Chapter Text
"Uhhhgnn Shane..." Ilya moaned as his orgasm was pulled from his body. The man on top of him completed the challenge to make him come even faster than Ilya thought he would. He watched Shane slowly release his grasp on their erections, still pulsating against each other as they came down from their high.
His voice was quickly followed up by a breathily soft,
"Ilya."
Ilya could feel the weight of Shane's head rest against his forehead, and he opened his eyes to meet them. Shane Hollander had said his name. Ilya's first name. And it sounded like a prayer coming off Shane's lips. Soft and vulnerable and honest and raw.
Perfect.
Ilya liked the way his name rolled off Shane's tongue. It sounded pretty, in a way that didn't mean Ilya was teasing him. In a gentle way. In a way that felt like it meant more.
Ilya said Shane's name on accident in the heat of his climax on his own fucking couch. He didn't mean to say it, but he had no control over it either. He had dared Shane to get him off and this is what the result was. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. An English phrase about equal risk equal reward went through his mind, but he wasn't sure if it really applied to this situation either. Felt close enough though.
All the unspoken feelings that Ilya harbored in his chest whenever they had these secret moments together were always kept locked tight. From everyone. From his team, his family, the rest of the world, yes, but even more so from Shane. Because Ilya thought that if he were to tell Shane how he feels, then this thing between them would need to end.
Hearing Shane give the same type of revelation was enough to make Ilya's quietly softening cock twitch like it wanted to get hard and go another round immediately. At the same time, Ilya's heart rushed with more than post orgasm fervor.
Shane said his name. Shane said his name.
And for a moment, Ilya wasn't afraid of his feelings.
"I gotta go," Shane said blankly as he stared at the wall behind Ilya's head. Their hearts had not even slowed from their synchronized climaxes and now Shane was climbing off of Ilya like he'd just made the biggest fucking mistake of his life and was trying to correct it.
"Go?"
"I'm sorry," Shane repeated. It was funny, he wasn't looking at Ilya like he was trying to own up to an apology. He looked scared, not sorry. "I have an early team meeting, I forgot."
"Oh really? You, Shane Hollander? You forgot team meeting?" Ilya pointed listlessly. "Fucking liar."
Shane huffed a breath, his face falling from fearful to irritated. "I'm not the liar," he accused.
Ilya's brows raised, and he looked around like there was someone else in the room Shane could be talking to before clarifying verbally. "Oh, I'm the liar?"
"You're not telling the truth," Shane persisted.
Ilya was confused. English wasn't his first language and so he guessed that there was something he was missing in Shane's accusation. "What do I lie about?" He said, standing up.
Shane took a step back before steadying himself and pushing through to say what he had on his mind. "You wanted me to stay," he began. Ilya starred at him, not finding the issue.
"Yes, and you agreed to stay."
"You made me tuna melt," Shane pointed out.
"I'm sorry, I good host," Ilya fought back, hands going to his hips. "What else did I do wrong ah?"
Shane steeled himself. "You bought ginger ale."
"So fucking what!" Ilya was having a really hard time understanding what the big deal was.
"Were you planning for me to stay here? When have you ever drank ginger ale?"
Ilya shook his head, because he couldn't really counter that one instantly. Mainly because he bought it specifically because he thought that today would be the day that Shane could stay. He wouldn't go as far to say that he had some diabolical plan to keep Shane trapped in his house and suppply him with good food and his favorite beverage though.
He just knew he had an afternoon game the next day, and Shane didn't have anything going on because he was going to be flying out that afternoon. He wanted to have more time with Shane. He wanted to fuck in the morning when they woke up in bed together and eat cereal while they watched highlight reals of the games that had gone on and maybe, just maybe, get to know each other more. Have a normal day. He couldn't admit that though, because it would be point blank proving Shane's point.
So, instead, Ilya tried to turn it back. "How do you know I don't drink ginger ale," he stubbornly fought. Shane shook his head like that was ridiculous but Ilya wasn't giving it up. "Why is such big deal?"
"Because this isn't what we do, Il—Rozanov, fuck!"
Ilya lowered his hands that he didn't even realize he had began to raise. Shane's attempt to cover an almost slip of using his first name hurt more than Ilya expected. After hearing his name roll so effortlessly off Shane's tongue, him saying his last name felt cold and indifferent. What hurt worse is that it's exactly what Shane wanted it to feel like.
Shane was sending a message. He doesn't want more. Ilya let his guard down for a half a second in the heat of one moment and got every confirmation he could have ever needed about Shane's perspective on how things are between them. Shane doesn't want this. He doesn't want Ilya.
