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Shane wasn't really looking forward to the game with Boston in Montreal. He wanted to talk to Ilya, he really did, now that he and Rose agreed to stay friends and he finally, finally admitted to someone he was gay. But the game in Montreal wouldn't give them enough time to talk about anything, considering Ilya would have to fly to Pittsburgh the next day for the game with the Penguins. Shane wanted Ilya all to himself, for once, and he decided the best time for that would be at the All Star game, with no curfew and no teammates to party with, and most importantly, no way Ilya could possibly avoid him. So he would power through whatever the game would happen to look like, and coming up with ways to talk to Ilya.
That was, if Ilya still wanted to talk to him after he left that time in Boston. Shane knew it meant something, and he knew it meant something for Ilya too. It wasn't just first names, not to them, but more or less the entirety of the time they had spent together, with Ilya making Shane food and keeping him for the day and wanted to spend time with him. Ilya must have felt it too, or maybe he was pushing for it. Either way, Shane ran, and he had to get Ilya back, to at least have a coherent conversation about whatever was going on between them.
Shane curled up on the sofa, idly scrolling his phone while the TV was playing the news on the background. The sports section of the news reported on all the scores for the day's games. Ottawa lost, which was the least surprising event. Boston lost to Toronto, which was a little embarrassing but nothing too out of the ordinary. Shane would have teased Ilya about it, if only they had kept in contact, but suddenly texting his former fuckbuddy about losing a game felt a little coarse.
He navigated to the chat with Rose, who was complaining about her brothers with their hockey commentaries, as per usual, when his attention suddenly snapped to Coach Theriault's text in the team's chat.
Montreal Metros Official
Coach
Boys, the city decided to cancel the upcoming game against Boston. They said there's a blizzard coming tomorrow night and the weather's too dangerous to travel. Stay safe, stay inside.
Thanks for the information, Coach
Gilbert Comeau
Was looking forward to kicking their asses damn
Hayden Pike
Roger that! Keep warm, Coach.
Metro Boys
JJ Boizau
@Gilbert Comeau wrong chat man
Gilbert Comeau
Fuck
You think he minds that?
Patrice Drapeau
Probs not
Dumb fucking mistake anyway
Gilbert Comeau
You're a dumb fucking mistake
JJ Boizau
Jesus Christ Comey
Are you 12?
Gilbert Comeau
Fuck off
I'm sure he's fine, not the first time he's seen one of you swear
Rest up, stay inside
JJ Boizau
Aye aye capitaine
Shane turned off his phone, letting out a tired groan. From what he knew about Boston's flight schedules, Ilya would have landed a few hours earlier to prepare for the following day's match. It would be bad for them, then, stuck in a hotel for two days until the blizzard cleared out. They should have rescheduled all airports activities by then, and it would be very unlikely they would find a way out of the city. Not that it was advised, anyway, the MLH would be very stupid to put twenty valuable players on a plane with the chance of a blizzard.
So, he and Ilya would be in the same city for two days before Ilya had to fly out again, and they wouldn't even see each other. It should feel like relief, considering his plans were to talk to Ilya at the All Stars, but being robbed of the chance to see the man he couldn't stop thinking about still felt like a sting to his heart.
Outside, snow was falling steadily, the calm before the raging storm predicted. Shane stood up to double check all the windows and doors to his condo, then opened up the ring camera footage for a security check. In the blurry black and white of the screen, Shane could barely make out the silhouette of a man pacing back and forth around his entrance. If he were a bit more delusional, he would say the man was built exactly like Ilya. But he wasn't, and it couldn't be, and Ilya was probably lounging in his hotel room, fucking around with his teammates, getting drunk and being stupid for the lack of game the next day. Or Ilya could be standing in front of Shane's house. Of course, Shane went down to check. The man had his back on the entrance, so if he played his cards correctly, after confirming that it was not Ilya, he could leave things well enough alone. And if it were Ilya, well, Shane hadn't thought that far ahead.
Ilya's phone had been buzzing incessantly the past twenty minutes he had been walking, and he really did not want to fucking check. The only text he wanted to receive at that moment he wasn't going to, and the person he wanted to hear from the most was probably all cosied up in his bedroom, calling his famous actress girlfriend. He was also probably wearing a stupid cosy hoodie, under his stupid cosy blankets and abundance of pillows. His famous actress girlfriend, if she had come, would enter his condo's code and let herself in, unlike Ilya, who was always standing in front of his back door, waiting for it to open, like a secret. The door wasn't opening any time soon now, if ever, but there Ilya was, dumbfounded and lost and somewhere in Montreal that his feet took him unconsciously, the snow falling harder and wind fiercer.
When he found himself on the other side of the road to Shane Hollander's building, he couldn't find it in himself to be surprised. He had memorised the path by heart, despite being on it only a few times, and always on a cab. Maybe he just had really good memory, unlike his father, or maybe Ilya couldn't help memorising every single fucking thing about Shane Hollander, even if merely remembering the name made him feel like he was stabbed in the heart. Ilya was always good at doing things that were bad for him, though, so maybe that fell right in line. Although, all things considered, when one was thinking about Shane Hollander obsessively, it only made sense that they found their way to him. Hollander would probably have someone showing up at his doorstep every hour if they knew where he lived. Snow was dusting his coat and beanie, and the weather had reached the point where walking was a little too painful. So Ilya pulled out his phone to call an Uber, ignoring the texts on his phone. He'd check it when he got back to the hotel, or have Cliff tell him already.
