“We could use a cloth to separate your intimates, given the positioning,” Jen adds, unphased, “but if either of you aren’t comfortable with it we were hoping to have Shane sat on the floor between Ilya’s legs as he sits on the sofa again. I’ll give you a second to discuss,” she adds, distracted by one of the students across the room, “be right back.”
Ilya’s eyebrows speak volumes as he looks at Shane.
“I don’t mind,” Shane shrugs back at him, “Honestly. If you’re happy with the strad- with the first option, it would be easier for you to tell me your presentation without everyone hearing.”
Ilya blinks, looking blindsided for a second before his shoulders visibly soften.
“If you are comfortable with the first option, I am too,” Ilya replies, and tells Jen so when she makes her way back over to them.
It is intimate, Shane realises as they take their positions. He’s very glad for the little clean towel someone scrounged up, that’s draped across Ilya’s groin so their dicks don’t touch - Shane’s not sure at all he could prevent himself from reacting. Just the thought of it has him twitching so he bites down hard on his inner cheek, focuses on Jen’s directions as she asks him to put one hand on Ilya’s shoulder, the other on the back of the sofa.
It brings them slightly closer, Ilya’s face tipping up to face Shane’s as his shoulders appear to cocoon them both. As Shane’s facing away from most of the students he can almost forget that he’s being watched, though he can see a couple of them from the corner of his eye, sketching them from an angle.
“Give me your presentation then,” he almost demands, the heat of Ilya’s lap, the hair on his legs soft against Shane’s inner thighs too distracting. They’d both had the talk from Jen that it was natural for bodies to react, that they can always step away if they need a moment, just to give the signal. But Ilya’s showing no sign of being affected and Shane’s determined not to be the one that breaks.
Ilya’s thumbs dig into his hipbones for a distracting long second before he takes a deep breath, and talks.
He’s clearly so fucking smart, Shane thinks as he listens. Ilya’s calm and collected as he recites facts, brings in anecdotes to make the information understandable even for Shane who knows very little about macroeconomics but the basics. He only trips over one or two technical words, but corrects himself before Shane can, and before Shane knows it Ilya’s concluding his points and Shane wants to pull away and clap but remembers himself just in time.
“That was great, Ilya,” he reassures him, and Ilya cracks a little smile. Shane offers a couple of notes - a point Ilya had made he thinks might be better suited to backing up another argument, and Ilya looks thoughtful and agrees to look later and maybe move it - but otherwise things are as good as far as Shane understands anyway.
The corner of Ilya’s mouth turns up as far as he’s allowed to in a smile up at him, and he thanks Shane again for listening.
The itch starts, then, when Shane has nothing else to focus on. He presses his lips together, grateful his face isn’t the focus of this pose.
“Itchy?” Ilya asks him knowingly, and Shane huffs as minutely as he can. “Where?”
“Right between the shoulderblades.”
“Ah, always a bad spot,” Ilya looks sympathetic. “We can call for break?”
“No, it’s not that bad,” Shane denies, though it immediately gets worse as if to disagree. “Five more minutes,” he says stubbornly.
“Mm, okay,” Ilya’s shoulder tenses slightly under Shane’s fingers, as if he wants to shrug, and Shane realises that his thumb is moving back and forth again.
“You do not have to stop,” Ilya offers softly, as Shane consciously stills the digit. “Does not bother me. The students would say if annoying.”
“... Thanks,” Shane whispers, and relaxes the tension in his fingers again.
They’re offered a break anyway a couple of minutes later and Shane sits up, one hand immediately twisting around to find the spot between his shoulderblades that’s driving him nuts. He sighs as he can’t reach it from below, lifts his arm to approach from the top when one of Ilya’s hands moves from his hip and unerringly finds the spot, scratching at it with one blunt nail.
Shane’s seen dogs twitch their back legs when someone hits a bad spot and he feels just like that at this moment, presses back into Ilya’s hand and almost groans at the relief of it.
“Good?” Ilya asks him lowly, amusement flashing across his face. A bolt of heat and embarrassment flash through Shane as he nods.
“Do you need to get up, boys?” Jen asks them as she comes by.
They both decline, and she nods, gives them a two minute warning.
“You okay there?” Shane asks, as Ilya shifts ever so slightly underneath him, pushes a hand through his curls before it settles back on Shane’s hip.
“Mm,” Ilya nods, cracks his neck. “I do not mind the sitting poses,” he adds with a grin. “Much less tiring, especially like this.”