And Ilya couldn't really blame him. Aside from the obvious answer of them being bitter rivals on opposing teams that, in the public sphere, are known to hate each other and that makes relationships hard, Ilya had a hard time seeing any value in himself as a person.
He knows he's a great hockey player and an even better fuck. But his entire adult life and much of his later adolescents was focused on him being able to supply money to the people who were supposed to love him. He had no other purpose to them. They only called to demand, not even ask, for more. They didn't care about him. And deeply, Ilya internalized that to mean that his value to others only goes one of three ways.
Hockey, money, and sex.
Shane doesn't need his money, and he certainly doesn't look at Ilya as anything more than an enemy on the ice. That left one thing that Ilya was good for. It felt like bile in his throat when that hit him in the chest.
"Hollander," Ilya said, a small attempt to correct his mistake, to prove that he could put things back in the way Shane wants.
The other man can hardly look at him. He's not going to give Ilya a chance to explain, to mend.
This is why he wasn't supposed to let his guard down. This is why he was supposed to keep his feelings in check, and fuck, he didn't even say how he felt. He blew this up over a name. Is it really that easy to ruin a good thing?
"I'm sorry," Shane repeated, but it felt like he was holding himself back. Like there was a small part of him that wanted this to go differently. A part of him that wants to at least let them continue, pretend even that this didn't happen. Go back to fucking and that's it.
"Hollander," Ilya continued, clinging to the chance he could fix it. The word stay was on the tip of his tongue but that felt like a move he didn't want to risk with how Shane is reacting right now. It was what he wanted though.
Shane apologized with his eyes, and left the apartment without an other word. Ilya didn't try to get him to stay further. He did throw his TV remote into the flat screen though.
———————————————————————
Despite the way Shane left Ilya's apartment, Ilya wanted to reach out a thousand times. Every day he woke up, grabbed his phone, and was disappointed when there was no message in the thread with "Jane." His fingers hovered over the keyboard, imagining what it would be like to send out what was on his mind, to really be honest.
That was a dark place though, and Ilya wanted nothing to do with acknowledging his real feelings. He could mildly admit that they were there, but he treated them like a shadow you see in your bedroom as child at night. The kind that made you hide under the covers and squeeze your eyes shut til morning when you've made it through the worst of it without even having to face that monster in the dark.
That's what Ilya was doing. Just pretending that he didn't have these feelings and willing himself to be okay with what Shane and he had and shutting down any idea of it being more than an hour or two every couple of months.
He thought that he would be able to make up for what happened at his place. After all, he didn't really think that Shane was going to be able to shut him out forever. He thought over the next few weeks that if he were patient, Shane would see reason and reach out before the next game they had against each other in Montreal.
————————————————
About a month after everything went sideways, Ilya was at a coffee shop in downtown Boston with a few members of his team. He was flirting with the cute barista girl at the counter, throwing her a wink and liking the way her freckles became more prominent when she blushed as she handed him his coffee.
Ilya was still holding her eye when a TV in the left upper corner of the shop said something about Rose Landry's new guy. He wasn't paying much attention, but then he heard Shane's name, and the entire shop practically went dead silent. Maybe that was just because Ilya was losing his hearing.
The reporter of a daytime talk show or something like that, gossiped with their cohost about Rose Landry and Shane Hollander being seen out together multiple times and appearing quite cozy. Ilya would have called their bluff if they didn't immediately put up a few candid photos of the two of them coming out of restaurants together, holding hands, kissing...
Ilya's grip on his coffee slipped and the cup fell, knocking the edge of the counter, which made it tilt in Ilya's direction. The lid popped off and the hot contents splashed against his joggers.
"Fuck, god damnit!" Ilya cursed, throwing in a bit of Russian that probably had more to do with what he was seeing on TV than his soaking pants.
"Roz, you good?" Marleau checked with a hand on Ilya's shoulder.
"Da, yes," Ilya hissed, grabbing at a napkin from the dispenser on the counter and dabbing it at his attire.
"Can you believe that?" Marleau said, changing the subject back to the screen with a knock of his elbow to Ilya's arm. "I didn't think that guy had a sex drive."
It took everything in Ilya to not pummel Marleau on the spot. A sort of protectiveness lodged in his throat and he had to really swallow it down. Even still, he could feel the word vomit wanting to rise. Wanted to tell everyone that he knew exactly what Shane Hollander's sex drive was like, and it's not lacking in the slightest. He knew better than to say that, however.
