i have ruined you,

First Fuck: Fast, frantic, not much talking except "get your clothes off you don't have to undo all the buttons" because Shane is in his stupid pleaked up shirt. I visualize like Shane shoving Ilya up the bed still straddling him and knee walking and yanking Ilya's pants down to give him his best impression of Ilya's own tornado blowjob for a few minutes and then Ilya flips them so they can do some rough intercural pouring lube between them while Shane moans for him to just put it in he can take it right now but Ilya's too close and he busts before he can even get a condom in their vicinity so then he just sucks his own come off of Shane's dick

Second Fuck: Okay, Ilya's got his wits about him now. "Gonna give it to you right, Hollander, you want it? You've missed this?" putting Shane on all fours and he goes so slow, kissing up his back and telling Shane to say his name "say it, tell me who you want to fuck you" and Shane begs him like "Ilya Ilya Ilya want you to fuck me" but Ilya keeps it slow and deep until they're both dying and then finally moves in for the kill.

Ilya awoke in the middle of the night, the strange sounds of a foreign place enough to make him restless.

He was still nervous. The jitters of finally being here, of what he might slip up and reveal of his feelings, weighed heavily. What might happen from here?

Doing everything he could to not wake Shane, he slipped from the bed they were sharing and padded into the pristine kitchen of Shane's cottage (a word that he decided Shane needed to relearn the meaning of) and looked around for something soothing to eat.

Honestly, his hopes were not high. As ridiculously thrilled as he was to be here, in this place, with Shane, for a whole two weeks, he had not travelled here for the food. He knew that he would likely be subjected to horrors like zucchini pasta and breakfast smoothies and spinach hidden in ungodly places.

But fuck, it was worth it to be here with Shane.

So he started quietly opening cabinets and drawers, hoping maybe he would find a protein bar with a drizzle of dark chocolate or something.

He was shocked to find so much more.

Bags and bags of chips and snacks and other junkfood, all of the things he loved. Reusable grocery totes stuffed with all of his favorites. Beaming, he pulled one out from a shelf and reached for a party-sized bag of Doritos, only to see a slip of paper fall.

Absent-mindedly, he picked it up.

Things to buy for Ilya, it read at the top.

Ilya stilled.

It was a list. A long list, written in Shane's cramped, slightly-messy handwriting, not only detailing Ilya's favorite things but annotated with Shane's thoughts about them.

He couldn't help but break into a smile. Of course Shane Hollander didn't use something as simple as his phone's notes app. No, he was a pen-and-paper guy, walking around the grocery store like an old man with his list in his hand and his stupidly attractive glasses perched on his nose.

Ilya knew he was smiling like an idiot at the thought.

Cokes, one line read, Cans, not the bottles, enough for two a day.

Swallowing, Ilya bit his lip. Yes, he did prefer the cans. But he'd never said anything. Had he told Hollander this?

Doritos, another entry detailed. I think red? They were in his cabinet. Get both to be sure.

He snorted lightly. Of course, Shane would cover all of his bases. But he remembered what Ilya'd had in his cabinet from that night so long ago?

The notes went on.

Guesses at Ilya's preferences in coffee, cereal, cookies, and meals. Ingredients for traditional Russian dishes. Memories of things Shane had seen Ilya consuming in photos.

It was a wonder the cabinets weren't bursting with food.

And Ilya stood there, in the early hours of the morning, staring at the undeniable evidence that this man knew him. Or, at least, was making a very good effort to try to do so. 

Suddenly, he did not want to eat Doritos anymore. All he wanted was to go back to bed and hold Shane in his arms. 

But as he placed the unopened bag back in the cabinet, he slipped the list into his pocket.