Archive of Our Own

The club is too loud.

Bass and percussion thrum through Shane's body, strong enough to replace his heartbeat. He hates that feeling. It makes him think he's panicking or having a heart attack. But it's just music—music Ilya knows well, judging by the way his body moves to the rhythm even sitting down.

Shane shuts his eyes against the strobing lights and shifts closer to his fiancé. Ilya's the reason they're here, of course. "Scott Hunter Night" has become an unofficial tradition among the queer and supportive MLH players gathered in Vegas after the awards. Ilya had attended the inaugural event three years ago as a thank-you to Scott. A few weeks later, feet in the water as they sat on Shane's dock, he'd told Shane how surreal it had been to dance with men in an American club, in the presence of fellow hockey players, several of whom were also dancing with men.

"It was like a dream," he'd murmured, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head back to squint at the late-morning sky. "I do not think I have ever felt so free before. Dancing with men, not caring who was watching…" He'd shaken his head and idly kicked one foot, watching the lake ripple around their ankles. "No, is not it. I wanted them to watch. Wanted Hunter and his boyfriend to see me. To know that I was…like them. Without me having to tell them. Probably stupid."

"That's not stupid at all," Shane had said, tapping his foot against Ilya's. "If I could make people understand me without talking, I'd probably never talk again. It'd be way easier."

He'd hummed and leaned against Shane. They'd been quiet for a while, until Ilya blurted out, "I want to take you someday. To a club. I know is not your favorite, but…I want to show you why I love it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I will make it good for you. Is always good when you actually like your dance partner."

Shane had laughed then, but Ilya's words had stuck with him. I want to show you why I love it.

He doesn't get it yet. For now they're just sitting in Scott's VIP booth with Kip, Troy, Harris, Wyatt, and Luca, most of whom are well into their third drinks while Shane nurses his second. The environment is rowdy and stifling, the building is too big and far too small all at once, and he really wishes he could un-notice the buzzing of the speaker behind and above Kip's head. But he's determined to stay. That's the real reason he's drinking tonight; he wants to be here for Ilya, with Ilya. Because unlike everything else Ilya loved that he'd given up for Shane, this is something Shane can give back.

Besides, now that they're out and almost married, Shane needs to get comfortable being with Ilya in public. Hanging out at a gay club with friends—or at least trusted associates—seemed like a good place to start.

Ilya's laugh brings him back to the present. He slides his hand over Shane's thigh and squeezes. Shane relaxes like it's a programmed response, because it is—Ilya's touch has a way of siphoning all the tension from his body. But this touch isn't just for comfort; it's a question, and Ilya's leaning in for the answer, even as his eyes never leave the group.

His curls tickle Shane's ear. Shane nods so he can feel it. "I'm good," he says, mentally bracing himself for the lights.

Ilya nods back. The pressure around his thigh eases. Check-in complete.

"Hazy was just saying this is basically our bachelor party," Ilya says, effortlessly guiding Shane back to the conversation as he blinks back into the room.

"Huh. I guess it is. J.J. and Hayden will be sad they missed it."

"We can see them when we get home. And Marley."

"Might as well ask Svetlana too. I'd text Rose, but coming to the wedding will be tough enough for her."

"So we have it close to the wedding so she doesn't have to change her schedule," Ilya counters. "Easy. Two parties."

"Two parties," Scott echoes. He looks down at his own husband, happily snuggled into his side. "We did that too, but we weren't both at both of them."

Kip pouts. "'Cause you didn't want to come to mine."

Scott sighs like they've had this conversation a hundred times. "I couldn't come to yours, Kip. I had a game."

"Should've skipped it."

"Absolutely not."

Shane's chest loosens a bit as they bicker. So far, this all seems…normal, or at least what he always imagines life is for normal (ordinary, non-famous, straight) adults. Sure, maybe normal people don't have a VIP booth in Vegas, but they go out with their partners and friends and talk about their weddings in public, right? This is no different.

He's just like everyone else.

The thought brings a wave of relief. His shoulders drop another millimeter and he allows himself to relax against Ilya, who's practically glowing beside him. Shane realizes he's never seen him like this, so clearly in his element as he playfully jabs at his friends, colored lights playing across his skin. The life of the party, with one hand on Shane at all times.

