Archive of Our Own

It was a Saturday night and the Alpha Kappa house was booming. Which wasn't surprising.

It was the first major party of the semester. It had been circled on Shane's calendar for almost a month, and he'd spent the better part of the last three weeks making sure every single detail was exactly where it needed to be. Most people would assume parties simply happened; that you unlocked the doors, turned on some music, put out enough alcohol and everything else somehow fell into place.

Those people: idiots. Parties required planning; careful and detailed planning.

The speakers had to be tested beforehand because nobody wanted to spend thirty minutes troubleshooting a blown sound system while two hundred drunk college students stood around waiting for music. The kegs had to be delivered at specific times. The cups had to be stocked. The furniture had to be rearranged. The guest list had to be monitored. Security had to know who was working which shifts and when.

And because Shane trusted approximately four people to do these things correctly, he'd personally overseen most of it himself.

Now, the result was currently unfolding around him.

Music pulsed through the house so loudly that Shane could feel the bass vibrating his bones, colored lights flashed across the crowded living room, painting the walls blue, purple, and pink in alternating waves, and the smell of beer, cheap cologne, and body spray lingered heavily in the air.

Meanwhile, a game of beer pong occupied one corner of the room, a cluster of freshmen argued loudly over the rules of flip cup near the staircase, and someone was dancing on a coffee table despite explicit instructions not to dance on the coffee table.

Shane made a mental note to deal with that later.

For now, things were running smoothly. Nobody was fighting. Nobody had broken anything important. Nobody had called campus security - yet.

As far as Shane was concerned, the night was a massive success.

Standing near the kitchen island with a red plastic cup in one hand, he quietly surveyed the room. He wasn't antisocial - people always assumed that. The truth was that Shane simply liked observing things from afar. He liked knowing where everyone was, how things were functioning, and most importantly, he liked being able to spot potential problems before they became actual problems.

And so far, every piece seemed to be fitting exactly where it belonged.

"You're doing that thing again."

Shane turned his head. Hayden appeared beside him carrying a drink in his hand and wearing the expression of someone who was already having entirely too much fun.

"What thing?" Hayden gestured a finger circling his face. "Oh, is there something on my face?"

He chuckled. "No, dude. You look like you're fucking constipated." Shane shoved Hayden's chest lightly, his drink splashing a tad. "Watch it, man!"

"Fuck off, Hayes."

Hayden ruffled Shane's hair. "Why do you look so judgy right now?"

"I'm making sure things run smoothly," Shane said, taking a sip from his drink. "Someone has to keep everyone in check."

"Everything is going according to your plan, master," Hayden joked, earning him another shove. "You need to loosen up a little. Everyone's having fun but you!"

Shane shook his head. "I am having fun!"

"You've spent the last hour standing here in this one spot watching everyone like you're the head of campus security." Hayden took another sip from his drink before nudging Shane's shoulder. "Seriously, man. Loosen up. The house hasn't burned down. Nobody's dying. You've done your job."

Shane let his friend's words sink in. He panned across the room taking in all the sights and sounds of people dancing, chatting and simply having a great time. Hayden was right. The night was going well. Better than well, actually. After so many weeks of stress planning to make sure this party wouldn't flop, everything was going according to plan.

Shane let out a loud, relieving sigh. "Alright," he breathed. Despite himself, Shane felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. While he would never admit it out loud, there was something deeply satisfying about watching a plan come together exactly the way it was supposed to.

Well, sort of.

There was a sudden eruption of cheering exploding from somewhere near the back patio. People that were in the kitchen with Shane and Hayden began to scurry back there, some pulling out their phones already sliding into the camera app. Shane and Hayden looked at each other confused before they too rushed to find what all the commotion was for.

As the two of them got closer to the chaos, they realized that the crowd was shouting out numbers while others were waving cash around. It didn't take long for them to deduce that someone was actively taking bets.

"What are they betting on?" Shane asked.

"No idea," Hayden replied, though his tone and the grin on his face suggested he was enjoying this far too much to be as worried as Shane.

After Shane forced his way through several layers of people, he finally emerged near the center of the circle and immediately spotted the source of the uproar.

Ilya Rozanov.

Of-fucking-course.

Standing in the middle of the patio as though he owned the place was Delta Sigma's president himself. Their rival fraternity had spent years competing with Alpha Kappa for everything. Recruitment numbers. Charity events. Campus elections. Sports tournaments. If Alpha Kappa did something, Delta Sigma inevitably found a way to make it a competition.

And right now, somehow, their president had managed to become the center of attention at Alpha Kappa's biggest party of the semester.

"Are you serious?" Shane muttered, staring down at the two.

Across from Ilya stood some guy Shane vaguely recognized from one of his economics lectures. They were standing oddly close together. Close enough that it looked intentional and the crowd was losing its mind.

Someone shouted, "Come on!"

Another yelled, "Don't chicken out!"

The guy in front of Ilya looked increasingly nervous. His palms were visibly shaking and large beads of sweat were trailing down his face. On the contrary, Ilya looked... like Ilya.

Ilya had his hands folded behind him as he stared down the man with a smug smile across his face, clearly entertained at the thought of making him quiver. He tilted his head, side to side, looking at the guy from every angle. The man in front of him stood still - or tried anyway due to his shakiness - watching Ilya's every movement. It was only until Ilya began to close the gap between the two of them, his lips slightly parted, when the man abruptly stepped backward.

The crowd exploded into a chaotic roar, Shane jumping from the sudden ruckus.

"No!"

"Chicken!"

"Loser!"

The guy threw both hands into the air. "No. Nope. I can't do this!"

More shouting, more laughter, and of course, money exchanged.

Half of the crowd was booing the man, taunting him while repeatedly calling him 'Chicken' and the other half was applauding and cheering for Ilya for being the winner.

Cliff Marleau - one of Ilya's frat brothers and best friend - firmly patted him on the back with a wide grin. "You never fail to surprise me, Rozanov. That's the third one tonight!"

Third? Shane could hear everything they were saying from where he stood. Ilya stood there proudly nodding his head, a smirk plastered on his lips. Shane didn't mind guests playing games - whether it was a game he knew or not - but what he did mind was the fact that it was a game by Delta Sigma, and most importantly, a game by Ilya Rozanov.

Shane felt the irritation settle instantly in his chest. "What the fuck is going on?" Shane declared, all eyes were now on him.

Ilya and Cliff turned around and the second his eyes landed on Shane, his grin widened.

"Ah, there you are!" Ilya exclaimed. Shane got a better look at him now, and he was definitely down a few beers at this point. His speech was slurred, his curls were sticking out in every direction like he had been electrocuted and his cheeks were slightly flushed. Of course, he's already plastered and making a fool of himself at Shane's party.

A low roar of giggles were heard from the crowd watching the two interact. It's not a secret that Shane and Ilya were rivals. Everyone loved placing bets on them, especially when it came down to sports because the two played hard against each other and would always be entertaining to watch.

"How did you guys get in?" Shane questioned, looking between Cliff and Ilya.

"I was invited."

Shane turned to Ilya, his eyes narrowing. "Invited? Right."

"I am not lying!" Ilya defended, his eyebrows raised.

"Okay, then who invited you?"

Ilya looked around the crowd. "Uh, someone. They are here somewhere!"

More giggles ensued.

Shane looked back at Cliff who immediately raised his hands in protest. "Look, man, I'm only here for the booze."

"And you paid the cover, right?" Shane asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Ilya blew a raspberry. "You are so boring, Hollander. Let us have fun, okay?" Ilya groaned, turning his back on Shane. 

