saw this twt and my fingers went jizzling and sizzling to write something so here you go :)
A lingering look whenever Ilya swings himself over the fence rails with that effortless cowboy grace. The way Shane suddenly volunteers for the earliest riding lessons despite hating mornings. The way he starts showing up in jeans so tight Ilya nearly throws him off the ranch himself.
The first message is subtle.
LOOK AT ME, stitched in crooked red thread over Shane’s back pocket.
Ilya notices it immediately while adjusting Shane’s posture in the saddle, his rough calloused hand freezing on Shane’s hip for half a second too long.
“Your jeans are stupid,” he mutters in his thick Russian accent.
Shane beams. “You read it though.”
After that, the messages get worse.
IF LOST RETURN TO ILYA ROZANOV.
Each pair hand-sewn by Shane himself late at night, tongue caught between his teeth while he stitches uneven letters into denim with embarrassing devotion.
And every week, Ilya grows more visibly insane.
He starts chain-smoking outside the stables. Starts glaring whenever Shane laughs with anyone else. Starts gripping Shane’s waist too tightly when helping him dismount.
“You flirt like a teenage girl,” Ilya says one evening, exhausted.
Shane shrugs from atop the fence rail, boots kicking lazily. “Is it working?”
Ilya looks at the newest pair of jeans.
Then at Shane, all flushed cheeks and smug smiles under his stupid white hat.
“…Get off the fence before you break your neck.”
Ilya steps between Shane’s knees, smelling like leather, hay, and cigarette smoke. His eyes drop once more to the stitching on Shane’s pocket before he grips Shane’s chin hard enough to make him gasp.
“You are going to kill me,” Ilya says quietly.
Shane grins. “Still not an answer.”
And that’s roughly when Ilya kisses him.
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