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Normally, Ilya wakes up with a gasp, his breath labored with panic and the image of his mother’s limp body burned into the inside of his eyelids. He usually puts his head between his knees, trying to force air into his lungs as he pinches himself, trying to get himself to wake up. Please for the love of God just wake up. Please.
That’s why it’s such a surprise when he instead wakes up and feels disappointed, the usual panic so far away that it feels like it happens to someone else rather than Ilya himself. He hadn’t dreamt of his mother tonight, nor the wooden door keeping her from him.
No, he had been having a pleasant dream. Of Hollander. Of Shane.
Shane.
As sleep slowly leaves his body the memories of the dream begin to float away, but the feelings linger. Calm. Safe. He keeps his eyes stubbornly closed. Maybe, if he lays perfectly still and breathes slowly, he can force himself to fall asleep again, going back to whatever wonderful place he had been. Maybe he can get to stay in this feeling forever. He certainly wants to. Shane.
A soft kiss is placed on his chest and Ilya’s eyes fly open and… Oh. Okay. Nevermind. Ilya is never sleeping ever again.
Because the first thing he sees is warm, dark eyes, looking sleepy but oh so happy. And then the freckles. Those goddamn freckles.
Why would he ever waste time sleeping when he could lay there, naked in the bed and arms of Shane Hollander? Shane, who presses another kiss on his skin, glancing up at him with eyes sparkling with unbridled joy.
If someone were to ever ask him, Ilya would deny it for all eternity, but looking at a soft, sleepy and glowing Shane makes something in Ilya’s stomach flutter. A whole goddamn swarm of butterflies.
“Hey.” Shane’s voice is hoarse with sleep. He is laying half on his stomach, chin placed on Ilya's bare chest. He looks younger like this, unguarded in a way Ilya has never seen him before. It almost takes his breath away, to have Shane look at him with such awe, like he too can’t believe what is happening. Because this is real, Ilya realizes as the memories of their pre-nap conversation start to make themselves known to him.
The texts. The plane ride. Being invited to Shane’s real apartment. Talking. Kissing. Promising. Talking. And then no more talking for a bit. Apparently they fell asleep together after, something Ilya hasn’t even allowed himself to hope for before.
Ilya’s heart is so full it might actually burst.
This is everything.
“Hello,” Ilya says and doesn’t even try to fight the smile that breaks out on his face. He lifts his arm from the bed and lets his fingers slowly comb through Shane’s hair. Shane hums contently and closes his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as well.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Shane says, voice slightly muffled. His chin digs harder into Ilya's chest as he speaks. If it’s enough to bruise Ilya knows that he’ll cherish it for as long as the color is visible on his skin.
Ilya tugs Shane’s hair lightly and is rewarded with a small groan of pleasure before Shane continues, “Was so sure I would wake up in an empty bed again.”
It’s so honest that it catches Ilya off guard, just like it had earlier, Shane being so genuine and forthcoming with his thoughts. Ilya has spent years trying to read him, desperate to understand what’s going on inside Hollander’s head. Painstakingly pulling and pushing and asking and practically begging, all to try to get even just the smallest glimpse of the real Shane.
And now here they are, Shane on his chest, offering his thoughts for free. Shane continues to be brave for him. Ilya can’t help but do the same.
“Yes. I know.” He leans forward, letting his lips brush against Shane’s forehead. “Me too.”
His honesty is rewarded straight away as Shane opens his eyes again, meeting his gaze. Ilya practically melts under him. He had always thought it would be the smoking that killed him. Or maybe one of his fast cars. He did not think that his headstone would read Here lies Ilya Rozanov, best hockey player, killed by being the sole focus of Shane Hollander's attention.
But there are worse ways to go. Way worse. This might be one of the best ones actually. What a fucking way to go.
If I need to go now, please let me go like this.
“What are you thinking about?” Shane asks. Ilya’s fingers leave Shane's hair and travel down to his waist, hugging him closer, even though it really isn’t possible. Almost every inch of their bodies are already pressed together. But that won’t stop Ilya from trying his best.
“You,” Ilya says, giving him the honest answer again. And to be frank, it has been the honest answer for years. At any given moment, some part of Ilya was always thinking of Shane. “Thinking about how you will kill me.”
Shane snorts out a laugh. “I will?”
“Hmm, yes. Your freckles. They are dangerous. Make me distracted and bom I am dead.”
“I hope not.” Shane shifts, shuffling upwards on the bed, their faces suddenly only inches apart. Ilya’s mouth goes impossibly dry. Shane’s eyes have gold specks in them.
