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Shane got his first tattoo at twenty-six. A small, black and red ladybug sat on the inside of his right wrist. It had been a sort of gag first tattoo. His mom had said to try something different, and the new tattoo parlour that opened up near his apartment looked so nice. It didn't take long to figure out what he wanted; his mother had given him the nickname “Shanebug” as a joke when he was younger, and it stuck long after his childhood and into his adult years.
So he booked an appointment, just for a small tattoo, to feel like he was trying something new, as if maybe he could fit in with everyone else, even if the overhead lights of the tattoo parlour hurt his head the second he walked in.
But then he met Ilya.
Ilya, who was so kind to him. The same man who dimmed the lights without him having to ask, who happened to have a basket of snacks that fit his macrobiotic diet, some of which he had never even heard of before. He gave Shane an almost knowing smile when he saw his tattoo design, and said he had spots on his face like a bug halfway through the appointment. Ilya had made Shane more comfortable than he had ever been without even having to ask.
Shane didn't understand why it felt hard to leave the shop that day. Sure, Ilya was nice (and gorgeous), but Shane was a client. He knew he was nothing to Ilya, yet now, a full 24 hours later, he hadn't stopped thinking about the other man once. The tattoo doesn't help. Whenever he feels the dull ache in his skin, he can't help but think of the steady, skilled hands that worked on him. His mind keeps unhelpfully supplying that Ilya technically branded him.
He knows he didn't, he was just doing his job.
The thought stays with him till he wakes up the next morning.
He has an afternoon lecture, which usually means he has enough time to have a protein shake, go on his morning run, come back to eat something quick, and study before he leaves for his lecture. Today, though, something feels different. There's a chill in the air of his bedroom, the sporadic Canadian spring weather not helping his allergies.
He doesn't remember the last time he woke up feeling that cold, and he also can't remember when he left the window open last night.
It ticks something in his brain, a small alarm that he quickly shuts off by closing the window shut, locking it at the bottom twice just in case.
It's not just the window though; Shane notices little things throughout his routine. His protein powder isn't inside his pantry; it's sitting on his kitchen counter, a brand-new tub, fresh and shiny, staring right back at him. Maybe Yuna had visited? She’s not supposed to come over for dinner until Friday night, and it's Wednesday, but there's no other possible way-
Ding!
His phone goes off in his pocket, cutting his thoughts off momentarily in favour of grabbing his phone out of his soft sweatpants. It must be his mother; it's the only thing that makes sense.
Unknown number
Protein powder is for you.
You were running low:(
Make sure to eat, be a good boy and take care of yourself for me.
And don't forget to put lotion on that tattoo.
Have a good day, моя ошибка.
The texts come in rapid succession after the first one. After a minute, the notifications stop, and Shane is left looking at his phone screen like it personally attacked him.
So definitely not my mom.
He doesn't know what to think, doesn't want to think about the implications of whoever this is breaking into his house and leaving… protein powder?
He re-reads the messages, his eyes stopping at what he thinks is Russian on the last text. It makes him think of Ilya, his accent playing on repeat since he last saw him. He hasn't stopped thinking about the way his name sounded on Ilya's tongue, his lips pronouncing Shane differently than he's ever heard before.
It couldn't be Ilya, though.
He has Ilya's business number; he texted him yesterday, making sure he was taking care of the tattoo right.
So there's no way it's Ilya.
You'd like it if it was.
His brain supplies unhelpfully.
Suddenly, the cold chill in the air from the open window makes the room feel small. He doesn't respond, leaves whoever it is on seen. It has to be some sort of coincidence, maybe he bought extra protein powder the other day and forgot, maybe it was always there.
He knows he turns all three locks on his door every night and keeps his window shut, especially in the cold evenings. He knows that if someone were in his home, he would surely know.
Right?
—
Shane doesn't touch his phone for the rest of the day; he turned the notifications off the second he read…those messages from earlier. But it still doesn't stop odd things from happening.
When he goes on his run, his bottle from the other day is filled with cold water, small ice cubes just like he likes, something to chew on in between breaks. When he arrives at his lecture, his computer is charged, although he swore he forgot to plug it in last night. He had forgotten his wallet in his drawer at home, he saw it with his own eyes that same morning. Yet when he gets to the cafeteria, his meal is already prepaid for, and they actually have the food he can eat in stock.
He should feel scared.
H̶e̶ f̶e̶e̶l̶s̶ t̶a̶k̶e̶n̶ c̶a̶r̶e̶ o̶f̶.
