Archive of Our Own

“Oh god” he panted, face crushed into the pillow, hands white knuckled in the sheets as Ilya pounded into him from behind.

“Is good Hollander?” Ilya asked between harsh breaths, hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. Shane could barely think, let alone string together a coherent sentence. All he managed was a breathless, broken chorus of, “Good. So good. Don’t stop.”

It was good, more than good. Unbearable, really. He felt as though he’d stumbled across the answers to the universe somewhere between the luxury sheets and Ilya’s sweat-slicked body. For the first time, he understood why the world seemed to revolve around sex, around the carnal meeting of two bodies. If this was the kind of sex people had been having all these years, Shane was almost disappointed it had taken him so long to finally experience it.

See, until tonight, Shane had been a virgin. It hadn’t been a conscious decision to wait or anything. Life had simply slipped past him. One year blurred into the next, opportunities came and went, and somehow he’d never crossed that particular line. Eventually, it became less of a choice and more of an awkward fact about himself, one that grew harder to admit the older he got.

He’d downloaded Grindr more times than he could count, only to delete it again days later. The messages always came quickly, blunt propositions, explicit invitations, strangers asking to meet that same night. They piled up in his inbox unanswered until the anxiety became too much and he’d delete the app, promising himself he’d try again another time.

Shane never understood how he was supposed to broach the topic of his inexperience. How did you admit, in the middle of arranging a hookup, that you had absolutely no idea what you were doing? Every person messaging him seemed to assume a level of confidence and experience he simply didn’t have. He knew the mechanics of it obviously, he wasn’t completely innocent and God knows he’d watched enough porn over the years to know the how, what and why’s of it all.

The issue was, unfortunately for Shane, that knowing things wasn’t the same as doing things. What if he made weird noises? What if he came embarrassingly quick and the other guy laughed at him? What if his come face was really weird? Every possible scenario played out in his head until the anxiety outweighed the curiosity.

He regretted not experimenting in his youth when everyone was just as inexperienced as each other. It’s not that he hadn’t wanted to try but he spent much of his early years so deep in the closet that he’d practically convinced himself that he didn’t want sex. He taught himself not to notice the bodies of the boys around him in the school changing rooms, not to fantasise about kissing soft lips framed by the rough beginnings of stubble. He pushed it all down until he was sure he’d switched it off altogether.

High school gave way to college, where everyone seemed to be having sex with alarming frequency. By then, he already felt hopelessly behind. The older he got, the more intimidating the gap became, until catching up felt impossible. So he threw himself into his studies, leaving no room for anything else. Or anyone else.

University turned into a full time job, sitting behind a desk just four cubicles away from his dad’s. His father had pulled a few strings to get him a graduate position as an accountant for the Bank of Canada, and Shane had been grateful for the opportunity but it wasn’t exactly the ideal place to find love. Most of his coworkers were pushing fifty and even if they weren’t, he wasn’t going to try setting anything up, not with his dad close enough to wave at him over the partition.

The years slipped by almost without him noticing. His days disappeared into spreadsheets and deadlines, while his evenings were spent alone in his apartment, the blue glow of his laptop illuminating rooms that always felt a little too quiet.

That was how Shane had ended up drunk on his best friend’s couch, lamenting his love life or, more accurately, the complete absence of one.

“Yeah, but what would I even put on my profile?” he’d groaned, staring miserably into his beer. Rose had been trying to convince him to sign up to multiple dating sites all evening “ ‘Shane. Gay. Thirty years old, and still a virgin. Nice to meet you?’”

Rose burst out laughing, wine sloshing over the rim of her glass as she doubled over. “Well,” she managed between giggles, adjusting her feet where they rested in Shane’s lap, “no, I don’t think that’s the way to go.”

Shane let out a long, defeated sigh and tipped his head back against the sofa. “Ugh. I hate this.”

Rose suddenly went very still, lips twitching as she fought back another laugh. “Wait.” She pointed at him with her wine glass. “Please tell me you don’t say that kind of things on dates.”

“What?” Shane’s head snapped towards her. “No!”

“Oh, thank God.” She pressed a hand to her chest in mock relief. “Because I was just about to say I think we’ve solved the mystery of your nonexistent dating life.”

Shane rolled his eyes and nudged her foot with his hand.“What do you take me for? I’m not a complete weirdo.”

“Well…” Rose said, a grin spreading across her face.

Shane narrowed his eyes. “You asshole.” She only smiled wider so he grabbed the nearest cushion and hurled it at her. Rose shrieked, throwing her arm over her face, wine glass held high above her in the other, as it bounced harmlessly off her before landing on the floor with a soft thump.

“I was joking!” she laughed, snatching the cushion from where it had fallen and hugging it to her chest.

“Sure.”

“I was!” she insisted. “Shane, I’ve told you a million times, you’re a catch. You’re hot as hell, smart and you’re secretly the funniest guy I know.” She shrugged. “If you were straight, they’d have to pry me off you.”

“Rose!” Shane barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know. But I’m also right.”

“Well, you might be the only person who thinks so”

She rolled her eyes fondly and let out an exaggerated sigh, sitting up and resting her chin in her hand. “Do you know what I think you need?”

“What?” Shane asked, taking a long gulp of his beer. He was still far too sober for one of Rose’s matchmaking schemes.

“I think you need a friends with benefits situation—” Shane opened his mouth to interrupt.“Let me finish before you butt in.”

He huffed. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” she replied, dripping with sarcasm. “You need someone you actually feel comfortable with. Someone who’ll take things at your pace, guide you through it all without judging you, and, most importantly…” She paused for dramatic effect. “…someone with a good dick who actually knows how to use it.”

“Rose!” Shane groaned, heat flooding his face.

“What?” she said with an innocent shrug. “You don’t want your first time to be with some guy who’s painfully average and has no idea what he’s doing. I don’t want you being scared away before you’ve gotten to experience how good it can be”

“That’s all well and good,” Shane said, “except I don’t know anyone who fits the bill. I barely know any gay people, like, at all.”

