dingus

Scott Hunter is right next door.

Oh god, Scott fucking Hunter is right next door. Shane can imagine Scott sitting on his bed, watching TV, maybe deciding to order some room service. Doing whatever it is he does to wind down after the All-Stars game. The walls are thin enough that Shane’s brain is tricking him into believing that he can hear Scott’s TV in the next room over.

It’s the recurring thoughts of Scott Hunter possibly hearing Ilya take Shane apart that have Shane tensing his muscles every now and again. Each time the thought slithers its way into his mind, Shane’s mouth stutters against Ilya’s and his body goes rigid. 

It went on like this for quite some time. When they were kissing and shucking their clothes off, while Shane was on his knees for Ilya, when Ilya carried him to the bed, even as Ilya took Shane down his throat in a way that made Shane see stars, or when Ilya was softly touching his hole and asking permission.

Point being, Shane could not simply forget or try to ignore the big issue that is: Scott Hunter is right next door. 

Shane thought he had been hiding his hesitation well enough, but no such luck. “Okay,” Ilya sighed, “Why are you so stiff?” Despite the fact that he couldn’t see Rozanov’s face while on his stomach like this he could fucking sense the smirk that was forming on the man’s mouth. “Well, I know why one part of you is very stiff.”

Shane scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Fuck off, Rozanov.” He adjusted his position, now shifting his weight onto his hip so he could twist his back and look at the Russian currently on top of him. “Look, I want to–to, uh, you know, do it, like go all the way,” He cringed at the way the words were coming out of his mouth. Sex! My god, just say sex like a normal person! “But I don’t wanna do it while fucking Scott Hunter is next door and might hear.”

Rozanov’s eyebrows raised a tad and he looked at the wall behind the bed as if he could see Scott through the wallpaper. “Ah, so you are worried my dick will be too good? You will scream too loud, no control?” The shit-eating grin that Shane was used to seeing on Rozanov’s face had returned. “He is hot. We should let him listen, like mating call.”

Shane smacked Rozanov’s stomach with the back of his hand in annoyance. “I don’t make that much noise during sex! And no, I don’t want him to hear us like mating call.” Shane responded, mimicking Rozanov’s previous words, accent and all. “We can try it another time, I guess. Boston will be in Montreal in a few months anyway, right?”

Ilya gave a small pout. “But Hollander,” he said, drawing the syllables of Shane’s name out like a child. “I want to fuck you now.” The Russian had started trailing kisses along the side of Shane’s neck, stopping frequently to softly bite the sensitive skin before licking the spot his teeth had just left. “It will be so good. I will make you feel so good, Hollander, I promise.”

Rozanov was playing dirty. Shane’s neck had always been sensitive (not to mention Shane was weak when it came to the blonde man), and right now was no exception. Shane’s eyelids fluttered closed with a soft Rozanov, and he unconsciously tilted his head back to give Rozanov more space to work with. “Y-you can’t just—” But Shane didn’t get very far as Rozanov pushed his shoulder, forcing him completely on his back. Kissing up his neck and over his jaw, Rozanov finally made it to Shane’s mouth, crushing their lips together. Shane’s mind went blissfully blank for a few moments, every cell in his body paying attention only to what Rozanov was giving him.

“If I can’t fuck you,” Ilya sighed playfully, “Can I at least finger you?” The way he said it so nonchalantly had Shane balking. He didn’t stutter or fumble his words. Straight to the point like always. 

Shane felt his mouth open and close like a fish, unsure of how to respond. The obvious answer—the safe answer—would be to say absolutely not. They shouldn’t risk doing anything other than a quick blowjob—like last time. The faster they were done meant the faster Shane could get out of here and avoid being caught by anyone. The issue is that the other option is also an obvious answer. Fuck yes Shane wanted Rozanov’s fingers inside of him, and that was, well, obvious. 

“Y-yes, yeah, yeah okay.” He nodded his head, his ears ringing at the thought of what was to come.

Shane could continue to claim he made smart decisions tomorrow. 

Ilya’s face, still hovering close to Shane’s, broke into a soft smile at the answer. He leaned down to kiss Shane again. A quick peck that had Shane chasing his mouth, followed by a longer kiss that had Shane bringing his hands to Rozanov’s hair. 

Breaking the kiss, Rozanov slides off the bed and makes his way over to his suitcase sprawled open on the ground. Shane props himself up on his elbows, allowing himself a moment to appreciate the cut of Ilya’s body. It was ridiculous, Ilya’s body. Like, it kind of made Shane angry. Who even looked like that? And why did it have to be his “rival”, who he was supposed to hate? Shane knew he himself was also well-built with a good figure, but something about Ilya just felt otherworldly. Words began unhelpfully flitting across his brain; divine, heavenly, celestial, deity.

While Shane was busy ogling, the other man had successfully found the lube he was looking for. Ilya knelt on the edge of the mattress and slowly shuffled over to where Shane was still propped up on his elbows. Shane had tried fingering himself only a handful of times, and each time resulted in the same disappointing outcome. This may have been for any number of reasons: unable to really reach anything, awkward angles, cramped hands/fingers, not enough lube, too much lube, getting too into his own head, etc. Hell, even if the lights were too bright it was enough to ruin the delicate mood for Shane. All of this to say that yes, Shane had tried putting a couple things inside of himself, but it might just not be for him.

He’d embarrassingly gone online after one of these failed attempts to do research. Because that’s the kind of person Shane was. He’d discovered that some men (yes, even the gay ones) didn’t find it pleasurable to have something up their ass. It had been disappointment with a mixture of relief that rushed through him upon this discovery. Relief that he wasn’t the only person that didn’t like the feeling, and disappointment because it seemed appealing. 

Plus he spent a good amount of money on a dildo that he only tried once.

Ilya rubbed his hand along one of Shane’s legs, which were still stretched out flat along the bed. “Nervous?” Ilya asked him, his eyes soft but aware. Shane’s first instinct was to tell him to ‘fuck off’, but looking closer he realized there wasn’t a hint of teasing on Rozanov’s face. He was taking this seriously.

“I guess kind of?” Shane shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. Truth was, he was incredibly nervous. But it was the same kind of nervous Shane always felt before he tried something in bed, or had sex with someone new. The healthy kind of nervousness. “I’ve tried this before, on my own, and it didn’t go very well.”

Rozanov scrunched his brows together in confusion. “Did not go well, how?” As he asked this, he reached down to grab the underside of Shane’s knees, bringing them up so his legs were bent, feet planted on the mattress. 

Shane resisted the urge to shudder at this. “It just didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel bad, I guess, but it didn’t feel like anything special.” He avoided looking at Rozanov’s eyes as he admitted this, choosing to look at his chest instead. “Maybe I wasn’t doing it right? I don’t know.” His voice trailed off in embarrassment. How do you look someone in the eye as you talk about putting things in your ass? 

Rozanov had no such shame, only pursing his lips with a shrug. “Maybe you did it wrong, maybe you could not reach, maybe whatever. Whatever reason is, I don't care.” Shane gave him a flat look. He has such a way with words. “What I do care about is how it feels when I open you up on my fingers on my time, yes?” The confidence with which he said those words made Shane’s cock twitch. He didn’t care if Shane thought he wouldn’t like being fingered, because Ilya knew the opposite was true. 

Rozanov is a cocky bastard.

Shane was just about to tell Ilya as much when his legs were spread open forcefully. An odd noise came from Shane’s throat in surprise and he clutched the sheets under his hands. Rozanov smirked, placing his body in between Shane’s strong legs as if he was always meant to be there. Shane’s cheeks flushed as his brain tossed around the idea of ownership.

Rozanov popped the cap off the lube and applied a generous amount onto his fingers. Newly slick fingers made their way down, completely ignoring Shane’s leaking cock and tight balls, and found their way to his rim. Shane hissed at the cold lube being pressed against such a sensitive part of himself. He struggled to get any words out, eventually landing on “You asshole,” Rozanov’s eyes still boring into his. “You could’ve at least warmed it up a little.” The Russian’s plush mouth morphed into a smile before quickly turning into an overexaggerated pout. Bottom lip stuck out and everything.

“Poor Hollander. So sensitive to a little cold, like baby.” His cheeks burned in embarrassment. Ilya must have been able to sense a bratty retort coming from Shane because before the Canadian could say anything Ilya slipped the tip of his middle finger inside. A sharp inhale was the only response from Shane. 

Rozanov gave him a questioning look and Shane nodded his head, giving him permission to continue. Ilya pressed his finger in further until it was all the way in. Shane’s eyes squeezed shut at the intrusion. This was fine. Everything was fine. It didn’t hurt, but it just felt…weird. It feels exactly like what it is, which is a finger in his ass. He should just tell Rozanov this isn’t going to work. Cut it off now before it gets awkward or becomes uncomfortable.

Shane opens his eyes and immediately finds Rozanov's gaze. “Feel okay? Does not hurt?” Ilya asks, genuinely wanting to know the answer. 

Shane decided to answer honestly. “It feels fine. Just a little odd, I guess, but not painful.” Rozanov nods in understanding. He starts to move his finger slowly, the other hand softly rubbing Shane’s thigh. He supposes it feels different then when he had tried this himself. The other man’s fingers were thicker and a little longer than Shane’s own. Not to mention he has a better angle.

“Can I try another one?” Ilya asks him, second finger already tracing the edges of Shane’s hole. He nods, muttering a soft yeah as verbal consent. The intrusion of the second finger is…something. It burns a little, but the pain isn’t bad enough for Shane to ask Ilya to stop his ministrations. Actually, the burn feels kind of fucking amazing. It’s not much, but the stretch is delicious, and it’s a relief to feel something with Ilya’s fingers inside of him. The slight pain makes his flagging cock twitch with renewed interest, catching Ilya’s attention.