When had he last seen Ilya this happy?

Freedom, he thinks, recalling Ilya's dazed confession from three years ago. Maybe this is it—part of it, at least. Whatever it is, he's starting to see the appeal. It's nice to sit next to Ilya like this, to touch him and be touched without scanning the room in terror every five seconds. His eyes still dart around every now and again—eleven years of instinct can't be unlearned in a handful of months—but he sees nothing but smiles, and each one lets him breathe a little easier.

He can do this. And that's not just the alcohol talking, though it's definitely done its job. The steel bars of his restraint have melted into something softer, and the constant buzzing in his body has settled somewhat. Even the hypervigilant sentry in his brain seems to be resting. He's safe enough with Ilya, and everyone else can be trusted. There's clear ice ahead. It's time to make the most of it.

He nudges Ilya. "Well, you need a second party for all those strippers you wanted, right, Ilya?"

A moment of shocked silence, followed by a startled laugh that runs through the group. Even Ilya seems taken aback for a second. Then he grins and slaps a hand over his heart in dramatic fashion. "Shane, lyubimy. You think I want strippers at my bachelor party?"

He shrugs. "I dunno. Don't fuckboys have one last wild night before they accept they're off the market for good?"

His eyes narrow. "I have been off the market for four and a half years. You know this."

"I mean, I do, but—"

Kip chokes on his drink. "Wait, four and a half—?!"

"And," Ilya continues, completely ignoring Kip, "you would not like knowing someone else danced for me, even if all I did was look." He raises his eyebrows. "You do not share, Hollander."

It's a dare. How far is he willing to go tonight? For once, Shane doesn't need Ilya's bait, not with alcohol burning his throat and warming his body. He's already surprised them all once; the resulting spark of pride has him itching to do it again. He lets his gaze trail down Ilya's torso and drag back up, knowing Ilya can feel it like his hand is tracing the same path. "You're right," he agrees, lifting his beer to his lips. "I don't."

Ilya tracks the movement of his throat as he swallows. Then he inclines his head and sips his own drink. Could've been fun after, though.

Shane remembers the way he rode Ilya into the mattress the last time Ilya made him jealous. He mirrors Ilya's head tilt. Could've been, yeah.

Luca clears his throat. "Are you guys…talking without talking…?"

Harris shakes his head. "Is this the same Shane Hollander who turned pink whenever Ilya so much as looked at him during Bood's party a couple months back?"

"Which was pretty much all the time?" Troy adds.

"Four and a half fucking years?!" Kip demands.

Shane blushes, but Kip's indignance makes him snicker despite himself. Ilya fully laughs. "Of what? Me only getting my dick wet for Shane?" He gleefully accepts Shane's shove. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes?! You, Ilya Rozanov, notorious playboy, have been monogamously dating Shane Hollander for four and a half years?"

Ilya's brow furrows just the tiniest bit. "He means exclusively," Shane clarifies. "Monogamous. One relationship."

"Ah." Ilya grins, all sharp teeth and mischief. "I did not say that."

Shane blinks at him. "But it's true?"

"He said that. I said I have been off market for four and a half years." Ilya's arm lands around Shane's shoulders. "I said nothing of how long I have been with you."

The booth is quiet for a moment as the men chew on that information. Ilya looks at him, one eyebrow arched. Another check-in. Shane shrugs. "Let them figure it out," he says, resolve settling in his stomach like a cold stone.

"You are sure?"

"No, but I'm here now. Might as well, right?"

Ilya's gaze softens into the "heart eyes" Hayden so loves to give him shit about. Shane smiles back, grateful that Ilya seems to notice how hard he's trying. Ilya starts to say something—probably "Ya tebya lyublyu," if Shane has to guess—but Luca is louder and faster.

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait. So before 2017…" He looks at Shane, eyes wide. "You were seeing him without being exclusive?"

Shane blinks, not expecting that particular question. "Uh. Yes?"

He looks almost disappointed. "So does that mean…with Rose…?"

"No! I wasn't seeing Ilya then."

"He left me for her," Ilya adds, helpful as always.

Shane glares at him. "And then I left her for you," he points out, but the group is too busy trying not to choke or spittake to pay much attention.

