Work Text:
New York City - October 2020
Shane’s ribs ached as he reached up to towel his hair and he suppressed a wince. He’d been slammed into the boards in the middle of the 2nd period and his ribs had come out suffering. It was sort of terrible timing since he’d be seeing his boyfriend for the first time in almost a month tonight, and he was planning on getting absolutely railed. He’d make it work anyway, obviously, but it did put a spanner in his plans.
Ignoring the twinge in his ribs, he struggled into his dress pants. He looked up to see Harris crossing the changing room towards him.
“What a goal, Shane,” Harris said, holding up his fist. “Already got it up on socials.”
Shane gave a half shrug and accepted the fist bump. “Thanks. Not that it really mattered that much in the end.”
“Well, it did matter. The Centaur fans who were here got to cheer, didn’t they?”
Shane bit back a sigh because he wasn’t an asshole. They’d been losing since he got here, and losing wasn’t something that had ever been in Shane Hollander’s vocabulary. But Shane would bite back every loss, because the Montreal Voyageurs and the team owners had turned their backs on him when he came out as gay to the team and the Centaurs had welcomed him in with open arms this season. No one understood why Shane Hollander would be traded to Ottawa, but Ottawa had accepted his mostly-still-closeted self and here he was. So, he’d lose, he’d quietly try to turn things around, he’d bite back the sighs and only scream into the privacy of his own pillow.
“You always have a silver lining, Harris,” he said instead. “It’s truly impressive.”
Harris leaned against the stall. “I aim to please.” His face shifted into something that made Shane pause. “Listen. I know this was a rough loss, but it’s New York. Come out with us?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Shane buttoned up his shirt. Harris had tried to set him up with someone right after he’d arrived and it wasn’t Harris’ fault that Shane was keeping his relationship secret, but Shane wasn’t about to get into that. Plus, he had plans already. Plans he very much intended to keep. “I’m not interested in whoever it is.”
Harris snorted. “I’m not setting you up. I managed to get us tickets to the Overtime Lights concert, so a few of us are going. I know you don’t really listen to music, but I swear they’re amazing live. It’s a whole experience.”
Shane froze for a second as he slipped into his jacket. Oh, well. If he was actually being handed an excuse to see his boyfriend live, he would certainly take it. He never usually went because it’d be weird if he was always spotted in the audience. Sometimes they snuck him in backstage, but even that made Shane nervous. All it really took was one fan with a phone in the wrong place.
“Yeah,” he said, aiming for casual. “I’ll go. Sounds fun. Who else is going?”
“Bood, Troy, Wyatt and I. For some reason the kids want to go clubbing, so a lot of the others are doing that.”
He felt good about that group. Troy and Harris were together, so he’d always felt safe with them. Bood was a great captain and had taken him in immediately, and Wyatt had been one of the first players to welcome to the team. He’d had a long conversation with Wyatt about his sister and her wife, and everything Wyatt had endured in Toronto. If he were going out with anyone, it could hardly be better.
“Text me when to meet you in the lobby?”
“Perfect!” Harris clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re coming with us. I swear you won’t regret it. I’ve seen them before and they’re so good. Ilya Rozanov is—actually, I can’t explain him. You just need to see it.”
Shane knew fully well what Ilya Rozanov was.
He was brilliant and annoying and unbelievably sexy and the world’s biggest softie under all the bad boy rock star stuff that came so naturally to him.
As Shane left the building, it started to dawn on him that he was seeing Ilya perform tonight for the first time in ages. His stomach started flooding with anticipation, his lips stretching into a smile that was so wide it hurt and he couldn’t control it.
⋆˚☆˖°
Hayden:
Sorry about the loss, buddy
Shane:
You’re not, though.
J.J.
He is a little.
A tiny bit.
Hayden:
I’m sorry for YOUR loss. The rest of them… eh
⋆˚☆˖°
Ilya:
Sorry about the game
You were hot though
Which is most important
Shane:
I’ll let coach know you think so.
Ilya:
Very important job you are doing
Being hot for me on TV
Shane:
Would be nice to win a few games too, but I guess I’ll take being hot.
Ilya:
You will
You are Shane Hollander
Shane:
Almost back at the hotel. Can’t wait to see you later. Are you at the venue?
Ilya:
Yes we just finished sound check
Can’t wait to fall asleep with you tonight
Shane:
Yes, sleep. That’s definitely what I’m planning.
Ilya:
Oh you wanted to do something else?
Shane:
I will end you.
Ilya:
No you will not
Who else is going to fuck you the way you like?
Shane:
Maybe I’ll ask Rose to peg me.
Ilya:
So you can close your eyes and think about me?
Please sweetheart
Shane:
Go do your show, big shot.
Love you.
Ilya.
Love you
See you tonight❤️
⋆˚☆˖°
Las Vegas - June 2017
Shane wasn’t a club guy. The way the bass of the music rattled through his body always made him feel weird and there were always too many people. But he’d just won MVP at the awards and he knew he needed to celebrate. Rose had helped him shop for an outfit just for something like this, so here he was in black slacks that made his ass look amazing and a sheer black shirt that hung loosely around his frame, but exposed the muscles underneath.
It was the sluttiest thing he’d ever worn. Not that it was a high bar to clear. Slutty wasn’t something Shane tended to embrace much. Vegas seemed to be the place for it, though, if the people around him were anything to go by.
Neither Hayden nor J.J. were at the awards, so Shane had attached himself to Scott Hunter who’d also been corralled into clubbing against his will. He hadn’t told Hunter about himself being gay—he’d barely admitted it to himself—but the fact that he was out made him safe to stick to. At the very least, he’d probably not push Shane in the direction of every attractive woman in the room. So far his theory had proven correct and Scott seemed perfectly fine standing tucked away in the VIP bar, far away from the dancefloor that Shane had no intentions to visit. They kept up a slow conversation that kept circling back to hockey, which was awkwardly interrupted by a pair of women that Shane tried his best to be very polite to.
It was when Scott left him to take a phone call from his boyfriend that Shane felt truly thrown into the deep end. He kept up another awkward conversation with a woman in a stunning red dress that tried to get him onto the dancefloor. He politely extracted himself and made his way to the bar, not knowing what else to do.
“Can I have a beer, please?” Shane leaned over the bar, raising his voice to be heard over the music.
“Which one?” the bartender asked in return.
“Oh, uh, whatever’s on tap.”