“Hm, that’s what you get for working at the straightest job in Canada” Rose laughed, a sly smile creeping across her face. “But…”

Shane eyed her cautiously, immediately on edge “What?”

“I just may have another option.”

“Please don’t start suggesting another blind date,” he pleaded, bolting upright to give her a warning stare. “When has one of your setups ever worked?”

“Hey!” she protested. “Michael was gorgeous. How was I supposed to know he was already married…” She paused. “…to a woman…” Another pause. “…with five kids.”

Shane stared at her. “Rose,” he said flatly, “he asked if we could hook up between the school run and football practice!” She winced. “I told you then I was never letting you set me up with anyone ever again.”

“Oh, come on,” Rose said, waving a dismissive hand. “One tiny mistake and suddenly I’ve lost all my matchmaking privileges?”

“One?” Shane let out a sharp laugh. “You set me up with a closeted accountant, a guy who got pissed because my treadmill PB was better than his, and a married father of five.”

Rose grimaced. “Okay, okay.” she admitted, “I’ll admit they were pretty bad.”

Shane simply raised his eyebrows, holding his hands out in a silent you think?

“But this time it’s different.”

“Oh?” He rolled his eyes “Why is that?”

“It wouldn’t even be me setting you up. It’d be a friend of a friend.” She reached across to place her wine glass on the coffee table.

With a weary sigh, Shane let his head fall back against the sofa before turning to look at her. He’d learnt a long time ago that arguing with Rose once she slipped into matchmaking mode was completely pointless. It was far easier to let her ramble, give a suitably non-committal response, and wait for her to sober up and forget the whole conversation by morning.

“So…” she began carefully. “My friend Svet came over the other day and we may have had a few too many to drink and well, I kind of told her about your situation…”

“Of course you did”

“Anyway,” she continued, ignoring his irritated look. “I mentioned that you haven’t exactly had the best luck in your love life, and she said her best friend is single but he’s only looking for something casual. Apparently he definitely knows what he’s doing…” She waggled her eyebrows. “…and, according to her, you’re exactly his type.”

Shane stared at her. “So let me get this straight. I’m supposed to message some random guy and say, ‘Hi, I’m a virgin. Your best friend says you’re good in bed. Fancy helping me out?’”

Rose winced. “Well… not exactly, no.”

Shane frowned. “What does that mean?”

Rose slowly lifted the cushion, clutching it like a shield. “I may… possibly… have sent Svet a few pictures of you.”

Shane’s eyes narrowed.

“And she may have shown them to her friend.”

“Rose.”

“And she may have explained your situation to him.”

“Rose!” His voice grew more tense with each new bit of information she dropped.

“And he may have already agreed he’d be very happy to hook up with you.” She yanked the cushion over her face. “Please don’t be mad.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his burning face. “Please stop telling everyone that I’m a virgin without at least speaking to me first”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.” She reached across, gently catching his wrist and pulling his hand away before cradling it between both of hers. “I can text Svet and call the whole thing off, but if it’s any consolation, the guy’s pretty eager to meet you.”

“He said that?” Shane’s eyes darted to hers.

“Yeah, he did.” She smirked. “He also told her that you have beautiful freckles.”

The blush intensified with a vengeance. Shane dropped his gaze to the bottle in front of him, picking absentmindedly at the peeling label as he tried very hard not to look at Rose. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this. It wasn’t that he was desperate for sex, not really. He’d gotten used to going without over the years. What he was desperate for was proof. Proof that there wasn’t something fundamentally wrong with him. That he could have sex without freezing up or making everything awkward. That he wasn’t broken.

He let out a slow breath. “So… If I do this, what is the plan?”

Rose squealed, bouncing in her seat, as she snatched her phone opening her chat with her friend. “Oh my God, okay. So, he said you could go over on Friday evening. Have a drink together, get to know each other a bit, see if you click.” She gave an easy shrug. “And if there’s nothing there, then no big deal. You go home.”

“Just a drink?” Shane asked warily.

“Well…” She tilted her head. “It can be more, if you both want it to be but if you don’t, then yeah. It’s just a drink.”

Shane hoped that he would want it. Hoped he could finally remove the weight of his lack of sex off his shoulders.

He had turned up that very next Friday with little more information than a name and an address. He awkwardly adjusted his grip on the bottle of wine he’d bought on the way over, his sweaty palms slipping against the cool glass. He didn’t even drink wine, buying it mostly because his mother had drilled into him that you never turned up to someone’s house empty handed. He’d spent a good ten minutes wondering whether that rule still applied when you were turning up to lose your virginity before grabbing the first bottle that looked vaguely respectable, if only to give his anxious hands something to do.

He checked his watch one last time. 18:50. His body thrummed with nervous energy, his mind so consumed by everything the evening might become that he barely noticed how quickly he’d walked. By the time he reached the apartment building, he was fifteen minutes early. He spent five minutes pacing outside, repeatedly debating whether to turn around and go home. Eventually, before he could talk himself out of it entirely, he pushed through the front doors and made his way to apartment 1221. He drew a slow breath and knocked.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Shane wasn’t a vain guy at all, but in those brief seconds between his knock and the door swinging open, it suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what this guy looked like. He hadn’t even thought to ask Rose for a photo. Oh God, what if he didn’t find him attractive and—

The door swung open, and the thought died instantly.

The man standing in the doorway was tugging a T-shirt down over his still shower damp chest. Shane’s gaze caught on toned, golden skin before drifting lower, following the enticing trail of dark hair down, down, down until it disappeared beneath the fabric just as the shirt settled into place.

Shane caught himself staring and hurriedly dragged his gaze back to a far more respectable position. Damp curls framed a face that looked almost unfairly handsome, all pouty lips with a beautifully defined Cupid’s bow and shockingly blue eyes. A knowing smirk tugged at the man’s lips as their eyes finally met. Heat flooded Shane’s cheeks. Oh God. He’d been caught. The man simply leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, completely at ease, while Shane stood rooted to the spot, momentarily robbed of the ability to form a coherent thought.

“You are early.” His voice warm and deep.

“I, uh…” Shane cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m Shane. Shane Hollander.” He awkwardly shifted the bottle of wine into his other hand before holding out his free one for a handshake.