Shane leans forward and Ilya closes his eyes in anticipation. Warm breaths hit Ilya’s face softly as he comes closer and closer. Lips touch his, but only slightly, only so much that he can sense the pressure.
“I plan on keeping you for a long time you know,” Shane whispers against his lips and a pathetic, involuntary whine leaves Ilya. Before he even has a chance to feel embarrassed about it, Shane finally leans forward the last little bit and kisses him for real.
Yeah, no. Ilya is definitely never sleeping again. Being here is this moment, it’s everything. It feels like a thousand promises unspoken.
Far too soon, Shane pulls away. For a moment Ilya chases after him but Shane stops him with a gentle hand on his cheek.
“Morning breath.” He scrounges his nose slightly, an adorable crease forming on his forehead. Ilya laughs.
“My god Hollander,” Ilya says. “It’s not even morning!”
With a teasing smile he leans forward again, but Shane presses his thumb firmly over his mouth.
“Not until you brush your teeth.” Ilya opens his mouth and licks Shane's finger. With a yelp Shane removes his hand.
“Eww!”
“Not eww! I know you like what I do with my tongue Hollander.” A blush blooms on Shane’s cheeks, making his adorable freckles even more visible. He hides his face in Ilya's shoulder. Fucking hell. Ilya wants to keep him tucked there forever. What a dangerous thought.
“Shut up,” Shane murmurs, voice muffled against Ilya’s skin. Then he looks up again. “That’s still not my name you know.”
“Ah your name is not Hollander now? Did you get married without…” It starts as a joke, but as soon as his brain catches up to his mouth the words die in his throat. Images flashes before him, pictures of Shane with his arms around her. Around Rose.
Just the thought of her makes him nauseous. It’s not true, he knows this. Shane didn’t get married. He didn’t even date her. He promised.
But he could’ve.
Shane could’ve dated Rose. And then Ilya would have lost him forever. He still sees them on his phone. The pictures. Everytime he opens his phone. Everytime he closes his eyes. Those damn pictures that are still circulating everywhere online and have been at the forefront of Ilya’s consciousness the last few days. Shane smiling contently at Rose. Arms touching.
Even Ilya can’t deny that they look good together. The Royal couple of the US as more than one headline have named them. Shane’s shy smile and Rose’s confident smirk. Suddenly Ilya feels ice cold.
“Hey. Come back to me.” A warm and slightly clammy hand is carefully placed on his cheek. Ilya blinks and the pictures disappear. Instead, they are replaced with the real Shane in front of him, face suddenly serious and open. His thumb strokes Ilya's cheek in a slow, calming motion.
“Of course I didn’t get married.”
“No I know.” The thought is objectively ridiculous, that Shane would marry a girl after seeing her for just a few days. Especially without the press finding out. Ilya knows this. He knows.
But still, his heart clenches uncomfortably. He closes his eyes, and suddenly he is once again fighting the burning sensation that he has gotten so familiar with over the last couple of weeks, ever since his front door closed with a loud bang behind a fleeing Shane.
Not now. Please.
“I didn’t date her Ilya, not even a little bit. I promise you.”
“Yes. You said.” He doesn’t mean it to come out so accusing. He knows. Shane is many things, but he is not a liar. Not about something like this at least.
“And I mean it.” He kisses Ilya's nose. “Hey. Look at me.”
Ilya does, not able to deny him anything really. Shane’s face is open. Honest. Unsheard tears clinging to his eyelashes, threatening to start rolling down his cheeks.
“I’ve been absolutely miserable the last few weeks. When you stepped out of the car… It felt like I could finally breathe again. I’m so sorry I broke your trust by leaving.” Shane’s voice is suddenly thick. “I only want you, Ilya. Always. Have only wanted you for a long time.”
I only want you, Ilya.
I only want you.
Ionlywantyou.
Ilya.
“You are perfect Hollander.” Shane opens his mouth, but Ilya is quicker to correct his mistake this time. “Shane. My Shane. So perfect I cannot take it.”
“Shut up,” Shane mumbles, trying to hide his face in Ilya’s shoulder again. But Ilya doesn’t let him, instead opting to press kisses all over it without touching his lips. Shane melts into it, closing his eyes.
“No. I mean it,” Ilya says between kisses and hesitates only for a fraction of a second before adding, “Ya tebya lyublyu.”