Someone next to him snorted and Shane turned only to have his heart leap into his throat. The hottest man he’d seen in his entire life was leaning back against the bar, one elbow carrying his weight as he sipped on a glass of vodka. Bronze curls framed his face and curled around his ears. His loose, floral shirt had a v-neck so deep Shane could see his abs and a gold crucifix resting on his chest. When he caught Shane’s eyes lingering, his lips pulled into a slow, sexy smile. Shane got light-heated.
“You have been turning down a lot of gorgeous women,” the man observed, smile turning crooked.
Oh, fuck his entire life. That accent might ruin him if the way the guy looked didn’t do it first. Shane had heard plenty of Russian accents on the ice, but it had never sounded like this—smooth and hot and sensual.
“Yes, well,” he said, flustered and turned desperately to the beer that had finally appeared. “I’m only here to celebrate, really.”
“Ah, yes. Dancing with gorgeous women, a terrible way to celebrate.” The man laughed. “And what are you celebrating?”
“Won, uh, MVP. At this award show.”
“Because you are Shane Hollander.”
His name sounded far too good coming out of that mouth. Shane clung to his glass of beer like a lifeline. “You know who I am.”
The man hummed. “Dated Rose Landry. Hard to miss.”
For once in his life, Shane wasn’t in the mood to talk about Rose. Not under the scrutiny of those intense hazel eyes.
“And why are you in Vegas?” he asked instead.
“My band played a gig yesterday, so now I am… letting loose?”
“Ah,” Shane said, sheepish. “I’m afraid I’m completely clueless about music. Everyone makes fun of me because I don’t know anyone, or anything.” He grimaced. “No offense.”
The man threw his head back and laughed, and Shane’s hungry eyes trailed the movement of his neck like he was dying. Which he was, he was absolutely fucking dying. He honestly didn’t have sex much, as a very closeted hockey player, and he hadn’t actually slept with anyone since his failed attempts with Rose. Which was a depressing thought. He hadn’t slept with anyone since he’d finally admitted to himself that he was gay.
“This is fun for me,” the man said and winked.
He winked.
Shane felt himself blush bright hot. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No. It is different for me, that you do not know who I am. I like it.”
“So, are you gonna tell me your name, then, mystery man?”
The man took a slow sip of his vodka, licking his lips after he swallowed it down. “Ilya.”
“Nice name,” Shane said. “It suits you.”
“Hot name, you mean.”
“Those are your words.”
“Am only translating what you really mean.”
Shane blushed again. His cheeks felt so hot he was sure he looked like a tomato and he hid in his glass of beer, taking two long sips. When he looked up again, Ilya had shifted closer and Shane zeroed in on the long lashes framing his eyes. Shane held completely still as a hand rested on his upper arm and Ilya leaned in.
“Will sound good when you scream it for me.”
A small, but audible sound escaped past Shane’s lips, and he could feel Ilya’s predatory smirk. There was absolutely no way this gorgeous man wanted to fuck him. Things like this didn’t happen to Shane, despite being the best hockey player in the league. Being closeted would do that. A part of him was terrified of it, of being given something he actually wanted so badly it ached. But if this was really going somewhere, he couldn’t turn it down, even if there were probably a million reasons to turn around right now to find Scott Hunter and leave. Every reason crumbled under the heat of Ilya so close, of the weight of his attention entirely on Shane. Shane’s lips parted and Ilya’s gaze flicked down, lingering.
“Not here,” Shane croaked, licking his lips on instinct.
Ilya drew back and Shane missed the heady closeness of him already, holding his breath as a silence descended. Finally, Ilya straightened up—and God, of course he was tall—and moved close again, whispering the name of his hotel. His breath ghosted across the shell of Shane’s ear and he shivered. Shane nodded, holding his gaze without flinching until Ilya slipped away.
Shane sagged against the bar like he’d been held up by pure will and adrenaline. His hand shook as he reached for the beer he’d barely touched, gulping down a few large sips to calm himself down. He was doing this. He was really doing this. He—Shane Hollander—was going to a strange man’s hotel to hopefully get fucked within an inch of his life. Rose would be so proud of him.
Somehow, he managed to find Scott to tell him he was completely wiped and going back to the hotel. The look Scott gave him would just have to be ignored. He was barely present in his own head as he found his way to the Bellagio, because of course that was where Ilya whose band had a gig in Vegas was staying, and he walked into the huge reception area feeling like everyone there could see it written on him. Like he had slut written across his forehead.
Realizing he had no idea what room he was looking for, he hovered near the elevators as nerves crept up on him. Maybe Ilya’s ploy was to leave him hanging here in this lobby, like some extended humiliation ritual. He’d gone halfway down that spiral when a woman stepped up to him and slipped him a keycard. Wordlessly, she nodded down at the room number written on the back.
He shared the elevator with an elegant older couple and a very drunk man who looked at him far too closely for comfort. Staring straight ahead, he hoped the man would be too drunk to connect the dots. The keycard felt heavy and hot in his hand, his heartbeat picking up as the elevator brought him up and up.
When he let himself inside, he realized the room was enormous. Shane had spent what felt like half his life in hotels, but most of that was in shitty twin beds with another hockey player snoring next to him. This was more like an apartment. He stepped inside what presented as a living room with a cream-colored couch in the middle. To the right, another doorway seemed to lead into the actual bedroom.
Ilya appeared in the doorway, arm reaching over his head to lean against it, effortlessly sensual. Dropping the keycard onto a table, Shane felt his mouth go dry and he didn’t have it in him to hide his staring. That wide open shirt was killing him.
“This room is insane,” he said, voice steady by some miracle. “What band are you even in?”
That slow smile spread on Ilya’s face as he walked towards Shane, all loose and unbearably confident.
“Needed a room where you would agree to kiss me,” he said, stepping into Shane’s space.
Shane had to tilt his head back and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to sink into his arms and be swallowed up by them. Large hands came up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks.
“I’d kiss you in much smaller rooms than this,” Shane muttered, the confession making him blush.
Ilya’s face shifted, his eyes growing intense—hungry. He tipped Shane’s head up and said something in Russian before claiming his lips in a bruising kiss. Shane’s knees went wobbly and he steadied himself with his hands on Ilya’s waist, lips opening to meet his tongue, letting the kiss set him on fire. He lost all sense of time as he melted into Ilya’s broad chest, strong arms circling him to hold him closer, his own hands pressed against a muscular back. His head spun with the feeling of kissing a man, of fully accepting this was what he wanted and who he was, and that he’d never felt better than this—with Ilya’s insistent mouth on his.