The man’s smile widened as he took it. “Ilya,” he replied. “Do you want to come in, Shane Hollander?”

Oh my God. Why had he used his surname? It sounded so formal. Like they were meeting in a conference room instead of about to have sex.

Shane nodded before stepping over the threshold, as he brushed past Ilya, close enough to catch the subtle scent of his cologne, Shane’s pulse fluttered all over again.

His attention drifted to the open plan living space beyond. The apartment was modern, all clean lines, polished surfaces and understated luxury. Across the room, an entire wall of glass overlooked the city below, thousands of lights glittering against the dark winter sky.

“Wow. You have a really nice apartment. Do you own it, or do you rent?”

Ilya wandered over to where Shane stood by the window. “You work in property?” he asked, one eyebrow arching.

“Uh, no. Sorry.” Shane gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m just… kind of interested in it? I’m hoping to buy a couple of properties to rent out one day, if my finances work out.”

Ilya smiled, slipping his hands into the pockets of his track pants. “Ah, Mr Landlord.” he teased. Shane laughed. “I own this apartment,” Ilya said with a casual shrug. “Is mine.”

“Wow.” Shane turned to face him properly. “So, what do you do for work?”

Ilya paused. “I work in sport.”

“Oh cool. Like sports journalism or something?”

“Something like that, yes” he said, his gaze dropped to the bottle of wine Shane was still clutching in both hands. “Do you want me to take that from you?” he asked, nodding towards it.

“Oh! Yeah.” Shane hurriedly passed it over, feeling faintly ridiculous for still carrying it around.

“Do you want a glass?” Ilya asked as he headed towards the kitchen.

Shane hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Sure. Thanks.”

Ilya headed into the kitchen area. Shane’s eyes were glued to where Ilya’s hands were wrapped around the bottle. They were large, prominent veins tracing across the backs of them before disappearing up his forearms. He watched him go for perhaps a second longer than was acceptable before forcing himself to look elsewhere.

The apartment was immaculate. Not in the cold, show home sort of way, but lived in. A charcoal grey couch faced the floor to ceiling windows, a thick cream throw draped carelessly over one arm. Shelves lined one wall, broken up by framed photographs, a handful of books and what looked like a miniature hockey stick signed in silver marker.

Shane wandered a little closer, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets now that they were empty. The kitchen was every bit as sleek as the rest of the apartment, dark cabinets, pale stone worktops and a large island separating it from the living area.

Ilya had already uncorked the wine and was pouring it into two glasses. He reached out to accept the glass from Ilya’s outstretched hand and took a careful sip, nose wrinkling at the taste.

Ilya watched him, eyes full jovial as he took in Shane’s look of disgust. “You not like? I have other drinks?”

“No, no. It’s okay” he reassured. He’d bought the stupid wine, now he’d drink it whether he liked it or not.

“I should probably admit something,” Shane said.“I don’t actually drink wine.”

Ilya paused, glass halfway to his mouth “You bring me wine…” A smile tugged at his face. “…and you do not drink wine?”

Shane rubbed the back of his neck, groaning at himself. “My mum always said you should never turn up to someone’s house empty handed.”

A soft chuckle escaped Ilya as he finally took a sip of the wine and swallowed. Shane couldn’t help but notice the bob of his throat, neck long and thick “Your mother sounds like smart woman.”

“She is.” Shane smiled sheepishly. “I just panicked in the store. I stood there staring at the shelves for about ten minutes pretending I knew what I was looking for.”

“So you liked the look of this one?”

“…Mostly because the label looked expensive.”

Ilya laughed properly then, the sound low and warm, and for the first time since arriving, Shane felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.

“You are funny Shane Hollander” he said with a smile.

“Uh, thanks?” Shane rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “You can just call me Shane, by the way.”

Ilya wandered over to the sofa before sitting down, patting the cushion beside him. “Oh, but I like calling you Hollander.” He looked up with an amused smile, blue eyes sparkling. “Is how you introduced yourself, yes?”

A groan escaped Shane before he could stop it. “Oh my God, I don’t know why I did that.” He buried his face in one hand for a second before letting it fall away again. “I’m sorry. I’m just… really nervous.”

He sat down with an almost comical amount of space between them, as though the extra few inches might somehow stop his brain from short circuiting every time he looked at Ilya.

“So, what about you?” Ilya asked, turning a little more towards him. “What do you do for work?”

Shane took another determined sip of his wine. “I’m an accountant. I work for the Bank of Canada.”

“Ah.” Ilya smiled. “So you are Mr Businessman, not Mr Landlord.”

Shane laughed, rolling his eyes. “I guess so.”

“Must be very boring, no? Crushing numbers all day.”

Shane smiled softly. “Crunching numbers?” he corrected with a small smile. “I mean… I guess most people would find it boring, but I like it. It’s predictable, and I like how methodical it is.”

Ilya gave an apologetic smile. “Yes, crunching. Sorry, my English is not always good.”

“Your English is great.” Shane shook his head. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.”

Their eyes met for a moment before Shane asked, “Where are you from, anyway? Somewhere in Europe?”

“Yes, I am from Russia. Grew up in Moscow.”

“Oh that’s cool.” He nodded “Traded one cold place for another” he laughed.

”Is how you say” he smirked at Shane. “Predictable.”

Shane nodded. Predictability was nice. One of the reasons he’d been so anxious about tonight was that he never knew what to expect, and when he didn’t know what to expect, his brain had a habit of filling in the blanks with the worst possible outcomes. So far, though, the evening had been unpredictable in all the right ways. He’d braced himself for painfully awkward small talk, forced flirting, and the constant, unspoken question hanging between them of how long they were supposed to pretend this was just a friendly drink. Instead, they’d ended up talking about work, the weather, and their home lives. The conversation flowed with surprising ease, each topic slipping naturally into the next until Shane realised he hadn’t checked the time once since walking through the door. It was… nice. Comfortable.

Maybe Rose had actually gotten one right.

The idea made him smile into his wine glass. Ilya noticed immediately.

“What?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting.

Shane looked up. “Nothing.”

