Mackleburg

“You were amazing tonight,” Shane murmurs, not sure what to talk about now that they are back here again. It’s not as though they had chatted a lot the last time.

Ilya shrugs, but Shane sees a spark in his eye at the praise. “Was easy, Buffalo is shit.”

“Yeah, so is their team,” Shane jokes.

Ilya laughs, takes another drink from his glass, downing it this time. “I want to fuck you tonight,” he declares when he’s done.

Shane is in the middle of his own sip when Ilya says it, and Shane immediately chokes, the harsh soda going down the wrong pipe. He coughs continuously, tears streaming down his cheeks, for a minute while Ilya pats his back. Shane takes a shuddering breath in once his lungs have calmed down. Ilya had removed their glasses during the cough attack, and now he wipes away the tear trails along Shane’s face.

“Is that okay?” he murmurs, eyes locked on Shane’s.

Shane nods eagerly, not trusting his voice.

“Say it,” Ilya orders. “I want to hear you say it.”

Shane swallows, clears his throat. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispers. “I want to be yours. Want you to be my first.”

Ilya’s entire body shudders at Shane’s words. “My Shane,” he traces Shane’s jaw. “My toy, no one else gets to play with.”

“Yours,” Shane repeats. 

Then, feeling bold, he crashes his lips against Ilya’s mouth. He can tell Ilya is a little caught off guard, but very quickly Ilya takes control and presses his tongue inside. Shane tries to keep up, dragging his tongue along Ilya’s, but mostly he lets Ilya take what he wants and goes along with the ride.

“Da, you are mine,” Ilya growls as he finally pulls away from Shane’s lips. “You will come to all my games. I will pay for tickets. I will pay for travel, whatever you need. My own personal cheerleader. I will buy personalized uniform and I will fuck you in it until all you know is my name. My Shane. My toy. My perfect hole, made just for me. Made to worship me.”

Shane whines and nods his head, begging,  “Yes, fuck yes. I want that. I’m your biggest fan, need to prove it to you. Please let me prove it to you.”

“Get on my bed,” Ilya commands. “No clothes.”

Shane nods again, knows he looks too eager but can’t care. Ilya Rozanov wants to fuck him! Wants to keep fucking him!! He starts toward the bedroom, but turns back almost immediately to plant another kiss on Ilya’s unprepared lips. It’s more of a smack than a sexy kiss, but Shane can’t help himself. And it causes Ilya to groan loudly, so Shane can’t find any embarrassment in his actions.

Smiling shyly now, Shane turns again, to get himself naked and back on Ilya’s plush bed. Ilya smacks his ass before he’s out of reach and Shane giggles and peaks behind him to see Ilya’s bold smile and lustful eyes. 

“Bed,” Ilya repeats. And Shane won’t have to be told a third time. 

He basically skips into the bedroom, Ilya’s footsteps trailing behind him. He shucks off his shirt as he walks, folding it as best he can and draping it over the couch as he passes the living room. Ilya is on him in a second, groping him from behind. Ilya’s hands find their way to Shane’s chest, tweaking his nipples while he bites Shane’s neck. Shane moans, “Need to get on your bed.” Tries to squirm out of Ilya’s hold so he can do as Ilya had told him.

Ilya holds him tightly. “Mmm, my good boy wants to follow directions?”

Shane strains in his arms, tears prick his eyes. “Yes, please sir. Want to be good.”

“God,” Ilya moans. “Like you were made for me.” And he finally releases Shane.

Shane runs to the bedroom, throwing items of clothing off as he goes, almost tripping over his own pants in the process. He no longer cares about folding his clothes, he can stress about that after he’s had Ilya Rozanov’s dick in his ass. Finally he lands in a naked heap on the bed, having practically launched himself there. And Ilya is on him in seconds.

Ilya plants kisses all along his body, climbing up from his chest, over his nipples, to his throat. “You forgot about socks, but I will forgive you this time,” Ilya murmurs against his throat.

Shane doesn't have time to hate himself for the mistake because Ilya, quick as lightning, shoves him further up the bed, splays his legs apart and puts his mouth directly to Shane’s hole. Shane cries out, he’s never felt anything like this. He’s never even experienced a blow job. A hand job, either if he’s keeping track. There had only even been kisses before Ilya. And those were so few and far between, not to mention unsatisfying.