"How about you have fun elsewhere?" Shane retorted.

Ilya chuckled softly, slowly turning back around to face Shane. For a second, he just simply stood there, swaying slightly on his feet. "But then I wouldn't get to annoy you."

A wave of laughter filled the air. Shane resisted the urge to wrap his hands around his neck and strangle him right there. "Annoy me tomorrow. I don't have time for this."

The crowd immediately broke into a chorus of "ooohs," reacting as though Shane had personally challenged Ilya to a duel. 

"Okay."

Shane stood there, blinking a few times. The answer was so unexpected that even the crowd immediately lulled to a dull roar. Shane raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Yes, okay. I will leave."

This was easy. Too easy, matter of fact. Because whenever Ilya agreed with him that quickly, it usually meant there was something he was brewing up. Judging by the sly smile growing on his lips, there was definitely a catch to all of this.

"You're bluffing."

"I am not bluffing."

"You absolutely are."

Ilya chuckled. "Fine, I will leave," Ilya repeated. "If you beat me."

The crowd once again erupted with an overwhelming amount of whistling and cheering that surprisingly surpassed the volume of the music playing throughout the house. Several people in the crowd started pulling out cash from their pockets and shouting out numbers left and right. Shane looked around, confused as to what he just got himself in.

"What?"

Ilya once again folded his arms behind his back. "Beat me."

"At what?" Shane scoffed, noticing how Ilya began to approach Shane ever so slowly.

"You ask so many questions, Hollander." Ilya teased, still tiptoeing towards Shane.

"How am I supposed to beat you if I don't know what you're playing?" Shane asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He could feel his heart violently pounding against his ribcage. With the way Ilya was inching his way towards him, there was no way he could calm himself down. What was he planning to do to him? And why did he look at Shane the same way he looked at all his hookups?

"Just don't... Chicken out," Ilya clarified, taking a bigger step closer to Shane. 

The audience around them began to lose their minds once again. "This is gonna be so good!" Someone in the crowd shouted, while another person yelled, "You better not lose, Hollander!"

Shane looked around, figuring out where the voices were coming from. "Lose how?"

Another big step. Shane could now smell the alcohol oozing from Ilya mixed in with the musky cologne that could easily give anyone a headache if they inhaled too much of it.  

"Oh, Shane."

Ilya was never one to use his first name, nor was Shane ever calling Ilya by his first either. Therefore, hearing his name roll off his tongue with the way Ilya had his eyes locked on him sent tiny shivers down his spine.

Ilya was an asshole; always getting under people's skin, taking jokes way too far and making a mess everywhere he went. However, despite all of these traits, Ilya had always been irritatingly easy on the eyes. The sharp jawline. The stupid curls. The unfairly symmetrical face that somehow looked good even after several beers. 

Shane always knew he was into guys, but he wasn't one to prance around announcing to everyone that he's gay - and horny too but that's besides the point. At the end of the day, Shane was simply too occupied with being the leader of his fraternity and dealing with school assignments that were due to bother looking into dating apps and meeting new people.

Doesn't mean he couldn't stare and wonder.

And here he was. Staring and wondering as Ilya slowly began to close the gap between them. Ilya annoyed the shit out of him but he couldn't deny the fact that - while being the major asshole he was - he had a nice face to look at.

"What are you thinking about, Hollander?" Ilya spoke, tearing through Shane's train of thought.

Shane shook his head, snapping back to reality. "Nothing. Nothing. You?"

One more step. Now Ilya was merely centimeters from Shane's face, close enough that he could feel the warmth of his breath tickle Shane's skin. The musk of his cologne and the scent of beer from his mouth invaded his nostrils, and Shane did everything in his power to not pull away. "Mm, same. Nothing," Ilya replied, staring into Shane's big brown eyes. 

"So, what now?" Shane said, his voice turning into a whisper now that the two of them were so close to one another.

Ilya shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he admitted. His gaze dropped briefly, not to Shane's eyes, but to his lips. While the crowd was busy shouting around them, Shane finally understood exactly why people had been placing bets on the two of them.

Shane recalled hearing about Gay Chicken from a friend of a friend who'd played it at another party a while ago. From what he remembered, it consisted of two supposedly straight people getting progressively closer to one another until one of them "chickened out" first. The loser was whoever backed away or generally decided they'd had enough. 

At the time, Shane had thought the entire concept sounded incredibly stupid. Now, standing face-to-face with Ilya Rozanov while half the campus screamed around them, he was beginning to understand why people found it entertaining.

"Ah, you figured it out," Ilya hummed in amusement. Shane furrowed his brows. The realization must've shown all over his face. A slow grin spread across Ilya's face. "Aw."

"Don't."

"Maybe you are not so dumb after all," Ilya giggled, his gaze flickering between Shane's plush lips and back to his warm brown eyes. "Getting nervous?" Ilya asked softly.

Shane scoffed, "Nope."

The answer came too quickly.

Ilya laughed; not loudly nor mockingly, but just enough to let Shane know he didn't believe him.

"Sure."

"I'm not."

"Whatever you say."

The fact that he sounded so unconvinced immediately irritated Shane, which was probably why he stayed exactly where he was. Refusing to move. Refusing to give Ilya the satisfaction.

Around them, people had started chanting again.

"Don't back out!"

"Hollander!"

"Don't be a chicken!"

Shane ignored all of them. His attention remained fixed entirely on Ilya. On the way his eyes sparkled with amusement. On the faint flush lingering across his cheeks. On the stupid curls falling into his face. Then, before Shane could prepare himself, Ilya leaned forward.

Not much -  barely an inch - but the movement was small enough that nobody else probably noticed.

But Shane noticed. His entire body noticed. The space between them vanished until they were standing impossibly close, and suddenly Shane became aware of everything all at once. The warmth radiating from Ilya's body, the scent of his cologne now becoming incredibly intoxicating, the way his chest almost brushed Shane's every time either of them breathed. It was… distracting. More distracting than it had any right to be. 

Shane had always known Ilya was built like a tank. The guy practically lived in the gym when he wasn't busy being a nuisance. From a distance, he always looked solid, all broad shoulders and muscle. But standing this close revealed details Shane had never considered before.

Despite being the center of attention, despite having dozens of people watching his every move, Ilya looked completely at ease as though he thrived under the attention rather than merely tolerated it. Shane had always assumed someone like Ilya would be rigid beneath all that confidence, all sharp edges and tension. Instead, there was warmth there too. Softness even. And for some reason, that realization felt far more dangerous than anything else that had happened tonight. 

Unfortunately, judging by the knowing smile slowly spreading across Ilya's face, he seemed fully aware of exactly where Shane's thoughts had wandered. Before Shane could stop himself from overthinking it, Ilya took advantage of the moment, his hands finding their way to Shane's waist. The touch was light as a feather, yet it startled Shane all the same. Not enough for anyone in the crowd to notice but enough for Ilya to catch it immediately. A quiet laugh escaped through his nose, amusement flickering in his eyes as his grip tightened as though he'd been waiting to see whether Shane would react. 

"Ready to lose?" Ilya whispered.

Shane bit the inside of his cheek. This was ridiculous; completely and undeniably ridiculous. He had spent years despising Ilya, years rolling his eyes whenever he walked into a room, years competing against him in everything imaginable, years trying not to think too hard about the fact that the guy was unfairly attractive.