As Rozanov begins to move both fingers inside of Shane, that’s when things start to feel different. It starts off subtly, with just a slight pang in his stomach that Shane barely recognizes as pleasure. Then it starts to build. Shane’s breathing starts to get a little heavier, uneven pants breaking through his lips. Rozanov notices this, as well. “Starting to feel something, Hollander?” He chirps, a teasing lilt to his voice. Shane doesn’t feel like answering with his usual sharp retort, instead replying with a ‘mhm’ and closing his eyes. He’s trying to focus more on the pleasure he’s feeling from Rozanov’s hand, believing that if he loses focus then the feeling might dissipate. 

Rozanov’s two fingers start punching upward, towards a new target. Logically, Shane knows he has a prostate, but he’s never been able to find it. He has searched for it desperately on those nights when he was feeling extra curious, but no such luck. Shane almost tells Rozanov not to bother, to just keep focusing on—

“Oh fuck!” Shane yelps, cut off mid thought by Ilya’s fingers finding his prostate. Shane bites the back of his hand as Rozanov continues to swipe his fingers over the spot. “Rozanov, oh my god. Yeah, yeah, right there—mmmgosh.” He can’t even find it in himself to feel embarrassed by his noises.

Ilya’s face breaks into a cheshire cat type of grin. “I think I found something interesting.” His fingers never stop moving, not once. Shane is really feeling something now. It appears he was wrong. He is definitely someone that likes to have something in his ass. Shane was no longer holding himself up on his elbows, his back pressed completely to the bed and eyes shut in pleasure.

Rozanov’s free hand smoothed its way up Shane’s abdomen, eventually landing on his pec with a squeeze. The other man’s thumb rubbed over Shane’s peaked nipple, and his hips bucked. “You look so pretty like this, Hollander.” Ilya spoke slowly, “Your eyes are even more glassy than they are when I suck your dick.” The blonde man leaned down and planted a kiss on one of Shane’s bent knees. Shane was mewling in response to Ilya’s very talented fingers working inside of him. God, he couldn’t believe he had been missing out on this. Though, he supposed it might be a Rozanov thing, rather than a fingering thing. 

“The noises you are making are so sweet,” Ilya spoke again, his fingers moving harder and faster inside of Shane, nailing his prostate on every other thrust. “Tell me, Hollander, what noises would you make if it was my cock inside of you, instead of my fingers? Hm?” Shane had to bite down on his wrist, hard, to stifle the actual moan that left his mouth. Rozanov was right. If Shane was this worked up over his fingers, what would his cock feel like? Shane felt himself clamp down on Ilya’s fingers at the thought. Fuck, he wanted Rozanov’s cock really bad. 

Shane’s mind was apparently already turned to mush, because he said as much to the other man. “W-want it,” Shane brought his hand to Ilya’s hair, “I want it, Rozanov, p-please. Want you inside of me—fuck, oh fuck.” If Shane was any more aware, he would be mortified at his admission. 

Ilya’s fingers never slowed. “Oh? Begging for my cock already, malysh?” Shane nodded pathetically, panting and mewling in place of an actual response. “But we can’t fuck, remember? Scott Hunter is next door.” The noise that left Shane’s throat was pitiful. It was a whine, in response to Ilya’s god-like fingers and the fact that Ilya was denying him this. Rozanov was right, of course. Shane himself had turned-down Ilya’s offer of fucking him tonight, but he was regretting his previous decision hard. 

Ilya watched Shane unravel with eyes full of hunger. He devoured each whine, moan, and plea that Hollander was giving to him. Shane was quickly becoming dumb and desperate, which is just how Ilya wanted him. 

He pretended to be thinking something over. Trying to brainstorm some way they could get around Shane’s previous ‘no fucking’ rule. “There is something we could do, instead of fucking.” Ilya finally admitted, fingers slowing down to give Shane a moment. Shane let out a whine, his brain deciding he wanted Rozanov’s cock inside of him or nothing at all (lie). “Is technically not having sex.” Rozanov said with a shrug.

Shane was desperate and curious. “What is it?” He asked Rozanov, but Shane knew at this point he’d agree to just about anything.

Rozanov’s free hand, which had previously been playing with Shane’s chest, began to move down his body and eventually landed on Shane’s thigh, giving it a firm squeeze. Ilya’s skilled fingers slowed inside of Shane’s hole and gave his prostate a break from the mouthwatering abuse it had been enduring. “I could fuck your thighs?” Rozanov responded, keeping eye contact as he bent down to sink his teeth into the muscled flesh of Shane’s inner thigh. 

Shane’s eyes shut tight at the bright flash of pain from Rozanov’s bite. “H-how–” Shane began to ask, stopping himself with a bite to the lip. “How would that work?” He felt stupid as soon as he said it. Sure, he’d never heard of this before or seen it done, but Shane was a smart boy and he could imagine the logistics. “I mean like, would it even, y’know, feel good? I guess?” Sticking your dick between something tight, wet, and soft? Yeah, he was 99% sure it would feel great for Rozanov, but what about himself?

Shane grimaced as Ilya fully removed his fingers from inside Shane with a quiet wet noise. Ilya was still kneeling between Shane’s open legs, both of the Russian’s hands now rubbing slowly over the other man’s thighs. Rozanov’s eyebrows rose slightly as he thought about Shane’s question. “It will probably feel great for me, yes.” Shane rolled his eyes and brought his foot up to lightly hit Rozanov in the ass. Ilya reached back and caught Shane’s ankle with his hand to bring it all the way up to rest on his shoulder. He pressed quick kisses along the bone, and Shane felt his heart stutter. 

Hands still moving along Shane’s legs in a comforting way, Ilya finally answered Shane’s question seriously. “If I am being honest? I don’t know. I have never tried this with anyone. Mainly because the people I fuck always want my cock inside them.” Shane couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. Rozanov was such an asshole, but Shane appreciated his honesty. “The people in porn seem to really enjoy it,” Ilya responded with a shrug, leaning down to press his front against Shane’s, “And everyone knows how close porn is to real life.” Shane let out a proper laugh at that. 

Dammit, Rozanov was a funny asshole.

Ilya brought their lips together in a chaste kiss that was surprisingly tender for the moment. “Do you want to try it?” The Russian murmured, face close enough that their lips brushed softly as he spoke in that sultry hushed voice. “If you don’t like it we can just suck each other off. That seemed to work pretty well last time.”

Shane nodded, offering a small yeah, yeah okay. He wasn’t nervous or scared, more just hoping that this would work the way Rozanov was expecting it to. He was also glad Rozanov had offered this alternative to having sex. It was awfully considerate, even though five minutes ago Shane had been ready to ignore his own previously set boundary of ‘no sex while Scott Hunter is next door’.

Rozanov gave a small nod and pressed their lips together again before pulling away to sit back on his knees. Reaching over, he grabbed the previously discarded bottle of lube to pour some on his hand. Shane couldn’t tear his eyes away as Rozanov brought his slick hand down to his stiff cock, stroking himself from root to tip. It was only when Shane dragged his eyes up to meet Ilya’s satisfied gaze that he realized he had been caught. “You are too easy, Hollander.” Rozanov said, shaking his head with a small smirk playing at his lips. “You are nearly cock-drunk just from watching me touch myself—just from the idea that my dick will be anywhere near you.” Shane knew he should’ve argued back, but all he could do was blush and hold back a whine that formed in the back of his throat. 

Shane’s legs were forced open wider by Rozanov’s demanding grip, and Ilya dripped cold lube directly to Shane’s inner thighs before rubbing it in. It felt a little excessive, the amount of lube the other man was using and how much he spread it around. But then again, Shane was completely oblivious to this process. He had no choice but to trust in Rozanov’s limited knowledge. 

Finally, Rozanov seemed content with the slickness of his thighs. Reaching down with both hands Ilya grabbed Shane’s ankles and brought them up, straightening them until they were in a ‘V’ shape. “When we start I need you to keep your thighs pressed together tight,” Rozanov said to Shane, deciding to play nice and honestly explain the very simple rules to him. “And don’t worry about trying to move your legs in the right place, okay? I will control where they go and when.” Shane’s cock released pre-come at the other man’s words. Something about Rozanov taking absolute control over Shane’s body made a bolt of arousal move through his being. Shane nodded in understanding. 

Ilya moved Shane’s legs once more, this time pressing them together fully. Shane could no longer fully see Rozanov’s face, but he felt the slick head of his cock press against the back of his thighs. A shiver ran through Shane’s body. He couldn’t believe he was going to do this. 

Shane felt Rozanov begin to push forward just a bit, the hot skin of his cock starting to spear the tight space between his thighs before pulling back just as fast. He continued his miniscule movements, Shane getting antsier by the second. Shane imagined this is how it would be when Rozanov fucked him for the first time—slow, wet, careful, but no less hot. Shane whimpered at the thought of Ilya’s cock inside him.

“Ready?” Rozanov asked him, mistaking Shane’s whimper for one of impatience. He wasn’t far off, really. Shane only nodded quickly in response, not trusting his words. Rozanov, of course, took it as a chance to draw things out. “Did you say something, Hollander? I could not quite hear you.” The words were accompanied by Ilya grabbing his cock by the base and moving it up and down the wet glide of Shane’s thighs, never quite pushing in. “It would not be a problem if you wanted to do something else,” He slapped his cock against Shane’s thighs, his movements never stopping. “Or, of course, if you wanted to stop completely we do not have to–”

“Fuck, okay! Yes, yes please, Rozanov. I’m ready, I promise.” Ilya had moved Shane’s straightened legs off to the side on his shoulder, and he was once again able to make eye contact. Shane’s face was bright red but he knew what to say to get Rozanov moving. “Please, I want you to fuck my thighs.”

