even anxious pups need the moon

Shane touches the side of his own face, his eyebrows drawing together because he never…there’s really thirty-two on his face? Ilya seems to read that question loud and clear, his hand moving to drag his thumb down the bridge of Shane’s nose, 

“They are here too.” 

Shane should not feel so light-headed when Ilya leans in and kisses his cheek. Something soft and gentle and far too loving that it makes his chest want to crack wide open in the middle of the kitchen. 

He clears his throat, “Dinner is done.” 

Ilya hums, “YA sobirayus' dokopat'sya do suti etogo dela.” 

Shane blinks, unsure of what Ilya’s said, but he knows him well enough to gather that it’s a promise. 

—

It takes Shane one (1) time for him to realize what Ilya is doing. 

They’re in the shower, slowly waking up together. Shane shifts to let Ilya slide under the showerhead, a soft yawn leaving his lips. He rubs his hands over his face and tries to mentally put his day together. He can feel Ilya step closer, pressing kisses along the back of his shoulders and neck and then—

“Fifty.” 

Shane stills, turning his head to look at him over his shoulder, “Are you—what are you doing?” 

Ilya runs both his hands through his curls, getting them out of his face, “I think you know.” 

“Oh my god,” Shane reaches for the shampoo bottle only for Ilya to snatch it out of his hands. His boyfriend pours some into his palms and lathers it between his fingers before he begins to wash Shane’s hair. “There are probably more important things to keep track of.” 

“No,” Ilya disagrees, one of his arms wrapping around Shane’s waist and tugging him back against him. A smile pulls at the corners of Shane’s lips. “Not for me.” 

Shane rolls his eyes but it doesn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat, either. 

—

It continues like this over the course of two days. Shane thinks he’ll eventually get annoyed with Ilya actively looking for patches of freckles all over his body. 

But of course, he doesn’t. 

—

“Ow.” 

Ilya hums lightly, crouching in front of Shane as he sits on a large stone in the middle of the woods, “Who said hikes were good idea?” 

Shane gives him a look, “They are when you’re watching where you’re going,” He winces, “Case in point.” 

They’d been taking a walk (not a hike, a walk) through the woods in the back of his parent’s place while they waited for dinner to be made. It's a beautiful day, the sun high in the sky, lots of fluffy clouds, and a breeze. Shane’s always enjoyed being outdoors and he knows that’s not Ilya’s favorite, exactly, but doing things like this every so often isn’t going to hurt anything. Or well, unless your sneaker slides against gravel because you’re too busy looking at your boyfriend. 

“You were checking me out,” Ilya grins, "Distraction makes sense.” 

“Shut up.” 

Ilya spills some water from the bottle he was carrying to clean the bit of road rash Shane has along his knee. It’s not too bad. When he gets back to his parent’s place he can get a band-aid and call it a day. His stomach does a ridiculous swoop when Ilya leans closer and presses a kiss right above the cut, 

“Fifty-three.” 

A huff of a laugh leaves Shane’s lips and he tilts his head back, “Right. That would be your concern right now.” 

Ilya grins, another kiss, “Malysh.” Baby; a heated zing travels right down Shane’s spine. “Do you want me to carry you back?” 

Shane playfully pushes on Ilya’s shoulder, “Fuck off, Rozanov.” 

Ilya considers him for just a moment before he’s moving; a practiced speed. He scoops Shane up into his arms bridal style, regardless of the ridiculous squawk noise that leaves Shane’s throat, walking back down the path to Yuna and David’s home. 

—

It’s one of those days where Shane feels exhausted. Between practice and obligations and expectations of tomorrow sitting heavily on his shoulders, he’s feeling worn down and slightly overstimulated. He tugs his shirt off his head, not wanting the fabric against his body. He tosses it towards the hamper in the closet and runs a hand over his face. He can hear patterned movement on the carpet approaching him, Ilya’s hand reaching out and gliding down his arm. 

“Is okay if I touch you?” He asks, squeezing his fingers. 

It takes a moment before, “Yeah,” Shane manages to reply, “Even though I feel like crawling out of my skin.” 

Ilya gently pulls him closer, brushing his lips over his cheek, “You are tired,” He says softly, “Come here.” 

There’s a depth of warmth inside his body that Ilya always seems to reach and understand without trying too hard. He knows that Shane’s overworked and drained and knows what he needs without Shane having to voice it. 

Ilya tugs him towards the bed and pulls the sheets back. He props pillows along the headboard and turns to look at Shane, encouraging his sweatpants down and off. Shane plays with the hem of his briefs before he takes those off too. He waits, eventually allowing Ilya to manipulate his body on top of his own after he lays down in bed. Shane sinks into his boyfriend, his face tucked into his neck, his legs slipping between Ilya’s. Ilya, who has taken off all of his layers too, lets Shane get comfortable. 

That skin to skin contact unlocks something in Shane, he can feel himself relax, muscle by muscle, bone by bone. He lets out a long sigh, no longer clenching his teeth, no longer trembling. Ilya guides his hand up and down Shane’s back, his nose and lips pressing a kiss to his head. 

“That’s it,” Ilya soothes, “Dyshat'.” 

Shane’s getting a little better at Russian but he still doesn’t know enough. Luckily, he doesn’t need that word translated, because Ilya takes deep breaths into his lungs, holds, and lets it out. He wants him to breathe. Shane closes his eyes, memorizes the pattern of Ilya breathing and copies until he completely unwinds. 