“No.” Ilya shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “That was smile. Tell me.”

Shane hesitated before giving in with a quiet laugh. “I was just thinking that you’re… not at all what I expected.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Is that good thing or bad thing?”

“Definitely good,” Shane admitted. “I think I expected this to feel a lot more…” He searched for the word. “…transactional.”

Something softened in Ilya’s expression. He shifted closer, closing the space between them. Gently, he took the barely touched glass of wine from Shane’s hands and set it on the coffee table beside his own before leaning back, draping an arm along the back of the sofa behind him.

“I’m glad you do not feel like transaction. I do not see it like that” he said, Shane smiled in return.

Now that the worst of his nerves had begun to ebb away, Shane found himself studying Ilya a little more openly. There was an effortless ease about him that filled the room without demanding attention. He wasn’t trying to impress him or steer the evening in any particular direction. If anything, he seemed perfectly content just sitting there and talking.

Deciding it was better to get the most awkward conversation of the evening over with, Shane cleared his throat. “I’m guessing your friend told you, uh… my problem?” The word felt ridiculous the moment it left his mouth. He winced and dropped his gaze, fixing instead on the gold chain resting against Ilya’s collarbone. It was suddenly much easier to look at than the man’s eyes.

“Your problem?” Ilya repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah.” Shane gave a nervous laugh. “That I’ve never…” He trailed off, making a vague gesture with one hand. “You know… had sex before.”

Realisation softened Ilya’s expression. “Ah.” He nodded. “Yes, Sveta told me.” He gave a small shrug. “Is no problem.”

“I don’t know.” Shane let out a self-conscious laugh. “It feels like a pretty big problem to me.”

Ilya studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “No.” His voice was gentle but certain. “Is just sex. Does not matter who or when. As long as is consensual and fun, is no problem.”

Shane nodded. Logically, he knew Ilya was right. There was nothing wrong with waiting, and certainly nothing wrong with choosing never to have sex at all but logic had never been the problem. Years of shame still sat heavy on his shoulders, whispering that he was somehow behind, somehow lacking. Every birthday had seemed to widen the gap between him and everyone else until his inexperience stopped feeling like a simple fact and started feeling like a personal failing. It made him feel small, embarrassed for wanting something that seemed to come so effortlessly to everyone else, as though the universe had quietly decided it simply wasn’t meant for him.

He let out a quiet breath, staring down at his lap. Neither of them spoke for a few moments. The city lights shimmered beyond the windows, the apartment falling into a comfortable silence as they sat in the warm lamplight.

When Shane finally looked up, he found Ilya already watching him. He reached up, gently turning Shane’s face towards him, his hand cradling his jaw. His thumb swept slowly back and forth across Shane’s cheek. They were only inches apart now, close enough that Shane struggled to focus on anything except the soft curve of Ilya’s lips.

“You still want?” Ilya asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shane’s heart hammered against his ribs. The question caught him completely off guard. He’d spent the entire evening worrying about what Ilya expected from him, rehearsing answers to questions that had never come. But this wasn’t an expectation. It wasn’t pressure. It was permission to change his mind. Shane searched Ilya’s face for any trace of impatience, any hint that there was a right answer. There wasn’t. Just calm blue eyes watching him, waiting. The knot in his chest loosened. He let out a slow, shaky breath, unable to tear his gaze away.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

Ilya leaned in, slowly closing the distance between them. His hand remained cupped around Shane’s jaw, the touch gentle but reassuring as their lips finally met.

The kiss was slow at first, lingering as though neither of them wanted to rush the moment. Their breaths mingled between soft, unhurried kisses until Ilya lightly brushed his tongue against Shane’s lower lip in a silent question. Shane answered without hesitation, parting his lips as the kiss deepened. All Shane could do was follow Ilya’s lead, matching his rhythm as the last of his nerves gradually melted away. He lifted a hand to the back of Ilya’s head, threading his fingers through the still damp curls. When he gave the gentlest tug, a quiet, pleased rumble escaped Ilya, vibrating against Shane’s lips. Whatever part of himself had still been holding back dissolved at the sound. Shane kissed him with newfound confidence, meeting him with equal urgency. His lips parted instinctively as he sought out Ilya’s. With a gentle tug, he drew Ilya closer until his torso covered Shane’s. He followed without resistance, his weight settling over Shane as they sank further into the soft cushions beneath them, neither of them in any hurry to break the kiss.

Shane let out a soft whimper as Ilya’s weight settled against him. Their kiss lingered for another moment before Ilya’s lips drifted from his mouth, trailing slowly along his jaw and down the side of his neck. He paused, pressing a final gentle kiss beneath Shane’s ear before drawing back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Everything okay?”

Shane’s eyes fluttered shut as Ilya rested his forehead lightly against his. His pulse still raced, but it no longer felt like panic. It felt like standing on the edge of something he’d spent years convincing himself he would never reach. A quiet laugh escaped him.

“What?” Ilya murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t know.” Shane opened his eyes again, returning the smile with one of his own. “I think my brain’s forgotten how to function.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from Ilya’s chest. “Good,” he murmured, brushing another lingering kiss against Shane’s neck. “Means you are having fun then, yes?”

“Mhmm,” Shane mumbled in agreement, the sound barely more than a breath. His thoughts scattered as Ilya’s mouth worked slowly over his collarbone, tugging the neckline of his T-shirt aside to expose more skin.

“Can I take this off?” Ilya asked, his hands skimming back and forth beneath the hem of Shane’s shirt.

Shane nodded eagerly. “Yeah… okay.” A shy smile flickered across his face. “You too, please.”

A grin tugged at Ilya’s lips as he climbed off the couch. Reaching behind his head, he grabbed onto the collar of his tight blue t-shirt, pulling it from his body in one smooth motion before letting it fall carelessly to the floor. He dropped down to his knees in front of Shane, gently guiding him where he wanted him until he was seated between his legs.

Shane’s breath hitched. Ilya was unfairly beautiful. His chest was all lean, sculpted muscle, every contour accentuated by the warm glow of the apartment lights. Shane’s eyes lingered over the broad expanse of his shoulders before drifting lower, catching once again on the trail of dark hair that trailed down his lower stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.