The screen had been loading for about well over ten minutes when Ilya heard a sound at the door. Because that was just his luck, the place that usually took two seconds to hail a cab apparently had no car out that night, not before the back door to Hollander's building snapped open.
"Rozanov?"
And oh, if hearing his name with that voice didn't risk him falling apart. How long hadn't he heard it? Since that night at Boston, probably, when Hollander ran out and left him filthy and stupid on his giant fucking couch with a stupid fucking news report about a stupid fucking tennis match playing and he felt like there was an apple stuck in his throat. The apple came back, he thought. The apple came back, and words were trapped under it, so Ilya couldn't answer. And just maybe, he wanted to hear that voice again.
"Rozanov." The question that hung in Hollander's voice disappeared, and Ilya could hear him get closer.
"Hollander." Ilya finally decided to swallow the metaphorical apple and turned to Hollander. "What are you doing here?" The apple kicked its way down his throat and left it burning.
"There's a blizzard coming soon so I'm doing a final checks on the doors— wait, no. This is my fucking place, what are you doing here?" Hollander seemed to snapped out of autopilot, which was genuinely so endearing it scared Ilya half shitless.
"Trying to get Uber." Ilya waved his phone, like it was obvious. Like if he acted careless enough, Hollander would just leave things there.
"You're not gonna get one anytime soon. They announced a blizzard is coming in a day and most people have gotten off the road." Hollander frowned at him, then at the snow-filled sidewalk, then at him again. He seemed to have processed something. Ilya wasn't sure what. "Did you want to come in? It will take a while."
The weather must be very dangerous, for Shane Hollander to invite him into his house.
"You have snow on your hat, it's gonna melt and make you sick. Come in." Hollander insisted. "You already came all the way here. I don't see anyone else you were looking to meet up with."
"I might be waiting for someone." Ilya argued. He felt very pointless, getting defensive on something they both know to be wrong.
"Right, your other Montreal girl that clearly stood you up with a blizzard coming."
"Is fine, you Montreals are just scared. No one stops going out a day before blizzard."
"Rozanov." Hollander lowered his voice, sending a shiver down Ilya's spine. "Get the fuck in before you freeze and die."
"You would like that. Me dying before the game. Only way Montreal wins."
Hollander seemed to be processing about fifteen different thoughts and emotions at the same time, before ultimately decided on just stepping aside and wait for Ilya to get in. Ilya complied, not because Hollander looked a little distressed and he didn't like that, but because he did indeed felt some of the snow on his coat melting onto his sweater, and he would prefer getting it off. So he followed Hollander in, trailing behind him like a lost puppy and dutifully taking his shoes off at the entryway before shrugging off his coat.
"Give it to me." Hollander held out his hand. "I have a drying cabinet."
Of course Shane Hollander would have a drying cabinet for his coats. He probably had closet organisers as well, and other meticulous things Shane Hollander deemed important. Ilya wanted to see that cabinet, though, he wanted to know what brand and what type Hollander deemed worthy of his winter-wear, and what buttons he pressed and how often he used it. Fuck, he just wanted to know Hollander, and it seemed like such a far-fetched idea now. Would Rose Landry get to use the drying cabinet too, or was it only reserved for Hollander's clothes, and Ilya's coat was an exception?
"Have you eaten anything yet?" Hollander asked, his coat in his hand.
"Yes, on the plane."
"Okay, um, take a seat, then." He held up the coat. "I'll be back in a sec."
Take me with you, Ilya wanted to say. Introduce me to the corners of your house. I know it hadn't changed much since the last time I was here, but I never really got the house tour, and I would just really like to see you do laundry. Do you have a favourite brand of electronics? Do you fold your clothes the way you do before we fuck, do you use fabric softener, or do you use vinegar like some of the guys said their wives liked to do? Your clothes always smell sun-soaked, how do you dry them? How do you do the simple, mundane things in your life? How do you exist?
Shane was hanging up Ilya's clothes in the cabinet, and did the program he usually used for felt coats, and waited for the cycle to start up. He considered the man in his living room, the way he was standing outside for ten minutes waiting for a cab, the way he showed up for no reason at all, and the way he didn't expect Shane to see him. He wondered, briefly, if Ilya was missing him. If he was on Ilya's mind the way he was on Shane's. Shane wanted to ask, he really did, but cornering Ilya during a blizzard and couldn't get away didn't feel like it would end well for either of them, but he wasn't sure if he could keep the conversation in all night. Maybe he could keep it in for how long it would take for Ilya's Uber to come. Maybe, if Ilya wanted to stay, they could talk about it that night.
Ilya was sitting on one of the bar stools by the peninsula, staring at his phone. He didn't look up when Shane came in, just started speaking casually.
"Game's cancelled."
"Yeah, I wanted to tell you when you said you dying would help Montreal win." Shane answered. "We would have won anyway, but thanks for the spirit."
Shane decided on a bold move. He took a seat next to Ilya and brushed their arms together, and noticed the wet spot on Ilya's shoulder.
"How long were you standing down there?" He asked.
Ilya seemed to search his eyes for a minute, but gently pulled back. It surprised Shane a little, admittedly, he never thought Ilya was one to shy away from physical contact. He surely hadn't before.
"Not long enough for a driver to pick the ride." Ilya opened his Uber app again, the waiting message still on the screen persistently, a reminder that he would have to leave.
"I don't think you'll get one. Not until the blizzard's over."
"So two days." Ilya seemed to consider that thought. "I'll get the team to send a car."
"Or you can stay." Shane found himself saying. "Feels irresponsible to make someone drive all the way here."
