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i think shane gets outed as trans sometime after he and ilya are outed..idk how but...it doesnt end his career like he thought it might so theres that at least!
the past 24 hours had been hell for ilya. between almost missing his connecting flight and barely sleeping or eating on the planes, he was exhausted. his things wouldn't even arrive for the next few days. he was stuck with what was in his carry-on: a few changes of clothes, a blanket and some hygiene items. that was basically it. the rest would come later.
by the time he made it to campus, got lost twice and argued with someone speaking french, ilya was ready to settle in for the evening and do absolutely nothing. the dorm was having a meet-and-greet of sorts, which would normally be right up ilya's alley, but now he didn't know if he could do it.
he looks like a zombie by the time he reaches his dorm. he knew next to nothing about his new roommate, shane. he'd meant to look him up but it kept slipping his mind. he was asian-canadian and played hockey. that was all he knew.
much to his dismay, shane is already there when he arrives, having claimed his own side already. it looked so... put together already. ❝ you must be shane? ilya. rozanov. ❞ he looks him over up and down. fuck, he was cute. ❝ i thought you might be at... food event, down hall. smells good. ❞
Shane was presented with two options after he graduated high school. He could either go on to play professionally right away, or he could go to college, play there for a little while, and get drafted that way. Recruiters were chomping at the bit for him, and he decided that he did want to go to school, though he's not entirely sure what he wants to get his degree in yet. Architecture, maybe? He doesn't have many interests outside of hockey, but that was one of them. If hockey didn't work out, then at least he'd have something to fall back on.
His roommate, Ilya Rozanov, might be a different story. A promising star from Moscow. Shane couldn't really wrap his head around why he'd want to go to college first, but maybe it was for similar reasons to Shane. He's spent an embarrassing amount of time watching clips of him playing now that they'll be on the same team in school. Not that he's going to admit that, but--
He's pulled out of his thoughts when the door suddenly opens. Shane jumps and blinks, putting down the book he was reading, nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Oh, yeah, Shane Hollander." He slides off the bed and holds his hand out for Ilya to shake. "Uh...yeah, nah, that's not..I'm not very into things with big groups, I guess. How was your flight and stuff? You're from Moscow, right? Pretty long haul to come all the way to Montreal. You must be exhausted."
"I'll tell him I was fighting and that you stopped it." Ilya blinks a few times to try and shake the dizziness. "Think it was the Italians." He mutters, grateful for the chill of the night air.
Try not to be such dead weight.
Something about the words triggers something in Ilya. Remind him of his father. Of speeches about not being worthy to take on more responsibility. Not even good enough to look after himself for one night.
He removes his arm from Shane, balling his fingers into fists and digging his nails into his palms, using the stinging sensation to keep his eyes focused. "Yeah, 'M fine." He shrugs it off, jaw tensing. Useless, incompetent, stupid - Words rattle around his brain, preparing him for the onslaught that he will no doubt receive. Either way, his father will find some reason to make it Ilya's fault.
He collapses into the car, exhaling and resting his head against the dashboard for a moment before forcing himself back upright when Shane sits in. "What did you do with your night off?"
Shane blinks when Ilya suddenly shrugs him off, his eyebrows raising. Alright then--it's not like his job is to be Ilya's caretaker. Just to get him in, out, keep him safe, all that. He sighs, raising his hands in defeat and following Ilya into the car. He can never seem to win with him, can he? But what does it matter, anyways? Ilya doesn't have to like him. This is something purely professional. Nothing more than that. Even if Shane sometimes looks at him longer than he ought to...but whatever. Who cares!
He starts the car up and quickly speeds off into the night, weaving in and out of traffic. He doesn't think anyone saw them slip out, and anyone that mattered is dead anyways. "Not much," he muses, shaking his head. "I don't ever really know what to do with myself when I have time off because it doesn't ever happen."
He won't admit that he was nervous, that he couldn't settle. Some part of him knew that something would happen. "You have fun before you got knocked in the head and handcuffed to a chair?"