Yet somehow, standing here now with Ilya only inches away, Shane's brain had decided to turn into mush. His thoughts felt tangled, his pulse hammered violently against his ribs, and his knees felt dangerously close to giving out beneath him. He had craved this kind of closeness for longer than he cared to admit, but never - not in a million years - had he imagined it'd be with Ilya-fucking-Rozanov. 

And then…

It was the faintest touch, barely there. Just a whisper of contact that lasted less than a millisecond. So quick Shane almost convinced himself he'd imagined it. Almost. 

Ilya's lips brushed against his. 

His heart dropped straight into his stomach. Every coherent thought immediately evacuated his brain, leaving nothing behind except pure panic. Before he could stop himself - before he could think, or breathe, or do anything remotely rational - he stepped back. 

Shane Hollander stepped away.

A deafening roar tore through the air from every direction. People screamed while still holding their phones in the air. Someone dropped their drink. Half the crowd doubled over laughing while the other half immediately started chanting. 

"CHICKEN!"

"HOLLANDER CHICKENED OUT!"

"NO WAY!"

"I KNEW IT!"

Shane's eyes immediately dropped to the floor, feeling his cheeks heat up almost instantly. He was beyond mortified. If the Earth decided to crack open beneath his feet and swallow him whole right now, he'd dive right in, head first. The worst part of it all was that he hadn't even meant to move. It wasn't even an idea that popped in his mind. There was no moment where he'd thought, I'm backing out. It happened automatically. A stupid fucking reflex. His body had reacted before his brain could catch up and judging by the expressions around him, nobody cared about that distinction. 

To everyone else, he'd lost under his own roof at his own party while being in front of what felt like half the campus. His pride? Down the drain. You can't win them all, but Shane hated losing. Losing to Delta Sigma was one thing, but if there was one person Shane never wanted to lose to, it was Ilya fucking Rozanov. Not after years of countless arguments and petty attempts to one-up each other. 

Yet here he was, standing in the middle of his own party while half the crowd pointed and laughed, with Ilya wearing the most self-satisfied grin Shane had ever seen. The worst part wasn't even the chanting. It wasn't the phones recording or the inevitable teasing that would follow him for weeks. It was the fact that Ilya had won, and somehow, that stung more than anything else. 

"Okay, okay! It was just a game," Shane called over the noise. "Show's over. Go do…Liiterally anything else."

Nobody moved, nobody listened. If anything, the chanting got louder.

"CHICKEN!"

"CHICKEN!"

"CHICKEN!"

He groaned and lifted both hands in defeat. There was no stopping it now. The crowd had found its joke for the night and unfortunately, Shane was the punchline. Keeping his head down, he pushed his way through the sea of people, weaving between bodies until he finally escaped the center of the circle. Behind him, the chanting gradually dissolved into laughter and new conversations as people moved on to the next source of entertainment.

Hayden caught up to him near the edge of the patio and immediately slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey," he said. "Don't let it get to you, man."

Shane shot him a deathly glare. "Easy for you to say."

A laugh escaped Hayden before he could stop it. "Okay, yeah. Maybe a little embarrassing."

"A little?" Shane scoffed.

"Fine. A lot."

Shane groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. He glanced over his shoulder and sure enough, Ilya was still standing in the middle of the crowd, laughing about something he and Cliff were chatting about along with other friends of his. The sight of him immediately made Shane's eye twitch.

Hayden noticed Shane's attention and immediately looked back at what caught his eye. "He's never letting this go, is he?"

"Nope." Shane shook his head.

"On the bright side—"

Shane snapped his head back at Hayden. "There isn't a bright side."

"Well, there is," Shane narrowed his eyes at him as Hayden grinned. "At least you didn't actually kiss him."

For some reason, that didn't make Shane feel any better.

—--

The party continued as though nothing had happened. The music kept bumping, drinks continued flowing, and new games broke out across the whole house. Yet no matter where Shane went, the comments continued to follow him. Not constantly, but just enough to become annoying.

Every twenty minutes, someone would pass him and mutter, "Chicken." Another guy clucked at him while grabbing a beer from the kitchen. One girl giggled at him and said, "Better luck next time, Hollander." At one point, Shane seriously considered shutting down the entire party and kicking everyone out of the house so that he could finally rot away in his bed.

By midnight, the embarrassment had faded into irritation and by one in the morning, it had evolved into pure stubbornness. Which was why Shane found himself pouring another drink and then another. Not enough to get drunk, but just enough to take the edge off. Or at least, that had been the plan.

Shane found himself sitting alone on one of the couches in their living room, phone in one hand and a half-finished drink in the other. He huffed out an excruciatingly long sigh as his thumb mindlessly opened Instagram. He scrolled a little bit through his feed, seeing what's been happening since the last time he checked which was before the party started. 

Photos and videos started populating his feed from guests that were currently at his party. Most of them were people taking photos with their friends, dancing, drinking, or smoking.

Shane made a mental note of this as it was a rule that they could not smoke on the property.

He kept scrolling some more until a particular post made his thumb freeze against the screen. Shane immediately zoomed in, studying the image with far more attention than it deserved. He swiped to the next photo. And the next. And the next. Each one received the same level of scrutiny, Shane taking in every detail as though he were trying to find something specific within them.

Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov.

The photo dump was exactly what Shane would've expected from him; a little bit of everything. One photo showed him shirtless and flexing in front of a mirror, clearly aware of exactly how good he looked. Another had him leaning against a wall with a drink in one hand and a cigarette wedged between his fingers, grinning at whoever was behind the camera. There were pictures of him and Cliff throwing their arms around random girls, blurry snapshots from parties and the occasional candid that somehow looked annoyingly effortless. 

Shane rolled his eyes. He hated all of them, which was probably why he couldn't pry his eyes away. Then he reached the last photo and paused.

It had clearly been taken earlier that night. The angle was awkward, the lighting terrible and most people would've overlooked it immediately. Yet Shane recognized himself before he even realized what he was looking at. Or rather, the back of his head. He stood near the kitchen island, drink in hand, completely unaware that a camera had been pointed in his direction. Most people would've never connected the dots. 

But Shane knew, and suddenly his blood was boiling.

He stared at it for an embarrassingly long amount of time before realizing that being annoyed probably wasn't the only reason he hadn't swiped away yet. 

He gripped onto the cup tightly as he clicked onto Ilya's profile and clicked the message button. Any bit of pride he had left been evaporated at this point. This was certainly a new low for him.

Shane inhaled sharply through his nose as his thumbs hovered over the keyboard. 

Shane: Rematch.

Sent.

Immediately, Shane wanted to throw his phone across the room.

God, he was pathetic.

Here he was, messaging Ilya Rozanov over a stupid party game because his pride had taken a hit. Not just any hit. A direct shot to the ego in front of half the campus. The rational part of his brain knew how idiotic this was. It was a stupid game of Gay Chicken, for fucks sake. A dumb party game people would forget about by next weekend.

Unfortunately, Shane wasn't rational when it came to losing. Especially not to Ilya.

What was he even expecting him to say? Ilya might not answer at all. In fact, that was probably the most likely outcome.

His phone vibrated almost immediately.

Ilya: What?

Shane blinked for a moment, his thumbs frozen above the keyboard. He looked at the screen again. The message had appeared so quickly that for a second he genuinely thought it was fake. He rubbed his eyes and checked the chat again.

Yup. Still there. No delay. No waiting. No leaving him on read.

Just a response, almost instantly.

Shane found himself glancing around the room as though Ilya might somehow be watching him from somewhere nearby. The idea was ridiculous but so was the fact that he'd answered that quickly.

His thumbs moved again.

Shane: I'm not a chicken.

