I'm thinking about that first night at the cottage, after the fire and the loons and "she was so funny and beautiful" and how they'd finally put the fire out and go back inside, both of them a bit quiet and feeling bruised and clingy, Ilya following Shane around while he does his nightly tasks around the cottage. Gradually they'd shift out of that quiet space into another round of sex, a bit slower and quieter maybe than they've been all day, and after, when Shane ducks into the bathroom to clean up and brush his teeth, Ilya sees to the bed. They've already changed the sheets twice today but luckily they can get away with not changing them again now, Ilya thinks, so he just straightens everything out and sorts out untucked corners and the like, hands moving on autopilot while his mind grapples with everything that's happened today. He doesn't quite notice, therefore, that he's just doing everything he'd normally do after he and Shane have fucked and Shane has left to go back to his team or his apartment or whatever.
And then, suddenly, Shane's voice behind him: "Um, Ilya? What are you doing?" and Ilya realises he's swapping their pillows, like he always does when he's sleeping in a bed that Shane has vacated. Reaching for the pillow that Shane was using, however briefly, bringing it briefly up to his face for a quick sniff of the residual smell of Shane's hair, that distinctive coconutty citrussy shampoo, before dropping it onto his preferred side of the bed so he can tuck his face into it and hold on to the little leftover pieces of Shane for a bit longer.
He twists around to face Shane, bashful and a bit shamefaced, and finds a look of complete and utter understanding. Like maybe Shane, too, is used to scavenging, to rooting for the crumbs of Ilya he's allowed to hold on to.
But tonight they don't need to. For the next two glorious weeks, they don't need to. They can gorge themselves on each other, feast off each other's bodies like kings, find out just how far the limits of their hunger go.
The sting of relief, of gratitude, is almost too much to bear. Too much to bear alone, so Ilya opens his arms, reaches, asks, like he never would have dared to before, and Shane makes a strangled sound and barrels into him, bearing down with all his body weight to press Ilya into warm wrinkled sheets that still smell like them both.
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