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As a matter of fact, Trevor is, indeed, not getting fucked like this when Ilya isn't around.
Perhaps it's pathetic, in a way, that he's not out there having fun and exploring life in between meeting up with the man he's fallen for in the most hardest and quickest, perhaps even most intense, kind of ways. Maybe he would do that if he were... not himself, honestly - just a normal guy doing normal guy things, all of that - but, unfortunately, Trevor is Trevor, in the end.
And his life is his life, and it's every bit as shit and complicated as it is exhausting. Had things played out differently for him in the past, perhaps he would've ended up being more open and outgoing - frequenting certain kinds of clubs, getting to know people, partying until the sun comes back out in the early morning of a fresh new day - but what he does instead is to frequent the streets. Works for people who are much higher up on the not-so-metaphorical food chain to get the shit jobs done, bringing in money from which he has to hand out the biggest part so he can keep a few meager coins in return. He is meeting other people, all things considered, and interacts with them on the regular...
They just happen to be the other kind of people who crowd said streets at night - in the most obvious and yet so very subtle, illegal ways, selling promised happiness in batches to victims of modern life while using the unfortunate ones to carry the cans, take the blame, get their lifes fucked up.
...Anyways: Long story short, Ilya is the only one Trevor's in contact with when it comes to... this - to being intimate in a good kind of way - and therefore it has been so, so long since he's last experienced this, and oh my god does it feel good when Ilya is finally pulling down his boxers and---
"---Holy shit..." It's almost too much already when the other licks his cock like a fucking lollipop, has Trevor's thighs tremble where they remain spread, head lifting back up so he can gaze at the most hottest guy in the entire world putting his mouth on his dick; Ilya looks incredibly good while doing it too - his tongue so skilled, lips soon glistening with spit and precum, bright piercing eyes eager and sharp as he then, just like that, wraps that sinful mouth around the width of his cock and begins to move his head.
Sinks down, further and further, takes Trevor like a champ and doesn't even gag.
Holy fucking shit, Jesus fucking Christ.
And all Trevor can do is to let out a deep breathy moan, the sight - and feel - shaking him to the core, causing brows to furrow and his own lips to part with the heavy breaths that begin to leave him. He groans at the way Ilya's nose buries itself into the trimmed pubes surrounding his dick, watches him moving back up to then slide back down, establishing a rhythm---
Trevor thinks he's going to die and ascend to heaven, possibly. Maybe he'll also go to hell instead, who knows? But this is so fucking hot - so incredibly sexy - that he has to beg whatever greater force exists to help him get through it without coming down that hot throat within a second and a half; That would be utterly embarrassing, after all, and he doesn't want Ilya to think he's some kind of... loser, perhaps.
Thing is, said Ilya is making it incredibly hard. Outright impossible, honestly. Fuck.
"...I-Ilya, oh fff-fuck, holy fuck---" High-pitched, close to a whine, Trevor squeezes his eyes shut as both of his hands curl into the other's soft hair, holding on - not pushing nor pulling, simply trying not to break apart - as he pushes forceful puffs of air through flared nostrils, head falling back against the pillow, sweat beading on his neck and the dip between his clavicles. He mewls and moans at the sensation he's going through, bites his bottom lip so hard it stings---
"...Fuckfuckfuck, Ilya, please, Ilya, you gotta--- I cant'---I can't, if you go on, I will, I will---"
...Ah yes, here Trevor is - failing at trying not to make an utter fool out of himself by having to admit that he is close already, shit.
God, Ilya's half convinced that he's died and gone to Heaven. Or something like that anyways. Though honestly his relationship with religion is complicated, and maybe that's the easiest way to think of it when something good happens to him. His life is so full of not good things that when something comes along, he's convinced that he doesn't deserve it or that it'll go away like everything else. Trevor hasn't left yet. Not yet. Or, rather, Ilya hasn't pushed him away yet. It's hard to say what may or may not happen. He doesn't want to let go of a good thing, but there are so many risks that he's worried about taking. He's half convinced that someone from Russia is always watching him, but--but what is he supposed to do about that? And how realistic is it, anyways?