Ilya’s hands gripped his ankles tighter as he let out a groan and a strangled Fuck, Hollander. Shane was barely able to restrain himself from smirking at his successful bait. 

Any smugness flew out of Shane’s mind once Ilya started to push his cock forward harder and with intent. Shane remembered to press his legs together tighter as Rozanov’s cock became fully enveloped by Shane’s muscular thighs. Rozanov’s hips were fully flush with the back of Shane’s thighs and both men groaned at the feeling. The Russian pulled back completely until just the tip of his cock was kissing the tight press of Shane’s legs, and then he pushed forward again. He repeated this process of forward and backward, the drag of his cock against Shane’s skin a subtle pleasure that had his eyes half-lidded with satisfaction.

While Rozanov was letting out small, breathy groans with each push and pull, Shane knew he himself would need more. The feeling wasn’t bad or boring, but it certainly wasn’t anything to write home about. There was no way Shane could come from this alone, and that was completely fine by him. Shane brought a hand down to wrap around his own neglected cock, his eyes shutting and head falling backward with the relief it brought. The man above him made a noise that sounded like displeasure. “This does not feel good for you?” He asked Shane, his movements slowing to a near stop. 

“No, it's fine. It doesn’t feel bad, I just don’t think I can come from this without, y’know, like, extra help.” He jerks his head down towards his hand currently touching his cock, emphasizing what he means by ‘extra help’. “You can keep going, though. It feels good.” Shane added, speaking honestly. 

“Mm, no, I don’t think so.” Rozanov replied, shaking his head slightly and with a questioning look in his eye. Shane was about to respond, to interrupt the other man to explain that no, really he could keep fucking his thighs. It was obvious Rozanov could come from that alone, and the thought of seeing it from this angle was more than enough for Shane. Before Shane could get a word in, an idea seemed to come to Rozanov. “Turn on your side.” He said, patting the space at the top of the bed near the headboard and moving the decorative pillows out of the way. 

Shane did as he was directed to, moving up and over to lie on his hip once Rozanov backed up. Ilya quickly copied Shane’s actions and suddenly they were in a spooning position; Shane’s back to Ilya’s front. Confused as to where this was going, Shane decided to outright ask Rozanov what he was planning. 

“Uh, Rozanov?” He began, slightly tense as the other man’s hands rubbed over his abdomen. “Are we just, like, cuddling now? Did you decide we’re done?” Shane was mostly joking, but a part of him was genuinely stressed over if he had fucked things up by not enjoying having his thighs fucked as much as Rozanov had hoped. 

Before he could spiral any further, Shane felt the head of Ilya’s cock prodding at his legs once more. “Wanna try it this way,” Rozanov murmured into Shane’s neck, where his face was now pressed. “See if it feels any better for you like this.” Shane felt himself shudder and went lax in Rozanov’s embrace. He was so turned on it was starting to hurt. The other man was so unhappy and unsatisfied that Shane didn’t enjoy what they were doing that he was happy to completely forget the idea and do something else—even though Rozanov had looked thoroughly debauched with his cock between Shane’s thighs. 

His thoughts were broken up by Ilya once again pressing his cock into the tight expanse of Shane’s legs. Shane didn’t notice a difference in feeling from this position compared to the last one.

At least, that was true until Rozanov changed his angle on the next slide in.

Rather than simply going forward and back like he had been, Rozanov was now going forward and up, which caused the tip of Ilya’s dick to slide across the back of Shane’s balls. 

As a young, horny teen, Shane had quickly discovered that his balls were quite sensitive. It was simply part of his routine to play with them in some way when he was getting himself off. Shane had never told Rozanov this, but it seemed that he no longer needed to.

Shane let out a gasp that ended in a whine when Ilya made contact with his sack, his eyes shutting. Rozanov did it again, and again, and again. Each stroke felt a little different. Softer, harder, more direct, a small brush. “Yeah?” Rozanov huffed in his ear, “Feels good?” Shane nodded fervently. 

“S-so good, Rozanov, fuck.” It didn’t seem like it should’ve been enough, but Shane was feeling fucking amazing. Then, Rozanov reached a hand around and grabbed Shane’s cock in his fist. Calloused palms gliding smoothly over the velvety skin, the movement made easier by Shane’s consistent stream of pre-come.

Shane lets out a shout when Ilya’s hand makes contact.

Ilya continues to move his hips, the motion creating delicious friction that had Shane panting when mixed with the hand around his cock. 

Rozanov releases the other man’s cock briefly so he can wipe his hand in between Shane’s thighs, collecting a thin layer of lube on his palm before quickly bringing it back to where Shane needed it most. The added lubrication made the pleasure increase tenfold.

“You feel so good like this, Hollander,” Ilya spoke, the low timbre of his voice nearly being drowned out by Shane’s noises and the sinful schlick of Rozanov’s cock spearing his thighs. “I could stay here forever, I think. Behind you, my dick between your legs, and you falling apart so prettily in my hands.” 

The thought has Shane closing his eyes and throwing his head back onto Rozanov’s shoulder, his mouth staying open and letting out a soft and repetitive ah, ah, ah. The idea of Rozanov wanting him, his body, his pleasure every day is enough for Shane to start feeling the ache burn hotter inside him. 

Yes, please, he wants to say, please take it. Take it all. Everything I have—everything I am—is yours to take. But he can’t say any of that, so instead he replies, “Fuck, Rozanov. So good, so fucking good.”

“The only thing that would be better would be spending every day inside you. Fucking you. Feeling that tight hole clench around me as I take you apart, over and over again. Would you like that, Hollander?” 

What an asshole. Of course Shane would like that. 

Shane’s hand flies back to grab Rozanov’s hip, confirming his agreement with the other man’s words by digging his nails into skin and nodding his head furiously. He feels Ilya’s grin against his ear. 

“When I fuck you,” Ilya starts, his words quieting Shane’s uncontrollable sounds, “I will fuck you nice and slow to start. Get you used to my cock inside you.” The hand on Shane’s dick slows its movements, keeping Shane on a knife’s edge. The pleasure so fucking good, but not what Shane wants—and Ilya knows that. “You were so tight around my fingers, Hollander. I don’t even know if I would fit.”

Suddenly, Ilya’s hand is off of Shane’s cock and on his chin, yanking his head to the side so he can make eye contact with the man. Despite his calm voice and demeanor, Ilya’s face betrays how much this was affecting him. The veins on his forehead are more noticeable, face red, hair a mess. Shane doesn’t even want to think about what his own reflection would show. 

“What do you think, solnyshko, do you think my cock would fit inside you? Hm? Would you let me in?” The words are paired with a finger brushing over Shane’s hole, still open and slick from Rozanov’s earlier intrusion. A flash of arousal tore through Shane’s body, an imperceptible shiver working through him. 

Dear god, he wanted Ilya to fuck him into next week so fucking bad. Why did he have to turn Ilya’s earlier offer down? Better yet, why did Scott fucking Hunter have to be right next door?

Shane was nodding his head again, responding with an intelligent, “Yeah—yes, yes” to Rozanov’s question. 

Ilya drops Shane’s chin in order to grab his hair, forcibly turning his head so Shane watches as Ilya’s hand once again returns to Shane’s cock. Rozanov had stopped thrusting at some point, but Shane was too distracted to even notice. But he noticed now.

“Don’t worry,” Rozanov coos in Shane’s ear, “I will make it fit. You can take it, can’t you?” Shane just about shoots off at that comment alone. The thought of Rozanov taking what he wanted from Shane—making Shane take whatever he gave him—was like a match being dropped into a can of gasoline. 

An image flashes through Shane’s mind of his head being held down by Rozanov, who is aggressively fucking Shane from behind, in a way that Shane knows would hurt so good. He imagines himself whining and protesting, telling Rozanov to stop because he was too sensitive after coming just moments prior. He imagines that Ilya would only push his head down harder in response, growling for him to fucking take it, because Ilya hadn’t finished yet. 

Shane feels himself flush at his own imagination. Where did that even come from? A quick feeling of shame and disgust intrude in response to the scenario, but are quickly washed away by the overwhelming pleasure being provided to him via one Ilya Rozanov.

Though Ilya had not directly given him any orders, the firm hand that had gripped his hair to turn his gaze forward felt just as direct as any verbal command, and Shane wanted to obey. He couldn't help but lay there and watch as Rozanov’s hand, which had previously been furiously stroking his cock, was now leisurely playing with the tip. As if the Russian had all the time in the world. 

Shane felt his climax coiling tighter and tighter inside of his stomach as Ilya rubbed the pad of his thumb against Shane’s slit, spreading around the ridiculous amount of pre-come gathered there. 

“So fucking wet for me, Hollander. Always so wet for me.” Shane could barely hear the other man, and for a moment he wondered if Rozanov had even meant those words for Shane to hear. “Are you close, malysh?” And Shane realizes, with some horror, that he is incredibly close. It’s as if, just by Ilya pointing it out, his impending orgasm made itself known. 

Shane’s hips buck up into Rozanov’s hand, now back to full strokes along the length of his dick. Rozanov takes his uncontrolled movements as the confirmation it’s meant to be. “Yeah? Gonna come for me? Finish all over yourself just from the feeling of my cock fucking your thighs?” That was a little unfair of him, because Ilya damn well knew it was more than just his cock fucking his thighs. 