It immediately made him think of all the times he's had Shane alone. In hotels and apartments and unfinished condos on broken ends of towns. How he's had him against the wall, in the shower, and pressed into the mattress.
The memory of his dick slipping into him, erection hot and iron hard while Shane was tight and panting on the bed, bent over. How Shane moaned and lolled his head to the side when Ilya's cock bruised his prostate. Every thrust, powerful, filthy, euphoric. Shane would appear cock drunk, moaning out Ilya's last name and mumbling things like "please don't stop" and "more."
And Ilya would give him more. He would grab Shane's hip and guide him back to meet every plunge of his length. Ilya would feel like he was going to come out of Shane's throat he would get so deep. He'd continue anyway and order Shane to stroke his own cock. All it took is a few well placed strokes and Shane was spilling onto the bed and Ilya was spilling into him through the condom.
"Probably exaggerated," Ilya shrugged indifferently. God he hoped so. "Gossip pages are rarely right."
"I don't know," Marleau mildly challenged. "To be noticed like that means you gotta be doing the nasty a lot."
Ilya's stomach dropped. He didn't disagree. And he hated that. Hated that Marleau is right and he is wrong.
He thought back to the day he fucked everything up. Before that though, when he was fishing for Shane's true sexual orientation. How he pressed him to talk about it and doubted his answer. He knew Shane liked men, obviously. But was he into women the way Ilya was as well, or were men the only thing that did it for him?
Ilya was curious because he wondered if Shane and his hook ups were the only time Shane got release. He wondered, maybe even hoped, that Shane didn't want to sleep with anyone else. That thought made Ilya's dick twitch.
But Shane emphatically denied it, claiming that he likes women and that his personal life is private. He's a shitty liar so Ilya obviously doubted him.
But now? Was this Shane proving that he was into women? Was this just to get back at him? To prove something to Ilya? He was doing it quite publicly and it was hard to think that if Shane was really into women and was telling the truth about wanting to keep his dating life private, that he would be so open a month after he rejected Ilya. Hell of a coincidence anyway.
"She'll dump him in a week."
Marleau chuckled under his breath, and shook his head as he walked away. Ilya couldn't take anymore conversation or photos of Shane and his girlfriend on a beach with interlocked fingers, so he nodded to the barista, waved off an offer of another cup of coffee, and walked out.
————————————————
A week later the Raiders are in Montreal for a game. When Ilya was in the locker room, he checked his phone every ten seconds, praying that he would get a message from Jane, asking when they were going to meet. It was Shane's city, so it was supposed to be his invite. That's at least the way Ilya saw it. He sure as fuck wasn't going to crawl back to him in enemy territory.
Shane didn't reach out though, and during warm-ups, Ilya could guess why.
Above the rink, in one of the private boxes, Rose Landry sat with her best friend Miles. She was stupidly pretty and that just pissed off Ilya more for some reason. It wasn't jealousy. He wasn't jealous of her. Shane had bagged Ilya, so of course a movie star is interested in him. No, it wasn't jealousy.
Rose Landry stood up when she saw herself in the big screen and turned around, showing off a Montreal Metros jersey with Shane's number 24 and name stitched on the back. She exaggeratedly blew a kiss to Shane who melted like a simp and waved shyly back up at her.
Ilya openly rolled his eyes so far in the back of his head one of his teammates joked about them getting stuck that way. He didn't care though. None of this mattered. Not Shane, not Rose Landry, not their perfect stupid relationship that he's seen nothing on social media about that wasn't hearts and fucking arrows of them on every refresh of his feed.
He secretly cursed himself for causing his algorithm to think he actually wanted to see them. Doing a deep search on everything he could find out about their relationship and when they started dating for hours multiple times a week would do that. So, now he can't even scroll without it becoming a misery pit of his own design.
Yeah, fuck them.
Ilya and Shane met in the middle of the rink for the face off.
Ilya had spent a majority of his warm up actively keeping his back to Shane after he watched him blush at Rose Landry. He was trying to build up a wall. Trying to make Shane the enemy again.
Ilya was quickly realizing that all the time they had spent fucking had slowly been eroding the way he felt about Shane on the ice. Not that he was going easy on him, fuck no. Just that heat of bitter rage that drove every muscle in his body to beat Shane was off. He was playing under a different emotion, not the hatred he had when they began their rookie season.
He wouldn't say it, what that feeling was. But it still drove him to be the best, to want to win, to want to rub it in Shane's face even. Only now it was just different. He had no other way of describing it, other than he just felt more in sync with him than against him. He may even be able to admit that he was a better payer under this new mind set. These new feelings.