Ilya responded again right away.

Ilya: You want rematch of Gay Chicken?

Shane: … Yes

Ilya: Hollander, it was a stupid game

Ilya: Just get over it.

Shane groaned and dropped his head back against the couch. There it was. The confirmation that he had officially lost his mind.

Not only had he messaged Ilya first, but now Ilya knew he was pathetic enough to ask for a rematch over something so unbelievably stupid. Shane dragged a hand down his face and locked his phone, seriously contemplating whether the couch cushions could swallow him whole if he wished hard enough.

His phone vibrated again.

Then again.

Frowning, Shane unlocked the screen.

Ilya: Meet me upstairs.

Ilya: Third door on the left.

Ilya: 15 minutes.

Shane stared at the screen in disbelief. Was this actually happening?

For a brief moment, he wondered if the alcohol was finally hitting him. Maybe he'd imagined the entire conversation. Maybe he'd accidentally fallen asleep on the couch and this was some bizarre dream his subconscious had cooked up.

Then another notification appeared.

Ilya: Unless you are going to chicken out again.

Shane's jaw clenched instantly.

The absolute fucking nerve.

This entire mess was Ilya's fault to begin with and somehow he still managed to sound smug through text messages. It was honestly impressive.

Without even thinking, Shane fired back a response.

Shane: I'll be there.

The message sent before he had the chance to reconsider.

Immediately afterward, he locked his phone and threw his head back against the couch cushion, staring up at the ceiling. This was a terrible idea. An unbelievably terrible idea. Nothing good had ever come from him and Ilya being alone together for extended periods of time. Usually, it ended with an argument. Occasionally, it ended with one of them storming off. Tonight had already somehow ended with Shane publicly embarrassing himself in front of half the campus. There was absolutely no reason to believe the rest of the night would go any better.

Yet, fifteen minutes later, Shane found himself climbing the stairs anyway. His brain was still trying to come up with reasons to turn around but his legs, however, had apparently made the decision for him.

—

By the time Shane reached the third floor, he was seriously reconsidering every decision he'd made in the last hour.

The hallway was noticeably quieter than the rest of the house. The music from downstairs reached him only as a distant thump through the floorboards and most of the guests were still occupied with the party below. The upper floor remained mostly empty, exactly as Shane intended. He made a point of keeping people out of the bedrooms during parties. The last thing he wanted was strangers treating someone's room like a hotel suite or climbing into beds while still wearing the same clothes they'd been sweating, drinking, and spilling beer in all night. A couple of people lingered near the spare bathroom waiting for their turn but otherwise the hallway was deserted. 

Shane made his way down the hallway, counting doors as he went. The farther he walked, the more convinced he became that this was a terrible idea. When he finally found the third door on the left, he stopped dead in his tracks and let out a long, exasperated sigh. 

His bedroom.

Of course it was his bedroom.

Why wouldn't it be?

Out of every room in the entire house, Ilya had somehow managed to pick the one room guaranteed to make this whole situation infinitely more awkward.

"Asshole," Shane muttered under his breath. 

He stared at the door for a little longer, feeling overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. Less than an hour ago, he'd been trying to throw Ilya out of the party. Now he was standing outside his own bedroom because he'd drunkenly challenged him to a rematch over a stupid game that should've been forgotten the second it ended.

Yet, here he was.

Taking a steadying breath, Shane tightened his grip on the doorknob and twisted it open before he could change his mind.

When Shane stepped inside, Ilya was already there, sitting on the edge of his bed as if he had every right to be there. As if this was his room, his house, his bed. One leg was stretched out lazily in front of him, his hands planted behind him on the mattress, and the second Shane walked in, Ilya lifted his head with that infuriatingly smug grin already waiting for him. 

The sight alone was enough to make Shane's eye twitch.

"There he is," Ilya said, sounding far too pleased with himself.

"Don't."

Ilya blinked innocently. "What?"

"The attitude."

His grin widened. "You texted me first."

Shane opened his mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out.

Unfortunately, the asshole had a point.

With a groan, Shane shut the door behind him, the click of it closing sounding much louder than it should have. Suddenly, the room felt smaller than usual. Warmer, too. Or maybe that was just because Ilya Rozanov was sitting on his bed wearing his outside clothes. Definitely.

Ilya tilted his head, his grin softening into something that looked almost thoughtful. "You know," he said, dragging the words out like he was savoring them, "I don't actually think you're a chicken."

Shane snorted. "Really?"

"Really."

"You seemed pretty happy about it downstairs."

"Well," Ilya said, leaning back on his hands, looking far too comfortable on Shane's bed, "you did pull away."

"It was a reflex."

Ilya blinked once, the grin plastered on his face immediately fading away. He sat up a little straighter. "Reflex?"

Shane realized his mistake immediately. He closed his eyes for half a second. Of course. Of course that was the part Ilya decided to focus on. "Yes, a stupid reflex," he repeated, already hating himself for saying it again.

Ilya stared at him, quiet for once and somehow that was worse than the teasing. Shane could practically see the gears turning in his head, the lightbulb turning on behind his eyes.

"So," Ilya treaded carefully, "if it wasn't a reflex…"

"Stop."

"If I had-"

"I know what you're asking."

"And?"

Shane looked away immediately. Anywhere but at him. The desk. The floor. The poster crookedly taped to the wall. Literally anything that wasn't Ilya sitting on his bed, looking at him like he'd just found something interesting and had every intention of taking it apart piece by piece.

A long second passed and then Shane shrugged. "Maybe."

The room went still. Not quiet, exactly. The bass from downstairs still pulsed faintly through the floor, muffled laughter still drifted from somewhere outside the door but inside Shane's room, everything seemed to still.

When Shane finally looked back, Ilya was staring at him with a level of interest that made his stomach flip.

"Oh."

The two of them held each other's gaze for a moment and something silently passed between them. Not a confession nor an agreement. Just an understanding neither of them had the nerve to say out loud yet. Shane wished he could make Ilya look somewhere else, because being studied like that - like Ilya had just discovered something new and wanted to keep pressing at it until Shane cracked - was making his brain turn to mush again, the same way it had downstairs.

The corner of Ilya's mouth twitched, but this time, it didn't sharpen into the usual grin. His mouth, his eyes, the whole expression on his face shifted into something quieter than Shane was used to seeing from him. It wasn't smug, it wasn't teasing and it definitely wasn't another one of his stupid victorious looks. It was almost gentle and that scared the living hell out of Shane more than any amount of arrogance ever could. 

Shane knew how to handle Ilya when he was being an asshole. He knew how to argue with him, how to glare at him, how to throw his attitude right back in his face. But this? This softness? Shane had no idea what to do with it. 

Then, just as quickly as his expression changed, it was gone the next moment. 

Ilya blinked and shifted back into himself; cocky and dangerous. Like he had caught himself getting too close to sincerity and immediately decided to cover it with arrogance. Ilya proceeded to pat the mattress beside him and said, "Rematch?"

Shane rolled his eyes as if this was the most annoying thing anyone had ever asked of him, even though he was already walking toward the bed.

"Asshole," Shane muttered.

"I've been told."

Their eyes met and for a moment, neither of them looked away. Neither seemed particularly interested in talking anymore either. The teasing was still there, lingering between them like it always did but it felt different now. 

Ilya smiled. "So, are you going to do something?"

Shane hesitated. The worst part was that he genuinely didn't know what he was supposed to do now. He hadn't planned this far ahead because, realistically, he hadn't thought Ilya would actually agree to a rematch. He'd expected to be ignored, maybe mocked, probably screenshotted and sent to Cliff. Truly anything but this.