"Irresponsible." Ilya repeated. "And is it irresponsible to keep the enemy in your house and telling no one?"
"The enemy decided to show up to my place, so I think I'm justified. What were you doing here anyway? You never answered me."
Ilya turned away at the question, pointedly ignoring him. Shane thought he knew the answer, and he was never more sure of it. Naturally, the closed the gap between the two of them, his hand slowly curling on Ilya's chin.
"Did you want to see me?" He asked tentatively. Ilya didn't lean in to his touch, but he didn't pull himself away, so Shane was taking as much as he could get. "Ilya?"
He could feel Ilya shutter at the name, and when he finally looked at Shane, his gaze was questioning.
"Your girlfriend won't get jealous?" He said, which was neither here nor there, but gave Shane a chance to explain himself nonetheless.
"She's not my girlfriend. We're not, uh, compatible." Shane kept Ilya's gaze. "I actually want to talk to you about that, um, sort of."
"Not compatible."
"Yeah, uh," Shane pulled his hand away, and he felt Ilya's eyes following his hand back onto the counter. "I think I'm gay."
It was like slow-motion, the way Ilya's eyes lit up a little when Shane said Rose was not his girlfriend, then confusion, then something along the lines of amused.
"And what makes you think that?"
"Shut up."
"No, no. Tell me. How did you know you were gay, Hollander? Sucking a dick for years didn't give you any clue?"
"Fuck off. You're not gay."
"Not entirely, no." Ilya shrugged. "So?"
"I haven't exactly told anyone, so this is kind of a big fucking deal to me, asshole." Shane snapped. "Sorry if I'm being boring again."
And oh, he really shouldn't walk away from a conversation he wanted to have, but the bar stool was a little too uncomfortable and he wanted his couch and really, Ilya's not making it any better for him. So he stood up and walked over to the sofa, and let out a long sigh. He did, really, just wanted to tell someone. And it was a tempting thought, for that person to be the one he actually liked, but the person is not being the most conversational version of himself right then.
He felt the sofa sinking next to him a bit after, and saw Ilya sat down in a pose he could only call resigned.
"So you're gay. And not dating Rose Landry. And game is cancelled tomorrow. Any other news?"
"It's not just being gay. It's you. And for the record, I'm sorry I freaked out and left that day."
"Freaked out over nothing."
"Clearly wasn't nothing if you're standing at my doorstep the night before a blizzard." Shane argued. "Clearly something is different, and it's not just me."
"What?"
"That day. It felt different. Nice different. Like we were something."
"We cannot be something, Hollander." Ilya said a beat too quickly. Shane wasn't great at reading people, but he could clearly tell Ilya wasn't telling the whole truth.
"But if we can, would you?" He asked. "If I say I like you…"
"Well don't fucking say it!" There was exasperation in his voice, the sort of emotion people tended to use for Shane when he seemingly couldn't pick up on what they were trying to put down. "I fucking can't."
"Because of your family?"
"Because Russia. I won't be able to go back to Russia."
"What would happen to you?"
"I don't want to find out." Ilya was avoiding his eyes.
"What would your parents…?" Shane asked, even though he didn't have a clue what his own parents would say.
"My father is police. Brother is police."
"And your mother?"
"Dead." Ilya's voice wavered, and Shane felt his heartstrings pulled and ripped out of his chest.
"I'm sorry." He managed to say.
"I was young." Ilya shook his head. "My father is very old-fashioned. And sick."
"Sick like crazy?"
"That too, a little. But no. Sick like…"
"Cancer?" Shane wasn't sure how easy it would be to describe their parents' illness, so he tried filling in.
"Dementia."
"That's… awful." Shane watched Ilya carefully. The way his shoulder shivered, the way his eyes were glassy and his little sniffle. "Hey…"
He tried catching Ilya's face, but he leaned away, murmuring a breathless apology that made Shane's chest feel tight. His lower lip was shaking, and he looked like he was going to cry. Shane did what he thought was best, and climbed into Ilya's lap, straddling his thighs and caressed his face, leaning down for a kiss. That apparently undid Ilya, because he was sobbing into the kiss and hid his face on the crook of Shane's neck after, and let Shane cradle him and rock him back and forth while his arms gripped Shane's waist so tight it was almost painful.
"I do like you." Shane's voice was barely a whisper. "Just so you know, I think I like you a little too much."
He felt a tiniest huff of a laugh on his shoulder, and decided that was good enough. His hands came up to Ilya's shoulders, and found a slight damp feeling. It must be the snow that seeped through his coat, and Shane wondered how cold it made Ilya feel. He kissed Ilya's temple, then moved to lift the hem of the sweater.
"Really, Hollander? Crying turns you on?" Ilya teased. "What's next? Injured man? Man in the rain?"
"Oh shut up." Shane glared. "Your sweater is wet. Take it off. Your shoulders must have been freezing."
"And I will be warmer how?"
"Put a blanket on, you big baby." Shane reached over to the throw blanket on the arm of the sofa, covering Ilya's body with it. "I'll get you one of mine."
Ilya watched Hollander disappear again, and eagerly wrapped the blanket around himself. It felt soft, and didn't smell like much except for that signature smell of fabric when they were out in the sun. Ilya had no clue how Hollander did that, it was winter, and the weather was gloomy as fuck the past few weeks. Must have been a Hollander miracle. Ilya was lying down on the sofa when Hollander came back with a hoodie in hand, and managed to yank him down under the blankets with him. Hollander let out a chuckle, but only tucked the hoodie to the side and slid his arms around him once more. It was so nice, Hollander all warm and sweet and pliant next to him, and he was in Hollander's house, and he would soon wear Hollander's clothes, and he would have nowhere else to go to for the next two days. He would also not be able to go outside for the next two days, but he figured that was the least of his problems.