Harris, unsurprisingly, is the first to find his voice. "You left him?! You, Shane Hollander, left Ilya Rozanov to date Rose fucking Landry?!"

Shane groans and rolls his eyes. "Yes, I did. Not my proudest moment, for sure."

"It wasn't?!" Wyatt yelps. "I mean, no offense, Roz, but—"

"He's very gay," says Ilya.

"Oh, fuck you."

"Mmm. Later."

Shane shrugs Ilya's arm off his shoulders and elbows him. Ilya doesn't have the decency to fight back. He just grins wide enough to split his face in half.

Scott's the next to lean forward. "But if you weren't exclusive, there was nothing to leave, right? It wouldn't have mattered who you started dating."

Shane flushes and shifts in his seat. "I mean, yeah, we were casual, but we'd been doing it a long time, so—"

So what? So of course we felt something for each other?

Too late, he snaps his mouth shut. He looks at them with wide eyes. Ilya is still grinning. Scott puts down his drink. "How long?" he asks, much more calmly than any of the others would have.

Shane fidgets again. "A-a long time."

"Hollander."

The words stick in his throat. He wants to trust Ilya's friends with this, he does, but now that he's right up against it he can't make himself cooperate. Ilya won't help, he knows that. He's the one who let it get this far.

His salvation comes in the form of Wyatt Hayes, who has his elbows on his knees, hands pressed together as if in prayer, chin resting in the crook of his thumbs and forefingers. "Shane Hollander," he says, in the tone of a man who knows he's about to confirm something that will destroy his entire worldview. "When you say a long time. You don't mean…the whole time…do you?"

Shane gulps. Ilya somehow grins even wider as he finally steps in. "Since rookie season," he gloats.

"The summer before," Shane adds, sounding miserable, or defeated, or maybe just relieved.

Harris's jaw drops at the same time as Troy's. Wyatt's head falls forward even further as he nods into his hands. Scott whistles quietly under Kip's muffled "Holy shit." Luca stares at them with an expression Shane can't name.

He's still trying to figure it out when Troy throws his head back and groans, "Holy fuck, I am so glad I never asked you for his number. Jesus Christ."

Ilya stiffens. Shane barks a startled laugh. "What?" they say in unison.

Troy looks at them like they've just asked if hockey has three periods. "Uh, yeah. You had an in with the hottest player in the league three years running. Of course I thought about it. Now I know you would've killed me if I tried, 'cause you had him the whole time! Goddamn, Rozanov!"

Troy holds out his fist. Ilya, who relaxed the moment Troy acknowledged Ilya's guaranteed murder attempt, performs a somewhat elaborate handshake ritual with him. His cocky grin returns. "You did not have a chance," he agrees. "He was always mine. I am irresistible."

Shane snorts into his beer. "I resisted you just fine after 2011."

"That does not count. You still wanted me."

"You can't prove that."

"You could have deleted my number."

"And missed you begging for my ass for two years? Absolutely not."

There's another round of choking and spluttering. Shane smirks at Ilya, who looks completely caught off-guard. Gotcha.

Scott's the first to recover. "He chased you for two years?!"

"Mhm."

"Rozanov. Ilya Any-girl-he-wants Rozanov."

Shane makes a show of reaching for his phone. "I still have the texts. Want me to read 'em?"

Wyatt whoops. "Yes!"

Ilya lunges for Shane's hand. "No!"

Shane cackles as he fights him off, bolder than he'd ever be without the beer and Ilya's hands on his skin. "What's wrong, Rozanov? Don't want all your friends to know how pathetic you sounded, whining after me all the time?"

"Was not pathetic!"

"Was not pathetic," Shane mocks, in his best Ilya impression. Then throws his arms around Ilya and pouts. "Noooo, Hollander, I want to fuck you."

The booth erupts. Someone, probably Wyatt, smacks his leg. Ilya flushes so much Shane can feel the heat against his cheek. He's sure people around the venue are looking at them, but he's too high on flustering Ilya to care—so high, in fact, that he throws caution to the wind and kisses Ilya's ear the way he remembers being kissed just over a decade ago. "You're blushing, muy pomidor," he murmurs, before pulling away with a wide grin.

