They have been dating for two weeks already, and it's been nothing but bliss. Honestly, nothing's changed other than the added bonus of sexual intimacy. Illya still hasn't gotten over his idiocy over putting off how many months until he confessed to Gaby. He would've gotten to enjoy this bliss with her sooner if he hadn't been such a coward.
Since the relationship is still fresh, the two of them agreed to keep their dating life private for now. Illya didn't care whether or not if people knew, but Gaby didn't want to rush anything even though their feelings for each other are genuine. Most likely it was because this was their first serious relationship. She didn't want to ruin anything, and Illya gladly acquiesced to whatever she wanted.
There was no need to tell Napoleon, however; he already knew from the beginning.
The captain of the paddling team, Owen Harolds, invited Illya and Gaby to his house in honor of their team's four-winning streak of the season. Naturally, Illya was invited because he was a pivotal member of the team. His reason for inviting Gaby, however — much to Illya's dismay — was because he and Gaby hooked up a few times and he remained hung up over her.
Illya was bothered by his captain's unabashed adoration for Gaby no matter how many times she alleviated his worries by saying the relationship was casual — on her part, anyway. She didn't have any romantic feelings for him.
He supposed what really made him feel insecure was because he was actually friends with Owen. Good friends, even. He and Illya shared the same likes and dislikes.
What separated the two vastly was that his captain didn't suffer from social awkwardness and didn't have anger issues.
"You've been improving ever since you've stopped avoiding your sessions, Illya," Gaby assured him. "And honestly, I don't see the resemblance between the two of you."
"He's American version of me, Gabriella," Illya muttered, face buried in the side of her neck.
"Just because you both love photography and sports doesn't mean you're the same person. Besides, when I tried to get to know him, all he talked about was sports, sports, sports, and sports. At least you talk about it a fraction less than him."
With the two of them swamped with midterms and essays for their respective classes, they knew this party would serve as a stress-reliever of sorts. Illya disliked parties, but Owen was his friend and Gaby was desperate for some alcohol and good music. Illya would serve as the designated driver — which he is, 99% of the time.
Since they're secretly dating, they agreed to attend the party separately. Gaby would arrive at the party with Napoleon. Illya was going to be slightly late because he had a midterm to finish.
Owen lives near campus, which is why Illya is driving there at an unnecessarily fast speed. He knows Owen's going to flirt with Gaby and try to get in her pants like old times.
His hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.
He remembers Gaby's reassuring face and relaxes. Clearly he has nothing to worry about since he's with Gaby now, not Owen. She loves him, not Owen.
Once he arrives, he heads up the steps to the porch and enters the house. His ears are immediately tortured by the sound of American Top 40s hits. His nostrils detect the smell of alcohol, marijuana, and sweat.
Passing the living room, Illya spots Napoleon on the couch with two girls on either side of him. Their faces are pressed together, and Illya does not want to know how the three of them are able to kiss each other at the same time. He heads for the kitchen, knowing Gaby is hogging all the drinks.
A smile bursts out on his face once he is in front of the threshold to the kitchen. However, the smile immediately disappears when he sees what's happening. He starts feeling uneasy.
Gaby is leaning against the island, back facing him. Owen is directly in front of her, smiling and conversing at low tones about something. The proximity between the two of them is less than a foot.
Discreetly, Illya steps forward to hear their conversation.
" … we stopped hooking up, you haven't been with anyone, haven't you?" Owen is asking.
"Nope," Gaby says, clearly irritated.
Illya knows that they agreed on keeping their mouths shut on their relationship, but it still stung to hear her say that.
"C'mon, Gabs … " He places a hand on her waist and tugs her forward.
Gaby turns her head to the left. From his view, he can see how uncomfortable and angry she is.
Illya's fists clench up. He knows Gaby can handle herself, so he's standing by to the side just in case anything dire occurs and she needs back up.
"I don't want to fuck you, Owen. Now, get your hands off of me before I break your nose."