Shane doesn't open his phone until he triple-checks the door to his house, double-checks every window, and debates buying security cameras online. He's on his bed, phone in hand, near a window he knows he locked. Only then does he unlock the screen; it pings when it opens. He doesn't know what he expects to see, messages from his mother, maybe, asking if he's alright and why he's taking so long to respond.
What he doesn't expect is more messages from them.
Unknown number
You can ignore me, I don't mind.
As long as you're okay, малыш.
Those two messages were back-to-back from this morning; the next texts came exactly twenty minutes after his lecture ended.
Unknown number
Don't worry about money, I got you.
They never have your food, somehow they're always out of stock.
I'll take care of it ;)
Was…whoever this was responsible for his meal today? Do they go to his school? Were they watching Shane?
The newest texts were all sent in the last ten minutes.
Unknown number
You're home now, did so good today любовь.
Checking the windows, so perceptive.
Please do not worry, do not stress, I would never hurt you.
I can see you stressing :(
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This person, whoever they are, has been watching Shane all day. Knows his schedule enough to know where he is, what he's doing. Shane has the sudden thought that it's possible they're watching right now. He's shaking, his hands gripping his phone tight in his left hand. He doesn't know how to feel.
He does feel scared, doesn't like the feeling of being watched so closely. But he can't help but feel…other things, the sweetness of the person's words, his actions, doesn't get lost on Shane. Clearly, this person doesn't want to hurt him; he doesn't feel like his water, protein, or food was tampered with.
He feels scared, cut open like his insides are on display for someone to see. He also feels seen. Besides Rose and Hayden, Shane didn't have anyone. Both have their own lives, their people, and Jackie and Svetlana are nice. But Shane can't help but feel envious.
He's twenty-six, for god sake, he's never had sex, kissed a handful of people with a few small sexual encounters.
Terrible encounters.
He's never had someone this interested in him before, seeing him and wanting, no needing to take care of him. The thought alone makes him feel his cock uselessly twitch in his pants.
He feels disgusting for liking this.
His body is betraying him, his right hand moving to press down on his half-hard dick. A whine escapes him before he can stop it. And before he can go any further, he sees another message appear on his screen.
Unknown number
Oh god.
моя ошибка.
You like this?
You're beautiful, the noises you make.
Keep going for me, please?
He's fully hard now, his hand itching to hold his cock, to press down on the tip, to smear his pre-cum over his cock and stroke until he lets himself fully succumb to the pleasure.
But he stops, holding himself back for a moment to finally type back.
Shane
Who are you?
The response is almost instant. Not even taking a full thirty seconds for them to respond.
Unknown number
If I tell you, will you keep going, малыш?
Please. Need to see you.
Think closely, you know me.
My smart ошибка.
Shane bites back a whimper. This person is begging for him to touch himself. Somehow, this person can see him, can hear the sounds he made as he pressed down on his cock. Deep inside, Shane is hearing these words spoken in a deep Russian accent; he's hearing Ilya.
He wants it to be Ilya.
He wants Ilya to be watching over him, to be taking care of him, to want him so badly he had to break into his home. But right now, the thing he wants most is for Ilya to hear him; he wants Ilya to come out of wherever he's hiding and take. The fear is turning into arousal–he’s scared–and it feels so good.
Shane
Ilya?
Against his better judgment, he whines out the other man's name. A soft il-ya leaves his lips as he fights back, dragging his hand down into his boxers.
Just like before, he texts back instantly.
Unknown number
There you go.
My smart ошибка
It's me, did you miss me?
Fuck, say my name again, please?
God, you're so beautiful, want you so badly.
Wanna hear you say my name up close again.
Wanna hear you say it while I'm touching your pretty cock, while you cum.
The texts come in rapid succession; by the last one, he's dropped his phone onto the bed, and his hand is buried in his boxers.
It's Ilya, it's really him, Ilya wants to take care of him. And Shane wants him to, he liked not having to think today, his food was paid for, his water was full, his protein was bought. Small, little things that made today so much easier.
All because of Ilya.
His hand moves down, pulling down his sweatpants and boxers just down to his knees and taking his cock fully into his hand. He's already so wet, drops of pre-cum coating his tip that he uses to slide the palm of his hand up and down his length. He wants to keep talking to Ilya; he wants Ilya inside his home.
I̶n̶s̶i̶d̶e̶ o̶f̶ h̶i̶m̶.
But his hands are occupied, pressing down on the sensitive spot on his tip, and it feels so good. He doesn't want to stop, but he wants Ilya.