Ilya flashes him a glare that says you'll pay for that. Shane laughs in a way that says I hope so. Then he turns to give the celebratory high-fives and fistbumps being offered by Wyatt, Harris, Troy, and Scott.

"Okay, okay, wait," says Harris, after they've all regained some composure. "Can we circle back to the Rose Landry of it all? 'Cause why the hell did you leave if you had him wrapped around your finger like that?"

Shane hums. "Ilya started to get serious. I panicked."

"And you pulled Rose fucking Landry."

He shrugs. "She was nice. We got along well. I thought I'd finally found a girl I really liked."

"And the feeling was friendship," muses Luca, who's looking between the two of them in wonder. "Unbelievable."

Ilya grins. "Like I said: Shane is very gay."

Kip frowns. "But…that was the end of 2016, right? When you were with Rose?" Shane nods. "And when did you two start playing?"

Shane glances at Ilya, who's no longer grinning. "2010. Why?"

"So after six years of casual sex, you wanted to, what, make things official? And Shane somehow didn't see that coming?"

"I—" Once again, Shane's caught off guard. "It—wasn't so much that—"

"You never talked about it? Not once? For six years?"

Ilya's hand lands on Shane's thigh again. "Not everyone has whirlwind romance like you," he says, his tone icy.

Shane's own irritation dims just enough for him to cover for Ilya. "Look, I didn't have, like, friends, or anything, alright? Nobody who knew I was gay. My parents didn't know. I was trying not to have an even bigger target on my back. We couldn't be anything, so there was nothing to talk about."

"I did not ask him to be my boyfriend," Ilya adds. "All I did was ask him to stay the night. That is how scared we were."

The weight of it settles over the booth. Shane leans against Ilya. Wyatt whistles. "Holy shit."

Shane closes his hand over Ilya's and nods at Scott and Kip. "And we'd still be that scared if it weren't for you two. Even after Rose. I'd invited him to stay at my cottage over the summer while I was in the hospital, but…I'm not sure he would've come if you two hadn't shown us what was possible."

Ilya nods beside him, eyes on their hands. He turns his palm up and laces their fingers together. "I would not have," he confirms. "It was…too hard, when I realized I loved him but thought I could not have him."

Shane squeezes his hand. "I don't know what I would've done if you'd gone back to Russia."

"I don't want to think about it."

He rests his head against Ilya's for a second. Then he turns back to Scott and Kip, who watch them with sober expressions. Gratitude, too profound for words, lodges in his throat. "I can't thank you enough," he manages to say. "We wouldn't be here without you. You saved us. Really."

Kip wipes his eyes. Scott's face is neutral in that barely-holding-it-together way Shane knows all too well. Scott nods at him and Ilya. "Glad we could make a difference."

Ilya raises his drink towards Scott, which is by far the most respectful thing most of them have seen him do, especially for Scott Hunter. They quickly join the impromptu toast.

"Is Scott Hunter night, after all," Ilya says with a lopsided smile.

Scott smiles back. "I guess it is," he says, and raises his own glass.

Shane doesn't think he needs more alcohol to get through the night. Hell, if they'd started with this conversation he might not have needed to drink at all. He can't remember the last time he felt this light. He doesn't remember life without the crushing weight of his secrets on his chest, his shoulders, like a lead vest.

But he knows he's never liked a group of people this much, and he's pretty sure a group of people has never liked him this much, either. He knows he's never been fully himself around anyone but Ilya and Rose before tonight. He's safe with these men. And he knows he's never felt that before, either.

Conversation picks back up and flows easily between them all. He and Ilya get some teasing questions about how their relationship actually started ("You manipulated a CCM photoshoot to see him again?!" Wyatt exclaims) and wedding planning ("Anya is flower girl," insists Ilya, while Shane reminds him there are at least three Pike children competing for that role). It's…nice. It's fun, having these conversations with people who know about them and would do anything to support them. For the first time in recent memory, the automatic warnings in his nervous system are silent.

The song changes. A man's voice pierces the room, singing intently in a high register, effortlessly catching Shane's attention.