But this, the feeling of Ilya lapping at him, breaching him open with his hot wet tongue is something he has certainly never come close to feeling. For the second time that night, Shane worries he is going to come before he wants to. Ilya is making a mess, Shane can feel the wetness between his thighs, can feel it soaking the bed under his ass. Ilya collects some with his hand, and suddenly Shane can cross hand job off his list. 

“Oh fuck, Ilya, fuck,” Shane cries, his eyes going crossed as he pulls himself back from the edge of coming with sheer force of will alone.

Ilya begins fucking Shane with his tongue and matches the motions with his hand. Shane can hardly remember to breathe, the euphoric feeling washes over him over and over again.

“Ilya, please,” Shane begs, “Gonna come soon. Want you in me. Wanna come on your cock.”

Ilya’s mouth is off him immediately, his hand grips the base of Shane’s dick and it stalls his orgasm immediately. “Okay sweetheart,” Ilya smiles, face wet with spit, “I will fuck you then.”

Shane lets a dry sob shudder out of him as he nods happily. His body had been tensed for orgasm, but now he relaxes, becomes boneless as Ilya reaches over him to pull out what must be lube from the bedside table. 

Shane arches off the bed as Ilya presses two lubed fingers into his tongue loosened hole. Ilya isn’t gentle and Shane is happy for it. He wants Ilya in him now, and anything to make that happen as quickly as possible is what he wants. Shane feels the stretch and the burn as Ilya works in a third and then fourth finger but it all blends together in the ecstasy of having Ilya inside him.

“M’good,” Shane slurs after a couple minutes. “Please, fuck me. Ilya, please.”

Ilya sucks and bites his neck hard enough for Shane to know he’ll have a dark bruise there tomorrow. Good. He wants any and all memories of tonight to stick around. He wonders briefly if there is a way to tattoo the hickey onto him forever. Ilya breaks him from the thought by pulling all of his fingers out in one go.

Shane bemoans the loss but Ilya quiets him by pushing his hard cock against his entrance. Shane tries to push himself down, desperate for it to fill him up. “Such a needy little thing,” Ilya murmurs. But he must need it too, because he presses into Shane. He goes slow and Shane is swearing and begging for him to move faster by the time he’s settled to the hilt.

Ilya stays buried in him for a minute, choosing to kiss Shane languidly first. It’s not until Shane is whimpering into his mouth that Ilya finally moves. He’s more gentle than Shane expects, and pulls out slowly before thrusting back inside slowly. 

“Harder,” Shane begs. “Wanna feel it tomorrow.”

Ilya groans and picks up the pace, hoisting Shane’s legs up higher so he can fuck into him deeper. Shane keeps his eyes locked onto Ilya, watches his face, red with exertion and concentration. He’s beautiful, curls damp with sweat, eyes glazed with lust. Lust for Shane. 

It’s the knowledge that Ilya is this far gone because of him that has Shane careening toward orgasm. “Can I come?” he cries, “Please.”

“Fuck, yes,” Ilya growls, his pace increasing. “Of course you can, good boy, you ask so nicely.”

And Shane smiles as he comes, split in two on Ilya’s cock, praise flooding through his body. Time ceases to exist, all there is is Ilya. And pleasure. Lots of both. Shane hears Ilya cursing above him, can feel his rhythm stuttering through the waves of ecstasy.

Ilya moans loudly and stills, liquidy warmth blossoms inside Shane as Ilya shakes above him, buried deep inside. Ilya crashes onto Shane as the aftershocks of his orgasm overtake him. Shane likes the feeling of being pinned down by Ilya. With the last of his energy, he reaches his arm to rest on Ilya’s back. Caresses him as Ilya steadies his breathing.

When Ilya pulls out, Shane feels warmth leaking out of him. He reaches down to feel sticky cum dripping from his asshole. “You came in me?” he asks with wide, eager eyes.

Ilya leans down to kiss him. “Yes, is okay I hope,” he breathes against Shane’s lips.

Shane sighs happily, “More than okay.” And it is. He trusts Ilya to keep him safe. “Maybe you got me pregnant,” he says dreamily.

Ilya’s eyes darken, “If I didn't, we will just have to keep trying. Would you like that?” Ilya presses his hand to Shane’s lower abdomen, “Fill you up with my babies?”