This time, he couldn’t stop himself from letting his eyes trail down further. His gaze followed it lower and lower until it settled on the unmistakable bulge straining against the soft grey fabric. Heat flooded his face. His mouth suddenly felt dry, he swallowed hard, trying, and completely failing, to drag his eyes away.

“Shane… your shirt?” Ilya prompted, amusement dancing in his eyes. Shane followed his gaze, only to find Ilya already looking back at him, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth after clearly catching the way Shane had been staring.

Heat rushed to Shane’s face. He pushed himself upright and quickly pulled his shirt over his head. Rather than tossing it onto the floor, he folded it neatly in his hands before placing it beside him on the couch. It gave his suddenly clumsy fingers something to focus on and, more importantly, spared him from having to watch Ilya’s reaction as he took in his body.

It hardly seemed fair. Ilya looked as though he’d been carved from stone, every hard line and defined muscle standing out, all hard lines and prominent edges. Shane kept himself in good shape. He made it to the gym at least three times a week, squeezing in extra sessions whenever work allowed, but standing next to Ilya made all of that feel insignificant. Where Ilya was all sharp definition and sculpted muscle, Shane was softer. His stomach wasn’t perfectly chiselled, his arms lacked the same imposing size, and suddenly every perceived flaw he’d never given much thought to before seemed impossible to ignore.

Ilya’s hand rose to Shane’s chin, gently guiding his gaze back to his. “Shane,” he asked softly, a crease forming between his brows. “What is wrong?”

Shane’s first instinct was to look away again, but Ilya’s thumb brushed slowly across his jaw, anchoring him. “I… uh…” He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Shane.” Ilya’s voice remained patient. “Is okay if you do not want.”

Shane shook his head more firmly. “No. No, I do want to.” He let out a frustrated breath. “It’s just…” His eyes dropped to Ilya’s bare chest before flicking down the rest of him. He made a vague gesture towards Ilya’s chest and face. “You look like… that.” A humourless laugh escaped him as he pointed at himself. “And then there’s… this.”

For a moment, Ilya stared at him, his expression settling into a deep frown. “You think I do not like what I see?”

Shane gave an uncertain shrug. Without another word, Ilya reached for Shane’s wrist and gently drew his hand towards him, guiding it until it rested over the front of his sweatpants. His larger hand closed around Shane’s, holding it there as he pressed it more firmly against him.

“Does this feel like I do not like what I see?” he asked quietly. He rolled his hips forward just enough to make his meaning unmistakable, never taking his eyes off Shane’s. “I like what I see,” he said, his voice low and certain. “Very much.”

Shane’s breath caught. Ilya loosened his grip just enough for Shane to pull away if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Instead, he remained exactly where he was, cheeks burning as Ilya’s words settled somewhere deep inside him.

“I invited you here because I wanted to get to know you,” Ilya continued. “Not because I was doing you a favour.”

His thumb stroked slowly across the back of Shane’s hand. “I have been trying very hard not to say this all evening.” A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “I did not want to scare you away.” His gaze drifted over Shane’s body with open admiration before returning to his eyes. “But…” he murmured, “you are gorgeous, Shane.” He smiled softly. “So, so pretty.”

Before Shane could think of a reply, Ilya bent his head, his lips finding the hollow beneath Shane’s collarbone. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss there before trailing another across the opposite side. Warm kisses gave way to gentle nips and slow, deliberate licks that left Shane’s skin tingling in their wake. A shaky gasp escaped Shane. His hands found their way into Ilya’s curls almost instinctively, fingers threading through the soft strands, tightening each time Ilya laved more kisses across his body. A quiet rumble vibrated against his chest in response, encouraging him to keep going.

Ilya continued mapping slow, wet kisses across Shane’s chest, pausing every so often to suck gently at the sensitive skin before soothing it with the broad sweep of his tongue. Each touch was unhurried, almost reverent, as though he wanted Shane to understand that none of this was obligation or pity.

“You are beautiful,” Ilya murmured against his skin before pressing another lingering kiss to his lower stomach. Shane’s breath caught again, his fingers tightening in Ilya’s hair again as another helpless sound escaped him.

Ilya’s hands moved to the button of his jeans. “Can I?” He asked as he looked up at him.

Shane let out a shaky breath before nodding. He didn’t trust his voice enough to answer.

His breathing quickened as Ilya eased his trousers and underwear down his legs. For a split second, the familiar voice of self consciousness threatened to creep back in, but Shane forced it away. Ilya had already told him he liked what he saw. He had to believe him.

“Okay?” Ilya asked, searching his face.

“Yeah.” Shane nodded quickly. “I’m good. I’m okay.”

Satisfied, Ilya’s attention drifted lower. His hand wrapped around Shane’s cock, giving it a slow, exploratory stroke before he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the tip. His tongue flicked gently across the slit.

Shane’s entire body jerked. An embarrassingly loud groan escaped him before he could swallow it back.

Ilya’s eyes immediately flicked up to meet his, a smug smile spreading across his face at the reaction. Without breaking eye contact, he spat into his palm before wrapping his hand around Shane again, using the slickness to glide effortlessly along his length.

Shane’s fingers curled into the couch cushions beneath him, the fabric creaking under the strain.

Slowly, Ilya parted his lips and took the head of Shane’s cock into his mouth. His tongue circled lazily around it before lingering underneath, teasing the sensitive underside with deliberate strokes that made Shane’s hips twitch involuntarily. Only then did Ilya sink lower, taking him deeper inch by inch, never rushing, his eyes never leaving Shane’s face for long.

Shane was losing his mind.

Nothing in thirty years of fantasising had prepared him for how good it would feel. The warm, wet suction around him was overwhelming, sending pleasure crashing through him in relentless waves. He couldn’t drag his eyes away, completely mesmerised by the sight of himself disappearing between Ilya’s lips.

Heat flooded his body. Sweat gathered at his temples as every muscle tensed with the effort of holding himself together.

Not yet.

He couldn’t let his first sexual experience end after only a couple of minutes. He needed to last longer than this.