And fuck, it feels so good to say it. To admit it out loud. Because Ilya knows it’s true, has been true for a long time. So true Ilya has almost choked on it, drowned in it, been crushed by it. Both a prison and the thing making his heart beat.
It’s the most true thing Ilya has even known.
Shane looks at him with a fond expression. “What does that mean?”
Someday Ilya will tell him.
Someday he will say those words loud and proud in a language Shane understands.
But not now. Not when there is still a big part of him not believing that any of this is real, instead believing that this will be over again as soon as Shane remembers what got him to flee the last time.
“It means I want food.” Ilya’s fingers tickle Shane's side and he is instantly rewarded with giggles. Shane laughs as he wiggles his way out of Ilya's grip, rolling off Ilya and onto the mattress beside him. He glares at him with his angry-kitten-eyes and Ilya has to stop himself before he does something stupid. Like propose.
“What time is it?” Ilya asks to distract himself.
Shane looks at the alarm clock next to his bed. Of course Shane would have a real alarm clock, something only old people normally have. But Ilya thinks he probably puts alarms on his phone as well to be sure that he wakes up even if one of them were to fail him.
This is stuff, Ilya realizes with a pang in his chest, that he now gets to find out about him. About Shane. He gets to learn all his habits and preferences. All the boring stuff he does and thinks.
And Ilya. Cannot. Wait.
“Almost three,” Shane says and the real world comes crashing back. Ilya hums in response, but inside the words clenches at his stomach. Right, he’s in Montreal because of the game. A game against Shane today.
Three. They need to leave soon. Their game starts at eight. He really needs to be at the arena by five. That’s two hours, not including the drive there.
The wonderful fantasy he has gotten to live in the last few hours slowly fades around him, replaced with the reality. The reality that there is an outside world, that there are still so many things and problems with this. With them. Nothing has changed, not really. They are still a secret. They still play for different teams, live in different cities. Ilya’s still too much, still someone Shane has the right to be scared of associating with.
But he is here now. He is here now with Shane. A Shane that has missed him. A Shane that has kept his promises to him. This is real, at least for now.
Ilya can worry about the outside world later.
Doing his best to push the new wave of anxiety away before it overwhelms him, or even worse, before Shane notices it, Ilya sits up on the bed. He finds his underwear on the floor next to the bed and pulls them up. Behind him, he hears Shane shuffling as well.
“You have any real food here?” Ilya asks and stands. “Or is just your rabbit diet?”
“Ummm…” Shane starts. Ilya turns to look at him. Shane is also still barechested, sitting on the bed. A red blush has started at his cheeks before working its way down. “I may have…”
“What?”
“I may have gone a bit overboard.”
“Overboard?”
“That’s when…”
“I know what it means. Meant, how have you gone overboard?”
“I just… I got very nervous, okay? Don’t tease me.”
“Nervous? About what?”
“What do you think? About you coming here obviously. I have cleaned the entire apartment like three times since you agreed to come.”
Ilya looks around. He hasn’t noticed it, but can clearly see it now. It even smells clean. “Is very clean, yes.”
“Yeah, thanks. Or… That wasn’t a complement, was it. I just…”
“You are not making any sense.”
Shane nods and takes a deep breath. “I realised that I don’t know that much about you. We’ve known each other for so long, but I still don’t know stuff about you. Like, I have no idea what your favourite food is. Or what you like to drink, other than vodka, which would be bad just a few hours before the game.” He sighs in frustration at Ilya's still confused expression. “It’s easier if I just show you.”
Shane gets up from the bed and walks around it to grab Ilya's hand before pulling him out of the room and towards the kitchen. Ilya trails behind him, suddenly hit with a new turmoil of emotions.
Shane had grabbed his hand. He had gone out of his way to grab his hand, like it was something he always did. Like they always do this. Ilya stares down at their joint hands. Mesmerized by how good they fit together. Like they are meant to fit together.
They reach the kitchen. It almost looks like a viewing apartment, everything so clean it’s almost shining. It’s a nice apartment, Ilya thinks. Open and light, so very different from the secret sex-appartment Shane had gotten for them. This is better. It’s more Shane.
That’s all Ilya has ever wanted. More Shane.
The Shane in question opens his fridge.
It’s full. It’s so full that a block of cheese falls out. Shane curses under his breath and bends down to pick it up, dropping Ilya’s hand in the process. Ilya stops himself before protesting about it. Instead he looks at the content of the fridge. There is so much stuff. Stuff he knows for a fact that Shane doesn’t let himself eat. Sausages and different cheeses and bottles of premade sauce and suddenly Ilya understands what Shane tried to tell him.