Shane nods, sleep fraying the edges of his vision until all he can see is Ilya. “Yes, would do anything for you. Want to make you happy.”

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Rose jokes.

Shane rolls his eyes. He’s been out since he was a teenager. Since about the same moment that Ilya had come out as bisexual. His parents had taken it so well (better than him coming out as a Raiders fan) that it sometimes makes him emotional. He knows that he’s lucky. He glances at Troy, someone who’s coming out with his father did not go well, and feels that tug of sadness in his gut.

“No one,” Shane shrugs, trying to look coy but that stupid smile takes over his face and ruins it.

“I thought you were holding out for Rozanov,” Troy teases.

Shane is in the process of filling up a glass of water when Troy speaks and it clatters down into the sink. The glass breaks and Shane curses. He’s distracted trying not to cut himself, so he can’t see his roommates having a silent conversation behind him.

“Shane did you actually fuck Ilya Rozanov?” Rose practically shrieks from behind him.

Her timing is impeccably bad and Shane flinches, cutting his hand on the glass. “Fuck, ow!” he cries. “Rose! You scared me and now I'm bleeding in our sink.” Shane knows he sounds whiny but fuck that shit hurts.

Rose and Troy both come to help. Rose grabs a paper towel to staunch the bleeding and Troy carefully picks out the remaining glass from the basin. Rose is standing in front of Shane, holding the towel to his hand and looking up at him with questioning eyes.

“Did you?” she whispers excitedly.

Shane isn’t sure he should tell. It feels so surreal to him, still. Like when he takes his jeans off he might still be wearing the underwear that he left, stained and crumpled, on Ilya’s bedroom floor. But he knows that’s not true. He did go home with Ilya last night. And they didn't fuck necessarily, but they did have sex. Oral sex at least. Shane’s mouth waters at the memory of Ilya’s cock weighing down his tongue and pushing his throat to its limits.

So, unable to hold it in, Shane nods. Rose squeals and presses too hard against his wound. Shane yanks his hand away, “Careful,” he whimpers. “This shit hurts.”

“Sorry, sorry!” she replies. “What was he like? Big? I bet he was.” 

Shane goes beet red. “Yes,” he mumbles.

Troy has caught on now and joins in, “Did he find out you're his biggest fan in the entire world?”

“I think he could tell that already since Shane hasn't missed a game all season,” Rose teases.

Shane smiles, “I think he caught on, yeah.”

“Ahhh, tell us everything!” Rose jumps up and down like it was her that had gotten a taste of Ilya.

Shane wants to keep a lot of it to himself. His roommates don’t even know about his tattoos. He was too embarrassed to show anyone but Ilya. And he’s taken great pains to not let them see the ink. This new shoulder one, the hardest of all. But he knows they won’t let him get away with not divulging anything.

So he relents and feeds them one piece of juicy information. “I’m wearing his underwear right now,” he grins.

Rose screams so loud that they will probably get complaints from their neighbors and Troy claps him so hard on his left shoulder that Shane thanks his lucky stars that the tattoo is fully healed. They both pepper him with more questions but he dodges them the best he can and mutters that he needs to shower.

Rose’s wolf whistle and Troy’s ‘I bet you do’ follow him down the hallway to the bathroom. Shane still has that smile plastered to face as the hot water in the shower rushes over him. He hates to wash Ilya’s smell away but he tells himself that at least he’ll always have his underwear.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Shane stands outside the entrance like he always does. The rush of adrenaline he’s currently feeling is new. He feels like one of those super moms that somehow manage to lift a car off their baby in a crisis with sheer force of will alone. Or maybe he’s just nervous to see Ilya again after their night together. 

Shane wishes for the millionth time that he hadn't forgotten to leave his number behind on the note at Ilya’s. Part of him thinks it might have been better not to; the rejection of not hearing from Ilya would have destroyed him. But the anxiety of not knowing is also tearing him apart.

At least Boston won again tonight. Shane hopes that Ilya is in a good enough mood to stick around and chat with him at least. Shane prays that Ilya wants to talk to him still. Maybe Shane had sensationalized the night in his mind and it had all gone terribly. His stomach turns and clenches at the idea.

All his jitters and nerves disappear as Shane sees him. Ilya Rozanov, looking absolutely delicious in his post game attire walking out of the stadium. The thing about his obsession with Ilya, it's not just hockey. Shane thinks that in general Ilya is so cool. He has an amazing sense of style. Certainly way more than Shane does (even with Rose’s help). He’s also very funny and equally charming.