“Fuck…” Shane groaned, his voice strained.

Ilya looked up at him through lowered lashes before pulling back just enough to seal his lips around the head, sucking gently.

“Ilya…” Shane panted, his chest heaving. “I… I can’t…” He swallowed hard, another helpless sound escaping him. “I’m not gonna last.”

Ilya eased off him with a slow, wet pop, his lips glistening as he caught his breath. His hand continued stroking Shane in long, unhurried movements.

“It’s okay, Shane,” Ilya murmured, his own voice rough. “We have lots of time. You come now, and we go again later, yes?”

“But—”

The protest dissolved into a helpless whimper as Ilya’s thumb swept lightly over the head of his cock, drawing another involuntary shudder from Shane.

“Shane.” Ilya stilled his hand completely, giving Shane a chance to catch his breath.

“Hm?” Shane managed, chest still rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

“How long does it usually take you to get hard again?”

Shane blinked, the question taking a moment to cut through the haze clouding his thoughts. His mind felt wonderfully empty, every coherent thought slipping just out of reach.

“I…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” He let out another shaky breath. “Maybe… thirty minutes?”

A smile tugged at Ilya’s lips as his hand began moving again, stroking him with slow, practiced confidence.

“Thirty minutes is nothing,” he murmured. “So you come now…” His eyes lifted to meet Shane’s. “…and later I fuck you, yes?”

The words alone sent a jolt straight through Shane. His hips bucked instinctively into Ilya’s hand, a broken groan spilling from his lips.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Yeah…”

Ilya’s smile widened. Without another word, he lowered his mouth over Shane again, immediately setting a quicker rhythm. One hand slid up to catch Shane’s wrists, gently guiding them into his hair, wanting Shane to grab hold. He shot Shane a quick wink before taking him deeper into his mouth in one smooth motion, sinking down until he hit the back of his throat.

Shane’s fingers buried themselves deeper in Ilya’s hair, tightening instinctively as another wave of pleasure crashed through him.

“Ilya,” he groaned, voice trembling. “Ilya… I’m gonna—”

The warning broke apart into a loud, helpless moan. His entire body went rigid before folding forward over Ilya, hips jerking involuntarily as his orgasm tore through him. His grip tightened in Ilya’s hair far harder than he’d meant to, the overwhelming sensation robbing him of any control as he spilled deep into Ilya’s throat.

A low, pleased moan vibrated around him, the sound sending another involuntary shudder through Shane. Ilya never pulled away, swallowing steadily until there was nothing left before finally easing back with a lewd pop.

Shane collapsed against the couch, chest heaving as he struggled to drag air back into his lungs. His whole body felt boneless, every muscle humming in the aftermath. He stared down at Ilya through half lidded eyes, still trying to process what had just happened, while Ilya looked back up at him with the faintest, thoroughly satisfied smile.

“Oh my God,” Shane panted, still struggling to catch his breath. He scrubbed a hand over his flushed face before letting out an embarrassed laugh. “That was… embarrassingly fast. I’m sorry.”

Ilya clicked his tongue in obvious disapproval before giving Shane’s stomach a light, playful smack.

“No sorry,” he scolded, shaking his head. “I am just very good at sucking cock.” He punctuated the statement with a shameless smirk that made Shane laugh despite himself before leaning in to capture his lips in another slow, wet kiss.

Shane groaned softly as he tasted himself on Ilya’s tongue, instinctively deepening the kiss, chasing the taste of Ilya beneath it. Their mouths moved lazily together until they finally broke apart with a quiet, wet smack.

Shane rested his forehead briefly against Ilya’s, still smiling.

“Well…” he said between breaths, “I don’t exactly have anything to compare you to…” His grin widened. “…but I think it’s safe to say you’re pretty good at it.”

Ilya barked out a laugh, and within seconds they were both laughing together, the last of Shane’s lingering embarrassment melting away.

“Hm.” Ilya’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Is only my second best skill.”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? So what’s your first?”

Rather than answering, Ilya climbed smoothly to his feet and held out a hand. “Why don’t you come to my bedroom,” he said with a knowing smile, “and find out?”

That was how Shane found himself trying desperately to hold off his second orgasm of the night. Ilya hadn’t been exaggerating in the slightest when he’d claimed this was his number one skill. Shane was already trembling on the edge, his body threatening to give in from Ilya’s fingers alone.

He’d taken his time opening him up, working with endless patience, never pushing Shane beyond what he was ready for. Every stretch had been slow, every pause deliberate, giving Shane time to breathe and relax before continuing.

And when Ilya had finally pressed inside him, he’d been just as patient. Slow. Steady. Gentle. He’d given Shane all the time he needed to adjust, never rushing him for a second. The initial burn of the stretch had gradually dissolved into something warm and overwhelming, leaving Shane clinging to him, unable to comprehend how anything could possibly feel this good.

“Oh God, Shane,” Ilya panted against his shoulder, his forehead resting between Shane’s shoulder blades as he continued to pump into him. “You feel so good. So tight.”

“Ilya… please,” Shane groaned, his voice breaking. “I’m gonna come soon.” He swallowed hard. “Want you to come in me. Please.”

Somewhere beneath the haze of pleasure, Shane knew there was a condom between them. He knew Ilya couldn’t actually fill him the way his words implied but the fantasy alone was enough to send heat racing through both of them.

“Fuck…” Ilya groaned, his breathing ragged against Shane’s skin. “Touch yourself, Shane. Want you to come before I fill you up.” His hips drove forward with another deep thrust. “You want that, hm? Want me to fill your hungry hole?”

A broken moan tore from Shane’s throat, he reached back, grabbing onto Ilya’s thigh. Pulling him in deeper, harder. “Yes… God, yes.”

His trembling hand slipped beneath him to wrap around himself, stroking in quick, desperate pulls while he pushed back against Ilya’s rhythm. Every thrust brushed against him just right, drawing another helpless cry from his lips as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside him.

“I-I’m coming,” he gasped. “Fuck…” His body tensed all at once before collapsing into the sheets beneath him, the orgasm ripping through him hard enough to leave his legs shaking.