Problem is Ilya doesn't want to feel this, whatever it is, feeling. He wants to hate Shane. He wants to go back to just being rivals. Nothing else. Not this complicated emotion that makes his heart weak and head confused.
He stopped his approach to the center of the ice and leaned forward. He didn't want to look at Shane so he tilted his head up at the ref, nodding at his pregame instruction. When he looked forward, though, Shane is looking directly at him.
Shane's eyes were narrowed, like he was concentrating hard on what was about to happen. Ilya wanted to concentrate as well, but he couldn't help himself either. He also wanted to be a dick.
He can see Shane's hesitancy. A slightly, no one else in the world would know it, hesitancy when their eyes locked. Ilya knew the puck was about to be dropped, and just before it is, before Shane could even look down at the ice, Ilya winks at him.
Ilya feels completely satisfied, carried on a high when he's able to win the face off and skate off with the puck. He smirks when he heard Shane cuss and chase after him. To his credit, Shane is extremely fast, and he caught up quickly, his stick knocking the puck out of Ilya's control.
They battle like that most of the first and second period. Neither one of them can touch the puck long enough for it to matter with the other coming in like a heat seeking missile to disrupt it all. It's really shitty playing though, their coaches furious that the star players couldn't break from each other. And they were distracted, not making good decisions and becoming almost sloppy.
"Rozanov! Get over here!" His coach bellowed when it was time for a rotation.
Ilya skated over and hopped the wall to the bench. He took a tongue lashing about getting his head out of the clouds and sat down without much arguing. He watched Shane's own coach have a similar explosion to get Shane off the ice and smirked to himself, pleased that he was causing problems for his rival.
Ilya tried to fight it, he really did. The need to look over at where Shane was seated. It had become a constant pull for him, especially since Shane was ignoring him the last month. He didn't want to look. He wanted to be indifferent. But he's a stupid bastard and he glanced over while pretending to follow the play on the ice. Subtle, Ilya.
Shane wasn't looking back at him this time, at least not right away. Ilya took the opportunity to study him. He watched in almost slow motion as beads of sweat dripped from Shane's chin down his throat. Watched his Adam's apple bob as he squeezed his water bottle and swallowed the contents that hit his tongue. He breathed quickly, and his face was flushed in ways that reminded Ilya of his post climax high.
Ilya should have looked away. But he was transfixed when Shane turned his head, and Ilya didn't know if it was deliberate that he caught his eye or an accident. Ilya isn't sure which he would prefer at this point.
Shane held his gaze for four incredibly long seconds. The world stood still as Ilya was caught practically gawking. He didn't look away first. This time, Shane was the one to surprise him, choosing to pucker his lips and feign a smooch in Ilya's direction.
It made Ilya's breath choke because what the fuck was that? He about missed the change in rotation, but Shane didn't. Ilya watched a second later as Shane hopped the wall and darted out to get the puck back, calling for it with a slap of his stick on the ice.
"Shit," Ilya cussed under his breath as he hopped off the bench and rushed forward.
Shane received the puck on the outside and tried to bring it back to center, but Ilya was having none of that. He slammed Shane into the wall, hearing his helmet crash against it hard.
Shane immediately pushed back, trying to block Ilya from regaining control of the puck by forcing his hips backwards and into Ilya's center. Ilya had him caged between his arms and the glass.
"Is where you want to be?" Ilya chirped in Shane's ear.
It was an incredibly petty thing to say. Ilya knew that. But he's pissed and wanted to get a rise out of Shane. Wanted to banter, wanted to fuck with him.
The man he's collided with didn't give him a response though, only brought back his elbow and swung it at Ilya, regaining some distance when Ilya was caught off guard by the aggression and was able to maneuver his way out of Ilya's grasp.
Ilya sprinted after Shane and they continued, again, to go back and forth. There is a cheap shot by one of Boston's players that tripped Shane up and caused a foul. Shane is fine, but the player is sent to the penalty box.
Ilya took a glance in the stands and saw that Rose Landry is holding both hands to her face as she watched her boyfriend climb up from the ice.
"Doesn't your girlfriend know hockey," Ilya commented as he glided up to Shane.
"She can skate better than you," Shane snapped back.
Was he saying that he and Rosa Landry have skated together? Hold on, was he admitting that Rose Landry was his girlfriend?
White hot jealously spiked unreasonably in Ilya's gut. He thanked God he doesn't get flustered easily but his composure barely holds until he'd thought of a response.
