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The clinking of cutlery and splashing of water interlaced with the faint music playing from Ilya’s playlist, he’d set up, washed over Ilya. The lapses in silences was a comforting blanket over the room as Shane continued washing the dishes, while Ilya finished packing away the last Tupperware of left over pasta Yuna and David had made.
Every so often, Ilya looked over to Shane, memorised by the simple way he neatly stacked the plates on the drying rack. This has been a regular occurrence since coming to the Cottage. The safety and comfort Shane’s request of honest and openness had evoked in the four walls of the place had crumbled the last barrier Ilya had around his mind and heart, freeing him to gaze and linger on Shane and all that he is.
He'd caught himself these last few days, before the words “I love you” that had been trapped in him had burst forth and slipped free with his tears, simply looking at Shane, with disbelief that he got to have this and this was his.
Like now, Shane stood before the sink, his muscular back shifting like liquid as he moved, with beautiful freckles rippling down to a perfect waist, curved to perfectly fit into Ilya’s palms.
A glass clanked, and Ilya floated up, out of his mind to Shane turning to look at him over this shoulder, curved lips ticked up into a soft smile. “You okay?”
Ilya looked down at container in his hand, and hummed, nodding before turning to putting the food away. As he closed the fridge, he moved to the sink, drying cloth in hand.
“You don’t have to—” Shane began.
“I want to.” Ilya assured him, looking over with reassurance. Unable to help himself, Ilya tipped forward, capturing Shane’s lips in his, soft and slow, drawing out a smile.
Bashful and shy, Shane smiled before handing him the plate he had been busy with.
“It’s nice that my parents come over, right?” Shane asked, slowly steaming the wine glass before placing it on the rack.
Ilya hummed, “It was nice.” He affirmed, the corner of lips ticking up as his heart twinged. It was amazing, having two people, parents, be so loving and open to his presence. He felt a small crack forming in the walls of his mind, but shook away the thought, not wanting to infect this moment and those memories with his own problems.
“They make good food. You are adopted, yes?” He joked.
Shane flicked his fingers but barely made a mess on Ilya’s bare arm. Not that Ilya expected him to, otherwise he would spend the next few minutes cleaning up the mess he made.
“I make good food! It’s just healthy”.
“Ah, yes. Healthy is disgusting to you.” Ilya was prepared for the flick this time, catching Shane’s hand, lifting it from the water, flicking the rag to dry them as he guided Shane away from the water, the urge to be near him now controlling his movements.
“What are you- Ilya, the dishes-” Shane attempted to fight against Ilya but it was half-hearted, a smile breaking out on his beautiful face, as he watched Ilya toss the cloth onto the counter, free hands roaming over the planes on Shane’s torso, over the slopes of his pecs, down his stomach, finger’s gliding over the curve of his waist, before settling on the dips of his spine.
Sighing, Ilya pressed and Shane curled into him, arms lifting to rest on Ilya’s shoulders. Ilya smiled, pressing a kiss to welcoming lips, a curving smile, freckled cheeks, sharp jawline, and a fresh scented neck. He inhaled, dropping an open mouth kiss on Shane’s shoulder, feeling the sigh that Shane releases, as he let his weight rest a bit on Ilya, groaning lowly in pleasure when their hips met and he felt Ilya’s desire for him.
But this was not what Ilya wanted. Not now, at least.
As something soft played on Ilya’s phone, a song he often found himself listening to when he felt alone, something light and uplifting, but that tugged at strings of his heart, connected senses of feelings that had woven a casing around a sensation he only ever felt with when he had been in his mother’s arms.
“What are you doing?” Shane murmured into his neck, moving with Ilya as he swayed.
“Dancing.” He replied, finger caressing up and down Shane’s spine, feather-light and sweet.
“This isn’t—”
“Shh.” Ilya took a risk and stepped back, moving around, and Shane, like magic, moved with him. It felt simple, fluid, like they were on the ice, only them, moving around and with each other.
“Okay…” Shane dropped his forehead into Ilya’s shoulder.
For a brief moment, he was taken back to their last comforting embrace, when Shane was panicking over his father, and now, here they stood, holding each other, and loving each other. Ilya’s mind, unable to stop itself, layered this moment over that, adding joy to a moment that wasn’t so joyful, not for Shane.
Ilya, while terrified, had been calm, because, he knew, Shane would be okay. He knew what a bad parent was like, David’s reaction could have been much worse, and honestly, he wanted to just be done hiding. He wanted David to come back and see them, again. He wanted Shane to take that step, open that door for them, and Ilya wanted to take his hand and walk with him out of it.
They had done that.
“I like dancing with you.” Shane drew back to smile at him. Ilya lifted an eyebrow.
“Better than Rose Landry?”
“Oh, my, god.” Shane groaned, rolling his eyes.
“I see you at club. Between her and gay man.” Ily’s stomach twisted thinking about that night.
“You know Miles is gay?” Shane frowned.
“Hmhm… He eye fuck me at bar. I look for you then.” Ilya grinned when he saw the tightening of Shane’s jaw. He dug his fingers into his spine, curving Shane’s hips to press him against Ilya, licking his lips as a soft gasp escaped Shane. “Jealous?”
“What? Like you with Rose” Ilya groaned.
“Enough of Rose.”
“You brought her up!” Shane retorted, snickering under his breath.
“I bring you up.” He dropped his hand then to cup Shane, squeezing and sweeping up his gasp with a swipe of his tongue as he kissed him.
“Hmmm. Bed.” Shane gripped his neck, kissing him back with eagerness.
Ilya’s left hand gripped Shane’s ass, nodding as he dropped a bit, grasping Shane’s thighs, hoisting him up. He liked Shane’s cottage layout, because Shane was a big man, he might not look it, but Ilya loved it, loved feeling the weight of him in his arms, the way his muscles burned as he walked them the short distance to the bedroom.
Gasping, Shane rolled off him, reaching to press messy kisses against Ilya’s lips, cheek, jaw, tongue licking the salty skin, while he rocked back against Ilya’s teasing finger on his ass.
“I like how we dance.” Shane leaned back, grinning.
Ilya snorted and rolled over, dropping onto Shane and kissing him back.
He liked how they danced too.