There’s this one interview from Ilya’s rookie season that Shane has watched an uncomfortable amount of times over the years. The flirty smile Ilya gives the camera as he calls the press liars and promises to score 50 goals… his wink at the end… Shane was only ten when his mother showed him the Youtube clip. She’d angrily said that he was a prick. Shane hadn't known what that word meant at the time. But he’d thought Ilya was just the coolest from there onwards.

Shane isn’t sure if he’ll ever get to see that more playful Ilya. After Ilya came out when Shane was around seventeen, Ilya hadn't been as quick to ham it up with interviewers as he had in the past. Shane notices even now as he watches Ilya lean down to sign a kid’s jersey that the smile he wears is a little forced. A little too tense to be real. Maybe it drains you after a while. The fame thing. Shane feels upset as he thinks about how much energy Ilya has spent on him when he maybe didn't actually feel like doing it. Just did it cause he felt he had to. Shane wonders if his constant need for Ilya’s attention is draining Ilya, the one person Shane would do anything for.

It’s seconds before Shane is about to bolt— feeling like an asshole for expecting anything from Ilya when he has already given Shane so much— that Ilya happens to look up and over to where he stands. The smile that takes over Ilya’s face is a far cry from the one he’d been sporting seconds before. It's unrestrained and wide. Maybe even taking Ilya off guard because he has to use his hand to wipe it away and focuses back on the fans in front of him. Shane is wearing a smile just as big as he waits as patiently as possible for Ilya to make his way down the line of admirers.

Ilya keeps sneaking glances at Shane and they share conspiratorial smiles each time. Shane’s palms are slick with sweat anticipating what Ilya will say when he finally gets to him. He hopes the bandaid over his cut will stay on. Shane always stands at the end of the line so Ilya will leave thinking of him, but he’s regretting that now as time drags and slows while he waits for Ilya.

Shane thinks he might pass out by the time Ilya gets to him. The build up is so much that he can't be sure that he’s actually gaining any oxygen with each shallow breath he takes. But as Ilya’s grinning face fills his line of vision, Shane finally takes in a deep, steadying breath. 

“Hello Shane,” Ilya murmurs.

“Hi Ilya!” Shane replies, blushing and feeling very blessed that Ilya has managed to remember his name.

“Am I signing something for you tonight?” Ilya asks.

Shane feels incredibly stupid. “I forgot to bring anything,” he admits. “Shit, sorry. I was just so excited to see you again that I spaced. Sorry.”

Ilya laughs. “You have arm?” 

Shane stares at him blankly.

“Arm, give,” Ilya orders.

Shane shoves his arm out, confused but ready to walk off a bridge if Ilya wanted him to.

Ilya’s skin against Shane’s is like a life wire; like an electric current moving up his arm and into the rest of Shane’s body. Ilya pushes Shane’s jacket (an expensive vintage Raiders jacket that cost Shane a small fortune and quickly became one of his most prized possessions) up his arm. He frowns at the bandaid on Shane’s palm but doesn't comment yet. With the black sharpie pinched between his fingers and a look of concentration on his face, Ilya writes directly onto Shane’s inner wrist. He ends on the lower part of Shane’s inner arm.

“Did you just sign me?” Shane laughs.

“Mmm no, but I do like that thought,” Ilya winks at him.

Shane takes a second to start his heart again and breathe before he’s able to reply. “If you did I'd probably go get it tattooed permanently,” he confides.

Ilya’s eyes darken with obvious attraction and Shane feels his cock swelling.

“I’d like to sign my favorite new toy,” Ilya murmurs, not even glancing around before he traces his finger along Shane’s jawline. “My good little fanatic.”

Shane’s mouth drops open involuntarily as Ilya’s finger ventures near his mouth. Ilya teases along the crease on his lips, but he doesn't let Shane suck in his finger like he wants. Instead, Ilya pats Shane’s cheek.

“You better do something with that,” he nods down to Shane’s inked arm. “When I'm through with you tonight, it might not be so easy to read.”

Shane gasps at the realization he’s going home with Ilya again and looks down at his arm. In solid black sharpie is a phone number. Ilya’s phone number. Holy shit!!! He scrambles to pull his phone out and punches in the number like it might fade before he can if he’s not quick enough. Before Shane rushes to catch up with Ilya, he sends a message. Well, make that two messages.