Ilya narrowed his eyes, skating closer and lowering his voice so only Shane could hear. He swipes at his nose so his words can't be read by any camera that was surely on them.
"Eh, what else does she do better than me, huh?" He asked with a wink. "Surely not everything."
"Fuck you, asshole," Shane spit.
"Fuck you!" Ilya shot back.
The pair begin moving towards each other, yelling obscenities and other trash talk that's frequented around the ice. Nothing below the belt, but enough that it gathered the attention of everyone else, and before hands can be laid, the pair are being separated from each other, still barking at one another as they are dragged apart.
The Raiders lose 0-1.
—————————————————
That night Ilya is extra irritated, for multiple reasons. First, and most importantly, they lost against the Metros. That's just gross in and of itself. It made his blood boil even more because of the second reason, which was that Shane pulled out a win in front of his girlfriend, Rose fucking Landry.
It made him physically ill to think about them celebrating after Shane left the locker room, no doubt he pulled her close and kissed her in front of every one. He could show off that he was with her. He could never do that with Ilya. Not that they were together. Not that Ilya wanted to be together, just. The principle of the matter, or whatever.
Ilya shook his head as he looked at himself in the mirror of his hotel bathroom. He looked at his phone. Still no message from Jane. His heart constricted when his mind unwilling went to imagining them back at Shane's hotel room or maybe, more likely, Rose Landry's penthouse or something. Were they having sex right now?
Ilya cursed. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't put that image in his head. He couldn't handle being rejected like this.
"Fuck this shit," he hissed, pushing off the counter and stalking into the open space of his hotel room.
"I need to get laid," he spat. His teammate looked at him like he couldn't put two and two together about how Ilya expected him to sort that out.
"I'm not sure I can help with that."
"Let's go to a club," Ilya rolled his eyes. When his teammate still struggled to connect the dots, Ilya snapped. "Call people!"
His teammate jumped from the bed and muttered a quick understanding and pulled out his phone to text the usual crew.
Ilya felt his own phone vibrate in his back pocket. When he pulled it out he read the banner, coming across in Russian text.
Svetlana: What are you doing tonight?
—————————————————————
The club they land on is in the heart of Montreal. As soon as Ilya arrived with Marleau and a couple other members of his team he is bombarded with music with a base pulse that vibrated in his core and lights that matched the tempo blaring through the speakers. People were everywhere. Dancing, drinking, making out in dark corners. None of it wasn't taken in by Ilya.
Foolishly, Ilya gave a second look through the entire space. He glanced closely at the backs of heads of dark hair, but none of them were who he was looking for. He wants to kill himself. He wasn't looking for anyone, he told himself.
"Looking for me?"
Ilya turned to his right, and huffed out a breath. "Svetlana," he greets with a relieved breath as he drew her in for an embrace.
Svetlana looked him over with a hand on his shoulder, giving her assessment when they pulled apart. "What's wrong?" She asked in Russian. "Brooding over your loss?"
Ilya rolled his eyes, answering back in their mother tongue as well. "Whatever."
Svetlana narrows her eyes like she knows there is something in front of her that she can't read or is in a different language. "Well, I hope you're upset," she added. "That game was terrible."
"Yes, this is why I want to spend time with you," Ilya sarcastically agreed. "So you can rub it in."
Svetlana waved him off with a laughing scoff. She wasn't really poking at him seriously, and Ilya knew that. He and Svetlana were like siblings at times. Bickering and arguing but always coming together in the end. Ilya had a huge crush on her when they were growing up and feelings were mutual for a while. She was his first and he hers. Now they are best friends, though that line gets blurred from time to time, not exactly keeping it strictly friendly all the time. More friends with benefits than just friends.
Tonight was one of the nights that Ilya was hoping that the line could be blurred. She was in Montreal purely on coincidence and the chance of taking advantage of their close proximity was the good luck that Ilya was desperately needing at this point.
"You are too tense," Svetlana told him, switching to English. "Come, I need to dance with you."
Ilya let Svetlana pull him into the throng of people on the dance floor. Svetlana raises her arms to the ceiling, rolling her head against Ilya's chest as his hands wander down her sides. He could see her smile as their bodies press against each other and he felt, for a moment, like he's content. He wouldn't go as far to say he's happy. But being with Svetlana reminded him of the good parts of his childhood. Being able to speak Russian also allowed him to let loose in ways he couldn't normally.