Without breaking them apart, Ilya steered them to the bedroom. They bumped into the doorway and Ilya laughed into the kiss. Shane was too dazed to do anything but cling desperately to the body holding him close and chase the lips that made him feel wild. When Ilya eventually pulled away, every part of him screamed to follow.
Moving slowly, Ilya grabbed the back of his own shirt, his arms flexing as he pulled it over his head. “Get on the bed.” There was a ridiculous bear tattoo on his chest and not even that could ruin how fucking hot he looked. “Wait.” Ilya gave a crooked smile. “Get naked first.”
Shane’s traitorous fingers shook as he popped open the buttons on his shirt. He kept his head down for the first few, but then he had a sudden flash of rebellion. For once in his life, he was being brave, he was getting what he wanted, and he would enjoy it. He didn’t want to hold back and think back on tonight with regrets of what he should have done. Biting his lip, he looked up, meeting Ilya’s gaze head on as he opened the last few buttons of his sheer shirt, letting it fall open. Heat pooled in his stomach at the look on Ilya’s face, the way his jaw ticked, the way he looked like he was going to devour Shane. And please, just devour him, just do it, just—
Suddenly, Ilya was kissing him again, slipping the shirt off his shoulders and down onto the floor. Shane moaned into it, fumbling with the button at his waist, struggling to keep his mouth on Ilya’s as he wiggled out of his slacks. Ilya took mercy on him and moved to nip at his jaw, slanting his lips down to his neck, leaving a hot trail of fire across Shane’s skin.
“Bed,” Ilya said, voice rough, once Shane was finally naked.
He threw himself down on the almost comically large bed, landing in a cloud of covers and pillows. Moving up towards the headboard, he leaned back onto his elbows and stared hungrily at Ilya as he moved to the foot of the bed and pushed his jeans down. Shane felt dizzy as he looked at him. There was something about him that drove Shane out of his mind. Yes, his body was beautiful—muscular and strong, but still lean. But there was something else about him that made Shane’s brain melt out of his head and his cock twitch in anticipation. He was so fucking hard already and he was genuinely worried he was going to come all over himself before he could even feel Ilya’s naked skin against his.
The bed dipped as Ilya set one knee on it and climbed up, Shane’s heartbeat racing as he watched him crawl up the bed. When Ilya’s body lowered over his, the whole expanse of him pressing Shane into the bed, Shane moaned, digging his hands into Ilya’s smooth back. Ilya buried his face into his neck, mouth pressed to his where his pulse thrummed. Every part of them melded together and Shane couldn’t stop his hips from rolling up into it, finally finding friction. He threw his head back, breath punched out of him at the feeling of Ilya’s cock sliding against his and the hot pressure of his mouth sucking a bruise into Shane’s skin.
It felt too good, just rutting up into Ilya’s warm body, inhaling the smell of his cologne, feeling small and engulfed. Fuck, he was so gay. He was so gay and he was about to come just from this. Letting out a whine at the thought, he tried to still his movements, and Ilya raised his head to look at him. One hand stroked across Shane’s cheek and Ilya’s mouth placed a soft kiss in its wake.
“Are you okay?”
Taking a shuddering, embarrassed breath, Shane nodded. “Just close.”
Ilya smiled warmly. “So eager for me.”
Shane felt his cheeks warm. God, he was. He wasn’t just eager for it, he was desperate for it, wanted to be fucked so badly, he couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving here without it. He whispered a fevered, “please.”
Ilya groaned, head dropping down onto Shane’s shoulder. “You are so—” The rest of the sentence muffled into Shane’s skin, but he had no time to wonder what was said, because suddenly he was being manhandled and flipped. He was on his stomach in seconds, his surprised oof muffled into the bed. Ilya shifted and Shane heard a drawer closing. Trying to calm himself, he took several deep breaths that trembled on the way out. The press of Ilya’s hand on the small of his back made him jump in surprise, but he immediately arched into it.
The first touch of Ilya’s finger at his rim was such a relief he almost sobbed. He clutched at the bed cover, lips parting as a single finger entered him, slowly opening him up. Ilya was sure and careful, and Shane relaxed further into it, enjoying the stretch he couldn’t quite get right on his own. When he opened around two fingers, both brushing over his prostate, he buried a loud moan into the bed, rocking helplessly back into Ilya’s hand.
He felt Ilya lean over him, fingers still buried deep.
“You need this so badly, yes?” Ilya said, voice low and warm. “Just listen to you.”
Shane nodded, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“Could make you come like this. Just my fingers, right here.” He changed the angle and Shane’s entire body jolted in response.
“Please,” he said again, strained, a bit panicked.
“Don’t worry.” Ilya’s other hand slid soothingly over his thigh. “Will fuck you how you want. Fuck all those pretty noises out of you.”
Shane might just cry, actually. With relief, with how good he felt, with everything he’d been depriving himself of for so long.
He let Ilya pull him up onto his knees and he rested on his elbows, breathing heavily, muscles in his stomach tight. The moment stretched as Ilya prepared himself, Shane’s thighs trembling, Ilya’s hand coming to rest on his hip to hold him steady. When he felt the tip of Ilya’s cock lightly pressing against him, he hung his head in relief, biting down on his bottom lip. They moaned together as Ilya sank inside, filling him so good that Shane’s eyes rolled back.
“Fuck,” he said, heart slamming in his chest. “Oh, God.”
Ilya’s hands gripped his hips, touch hard and anchoring, and then he moved, strokes confident and steady and driving Shane out of his mind. He’d been fucked before, a few times, but never like this, never anything even close to this. The way Ilya seemed to know exactly what he needed, the way his cock filled him just right, the way his hands held him just possessively enough.
Then, when Shane’s mind was swimming in pure pleasure, Ilya ran his hand up over Shane’s waist, slow and indulgent.
“You want it hard, sweetheart?”
It hit Shane like a punch to the gut and he moaned out a desperate yes, his elbows buckling immediately as Ilya pounded into him relentlessly. He yelled out, smashing his cheek into the bed and gasping wetly. Ilya’s hand pushed down onto his back, holding Shane down as he writhed in mindmelting pleasure.
“It’s so good,” Shane babbled. “Fuck, Ilya, it feels so good.”