“You’re so easy, Hollander, just for me. Letting me fuck your thighs instead of your little virgin hole, just because Scott Hunter is next door.” Shane’s eyes squeezed tight at the reminder of why they found themselves in this position in the first place. “It doesn’t even matter really. I think you’re being just as loud as you would be with my cock inside you—” Rozanov scoffs, letting out a breathless laugh. Then, just because he can, he finishes it with a hissed out, “Like a slut.”

Shane sees white as the coil inside of him finally snaps. His hand moves up to cover his mouth as the orgasm washes through him, trying his best to stifle the moans that he only just realized were perhaps a touch too loud. Rozanov notices his movements and quickly snatches Shane’s hand back down to his chest. “Ohh, I don’t think so.” He chuckles evilly, “Is too late for that, malysh. Let me hear you. Let Scott Hunter hear you—let the entire fucking hotel floor hear how good I fuck you. How hard I make you come on my cock.”

Shane’s orgasm felt on-going. Like he might just have to live the rest of his life feeling the intense pleasure coursing through him. He had come so hard that some of it had landed high on his chest, visual proof of how good Rozanov made him feel. Ilya groaned behind him, his hips moving even faster and harder as his own release got closer. “So fucking good, Hollander. Oh god—mmph—”. 

Shane was still reeling from his orgasm, his balls sensitive as Rozanov’s cock continued to brush against them as he moved. Ilya’s hand roamed up Shane’s chest, stopping for a moment to grip his neck, before ultimately grabbing his chin to turn Shane’s head into a kiss. Pulling away only a fraction, Ilya began muttering Russian into Shane’s still open mouth. “Ты так здорово постарался ради меня, милый. Не могу поверить, как же сильно ты кончаешь для меня — каждый раз.” 

Shane had no idea what the other man was saying, but he moaned at the rough sound the syllables made leaving Rozanov’s mouth. “Возможно, ты лучшее, что у меня когда-либо было.” The Russian’s lips moved against Shane’s but the kiss had turned even more frantic, now mainly teeth and tongue. “Я не думаю, что когда-нибудь смогу тебя отпустить.”

Ilya was losing himself to the feeling of Shane’s hot, slick thighs pressed around his cock. The pleasure left him unable to bother translating his words into English. If Shane had the ability to get hard again so quickly after finishing, his dick would be standing at attention. As it was, his cock was certainly trying. 

Shane reached a hand around to grab at Ilya’s curls, tugging on them as Ilya chased his pleasure. Rozanov let out an inadvertent whimper at the pain and Shane filed that information away for another time. “Come on, Rozanov. Give it to me.” Shane said, finally finding his voice. He tensed his thighs even more, squeezing them together harder. “Please, Rozanov. Wanna feel you come inside me.”

Shane knew what he was doing by saying that. What would happen by planting that image in Ilya’s head of actually finishing inside Shane. And it worked.

With a choked out Oh God, Hollander, Ilya’s hips stuttered as warm ropes of come streaked Shane’s legs. The Russian’s hips continued their movement after a second, but much slower. Not only wanting to draw out his pleasure, but also to feel the slick drag of his cock as it spread his finish over Shane’s inner thighs. 

The two men were breathing hard, still holding onto one another. Rozanov’s head was pressed into Shane’s neck, pressing soft kisses and bites on the skin in between harsh breaths. “Holy shit,” Shane finally got out, “That was way hotter than I thought it was gonna be.” 

Both men started softly laughing at Shane’s words. “Jesus, Hollander. Of course you would ruin the nice afterglow of hot sex with your stupid words.” Rozanov jokes, pairing his words with a gentle pinch of Shane’s stomach. 

“Shut up,” Shane quickly shoots back, turning around in Rozanov’s arms to face the other man. Normally he would feel way more embarrassed about having supposedly ruined the moment, but he was feeling so satiated and soft that he couldn’t find it in himself to truly care. “Am I wrong? Is the come still cooling between my legs not proof that you also found it hot?” He also would not normally be saying such crass things like this, but oh well.

Rozanov just looks at him, smiling softly. Before Shane can ask if there’s something on his face, Ilya leans down and kisses him softly. Their lips meet softly, fitting together perfectly, and pulling apart with a soft smack sound. 

Later, after both men have showered and gotten their respective clothes on, they find themselves at the hotel room door. The door, that once opened, would not only be opening to the hallway but also to the rest of the world. The world in which they would not see each other again for several months. Shane found himself dreading his departure, for some reason. 

“So, I guess I’ll, uh—I’ll see you in a few months?” Shane stammers out, facing a much calmer looking Rozanov.

“Yes, I will be seeing you.” The Russian says in response. Cool, calm, and collected. As if this was no big deal to him. Which, Shane supposes, this isn’t a big deal to him. If only the same could be said about himself.

He’s suddenly hit with the nauseating feeling that this interaction is reminiscent of a regular couple’s first date. Waiting at the other person’s front door after a nice night together, hoping to get a first kiss or possibly an invitation inside to spend the night. They’ve certainly done the entire process backwards, however. 

Shane was hesitating, his hand stuck in the space between grabbing the door handle and keeping it in his pocket. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was waiting for. Or perhaps he did, but was just too scared to admit it to himself. What, a kiss goodbye? Oh, please. That’s not what they did. They didn’t kiss outside of the bedroom. 

But, maybe they were still technically in the bedroom? How did you break up a hotel room into sections, if it’s just one big open space? And why was Shane spiraling about a kiss and the layout of a hotel room?

Rozanov must have seen the panic on his face. Moving forward and grabbing Shane’s waist with both hands, he planted two soft kisses on his lips before pulling away. 

“One for the road.” Ilya said nonchalantly. As if the action wasn’t huge for them and their situation. As if Rozanov hadn’t just saved Shane from spiraling all night. As if Shane hadn’t just gotten exactly what he needed.

“Hollander,” Ilya says, interrupting Shane’s movement towards the door. “You were right, by the way. Earlier.” When Shane gives him a questioning look, his eyebrows furrowed, Rozanov continues. “Fucking your thighs was way hotter than I thought it would be.”

A surprised but genuine laugh bursts from Shane’s mouth. He smiles softly, uttering a Goodnight, Rozanov before finally turning and opening the door to the hallway. 

Hours. They’ve been at this for hours.

Well not actually, but it sure as hell felt like it.

Shane surely classifies as a victim for what he’s gone through in the last 45 minutes. A victim to Ilya’s mind-numbingly pleasurable, yet extremely cruel, ministrations. I’m gonna call the fucking cops if this asshole doesn’t let me cum within the next 5 minutes, Shane thought to himself. He normally prided himself as a reasonable and down-to-earth person, but all of that went out the window the second Ilya started edging him. Now, Shane’s thoughts were irrational and sounded whiny even in his own head.

It all started about an hour ago when Shane and Ilya had been casually kissing on the couch. It was sweet, domestic, even. Neither man had anywhere to be that night, no practices or plans to go out with teammates. They had been savoring the rare night of freedom they both had by ordering takeout from their favorite restaurant and bingeing that one show that had been on their ‘to watch’ list for ages. It had devolved into the slow, passionate kissing that they tended to find themselves caught up in when they had free time. Both boys craved the closeness and comfort it provided.

Of course, it didn’t stay slow and sweet for too long.

After some time, Ilya had dragged Shane onto his lap, grabbing the back of the shorter man’s neck to pull him into the kiss harder. Shane had let out a noise that walked the line between being a sigh and a soft moan. Encouraged by the noise, Ilya used his other hand to move along the outer part of Shane’s thigh and under the leg of his shorts. The hand quickly moved to the underwear-covered curve of Shane’s ass.

Shane let out a soft laugh and smiled into Ilya’s mouth as a result. “You’re insatiable, you know that? Can’t even kiss your boyfriend for more than 10 minutes without quite literally trying to get into his pants.” Nevermind that Shane had been silently begging Ilya to touch his already-hardening cock.

Ilya gazed at Shane with a questioning look. “What is this word, ‘insatiable’?”

“It means that you’re never satisfied, always hungry for more when it comes to sex.”

Shane knew he was perhaps the biggest hypocrite ever, considering half of the time the roles were reversed in these situations. Ilya wasn’t oblivious to this fact either. Ilya also was not someone that let Shane get away with anything ever.

Ilya pulled away from his boyfriend’s mouth to look him in the eyes with his eyebrows raised. “Ah, so if I check right now, you are telling me your cock will not be as hard as rock?”

Shane’s cheeks were tinged with red at the accusation.

“Well n-no — I mean yes! Of course I’m gonna be—”

Ilya didn’t let him finish. “You are trying to tell me—Sex God Ilya Rozanov—who has been fucking you for 10 years, that if I roll your hips forward I will not feel you poking my stomach?”

Shane barked out a laugh at Ilya calling himself a ‘sex god’. This man was ridiculous. “What even constitutes someone as being a ‘sex god’? Geez, you are so—”

Once again, Shane was interrupted. “Shane Hollander—super submissive and terrible liar—is trying to tell me, Ilya Rozanov, the sex expert and sex icon—”

Shane chuckled and rolled his eyes. He went to playfully smack Ilya in the shoulder, but the man under him quickly grabbed his wrist and spun them so Shane’s back was now on the couch, Ilya’s large frame pressing into him. Any laughs immediately died in Shane’s throat.

Ilya, with eyes serious and half lidded, was inches from Shane’s face.

The Russian moved to softly kiss the corner of Shane’s mouth, kissing his way down to Shane’s jaw and neck, sucking on the man’s sensitive spots he knows like the back of his hand. Ilya eventually moved to kiss and suck on Shane’s earlobe as Shane’s eyes closed and he relaxed into his boyfriend’s touches.