"I, uh…"

Ilya groaned. "God, Hollander, you are so boring."

Before Shane could argue, Ilya reached for one of his hands and dragged it over, placing it firmly on his thigh. Not too high but close enough to make every single thought in Shane's brain short-circuit at once.

Shane's face immediately heated up. His eyes dropped to where his hand rested against Ilya's thigh, then snapped back up to Ilya, who was still watching him with that infuriating little smile, like he knew exactly what he was doing to him.

Then Ilya placed his own hand on Shane's thigh, mirroring the position almost perfectly.

"See?" Ilya said, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of Shane's jeans. "It's not so hard."

Shane swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The touch was barely anything. Just the slow, absent stroke of Ilya's thumb against his thigh. It sent a sharp little spark through him anyway, a chill that twitched his dick in his jeans before he had a chance to stop it.

Ilya's thumb kept moving against his thigh, slow and maddeningly casual, like he wasn't fully aware of the effect it was having on him. Except Shane knew better. He obviously knew. Ilya Rozanov never did anything by accident, especially not when he was looking at Shane like that, all amusement and barely hidden satisfaction, as though he had been waiting all night for Shane to get this close to breaking.

Ilya proceeded to move more than just his thumb and caressed his entire thigh gently with his hand. Shane would be lying if he admitted it didn't feel amazing. Fuck, it felt exhilarating. It was everything Shane had been craving. He had been so touch starved that the gentle feeling made his whole entire body tense up and his dick ache terribly.

His only wish was for this to have been any other guy except Ilya Rozanov. What if he went back to Cliff and exposed the way Shane was practically melting under his touch? That he had the leader of Alpha Kappa under his spell? God, that would be even more humiliating than actually losing to him downstairs for backing away from an almost kiss.

As Ilya continued to rub Shane's thigh, he could feel somewhat of a dampness around his crotch, as if something was becoming soaked. He didn't have to look down to know what was going on. Fuck, was he actually leaking already? To Ilya Rozanov, of all people? The thought alone made humiliation crawl up his neck and burn across his face. There were truly no other words to describe his current state but pathetic. Completely and utterly pathetic. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, attempting to push the tightness he felt on his balls and the excruciating soreness his dick was feeling away. Shane had to win. He had to beat Ilya. He had to prove to himself that he can win at anything, especially winning against Ilya.

"What are you thinking of now?" Ilya spoke, pulling him right back to reality. The way Ilya was staring at Shane could easily send someone into cardiac arrest. He truly despised being this close to him, despised how insanely handsome he was, and despised how Ilya had this magical effect on him.

Shane shook his head. "Nothing. Just trying to win, you?" Shane could tell his tone was faltering, and Ilya noticed immediately.

The corner of Ilya's mouth turned up slightly, looking more intrigued than ever. His eyes darted between Shane's eyes down to his plump pink lips. Shane wished he could evaporate right this second. Ilya looked at him with so much hunger in his eyes, it drove Shane mad.

Shane couldn't let Ilya have the upper hand, so he began to mimic Ilya's movements by rubbing his hand on Ilya's thigh. This was either a good idea or a terrible one, because the feeling of how muscular Ilya's thighs felt under his touch was not helping him at all.

Shane noticed how Ilya's eyebrows twitched slightly at his sudden movement and he decided to use that to his advantage. If Ilya thought he would be winning this time, he was incredibly mistaken.

Without warning, Shane's hand slid higher up Ilya's thigh, stopping just short of where the touch became something else entirely. The realization hit him all at once, and for a second, he almost pulled away. 

Ilya… was hard? For Shane? Shane's brain struggled to make sense of it, because this was Ilya Rozanov; the campus flirt, the guy who always seemed to have someone hanging off his arm, the guy who moved through parties like attention was something owed to him. So why was he sitting here on Shane's bed, breathing a little harder, looking at Shane like this wasn't a game anymore? 

Shane kept his hand there, testing the moment instead of retreating from it, and watched the smugness on Ilya's face start to crack.

"I see you are having fun with this," Ilya teased, though his voice had gone a little rougher than before, like the words had caught somewhere in his throat. 

He mirrored Shane's boldness a second later, letting his hand settle against his erection in a way that made every muscle in Shane's body tense at once. He began stroking the outline of it agonizingly slow and it took everything in Shane to not let out the moan that he had been suppressing. Ilya kept watching him the entire time, studying every tiny reaction as if he wanted to memorize the exact moment Shane stopped pretending he was unaffected.

"You are so hard for me, Hollander," Ilya teased.

Shane scoffed, even as his breath hitched against his will. "I could say the same thing to you, Rozanov."

For a moment, the two just stared at each other, their breathing deep and erratic, both too stubborn to admit how the game had stopped being a game. Ilya's hand remained where it was, Shane's still pressed against him and the air between them grew heavier with every second neither of them backed down.

"You look like you want to back out," Ilya snickered, his grip tightening over Shane's erection.

"I-fuck-I'm not backing down, Rozanov," Shane huffed. His jeans were too fucking tight, the room too warm and Ilya? Too close. 

Every touch was making it harder to think, harder to breathe, harder to remember that this had started as some stupid game downstairs and not whatever the hell it had turned into now.

Shane didn't just want to win anymore. He wanted Ilya and the realization hit him so hard he almost hated him for it.

Ilya let out a quiet laugh, low and smug, like he could read every thought crossing Shane's face. "I'm going to win," he murmured, leaning closer until his mouth nearly brushed Shane's ear. "And then I will tell everyone how their sweet Shaney is the gayest chicken."

Shane's jaw clenched.

The nickname. The teasing. The way Ilya said it was like he already owned the ending. It made something hot and reckless snap inside him.

"Fuck you."

Shane grabbed Ilya by the front of his shirt, pulling him into him and slamming his lips on his, hard enough to finally shut him up.

Their hands were everywhere at once, gripping shirts, shoulders, waists, whatever they could reach, pulling and pushing and dragging each other closer like there was still too much space between them even when there wasn't. Shane barely had time to process the fact that he was kissing Ilya before Ilya was kissing him back just as desperately, one hand fisting Shane's shirt while the other hooked around his waist and pulled him in like he had no intention of letting him escape this time.

From the outside looking in, they probably looked insane. Like they were trying to crawl into each other's skin out of pure spite or like the game downstairs had been a joke. But this - whatever the fuck this was - had been waiting under the surface for way longer than either of them wanted to admit.

Shane hated that thought.

He hated it so much that he kissed Ilya harder.

Then suddenly, Ilya pulled back and froze.

Not far. Just enough to put a few inches of space between them and enough that Shane could see his face again instead of only feeling his mouth and his hands and the heat of him pressed too close. 

His lips were swollen, his curls were an even bigger disaster than before, and his chest rose and fell beneath Shane's hands as he tried to catch his breath. But it wasn't just that. It was his expression. That smugness he was so used to seeing was gone. The never-ending teasing was gone. That infuriating, self-satisfied look Shane despised seeing on him had completely vanished, leaving behind something raw and startled and almost scared. 

It was almost as if Ilya had kissed him back so hard he'd forgotten what they were doing and had only just remembered.

Shane was scrambling in his thoughts, figuring out what to do next.

He was used to Ilya being obnoxious, cocky, and impossible to embarrass. He was used to Ilya wearing his confidence like a badge, walking into rooms like he owned them, smiling like everyone else was already five steps behind him. Shane knew how to deal with that version of him.

