i told you things
i could not shake this from my head if i tried - thank you to @theghostofashton who talked vegas to death with me and then read over this at 7pm when i wrote this on a whim
It was an accident, is the thing.
Shane wasn't trying to make a point or hint at something, it kinda just…happened.
It had started with Ilya chasing Shane up the stairs of his house in Brossard, his laughter hot on Shane's heels. Shane didn't think he'd outrun Ilya, not really. Shane may be faster on the ice, but Ilya's legs are longer, and he usually catches Shane before he can ever get very far.
Tonight, though, Ilya lets Shane escape, and Shane collapses onto the bed with a smile, expecting Ilya's familiar weight pinning him to the bed to follow him. He waits about ten seconds before he pushes himself up onto his elbows, smile pulling into confusion as he sees Ilya leaning against the doorframe, sweats slung low on his hips. Somewhere between the living room and the bedroom, Ilya had lost his sweatshirt, and he's gloriously bare chested. Even in his confusion, Shane can't help but let his eyes roam the expanse of skin, heady with the knowledge he can now. That they aren't going to run out of time, that they get to have this. All the time. Whenever they want.
Ilya's smile grows into something more predatory, and his eyes drink in the long lines of Shane's body, stretched out across their bed, waiting for Ilya to come and take. Shane's expecting him to come join him any second, which is why he's so caught off guard when Ilya says, "I want to watch. Like I did in Vegas. Remember?"
And Shane's not proud of this, but Shane flinches. Just a little bit, but enough that Ilya catches it.
continue reading on ao3 here!