He sucked in a sharp, surprised breath as his hips quickly jerked up and into Ilya’s hand that was now gripping the shorter man’s erection. The hand began to move, rubbing along the hard outline begging to be freed from the confines of Shane’s shorts.

Ilya’s mouth, still by Shane’s ear, began whispering in a low voice. “You lied to me, Hollander. You lied to me, even though the truth was very obvious.”

Shane gently shook his head, trying to silently communicate with Ilya that No, technically I didn’t lie. I tried to correct myself, but you cut me off when you were rambling about being some kind of sex god. It was in vain, however, because Ilya truly did not give a fuck what Shane would have said anyway.

“You call me insatiable just because I want to fuck my hot and famous hockey player boyfriend,” Ilya’s hand had yet to stop stroking Shane’s cock through his shorts, which made it very difficult to pay attention to what was being spoken into his ear. “But that is not ridiculous thing to want, no? It seems like obvious choice. Especially when my hot and famous hockey player boyfriend is squirming in my lap and looking at me with eyes that are saying oh please, Mr. Rozanov, please let me suck your dick, I need it so bad. ”

Shane’s cheeks were surely as red as tomatoes after that. He also didn’t need a mirror to confirm the fact that his eyes were most definitely not saying that.

Ilya was not done tormenting him. “Maybe I should say ‘thank you’, moya lyubov, for teaching me this word, ‘insatiable’. I did not know the best word to describe you before, but now I do.”

Shane sputtered out a few sounds that sounded like the start of different sentences before eventually landing on one that stuck. “I am not insatiable! I have a very normal and healthy sex drive, thank you very much.”

He could feel Ilya smirking against the side of his face. “No? You do not think you are?” Shane had shaken his head, not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking and making it obvious what he actually believed the answer was.

Ilya made a disbelieving hmm sound in response to Shane’s silent communication, and once again began pressing open mouth kisses along his neck. He could tell Ilya believed he had won this little argument, and Shane was nothing if not competitive.

“You’re the one who usually instigates all of our bedroom activities, anyways. I’d call that pretty insatiable.” The Canadian had eventually squeaked out.

Fueled by the condescending tone Ilya had used plus the need to win the argument, Shane made perhaps the biggest mistake of his life and kept running his mouth.

“Besides, I feel like you’re always more desperate to cum than I am.”

This caused Ilya to freeze, ceasing all movements. Immediately, Shane regretted what he said. Not only because he knew it would lead to unfavorable consequences, but also because it’s 100% not true. In the bedroom, Ilya is of course eager to finish, but Shane is on a different level—begging, whining, crying, saying anything the other man wants if it means Rozanov will get him there that much faster. He knows this is true, but he went and said some bullshit anyway.

The Russian pulled his head back from where it had been tucked into Shane’s neck, a devious smile gracing his lips.

“Is that what you think?” Ilya said, a knowing tone lacing his words. Shane swallowed hard.

No, no, no. Of course not. “Of course I do.” His voice wavered, conveying to the man on top of him how confident he actually felt.

Ilya raised his brows in mock surprise and only said, “Interesting”. The challenge in his voice and eyes was apparent, and Shane was scared of what evil (amazing) and cruel (sexy) ideas were going through the other man’s head.

Shane was, as it turned out, correct to be scared of Ilya’s ideas.

“Please!” Shane whimpered pathetically, “O-oh my God, Ilya. I need to cum so fucking bad, please!”

When he was clear headed and not completely at Ilya’s will, Shane liked to believe he was above begging. In reality, Shane was hardly a half step above begging for what he wanted. It usually took a little bit of “convincing” on Ilya’s end, but that’s usually where bedroom activities led to one way or another. It was possibly one of Ilya’s top 3 favorite things that his boyfriend did in the bedroom. It meant that Shane was at his wits’ end and completely at Ilya’s mercy. It meant that the dark-haired man was utterly and pathetically Ilya’s. Ilya’s own play-thing that allowed him to do whatever he wanted. God, he loved his partner.

Ilya had positioned them on their bed. He sat them up, his back pressed against the headboard and his boyfriend’s back pressed against his front. Shane’s feet were planted on the mattress and his legs were spread and bent, leaving him entirely exposed except for the arm Ilya temporarily allowed him to sling over his eyes. If Shane hadn’t been so desperate and too-far gone he would’ve been quick to quietly complain at the feeling and shyly try to cover himself as discretely as possible. It wouldn’t have worked, anyway. Ilya never allows him to get very far with that.

Ilya had one hand moving across Shane’s front; alternating between grasping his neck, feeling up and down his chest, and tweaking Shane’s nipples when he felt the need to be a little mean to his partner. The other hand was currently wrapped around Shane’s cock, stroking him slowly and purposefully. Ilya had recently gotten Shane right on the edge once again, before pulling his hand away from Shane’s weeping and twitching cock. After a small break that was meant to bring Shane back down to earth and away from that moment when he was bound to finish at even a glance, Ilya once again began the process of breaking the man in his hands.

“What a good boy you are for me, Hollander. Taking anything and everything I give you so well, and with only very little complaining.” Ilya murmured into Shane’s ear, resulting in a shudder and a high-pitched whine from the man in his arms.

“F-fuck off, Rozanov.” Shane said, trying to fight back in any way he could. It was a pathetic and laughable attempt, but it was the best he could do right now in his current predicament.

Ilya tutted at him. “You can try all you want to prove me wrong,” the hand wrapped around Shane’s cock squeezed slightly, causing Shane to buck his hips and gasp in surprise. “But you and I both know how badly you want to be good for me, sweetheart.”

Shane squeezed his eyes shut when he heard his boyfriend speak. Fuck this guy. Fuck this guy, because his boyfriend was right. Dammit, he was so, so very correct in his observation. It was hardly a wild guess Ilya had made. They've been together in some capacity for over a decade now anyway.

“Be honest with me, moya lyubov, do you really think you are not easy? Why do you still fight me so hard when I tell you how good you are? You love being good, and you love it even more when others recognize this.” Ilya’s fingers were playing with Shane’s peaked and sore nipples, his other hand had dropped from Shane’s dick and had started its downward journey to Shane’s neglected hole.

The shorter man squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth falling open at the first bit of attention his hole had gotten all night. His stomach tightened to a painful degree at the way Ilya knew him too well.

Through Shane’s brain fog, he started to genuinely think about Ilya’s words. Was it some deeper underlying reason? I mean, the obvious reason behind why he denies it constantly is just because it’s embarrassing. Embarrassing because it goes against everything he heard and learned growing up about what it means to be masculine; what it means to be a ”real man”. It also just feels too exposing to admit he wants to be good for his boyfriend in front of anyone else, even if the only other person who hears this is said boyfriend. But, Shane has been trying to be better about expressing how he feels and accepting the hard truths. Sure, maybe his therapist had actually meant, like, working on accepting the fact that he doesn’t like change or speaking in front of large crowds, rather than agreeing with his partner that he wants to be a good boy for him. He was sure it still counted as progress.

“Fuck, Ilya, I—” Shane started, “Y-yeah, yes. I want—wanna be—oh god.” Shane was trying so damn hard to admit it. It’s not like he hasn’t said this and worse before during moments of passion, but dammit this was hard for him. It also didn’t help that Ilya’s finger was slowly making its way inside of him, even if it was only to the first knuckle.

Ilya could sense Shane’s apprehension and inward struggle and decided to take some pity on him. The fingers that had previously been playing with his nipples now moved to his jaw and turned his head to the side so Ilya could kiss him softly, sweetly. It was an awkward angle, but neither of them cared. It made Shane’s heart soar just a little in his chest. Sure, the act wasn’t anything crazy or new for them, but it made Shane happy because he knew it was Ilya’s way of saying It’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere. Take your time, because I know this is hard for you.

Tears had been slowly collecting in the corners of Shane’s eyes for the last 20 minutes or so, threatening to spill out every time Ilya got him to the edge and then denied him an orgasm yet again. He had worked hard not to let the tears fall, as he always tried to do, but something about the kiss broke him.

The first tear fell, then the second. The tears started flowing freely after that. It was a culmination of the taxing experience he had been through, and was still going through, that night in Ilya’s arms. He was in Ilya’s arms in their bed. This man loved him enough to know exactly how much he could and could not take. He knew how to press all of Shane’s buttons, both good and bad. Ilya was the only person in the world Shane trusted implicitly and completely—more than he trusted himself. Not only did Ilya know how to take Shane apart in ways Shane didn’t even know he needed, but Ilya did all of this while knowing Shane and his mind as a whole. He knew that Shane struggled with expressing his feelings and emotions and complex thoughts he deemed as off limits in his own mind. There was no one that could get Shane to be vulnerable like Ilya could.

So yeah, the small act of Ilya turning his head and kissing him sweetly while in the middle of this intense and emotionally taxing experience was breaking down his walls faster than any dirty talk or pleasurable touches ever would. It was more than just a soft kiss, though. It was Ilya checking in with Shane, asking if he was okay, giving him an out while still gently encouraging him to keep going with the scene. Reminding him he was allowed to experience the privilege of being vulnerable.

Shane brought his hand up to cup Ilya’s face as their lips moved, the only sounds being the wet smack that came with kissing as intensely as they were.

His entire body felt rubbed raw in the best way possible. The vulnerable and exposed feeling was partially due to the position Shane was in—legs spread, open-wide to the empty bedroom—but also because of how well Ilya knew him. To be loved is to be seen. To be loved is to be known.

“Yes, Ilya,” Shane finally murmured against his boyfriend’s mouth. “Wanna be good for you. Always wanna be good for you. I love it when you praise me for being good both in and out of the bedroom.” His mouth was moving freely now, spurred on by his love-sick thoughts and the salty taste of his tears that had made their way into his mouth when they kissed.