But this version? He's never seen this side of him. This quiet, breathless Ilya staring at him like something had just cracked open between them. Shane had no idea what to do with him.

For one ridiculous second, Shane wondered if he had done something wrong, but then he realized Ilya's hands were still on him. Still gripping him. Still holding on like pulling away had been an accident his body hadn't fully committed to; a reflex.

That thought made Shane's chest tighten.

Neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other, breathing hard, lips swollen, faces still close enough that their noses almost brushed, both of them looking like they had no idea what the hell they were supposed to do now.

And then, against all odds, Shane's brain managed to produce one coherent thought.

His mouth twitched.

"You backed away," he whispered.

For one glorious second, Shane thought he had won.

Then Ilya blinked, the spell broke, and his expression snapped right back into his usual self.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

Before Shane could enjoy the victory for even half a second longer, Ilya shoved him back onto the bed with a dull thud. He crawled over him, bracketing Shane's hips with his knees, leaning down to kiss him again with absolutely no patience or interest in letting Shane say another word. Shane barely had time to suck in a breath before Ilya's mouth was on his again, hot and insistent, shutting him up in the hottest and most effective way possible. 

Naturally, Shane let him; humiliating.

Even more humiliating was the way his hands immediately flew to Ilya's face, fingers pressing against the sharp line of his jaw as he pulled him deeper into the kiss instead of pushing him away like a person with dignity might have done. Ilya made a small sound against his mouth, something between amusement and approval, and Shane hated how quickly it went through him. Hated the way his body reacted before his brain had a chance to form a single intelligent thought.

Then Ilya's tongue brushed against his lower lip, and Shane's brain combusted.

He parted his lips before he could overthink it, and Ilya took the invitation immediately, kissing him deeper, messier, like he was trying to prove that backing away earlier had been nothing more than a technicality. He tasted like beer and the faintest hint of tobacco. It should have been unpleasant, but all it did was make him want more, which was rude, honestly. Inconsiderate. Deeply inconvenient for everyone involved, especially Shane.

He tightened his grip on Ilya's face and kissed him harder, chasing the taste of him. Then, because apparently he had lost all sense of shame somewhere between the patio and his bedroom, Shane caught Ilya's tongue with his own and sucked gently.

When Shane thought it couldn't get any worse than that, Ilya moaned. Low and rough. Right into Shane's mouth. 

Heat rushed through him so fast he nearly forgot how to breathe, for one horrifying second, all he could think was that this was exactly what he needed tonight. Not a drink. Not a distraction. Not even this stupid rematch.

Apparently, what Shane needed was a full mental breakdown caused by Ilya fucking Rozanov making that sound because Shane had sucked on his tongue.

Ilya pushed himself off Shane for a moment to grab the hem of his own shirt and yank it over his head before tossing it somewhere onto the floor. Shane barely had time to process Ilya's bare chest before Ilya was reaching for him too, helping drag Shane's shirt off with the same lack of patience, throwing it aside like it had personally offended him. Under different circumstances, Shane might have protested. Unfortunately, he was a little preoccupied with the fact that he had a Russian man currently shirtless and pinning him to his own bed.

Ilya took a second to look down upon Shane, and that was somehow worse than the kissing.

There was a different kind of intensity in his eyes now, even in the low light of Shane's bedroom. Something that made Shane feel like every inch of him was being noticed and consumed. Ilya's hands roamed over him slowly, trailing across his chest, his stomach, and lastly his nipples. The feeling was like no other, sending little shocks through his entire body that made his dick want to explode just from this alone.

Shane tried to swallow down the sound that rose in his throat, but it wasn't enough as Ilya noticed immediately. His mouth curved into that familiar, infuriating smile, and Shane wanted to wipe it off his face. Preferably with his own mouth, which was a deeply inconvenient thought to have while already beneath him.

"Too much?" Ilya asked, voice low and teasing, like he already knew the answer and just wanted to hear Shane say it.

Shane glared up at him, though it probably didn't have the intended effect considering he was breathing like he'd just sprinted across campus.

"Don't flatter yourself."

Ilya's smile widened. Then he leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed Shane's ear. "Want to back out?"

Shane's entire body went still.

There it was again. The challenge of it all. The stupid little thread that had dragged them from the patio to his bedroom and somehow turned into this.

Shane stared up at him, heart pounding, pride bruised, thoughts scattered everywhere, and hated Ilya for looking so pleased with himself. Shane grabbed his face and pulled him back down.

"Not a chance."

The two went back to inhaling one another. Their kisses became deep and chaotic and insanely hot. It felt like they would fuse together at some point. Ilya broke away from Shane's mouth only to drag his lips across his cheek, then lower, along the sharp line of his jaw. His breath was warm against Shane's skin, and when his tongue followed the edge of it, a soft whimper escaped from Shane's lips. 

Ilya continued his journey downward, pressing his lips along his neck. His teeth grazed a sensitive spot beneath Shane's jaw, and Shane's hands immediately flew back into his hair, fingers tangling in his curls and tugging at them to make Ilya hum against him as he continued to suck and bite. 

Fuck, this was going to leave a mark. Shane could've easily pushed him off or told him to stop - though his brain was definitely not working at the moment to form words - but the thought of being marked, especially by Ilya, made the room tilt dangerously around him. 

Ilya lowered himself more, leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses all over his collarbones and down his chest. He made sure not to skip his nipples, flicking his tongue around them and taking them in his mouth.

"Fuck, Rozanov," Shane rasped from above. He took a peek below, watching Ilya and his tongue play with the sensitive area of nipples. The sensation was fucking incredible. It was as if Shane had ingested every kind of drug known to mankind all at once. It was euphoric, and all Ilya was doing was twisting and slobbering on his nipples.

Shane felt Ilya smile against his skin, the curve of it pressing just beneath his ribs before he continued lower, leaving a slow trail of kisses down his stomach. Ilya was taking his time with this just because he knew it was driving Shane insane. He stopped right above the waistband of Shane's jeans, close enough to make Shane's breath catch, close enough that every muscle in his body went tight with anticipation. Then Ilya tilted his head up and met Shane's gaze.

That was somehow the worst part.

Not the kissing. Not the heat of his mouth. Not even the way Shane's entire body seemed to be betraying him. It was the eye contact. The smug, focused, too-aware look on Ilya's face as he dragged his tongue slowly across the lower part of Shane's stomach without looking away once.

Shane's eyes rolled back before he could stop them, a long, helpless groan slipping out of him as warmth spread through his whole body. His cheeks burned. Goosebumps broke out across his skin almost instantly, making him shiver beneath Ilya's mouth, and some awful, useless part of his brain wondered if Ilya could feel them. If he could feel every little reaction Shane failed to hide.

Judging by the way Ilya's smile widened against him, he absolutely could. "Ready to chicken out?"

Before Ilya could say anything else, Shane shoved him off and flipped their positions, pushing him down against the mattress with enough force to knock a startled breath out of him. One second, Ilya had been hovering over him with that arrogant look on his face, and the next, Shane was the one above him, straddling his hips and staring down at him while Ilya blinked up in surprise. 

For one rare, beautiful second, Ilya Rozanov had nothing to say.

Shane should have treasured it, and he did.

He stared down at him, breathing hard, hands planted on either side of Ilya's body as if he needed the mattress to keep himself grounded. Ilya looked different like this, flat on his back beneath him, hair wild against Shane's pillows, lips swollen, chest rising and falling a little too quickly for someone who always acted like nothing ever got to him. The sight did something dangerous to Shane's brain. Something stupid. Something that made every sarcastic thought in his head trip over itself and fall face first.