He barely registered that Ilya was speaking Russian above him, his grip now bruising, and the tension in Shane’s gut became unbearable, his mind sluggish. Even though he wanted it to go on forever, he knew he was rapidly unravelling, his body shaking with it.
“I’m so close, please, please,” he chanted, and then Ilya’s hand was wrapped around his cock. It sent him right over the edge, everything coming apart and shifting back together as he lost it. “Ilya, fuck, Ilya.”
He buried a long groan into the bed as he came, the release so deep it felt like everything poured out of him. He’d never come so spectacularly in his life, never come so hard the edges of his vision felt fuzzy, and he was barely aware of Ilya until he suddenly stilled deep inside, a deep, rumbling groan filling the room.
Somehow, he ended up on his back, blinking blearily up at the ceiling. He slung an arm over his eyes, chest heaving. God, he felt amazing. Shifting slightly, he could feel the ache between his legs and he hoped he could feel it for days.
“Shane,” Ilya said and he removed his arm to look up into him, breath hitching again at how handsome he was.
Ilya handed him a wash cloth and Shane accepted it, stretching lazily as he cleaned himself up. The bed was big enough that there was room for both of them even if they stayed out of the spot where he’d come all over it. Shane would usually feel weird about it, but he was too warm and too sated to care. He even felt too good to be self-conscious about staying, about giving into the urge to fall asleep with strong arms wrapped around him.
When he woke, sunlight was bright on his face and he squinted against it. For a very brief moment, he was confused. The bed was too comfortable and there was a warm weight slung over his stomach. Then all of it came rushing back and his lips stretched into a smile as he let himself sink into the bed.
“Good morning,” Ilya rumbled next to him, his face pressed to Shane’s shoulder.
Shane turned, only able to see Ilya’s forehead and part of his cheek. He fought the urge to lean down and kiss his curls. Maybe he could? He didn’t know the etiquette of this at the best of times, and he definitely didn’t know the etiquette of staying the night after a hook up.
“Morning,” he whispered, and when Ilya’s lips brushed over his collarbone, he gave in and dropped a kiss onto those bronze curls.
Ilya tipped his head back and looked at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You are very cute.”
“Cute?” Shane exclaimed, affronted.
Laughing brightly, Ilya rolled onto him, pinning him to the mattress. “Cute is good. Adorable, sexy, sweet.”
Shane hummed, luxuriating in the weight of Ilya. “I guess I’ll accept sexy.”
“Is what makes you sexy. The blushing. Your sweet face. Your freckles.”
“Okay,” Shane said, surprised by how breathless he felt from that.
Ilya laughed again. “And no compliments for me?”
“Oh my god.” Shane rolled his eyes and when Ilya kissed him he didn’t even care about the morning breath… that much. He kissed him back. “You’re so hot it should be illegal. Which you already know very well.”
Ilya shrugged, placing a kiss at the corner of Shane’s mouth. “Nice to hear. Especially from cute, sexy hockey players.”
Running his hand through Ilya’s curls, Shane smiled, almost laughing at himself for how easy he was for this guy. This couldn’t end well.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said, earnestly.
Ilya’s eyes crinkled in a smile and Shane’s heart squeezed. They cuddled in silence for a while, Shane’s hand brushing idly over Ilya’s back, but slowly the thought of the outside world crept in. He had a flight out in only a few hours, and he had to get back to his own room to pack up and hope no one had noticed he hadn’t been there. He gathered all his strength of will and extracted himself from their embrace, standing by the edge of the bed.
“I have to go back,” he said, voice soft. “My flight is at 3.”
“No,” Ilya said and grabbed him back by the arm.
He gave in and ended up reminding himself of how much he loved having a dick in his mouth.
⋆˚☆˖°
It was dark when Shane came back to his penthouse apartment in Montreal and everything already felt like a distant dream. Or it would, if he couldn’t still feel it if he moved just right. He went into the bedroom and started unpacking his suitcase right away, only to stop halfway, his thoughts buzzing relentlessly.
He had to talk to Rose. She’d be surprised because he wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but he couldn’t keep this to himself. He couldn’t contain all of it inside, and if he didn’t tell Rose, he might explode and yell it to everyone in the changing room before practice tomorrow. Which would be bad considering none of them knew he was gay.
Abandoning his half-unpacked suitcase, he walked out into his living room and dropped down on the couch, opening his phone. He found Rose’s number and hovered over it for a moment before clicking the FaceTime button.
Rose appeared after three rings, her smiling face filling the screen.
“Hi, Shane,” she said. “Congrats on the award!”
The award. He’d almost completely forgotten. Had he even packed it?
“Thanks,” he said. “Are you alone? Can you talk?”
“Yeah, I’m back home, so I can talk. And now I’m extremely curious, because you never want to talk.”
“What? I always want to talk.”
“You’re a good listener,” Rose said, laughing.
The camera swung around as she settled on her couch, pulling a blanket up to her chest. He smiled at the sight, and tried to remember when the last time he saw her was. It was rare enough that she was even home in her own apartment, let alone anywhere he could hang out with her, so he missed her.
“I’m ready,” she said, holding up a glass of wine. “Had already poured this for myself, so this is honestly perfect timing.”
Now that she was looking at him expectantly, his words suddenly dried up and his face flooded with heat. He usually never spoke about things like this, the shame of so many years of hiding too ingrained in him, and he wasn’t used to saying things like this out loud to someone else.
Rose sat up straighter, levelling him with a look. “Shane Hollander. Are you about to tell me something scandalous?”
Shane groaned and sank further down on the couch, tipping his head back onto the armrest.
“Oh my fucking god. Please tell me you got laid. You need it so desperately.”
“Alright,” Shane said, offended. “Let’s not exaggerate.”
“How many people have you hooked up with after me?” She asked and when Shane didn’t answer, she laughed. “See? Please tell me you hooked up with someone.”
“I hooked up with someone.”
She thrust her wine glass up into the air and cheered. “Halleluja, blessed be. Since you’re calling I’m assuming it was either, like, really good or really bad.”
Shane flattened his lips for a moment, thinking back on last night and this morning. “I met him at the club last night.”
“Did you wear the outfit?”
“Of course I wore the outfit.”
“Hot,” Rose said, smirking into her wine. “But you still haven’t answered me.”