“I work hard because I want to be recognized and praised for my hard work, but somewhere along the way my motivations shifted. Suddenly, I started working even harder. Originally I told myself it was only because I wanted to be better than you on the ice,” Ilya gave Shane a loving smile and a soft huff of laughter. “But then I had a terrifying realization that, yes I wanted to beat you, but I wanted you to think highly of me. I wanted you to know that I was becoming better because I wanted your praise. And that was fucking terrifying for poor little 22 year old Shane Hollander.”

Both men laughed at that. “So yes, I want to be good for you. I’ve always wanted to be good for you.” Ilya crushed their lips together after Shane’s sappy admission.

Neither man’s erection let itself be ignored for too long, however. The blonde man kissed and sucked bruises onto the other man’s neck, and Shane’s eyelids closed as he sighed in contentment.

Shane’s mind was also still focused on his cock and all of his denied orgasms. “Ilya–” He began, but he didn’t get far.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You need it so bad, don’t you?” Shane nodded emphatically, gripping Ilya’s wrist as he began stroking Shane’s cock faster and with intention of bringing him to the edge once more. “Being so good and patient for me, aren’t you? And finally being honest with yourself about what you want, what you need.”

Ilya’s hand that had been preoccupied with Shane’s upper half now moved down to join its twin, but it moved past Shane’s cock and instead slipped two fingers into Shane’s ass. When Ilya put lube on his fingers, he had no idea. It’s not surprising that Shane missed a small movement while floating as high as he was right now.

The duel attention to his lower half has Shane crying out, his eyes flying open, wanting to witness how Ilya continues to absolutely ruin Shane for anyone else (not that there ever would be anyone else). The Russian might actually be a sex god like he joked about earlier, because Shane is seeing stars as Ilya works him open without denying Shane any pleasure, murmuring sweet nothings in his mother tongue. Shane’s legs instinctually start to close in reaction to the overwhelming feeling, and immediately Ilya’s hand releases his cock. His other hand also freezes inside of Shane.

The abrupt stop has Shane yelling out, nearly growling with irritation. “Come on, Ilya! I wasn’t even close that time, I swear!” Shane isn’t deaf to the whine in his voice, desperation lacing his words. “I would’ve told you if I was close, I p-promise. Swear it, Ilya, wouldn’t—I wouldn't lie to you.”

Ilya waits for Shane to stop babbling, easily dragging a hand along Shane’s sternum to calm him. God, how did he seem so unaffected? Shane could feel his hard cock digging into his back, yet he remained calm in the face of Shane’s near tantrum.

“I know, moya lyubov, I know you weren’t close.” He shushes him quietly, but continues. “I know you would tell me if you were about to finish all over my hand because you have been doing it all night, just like I asked you to.” Even with his cock absolutely drooling, Shane listens closely to what Ilya has to say. He always does, but especially right now when he’s feeling so vulnerable and needs his partner to tether him down before he floats away.

“I had to stop playing with you because you closed your legs, and I need them open to ravish you, yes?” Shane whined, but nodded regardless. That made sense. That was fair. It was something Shane could accept.

Even during intense scenes such as this one, Ilya can’t help but be an asshole when the moment calls for it. “You hardly need to tell me when you are about to cum; at least, not anymore.” His hands rub the outside of Shane’s thighs, and it’s more torturous than one might expect. The touch is light while still being purposeful. Just far enough away from where Shane actually wants Ilya’s hands to be touching him, but still close enough that it seems a likely possibility.

“Like I said earlier, I have been fucking you for many years. I know your body better than I know my own.” Even though the words were meant to be sensual and alluring, Shane couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter at the reminder of how long he and Ilya had belonged to one another. Even before either man knew it, they had been thoroughly owned by the other.

Ilya must have been able to tell that Shane had calmed down a bit, because his hands once again began their previous ministrations. And my God, what good hands they were. Large enough that Ilya could wrap his hand around Shane’s cock easily, covering most of the surface area. Skin that was rough and calloused from a life of playing hockey, and aided in adding perfect friction against Shane’s skin, especially when it balanced out the sometimes too-slippery feeling of lubrication.

Compared to how fast and hard Ilya was moving earlier, this attention seemed almost apologetic and sweet. But Shane knew better, and so did Ilya. It was a common tactic Ilya used on Shane after studying his body and reactions over the years. The Canadian didn’t always want hard, fast, and aggressive. He did, however, love short bursts of it followed by slow and purposeful. It served to make him that much needier, if it was even possible in his current predicament.

Ilya was such a bastard.

Shane could barely hear Ilya over his own panting and ringing in his ears. “When you get close, you begin to tremble in my arms. You shake like a leaf, you’re so desperate for it.” An inhumane sounding whine escaped Shane’s lips. “Your hips buck without meaning to, and your right eye twitches in the corner.”

Ilya had been softly stroking Shane’s cock and brushing against his prostate for only a minute or two, but Shane felt like he was on fire. His lower half was burning, but not in a painful way. Well, maybe a little painful, but it was the kind of pain Shane enjoyed. It meant he was overstimulated and reaching the end of his rope.

“Ilya,” Shane whined, drawing out the ‘a’ sound in his boyfriend’s name, but Ilya wasn’t done speaking.

“Whenever I am inside you, your hole clenches around my cock like it is trying to squeeze my soul from my body—similar to how it sucks my fingers back in, like you are doing now.” At some point when Ilya was speaking, Shane’s head had dropped back on Ilya’s shoulder. He was exhausted and needed release before he combusted.

“Do you want to know one of the reasons I love you?” Ilya murmured. Shane couldn’t respond even if he wanted to. He knew whatever was about to come from Ilya’s lips was going to be insanity. “I love that when I play with your cock I never need any lube. You leak like fountain, constantly producing more slick, just for me. Even without words, even if you deny it, I know you belong to me because your body will always betray you and what you need most—because you always need to prove your loyalty to me. Your total obedience and submission.”

Rozanov could read this man like a damn book. Shane lets out little ah, ah, ah sounds as Ilya begins to move faster. The slick noises being produced from Ilya’s fingers inside of him, as well as the hand around his wet cock, is downright sinful.

He can’t help but lift his head from Ilya’s shoulder to look at the mess Ilya is making of him. The sight is breathtakingly filthy. For a moment, Shane wishes they had a mirror in front of their bed. The image that takes shape in Shane’s head of what he must look like right now, completely at Ilya’s mercy and falling apart, is hot enough to have his legs unconsciously start to close once more.

Ilya stops his movements again, but this time was different. Rather than stopping everything to punish the dark haired man, Ilya instead uses his now free hands to grab the underside of Shane’s thighs and hoist them over his own bent knees, leaving Shane somehow even more exposed than before. Ilya had never done that before. Had never put them in this compromising position. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why it made his cock twitch and hole clench with interest. Ilya had certainly put him in crazier positions before.

There were no chastising remarks or talks of some kind of punishment for Shane’s transgression. For just a moment he wondered why that was, until he felt the growing spot on his back that was wet from Ilya’s precum.

Ilya turns Shane’s chin so that he looks at him. Whatever he sees on Shane’s face makes him chuckle a bit. Shane can only imagine how pathetic he looks. Ilya leans down and brings their lips together in a bruising kiss, before he reaches down to grip Shane’s cock and begins moving his hand at a much faster pace than before, but just as practiced. Just as purposeful.

He breaks away, still cradling his partner’s face, and looks down at his hand. Ilya groans at the sight. “My goodness,” he starts, unable to avoid commenting. “Hollander, you are making quite the mess.” He tuts softly.

It wasn’t really his fault, but Shane apologizes anyway. “M’sorry, s-so, fuck, so sorry. I want—wannabegood,” He slurs, his words softened by the overstimulation and continuous pleasure he’s receiving. “Wanna be so good for you. Can’t help but be messy, m’sorry Ilya.”

Shane was fully crying now, nearing true sobbing territory. The tears were a result of the edging, yes, but Shane felt truly shameful at the accidental mess he made. Ilya had only been teasing, but the need to be perfect for Ilya in every possible way made it even more difficult than usual to discern what was teasing and what was not.

Ilya was kissing the side of Shane’s face. Kissing and licking away the tears that fell over his boyfriend’s gorgeous freckled cheeks. “Why would I be mad about this? Who said I do not enjoy this mess, hm?” He said, successfully soothing the high-strung man in his arms. “I love how messy you are. You get so wet and slick, and you are always so tight here,” Ilya said, punctuating his point by drawing a slick finger over Shane’s rim before easily sliding it in. “I love all these things about you. Please, do not ever think the opposite.”

Shane let out a slurred and jumbled thank you. It wasn’t for one thing in particular, more so encompassing everything Ilya was doing to him and for him in that moment. Perhaps it was a thank you for everything Ilya had ever done for Shane over the years. He was too out of it to tell the difference.

Ilya now had two fingers inside of Shane and was abusing his prostate with no mercy. Shane knew he was making noises—loud ones—but he couldn’t tell if he was trying to speak actual words.

“I think of all of these things—your tight hole, how wet you get for me, that you are so soft and submissive, and you are also smaller than me—and it made me realize that you are very similar to a girl.”

If Shane’s legs hadn’t been forced open by Ilya’s bigger and stronger ones, they definitely would have closed then. He can’t just say shit like that and not expect Shane to nearly jump out of his skin with arousal. Moaning, Shane’s hole clenched on Ilya’s fingers and his dick released more precum, somehow.