“I..Ilya…please, I can't-, fuck. I need you.” Shane whines, his whimpers echoing off his walls as he finally moves his other hand to his bedside table to grab the half-empty bottle of lube. He hasn't had the time nor the want to touch himself like this in so long. He's busy all the time, with lectures, tests, exams, and work. He hasn't taken any time for himself in ages.
But now? Touching himself and knowing Ilya is somewhere hearing and watching, he's never wanted something so badly.
He squirts a small amount on his cock, and squirts the most on two fingers of the hand that's been b̶r̶a̶n̶d̶e̶d̶ tattooed by Ilya. He goes down to circle his untouched hole, his other hand leisurely stroking his hard length. Before he can touch his sensitive hole, he hears something, a small tapping noise on his window, momentarily taking his attention away from his rigid cock.
Before he can think twice, he leaps up, his bare feet hitting the cold floor and his heavy cock between his legs as he walks over to his window. He doesn't open it, just softly unlocks it before sitting back down.
If Ilya wants him, he can come to Shane.
Shane wants Ilya to come and take.
Just like his texts had come, the window opens almost immediately. Soft, blonde curls come into his frame of view as Ilya steps through the window. His boots, clean and barely touching the ground before he hurries to take them off, like he knows the order that Shane likes.
He walks in like he's done this before, and his cock definitely shouldn't jump at that.
It does.
He’s so achingly hard it hurts, seeing Ilya's face, his sharp jaw, the mole on his cheek, he can't stop himself. Before Ilya even makes it over to the bed, Shane's hand is back on his cock.
Their eyes finally meet. Ilya's eyes search everywhere. They constantly flick back and forth, like he wants to look at his aching erection and his eyes all at once.
“моя ошибка, my god.” Ilya sounds absolutely wrecked. His voice was a harsh whisper in the cold wind coming in from the open window.
Ilya doesn't waste any more time; he shuts the window, his now bare feet hitting the ground with thumps barely audible over the blood rushing in Shane’s ears.
“F-fuck…Ilya, it's you?” Shane slurs his words, hardly being heard as his hands grip the base of his cock, doing anything not to cum at just seeing the other man.
Ilya looks like he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch, hovering just at the side of the bed beside Shane with an open mouth.
He's in awe, Shane realized.
Ilya is admiring him.
In his wet, messy state, Ilya is fucking admiring him. Shane is half-clothed, his shirt sweaty and bunched up to his collarbone, as the bottom half of his body is wet and sticky with fluids, while Ilya stands there fully dressed. It does something to his brain, seeing Ilya wrecked in the face yet completely covered, as he is losing himself almost completely out in the open, bare for Ilya to see.
“Ilya, please, f-fuck. Need you. C-come here.” Shane spits out, his voice is slurring around moans, yet still edges on a command. He doesn't want to wait any longer; he wants Ilya in his sheets, wants to tuck his chin into the other man's collarbone and inhale his smell.
“Fuck, you do not understand the picture you paint, Shane. You are gorgeous. самый красивый баг.” Shane doesn't even know what Ilya is saying, yet the sound of Russian on the other man's tongue is intoxicating.
Shane sits up, pulling at Ilya's jeans with a finger through his belt loop. Ilya falls onto the bed with a soft thud, letting out a groan at just feeling Shane's hard cock against his clothed thigh. Shane is sweating, hands still sticky with lube, and in between his thighs, a painted mess of liquid. Ilya knows he's never seen something so beautiful. He never would have thought he would be allowed to see Shane like this, which is why he started…helping him in the first place.
When Ilya had seen Shane walk into his shop two days ago, he had known whatever God out there had finally listened to him. His perfect, doe-eyed boy had finally found him, reaching out into Ilya's space. He started keeping tabs on Shane, admittedly two weeks after Ilya opened his shop. Shane might not have remembered, but Ilya did.
The first time they met.
Shane’s friend Rose had come in wanting a rose tattoo–ironic, he had thought at the time. Though he could barely focus on her during the appointment when he had seen him. Quiet yet confident, just being there as support for his friend, yet shifting Ilya’s whole world.
He remembers thinking how lucky he was that Rose’s appointment was his last. He remembers leaving his shop a mess as he locked his shop doors and followed Shane home. Everything else was a blur, watching moments he stole staring into glass windows, hiding in bushes and across streets. He remembers learning everything about his bug. His habits, the way he folded his clothes while getting undressed, and how he lined his shoes against the wall when he got home after long days. His meal plans, his diet, his routine. Ilya had everything mapped out.