Ilya’s hand strokes his hair, shifting his body a bit. He can’t see him smile, but Shane can hear it in his voice as he says, “Sixty.” 

A laugh flutters from his chest, “Ilya.” 

“Shane,” Ilya parrots back, his thumb tracing a circle underneath his ear, “Right here.” 

He keens into the touch, isn’t shy about it, allowing Ilya’s touch to ground him. He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the solid beat of Ilya’s heart, “How many do you think I have?” 

Ilya is quiet for a moment, then, “One hundred.” An amused noise rumbles in Shane’s chest at the very specific number, “I think I am right.” 

And Shane knows he’ll figure it out, too. 

—

Shane’s arms come up to cover his eyes for a moment, his chest heaving with shallow pants as he lays on his back. Ilya lies between his spread legs, arching one of Shane’s to rest over his shoulder. He peppers kisses along his inner thigh, getting close to his hard cock but never close enough. 

“Fuck,” Shane pants, “Stop teasing.” 

Ilya smirks, nipping at a spot near his knee, “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.” 

“I hate you.” 

Ilya shifts to press a kiss underneath his belly button, mouth then brushing the head of Shane’s cock. Then the fucker licks his lips, “Mouth says one thing but dick says another.” 

Shane swallows a whine when Ilya slips down his body again, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thighs, sucking hickies—and then he suddenly stops. 

“I swear to god, Rozanov, if you don’t put your mouth where it’s more useful—” 

“Sixty-five.” 

Shane’s mind goes utterly blank, “What?” 

“Actually,” Ilya pauses, brushing his thumb over, seemingly, a cluster of freckles on his inner thigh near the swell of his ass, “Sixty-six.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Shane pants, “I feel like you’re just making it up at this point.” 

Ilya nips at the spot with his teeth, “I would never.” 

All other thoughts melt right out of Shane’s ears when Ilya finally, finally, wraps his lips around his cock. 

—

Ilya finds three more, in random places along Shane’s back, while he has him face down on the mattress. 

—

While Shane drives them to the grocery store, Ilya holds onto one of his hands. He turns their palms over, smiling as he presses a kiss to Shane’s forearm. And finds two more freckles. 

—

They’re drying off in the sun after swimming in the lake and Shane hands Ilya a bottle of sunscreen. 

“Put this on.” 

Ilya purses his lips, “You first.” 

Shane rolls his eyes, a small smile pulling the corners of his mouth. Ilya thinks this will make him forget that he also needs sunscreen, but it won’t. Ilya squirts a small amount into his hands, lifting Shane’s arm to get his sides—

And presses a kiss to his ribs. 

“Stop,” Shane lets out a breathy laugh. 

“I forgot you are ticklish, but needed to be done.” 

Shane hums lightly, “How many?” 

Ilya grins, rubbing sunscreen into his skin, “Three.” 

—

“How did I miss this one?” 

Shane turns his gaze away from the book he’s reading, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion as he looks down at Ilya (who has been tucked against his chest for twenty minutes). Shane’s shirt has ridden up a little to expose a strip of his skin near his belly button and—

“This is getting ridiculous.” 

Ilya pouts, “What’s ridiculous is that I somehow did not see this one.” 

Shane squirms when Ilya presses a kiss directly next to his belly button, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “How many is that?” 

Ilya hums, getting himself comfortable again against Shane’s abdomen, nose burrowing slightly in his shirt. “Seventy-four.” 

Shane smiles, a soft scoff leaving his lips as he trails his fingers through Ilya’s curls. 

—

Ilya lets out a soft groan, as if he’s not exactly where he wants to be, when Shane plops himself down on top of him on the patio couch. It’s late, the stars winking in the sky, the fire pit at Yuna and David’s crackling as he and Shane wait for dessert to come out of the oven. Shane is wine tipsy, his cheeks flushed, his eyes a little unfocused, warm and top-heavy and his. 

He wraps his arms around Shane’s waist, keeping him close, gliding a hand up and down his back before settling at the scruff of his neck. He squeezes, rubbing his thumb back and forth. 

Shane lets out a sleepy noise that makes Ilya want to bite him, but he refrains. At least for now when there are glass doors that show Yuna and David in the kitchen. 

“Dessert is probably cookies,” Shane says softly, “But I want ice cream.” 

“I will get you ice cream.” Ilya replies instantly. He would figure out a way to get the moon if Shane wanted it. 

Shane smiles against the skin of his neck, “Yeah?” 

Ilya nods, brushing a kiss to his temple. “Whatever you want, moya lyubov'.” 

There’s another hum that reminds Ilya of a cat purring as Shane settles against his chest, head tucked along his shoulder. Ilya strokes through his hair again and smiles as he pauses, fingering the top of Shane’s ear. 

A freckle. 

He feels like he’s done a pretty thorough job looking for these, as well as anyone can anyways. Shane must sense his hyperfocus because he clears his throat, “How many?” 

“Total? Seventy-five.” He lets out a long sigh from his nose, as if in defeat. He thought one hundred was a good guess but, “The only time I do not mind being wrong.” 

Shane smiles, pressing a lazy kiss to Ilya’s chest, his hand playing with the sleeve of his shirt. He tips his head down, brushing his nose along a mole on his bicep, “How many moles do you have?” 

Ilya grins, “Maybe you should count.”