“I’m getting to it!” Shane waved his hand in frustration. “He was hot as fuck. Rose, I can’t even explain how hot he was. Like, there’s no way someone that hot should pick me up at a bar.”
“I love that for you, also I resent that heavily. I picked you up at a bar, you fuck.”
Shane smiled sheepishly. “Uh, sorry.”
“I’ll allow it only because you’re really gay.”
“His band had done a concert there.”
Rose threw her head back and laughed loudly. “Oh god, of course you would pick up someone in a band. Did you tell him you’re musically illiterate?”
“Yeah, he seemed to like that. That I didn’t know who he was. I went to his hotel and it was a suite at the fucking Bellagio.”
“Jesus, so it’s a band then. And you still haven’t answered.”
“It was good, okay? Jesus,” he rushed out, pressing his free hand over his eyes. “It was so fucking good I think I saw God. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“Yes, absolutely, and I’m delighted for you, babe. I can’t put into words how much you deserve it.”
Shane pulled himself together and looked at his phone, meeting Rose’s soft smile. He smiled back, unable to keep it off his face. “Thanks.”
“I really mean it. You deserve so many good experiences. Now, give me his name.”
Snorting, Shane pulled himself up again, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “I just have his first name.”
“Okay, I can probably work with that,” she said.
“Ilya.” Just saying it sent a shiver down his back, hearing echoes of his own pleasure in the name.
Rose froze to the point where he wondered if the call had dropped. He was about to say her name when she cut him off.
“You fucked ILYA ROZANOV?” she yelled, spilling wine out of her glass.
“Oh god, maybe? I don’t know. How many Ilyas can there be?”
“Shane!” She held her hand up to her face. “Oh my fucking god. We have to figure this out… I’m losing it.” The angle changed as she clearly looked something up on her phone. “I’m sending you a video, okay?”
He minimized their call and opened the YouTube link she’d sent him, muting it just as it opened. It was a live video from a concert, doing a slow zoom in over the crowd and then, there he was, front and center. The same curly hair, the same mischievous eyes. He was topless, only wearing black jeans, and the sweat glistened on his chest and shoulders, the bear tattoo front and center. The cross twinkled in the stage lights. He moved confidently around the stage, all boundless energy, and there was that raw sexuality that bowled Shane over completely.
“Uh, that’s—yeah, that’s him.”
“Holy shit,” Rose said.
The video wasn’t even an official music video and it still had 10 million views. What the fuck, actually. He closed out of it, forcing his eyes away from Ilya on stage.
“So, you know him,” Shane said tentatively.
“I mean, a lot of people do. He’s in an alt rock band that’s really pretty big right now. I’ve seen him around at some parties, but I’ve just exchanged a few words. Didn’t even know he was bi, to be honest.”
“Oh, he definitely fucks guys,” Shane muttered. There was no way Ilya hadn’t done that a time or two before.
“Happy for you,” Rose said, grinning. “Generational pull, Shane Hollander. A lot of people would kill to be you.”
“I don’t blame them. I did tell you he’s way too hot for me.”
Rose raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, don’t sell yourself short. You pulled Rose Landry and Ilya Rozanov. At this point, you have insane game.”
Shane snorted, picking at a loose thread in his sweatpants. He hesitated. “He’s not like a terrible guy is he?”
“I’ve never heard anything really bad about him, and usually those things get around,” Rose said. “People see him as a bit of a dick, like, he’s arrogant and the lead in a popular band, that sort of stuff. I’ve actually heard he pretty much never hooks up with fans, which is admirable for someone in that scene, I think.”
Shane hummed, but said nothing.
“Not that it really matters if your hook up is a good person, anyway, really?” Rose shrugged. “I’ve hooked up with my fair share of people who turned out to be assholes.”
“He gave me his number,” Shane muttered so quietly into his forearm that Rose didn’t hear him.
“What?” she asked, brows furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t catch that, sorry.”
“He gave me his number.”
Her mouth fell open and she was quiet for a moment before letting out a delighted laugh. “I love today. Ilya Rozanov gave you his number?”
“He told me to text him.”
“What else did he say?”
Shane blushed. “Well, he said a lot of things.”
“Like?”
Heaving a great breath, Shane steeled himself. “He said I’m cute.”
Rose bit down on a deranged-looking smile and gave a strained hum.
“He likes my freckles,” Shane whispered into the room and groaned when Rose downright cackled.
“Oh my fucking god, I wish I could tell someone about this. There’s no way you’re cursing me with this secret knowledge. How am I supposed to keep this quiet?”
“Do you think I should text him?”
She turned serious and sat for a moment, considering it. “Well, that depends. He clearly put the ball in your court. So it depends on whether you wanna see him again or not. If you don’t, you could just leave it and never see him again and you’d both just go on with your lives.”
“How would this even work? He’s, what, touring with a band and I’m playing hockey most of the year?”
Rose gave him a kind look. “Getting a little bit ahead of yourself there, Shane?”
He groaned, resting his forehead in his hand. He’d been getting ahead of himself about Ilya since the moment they met. It was stupid and bound to end in heartbreak. Ilya was a rock star who probably hooked up with a new person at every tour stop, and why would Shane be any different than the rest of them?
He’d grabbed Shane’s phone off the night stand and put his own number in, though. Asked him to text.
“Just text him and see where it goes,” Rose said. “You clearly want to. What could it hurt?”
Later that evening when he’d finally cleared away his suitcase, he dropped onto the bed and couldn’t hold the thoughts back anymore. He drowned himself in memories of the night before and jerked himself off, coming with thoughts of nothing but Ilya.
Shane:
Hi, Ilya. It’s Shane.
Ilya:
Who?
Ilya:
Sorry that was bad joke
Of course I remember you and your freckles and your perfect ass
Shane:
Oh my god, I hate you.
Ilya:
Of course yes
You hate me very much
⋆˚☆˖°
New York City - October 2020
Shane was surprised Harris had actually managed to get tickets. The venue was smaller and more intimate than what Overtime Lights often played, so it was a bit of an exclusive event. When they went to get in line at the venue, he got at least part of the answer. They passed the lines and headed for a VIP-door at the other side and Shane turned from his conversation with Bood to raise his eyebrows at Harris.
“I pulled some strings,” Harris said with a shameless smile.
“You mean to tell me the Centaurs have any strings to actually pull?” Wyatt asked.
“Apparently enough to get us tickets for the VIP-section. I haven’t tried my luck on anything else. Figures this was as far as I could push it.”