Well, realistic enough that it concerns him. Realistic enough since he's a prolific athlete. Good fucking god, he doesn't want to think about that. Why is he thinking about that? His mind often wanders when going down on people just because that's how his brain works. Sometimes he has a bad habit of falling out of the moment.
But he brings himself back in. All he wants to do, right now, is make sure that Trevor has the best fucking night he can give him.
Which seems to be the case, if the noises he's making are anything to go by. Ilya seems smug, picking up the pace a little and groaning around him, especially when his hands grab onto his hair and hold on tight. It only urges him to keep going, nails digging into the skin of his thighs and--
--And Trevor tells him to stop. If Ilya were a little crueler, he'd take that a cue to keep going, to bring him over the edge, but he has other plans for the night. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifts his head off of him, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the head of his cock. Ilya grins, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand, looking entirely like the smug asshole that he is. "Too good? Too much?" he teases as he crawls back up the length of Trevor's body, leaning down to kiss him again to give him a taste of himself.
After a few moments, he slowly parts and presses their foreheads together, a hand coming up to rest on Trevor's cheek. "Have you ever been fucked?" he asks, curious, starting to wiggle out of his sweatpants because they're getting too tight to be comfortable. "Would you want to let me fuck you?" Because god, he really, really wants to fuck him. He's been thinking about it since yesterday. "Is okay if no, but I want to give you option."
— shane shrinks under the covers. okay, no more pressing on the wound. he has to imagine himself with the wound too— and ilya also pressing back on it the same way he's doing it to him. " okay, nothing was good about paris. i get it. " he ponders on ilya saying he was still lonely, what it means not only for him as long as he knows what loneliness is. he wonders what it means for ilya that it persists despite his infidelity; you're always hovering around your partner's mind, but have you ever considered actually letting him into yours? doctor park's voice provides clarity in his muddled thoughts, a welcoming presence when shane finds his own unreliable. misery loves company, and you both can sit in the swell of it, but it would not change anything if you refuse to let him see you for you when you keep laser focus on his faults. shane clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, going quiet for a few moments, thinking really hard on what to say next. " i ... was lonely too, i thought— i thought that maybe. if you went to paris, you'd be able to have something besides being here. " that's not all of it, he should really apologize for what he said before ilya left for his trip too. he should, it's the right thing to do here, is it? " ... i'm sorry for— i'm sorry i said those things before you left. i was just— " scared. he was scared, as he is always whenever he finds the thin-skinned ego peel back to expose the red, swollen and bleeding muscle of his truthfulness. the ugly little child that didn't know how to regulate, how to form a stable sense of himself. here, he tries again and hoping that it works.
it's hard, his therapist has told him about this that taking accountability is a kind of unraveling. it's supposed to make you feel like a raw wound, got it? the discomfort is there because the cells needed to make the scab have to do some legwork to repair what's gone wrong. doctor park has taken to use vocabulary, gentle and direct, that shane would be familiar with and easier to grasp. making mistakes is just like falling down and getting scrapes, it's getting hurt in a way that doesn't just hurt the other party but also yourself. he knows that he is also afraid of getting hurt unnecessarily, because it hasn't served him any favors but an endurance for suffering and a resilience to his own internal turmoil. shane stares at ilya back again, pursing his lips, thinking and thinking. " i was lonely too— but i guess you know that already. uh. i don't know. i wasn't good at saying it because ... i was ... " he cheeks burn with the embarrassment, and how infuriatingly humiliating this all is for him. shane sinks deeper into the covers as he tries to find the words, his eyes looking everywhere else in response to showing the white underbelly of his person for the first time. " it's not because the fact you need me with you, but i— i felt really bad saying i need you too. "
Wait, is Shane being...vulnerable? Ilya immediately feels guilty that his first reaction to the idea of it is shock, but Shane's never been vulnerable once in the decade plus that they've been together. He would always turn his nose up at the idea, even get angry or shut down when Ilya tried to push. This is different. It takes him off guard, blinking a few times as he slowly processes what Shane is saying. He's sorry. He needs him to. Ilya takes a deep breath, pushes a hand through his hair. He was ready to argue, ready to bite back and defend himself like he always does. This throws him for a loop, makes him stumble, makes his heart race, makes him...relax, even if only a little. The tension in his shoulders eases ever so slightly, slumping forward as he feels relief flood through him. Such a small step shouldn't have him jumping for joy. It's what anyone should do and be willing to do, right? But Shane has never been willing. Not once. Ilya sniffs, letting out a shaky laugh and hiding his face in his hands for a time, trying to find the right thing to say. The last thing he wants to do is ruin it, and oh, he is so, so fucking good at ruining things.