Baby I'm preying on you tonight

Hunt you down, eat you alive

Just like animals, animals

Like animals-mals

Shane guesses it's a popular song, since pretty much everyone who isn't him starts cheering before the end of the first line. Ilya lights up even more beside him. He sets his drink down and grins at Shane, who sighs internally. Time to dance.

"I take it you like this song?" he asks, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

"Very much." Ilya's grin turns sultry, just a bit. "It makes me think of you."

Shane's mouth is suddenly dry. He raises an eyebrow. "It does?"

"It is us." Ilya points up at the speaker. "Listen."

"Don't think I have much of a choice," he quips back, but he turns his attention to the music anyway as he reaches for his beer.

It's like we can't stop, we're enemies

But we get along when I'm inside you

Shane nearly chokes. Ilya cackles with delight. Shane sets his glass down hard and glares at him. "Ilya!"

"Told you it was us."

"Ilya, we're—" He glances around the booth, grateful the lights are dim enough to hide his blush. "We're—"

"With friends. Who now know exactly what we've been doing the past eleven years. You told them." His grin sharpens. "Nothing left to hide, Shane Hollander."

Shane can think of quite a few things he would still like to hide, but it seems his overwhelming attraction to Ilya won't be one of them. He can hear Troy and Harris snickering as he tries to lean away from Ilya and gets nowhere. Shit.

But you can't stay away from me

I can still hear you making that sound

Taking me down, rolling on the ground

Ilya's lips brush his ear. "You can pretend that it was me, but no," he purrs, and Shane shudders like the weak man he is. Over ten years into this thing and he's no better at resisting Ilya Rozanov.

Ilya chuckles. It sounds like a threat. "Dance with me," he murmurs, his hand sliding dangerously high up Shane's thigh. Shane swallows hard. The request really isn't one. Ilya won't force him, would never force him, but he expects Shane to obey and they both know he will. He puts on a show of resistance for a second or two before he sighs and reaches for his beer. Ilya watches him drain the glass with a triumphant smirk, graciously allowing him the alcohol this time, unlike another memorable night they'd shared in Vegas.

"Alright." Shane sets down the empty glass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "We'll be back."

"Have fun out there," Scott says, exchanging a knowing look with both Kip and Ilya.

Ilya takes Shane's hand and stands. "Oh, we will," he replies, and proudly leads Shane out of the booth.

So if I run, it's not enough

You're still in my head, forever stuck

So you can do what you wanna do

The walk to the dance floor feels eternal. Shane keeps his eyes down as he follows Ilya; yes, it helps with the lights and the crush of people, but he's subconsciously still following Ilya's first order.

Listen.

Shane couldn't stop listening if he tried.

I love your lies, I'll eat 'em up

But don't deny the animal

That comes alive when I'm inside you

A familiar mix of arousal and embarrassment heats in his gut. His face flushes. Fuck, this song really is about them. About him. No wonder Ilya chose this song to get them to dance. Panic flashes through his brain. Oh god, did everyone realize that? Are they all talking about how much of a slut he is for Ilya? Are they—

The hand holding his squeezes tight. Shane jolts out of his spiral. The pressure travels from his fingers up his arm and through the rest of him, and just like that he's back in his body. He closes his eyes and breathes deep through his nose.

It doesn't matter what they think anymore. He's with Ilya right now, and right now Ilya wants to dance with him. He's been excited about this for weeks. Be here and dance with him.

Ilya turns to face him, walking backwards the last few steps to their spot. He's still grinning that sexy grin, daring and bold, but that excitement is there too, and Shane can't help but melt when he sees it. He's smiling when Ilya drags him in close, not fully pressed against each other, but close enough for Shane to see him singing along as he settles his hands at Shane's waist. Shane sinks immediately, pulled down from cerebral self-analysis into pure instinct by the touch and the heated gaze he knows so well. He runs his hands up and down Ilya's arms while Ilya's hands coax his rigid body loose, guiding them to sway together.

It's…honestly pretty nice. Not at all as bad as he remembers. He can do this for sure.

The song goes quiet, followed by the singer…well. Shane starts, the spell broken, and laughs in surprise. "Did he just howl?"

Ilya pouts and tugs Shane in with more force than is strictly necessary. Shane's laugh bounces with the slight jostle. "Was hoping you would not notice," Ilya grumbles, pulling on Shane again to keep him laughing. He doesn't seem all that upset. "Stupid sexy Adam Levine ruining my sexy mood."