“Yeah, I can understand that,” Shane agrees with a laugh.
The final thirty minutes passes quickly; Shane feels like he’s getting into the habit now, of being able to sink into the more clinical and removed vibe of the room. It helps that the requirement to stay still, to prevent himself from moving is harder than he’d thought it would be.
He’s not a fidgeter by nature, he doesn’t think, and he’s used to meditation and yoga and things. He’s never done it nude, or with someone plastered up against him, but he thinks the previous practice is coming in helpful here as he focuses on his breathing and the expansion and contraction of his lungs.
Jen finally ends class for the day. Shane gets up, his knees creaking unhappily as he takes the weight off his calves, and he almost stumbles. Ilya’s hand catches his elbow as if to steady him and Shane thanks him as Ilya lets go again and Jen passes them their robes.
He follows Ilya out of the studio and building again after dressing. Ilya doesn’t light a cigarette this time, but starts to turn with a lazy wave as they reach the bottom of the steps.
“Good luck with your presentation,” Shane calls after him, and gets a wink and another wave as Ilya glances back, offering a low “goodnight, Shane,” before he starts walking again, long legs eating up the pavement.
One More Week Later
Shane’s exhausted the evening of the third life drawing class. His ribs ache - they’d had a friendly game against Université de Montréal which hadn’t been so friendly, and Shane had taken more than one slam into the boards - and he hopes the students won’t mind the bruising up his ribs colouring the skin a dark purple.
“You look like shit,” Ilya greets him, walking into the closet as Shane’s pulling his t-shirt over his head.
“Thanks,” Shane returns grumpily.
“You played well, though,” Ilya adds, stripping off his own clothes with the chaotic grace Shane tries not to stare at. “Congratulations on your win.”
“You watched?”
Ilya shrugs, one shoulder shifting attractively under skin as he tugs off his socks. “Sveta - my friend - likes to visit the, ah, what does she call it? Ah, boy aquarium.”
“The what?”
“Boy aquarium,” Ilya repeats slowly, looking smugly satisfied at Shane's confusion.
Shane doesn’t think he’s ever heard a hockey rink be called that before, but Ilya starts laughing at the expression on Shane’s face and it’s contagious enough that Shane joins in.
He thanks Ilya as he hands over one of the robes, slides off his underwear underneath as usual.
“You see the new stage?” Ilya asks.
“Yeah,” Shane agrees reluctantly. It had been hard to miss, a huge padded mat on the floor covered in blankets. “I guess we’ll be lying down today?”
“Is easiest type of posing, at least,” Ilya offers, “let you rest those ribs.”
Shane won’t deny that that actually does sound kinda nice.
The next two hours pass quicker than the last two classes. He and Ilya are directed to lie on the mats on the floor; top-to-toe to start with, then in the foetal position back-to-back, and then turned over, curving themselves to look like a pair of parentheses, faces and toes close but hips further apart.
A quick break, and the medium-length pose has Shane lying on his side, one bent arm propping up his head, as Ilya lies behind him, chin on Shane’s chest and arm around Shane’s waist as Shane’s other arm loops around his shoulders. This feels a little more strenuous than the others, his abs flexing as he keeps his balance and stops himself from slumping back into the inviting warmth of Ilya’s chest.
With Ilya’s chin on his chest they can’t talk much either, so Shane lets his brain drift off again into dissecting Tuesday’s game, working out a plan on how he can do better next time and shore up weaknesses.
The final pose is a little more intimate again, as Ilya’s directed to lie on his back, Shane tucked under one arm to rest his head against Ilya’s shoulder, one of his legs looped over Ilya’s thigh to fall between his legs. His hand splays across Ilya’s chest and he can hear the regular thump of his heartbeat under his ear, and it’s weirdly comfortable even with the weight of eyes on them.
He finds his eyes closing, the quiet beat of Ilya's pulse almost drowning out the intermittent scratch of the students working, and trusts Ilya to let him know if he needs to do something or when it’s time for a break.
He’s roused from sleep an indeterminable time later with a gentle shake of his shoulder, a low, intimate voice whispering “Shane” in his ear.
He hums, half-awake, turns his face away from the lights above him and into the soft chest he’s got as a pillow, pressing a soft kiss to skin almost on instinct, and feels the body beneath him tense.
“Shit, sorry,” he wrenches himself up, almost ripping Ilya’s arms from around his shoulders, panic flooding his veins.
