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The bass thumps heavy through Shane’s chest, the floor feels like it’s vibrating under his feet and he tries to relax into it but the music isn’t what he’d usually choose to listen to. The dancefloor is crowded, people dancing hip-to-hip as he follows Hayden, J.J. and a few of Hayden’s friends cutting through the throng, which parts briefly to let them through before closing again behind them and blocking off a quick exit.
He’s only got to stay here for maybe an hour or so, he reminds himself, just enough to show enough support for his best friend’s birthday and then he can sneak away and go home to bed.
He squeezes into a gap at the bar and orders their drinks, pays for the round of shots and hands them out. The group ‘cheers’ for what must be the fifth time that night; they’d gone out for dinner beforehand, and after a couple of beers J.J. had suggested this club around the corner to continue the evening. Hayden had lit up instantly, agreed it sounded like a great idea. He’d been given the entire night off and tomorrow morning from parenting so he could celebrate his birthday, because Jackie is a saint, and he's decided he wants to have one night of dancing while he can.
So Shane’s followed his friends to the club; it’s not that he hates clubbing or dancing, but he’s never been a huge fan of how loud it is, how he can’t have a conversation with anyone, and how it’s often just a bit of a meat market. It’s become both better and worse by turns since he’s accepted his sexuality and come out as gay; he knows now that he’s always found it extra awkward because despite his want to he’s just never been attracted to women, and worse because he’s still not that good at flirting with men, especially handsome ones.
They find a little edge on the corner of the dance floor and Shane follows his friends’ leads as they move with the beat, though J.J.’s clearly eyeing up a stunning brunette two groups over, as are a couple of Hayden’s other friends who’re observing the dancefloor for women they might want to approach. This is the bit that Shane dislikes the most, the way priorities clearly shift and it’s almost every man for himself.
Sure enough, ten minutes later half the group have disappeared, replaced by a small group of women who’ve slid into the spaces left by the men and are flirting heavily with the rest of the group.
Hayden’s excused himself to the bar and Shane attempts to follow but a hand grasps his forearm, hot pink nails tapered into sharp tips digging into his skin.
“Hey!” the woman is stunning by any measure, dark brunette tresses in ruler-straight lines down to her collarbones, bare down to the curve of generous cleavage lifted and shown off to its best advantage as she leans in close; her lips are close enough to his ear she doesn’t need to shout over the music. “Where’re you going, handsome?”
“I was just going to get a drink,” he half-lies, and she turns and grins at him.
“I’d love one,” she says and Shane doesn’t know if she’s purposefully misunderstood him or if the bass has drowned him out. He sighs, he doesn’t know how to say no, really, without coming across as a major asshole, so he turns and heads for the bar and just sort of hopes she’ll get lost in the throng somewhere between.
Unfortunately, her fingers catch in the back of his shirt as she follows him through the crowd until they’re at the bar. Shane feels the panic rise - he can’t see Hayden in the crowd and J.J. is somewhere on the other side of the club and doesn’t know how to escape. The queue is currently a couple of people deep, so Shane can’t get away either as the woman leans in close.
“I’m Alice,” she speaks directly into his ear, the sensation causing goosebumps to ripple down his arms. “What’s your name?”
“Shane,” Shane replies.
“What brings you out tonight, Shane?” Her eyes bat almost flirtatiously and he feels the panic rise, usual fetters on the anxiety diminished by the alcohol he's consumed. How the fuck does he get out of this?
“I’m here with my boyfriend,” he blurts, like a fucking idiot, and Alice blinks at him, her eyebrows slowly creeping up her forehead.
“Oh! I didn’t see you dancing with him?” she asks, and fuck why doesn’t she believe him?
“Um,” he takes a step back, bumps into someone and as he turns his head to apologise the words die on his lips. Hazel eyes catch his from the face of the most stunning man he’s ever seen, dark gold short curls matted with sweat, thick lips and a sharp jaw highlighted by the dim lighting. Gold glints around his neck, a cross hanging down from the chain clearly visible through the gap of his silky shirt.
Shane doesn’t think he’s anywhere near properly drunk but maybe he’s had a little too much as his hindbrain takes over, the flicker of heat in the other man’s gaze igniting his own as he leans in, the man’s head tilting so Shane’s lips have easier access to his ear.
“Please don’t punch me,” he murmurs as quietly as he can to still be heard, and the man turns his head, a question in his eyes and Shane presses his mouth to his.
A single half-frozen heartbeat and-
Oh.
Shane’s never been kissed like this before. The stranger just takes over, one hand lifting to cradle Shane’s jaw, tilting him to a slightly better angle, a deft tongue pressing for entry. Shane lets him in, sinks into it, a hand reaching up to clasp at the back of his head, fingers pressing into silky-soft curls, holding him close as their tongues meet, as blood rushes south so quick Shane almost goes dizzy.