This is Jane!

He knows that Shane must be getting impatient. Ilya hasn’t spoken for a couple minutes and he’s wasting time in the kitchen now. He’s curious to see how Shane responds. But Shane doesn't. He just sits and waits for Ilya to be done. Ilya glances over to him and sees that Shane is still watching. When their eyes meet, Shane’s face lights up and he gives Ilya a big smile.

Unable to hold off any longer, Ilya walks over to where Shane sits and hands him the cool water he’d gotten him from the fridge. Shane reaches for it and Ilya makes sure to brush along the back of his hand as he lets go. Shane shivers with the contact and smiles again in thanks.

Shane takes a sip and Ilya tracks the movement of his throat as he swallows. Ilya feels powerless to stop his feelings for Shane. He’d been holding back for so many months, and now it seems impossible that he’d lasted this long. He sinks down, right next to Shane, on the expansive couch. Shane sighs, maybe in relief, as their thighs press against each other. 

Ilya can feel Shane’s body heat even through his thick jeans and it sets something off inside his body. His stomach turns but it doesn't feel bad. Or if it's bad, it's so bad that it's somehow become good. It heats his body from the outside in; he can’t help but press further against Shane, their shoulders now pressed together as well.

Shane takes a sip of water and Ilya notices a tremor in his hand. Ilya places a hand on his thigh, soft, but steady. “You are okay?” he frames it like a question but hopes Shane hears it as a truth.

Shane lets out a shaky breath, “Yeah! Your place is really nice!”

Ilya smiles but he can see what’s happening. Ilya has a character to play for his fans, for the world really, but maybe Shane plays a character too. “You can tell me, you know,” he urges. When Shane gives him a confused look, he continues, “If you are nervous or anything. We do not have to do anything.”

Shane looks grateful at the words. But he ducks his head and in a small voice says, “I want to, though.”

Ilya is in motion immediately. He pulls Shane’s chin up so their eyes meet and breathes out, “Thank fuck.” Before pressing his lips, finally, to Shane’s eager mouth. Shane is pliant under his touch, letting Ilya move him as he pleases. 

Ilya wonders briefly if Shane has ever kissed anyone else. But he couldn't be that lucky, to be all of, or any of, his firsts. Ilya didn't even realize he would want to be, until this very moment. Shane’s lips are just so soft and so warm against his own that it feels wrong for them to ever be pressed against anyone but him.

The position they’re in quickly becomes a hindrance for Ilya, so he pulls away to murmur, “Need you in my bed.”

Shane’s eyes are glazed over with pleasure and his mouth hangs slightly ajar like he doesn't quite remember how to close it now that Ilya’s tongue has invaded. But he nods eagerly, happy to follow Ilya’s orders. Ilya stands quickly and pulls Shane up with him, stopping briefly to plant another kiss to Shane’s swollen lips. Ilya groans as Shane leans into him and puts just enough pressure against his rapidly hardening cock.

“Bed. Now,” Ilya growls; dragging Shane along behind him as he races to his room.

They’re hardly over the threshold of his bedroom before Ilya needs Shane’s lips again. So he backs him up against the wall next to his door and brings them together again. The kiss is more heated than the ones in the living room. A distinct feeling of something bigger about to happen. 

Ilya is dying to see the tattoo again, so he leans back just enough to tug at Shane’s t-shirt. “Off,” he commands.

Shane scrambles to obey and tugs his shirt off. He gets stuck halfway through and Ilya helps him tear it off. Shane lets out something like a squeak when Ilya simply tosses his shirt onto the floor, rumpling it. Ilya quickly distracts him when presses a kiss to the red heart adorning Shane’s shoulder. 

Shane moans at the sensation and Ilya adjusts so that Shane has more leverage to grind himself against Ilya’s powerful thigh. Shane whimpers and thrusts his hips forward to chase the feeling. “That’s it,” Ilya whispers. “Take what you need.”

Shane whines and continues to hump Ilya’s leg uncontrollably while Ilya kisses his neck, his face, his lips, the tattoo. Shane comes quickly; after, his wide, embarrassed eyes and the shaky breath he sucks in prompts Ilya to murmur, “That’s it, such a good boy.” 