“Is okay,” Ilya’s voice is like he’s soothing a spooked horse and Shane can’t help but look back at him, the hand half-reached out as if to soothe Shane.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Shane apologises. He realises the room is empty - he must have slept through everyone leaving?
“Is okay,” Ilya repeats gently. “You looked like you needed it. I did not mind.”
“I- thanks,” Shane scrambles up to his feet, thanks Jen as she comes over with a robe and says sorry to her as well to get another dismissal of his apology.
He dresses in silence, the flood of adrenaline from his waking buzzing in his extremities.
“See you next week,” Ilya offers softly as they make their way out the building again in silence.
“Yeah. Sorry again.”
“Do not apologise to me for that, Shane,” Ilya replies, voice a little harder than it has been so far. “You did not do anything wrong. No need for apologies.”
Shane nods mutely, hazel eyes boring into his with more fire than he’d seen so far, only released when Ilya turns and heads back to his home.
—————
One (more) Week Later
Shane’s not entirely sure how he feels as he walks up the stairs to the art studio for his last Life Drawing session.
Mostly relieved, he thinks, that this will be the last time he’ll have to pose around in his birthday suit for an odd couple of hours.
But the whole experience hadn’t been half as bad as he’d initially thought it might be, although a little awkward at times he’s never felt overly uncomfortable or out-of-place.
“Hi Shane,” Jen greets him. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard from Ilya, but he’s unable to make it tonight.”
Shane firmly tamps down the disappointment that floods his gut. “I’d not heard, no. Is he okay?”
“I think so,” she nods. “He mentioned a friend had had to go to the hospital so he’s gone with them for support.”
Shane nods back, unsure what else he can say to that, but Jen moves on, confirms he’s happy to pose alone and explains that as it’s his last session, she’s asked the students if there are any poses they’d like to revisit. It’ll be a little different, since he’s on his own this time now, but she’s got a couple that might work.
Posing alone is almost… lonely. Shane hadn’t realised how used he’d gotten to having Ilya next to him, having some part of Ilya touching him at almost all times. The two hours seem to drag on forever, but he accepts the little round of applause the students offer him at the end with a blush and thanks Jen as he leaves the classroom for the last time.
He tries not to think about Ilya as he heads home. He’s never seen the other student around campus, though it’s not really all that big, and there’s something hollow in his chest at the idea that he might never see him again. He pushes it down, tries to chalk it up to something in the intimacy of spending six hours naked together, and tells him the emotions will fade and he’ll forget all about it, soon enough.
Two Weeks Later
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thanks & Art Show InfoHi Shane, Ilya,
I wanted to email to thank you again so much for being willing to pose as a duo for our classes earlier this semester. I’ve had some feedback from the students that they really appreciated the opportunity to see and try to depict how bodies interact and play off one-another.
It’s with this that I wanted to let you know and invite you to our end-of-semester Art Show. Two of the artworks from the Life Drawing sessions you modelled for have been selected for display by the committee.
We’re kicking it off this Friday with an invite-only evening, drinks and nibbles to be provided if you’d like to come along. I’ll put your names down just in case, but if you’d like to bring a plus-one please let me know and I'm happy to add them to the list as well.
Otherwise, the exhibit will be up for two weeks, so if you’d like to stop by and take a look at another time please do.
Details are attached, but if you’re free and interested please do come along.
Also, payment should be with you very shortly, but please let me know if you don't have anything within the next 2 weeks.
Best,
Jen.
Shane’s got late afternoon hockey practice on Friday, but post-shower he waves off his teammates who are going out for a beer afterwards, shoves his sweaty gear in his backpack and heads in the opposite direction towards the arts building.
Despite what he’d told himself he’d not forgotten at all about the life drawing class, has had more than one erotic dream but despite seeing flashes of blond curls almost daily as he walks around campus he’s not run into Ilya again.
He doubts he even will tonight, doesn’t know why he’s really going other than sheer curiosity and forcibly-squashed hope.
Where previously he’d accessed the art studio through the side doors, the invite had directed him to the main entrance for tonight. He gives his name to the staff member at the entrance who ticks him off the list and gestures towards a long table with drinks on it just inside the lobby doors.
The lobby-come-gallery is big enough that even though there are several people here already it doesn’t feel close to crowded, and Shane picks up a glass of the prosecco for something to hold as he takes a step towards the painting closest to him.
He doesn’t recognise anyone as he walks around the edge of the room slowly, taking his time in looking at each of the artworks hanging on the walls. Although he’s not much of an arty person, and doesn’t understand some of the more abstract works, some of them draw him in more than he’d expected.