"You and I had a hell of a lot of fun when we were together. I know you did. After all those times, I made you scream my name? All those times I got you off — "
Gaby whips her head forward and pushes him back with two hands on his chest. The drink he's holding sloshes dangerously but stays in the cup.
"Stop right there, you arrogant piece of shit. All those times I 'screamed' your name? All those times you 'got me off'? Subtract it from the amount of times I 'screamed' your name out of frustration when you couldn't get me off."
Illya is tempted to burst out laughing at the stricken look on Owen's face.
She grabs the bottle of vodka on the counter and pours the cup Owen's holding. Then she proceeds to take the cup from him and downs a few gulps before continuing.
"We did have a good time, but honestly? It got boring pretty fast. And when you tried to 'get to know me' like you tried to 'get me off' — "
It is incredibly difficult to do so, but Illya is fast enough to cover up his laughter inside his elbow. He's surprised the sudden movement doesn't catch Owen's attention, but the poor fellow remains to look incredibly mortified and heartbroken.
" — you had absolutely no interest in what I had to say. You didn't even try to look interested."
Owen splutters out, "I like cars, Gabs! You know that!"
"Don't call me that. And I'm talking about when I get into the technicalities of — you know what? I don't need to explain myself any further." Gaby downs the cup and presses it into his hand. She grabs the bottle of vodka for herself. "Furthermore, if I say no, and I really mean it, you better back off or else I'll report you for sexual harassment and, yes, I will break your fucking nose, got it?"
When she rounds the counter to exit the kitchen, she stops short when she sees Illya staring at her with so much adoration, respect, and intense lust.
Her eyes darken at the way he's looking at her. A burst of confidence fills up her brown eyes. She surges up towards him, on the tips of her toes, plants a hand on the back of his neck, and pulls him down for a scorching hot kiss.
Responsively, he bends down so she doesn't strain herself and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. He places his large hands on either side of her waist and squeezes it tightly.
Once they part, Illya wraps his left arm around her shoulder and strokes her cheek with his hand; his other hand settles on her waist. He smiles softly when she leans her face against his chest, exhausted from the incredibly attractive verbal lashing and from the alcohol settling into her system.
He looks up and sees Owen frozen at the same exact spot Gaby put him in.
Feeling confident and secure with himself and his relationship with Gaby, Illya straightens up and locks him with a glare.
"Next season, I'm going to be captain," he promises. "Because of me, we won many games. And you know it."
"Damn right," Gaby mutters. She makes a motion to drink the vodka, but he pries the bottle from her hands. He knows she's almost dead on her feet when she's strangely compliant.
As the new couple exits the party, with Gaby's body all but wrapped around him garnering strange looks from certain partygoers, Illya goes to find Napoleon to inform him that they're leaving. Thankfully, the two women are nowhere to be found.
At the sight of Gaby wrapped up around him, Napoleon smirks. "Just can't keep your hands off of each other, can't you, Peril?" he comments.
Illya rolls his eyes. "We're leaving. Don't forget to use contraception," he informs his friend.
"Same to you both."
"She's asleep, Cowboy."
"For future reference. Goodnight." Napoleon makes a motion to tickle Gaby's side, but Illya turns to evade his trickster hands, glaring at him.
The night is quiet, a stark contrast. Illya carefully heads down the steps and makes sure not to step on any uneven terrain in case his footing may wake her up.
He's almost near his car when he hears Gaby mumble something.
"What's that, Милая?" Illya whispers in her ear, rebellious strands of her hair tickling his cheek.
"Difference between you and Owen is that whenever I am or seem uncomfortable with something, you immediately back away and ask what's wrong," Gaby manages to say coherently with her current state. "You have anger issues, Illya, but you have restraint especially for the things you love so much … " She trails off, knocked out.
Illya grins widely and doesn't care if anybody sees him.
— Милая: "darling; sweetheart"
I didn't expect the story to turn out like this, but oh well.
Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.