Shane’s upper lashes collect the water that gathers in his eyes as Ilya brushes his hand through Shane’s hair. Ilya strokes and murmurs again how good Shane was for him. Shane lets him. Shane lets Ilya take off his pants and his cum soaked boxers. 

Ilya leads a now naked Shane to his expansive bathroom and guides him to the shower. Ilya strips off his clothes as the water heats and is delighted at Shane’s reaction. His jaw drops as Ilya flings off his shirt and it seems like Shane might stop breathing when his pants hit the floor. Shane’s face gets so red that Ilya thinks he might actually not be breathing.

But then Shane blurts, “You're so fucking hot!” And gives Ilya an absolutely joyous smile. 

Ilya laughs loudly, almost giddily. He likes Shane. “Do not pass out,” he warns. “I am going to take these off now.” He dramatically motions to his underwear, his only remaining item of clothing.

Shane feigns like he is covering his eyes with his hands but leaves obvious gaps as he laughs. Ilya grins and pulls off his boxers, kicking them toward Shane. He dodges and they sail through the open door and back into Ilya’s bedroom. 

Ilya opens the shower door and motions for Shane to join him. As Shane passes him, Ilya’s eyes drop to his ass. And right above Shane’s ass is Ilya’s jersey number, tramp stamped onto him. Claiming him. Ilya was already sporting a semi, but this about did him in. 

In a trance, he follows Shane into the hot spray of water. Ilya crowds against him, making sure Shane can feel exactly what he is doing to him. “I like this one too,” Ilya groans and reaches a hand between their bodies to press his thumb to the brand. Shane gasps and pushes back against Ilya’s cock.

“Where is the other?” Ilya wonders.

Shane lifts his left arm and Ilya leans to see ROZANOV, inked in the same font that his jersey sports, against Shane’s ribcage. Ilya kisses the tattoo and moves lower to kiss the 81 on his lower back. Shane moans loudly, then. An uncontrolled sort of sound. Dropping his arm and spinning around in Ilya’s hold, Shane quickly ends up on his knees with Ilya’s cock in his mouth. It’s rushed and desperate and Ilya comes in about two minutes flat. His hand clutching Shane’s wet hair, and the other holding himself up against the shower wall.

After Ilya cleans him up in the shower and towels him off; Ilya gives Shane a t-shirt to sleep in and guides him to the guest side of the bed. Ilya walks to the kitchen to get them water and by the time he’s back, Shane is letting out these soft adorable little snores. 

Ilya had sort of been wanting to have a little more fun with Shane; to blow him, maybe even finger him a little. Be inside him in some way. But when Ilya climbs into bed and pulls Shane against his body, he feels elated with how the night has gone. He falls asleep quickly, surrounded by Shane’s body heat.

When he wakes in the morning, Shane is gone. There’s a note written on the back of a random receipt that Shane has left.

Had to go to work, didn't want to wake you. Thanks for last night :) it reads.

Ilya feels conflicted. He’d really been hoping to wake up and see Shane beside him. But the note is sweet, and surely he’ll see Shane at the game in a couple days… he never misses them. Ilya realizes with a pit in his stomach that he has absolutely no other way to reach Shane. Only his name. No phone number, no clue where he works (or what he does), no address. He could simply disappear and Ilya would have hardly anything to go off.

Ilya looks around the room in anxiety and agitation. He eyes zero in on an article of clothing over by his door. He jumps out of bed and beelines for it. Ilya scoops up the underwear and sighs in relief when he realizes they are Shane’s from the night before. 

Ilya shudders when he sees the cum stain dried on the fabric and he brings it to his face, inhaling deeply. He groans and feels himself starting to grow hard. The briefs carry a distinctive Shane smell, and Ilya needs a minute before he is able to think about anything other than getting Shane stretched out over his cock.

Ilya wraps a hand around himself, bringing the fabric back to his nose to inhale as he pictures it. When his orgasm crashes through him, he makes sure the fabric is there to catch it all. His release coating the boxers and mixing with Shane’s cum. 

Ilya notices later that his underwear is gone from where he’d flung them the night before at Shane. He can’t help the smile that overtakes him as he imagines Shane leaving here in his boxers and going to work in them. Like he belongs to Ilya. If they never see each other again, at least Ilya will always have a piece of him and Shane will have a piece of Ilya.