"Why did you come here?" God, Shane asked so many questions. Most of them Ilya couldn't answer, or at least, couldn't answer honestly without giving his heart away.
"Hollander." He tried.
"Rozanov." Shane persisted. "Come on."
"I was sightseeing."
"Sightseeing?"
"Yes, they say this building has the most boring person in the world. He asks to many questions. I know now is true."
Ilya felt Shane's sigh rumble through his chest, and it was so nice that he almost wanted to pour his heart out as well.
"I missed you too, you know." Shane finally said. "And I'm glad you're here instead of some shitty hotel."
"Is a very bougie hotel." Ilya reasoned. "Very Shane Hollander approved."
"Mhmm. Whatever that means."
Shane was running his hand through Ilya's curls, twisting and tugging and smoothing out a few strands, mostly just playing with them absentmindedly. He was resting his chin on top of Ilya's head, and the blanket felt like a big cocoon around them. Nothing was happening, the TV wasn't on, but somehow Ilya's senses felt so full. Maybe it was just Shane.
He wondered, briefly, if this could be forever. He knew they couldn't, but under the dim lighting of Shane's living room, surrounded by Shane's scent and next to Shane, he allowed himself to indulge.
"Time for bed." Shane said, eventually. "C'mon."
Ilya let himself be tugged and led to Shane's bedroom, where he showered before putting on Shane's sweatpants. They fit him snugly, since they were roughly the same build, and the look he got from Shane after he got out of the bathroom went straight to his dick.
"You look really good in my clothes." Shane remarked.
"Just sweatpants, Hollander."
Shane smiled and held out his arms. Ilya went willingly, collapsing onto Shane like a weighted blanket, breathing in the smell of Shane's bedroom. He hadn't realised how tired he was, what with walking aimlessly for an hour and crying and tiptoeing around Shane's condo, but his eyelids where drooping, and Shane was so comfortable and he was playing with Ilya's hair so nice that he eventually dozed off. He didn't mean to. What he actually wanted was to suck Shane's soul out of his dick and fuck him until both their brains turn into mud and their bodies go limp, but instead he fell asleep on top of Shane while Shane draped the blanket over the both of them and tugged on his curls.
When he finally came to, the digital clock on Shane's bedside table told him it was 2AM, and Shane had somehow manhandled Ilya to lie half on top, his limbs still allowed to splay across Shane's body. The lights were off, Shane must have got up to switch them off at one point, which would mean he came back to Ilya's embrace. The curtains in his bedroom were left half open, and Ilya could barely make out the snow falling outside. It looked like it was really cold. Ilya was very glad, then, that he was safely tucked in Shane's bed.
Shane was sleeping peacefully underneath him, one arm slid under his neck and the other resting on his shoulder. He looked more relaxed when he sleep, the frown that usually rested between his brows finally absent. Ilya watched in silence, taking note of the way Shane's chest was rising up and down, the corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly, and the way one of his lashes fell out and rested on the side of his nose. Ilya never got to watch him like this, not since that day in Boston, and even then, he could only feel Shane from behind. He liked this much better, liked watching Shane sleep and existing next to Shane, liked falling asleep with Shane and have Shane take care of him. Fuck, he liked Shane so much it was like his heart was spilling out. Did he ever want to be with someone this badly? Had he ever needed someone so much?
"What have you done to me?" He whispered in Russian, then kissed the bridge of Shane's nose softly. "What will I do without you?"
Shane woke up feeling a little disoriented. He felt like there was a significant weight on top of him, and for a second thought he had purchased a weighted blanket. He borrowed the little light from the window, where he was met with a head of golden curls, strong arms wrapping his torso on top of his blanket, and a massive body lying half on top of him.
Ah, yes.
The man with the golden curls showed up at his doorstep yesterday unannounced, and it didn't seem like he wanted Shane to know either. Then the blizzard announcement, then the conversation where Shane confessed he liked the man, and he cried, and now they were in bed together. It felt really nice, waking up to Ilya next to him. They should do this more often.
Shane shifted a little, and the movement seemed to wake Ilya up too.
"Hi." Shane said.
"Hello." Ilya replied.
The entire morning, Shane felt like he grew a tail. If the tail were to be, say, six feet tall, massive, and a grown fucking man. Ilya couldn't leave him alone, for some reason. He went to brush his teeth, Ilya was hovering outside the bathroom. He went to make their breakfast, Ilya was leaning against the sink watching him. He went to wash the blender, Ilya moved from the sink to the opposite kitchen counter. Ilya wasn't talking either, just watching Shane like he was some kind of exotic animal in a conservatory. He seemed fascinated and not bored, so that at least was a good sign.
"Did you want some of the smoothies?" Shane asked. Ilya was cheerfully engulfing his share of Shane-approved pancakes with eggs and fruits, and made a face.
"I am not drinking anything green."
Shane made a non-committal sound, and Ilya started talking about the upcoming games. The Pacific division was playing like shit, as per usual, and other than Boston and Montreal, the teams in the Atlantic division looking at a playoff spot was probably Toronto and Tampa Bay. Ilya didn't seem to care about the Metropolitan division, despite Shane pointing out that those were the teams they would play against when playoffs started.
"Okay, what do you think about Scott Hunter's slump?" Ilya asked.
"Is that everything you know about the Metropolitan division?"