Shane seizes the rare opportunity to tease him. "You think Adam Levine is sexy?"

Ilya freezes. His jaw drops. "You know who that is?!"

Shane smirks and shakes his head. "Nah, just messing with you."

"Oh, you—" Ilya rolls his eyes, but he's fighting a grin. He rolls their hips together in retaliation, smirking at Shane's gasp. "Here I thought my boring soon-to-be husband had finally gotten a little less boring."

"You love that I'm boring."

"Oh really."

"Yeah. If I weren't boring, you wouldn't be interesting."

The look on Ilya's face has Shane nearly howling himself. It's certainly louder than he's laughed in public in years. Ilya mumbles something like "Hollander has jokes now" into his neck, followed by a string of Russian he can't make out. He doesn't care. He laughs until Ilya kisses his neck. Then he gasps, fingers automatically tangling in Ilya's hair as he fights to stay quiet and ignore the sparks of interest in his dick.

Ilya coaxes his name from Shane's lips just before the song ends with a final reverberating beat. They slow their swaying in the relative quiet between songs, Ilya's teasing lips making Shane swear under his breath. Just as he's about to pull away to keep himself from moaning in the middle of all these people, he feels the next beat start, and Ilya grins against his throat.

And I'm so into you

I can barely breathe

"Is like this set was made for us," he murmurs, pulling away from Shane's neck with a final peck against his Adam's apple. "Having fun?"

And all I wanna do

Is to fall in deep

"You dance with everyone this way, Rozanov?"

He chuckles darkly, teeth flashing in the colored lights. "Only the ones I want to fuck."

But close ain't close enough

Til we cross the line

So name the game to play

And I'll roll the dice

Ilya guides them to shift their weight in time with the music. Shane remembers trying to dance with Rose this way. He'd made a valiant attempt, to be sure, but dancing with Ilya now makes it very clear that it was only an attempt, like everything else with her had been. This easy push and pull between him and Ilya, the way Shane lets himself be guided by the gentle pressure on his waist, the way Ilya half-sings the song in a voice meant just for him—this is the real thing, or at least a glimpse of it. He knows there can be more. He wants all of it.

"Fun, yes?" Ilya prompts, never one to let Shane hide his enjoyment.

"Yeah. Fun."

Oh baby, look what you started

The temperature's risin' in here

Is this gonna happen?

Been waitin' and waitin' for you to make a move

"Before I make a move," Ilya sings, hunger in his gaze, and steps into his space, grinning like a predator cornering its prey. Shane swallows hard, then shivers as Ilya slides his hands down to Shane's hips, arousal sparking from the heated touch. Shane's blood rushes south. Fuck.

So baby come light me up

And baby I'll let you on it

A little bit dangerous

But baby that's how I want it

It's hard to pay attention to the words with Ilya looking like that right in front of him, but he hears the word "dangerous" and gets the idea. He's not moving with anything close to Ilya's fluidity and grace, but Ilya doesn't seem to mind. He just runs his hands over Shane's torso, letting the heat in his palms seep through Shane's shirt and under his skin, until he starts to loosen up. He's not sure what to do with his own hands, but the song helpfully provides—Ilya beckons him with a finger while singing "a little more touch my body," so Shane puts a hand on Ilya's exposed chest.

It's like an electric shock. His pulse quickens, his eyes widen, and his body immediately unlocks. Ilya rewards him with a flash of a triumpant smile. "Da, Hollander," he purrs, and pulls Shane's hips into a rolling motion so familiar he has to grab his brain with both hands to keep it from going on autopilot.

"Fuck," he gasps.

Ilya smirks. "There you are."

He sings something else then, something about "keep it secret" and "scandalous," maybe. Shane can't tell, not with Ilya's hands groping his ass from inside his back pockets. He no longer has the presence of mind to be upset. Touching Ilya always makes him want, which is exactly why he refrained from it in public as long as he did.

But things are different now. Everyone knows who he wants. Everyone in this room wants heat and touch and movement the same way he does, and many of them are men who want it with other men.

He's not alone here. He isn't wrong here. He's just a man who wants, just like all the other men here who want.