They drink and dance and drink more. The night is great and near the end, Ilya is proud of himself. He hasn't thought about a brown eyed boy with freckles and black hair. He hasn't been looking for him in the crowd. He hasn't even been looking at his phone like he was waiting for a text asking him to come over for a secret hook up. He's too busy dancing with his team and his best friend and it's great.
"I need another drink," Svetlana said in Russian as they were sitting down in a private area of the club.
Ilya was already drunk and sure that another may push him into belligerent but he nodded and went off to the bar anyway. He signaled for another round and waited with the most patient thrum of his fingers against the bar top. He was glancing around—again—not looking for anyone in particular because he's having a good time.
His eyes tracked across the oval bar where a fit African American man leaned against the bar with his arms crossed. He didn't recognize Ilya when their eyes met, in fact they hardly stayed on Ilya's at all. But Ilya knows exactly who is in front of him.
It's Rose Landry's best friend, the guy that was at the game with her tonight. Miles. She hardly goes anywhere without him from what Ilya has read online. At least that's the way it looked from all the pictures in the media he's been doom scrolling.
Miles was seated directly across from where Ilya was waiting, so when his face turned upwards and bright smile began as he waved someone over to him, Ilya's blood ran cold as if life itself was being pulled from him. His heart stopped and breath was held as he slowly watched Rose Landry appear from the crowd and stroll across the club towards Miles.
Where he goes, she goes. Where she goes...
Ilya stared wide eyed as the length of Rose Landry's arms and hands leads to her connection to Shane Hollander, happily following his girlfriend with interlocked fingers.
Ilya couldn't pull himself away from what he was seeing. His eyes locked on how Shane was holding Rose Landry's hand. The most intimate contact in the simplest way. Ilya could never hold Shane's hand. He could fuck him in private, but he would never be able to touch him like that in public. Such a little thing so easily taken for granted.
If Ilya weren't having a good time, he would be jealous.
"Nah-shohl-syah," Svetlana said, as if he were lost. "There you are."
Ilya could barely acknowledge her back, still fixated on the way Shane's arm effortlessly wrapped around Rose Landry's when they were greeting Miles with friendly kisses on the cheeks and loose embraces.
Svetlana noticed the distraction, her own eye following where Ilya's is directed. She hummed as she looked at the way Shane Hollander was tangled up with Rose Landry. "Mmm jealous of your rival?" She guessed with a competitive air.
"What?" Ilya said, only tearing his eyes away for a second to glance at Svetlana before being unable to not look back towards Shane.
Svetlana gave an obvious nod, taking Ilya's head in her hands. "We'll see who beats whom," she proclaimed in Russian. She pulled his mouth to hers. His hand instinctively went to her neck, but it felt like a move more meant to break them apart than to progress things, which was utterly confusing.
This is why he agreed to hang out with her. She was supposed to distract him. Make him forget about Shane and everything that's happened in the last month. But her lips didn't fit the way Shane's did. Her hands were too small and body too fragile. She didn't fit. Not the way she used to with him and it's like every second she's touching him is a reminder of what he really wanted because it's not what he has right now.
Svetlana, equally puzzled by his lack of enthusiastic response, opened her eyes and drew back enough to give him a quizzical expression. "Is what you wanted?" She asked in English. "Ilya?"
Ilya didn't answer. He turned his head, looking across the bar as everything feels like it's going in slow motion. Shane wasn't holding Rose Landry's hand anymore. He wasn't facing her at all. Ilya's heart finds its pace again when he met Shane's gaze from across the bar.
If watching Shane walk into the club as arm candy for a movie star felt like it was happening in slow motion, Ilya watching Shane whisper something to his girlfriend and drift back into the crowd was going in hyper speed. He suddenly felt like he did something wrong again. Like there was a line he crossed and his chance at fixing it was slipping through his fingers.
He didn't say anything to Svetlana when he turned away from her and went in the direction he watched Shane exit.
Shane was nowhere in sight. Ilya had a mind to think that he left. That thought made him feel conflicted in the worst ways because it means he's becoming pathetic either way. Happy because Shane didn't have any indifference towards him, and heartbroken because Ilya can't mend anything if he's not here.
The club had a few different hallways and they were scantly lit. Ilya walked down one that lead to the restrooms. The club is almost closed, so there aren't many people loitering around, at least on the men's side. The crowd is drunk and the lights are dark, so getting anywhere and finding anyone was difficult.
Ilya checked the men's room, as creepy as he knew that sounded, but Shane wasn't there either. "Fuck," he muttered in Russian, coming out of the restroom with his head down.