"Is all everyone talks about. Scott Hunter good, Scott Hunter bad. Scott Hunter is a million years old and his back is breaking, of course he is slow." Ilya rolled his eyes. "They could have talked about more interesting things. Like Boizau hiding a knee injury one of Toronto's D gave him the other week."
Shane couldn't say anything to that, because, yeah, J.J. was hiding a knee injury, and he was sort of doing a decent job at it. If only Cliff Marleau wasn't a fucking hawk at sniffing out injuries. That son of a bitch was like Boston's not so secret secret weapon, and every time Shane thought he was hiding his playoff injuries so well, he was always awarded with Ilya teasing him about it the next time they saw each other. Oh, he loved talking hockey with Ilya so much, no one understood him like Ilya did, no one was able to read the ice with such impeccable judgement as he and Ilya did, and every time they talked about hockey, it felt like settling into a dance he knew to heart.
Ilya watched Shane organise the dishwasher, too. He wanted to do it at first, but Shane insisted he had a system and would much prefer doing it himself, but Ilya could do it the next time Shane stayed over in Boston. He thought he saw Ilya's eyes going a little softer hearing that, but he didn't dwell on it for long.
"Why don't you come over to the couch and I'll join you when I'm done?" Shane asked. He was probably taking too long, and he didn't want Ilya to think he wasn't allowed to just enjoy Shane's space.
"No, I want to watch you load the dishwasher, Shane." Ilya didn't move, and Shane wasn't sure if Ilya was teasing him or not.
"Oh, um, I mean I'm just putting the plates in. It's not like it's an action movie." He shrugged. "I'm sure it's boring for you. You don't have to keep me company just because it's my place. Seriously."
"Yes, it's very boring." Ilya nodded. "But you being boring is very interesting. You are so boring I am fascinated."
Shane rolled his eyes at the teasing, but didn't push. He supposed if Ilya insisted on joining him at his domestic tasks he wouldn't exactly mind. He would, actually, really like having Ilya with him during those tasks, even if everything Ilya did was stand around and watch him. Of course, if they actually did share a space, Ilya would have to pick up some of the tasks.
He wasn't sure how his brain went from leaving Ilya to watch him load the dishwasher to living together with Ilya, but that thought was so hauntingly inviting, it hurt Shane's chest a little. When he finally finished and went back to the couch with Ilya, he wasn't sure what they would do, then. Obviously they could put on one of the seven games from last night, although the Vancouver and Washington game might be the most relevant to watch, considering Montreal would be playing them in five days. Ilya might insist they watch the Ottawa and Anaheim game, though, or the New Jersey and New York, just to make fun of Scott Hunter. He wanted to watch hockey with Ilya, he really did, Ilya had extremely funny commentaries every time he texted Shane, but watching Hunter's slump made him kind of sad.
"Do you have any channel that is not hockey?" Ilya grabbed the remote and started turning channels.
"Yeah, I have Netflix?" Shane said. "Mom and dad watches it whenever they're over, I don't use it much, to be honest."
"Shane Hollander having me at his house to Netflix and chill?" Ilya chided. "Scandalous."
Shane couldn't help rolling his eyes. He sat down next to Ilya as he surfed through all the movies and series, growing more and more bored by the second.
"Nothing catches your eye?" He asked.
"No. This is no fun. I have better movies at home." Ilya pouted, sinking into the couch. He gave Shane the remote, and Shane started scrolling too.
"Stranger things?"
"Too long."
"Movies then. Um… Titanic?"
"Too sad."
"Ten things I hate about you?"
"I would rather hear ten things you hate about me, Hollander."
"How to lose a guy in ten days?"
"Ah, I think saying his first name during sex would do the trick." Ilya glanced at him, and Shane swatted his arm.
"Shut up. How about he's just not that into you?"
"But you are just that into me, yes?"
"You're so annoying." Shane groaned.
"Is that a movie as well, or is that one of ten things you hate about me?"
Shane had just about enough of Ilya's comments, so he threw the remote and tackled Ilya, and was met with defence immediately. They laughed as they tried to knock each other down, Shane with his thighs pinning Ilya and Ilya with a death grip on each of Shane's wrist. Ilya wiggled under him, and Shane was relieved, for the first time, that he decided to put the coffee table far away from the couch, so that when they inevitably tumbled onto the ground, at least they weren't knocking things over, saved for a few pillows and the throw blanket. Ilya was panting over him, and Shane suddenly felt his breath caught. He hadn't looked at Ilya this closely for so long, and it struck him, strangely, how familiar Ilya felt. He was in Shane's clothes, his hair in disarray and his mouth curled up in a smug smile. He leaned down and kissed Shane, a soft, chaste kiss before going in again and swallowed Shane's breath with his tongue, his hands slowly sliding from Shane's wrist to his hands, intertwining the fingers and lowering his weight on Shane. Ilya worked him slowly, trailing kisses along his jawline and down his neck. Shane couldn't help but let out a little hum of appreciation, and felt Ilya's smile on his collarbone like a gift. His cock was straining against his pants, and through the fabric, he could feel Ilya was getting worked up too.
"I have an idea." Ilya said. Shane hummed as a reply. "We skip the Netflix, straight to chill."
"You're impossible." Shane snorted, and was shut up with another kiss.
They gave each other enthusiastic blowjobs, then scrambled back onto the couch and watched whatever was on the waiting screen. It was "Ten things I hate about you". Ilya's front was pressed on Shane's back, and his chin hooked on Shane's shoulder. He made comments here and there, mostly about how hot Heath Ledger was and his opinions on the cars he saw in the movie.