He can’t help but laugh.
“Hey, I said don’t tease me!” Shane places the cheese back in its place, dangerously close to falling out again.
“What did you think? That I was an elephant going out to eat? This is too much food Shane.”
“Yes, I know that!” Shane says defensively. “But I didn’t know what you liked and it’s not like I could ask and…”
Before he can ramble on any further Ilya grabs his wrist, pulls him towards him and kisses him. Shane hums into the kiss, his arms automatically coming up to wrap around him, the morning breath seemingly forgotten.
“You are perfect Shane,” Ilya says again.
“Because I bought too much food?”
“Because you care.” Ilya can hear the disbelief in his own words, as potent in his voice as in his heart. That Shane would do this for him. Go out of his way like this. Trying to make Ilya happy. Trying to make him stay. Just like Ilya had done with that stupid tuna melt.
“I do care,” Shane says earnestly, pulling away, but staying close, foreheads pressed together. “I care about you quite a bit as it turns out.”
The words are said like they are a promise of their own. They make something swoop inside Ilya's stomach, feelings once again threatening to burst out.
They are so close. So close to the admission he didn’t even think he was allowed to dream about. So close.
“I…”
The words are on his tongue. The words. Three words. He is dying to say them, to show Shane what this really means to him.
But he can’t open his mouth, and the words stay hidden behind his teeth. His heart flutters, scared to death for the rejection that may very well follow the words.
Soon. He’ll say them soon. He’ll be brave like Shane soon. But he can’t risk losing this. Not yet. Not ever, no, but especially now when he is so close to having it again.
Instead, Ilya lets a sly, teasing smile pull the corner of his mouth.
“You have a crush on me or something, Hollander?”
“Asshole.” Shane pushes his chest lightly, trying to look annoyed. He just looks fond instead. It makes Ilya burn.
“Let’s see what you have. You want omelette?”
“It’s not really…”
“A part of your diet, yes, I know. Eat like a rabbit.”
“I don’t!”
“You do. But is fine. You eat rabbit food like you want, and I make delicious delicious omelette for me.” He doesn’t say that they need to hurry up a bit to not be late to the arena. They both hear it anyway.
Ilya opens the door to the refrigerator one more time, and just about manages to catch the cheese before it falls onto the ground again. He snorts and puts it back, before grabbing a cartoon of eggs and a packet of bacon. When he turns to put it on the counter he catches Shane looking at him, even though Shane turns away as soon as he sees Ilya has caught him. But it’s not fast enough for Shane to hide the expression on his face.
There are many English words Ilya doesn’t know, but he is certain that there is no one that even comes close to describing the look on Shane at this moment. Wonder. Awe. And so very very pretty it almost hurts.
“You are allowed to look at me,” Ilya says, aiming for nonchalant but not sure he even comes close. I really like it when you do. Please keep looking at me.
“I know that.”
Ilya hums in agreement, not wanting to question Shane. If he pushes, then maybe Shane will stop. And he absolutely cannot have that.
Instead Ilya finds a frying pan and starts with the bacon. While it’s frying he starts cutting a bell pepper from a neat bowl on the counter, probably for all of Shane’s rabbit food. Food Shane has not started preparing yet.
“You are not eating?”
“I am. But I’ve meal-prepped so I just need to heat it.”
“Of course you would meal prep. So boring.” So wonderfully boring. Boring and absolutely wonderful and so Shane.
“I guess.” It sounds harder than before, hard enough for Ilya to turn to look at him. And suddenly he cannot not be touching him any longer. He puts the knife down and wraps his arms around Shane’s waist, pulling him in, careful not to let his bell pepper juice-covered fingers touch Shane's naked back. He would hate it, Ilya thinks.
Shane melts into him, like he has exhausted himself just from the few minutes of distance and can finally relax again. That Ilya of all people can be that for him makes his heart swell.
“Hey,” Shane mumbles.
“Hey,” Ilya echoes. “Too long since I touched you.”
Shane snorts a laugh. “Was maybe four whole minutes.”
“At least three too many.” It is so scarily true, but he still says it in a joking tone, toeing the line between honesty and not spooking Shane again.
But Shane just nods seriously against him. “It was.” Ilya dies a little.
They stand there in the kitchen, unmoving, until Ilya remembers the bacon on the stove.