He didn't see a pair of hands suddenly grip his collar until he was pinned against the wall. He would have taken a swing if it were anyone other than the man in front of him.
"Shane Hollander," Ilya breathed with a smirk. His tone was far more relieved than anything else. "Is your head okay?"
Shane had his face in a scowl. "Shut up. Why are you following me?" He demanded.
And, okay, that's a fair question. But Ilya didn't have a simple answer. His thoughts about wanting to mend things and watching his chance slip out of his grasp feel like distant thoughts with Shane's hands against his chest. He didn't want to mend anything right now, because he has pride. He wanted to be a dick.
Instead, he grits his teeth and pushes Shane back across the short width of the hallway and pins him against the wall. Shane's face looks surprised but not afraid. Like he expected his rival to react in some way and this isn't an unexpected action.
"Is where you want to be, Shane Hollander?" Ilya asked, suggestive smirk returning to his face.
"God, you're such an asshole," Shane said. He didn't make a move to have Ilya release him though, so Ilya didn't. "What are you doing?"
Ilya didn't have an answer for that either. He's a man without answers. All he had were questions. Why did Shane freak out over a can of soda? Why was he dating Rose Landry? Why didn't he reach out to Ilya after the game? He can't ask those questions though. He already knew most of the answers anyway.
Ilya shrugged his lips. "What are you doing, Shane Hollander?"
Shane pushed Ilya back. He's not pinning him against the wall, but Ilya leaned against it anyway. Shane stepped into his space, expression serious.
"Stop it," Shane commanded.
"Stop what?" Ilya asked, eyes not leaving Shane's.
"Stop saying my full name like..."
"Like what?"
"Like it means something," Shane snapped.
"It does mean something," Ilya quietly admitted. Over the base of the music he was surprised Shane heard him at all. The look on his face confirms he did though. "It does mean something," he repeated. And his eyes drifted towards Shane's lips. Ilya's body was limp, arms hung loosely at his sides, like the wall was the only thing keeping him upright.
"You're drunk," Shane assessed, tone trying to be corrective, but his eyes dropped to Ilya's mouth as well, and Ilya watched him wet his bottom lip. That took all the authority he was trying to muster straight out the window.
Things were moving in slow motion now. Shane was lifting his hand, while Ilya stood paralyzed in fixation when that hand held his cheek. It felt like everything in that moment. All he wanted. For so long he's wanted Shane to touch him again.
Ilya was slowing his breathing, forcing his head to clear for the moment. Shane was right, he was drunk. And they were in a hallway in a packed club full of equally drunk people with phones and bad decision making. As much as he wanted to pull Shane into him and kiss him until they are both breathless, he knows he can't.
And that reminds him of people in Shane's life that he doesn't need to hide with. If he were caught with Rose Landry in a dark hallway it would make the gossip pages and nothing more would be said of it. It would even be harrowed as a good thing in most circles. Major hockey star with stunning new movie star. Ilya wanted to vomit.
That's never how it would be for them. They could never be caught giving affection in public. They could never express what they are to each other like that. They would always need to be each other's secret. Nothing more. And it felt like a second gut punch when Ilya realized that may be what Shane wants.
Shane wanted to be loved publicly. He wanted to be able to kiss his partner on the cheek at dinner and dance closely in clubs and post pictures on Instagram of them. He can't have that with Ilya even if he is moderately attracted to men.
Ilya could feel Shane's breath on his lips, and his eyes snap to Shane's face. They are so close. It's private, no one is around. It could be one harmless kiss. But it would never be enough. Because Ilya isn't really what Shane wants.
"And your girlfriend is waiting."
Shane paused. His closed eyes fluttered open, and Ilya watched his cheeks redden in the darkness. Shane glanced around them, checking to make sure no one was around, but he was still impossibly close to Ilya, lips a fraction of a second from colliding.
"Ilya?"
An accented voice from the other end of the hallway was growing closer. Svetlana appeared a half second before Shane could take a step back and hurry out of the hallway and back to his girlfriend, no doubt.
Svetlana watched Shane leave and then turned back to Ilya. "What was that?" She asked in Russian.
Ilya shook his head but said nothing else. He walked out of the hallway and past his friend. "Nothing."
——————————————————
Outside the club, Ilya took a tight turn around a corner to discreetly throw up all over a side wall of another building. He continued until he was dry heaving, wishing that everything coming up from his stomach included all the thoughts and feelings he was having. Unluckily for him, that's not the case when he's done.
"Ilya."
Ilya turned. Svetlana was standing with a confused look on her face a few feet behind him. Her arms were crossed more from the cold than her temperament.