"We should go paintball shooting." Ilya remarked. "Want to cover you in ink."
"I'll beat your ass so bad you'll look like one of those abstract paintings you have in your house." Shane quipped.
"No, I'll beat you. Then I'll push you down the haystack and fuck you right there." Ilya shook his head. "You will look like a scarecrow after I am done."
"Gross." Shane laughed. "I'm not having sex in a haystack."
The windows to Shane's condo did not provide any hint about the time of day, so unless Ilya made an effort to look at his phone, he wouldn't know how much time had passed. The blizzard was painting the sky an icy white, and the wind was howling and banging on the cracks of the window. It looked miserable outside, but in the Shane's living room and cuddling up next to Shane, Ilya had never felt warmer. He was content watching a teenage rom com with a corny plot and Shakespeare references, as long as he had Shane leaning softly against him. As the movie was going, Ilya weighed his options. He could lie to Shane and himself, saying whatever was between them was purely physical and casual, and that he didn't feel anything deeper than physical attraction. He could take the coward's way out and let Shane down and lie to his face and watch as Shane see through him but would be so kind and not call him out. He knew, instinctively, that if he were to cut things off, he would be met with understanding. But could he? Now that he had Shane in his embrace and knew what it was like standing in Shane's kitchen, watching him go about his day and making small conversations. Now that he knew how Shane looked when he was fast asleep and the tip of his nose touching Ilya's forehead. Could he bring himself to give all of it up for a country and a family that never seemed to love him? He wasn't sure anymore, so he did what he could do and buried himself deeper in the crook of Shane's neck, savouring in the smell of Shane.
They finished the movie with Ilya a little teary eyed, not that he let Shane see it, and Shane took him to the personal gym he had below his condo, and they worked out to let out some of the energy. Ilya felt only slightly bad for his teammates, who had to all cramped up in the tiny hotel gym, while he was free to roam around all the machines he wanted, and the spectacle that is Shane Hollander himself. Shane was so fucking hot, all sweaty and breathless after a set, that Ilya wanted to fuck him right then and there. Granted, Ilya wanted to fuck Shane about ninety percent of the time he thought of Shane, with the other ten percent he mostly wanted to cuddle with Shane. He was so fucking pathetic, he was sure Shane would laugh if he could read Ilya's mind. Or he wouldn't. Or he would look at Ilya with those big brown eyes and kiss Ilya on the lips while his own curl up.
They checked their respective phone for the blizzard announcements, and apparently the Raiders could get a flight out to Pittsburgh on the day of the game. That was pretty much the best case scenario, and all Ilya had to do was get his ass back to the hotel before the flight.
"When are you going?" Shane asked when Ilya finally looked up from his phone.
"Twelve tomorrow, that's when the roads are all cleared up. Team leaves at one."
"Okay."
Shane looked a little disappointed, and Ilya was too. He wanted to play hockey, and he wanted the blizzard to stop, but having nights alone with Shane is so precious he wished the weather had been a little more dire. It wouldn't be fair on his team, but Ilya really, really wanted to be with Shane. So he tried making do with what he had, and pulled Shane into a searing kiss.
"Still have time for sex, if that's what you're asking." Ilya teased.
He half expected Shane to roll his eyes or tell him to shut up, but Shane only pressed up closer and deepened the kiss. It was a little desperate, the kiss, on both of their ends. Maybe it was because of the impending deadline looming over them both, or maybe just having Shane like this would never be enough for Ilya. God, he was greedy.
"I need to, uh, prep, first." Shane said shyly. "Come to the bedroom and wait?"
Ilya felt like his heart was going to explode at how earnest Shane was, but he simply nodded and let Shane guide him to the bedroom again. He couldn't help remembering the night before, with Shane also holding his hand and leading him up the staircase he had learned by heart.
The moment Ilya sank into Shane, he knew he was done for. He hadn't realised how much he needed this, not until he lost it, and not until he had it again. Shane, with his sparkling brown eyes and his beautiful faint freckles scattered all across his face, his shoulders and his thighs. Shane with his gorgeous, thick thighs wrapped so tightly around Ilya's waist, pulling him in as he slammed himself inside Shane over and over. He loved watching Shane's face as he was getting fucked, the blissed out look and the unconscious moans spilling out of him as his prostate was full of Ilya. Ilya pushed himself in as deep as he could, watching his cock disappearing into Shane's body and Shane taking him over and over, his hole clutching tight and his finger dug deep on his shoulder. Shane was calling out his name in between curses, and Ilya could tell he was getting close, because the sentences were becoming words and words were becoming incoherent sounds and he was pulling Ilya down and rubbed his cock against the tuff of hair on Ilya's stomach, trying to get off with their skin.
"You're so fucking beautiful." Ilya murmured into Shane's lips, English failing him at that moment. "So fucking perfect for me, just for me."
There were more things that danced around the tip of his tongue, but Ilya had enough control of himself to hold them back. He kissed Shane as he felt Shane coming, swallowing the whimpers and the shaky breaths and the moans, and collapsed onto Shane as he did the final thrusts and came too, buried deep inside Shane, his cock twitching and leaking for what felt like forever. Shane's cum was sticky on both their stomach, but it took a surprisingly long time before he let out the usual uncomfortable sounds. Ilya wanted to think it was for his sake, because he truly wasn't sure if he had recovered from the afterglow. He felt his hair tugged lightly, and when he looked up, Shane was smiling at him all soft.
"Shower?" Ilya asked, and he nodded.