Shane could faintly hear the slapping of Ilya’s skin against his own, feeling far away as if his ears were full of cotton wool. Ilya managed a handful of thrusts before burying himself as deep as he could. He held himself there, rocking in short, desperate motions as a long, strained groan escaped him, his own release shooting into the condom, deep inside Shane.

Shane stayed exactly where he’d landed, his cheek pressed into the pillow, every muscle pleasantly heavy. His breathing came in slow, uneven pulls as the pounding of his heartbeat gradually faded from his ears. Behind him, Ilya remained close, one hand smoothing up and down Shane’s back, the occasional kiss landing somewhere across his shoulders. He rested his forehead against the back of Shane’s shoulder, the two of them saying nothing while they caught their breath.

“Was good?” Ilya asked quietly.

Shane let out a contented hum, his face still buried in the pillow. His eyes drifted shut. “Mm. So good.”

A small smile touched Ilya’s lips. “Good.” He brushed a hand gently over Shane’s thigh. “I’m going to pull out now, okay?”

Shane managed something that vaguely resembled a nod before a quiet groan escaped him, his brows drawing together at the uncomfortable sensation.

“Sorry,” Ilya murmured immediately, his hand continuing its slow, reassuring circles over Shane’s thigh until the discomfort eased.

A moment later, Shane heard the distant sound of the bathroom tap running. Left alone, he stretched gingerly, every muscle pleasantly heavy and wonderfully exhausted. A smile spread across his face before he could stop it. He’d actually done it. After years of worrying, overthinking and convincing himself something would go catastrophically wrong, he’d finally slept with someone and he hadn’t even panicked. That was almost entirely because of Ilya. Somehow, he’d seemed to know exactly when Shane needed reassurance, when he needed another question, another pause, another quiet touch. Every time his anxiety had threatened to creep back in and convince him to bolt, Ilya had grounded him without making him feel foolish for needing it.

The bathroom door opened a minute later. Ilya wandered back into the bedroom carrying a warm washcloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of Shane still sprawled across the bed, barely moving. A grin spread across his face. “Did I break you?”

Shane answered with a sleepy hum before finally rolling onto his back, carefully shifting away from the damp patch on the sheets. He accepted the cloth with a grateful smile and began wiping himself down. Ilya set the glass of water on the bedside table within easy reach. “Thanks.” Shane scrubbed at his skin before wrinkling his nose. “Can I use your shower?”

Ilya climbed onto the clean side of the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. “Of course.” He nodded towards the bathroom. “Clean towels are in cupboard. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Shane eased himself to his feet, suppressing a wince as tired muscles protested the movement. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he found the lingering stickiness on his skin impossible to ignore. With an awkward shuffle, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Ilya watching after him with an affectionate smile still lingering on his face.

The hot water beat against Shane’s shoulders as he stood beneath the spray, his eyes drifting shut beneath the steady stream. He’d had a really good time. Better than good. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed before. His mind, normally so full of questions and worst case scenarios, had fallen completely silent for a while. There had been nothing except Ilya, warm hands, quiet reassurance and a level of pleasure Shane hadn’t known was possible.

Rose had been right. He’d needed this.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d come twice in such a short space of time, or maybe it was simply the relief of discovering he’d built years of fear around something that had turned out to be… wonderful. Either way, he felt lighter than he had in years.

He smiled to himself as he rinsed the soap from his hair. He really owed Ilya. Flowers, maybe? No. That was definitely too much.

Ilya had more than held up his end of the bargain. He’d been patient, funny and endlessly reassuring, giving Shane exactly the experience he’d been too frightened to believe he could have.

The thought made the smile slowly fade. That had been the bargain. Shane frowned as he reached for his towel. This was probably one time thing for Ilya. Maybe he’d been happy to help, but that didn’t mean he wanted Shane hanging around afterwards. For all Shane knew, Ilya was lying on the bed right now wishing he’d hurry up so he could finally have his apartment back.

God, he should probably leave. It suddenly seemed obvious. Ilya had fulfilled his side of the arrangement, and Shane was still here, lingering as though he’d been invited to stay. The last thing he wanted was to make the evening awkward by overstaying his welcome. He’d thank him properly, get dressed, and get out of his hair before Ilya had to ask.

He took a steadying breath. Just say thank you. Don’t make it weird.

When he stepped back into the bedroom, Ilya looked up from where he was sitting against the headboard, his expression brightening immediately. “There you are,” he said with an easy smile. “Feel better?”

“Yeah.” Shane returned the smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Much better.” He crossed to the chair where Ilya had collected and folded his clothes into a neat pile. Shane couldn’t help wondering if it had been done to speed things along, to make it easier for him to gather his things and head home. He dressed quickly, checking his phone, wallet and keys were all there before slipping them into his pockets.

The movement didn’t escape Ilya. “What are you doing?”

Shane looked up. “Oh. Just getting my things.”

The smile faded from Ilya’s face, replaced by a faint crease between his brows. “You are leaving?”

“Well…” Shane gave a small, awkward laugh. “Yeah.” A brief silence settled between them. “I just…” Shane rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Something flickered across Ilya’s face. “Ah.” The warmth in his smile faded almost imperceptibly. “Okay.” He gave a small nod. “Is fine.”

He climbed from the bed and stepped out of the bedroom door, looking over his shoulder.“I show you out.”

Shane’s stomach tightened. So he was right, Ilya did want him gone. He was glad he’d picked up on the cue before he embarrassed himself any further. The sudden awkwardness hanging between them made him want to disappear. Of course Ilya wanted his evening back. He’d done everything he’d promised, and Shane had somehow managed to overstay his welcome anyway. “Okay… thanks.”

Neither of them spoke as they walked through the apartment. The comfortable ease that had filled the place only minutes earlier had vanished, replaced by an awkward silence that seemed to stretch with every step. At the front door, Ilya pulled it open and Shane stepped into the corridor before turning back.

“Uh… thanks for tonight.” He smiled nervously, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, attempting to straighten out the creases. “I had a really good time.”

“I am glad.” Another pause. Shane shifted from one foot to the other.