So you can imagine his surprise when Shane called his shop one day, sweetly asking to book an appointment whenever Ilya was available. What Shane doesn't know is that Ilya would have cancelled anything, thrown out every other client if he had so much as asked.
Seeing Shane in his chair, his arm inked with something Ilya had drawn, it took everything not to take him right then and there. The same feelings rise again when he learns his bug has a very high pain tolerance, yet is so sensitive. Ilya can feel the goosebumps on his skin whenever he moves slightly, the hitch in the other man's breath whenever his hands brush against him.
At first, Ilya hadn't meant to up his antics, but he couldn't help but want more after having a taste of Shane after so long. He knows he did too much too fast. Shane caught on immediately. Его ошибка. His bug, was so smart.
The fact that Shane didn't block his number immediately had already been enough for him; all he wanted to do was take care of Shane. Whatever wants or needs the other man had would be taken care of, which included Shane's throbbing cock. He would take care of Shane like no other tonight.
Ilya didn't take any longer, finally moving to strip off his shirt as he pulled it over his soft curls. He quickly made work of the rest, and finally, they were both naked. He moves away from the middle of the room and into Shane’s space. Ilya's dick presses up against Shane's toned thigh, having to hold himself back from humping against Shane like he was some sort of dog. He was better than that; he would be better than that for Shane.
“Can I pleasure you, малыш?” Ilya whispers, his lips moving to Shane's ear. His tongue dragged a line from his chin, over his jaw, before biting into his skin. Running his tongue right back over the bite to soothe the ache, Shane mumbles a groan. Shane shivers so beautifully; Ilya wants to ruin him.
“I promise I will make you feel so good, only the best for you, Shane,” Ilya speaks in between kisses, his lips dragging down onto Shane's face, his cheeks to his nose.
Shane doesn't immediately speak up; instead, he grabs Ilya's neck, pulling his head down and finally connecting their lips. Shane kisses like Ilya is his lifeline, his tongue licking into Ilya’s mouth as his hands run through Ilya’s curls. It's filled with desperation and pure need pouring out from both of them.
Shane still tastes faintly of the meal Ilya knows he bought him. Somehow, that makes him impossibly harder, feeling and tasting the remains of the care he had shown Shane earlier in the day.
“Fuck, Ilya, y-you’re so big. I’ve…I’ve never..” Shane tries to tuck his head into Ilya's shoulder to hide his humiliation, but his body betrays him, his cock uselessly twitching against Ilya's thigh.
Ilya's hold on Shane's face is strong, keeping his head in place and forcing his eyes to meet his.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Ilya whispers. “Xороший мальчик, there you go, don't be scared. We will only do what you want, Shane. Whatever that is, I will give it to you.” Ilya speaks in between kisses, moving to give Shane some space as the other man takes a moment to breathe. “Want me to decide for you, ошибка?”
Shane only whines, his hips bucking against Ilyas; he doesn't know what he wants, but he knows he wants more.
“Sound so pretty for me, almost came just from hearing you moan for me, all alone in here, мой непослушный жук,” Ilya whispers, moving down Shane's body as his hands grasp the other man's thighs. Shane is well built; his thighs fill out every pair of shorts he has, and Ilya can finally sink his teeth into them. And that he does.
He moves down the bed, his hands pushing Shane's thighs up to his stomach as Ilya gets to see the full picture of Shane; his tight rim clenches around nothing, begging to be filled by anything. Ilya knows Shane would take anything: his fingers, his tongue, his thick cock. Ilya distantly wonders how much he could fit inside of him. He has forever to find out now that his bug has let him in, Ilya has no intention of ever leaving.
Ilya takes his time; he bites over the soft insides of his thighs, leaving trails of spit with his tongue as he traces over every bite mark. He would tease longer, but even Ilya doesn't want to deny himself the pleasure of tasting Shane. He licks a long stride over Shane's rim, it flutters around nothing, it's doing foolish things to Ilya's heart, seeing evidence of Shane needing him.
“Ilya, fuck, please? Holy shit,” Shane stutters.
Ilya hums back a response before he finally dives in. Ilya eats Shane like a starved man, his tongue slowly working into his tight hole as he gathers the wetness and presses inside. Shane is so warm, but he is also tense. And Ilya sets out to break down any sense of nerves in the other man. His tongue explores, diving further into him, trying to find that spot he knows is going to drive Shane insane.
“Ilya, d-don’t you dare stop. Right there, holy shit.”