Shane was taking his time in the shower, holding Ilya and washing him thoroughly. He lathered soap on both their bodies, then scrubbed off all the sweat and cum, and incredulously, Ilya felt like he was precious in Shane's hands. How strange, he thought, being caressed and cossetted and pampered with the same hands that handled the puck like it was a bullet and murdered every one of his opponents on the ice. How strange, that the hands calloused from constant practice and exercise now roam his body with the care he'd only seen reserved for family heirlooms.
Had anyone ever wanted to stay in a bathroom forever? Or was Ilya just looking to spend forever with Shane?
Ilya had been so pliant in Shane's bed for the past two days, it took him aback a bit. The man was like a big teddy bear, clutching onto Shane like a lifeline, and pressed their bodies together like he wanted them to share a breath. Shane found it a little funny that this was the same man who insisted there was nothing different between them the last time they fucked, but he didn't mention. He could sense Ilya wasn't in the mood for confronting conversations yet, even ones played as jokes, so he was happy to let Ilya invade every last inch of his personal space. Frankly, he was happy to have any version of Ilya, as long as it was him.
They napped until it was time for dinner, and Shane made a dish with salmon while Ilya tossed up a salad with what he could find in the fridge. It was strangely familiar, and they moved around the kitchen like a dance they learned for years. Ilya took up the space he needed, and held Shane's waist to move him whenever he needed to. They ate at the peninsula, because the dining table was too big and Shane mostly just wanted to sit next to Ilya. He was scrolling past emails and chats from his team, the two of them eating in silence and simply existing in the comfortable bubble of their shared space. Hayden was texting Shane the photos of Ruby and Emma watching Amber from her little bed, and Shane laughed as he watched the twins dangle their little toys in the hopes of catching the eyes of their baby sister.
"What's so funny?" Ilya peeked over.
"It's Hayden's kids." Shane answered, then saw Ilya rolling his eyes. "He's catching up!"
"You see him in two days."
"Not his kids though, that's why he's updating."
"Mhm." Ilya didn't sound too convinced, but he leaned over anyway to look at the photos. "Cute children. Shame they are his."
"Ilya." Shane warned.
It might have worked, because Ilya stopped whatever chirp that was on his tongue, and stared at Shane.
"Say it again." He asked.
"What? Ilya?"
"Again."
"Ilya."
"Shane." A peck on the lips. "Shane."
Well if only his name on Ilya's tongue didn't sound like the sugar Shane often tried helplessly not to indulge. He smiled, letting Ilya kiss his face gently, indulging in the moment of sweetness he wanted for so long.
"So much for nothing is different, hm?" Shane asked, because he still hadn't learned how to leave things well enough alone, apparently.
"You trapped me in your house, Hollander. I am helpless."
"No, you walked here all on your own."
"You made me walk here, by witchcraft."
"Oh so I'm a witch now?"
"Yes. Evil, dangerous witch that seduced me with your powers."
Shane huffed out a laugh, and leaned in for another kiss.
"And it worked?" He asked, raising his hand to gently stroke the side of Ilya's ribs. "Are you bewitched?"
"Yes." Ilya breathed out, and the golden specks of the living room lights danced in his eyes. Shane wanted to drown in them. He wanted to be the reflection in Ilya's eyes every day, wanted to see himself in the way Ilya's eyes sparkled when he smiled and softened when Shane said something sweet.
"Ilya." Shane muttered. He wondered if one day he could say the name without it being a revelation.
They fucked on the couch. Ilya went inside him with low, torturous thrusts that made Shane's guts do several somersaults, and held his body in a way that made Shane feel like he was a statue carved with marble. He felt like a work of art, the way Ilya was looking at him. Ilya was breathless, driving into him steady and hopeless and Shane felt so full and warm. His cock was rubbing into Shane's prostate over and over, and the sheer thrill of getting fucked was driving Shane insane, and when he came, he came all over the couch and on his stomach. Ilya sucked on one of his pecs as he continued his pace, moaning Shane's name like a prayer, his hands traveling all over Shane's chest and thighs, spilling into Shane as he gripped Shane's waist. They had fucked on this very couch before, but never had he felt such intimacy as when Ilya looked up at him, and for a moment nothing else in the world existed, and Shane was trapped in a chamber with Ilya. He would stay there forever, if he could. If Ilya had asked.
Sleep didn't come easy to either of them, it seemed. They did all the usual routine, showering, brushing their teeth, Ilya even let Shane put on some expensive Japanese moisturiser his mother got him for his birthday, then went under the covers together. But they couldn't sleep. Instead, they stayed up talking about mundane things. Their teammates' annoying drinking habits, their predictions for the Stanley Cup, the potential trades in the league, all the things that didn't dig to deep into their feelings but are enough to keep them listening to each other. Shane was really funny. Ilya had known this about him, even if Shane's humour is a lot different from Ilya's, he can't deny that sometimes Shane's quick comments caught him off guard. He was giggling like a teenager to Shane's jokes, and realised, with a tiny bit of horror, he was experiencing symptoms similar to having a fucking crush. It was embarrassing. It was wonderful.
The blizzard stopped for the most part, and Ilya supposed they would start clearing out the roads soon. Which meant soon it would be time for Ilya to leave, and he wondered when he would be able to have Shane all to himself like this again. The two days they spent together gave him a glimpse of what life with Shane Hollander would look like, and he was so selfish, but for a moment he thought about leaving everything in Russia behind to have another moment like this. Shane Hollander tended to have that effect on him, the beautiful, perfect man. Ilya wanted to be angry at him, but he couldn't. Not when Shane was the best thing in his life at that moment, not when spending a day with Shane felt like a cure.