“Misusing your employer for your own personal gain,” Bood said. “I like how you hustle, Harris.”
“Okay, I had the chance to see Overtime Lights in the most intimate venue they’ve done in years. I had to.” Harris turned to Shane as they came to a stop at the door. “So, the band has been pretty big for a few years and they mostly play bigger venues. So this is kind of a rare treat.”
“Oh, really? Well, I’m glad I decided to come, then,” Shane said, trying to keep a straight face. He also started to feel bad for pretending he didn’t know all of this already. “You’ve been a fan for a long time, then?”
They were interrupted by the guard at the door and Harris stepped up, giving their details, and they were let inside. The support was already on the stage, and their section was a small enclosure on one side of the stage with its own bar. Harris actually squealed when he noticed that the section went all the way to the front barricade.
“Harris has been a fan for a long time,” Troy confirmed as Harris buzzed with excitement.
“We’re bullying our way to the front when the concert starts.”
Shane hated pressing his way through a crowd, but the VIP-group wasn’t that large so far and they didn’t seem to be the most rabid about standing at the very front anyway.
“Ilya Rozanov is not kissing you,” Troy said, slinging his arm over Harris’ shoulders.
No, he certainly was not.
“Don’t be stupid, that’s not why I want to be up front,” Harris said, laughing.
“Why would he kiss Harris?” Bood asked.
“He used to do this thing once in a while where he’d kiss someone in the front row. Not every time, but it happened. He usually always gets down right in front of the barricade to do a bit of a show and slap some hands and stuff, and sometimes he would just kiss someone.”
Bood’s eyes were wide. “Should I be worried about standing in the front?”
“He hasn’t done it since 2017, so no.” Harris laughed. “I’m also sure he wouldn’t kiss you if you looked terrified and unwilling.”
“I don’t like that you know the last time he did it,” Troy said, pinching Harris’ cheek.
“Oh, fuck off. It’s a huge point of discussion in the fandom. The two main theories are that the venues and crowds started becoming so large it was a bigger safety concern, or he’s in a relationship.”
The truth was a little bit of both. Ilya had largely stopped his kissing stunt by the time they’d met because the venues were larger and he was afraid someone would get hurt if the situation got chaotic. Then, the obvious additional change was Shane.
Bood and Troy went to the bar to get them all beers, and Harris kept explaining lore. None of it was new to Shane, and he was a bit pleased to realize he knew as much as someone who’d actively followed the band for years. Even with his complete cluelessness for music, he listened.
He began wondering if he should try to get Harris backstage afterwards. Harris had been so kind to him since his first day at the Centaurs, and it seemed like this would be a good way to repay him. He’d see what he could do after the concert was over without giving himself away.
“Have you listened to them much?” Shane asked Wyatt.
“I actually do know them, just not on Harris-level.” Wyatt laughed. “My wife’s liked them for ages, so I’ve absorbed it by osmosis or something. Her favorite song is that one, Golden something?”
“Golden Hour,” Harris said. “I love that one.”
Shane tried very hard to not visibly react. The thing was, Golden Hour was about him. It was one of the few songs Ilya had written on his own without the others. Rose always found it so funny that Shane who barely listened to music and barely knew a song had one written for him. He listened to this one, though.
“Some fans think it’s too different from their other stuff. It leans more pop than a lot of their things, so I suppose that’s why,” Harris continued. “But I like it a lot. It’s actually pretty high up on my favourites. It just seems so real and honest. Something about it. And the fact that Rozanov actually sings some Russian in it?”
Fuck, Shane felt himself blush. Hopefully it wasn’t noticeable in the dim lighting, and he was blessedly saved by Troy sticking a beer into his hand. He took a long sip, trying to calm himself down. It was strange to talk about this with someone else. Usually, he just never brought it up, and no one ever talked about music with him since they knew what he was like, so he always avoided this problem.
He let the others talk, listening a bit to the support act until suddenly they were done, leaving the room in a low buzz. Stagehands began to prepare, changing out the drum set and putting out guitars. Harris huddled them all in a group and in one expert move, manoeuvred them all up to the front, pressing against the barricade.
“You’ve done that before!” Wyatt said, impressed.
Harris laughed. “Once or twice.”
When the lights dimmed, the tension in the room reached a fever-pitch. It seemed to simmer in the air and Shane took it in. Music might not be his scene, but whenever he did go to an Overtime Lights concert, he felt a surge of pride and happiness at seeing people’s reactions. Loved seeing Ilya play up the crowd, see people sing along and throw their hands up. It made people happy, and he knew that was important to Ilya.
The crowd screamed when Cliff took his seat at the drums, then again when Svetlana waved out at them before picking up her bass. The room exploded when Cliff kicked off the first song and Ilya came jumping in from the side, electric guitar around his neck. Shane laughed as Harris whooped loudly next to him, his enthusiasm infectious. But soon, his attention locked on Ilya. As usual, he was shirtless, black jeans riding low. He was a vision and Shane couldn’t wait to kiss his way down that entire chest and under the waistline of those jeans. Ilya’s face caught the stage lights. His eyes were lined with black eyeliner and Shane swore he saw glitter shimmer on his cheekbones.
Fuck, he was hot. Shane was hardly the only one to have had that revolutionary thought. It was just a fact of life: Ilya Rozanov was fucking hot. The really insane part of it was that he was somehow Shane’s—that the man up there, raw sexual energy rolling off him in waves, kissed Shane’s freckles and whispered Russian endearments into his skin. Shane didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it, but he’d never take it for granted.
It was during a drum solo in the middle of the third song that Ilya noticed him, his eyes gliding across the crowd before he did an obvious double take. Shane smiled, their eyes locking, and he saw Ilya throw his head back in delighted laughter. The way his face had lit up made Shane’s heart flip and he rubbed at his chest, trying to calm it.
“Was he looking at us?” Harris yelled.
“Okay, calm down,” Troy said, from behind, his arms bracketing Harris’ shoulders.
“Oh my god, not like that.”
Shane just shook his head, smiling at them both. Next to him Wyatt was mouthing along with the words, and Bood seemed to be enjoying himself too. He was among friends and he relaxed, leaning onto the barricade as he turned his attention back to Ilya.
