So many years into it, Ilya hadn’t found a single thing about Shane Hollander that gave him the slightest hint of the ick. Everything about him sang to Ilya, made his blood heat and his heart feel a lightness he hadn’t felt since before his mother died.
They’d finally made it to the cottage, to this place where Ilya had felt like maybe he could relax with Shane. And he had been honest. He’d admitted he was in love with Shane and then they’d been hurdled into coming out to Shane’s parents in less than 24 hours. Ilya’s heart rate had finally started to come down after the I love yous, the meeting the parents, the sex that he was still having trouble even thinking about, it had been so fucking good.
Their first couple meals at the cottage together they had eaten on the deck, in broad daylight. What he didn’t notice at first was that Shane kind of ate like a caveman. His table manners had been fine up until now, but Ilya felt like he was seeing Shane unmasked.
They were back on the deck for dinner, and Shane was taking huge bites of his hot dog, barely swallowing (which Ilya knew he was exceptional at), then diving into the next giant bite. Ketchup and mustard were all over his face. Maybe he was just really hungry? Ilya hadn’t let him leave their (their!) bed for hours, so fair enough. That was probably it.
The next morning they sat down at the kitchen table with scrambled eggs, some toast, and fruit. After a few bites of his own, Ilya finally looked at Shane hoping that his polite Canadian boy had regained some semblance of etiquette. But no, he was now shoveling eggs into his mouth like some sort of children’s cartoon.
“Shane, slow down, you’re going to choke.”
Through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, “What?”
“You are eating so fast. Slow down.”
Shane finally swallowed, briefly distracting Ilya with the movement of his throat. “I’m eating how I normally eat.”
“This is how you normally eat? I have never seen you eat like this.”
“Fuck off, asshole. Just let me have my breakfast.”
Ilya wasn’t trying to be an asshole. He knew his focus on table manners was a product of his upbringing, of his tyrannical father who made every dinner another opportunity for Ilya to fail. But he also felt confused. This was Shane, who folded his clothes before giving blowjobs, and who had so many pillows on his bed that making it every morning was like a temple ritual.
They finished breakfast in a hurried silence, and Ilya took their plates and started to tidy up.
“What do you mean you’ve never seen me eat like that? Was I eating too much?”
Ilya had already picked up on how closely Shane watched what he ate. “No. No, no, no, is nothing like that.”
“You were just eating… different.”
“Ilya, we’ve eaten less than ten meals together the entire time we’ve known each other. How could you possibly know how I eat?”
“Oh, I know how you eat.” Ilya’s eyebrows lifted, and the corner of his mouth hitched up in the way it did when he was thinking about getting his mouth on Shane’s body. Or Shane’s mouth on his.
“Do not try to change the subject!”
Ilya stared at Shane. At his rumpled hair, his beautiful face attempting a scowl, the tshirt he’d stolen from Ilya last night, and his briefs and strong, soft thighs. He already loved Shane in a way that made his stomach nervous every time he looked at him like this, entirely comfortable and in his favorite place. And Ilya was, apparently and unexpectedly, his favorite person.
Ilya realized that pointing out that Shane ate like he was going for gold in some horrible game show challenge would only hurt Shane’s feelings. Give him another thing to be overly self aware about.
And Ilya didn’t actually care. In that moment, he realized that he loved this part of Shane. He knew Shane could be impeccably polite in public, but this was Shane unleashed, zero concern for how we was being perceived, himself with no chains.
“I was just glad you liked my eggs.”
“That I liked your eggs?”
“Yes, I have not gotten to cook for you much. Not since…”
They hadn’t talked about that day in Boston yet. Not beyond Shane’s apology at All Stars. Ilya knew they’d talk about it more, but now wasn’t the moment.
“I am just glad I can cook for you now, and I didn’t want to rush it. I don’t want to rush my time with you anymore.”
As their eyes met, Ilya knew the softness in Shane’s eyes was reflected in his own.
“I love that we get to cook for each other now. I love not rushing. I love… being with you.” Shane’s eyes were getting extra shiny the way they did when Ilya made him extra happy.
“Mmm. I think it’s time for us to shower and get our day started.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I will describe to you in great detail in shower.”
Shane was already halfway to the bedroom, and Ilya followed him like he knew he would for the rest of his life.