He finds the first artwork of him and Ilya about midway through the room - though anyone who hadn’t been there wouldn’t know it was them. It’s four different charcoal sketches pinned together in a grid. The top left shows their hands, fingers interlocking; the top right the curl of Ilya’s fingers against Shane’s waist, shadowed dips where they press into skin. The bottom left is the curve of Shane’s head atop Ilya’s chest from above, faces hidden but Ilya’s curls visible, and the bottom right is a zoomed-in view of one of Shane and Ilya’s feet, Shane assumes from their last pose lying down together as the sole of his foot is facing Ilya’s inner ankle, toes grazing his heel.
For all that they’re each just small, zoomed-in places where they’d touched there’s a clear intimacy in each picture and Shane feels his heart clench a little in his chest. He has to turn away as heat prickles at the back of his eyes, stares blindly at a picture of… what even is that? He can’t work it out as he looks at the slashes of paint in an abstract pattern on the next canvas over - but at least the confusion is distracting enough that the threat of tears subsides.
He carries on after a minute, says hello to Jen as she comes over to greet him and thank him for coming. He wants to ask about Ilya, whether she’s seen him or knows if he’s coming, but is too awkward to actually do it, and so when she leaves him again he carries around the room, planning on leaving as soon as he’s seen the second artwork.
He freezes as he reaches it though, stares up at the canvas. Painted in watercolours, it’s from the last session and shows Shane asleep on Ilya’s chest, from their heads to their waists.
Painted-Shane looks so calm, so relaxed - something real Shane rarely thinks he is, but it feels true to how he'd felt safe and comfortable enough to sleep on what was still a practical stranger.
It’s Ilya’s expression, though, that takes Shane’s breath like he’s been checked into the boards and then high-sticked in the face. Ilya’s eyes are focused on Shane’s face, towards the bridge of his nose, fondness and warmth clear through the art. It’s an expression of longing, almost yearning, and Shane doesn’t know if this is real or just the artist’s imagination.
“Is good, no?” The voice Shane had been longing to hear sounds softly in his right ear and he closes his eyes, lets Ilya’s presence seep into his bones, tension unknotting from his shoulders.
“Very good,” he agrees, turning his head to watch as Ilya comes to stand next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. “I- how’s your friend? The one in hospital?”
“Better,” Ilya exhales quietly. “Thank you. I am sorry I missed the last session.”
“No,” Shane shakes his head, turns his head to look back at the painting again before he can’t look away from Ilya. “Your friends and their health are more important, of course they are.”
Ilya hums quietly and they stand there in silence for a long minute, the inch separating the line of their arms feeling as wide as the Grand Canyon, but Shane doesn’t know whether he can or should close the gap.
“Congratulations on your win this week,” Ilya eventually murmurs, and Shane thanks him quietly. Someone stumbles into him from the side and he ends up pressed shoulder-to-wrist against Ilya.
“Sorry,” he says, but the word dies on his tongue as Ilya’s fingers gently wrap around his wrist.
“What have I said about apologising for doing nothing wrong?” Ilya asks, and Shane swallows as he meets intent hazel eyes.
“Sorry,” he apologises, purposefully this time, and to his delight a grin cracks across Ilya’s face and his fingers squeeze Shane’s wrist gently.
They turn and stare at the painting for another long moment as if in silent agreement.
“I did not think I was being so obvious,” Ilya eventually says, a little slowly, a little carefully, and Shane’s pulse starts racing under Ilya’s fingertips.
“I think-,” Shane hesitates, but he’s not going to be a fucking coward, not now, “I think if I’d been awake, I’d’ve had a similar expression.”
Ilya inhales softly, sharply, and his fingers loosen around Shane’s wrist to slide down and slide through Shane’s instead until they’re holding hands.
“Do you want to get out of here and get dinner?” Ilya asks quietly.
“I’d love that,” Shane agrees, and follows Ilya without hesitation as he turns and starts leading the way to the exit.
“It feels weird to be around you in clothes,” Ilya says with a grin as they’re outside and away from potential eavesdroppers, “Maybe we need to fix that, after?”
Shane can’t help but laugh at the brazen wink, and squeezes Ilya’s hand.
“I think we can probably make that happen,” he agrees.
He lets Ilya lead him across campus and take him for dinner and back to his (thankfully single) dorm room, and as he drifts off to sleep in Ilya’s arms silently thanks Hayden for being a good boyfriend to Jackie and leading Shane to this.