Throughout the show, their eyes kept meeting. The crowd was intense tonight. There was a push and pull that added to the thrumming feeling under Shane’s skin, only heightened by the small, stolen moments with Ilya. Every time Ilya would glance over, he’d find Shane’s eyes on him and his lips would tick up into a smile. Sometimes, when Ilya was at the other side of the stage, Shane would flick his eyes up to the screen next to them and look at the close up of Ilya’s curls sticking to his skin and the bead of sweat sliding down his neck.
It had to be closing in on the end of the show when Ilya turned to Cliff and Svetlana and spoke to them for a quick moment. Shane was close enough to see them both grin and he swore their eyes flicked his way. Then Ilya put his electric guitar away and Svetlana swapped her bass out for a guitar. The first bars of Golden Hour rang out through the room and the crowd erupted.
“Wow!” Harris exhaled. “This hasn’t been on the setlist for the past few concerts.”
Shane tried to contain his traitorous face from making the sappiest expression anyone had ever made. He tucked his chin down to collect himself and when he looked back up, he had his hand over his mouth. Ilya didn’t always want to play this. It depended on how he felt that day and how well he thought he’d hold it together. So whenever a crowd was graced with Golden Hour, he knew it was an event for everyone in the room.
He stood there, surrounded by people singing along, Ilya crooning into the mic, and he had to blink back the tears because he couldn’t fathom this being his real life. When Ilya’s eyes opened to find his own, Ilya’s voice cracked just slightly, and Shane was so in love he didn’t know what to do with it all.
A hushed silence reigned for a split second after the song finished, to be replaced by air-crushing screams before Cliff kicked them into the next one and Ilya was back on his electric guitar and the roof seemed to vibrate in the building. At the second chorus, Ilya jumped off the edge of the stage and reached into the crowds as he sang, letting his hand brush through all the hands reaching out for him. He smiled at a girl who screamed in excitement and pulled back, belting out the last part of the chorus. When Cliff and Svetlana jammed out on the bridge, he moved towards the VIP-section. His guitar was on his back and he had the mic one hand as he walked with purpose.
He stopped at the barricade, eyes meeting Shane’s in a silent question, and Shane—well, Shane didn’t have the self-control for this. He never truly did with Ilya. So he nodded, imperceptibly, and Ilya’s free hand cupped the back of his neck before he crushed their lips together. Shane barely registered the deafening roar of sound as his focus narrowed to the familiar feeling of Ilya’s lips on his, the taste of vodka on his tongue, the slight prickle of stubble, the shiver that ran down his back. Ilya pulled back a moment later, lingering long enough to whisper ’backstage after?’ and Shane nodded again. Pulling away, Ilya winked at him and jumped back up onto the stage and came in far too late on the chorus.
“What the fuck?” Harris yelled in his ear and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “I can’t believe that just happened!”
And Shane knew it had been on the screen, knew someone had filmed it, knew someone would recognize him, knew it’d be up online. Probably already was. There was a quick shock of panic shooting through him. Even if no one guessed they were together, there’d still be a video of him kissing a man online. But maybe it was just time. He’d already been kicked by a team for being gay, but his new one supported him, and they weren’t going to send him out the door for dating a musician.
“Uh, me neither,” Shane yelled back. He hadn’t exactly planned for this today. He supposed his problem for getting Harris backstage was solved.
“I thought you said he didn’t do that anymore?” Bood said, wide-eyed.
“I mean, he doesn’t! He didn’t? I’m confused.” Harris pushed at him. “Shane! Holy shit, everyone here wants to be you right now.”
“I’m starting to resent this,” Troy said flatly.
“Oh my god.” Harris threw his hands up. “I wouldn’t actually kiss him!”
As Troy and Harris bickered, Shane noticed Wyatt looking at him with a discerning expression and he knew at least one person had not missed what was going on.
“Later,” Shane mouthed to him and he seemed to accept it.
The last song and the encore passed by in a daze. Shane just held onto the barricade, relief and fear and love all tumbling around inside, and for a moment his breath went shallow, but he talked himself back, reminding himself of the people surrounding him right now. His team might be on a losing-streak that spanned years, but they were good people and they had his back, and he could face it, whatever came. It was all fine.
When the lights turned back on, Shane made his decision. He got the attention of the group and waved for them to follow him.
“Shane, where are we going?” Harris asked as Shane led them to the very side of the stage where one of the venue’s security guards were standing. Behind him, Shane recognized one of the band’s own security people.
“Hey,” Shane said to the guard. “Can I talk to Abe for a second?” He motioned towards Abe in the back, hoping that being on first name basis would help.
The guard eyed him for as second before turning around. “Hey, Abe, some guy wants to talk to you.”
Abe turned from his conversation, saw him and winked. “Let them through.”
Harris sputtered behind him and Shane had to bite back a laugh. The guard pushed away the part of the barricade, letting them through, and Shane looked back to make sure he had everyone with him.
“Shane,” Harris said again, but Troy put a hand on his shoulder.
“Relax, Harris.”
“I can’t relax! Why am I going backstage at an Overtime Lights concert right now? I’m not emotionally prepared!”
“Hey, Abe,” Shane said as they walked up to the door.
Abe opened it for them. “Good to see you, Shane. Just follow the hallway all the way down and then take a left.”
Shane gave him a brief smile and a quick wave as they headed into the dimly lit hallway by the side of the stage. He forced himself to relax as he heard the others bicker behind him.
“You can’t possibly say you haven’t put the pieces together, Harris,” Wyatt said, laughing.
“Don’t make fun of me, I’m too overwhelmed!”
“I have a theory, but it seems really fucking out there,” Bood said. “Like, very out there.”
Wyatt snorted. “What, your theory is that Shane has Jedi-mind-tricked his way through security at this concert?”
“Maybe one step less out there.”
They turned down the hallway to the left, which opened up into a green room where Svetlana was sprawled out in a large leather armchair, Cliff was standing next to her sipping on a large water bottle, and Ilya was on one side of the couch. His feet were up on the table as he scrolled through his phone. He’d put on a soft, faded T-shirt and he’d wiped the make up from his face.
“Hi,” Shane said and they all looked up.
Svetlana and Cliff spoke at the same time, one saying “Shane!” and the other “Hollander!” in greeting. Ilya dropped his phone onto the table and jumped up from the couch, his face splitting into a wide grin.
He wrapped his arms around Shane, swaying them back and forth as Shane laughed into his shoulder. Shane sank into the hug, rubbing his cheek on the soft T-shirt and inhaling the scent of cologne and sweat that clung to Ilya’s skin. Pressing his lips to Shane’s temple, Ilya kept kissing him over and over.