“Blyat!” He lets go of Shane and hurries to pull the pan off the stovetop. The slices are slightly charred, but not so much that he can't eat them. He turns back to the bell peppers, carefully finishing chopping them before finding an onion.
It’s no more than ten seconds later he feels a warm chest pressed against his back and he smiles.
“That was also too long,” Shane says, trailing kisses along Ilya’s neck. “I want to touch you always.”
Please do. Touch me everywhere and forever.
Suddenly Ilya’s throat feels tight and he swallows. And if his eyes are burning, it’s just from cutting the onion, nothing else.
He doesn’t know what to say here. Once again he’s stumped. He has spent so much of the last few weeks ignoring every impulse he’s had regarding what he wants from Shane that he still feels a little scared that it will be pulled away from him if he actually reaches for it.
But god, he wants that to, for Shane to always be touching him.
“Me too,” he mumbles. At first he thinks the words had been so quiet Shane didn’t even hear them, but then he feels the arms tighten around him even more. Shane buries his face against Ilya’s spine, puffs of warm air on his skin every time Shane breathes out.
I love you.
He’s almost desperate to say it. To make sure Shane really knows. Knows without the shadow of a doubt that Ilya will always choose him. Will choose to be here, like this.
It’s only when Ilya’s almost done with his food that Shane lets go of him. Immediately Ilya’s back feels cold. He hates it.
What does he even need a body for if Shane isn’t pressed against it?
The fridge opens and closes while Ilya finds a plate to put his food on. Shane puts a glass container with food in the microwave and turns the timer to 2:30 before pushing a button, making it jump to life. This time it’s Ilya who closes the distance between them and puts his chin on Shane’s shoulder. The relief is as instant as it’s scary.
He will never be able to let go of this again, Ilya realizes. He will not survive being forced to walk away from Shane Hollander. It would be what kills him.
“You should start eating before the food gets cold,” Shane says, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to Ilya’s temple. Ilya absolutely does not almost purr as a cat. Not even a little bit.
“No,” he says. “I will wait for you.”
For a moment it feels like Shane is about to start protesting, but then his hand finds Ilya’s wrist, letting his fingers circle it before pulling it forward, placing Ilya’s hand flat on his stomach.
I want to touch you always. Maybe Shane actually means it.
It’s a dangerous thought. It could give him hope of actually being allowed to have this. Ilya really shouldn’t think like that.
But then Shane kisses his temple again, and how is Ilya’s poor heart supposed to not hope just a little, tiny bit?
—
Ilya parks his rented car outside the home arena of the Montreal Metros five minutes to five. His phone has been buzzing on the passenger seat the entire way. Every glance at it has shown a new text from Cliff, every new one more desperate than the last.
Cliff: I hope silence means it’s going good!
Cliff: Management is not so difficult, you’re good
Cliff: Text if you need anything
Cliff: Okay, management less good now
Cliff: If you’re not on your way you might wanna be soon
Cliff: Roz, you good?
Cliff: Give me some sign of life
Cliff: Okay get to the arena now asshole
Cliff: You better be here by five SHARP
Cliff: WHERE TF ARE YOU?
Ilya grins as he grabs his phone.
Ilya: Here
The reply comes within five seconds.
Cliff: Thank god
Ilya gives that message a thumbs up before he navigates to a different, much more interesting, chain of text.
Jane: See you in a few hours, after we absolutely destroy you
Jane: Also, the code in is 1919. If you get back before me
1919. The code to Shane’s home. The real one. The one he’s now letting Ilya into, even when he’s not there. Because he wants Ilya to come back. Wants to touch him always
Saying goodbye in the hallway had been much harder than it should have. Neither had wanted to let go, the hug turning into just clinging onto the other.
This might be the last time I get this, Ilya had thought. Please don’t be the last time I get to have this. But that had felt like an impossible thought. Going to the arena, playing against each other, the bubble is bound to burst. Shane is bound to remember why he left in the first place.
Or so Ilya had thought, before Shane had pressed the faintest of whispers pressed into Ilya’s neck: “Will you come back here? After the game?” Shane once again being brave for both of them.
“Yes.” Yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyes.
They had both tightened their grip at that, impossibly tight. It was only the sound on Ilya’s phone ringing, Cliff again, that made them let go.
“I need to go.” I don’t want to. Keep holding onto me so I cannot walk away.
“Yeah,” Shane breathed back, and was it only to Ilya that it sounded much like an ‘I don’t want you to leave either’?
Ilya was about to lean forward, gently pressing their lips together, before changing his mind. If he were to start kissing Shane then, he might not be able to stop.