Because Ilya was beautiful.

Annoyingly beautiful.

Disgustingly beautiful, actually. His body was all hard lines and smooth skin, broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, stomach tense beneath Shane's gaze like even now he was trying not to react too much. Shane hated that he noticed. Hated that he wanted to keep noticing.

His eyes drifted lower, catching on the small moles scattered across Ilya's skin. There were more of them than Shane expected, tiny dark marks dusted over his chest and ribs and stomach like constellations. For some reason, that was what undid him most. It was proof that Ilya wasn't just some loud, untouchable force of chaos sent specifically to ruin Shane's life.

He was real.

Warm.

And underneath him.

Shane lifted one hand before he could think better of it and traced a slow path across Ilya's chest with his fingertips, connecting one mark to another like he was mapping stars. Ilya's breath caught, barely, but Shane heard it. Of course he heard it. His attention had narrowed down to every small movement Ilya made, every twitch, every shift, every quiet inhale that betrayed him.

Ilya swallowed. "What are you doing?"

Shane didn't look up. "Thinking."

"That sounds dangerous."

"It usually is."

The corner of Ilya's mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything else, which was almost concerning. Shane continued downward, fingers drifting over the firm plane of his stomach, following the scattered marks there before pausing at the faint trail of hair that started beneath his belly button and disappeared beneath his waistband.

Shane leaned down before Ilya could make any more comments and pressed a kiss to the center of Ilya's stomach, then another just beneath it just to make Ilya's muscles jump under his mouth. The reaction sent a rush of satisfaction through him that it almost made him dizzy.

"Wow," Shane murmured against his skin. "You can actually be quiet for once."

Ilya let out a breathless little laugh. "You are very snarky for someone who lost."

Shane lifted his eyes.

Ilya was looking down at him, expression caught somewhere between teasing and wrecked, and Shane felt something inside him twist with triumph.

"But I won the rematch, didn't I?"

Then he kissed him again, lower this time, right above the waistband of his jeans, letting his lips linger just long enough to feel Ilya tense beneath him.

For once, Shane was the one watching him come apart.

And honestly? It was spectacular.

Shane's fingers fidgeted with Ilya's waistband, fumbling with the buckle hurriedly. He tugged at it impatiently, frustration building up when it didn't come undone fast enough, and Ilya let out a breathless laugh beneath him. 

"Having trouble?"

"Shut up."

The buckle finally came loose, and Shane tossed the belt aside without looking to see where it landed. His hands moved quickly after that, undoing the button and dragging the zipper down urgently. Ilya lifted his hips to help, still watching him with that wrecked, amused look that made Shane want to kiss him and strangle him at the same time.

Within seconds, Shane had pulled the denim down and off, leaving Ilya beneath him in nothing but his underwear and that stupid fucking smirk.

Shane stared. Just for a second, or maybe two. Long enough for Ilya's grin to reappear.

"You are staring, Hollander."

Shane's eyes flicked back up to his face. "I know."

His underwear were a pair of grey boxer briefs that perfectly outlined his twitching cock underneath, and of course a small to medium sized wet spot of his pre-cum leaking out. Ilya was… big. Like stupid huge. There was truly no other way to describe it, but when he heard rumors going around about how he was packing nine inches, Shane didn't want to believe it because that just sounded ridiculous. Nine? That was just absurd. However, here he was under Shane and his nine inch dick reacted with each second that passed.

Shane could feel his mouth water at the sight. God, was it going to fit? In his mouth? And, well, other places? Pushing the thought back, Shane lowered himself again and continued planting wet kisses around the waistband of Ilya's briefs. Shane reached for one side, pulling it down slightly to carry on with his trail of kisses by licking his hip bone. 

Above, he could feel Ilya shift and jolt his hips upwards, pressing his cock closer to Shane's face. "Hollander," Ilya moaned. "Please."

Shane was enjoying this a little too much. The control. The rush. Having this kind of effect on Ilya. He was such a mess underneath him, desperate for Shane to finally touch him. "Don't want to back out, Rozanov?" Shane teased, inserting a finger in his briefs and slowly playing with the waistband. He pulled the elastic and let go, the snap rippling visibly through Ilya's body with his cock twitching even more impatiently.

"Just touch me, Hollander," Ilya pleaded shakily. "Fuck, it hurts."

Ilya Rozanov. The big bad wolf. The leader of Delta Sigma. Mr. Nothing-Can-Phase-Me. Here he was, trembling like a leaf underneath Shane as he came apart without even being fully touched. Shane loved seeing this version of him. He was sure not many ever had the opportunity to witness him in this state. It made Shane lose his mind even more knowing that this was all to himself.

Shane gripped the waistband of his briefs and slid them down cautiously, Ilya's groans growing noisier and desperate. Thank God the music outside was loud enough to hide all the ruckus happening within Shane's room. Ilya's cock bobbed out freely after being held captive by his briefs, his length pulsating as the slit of the head was slick with pre-cum.

"Fuck," Shane breathed, captivated by the sight of how gritty he was. Ilya's cock stood straight up, the tip resting against his lower abdomen and coating it with his slick. It was magnificent, truly. Getting to see him flustered, his cheeks turning bright pink, and how everything Shane did made him quiver and shake. 

He finally reached down, his fingers gently grazing Ilya's cock. Just the slightest touch made Ilya groan out loud. "So impatient."

Shane closed his hand around Ilya's cock, a deep sigh of relief escaping from Ilya above. Sinking down, he began a slow, steady rhythm, his thumb sweeping over the tip - sticky with precum - while his other hand was preoccupied giving attention to his balls. He nuzzled his face closer to Ilya's balls, and with a sharp flick of Shane's tongue on them, Ilya's hips jolted straight up. Shane peeked around and up at Ilya; his head was thrown back, biting his lip while his eyes were closed. Just the mere sight of him losing himself from Shane's touch made his own dick ache even more.

Ilya began thrusting into Shane's hand as if what he was doing already wasn't enough. Perhaps it was the right time to give Ilya what he really wanted. Shane continued alternating from wet kisses to sucking in his balls, trailing up and up, leaving faint kisses as he made his way up his shaft. As he reached Ilya's plateau, he noticed Ilya was watching him, observing his every move. With a smirk, Shane lightly brushed the tip of his tongue on Ilya's slit, earning an even deeper moan from within Ilya's throat. 

"Enough, Hollander," Ilya whined. "I want to fuck your mouth!"

Shane chuckled lightly, still pumping Ilya as he licked and kissed his leaking slit. "I'm trying to enjoy my prize," Shane said, opening his mouth fully and taking in Ilya carefully. Ilya's entire body shuddered above, a deep breath breaking out of his chest as Shane took in more.

Again, Ilya was fucking huge and also thick - very thick. Shane hadn't even reached the base of his cock and he already could feel himself gagging. He then felt a hand tangling in his hair, lightly pushing his head down so he could take in more.

"Da, Hollander. Yes, yes," Ilya said shakily, his fingers playing with the softness of Shane's hair as he helped him take him in entirely. "Don't chicken out now."

Shane groaned around Ilya's cock. Leave it to him to bring up that stupid game again. They both knew they were long past the point of playing around, but neither were willing to back down. They were just trying to see who could make the other shut up first. 

Shane gripped Ilya's thighs a bit tighter, holding himself steady as he leaned into the challenge. He swallowed hard, trying not to choke, and started bobbing his head in a slow and steady rhythm. The friction of Shane's tongue against Ilya's shaft drew a sudden gasp from Ilya, his hips involuntarily jerking upward.