A millisecond, a day, a year later Shane doesn't know, but they part slowly; Shane can’t even remember closing his eyes but he gets a soft, quick peck as he sways after the stranger automatically, chasing the sensation of his mouth.
Hazel eyes bore into his and Shane feels his heart thrumming in his chest, but they glance back and one expressive eyebrow arches as Shane follows his gaze.
Oh. Alice.
Shit.
“I’m so sorry!” she says before he can say anything. “I didn’t-”
“Is okay,” a warm, accented drawl is loud in Shane’s ear as a muscular arm wraps around his shoulders and interrupts. “He is very handsome, yes? But I am afraid he is mine.”
Shane finds himself relaxing into the stranger’s hold, able to smell his woodsy, masculine aftershave from here.
Alice offers them both an awkward smile before she backs away, disappears almost instantly into the crowd.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Shane looks up at the stranger, though they’re almost of a height, there’s something about him that makes him feel slightly taller than Shane. “I-”
“Is no problem,” the stranger interrupts with a grin that lights up Shane’s chest, and only then does Shane still realise they’re still pressed together, practically chest-to-chest. “I am Ilya.”
“Shane.”
“Well, Shane,” Ilya’s hand settles on his waist, “Was a very nice first meeting,” he leers at Shane and he can feel the heat flush his cheeks. “I would happily do it again, if you wanted.”
Shane wants. His eyes trace Ilya’s mouth again, still ever so slightly shiny from their kiss and he shudders in a breath. One of Ilya’s hands slide around to Shane’s lower back, spreads wide and solid and comforting and Shane lets his own slide to Ilya’s waist, soft silk of his shirt smooth under his fingertips.
“I, um- yes, please,” he nods, and gets a low groan that he can feel through their chests, more than hear it over the music, and sinks back into the kiss Ilya gives him.
This one is even better than the first, now Shane knows that Ilya wants this too, and he doesn’t even care that they’re probably blocking part of the bar as they make out.
But eventually they have to come up for air, and Shane practically whimpers as he gets a “good boy” as Ilya’s lips graze his ear. Fuck, there’s another kink he didn’t know he had.
“Well, Shane,” Ilya’s hands are firm on him, but instinctively Shane knows if he were to step away they’d fall away immediately and let him go. “Can I buy you a drink? There are quieter booths in back, where we could… talk.”
Shane’s pretty sure they won’t talk but fuck it, he’s practically enraptured and he doesn’t want this to stop.
Ilya buys him a ginger ale at his request, appears to approve when Shane admits he wants a clear head for their ‘talking’, and his hand wraps around Shane’s as Ilya leads the way around the edge of the dance floor, and into a little section Shane hadn’t known was here. There are booths around the edge, and by sheer luck one of them is free, so he slides into the side Ilya boxes him into, and blinks with a dash of confusion as instead of following him in Ilya slides into the opposite.
The tables are narrow enough that their knees meet underneath, and they shift so their legs from knees to ankles are touching. The music seems dimmer back here, so they can talk without having to shout loudy, and Shane’s a little surprised and telling himself he’s not disappointed as they do actually talk.
Ilya tells him he’s here for a friend, who wanted someone to dance with but quickly gave him up when she’d found a pretty woman. Shane tells him about coming out for Hayden’s birthday, but that most of the guys had filtered off to find women and Alice had pretty much cornered him.
Ilya tells him he’s single, bisexual, and loves Shane’s freckles. Shane flushes but admits he’s also single, gay, and doesn’t normally make out with strangers in clubs but is very glad he’s done so tonight. Ilya laughs at that, bright and cheerful over the music.
His eyes darken again as he watches Shane sip at his drink, knees gently squeezing Shane’s under the table.
They sip at their drinks as they continue to make conversation, and Shane learns Ilya’s funny, in a sarcastic, snarky kind of way. He’s so beautiful, as well, in the dim club lighting, the way he lights up when a song he likes comes on and his shoulders shimmy to the beat even as he still seems content to just sit with Shane and continue to chat.
Eventually their glasses are long since empty and Ilya’s fingers are wrapped around Shane’s, thumb rubbing maddeningly across the soft skin of his inner wrist.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Shane asks, and Ilya barely hesitates before he’s nodding and leading the way out of the club, fingers interlinked with Shane’s again.
They pause when they hit the street, and Ilya turns to Shane, one eyebrow raised in question and Shane squeezes his hand gently.
“We don’t have to,” he says and Ilya shakes his head.
“Is not that. I want to take you apart,” he promises, and Shane feels his stomach flip. “I just… do not only want to take you apart.”
Shane blinks, heart soaring with his stomach. “Then… you can, um, takemeapart,” he almost stumbles over the words with his want, knows his cheeks are bright pink, “and we can go for coffee, or dinner, tomorrow?”
“Or both?” Ilya’s eyes are wide and pleading, and Shane huffs a laugh, leans in to kiss him gently, sinks into it again for a long minute before forcing himself to pull back.
“Both is good.”