I want to show you why I love it.

Nothing left to hide, Shane Hollander.

Shane shuffles closer, eliminating all but the barest space between them, and threads his fingers back into Ilya's curls. Ilya looks at him with the same mixture of lust and pride he has whenever Shane fully surrenders to his desires during sex. That gaze alone would be enough to turn him on, but dancing on this crowded floor with Ilya's hands on his ass is another level. The lights, the music, the heat of the other bodies around them—all of it swirls into an indistinct backdrop of sensation that just highlights the only man capable of getting him to act like this.

His cock grinds against something solid. Shane swears in a hot exhale over Ilya's mouth and looks down to see Ilya's thigh between his. He watches them move together, swearing again when he feels Ilya hardening against his hip.

Ilya's grip tightens to keep him close. His forehead thunks against his. "Fuck, Hollander," he groans quietly, sending a spark of interest up Shane's spine. He ignores the pressure of Ilya's hands in favor of moving his hips in a slow circle. Ilya bucks against him. "Fuck."

"Is this what you've been doing all these years?" Shane gasps, regaining some composure as Ilya loses his. "No wonder you had so much sex. You were basically fucking on the dance floor already."

"How dare you bring up others when I am finally dancing with you."

"Your fault for teaching me to be an asshole."

Ilya glares at him, slightly pissed, very proud, and one hundred percent turned on. He pulls them flush against each other. "Stop talking."

"Mm." Shane fists a hand low in Ilya's curls and tugs. "Okay."

Ilya's moan doesn't even fully leave his mouth before Shane kisses him. He grins when it takes Ilya a second to respond. Usually Ilya's the one kissing him into senseless lust, but it seems making one of Ilya's dreams come true has given him the upper hand this time. He briefly remembers Rose and slides his hands under Ilya's shirt and up his back. Ilya groans into his mouth and pulls him impossibly closer. Then he lets his nails bite Ilya's skin as they trail down, and Ilya moans so loud he's sure the people nearest them can hear.

Sober Shane from four hours ago might have been mortified, would have been if he were the one making that sound. But he's not Sober Shane. He's Tipsy-On-Beer Shane. High-On-Acceptance Shane. Drunk-On-Ilya Shane. This Shane is the reason Ilya forgot himself like that. This Shane is too proud of himself to care what anyone else thinks. This Shane laughs and pulls away, untangling them from each other and letting them both breathe relatively clear air for the first time since they hit the floor.

…little more touch my body

'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you

The lyrics filter back into Shane's awareness as they catch their breath. They're still dancing, but now Shane's hips match Ilya's swing for swing. Another jolt of pride shoots up his spine at the realization. He's doing it. He's dancing with Ilya. And he's having fun.

Not only that; Ilya looks so turned on he doesn't know what to do with himself. Shane briefly wonders if they'll be able to leave without one of them blowing the other in a bathroom. The idea just makes him grin even wider. Nights like this are stark reminders that Ilya's hold on him, the thing he'd spent years cursing himself for, is entirely mutual. Not just because of the control Shane surrenders to him, or the thrill of tasting forbidden fruit—no, Shane himself is what Ilya can't get enough of.

He knows that, of course. On some level he's known the whole time. Ilya proves it every day, eyes, hands, mouth, and hips all dedicated to worshipping Shane's body like it's his reason for breathing. But he's never felt it in his bones the way he does now. Because they're in a club, a space Ilya owns like Shane owns the ice, a kingdom of people used to gaining his attention, and his fiancé hasn't so much as glanced at anyone else all night.

The thought goes straight to his dick. He smirks and tugs Ilya back in, relishing in his brief moment of control. "You're hot," he tells him, knowing the plain honesty works Ilya up like nothing else. "This is hot."

"Hollander." It's a warning Shane has no intent to heed. "You kill me."

"You'll live. You wanna fuck me later, right?"

Ilya growls. Shane breaks into goosebumps. Then Ilya throws him a wink and a playful grin, steps back with Shane's hands in his, and proceeds to lip-sync the next part of the song so theatrically that Shane's cracking up before he knows it.