Ilya's hand tightened in Shane's hair, not pulling hard, but guiding him with a desperate kind of pressure. "Bozhe," Ilya muttered, his accent getting way thicker as he started to lose his composure. 

Shane didn't slow down at all. He used the rhythm to his advantage, using his hands to stroke the rest of the length his mouth couldn't reach so Ilya felt every bit of the strain. He kept his eyes locked upward, watching the way Ilya's jaw clenched and how his head tilted back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to keep it together.

"Shane..." Ilya breathed out. 

Shane. Shane. Shane.

Using his first name felt like a physical jolt. Hearing that and not "Hollander" or some other sarcastic nickname completely threw him off balance for a split second. It sounded so different coming from Ilya, stripped of all the usual armor and teasing they always threw at each other.

A rush of heat that had nothing to do with the physical heat in the room flared up in Shane's chest. It was weird. Like an intense mix of pride and a heavy wave of affection that caught him completely off guard. He realized he had actually managed to strip away Ilya's walls, forcing him to completely lose character and just feel everything.

The sound of his name made Shane want to push even further. He wanted to see what other kinds of sounds he could drag out of Ilya if he kept going. His heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden spike of adrenaline making his hands tremble against Ilya's thighs. Hearing Ilya call for him like that made Shane feel powerful and entirely desperate to give Ilya exactly what he was asking for.

Just as Shane was about to lean into it even more, Ilya's grip in his hair tightened, but this time he was pulling Shane up and away. Ilya let out a rough and breathless groan as Shane detached himself from his cock with a loud Pop. He clearly didn't want to cum in Shane's mouth, and he was already right on the edge.

Ilya hauled him up by his shoulders, bringing him face-to-face as he kissed him frantically, their lips clashing in a messy and breathless rush of heat and teeth. During their kiss, Ilya shifted his weight and pushed Shane flat onto his back against the mattress.

Ilya was now completely hovering over him, shadows framing his broad shoulders. He didn't waste a single second. Ilya reached down and frantically tugged at Shane's pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. The moment the fabric cleared his hips, Shane's cock bounced out, already leaking and completely hard.

"Lube," Ilya panted, his chest heaving as he looked down at Shane's quivering cock. "Where is it?"

Shane pointed a shaky hand toward the nightstand. Ilya reached over and opened the drawer, grabbing the bottle and squirting a generous amount onto his fingers. He moved back between Shane's thighs, his eyes dark and completely focused. 

Instead of rushing in, Ilya paused at Shane's entrance. He circled his slick fingertips around Shane's rim, lightly teasing the sensitive skin and coating it in lube. Shane couldn't keep his legs from trembling at the cool sensation. His mind was going a million miles an hour as he could feel Ilya's fingers dragging over the opening before finally pressing one finger inside. 

Shane let out a gasp, his hands instantly clutching at the bedsheets. Ilya didn't move it right away; he just let Shane get used to the feeling, waiting until Shane's tense muscles started to relax. Only then did Ilya begin to move his finger in, finding the exact spots that made Shane whimper. 

Before Shane could even catch his breath, Ilya added a second finger. The sudden stretch made Shane's eyes squeeze shut with a low groan vibrating in his throat. Shane was completely breathless, his hips unconsciously rolling against Ilya's hand as those two fingers kept working inside him, stretching him out until it was almost too much to bear. The teasing was driving him crazy. He needed the real thing and he needed it now. 

"Ilya," Shane gasped out, his voice cracked and completely stripped of any attitude. "Please. Fuck me, please." 

The moment his name left Shane's lips, Shane saw a sudden and intense shift flash across Ilya's face. Ilya's pupils dilated until his eyes looked almost entirely black, and his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. It was like a switch had been flipped, transforming his playful dominance into something raw, fierce, and totally consumed by desire. 

Once Shane was loose enough, Ilya didn't wait. He grabbed Shane's legs, pushing his knees up toward his chest to perfectly align his own thick cock with Shane's hole. Ilya guided himself to the opening and pushed forward, sliding all the way in with one heavy thrust. Fucking finally. Shane's eyes widened, a loud cry tearing from his throat as his body stretched to take all of him in.

Ilya started moving. The slow thrusts were completely gone; Ilya was slamming into Shane with relentless strokes, his hips crashing against Shane's with every single push. The bed creaked loudly beneath them and Shane could barely catch his breath.

Every time Ilya thrusted deep inside him, Shane felt the wind get knocked right out of his lungs. He wrapped his arms tightly around Ilya's neck, clinging to him like an anchor. Ilya was sweating and panting heavily while his eyes locked onto Shane's face to watch every single expression of pleasure ripple across it.

Even through the haze of heavy breathing and sweat, Shane couldn't help but want to push Ilya right over the edge. He arched his back, meeting Ilya's thrusts halfway, and squeezed his muscles tightly around him. He let out a shaky laugh right against Ilya's ear.

"Are you gonna cum for me, Ilya?" Shane teased, his voice a low whisper as he tightened around him even more. "Or are you gonna chicken out?"

The taunt hit Ilya like he was punched in the stomach. A low and dangerous growl rumbled in Ilya's throat and his grip on Shane's hips tightened so hard it was definitely going to leave marks.

"Shut up," Ilya gasped out, his accent thick and completely wrecked as he picked up the pace even more, slamming into Shane with even more desperation that made Shane's head spin.

The sensation was too much, and within just a few minutes, Shane's body reached its limit. With a loud moan, Shane let out a cry and came all over his own stomach, his muscles tightening like crazy around Ilya's length.

That final tight squeeze completely broke Ilya as well. He let out a guttural growl, burying his face into the crook of Shane's neck as he delivered a few final thrusts. Ilya shuddered violently, holding himself deep inside Shane as he finally came, filling him completely.

For a moment, neither of them moved and the only sound in the room was their rough and synchronized breathing. Ilya remained buried deep inside Shane, his forehead resting against his shoulder as his body slowly stopped shuddering. Shane's fingers were still loosely tangled in Ilya's hair, completely drained while the cooling heat of his own release pooled on his stomach.

Eventually, Ilya let out a long sigh and carefully pulled out, the sudden absence making Shane shiver. Ilya rolled over onto his back right next to Shane, throwing an arm over his eyes as his chest heaved. Shane wasted no time turning his head, a weak but smug grin spreading across his face despite how exhausted he was.

"So," Shane panted, his voice still incredibly rough. "I clearly won this rematch, didn't I?"

Ilya dropped his arm, turning his head to glare at Shane. "Are you serious, Hollander?" Ilya scoffed, his Russian accent still thick and lazy from the afterglow. "That does not count. Nobody was here to witness it, so I won."

"Oh, so you're a coward and a cheater?" Shane countered, nudging Ilya's shoulder with his own. "I don't need a live studio audience to know I made you break, Ilya." 

Ilya let out a low chuckle, reaching over to brutally ruffle Shane's hair. "Keep telling yourself that, Shane," he mocked softly, using the name with a slow, deliberate smirk just to see Shane's ears turn a little pink. "We both know you are just a sore loser."

Shane rolled his eyes, shifting closer until his side was pressed against Ilya's warmth, completely giving up on trying to move to clean up just yet. "Whatever. It was a tie."

"Nyet. I won," Ilya muttered, closing his eyes with a satisfied, exhausted grin as he wrapped an arm around Shane, pulling him closer.

Shane didn't even bother arguing back this time. He just smiled against Ilya's chest, letting the comfortable silence settle over them as they drifted off.