"Ya v poryadke," he waved off in Russian. "I'm fine."
Svetlana continued in Russian as well. "Why were you about to kiss Shane Hollander in a night club?"
Ilya straightened his back but only turned his torso to look at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Ilya."
"I don't know what you are—"
"Do not lie to me," she interrupts. "I know what I saw."
He glanced nervously around. They are in the open and she was point blank asking him why he was about to make out with his arch rival. The guy he hated. Not even speaking Russian could give him comfort in that conversation not being overheard or understood. Ilya shrugged, shaking his head like he doesn't have any answer for her.
Svetlana looked around, noticing the way Ilya was swiftly making sure they were not being too loud. She came closer, putting a hand to his face. It pained him how sweet she was being, like she knew he needed a motherly touch to comfort him.
"Tell me what is going on."
————————————————————
Svetlana was asleep in Ilya's bed later that night while Ilya let hot water roll over his chest in the shower. They had not had sex. That was clearly not going to happen based on a number of factors, most pressing that Svetlana wasn't an idiot.
She basically had to beat it out of him what was really going on with him and Shane, going as far as to threaten to ask Hollander herself what was going on behind dark corners. Ilya knew that Shane wouldn't handle that well in the slightest, so he attempted damage control to the best of his ability.
He planned to lie. Make up something about fucking with Shane or some kind of prank. Unfortunately, Svetlana wasn't an idiot. She pretty much pieced it together on her own. Everything from watching Ilya stare at Shane and Rose Landry, a contact of "Jane" he was always texting in his phone, to pretty much as close to red handed catching them as it could get.
The real gap in the dam was that Ilya couldn't lie to her. He didn't want to. As soon as he opened his mouth the words just came out. A unstoppable flood just pouring out of him. He told her about how he was bisexual, and how he and Shane had been secretly hooking up for a couple years at this point. How he was starting to fall in love with him. Svetlana commented that she thought he was already there at the end of the conversation and he did nothing to challenge her other than ignore the comment because it was so pathetic and sad he couldn't even bare to acknowledge it's truth.
They talked, or rather he talked, until eyelids were heavy and Svetlana was drifting off before Ilya stopped. He couldn't sleep though. He was thinking about Shane and replaying over and over and over again what happened at the club.
It was hard to not over analyze what occurred and Ilya's head became a space of complicated contradictions. If Shane didn't feel something for him he wouldn't have almost kissed him, would he? Or was that just the same pull they always had, even before things felt more serious? But Shane rejected him once already. Why would he put himself in a situation like that again, especially when he already had a girlfriend? Of course, he already had a girlfriend and he rejected him already. What more was there to say you moron.
He shoved all those thoughts aside after a while. Instead he imagined Shane was with him in the shower as his hand gripped his cock and slid up and down its length.
He imagined telling Shane to get on his knees in Russian, and Shane, the good boy he is, would have already learned that phrase and comply immediately. He pretended that Shane grabbed his cock and took him in his mouth. His hands would grip Ilya's thighs and squeeze. Shane would hallow out his cheeks, and Ilya's dick would press against them. Shane would moan when Ilya would place a hand on his head, helping him bob up and down on his cock. Shane would decide to take him deeper, relaxing his throat purposefully and speeding up his bobs until Ilya's length was slipping down his throat. Shane would look up at him, watching, commanding him to come through his eyes alone.
It was so much more than Ilya has ever had with anyone else. He was burning up with the idea of holding Shane's head, muttering to himself in Russian all the words he wanted to say in English but can't. He let himself imagine he was saying the words so Shane could understand them. Pouring his heart out with feelings that he never let himself admit to anyone, hardly even himself.
And in this fever dream, Shane is spurred on by the admission. He's happy about it. He's not questioning it. He's not afraid or pushing Ilya away. He's taking him deeper, moaning so much that it vibrates in his throat and against Ilya's dick.
"Shane," Ilya gasped aloud, being pulled to reality.
His hand slapped against the glass wall of the built in shower, his other hand gripping and stroking his cock, hips thrusting into nothing as his mind continued to imagine Shane being there, taking him in, encouraging him on. Ilya moaned, muffling his climax as his cock twitched and shot his load onto the tiles of the shower floor. White strips of cum washed down the drain, now as unreal as his fantasy.
Ilya laid gently in bed, not wanting to wake Svetlana. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about one person, and wondering if he would ever be able to move on from this. He's not sure he can.
He didn't blink, but a tear ran down the side of his face, and he made no move to stop it.