“I guess…” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “I’ll see you around?”

Ilya let out a slow breath through his nose before forcing a small smile. “Yes, Hollander.” It was the first time all evening the nickname hadn’t sounded teasing. “See you around.”

The door clicked softly shut.

Sveta:

Ilya, why is Rose texting me saying you couldn’t get Shane out the door fast enough? I thought you said it went well?

Ilya:

What? I thought it *did* go well. We talked for ages, he laughed, everything was good.

Then after shower he got dressed very quickly and said he did not want to overstay his welcome. I told him I would show him out.

I thought maybe I scared him off.

Sveta:

Wait, what?

Rose’s version is that Shane thought *you* wanted him gone.

Ilya:

…What?

Sveta:

She says he came home convinced you’d got what you wanted and were just waiting for him to leave.

Ilya:

But I wanted him to stay

Sveta:

Did you tell him that?

Ilya:

I think so?

Actually, I don’t know. I thought I made it pretty obvious.

Sveta:

You’re both idiots.

Maybe you should reach back out? He must be interested if he’s so beat up over it.

Ilya:

Rude.

Okay… maybe.

Sveta:

Just know I’m rolling my eyes at you.

“Shane, you have a delivery.” Said his dad as he sidled up to his cubicle, arm resting on top as he sipped his coffee.

“Me?” Shane looked up from his computer, his brow furrowing. “Are you sure?”

“Unless you know another Shane Hollander?” His dad smiled. “Reception said it’s pretty big, so you’ll have to go down and collect it.”

“But… I didn’t order anything?”

“Couldn’t tell you.” He shrugged, fighting off a smirk. “I’m just passing on the message.”

“Right… okay.” Shane eyed him wearily. He saved the spreadsheet he’d been working on before pushing back from his desk.

The elevator ride down felt far longer than it actually was. He leaned against the wall, rubbing at the dull ache building behind his eyes as he tried to think what could possibly be waiting for him downstairs. He hadn’t ordered anything. His birthday wasn’t for months. None of his friends were the type to send elaborate gifts to his office, and he certainly couldn’t picture a group of middle aged accountants organising some elaborate prank. But why was his dad acting so strange?

The lift gave a cheerful ping as the doors slid open and Shane crossed the foyer and approached the front desk. “Hi,” he said. “My office told me there was a delivery for me?”

Karen, at least Shane thought that’s what her name was, looked up from behind the desk, and the smile that spread across her face immediately made Shane suspicious. “There certainly is.” She nodded towards the waiting area. “Just over there.”

“Wha—” Shane turned. The words died in his throat. Ilya was sitting in one of the reception chairs, one leg bouncing nervously beneath him, the largest bouquet of white lilies Shane had ever seen resting across his lap. The moment their eyes met, Ilya stood, so quickly that the bouquet nearly slipped from his hands.

Shane’s brain simply refused to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. He stepped closer to where he was stood. “Ilya?”

A nervous smile tugged at the corner of Ilya’s mouth. “Hi, Hollander.”

“What…” Shane blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

Shane frowned. “At work?”

“Yes.” Ilya gave a small, awkward shrug. “You told me you are accountant at Bank of Canada, so I came to find you. I bumped into your father, apparently. He told me to wait here.”

A laugh escaped Shane before he could stop it. “I knew he was acting weird!”

Ilya smiled before he looked down at the bouquet in his hands, holding it out towards him with an awkwardness Shane hadn’t thought him capable of. “These are for you.”

“For me?” Shane took the enormous bouquet.

Ilya nodded.

“Lilies?”

“Yes.” For the first time since Shane had met him, Ilya looked genuinely uncertain. His eyes darted away for a moment before returning to Shane’s. “They have freckles… like you.”

Shane’s breath caught. His mind immediately tried to convince him he was imagining the whole thing. Maybe he’d fallen asleep at his desk while nursing the headache that had been building all afternoon. Maybe this was some bizarre stress dream but the scent of the lilies was real. Ilya was real. Standing in the middle of the Bank of Canada lobby, with a bouquet almost big enough to hide behind because the flowers had reminded him of Shane’s freckles.

Shane could feel his heart pounding so hard against his ribs that he was half convinced everyone in reception could hear it.

Shane shifted his weight. “So…”

“So…” Ilya echoed.

They both started speaking at once.

“You first,” Ilya said immediately.

“No.” Shane laughed, shaking his head. “I interrupted.”

Ilya held his gaze for a long moment before taking a steadying breath. “I think…” He smiled sheepishly. “I think we have both been very stupid.”

Shane couldn’t help smiling. “Stupid?”

“Yes.” Ilya rubbed the back of his neck. “When you said you did not want to overstay your welcome, I thought you were trying to find polite Canadian way to leave.”

Shane blinked and then burst out laughing. “You’re serious? I only said that because I thought you wanted me out of your hair.” He looked down at the bouquet in his arms. “I thought you’d… you know…” His cheeks warmed. “…completed your side of the deal.”

Ilya’s smile faded into something gentler. “There was never a deal, Shane.” He met his eyes. “No transaction. Remember?”

Shane felt his stomach twist. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Ilya shook his head. “I am sorry.”

Shane laughed again. “How about we just agree we’re both idiots who are sorry?”

A grin spread across Ilya’s face. “Deal.”

“Good.”

They paused for a moment, taking a moment to take the other person in. “Can we start over?” Ilya asked quietly.

Shane’s answering smile was immediate. “I’d like that.” He glanced at the clock behind reception. “Actually…” His smile widened. “I’m just about to go for lunch. Would you like to join me?”

Ilya didn’t even hesitate. “I would love to.”

Harry, one of the security guards, watched the pair disappear through the revolving doors, talking quietly, their hands brushing together every few steps.

He frowned. Face growing more confused by the second. “…Karen?”

She looked up from her computer. “What?”

“Was that Ilya Rozanov? As in the hockey player?”

Karen sighed. “You know I don’t watch hockey, Harry.” She said with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh my god.” He was still staring through the glass. “I think the Bank of Canada just got a personal visit from the captain of the Ottawa Centaurs.”