"You need me, too," he quietly repeats, finally lifting his head to look over at Shane. "Do you know how long I've wanted to hear you say that?" Because he was always looking for a reason, just one fucking reason that this all might be worth it, that he wasn't staying just for the hell of it now. Shane needs him. He needs him. The words spin around in his mind, and he scoots over to him, wrapping his arms around him to bury his face in his hair. Bad idea, probably, but Ilya has been sharing the same bed with him since he came back, so if he's going to get sick, then he's going to get sick. "Fuck, Shane," he mutters, fingers gripping his shirt knuckle white. "I'm sorry. I didn't...think...I thought you might..thought you might be happier without me," he mumbles, swallowing hard. "I've always thought that you would be."
"Yeah, I just thought it could be fun." Troy twists his glass around in his hand. Ilya looks at Shane, waiting for his reaction before nodding, mouth full of chips. "Is good idea, Barrett, I need to show off my body and get tan."
Troy snorts out a laugh, taking a drink from his soda. "I was thinking Spain? I found a nice resort that's near the beach, has like five different pools, a spa, and this gym that looks out over the ocean." He grabs his phone, flicks to the website to find it, and hands it over to them so they can see. "And I was thinking we could get an apartment, that way you guys would have your own space." He's conscious of the fact that they're going to want to spend time together away from him. Last thing Troy wants is to be that annoying dick on holiday who won't fuck off. "I thought two weeks? I also found some activities and excursions I thought you two might like; I'll put them into the group chat." Most of them had been recommendations from his mom - She'd recently travelled there. He'd tried to ignore her quizzing about who he was going with, but the stupid doe-eyed look on his face probably gave him away. "What do you think?"
Shane rolls his eyes and kicks Ilya's leg under the table, giving him a playful look before looking over at Troy's phone, tilting his head. He leans over to Ilya so he can show him, raising his brows at the mention of their own space.
"I mean...will we need our own space? Ilya?" Shane would feel bad about that. If it's the three of them, then the three of them ought to enjoy it together. Granted, Shane would probably need his own space for when he gets overwhelmed, as is bound to happen after a long day of travel, which is why he and Ilya typically gets suites anyways. "I mean, we always get suites so I can have the bedroom when I'm freaking out, but I don't think we're going to kick you out, Troy." Shane laughs, a grin on his face as he hands the phone back to Troy. "That sounds really nice, though. I don't think I've ever been to Spain. Maybe Italy. My parents used to travel a lot. Of course I don't remember any of it. What do you think, Ilya?"