Tell me what you came here for

'Cause I can't, I can't wait no more

I'm on the edge of no control

And I need, I need you to know, you to know

He steps back even further, letting go of Shane completely for the first time since they entered the club. He points at Shane, who immediately becomes very aware of himself; he blushes, realizing he stopped moving when Ilya stopped touching him. But that self-awareness fades almost as quickly as it arrived. The singer hits a high note, the instruments stop playing, and Ilya starts to dance. For him.

Everything and everyone else ceases to exist. Shane even loses awareness of himself. It's just the beat, the lyrics, and Ilya's body, mesmerizing in the colored lights as Ilya shows off for him. His chest, his massive arms, those hands that pin him down and those fingers that make him beg. The indecent curve of his waistline. The way he thrusts and rolls his hips, the bulge in his pants on full display. That fucking ass.

Shane tries to swallow and finds his mouth has gone completely dry. Ilya's moving towards him, or he's moving to Ilya. Doesn't matter. They're getting closer, pulled together by something stronger than gravity. Then Ilya's there, suddenly and in slow motion, stepping into his personal space, running one hand up his ass to the small of his back, half-singing two breaths away from Shane's mouth.

'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you

The music crashes back to fullness. The sudden change in intensity takes Shane out of the moment just long enough to process something for the first time:

Got everyone watchin' us

His eyes unfocus. His body locks up. The world is too quiet and too loud. Every alarm he'd forcibly disabled turns back on at once. His chest tightens. "Everyone watchin' us" echoes in his head. He's—

"Shane."

Ilya's hand grips his jaw. Shane relaxes ever so slightly. They're only swaying now. The gentle motion keeps Shane's knees from locking. "Is good. You did good. Still with me, yes?"

Shane can't look at him. He shakes his head a little. He wants to never touch anything or anyone ever again. He wants to sprint all the way to his bed at the cottage. He wants to bury his face in Ilya's shoulder and shrink down until Ilya can carry him out with no one noticing.

Ilya, beautiful man, guides Shane's head exactly where he wants it. Shane closes his eyes, grateful for the dark. "You did so good," Ilya croons, one arm around Shane's back, the other hand fumbling at their side. "So good, my love. Thank you. We go now, yes?" Shane nods. "Perfect. We go. I call cab."

Without saying goodbye? Guilt and shame curdle in his stomach. He can't be that pathetic, can he? They gave him such a good time, surely he can muster a goodbye. He turns his head and musters up a protest. "But…your friends…"

"Can eat shit," Ilya declares, like it's nothing. "If they do not understand why I take you home right now, they will not be friends anymore." Before Shane can also protest that, Ilya's free hand lands on his side and gently runs up. "I send text," he murmurs. "They will be fine."

Shane relaxes a little more. Ilya slowly lifts a hand to his hair and pets over it once, then again when the tension in Shane's shoulders eases. "We fly home tomorrow," Ilya reminds him. "Then we go nowhere, see no one for days. Become…what is word. Lone man in woods, never talks to anyone."

"A hermit?"

"Yes! Become hermits with Anya. No social media either. I read all comments for you. Good?"

"Da," says Shane, not even realizing he switched to Russian until Ilya murmurs more praise in the same language.

"Ready to go outside?"

Shane finds that he is. He braces himself for the lights once more; they're awful, yes, and so is the sound, but less awful when he keeps his eyes on the floor. Ilya takes his hand and leads him back through the throng of people while he focuses on not stepping on anyone's feet. Then they're at the door, then they're through the door, then the door closes behind them and the sounds of the club are finally muted. Shane nearly weeps with relief.

Ilya wraps an arm around his shoulders and tips Shane back into him. "So good," he murmurs. "You did not have to do that for me."

"Wanted to try," Shane mumbles back, slurring his words because it feels good. "Wanted to—wanted you to have th—dance. I'll be better next time."

Ilya snorts. "Do not need a next time, solnyshko. We never go to club again if you don't want."

Shane frowns. "But—you love it."

Ilya shrugs. "Only one I want to dance with is already mine. He is boring, but good dancer when he does not think so much." He kisses Shane's forehead. "I do not need club. I can dance with my boring husband whenever I want."

Husband. Shane's heart flutters. "You're starting to sound pretty boring yourself."

"Eh." He shrugs again, but Shane can feel him smiling. "Is not so bad."