“Lyubmiyy,” Ilya said. “You did not tell me you were coming!”
“Surprise?”
“Okay, yeah, Wyatt, I see it now. I’m an idiot,” Harris said from behind them and Shane snorted, suddenly remembering his audience.
“Actually, I was asked to come here with my friends from the team,” Shane explained, pulling away and slipping his hand into Ilya’s. “So, these are my teammates Wyatt, Bood and Troy.”
Ilya shook all their hands, introducing himself. “I watch you all the time, your games. You are all very good. And you are very nice to Shane.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not Montreal. Fuck those guys,” Wyatt said, vehemently.
“Oh, yes. All those people are banned from all shows. They never understand why they get turned away at the door.”
“Ilya, you didn’t,” Shane said, although he wasn’t surprised.
“What? I let Hayden in.”
Shane rolled his eyes and turned to look at a wide-eyed Harris. “Ilya, this is Harris, our social media guy. He’s a huge fan of Overtime Lights.”
Letting go of Shane for a moment, Ilya stepped up and wrapped Harris in a hug. “Very nice to meet you. I hope you enjoyed the show.”
“Oh, uh, absolutely, yeah,” Harris stammered, feet glued to the floor and eyes wide.
“Oh, boy,” Bood said from behind him.
“I am big fan of your work as well,” Ilya said.
“What?” Harris squeaked.
“Many great gifs of Shane.”
Harris was too shocked to react, but the others burst out laughing and Ilya winked, his hand coming up to brush through Shane’s hair.
“You should come to Bood’s barbecue night some time,” Troy said then. “We all get together, players bring their partners, we make a whole night of it.”
Ilya’s smile went soft. “I would love to.”
“I’ll get my wife to add you to the partner group chat,” Wyatt said, and it seemed like he was mostly joking, but Ilya seemed genuinely excited about it.
Shane smiled up at him, brushing a hand against the small of his back. He let Ilya talk to his friends a bit as he caught up with Svetlana and Cliff, hugging each of them in greeting. They hadn’t seen each other since April and they spent a few minutes going through what they’d done over the summer. Afterwards, he led them over to introduce them to the team as well, once again sending Harris into a bit of a tailspin.
“He’s usually very good with people,” Troy said, a hand of support clapped to Harris’ shoulders.
“Oh my god,” Harris said. “Shane sprung this on me! He let me talk about you like he’d never heard a thing in his life!”
Shane grimaced. “I’m actually really sorry about that. I didn’t want to, but, well.” He waved between himself and Ilya.
“You kept this secret for three years all for Roz to lose his shit and kiss you during a show,” Svetlana said, nudging Ilya with her elbow. “I should’ve put down money on this.”
“Hey, Shane did not say no. I gave him plenty of time.”
“Three years?” Wyatt said, eyebrows raised. “How on earth have you managed that with how high profile you both are?”
“I’ll fill you in later, I promise.”
“2017!” Harris suddenly blurted. “Oh my god, okay.”
Svetlana started laughing, pinching Ilya’s side until he twisted away, yelping.
“It is genuinely also the security concern,” Shane protested. “Like, the venues are really big now!”
“Sure, and you would love for me to kiss random people in the audience.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me,” Ilya said and pulled him in close, kissing him.
⋆˚☆˖°
@evyinthelights kdfnjhbjjddk what am i watching?????
@lightmeup what’s happening? Why is everyone freaking out?
@joannesf [Video that shows the screen at the Overtime Lights concert. The footage is shaky and people are screaming. On the screen, Ilya is kissing a man that leans over the front of the barricade, hand at his neck.]
@ilyaswife8 wE’RE SO BACK. it’s so over. WE’RE SO BACK. wait is it over?
@goldensofia my man back on his bullshit, I know that’s right
@drewsart LORD I SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE FOR OTHERS
@pinkpurpleblue this is like the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
@trinloveslana I was at the concert tonight and Ilya actually kept looking in that direction a lot throughout the night. Then he turned around and talked to Cliff and Svetlana before they played Golden Hour which they haven’t done in a while. During Golden Hour, he was looking over there a lot too. In conclusion, that’s his boyfriend for sure
@everafterpriya okay that’s a stretch tho he always looks at people in the front
@dottysee no i agree with trin, i was there too, he was looking over there A LOT
@overtimeff looking at someone doesn’t mean you’re in a relationship, hello??
@dottysee overtimeff, does kissing them in addition to the looking not clue you in?
@overtimeff ilya’s straight, stay fucking delulu
@dottysee oh so you’re just a homophobe, got it
@girlinottawa [The first photo is a clear picture of the kiss on screen at the concert. The second photo is a close up of Shane Hollander on the ice, his helmet off.] So, are we going to talk about the fact that the man Ilya kissed at the concert is hockey’s own Shane Hollander?
@justinhollzy hooooly shit??? IT FUCKING IS SHANE HOLLANDER my husband
@patrickskr It doesn’t even look slightly like him.
@whatapuck are you blind? that’s literally Hollander
@barrettslefttit this was not on my 2020 bingo card
@noahreads As an Overtime Lights and Centaurs fan I don’t know how to process this
@JJneedsahug If that’s actually Shane Hollander, do we think this explains the trade to Ottawa? If he’s gay, I sadly wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the reason. We know the Centaurs are LGBT+ friendly.
@excris23 I had never considered this, but it’s probably true. Which makes me really fucking sad.
@trusttheprocess this makes me want to cry honestly
@evanonice If we gave away our chance for the cup just because Hollander likes to suck dick, I’m going to end it all
@emmainovertime The history of Ilya kissing people in the crowd and the leading theories for why this stopped in 2017: 🧵
@emmainovertime I guess this is the last update of this thread! The winning theory turned out to be: he’s in a relationship. Follow me for more Overtime Lights-content!
⋆˚☆˖°
[Instagram post: Picture of the screen at the Overtime Lights concert, zoomed in on Ilya kissing Shane. Ilya’s cheeks glitter and his eyeliner is smudged at the corner. The second picture is of Shane and Ilya sitting together on a beach, the sunset behind them as they both smile at the camera. The last picture is of Ilya on the couch wearing a Hollander jersey, his arms out wide gesturing at the TV.]
ilyarozanov: Moya lyubov❤️ you and me in stolen time, a golden hour