whats interesting to me is that shane doesnt have gender dysphoria. hes been out since he was a kid. after a lot of research, yuna & david did what they could to mitigate any dysphoria shane might have. HOWEVER. he still has the same issues with being uncomfortable with his body being on display for ppl and sexualized so YIPPEE
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“ last night was nice. ”
“ lets do this again some time. ”
“ i’ll leave my number. ”
“ i gotta go, sorry. ”
“ can’t you at least stay for breakfast? ”
“ i’ll make coffee—don’t go anywhere. ”
“ next time, maybe i’ll buy you dinner first. ”
“ if we do this again you better buy me dinner first. ”
“ i don’t think my legs work again yet. ”
“ i don’t wanna get up. ”
“ no don’t move, it’s too cold outside the covers. ”
“ there’s no way i can hide these marks… ”
“ this was probably a mistake. ”
“ this can’t happen again. ”
“ you always say that, and yet we wind up right back here. ”
“ are you watching me sleep? ”
“ you look cute all frazzled like this. ”
“ why are you looking at me like that? ”
“ keep kissing me like that and we’re gonna end up back in bed. ”
“ something wrong? ”
“ i’d stay if i could, i promise. ”
“ so if i put my number in your phone, you actually gonna text me? ”
“ i made breakfast. ”
“ how do you take your coffee? ”
“ fuck! i’m late— ”
“ did you turn the alarm off? ”
“ if you don’t turn that alarm off i’m gonna throw it out the window. ”
“ i can’t find my shirt. ”
“ babe, we slept in. ”
“ i know you’re awake. ”
“ i’ll stay. ”
“ why don’t you stay? ”
“ i like waking up with you. ”
“ i like having you here at night. ”
“ you know, if you moved in we wouldn’t keep having to say goodbye like this. ”
“ so when are we gonna actually go on a real date? ”
“ do i smell bacon? ”
“ you made pancakes? ”
“ come on, come back to bed. ”
“ you weren’t there when i woke up. ”
“ i thought you left. ”
“ do you want me to go? ”
“ just let me sleep for five more minutes. ”
“ you’re really beautiful/handsome. even if you drool. ”
“ you talk in your sleep, ya know. ”
ACTIONS:
1. for one muse to surprise the other with breakfast in bed
2. for our muses to go another round in the morning
3. for your muse to join mine in the shower while getting ready for the day
4. for one muse to stop the other from trying to sneak away
5. for one muse to invite the other to spend the rest of the day with them
6. for one muse to convince the other to stay in bed the rest of the day
7. for our muses to have sex in the kitchen instead of finishing breakfast
8. for our muses to spoon
9. for one muse to wake up with morning wood
10. for one muse to wake the other up with oral
11. for lazy morning sex
12. for one muse to wake the other because they’re having a nightmare
13. for one muse to distract the other from getting ready by kissing/groping them
14. for one muse to kick the other out of their home
15. for our muses to wake with no recollection of the night before
okay so yes i am going to move forward with shane being a trans man. like thatll be my blog canon from this point on. if we have smut threads, im fine w/ keeping them as they are but moving forward! just keep in mind!
as soon as shane turns 18 he gets top surgery. thats the first thing he does with his big boy hockey money. he does it during the off season, and really its not like he had much to hide to begin with BUT. hes glad to be rid of them...
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Ilya mutters against the tape, a soft little growl of annoyance rising in his chest. He hadn't expected anything to go wrong. Maybe that's the problem. He'd let his guard down. His father's going to be fucking furious. One minute he'd been in the club, the next he was in this back room, blood trickling down his temple and Shane stepping over the bodies of the guys who'd taken him.
His whole body aches as he struggles against the ropes. "It's not my fault. They shouldn't have been able to get at me." He mutters when the tape is finally removed, massaging his wrists. He tries to stand but feels dizzy, hand gripping at Shane's arm.
Then stubbornness kicks in. He doesn't want to look weak. "We won't tell my father." He moves to lean against the chair, trying to act like he's not about to collapse. "Is fine. Guy who called you is only one who knows. He won't tell. So we can just forget it happened."
When Ilya grabs onto his arm, Shane immediately supports him, raising his brows. "You look like shit. How are we going to explain that?" Well, that could be easy enough. A bad night of drinking could make you feel like you got hit by a truck, for sure. Shane sighs and rolls his eyes, grabbing Ilya's arm and throwing it over his shoulder so he could help him walk out.
"Whatever, let me figure that out. Do you know who those guys were?" It could be anyone, really. When Ilya Rozanov is the son of the most prolific mafia family in Europe, it's bound to put some eyes on him. Which is why they hired Shane. Which is why Shane shouldn't have taken the offer to have the night off. Fucking hell-
He keeps his eyes peeled as they make their way outside, into the alley behind the club. "You're gonna be fine. Just a knock to the head. C'mon, Roz. Try not to be such dead weight, huh?"