And he doesn't, he sucks and licks soft skin, he drinks up the wetness that Shane is producing. He wants Shane to experience the most pleasure he's ever had; Ilya wants to give that to him. Shane is squirming in his hands the deeper his tongue reaches, and Ilya can feel that he's getting close. He pulls off, spit and slick coating the bottom half of his face. He wants Shane down his throat, wants to taste him and wants a part of Shane inside of him.
He doesn't wait for Shane to start begging for more to move to his wet cock. It's stiff, red and needy, staring right back at him. Ilya wants to feel Shane in the back of his throat for days. He takes Shane down halfway in one swift move. Shane is smaller than him, but he's still big. So much for Ilya to work with, to use to please him. He swirls his tongue around Shane's sensitive tip, drawing a whine out of Shane's mouth.
He's so loud.
It's music to Ilya's ears. Shane is so busy all the time, he barely lets himself just breathe like this. It's beautiful to watch, the way Shane melts for him, all previous nerves gone in favour of bucking his hips against Ilya's face as his hand curls into Ilya's hair.
“Fuck, shit, Ilya, I can’t-,” Shane is cut off by a loud moan, unable to stop the tears forming in his eyes, feeling the wet heat around his cock. “Ilya, I’m gonna cum-.”
Ilya only takes that as an invitation to take him all the way down, Ilya's nose touching the small amount of hair on Shane's pelvis. Shane comes with a cut off moan, his body convulsing underneath Ilya's hands as he empties himself down Ilya's throat. Ilya drinks up everything, licking his lips as he pulls himself off of Shane hesitantly, like he already wants to get his mouth back onto Shane.
Ilya crawls back up the bed, placing kisses on Shane's exposed skin while whispering praise. He gives Shane all the time he needs to calm down from such an intense orgasm. Ilya moved to lie on his back in favour of pulling Shane to lie on his chest.
“Did so good малыш, so pretty, so proud of you,” Ilya mutters against Shane's ear, his lips grazing Shane’s warm skin.
Ilya doesn't want to move, but he knows his boy will only handle the stickiness for so long before it starts to edge on uncomfortability. Slowly, he lays Shane's head back against his soft pillows as he steps out of the bedroom into the bathroom.
It's different, being in Shane's space when he is actually here. He knows the layout of his home like the back of his hand, but without Shane here, it just feels empty. It was exciting, at first, seeing the place that Shane called home. But, being in Shane's space without Shane, it feels vacant. Whatever life in this house leaves, the second Shane does. So finally existing in the same space, it's exhilarating. It's everything Ilya wants: to just be here with Shane.
Shane's bathroom is small; his blue toothbrush sits in a light blue Metros cup, it makes Ilya smile every time. Ilya thinks that if Shane hadn't gone to college, he would've played for the NHL. His bug is so talented at anything that he sets himself to do. Small, little Shane lived and breathed hockey, and while he has always been a fan of Boston, he's dedicated himself to learning just about everything about the Montreal Metros in case his bug ever wants to ramble. His space is so neat, towels lined up on the shower rack, all light shades of gray and blue. He picks up the softest one he finds, turning the tap on to wet it with water.
By the time he's back, Shane is barely awake, fighting off sleep that his body needs.
“Ilya?” He whispers, his voice mumbled against the pillow.
“Yes, it's me, I'm right here,” Ilya whispers while sitting back down on the bed, dragging the towel down Shane's now soft cock and drawing a hiss from Shane. He mutters an apology, methodically wiping the rest of his body down before throwing the towel into Shane's laundry basket.
“M’sorry…” Shane slurs, which has Ilya searching his face in confusion. What could he possibly be apologizing for?
“I didn't-...,” Shane curls around Ilya, tracing his fingers on Ilya's stomach.
Oh. Oh. Shane thinks he didn't cum.
“сладкий жук, listen to me, I promise you made me feel so good. I came while I was blowing you, haven't come untouched in years, but you were so good. I couldn't stop myself.” Ilya thinks he sees a hint of jealousy at the mention of someone else making Ilya cum, and he stores that for later.
“Are you…gonna stay the night?” Shane asks, his voice unsure.
As if Ilya would ever leave him.
“Of course,” Ilya speaks while kissing Shane softly on the lips, pulling the blanket covers over both of them as Shane tucks himself under Ilya's chin. “Not going anywhere, I have you, ошибка.”
And Ilya stays, he holds Shane until he falls asleep, until his breath evens out and he's softly snoring into Ilya's chest. This is everything Ilya had ever wanted, to be close to Shane, for the other man to allow him to take care of him.
Ilya thinks this is the start of it because no matter what, Shane will never be able to get rid of him now. Not after he's finally gotten a taste.
His bug is finally his.