Ilya didn’t need to be a genius to see how his words had affected Shane. “Ah, so you like being my woman, Shane Hollander? It wasn’t enough to just be my fuck toy, you wanted to be moya printsessa, too? My princess?”

In the coming days Shane would deny this with his entire being. Ilya would likely use this against him at practice and Shane would threaten to kick Ilya’s ass. But that was a problem for future Shane. Present day Shane, however? He really was Ilya’s princess, and the thought had him careening towards the edge at a speed that made him dizzy.

“Yes! Yes, Ilya. Love it, I love it so damn much. It’s just—mmm, fuck, — for you.” The muscles in Shane’s body were twitching, his abs spasming at the constant flexing he was doing in response to Ilya’s torture. He knew he’d be sore tomorrow.

Shane was close. Shane was so very, very close. Ilya knew this, but Shane was warning him about it anyway. “G-gonna cum, oh god Ilya. M’so fucking close, Ilya, Ilya please—!” His hips were bucking wildly into Ilya’s fist while his prostate was being milked for everything he was worth. “Can’t—ohhh fuck, fuck! Can’t hold it. Need to, need to cum. I’lldoanything, anything for it.”

The ringing in Shane’s ears had intensified, and he could hear his blood rushing through his veins like a river after a spring storm. If Ilya denied him again, he didn’t know what he would do. I might die, he thought, I might actually die.

He didn’t have to wonder for very long. Ilya, with hands never stopping their continuous movements, finally said the words Shane had been wanting to hear all fucking night. “Cum for me, Hollander. Show me exactly how insatiable you are.”

He hated to be a pawn in this fucked up game Ilya was playing just to prove a point, but he was just a man.

He came, hard. His vision was blurry from the tears and everything was going black around the edges. The pleasure was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was consuming and felt like kerosine moving through his body, igniting and scorching every nerve ending in its path. It felt like he had just been thrown into the sun. Subconsciously, he felt Ilya rutting against his back, before growling and biting his neck as he came all over Shane’s back. Ilya’s hands were still moving, drawing out Shane’s well-deserved and well-earned orgasm. Shane could tell the hands were still moving; not from the movements themselves, but rather because it felt like he was still coming, and might never stop.

By the time Shane floated back down to earth, Ilya had moved them onto their sides. His limbs felt wobbly and useless—like his entire body was made from jell-o. Shane could feel he was covered front and back. He had cum so hard that it had reached his chest, and Ilya had finished on his lower back. Soon he would feel disgusting, but right now he only felt content mixed with bone-deep exhaustion.

One of Ilya’s arms was wrapped around Shane’s middle, and the other hand was running through Shane’s hair. “How do you feel?” Ilya asked him, checking in on his boyfriend. Ilya knew he was prone to dropping after intense scenes like that, and knew how to safely care for him afterwards.

Shane hummed, his drowsiness making him feel a little quirky. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling pretty damn satiated after that.” Ilya paused as he took in and translated Shane’s words, trying to decide if Shane Hollander just made a joke. After being edged for an hour.

Ilya’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. It eventually devolved into the two men, spooning one another while still covered in cum and sweat, laughing so hard their stomachs hurt and tears pricked the corners of their eyes. Anyone else witnessing this might be concerned, but Ilya and Shane were the only two that mattered. It didn’t need to make sense to anyone else, because it made sense to them.

Shane knew his boyfriend well enough now he could sense that Ilya was about to say something stupid. “I think you still proved me right, my insatiable little princess.”

Shane blushed and elbowed a laughing Ilya in the ribs so hard the other man let out a groan and curled into himself, still laughing. “That’s what you get, asshole.” Shane said, smugly.

You knew their story better than anyone. The group of four—-rightfully called ‘The Four Horsemen’—- had been a part of some top-secret organization called The Eye, which was devoted to fighting corruption and exposing those in power who exploited the people below them. They, of course, did this through magic. 

You couldn’t count how many times you told that story to your friends who then laughed in your face at the idea. You couldn’t blame them. I mean, come on, fighting crime with magic? As if it’s some fairytale bedtime story, and not an actual event that happened relatively recently. You would be skeptical too, if you hadn’t seen videos online of these magic performances.

The videos had been hard to find, and you’d only seen them after hours of scrubbing through articles and forums and long-forgotten websites. You’d eventually seen the videos when you stumbled upon a community of people like you, who believed The Four Horsemen’s story. The horsemen had made a fool of the FBI and US law enforcement in general, so all evidence of them had been removed from the internet. Or so they thought. 

No one knew where the group of four had gone off to after their final act, and they hadn’t been seen or heard from since. This eventually led to the rumor that The Eye had turned them into their current metallic state. Whether to protect them, punish them, reward them, nobody could say for certain. Everybody had their guesses as to what happened. 

The normal (and you suppose mentally stable) people who knew the statues believed that some unknown artist had been commissioned to create the metal sculptures.

You grew up obsessing over the statues and their story. You hoarded every piece of information you could find about it, and spent your life dedicated to learning more about them. Something about the sculptures was hypnotizing and you couldn’t help but be drawn to them. That’s why, when you finally saved up enough money, you moved to New York to find a job. To save your reputation and your family from embarrassment, you told everyone it was because the job opportunities there were too good to pass up. 

You often wondered what the horsemen had been like when they were still human. Were they close friends, or simply coworkers? How often did they fight? Who was the most outgoing? Which one was the most annoying? You had your own personalities assigned to each of them.

Standing in front of The Four Horsemen for the first time had felt like a fever dream. The pictures of the statues you grew up looking at could never compare to the real thing. When you were inspired to sketch, it was the faces of these four that plagued your mind. 

More specifically, it was the face of J. Daniel Atlas that filled your dreams at night. As if it wasn’t mortifying enough to be the girl obsessed with statues and their magical stories. Your sketchbook was filled with his face. Pages and pages of pencil drawings. Something about his expression called to you.

He wasn’t very tall, but he was elegant in a way, and strangely lifelike—his head tilted as though listening to something only he could hear. His face stood out to you the most. His hair fell down his head in a loose and wavy fashion, a few pieces nearly covering his eyes. His mouth was forever quirked in a slight smile. It was almost like he was smirking, knowing how much sleep you’ve lost at night, thoughts moving a mile-a-minute pondering his untold story. The details carved into these statues could only have been done by some higher being. How was it possible to depict stubble on a metal object? 

There was another aspect to the statue’s history. One that you only let yourself truly think about when you were alone at night in your dark bedroom, the idea too pathetic to even think about in daylight.

There were rumors that the statues would once again turn human if they were touched by their soulmate. 

As if your special interest couldn’t get any more embarrassing and fantastical than before. 

“Oh yeah I’m obsessed with these random statues in Central Park that are rumored to be people that fought crime using magic and the power of friendship, who were then turned into metallic statues. By a secret magic organization. Also they come back to life when their soulmate touches them. Yes, I'm a virgin loser.”

Give me a break.

Years of obsession have now led you here, sitting in front of the horsemen in Central Park during your lunch break. This was how you spent most of your lunches now. Sometimes you brought your sketch book to draw the horsemen or the park around you, other times you simply sat and appreciated the craftsmanship the statues offered. 

Central Park visitors were encouraged to touch the life-like statues. Rain or shine, there was always a small influx of people grabbing onto the horsemen and taking pictures. Time and time again you watched people unknowingly try their luck at freeing one of the horsemen from their metallic cages. So much so, that some parts of the horsemen statues had since been worn down to reveal the golden coloring underneath.

Jack’s lips now shone a bright gold, along with the tips of Henley’s hair, the brim of Merritt’s hat, and Daniel’s fingers.

Despite having now lived in New York for three years, you never once touched the statues. Not because of a lack of curiosity or interest, but rather in fear that the magic behind the fantastical stories would be snuffed out once they were proven false. 

That was, of course, until two months ago when Jack’s statue suddenly disappeared.

It made news headlines across the US. ‘New York City Statue Disappears Over Night’. You got many texts and calls from your loved ones back home, asking if you had seen the news about “that one statue you’ve been obsessed with just walking away”, to which you had to try and respond in a nonchalant and normal way. Oh yeah, I think I heard about that. Weird.

In reality, it was all you could think about. This isn’t supposed to happen. Statues don’t just vanish into thin air without someone knowing about it. Your mind was constantly occupied by theories and possible explanations. Your boss even brought it to your attention that your mind seemed to be elsewhere recently, and you had feigned an illness creeping up on you. 

Your horsemen community was also going crazy, with many people wondering if the horsemen were finally coming back or if The Eye had something new planned. There were also murmurs of the possibility that maybe, just maybe, the soulmate myth was true. 

That, of course, caught your attention the most. 

Your inability to let things go (and lack of sleep) is what eventually led you to breaking into Central Park at 3 am. You were exhausted and your anxiety was through the roof because of how stupid this idea was, but you knew that the only way you would ever find peace was by seeing this through. You were going to touch the statues. 

It had to be now. Not only because you would lose your nerve otherwise, but also because it had been months since Jack vanished, and the statues were still crawling with tourists hoping to see the other three horsemen before they too disappeared. After all this time, you finally felt ready to touch the statues. Now that you knew there was at least some kind of magic behind the sculptures, you had to try it yourself. And when you did try it, you wanted to try it alone. How embarrassing would it be to try and purposefully awaken a metallic statue by yourself, in front of who knows how many tourists just there for fun? 

Your face burns at the hypothetical, and you have to stop yourself from laughing.

Any hint of laughter dies in your throat as you make your way to the (blessedly empty) area of the park that holds the statues. There they stand, as they always do, only this time around someone is missing. 

The Lovers, The Hermit, and The High Priestess have their hands clasped together, but they’re missing Death. 