He had to have fallen asleep at some point, because when he opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of brown eyes watching him intently.
"Hey." Shane said.
"Hello." Ilya replied. "What time?"
"A little over seven. You can still sleep in a bit more."
"No. Let's have breakfast."
And they did. Then they played the hockey game on Shane's controller, then Ilya was bored again and demanded Shane give him a house tour, to which Shane complied.
"I don’t know what you're looking for anyway, you always tell me I'm boring." Shane rolled his eyes as he led Ilya through the guest bedroom and en suite. "My parents usually stay here for the home games."
It was true. Shane Hollander's house is boring, in every sense of the word. He had a machine for almost every complex function, and had such meticulous standards about the quality of his appliances. It was so fucking boring. Ilya was endeared.
"This is the laundry." Shane continued. "Your coat is in the cabinet, remind me to get it for you before you have to go."
He didn't stop Ilya when he wanted to snoop on the appliances either, appearing absolutely content with Ilya looking into his life. Sure, Shane blushed when he made a comment about how specific something was, but they both knew it wasn't with malice and moreso curiosity, so Shane explained everything away while Ilya trailed behind him.
"Your house is very nice." Ilya told him after the tour wrapped up. "Very Shane Hollander."
"You keep saying that." He smiled. "I never know what you mean."
"Very high quality." Perfect, pristine, beautiful, was what Ilya wanted to say. "Professional."
"Sure."
Lunch went by a lot faster than Ilya had hoped, and when it was time to pack up, Ilya intentionally kept Shane's shirt and sweaters on and left his own behind, only taking his trench coat. He was absolutely certain his teammates wouldn't notice, so it was only a matter of whether Shane decided to call him out on it. He felt Shane's gaze on the sweater lingering for a few seconds, but the look in his eyes let Ilya know he was just as willing as Ilya to play dumb. Maybe he wanted to keep Ilya's sweater as well.
"Um…" Shane suddenly frowned, and Ilya felt his heart sink a little. Please don’t ask for the sweater back, he thought. "You shouldn't leave your neck bare like this. Hold on."
Shane disappeared into his room, and came back with a scarf.
"It should keep you warm." He wrapped the scarf around Ilya's neck.
Scarves, Ilya knew, were items that usually carried the smell of cologne. Shane's smell was lingering on the tip of his nose, and by the way he smiled, Ilya was certain he knew what he was doing.
"Russians don’t get cold, Shane, but I appreciate the concern." Ilya put on a smug face.
"Sure, you definitely weren't pouting when I asked you to change out of your cold wet sweater two days ago."
"No, not me. Must have been your other men."
"Yeah, I have a whole roster of men coming for refugee during a blizzard. Like a shelter."
"How generous of you." Ilya smirked. "Mr. Philanthropist."
"How the fuck do you know that word?" Shane's eyes went wide.
"Russian is filantrop. Easy guess." He shrugged.
"Uh, no. Not easy guess. You were looking for the word. You're smart."
"Yes, you have discovered my darkest secret. I am not dumb as rocks hockey player. Surprise."
"Ilya." Shane said in that stern tone that made Ilya's heart go all wobbly. "There are hockey players that are functionally illiterate, and you use complex words, and I don't care if they're the same in Russian, you have a better vocabulary than probably half the MLH."
"And literacy turns you on?" Ilya teased. "Next time when we fuck, should I bring dictionary? Say intercourse instead of sex?"
"Ilya."
"Quote Leo Tolstoy? Dostoevsky? Or Shakespeare?"
"Shut up."
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate."
Shane swatted his arm, but he was visibly flushing, and definitely a little turned on.
"Shane, you are actually hard."
"Fuck, it's not…" Shane groaned onto his shoulder. "It's the fucking tone you said it."
"Okay, next time I will recite Romeo and Juliet."
"Please don’t."
"But you get so horny."
"Oh my fucking god."
Ilya wasn't a cruel person, so he made sure to get Shane off one last time before he left. Of course, it was impossible not to tease him with a little literature recital, in Russian or English, and he secretly thanked his father, who made sure he still got excellent grades in school while doing hockey, so that now he could watch Shane get all flustered and shy and horny next to him.
"Fuck. I'm gonna get hard reading a book now." Shane complained.
"Not any book." He corrected. "Only Russian literature and Shakespeare."
"Jesus Christ."
"No, Leo Tolstoy for you."
Shane pushed Ilya by his chest, and let them both out of his condo. The staircase down the back entry was cold and empty, making Ilya feel like he left half his soul in that cosy living room, with the dimmed lights and the boring kitchen and the boring laundry and the boring dryer cabinet. Maybe he did.
"I'll text you the code to the front door, next time you're here." Shane said, and it sounded like a promise.
"Brave." Ilya managed to say, every other word stuck in his throat. That fucking apple is back again.
"Yeah, so you don’t freeze to death next time you come." Shane tugged gently on the collar of his coat. "I'll see you at All Stars?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
"Okay."
They gave each other a lingering soft kiss, and as Ilya closed the back door, he could see Shane waving goodbye. His heart threatened to rip itself out of his chest and jump back into Shane's arms, but Ilya calmed it down by breathing in a lungfull of Shane's scarf. It'll have to do, for now. At least he had something to hold on to. All Stars, a scarf, a sweater, same shit.
He wondered if Shane was holding on to his sweater the same way.
He was almost certain Shane was. It made him unreasonably happy.