“Oh, Jack,” you murmur to yourself. “Where the hell did you run off to?”

You wonder if the trio, in their metallic state, is mourning the disappearance of their friend at all. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had to go on without Jack. You remember reading about how Jack had faked his death to help the horsemen slip through the FBI’s fingers.

You realize you’re stalling. Putting off the task at hand because you’re…nervous? About what, you’re not quite sure. No one is here to judge you or laugh. You didn’t even tell your closest friends what you were planning on doing tonight. So why did your feet still feel stuck in place?

Eventually you free yourself, making your way over to the three figures. You start with Henley, who is situated on the far right. You tentatively brush your fingertip down her hair. The metal is warmer than you thought it would be. Warmer than you think it should be. Her smile is radiant, even through her casting. You think she would have been sweet. A close friend, had you known her during her human years. 

Moving to the left you stand in front of Merritt. With more confidence than before, your hand comes up to rest on his hat, your pointer finger and thumb running along the exposed golden brim. Like Henley, the metal is warm to the touch. Even though Merritt’s statue doesn’t depict a smile like Henley’s, you can still see the humor in his eyes. You remember reading online someone’s story of the time they went to one of the horsemen’s shows. They said he was funny, lighthearted, and always quick to crack a joke at someone else’s expense. 

Finally, you shift to look at the final statue standing before you. J. Daniel Atlas, The Lovers. Your earlier nerves return stronger than before, and you realize it was Daniel you were most nervous about coming face-to-face with. Over the years friends had joked that Daniel was your ultimate celebrity crush, and you had always been quick to deny it to save face. But now, standing so close in front of the sculpture, you couldn’t deny it anymore. It was healing, in a way, to finally submit yourself to the truth you had never let yourself fully comprehend. 

Maybe it was the bright moon that shone above you, or possibly Daniel Atlas’ metallic gaze, but you felt exposed in a way you hadn’t felt before, and it wasn’t entirely negative. There was no one here you needed to hide from. Your interests, your secrets, were all safe in this small clearing in Central Park. Sure, you might be at least a little bit of a freak, but right now you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

“I feel like I should thank you,” you whisper to Daniel’s statue, hand absentmindedly moving toward his free hand. “For this little therapy session we just had. Even if it was pretty one sided. And held solely in my own head.” 

You find yourself laughing at your predicament once again. 

Looking down, you realize that at some point you had fully grasped his hand in yours. And nothing had happened. 

You had expected this outcome, of course, but you realize there was a small part of yourself you had refused to acknowledge. The small part that had hoped for something different to happen. 

Your disappointment was the not all-consuming wave you once thought it would be upon realizing J. Daniel Atlas was, in fact, just a statue. It hit deep, but it was fleeting. Despite this, you smiled to yourself and to the remaining horsemen. With a final squeeze, you let go of Daniel’s warm, metallic hand. 

Well, you try to let go of Daniel’s warm, metallic hand, but the statue’s fingers have now curled around yours.

You let out a sound that was part gasp, part yelp as cracks splintered across the metal surface—not like breaking, but like an eggshell opening. Metal flaked away, revealing skin. Real, human skin. Breath filled lungs that hadn’t risen in years. Eyes blinked open—a sharp and cutting blue instead of a solid metallic brown.

The figure staggered forward, catching himself in your arms.

“What…what is happening?” you whisper shouted, eyes wide and desperately searching around the dark and abandoned park.

The former statue blinked at you, stunned, and said hoarsely, “You touched me.”

“Yes, but you’re—you’re a statue!” you choked out. “And now you’re grabbing the fuck out of my arm!” 

You say it more so to yourself, trying to make sense of things, but Daniel must take it as an accusation.

“Yeah, well, forgive me if I’m a little unsteady on my feet. I have been stuck in a metallic sculpture for, like, 12 years.” The display of attitude is followed by a roll of his eyes and rapid blinking, as if to say can you believe this guy? 

This man gets freed from being a statue for over a decade and he’s immediately a dickhead. Even worse, you like it. God, help you. Your mother did always say you were attracted to men with a bad attitude. 

“I just—I’m a little freaked out right now,” you start with a slight shake of your head. “I mean, not only are you the J. Daniel Atlas, but you were just a statue like, two seconds ago.” You say it with a breathless chuckle, still trying to deal with the disbelief and the overwhelming thoughts of holyshit holyshit holyshit. 

His brows furrow and his lips press together in a no shit type of way. 

He gives a curt nod at your astute observation. “Yes, well I’m glad you’ve got such a keen eye.” He seems to realize how much of an asshole he’s being and gives a short sigh. “I apologize for snapping. It’s just…” He shakes his head, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been waiting. For so long. And now I’m…here.”

Moonlight flickered across his face. He looked scared. Alive. Grateful.

You swallow hard. “Are you saying—”

He nodded, not letting you finish. “You’re the one who woke me.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest—disbelief, nervousness, and something warm, something ridiculous that felt like hope. “So the myth was real?”

Daniel squeezed your arms, still getting used to being able to move. “If you’re talking about the whole soulmate thing, I’m not sure.” Even he seemed consumed by disbelief at the situation at hand. “All I know is that I was stuck as a statue, unable to move or feel, but then I felt you.” His piercing blue eyes felt like they were looking directly into your soul.

Your head began to clear a bit once you realized this wasn’t some elaborate prank being pulled on you by one of your friends. Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion at his admission.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re not sure?” Daniel had let go of your arms and began to pace in a line, back and forth, his hand rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “Didn’t The Eye turn you into those statues? Did they not explain to you guys why they did it?”

His head whipped toward you at the mention of The Eye. 

“Who told you about that?” You never got the chance to respond. “Nevermind, that’s not important right now. To answer your question, yes, The Eye did this to us. They said it was to protect us from being arrested for the whole Tressler insurance thing.” His pacing had started again, creating a path in the gravel. 

“Why are you guys being released now? Why not anytime in the last 12 years?” You couldn’t help but stare at his side profile as he walked. You knew it wasn’t the time, but sue a woman for appreciating beauty when she saw it. 

“The Eye claimed that we would remain as statues until they needed us again, and the only way to be freed would be by the touch of a soulmate.” He scoffed at the last part, as if he still couldn’t believe what he had been told 12 years ago. 

You hummed in acknowledgement. “Sounds to me like you actually do know if the soulmate part is true, considering The Eye told you directly.” His pacing stopped once again. This time, his entire body turned toward you. 

“It doesn’t matter that they told me directly. There’s no such thing as ‘soulmates’, and the concept is ridiculous.” Daniel’s eyes fell to the ground and moved rapidly, as if he was searching the rocks under him for answers.

You let the silence sit around the two of you for a moment before adding, “I think soulmates are real. Maybe that makes me an idiot or a hopeless romantic, but I think they’re real to some degree.”

He seemed to pause in that moment, his eyes raking over you as if actually taking you in for the first time. You were suddenly too aware of the too-big t-shirt and sweatpants combo you were rocking, but you continued speaking anyway.

“A soulmate doesn’t have to be a single romantic partner, anyway. I have a couple of friends in my life that I think are my soulmates with how well we click together.” You smile at the thought, briefly making a mental reminder to text your friends in the morning. 

You see Daniel’s eyes move toward the last two statues. A flash of longing and sadness moves in his gaze before he quickly covers it. You decide not to comment on it.

Exhaustion must be starting to take over all of your functions, because you decide to say, “Besides, why was it only my touch that pulled you out of that thing?” Immediately you regret saying it. Good God, were you insinuating that you were Daniel Atlas’ soulmate? Right after he said he didn’t believe in the idea?

Forget exhaustion, you must be losing your mind. 

Daniel’s cheeks redden and he averts his gaze, looking at anything but you. You start to take everything you just said back, but he cuts you off with an awkward chuckle and a shake of his head, his hands finding a home in his pockets.

The silence of the park that surrounded you two was suddenly deafening. You silently asked the moon to stifle her light in hopes that maybe you could make your escape under the cover of darkness.

“What…what do we do now?” you ask quietly, “You obviously have no obligation to me or anything, so don’t feel like you have to.” You gave him this offer, but something tells you he’s not the type to do something he doesn’t want to in order to spare someone’s feelings.

Despite the awkwardness and the unasked questions between the two of you, he smiled, small but genuine. “Try to live normally, I suppose. At least until the four of us are freed and The Eye calls on us.” You nodded absentmindedly as your heart still hammered in your chest. He continued, “I don’t know if the FBI is still looking for us, but I’ll need somewhere to hide out if they are.”

You could tell his pride kept him from asking for help directly, so you extended an olive branch. “You’re welcome to stay at my apartment until you’re needed elsewhere.” 

Daniel’s smile was genuine as he replied, “Thank you. I would really appreciate that.” 

Getting out of Central Park was easier than breaking in, thankfully. Especially since you were now in the presence of a man that was used to pulling off heist-like missions. 

The walk back to your apartment was silent, both of you too caught up thinking over everything revealed tonight and what it could mean. Trying to break the silence, you say quietly, “I suppose it makes more sense now why Jack hasn’t revealed himself since being freed.” 

At the mention of his friend, Daniel lets out an amused and breathy laugh, the tension now broken. “I’m not too worried about Jack. He has experience when it comes to staying hidden,” You give him a crooked smile in response to the subtle fondness that filled his voice when talking about the youngest horsemen. “But as for me and what I’m gonna do, I’m not so sure.”

“Well,” you reply after a moment, shrugging your shoulders, “I guess we’ll figure it out one day at a time.”

The two of you walked forward—two strangers (who were most definitely not soulmates)—toward your apartment and a future neither of you could have ever expected.