“Goodbye Shane.”
Shane had smiled at him warmly. “Bye Ilya.”
He had opened the door to the corridor outside the apartment, the safe bubble that held Shane and Ilya rather than Hollander and Rozanov bursting in an instant.
Ilya’s phone buzzing in his hand again brings him back to the parking lot outside of the arena.
Jane: I might be out celebrating out big win soooooo
Lily: Even when you have win to celebrate you do not celebrate
Lily: And now you will not have win at all
Lily: You will just be good boy and wait for me at home
Jane: Fuck you
Jane: Is it weird to say that I miss you already?
Yes, it’s weird. Or it should be weird at least. It’s so much so soon. Just a few hours ago Ilya wasn’t sure Shane wanted him for anything more than sex. Very few people have ever wanted him for more. And that’s okay. Ilya has to hold himself back, not being greedy of Shane’s time, only taking what is given to him, what he’s supposed to have. He doesn’t know how to be brave or gentle like Shane.
But fuck it if he isn’t going to try.
Lily: I miss you too
Lily: See you soon
With that he puts his phone in his pocket and gets out of the car. Cliff, and probably LeClair, might actually kill him if he’s late.
Cliff sees him as soon as Ilya gets to the changing room and lets out a sigh of relief before his face fills with anger.
“What the fuck dude!” he hisses as Ilya walks to his locker next to him. “Have you blocked my number or what!”
“Or what.” A smug smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth at Cliff’s exasperated groan.
“See if I’ll ever help you again.”
“I am back in time, no? And I do not even get yelled at by management. Good job Marlow.”
Cliff seems to deflate a bit and looks around. No one is looking at them.
“I take it that it went well?”
Ilya’s smile turns into something more real. “Very well.”
“She took you back?”
“More like I took her back.”
Cliff snorts. “As if you wouldn’t be the one to mess up in a relationship.”
The smile falls off Ilya's face.
Cause he’s not stupid. He knows what kind of reputation he has. Most of it is true, if not a bit exaggerated, but it’s not like Cliff is wrong in saying that. Ilya would be the one to mess up if they were in a real relationship, there’s no doubt about it. Because he’s Ilya Rozanov. He’s hard to like, even harder to love. He destroys things. He’s always pushing people away, because anyone who dares to get too close gets hurt.
Maybe it’s just him.
Maybe it’s just how Ilya is, who he’s meant to be.
Maybe he really is just his fathers son, mean and unlovable and destined to end up bitter and without anyone who truly cares for him.
“Relax Roz.” Cliff’s voice sounds like it comes from miles away when it breaks though the fog that has filled Ilya’s mind. “I’m just kidding. I’m happy for you man.”
“Thanks,” Ilya manages to press out before he turns around and mumbles, “Bathroom.”
Cliff claps him on the back as he moves away, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need to not be here. There's too many people, his teammates being rowdy changing into their hockey gear. Too many people who depend on him.
People who he in the end will only manage to let down.
He manages to find the bathroom and promptly locks the door behind him, leaning back against it. Ilya draws in a long breath, trying to get his heart to calm the fuck down.
Shane wants him.
That much had been very clear. Shane had wanted Ilya in his home, in his personal space. Wanted to touch him always. Had asked him to come back after the game, even giving him the code, just as desperate as Ilya to not let this slip though their fingers.
But for how long?
How long until Ilya does something again, something that’s too much? Something that makes Shane run again.
If Ilya was stronger he would be the one to end things this time, before they get even more real. Because what he wants, he’ll never be able to have. And what he wants is Shane. The real Shane. All of him. Outside in the real world. Being seen as a real couple by people.
A foolish dream. Emphasis on the dream. He can never be the person Shane wants, be the person he thinks he is. The person Ilya wishes so desperately that he could be.
Ilya itches to pull out his phone and call Shane, just to hear his voice. Have him tell Ilya that he wants him, maybe even likes him. Shane’s voice has always had the magical ability to calm him down in a way he hasn’t experienced since his mothers careful fingers combing through his hair.
But he can’t call him now.
He wishes he could.
But he can’t.
Right?
No, he can’t.
Ilya fishes his phone out of his pocket and stares at it, screen still dark. It feels like before again. Before it became something that was maybe real and Ilya would play the game with Shane’s text. When the screen is still dark there can still be a text there. Once it’s turned on, that might not be true anymore.
Schrödingers text.
Hollanders text.
Shanes text.
Ilya turns on the phone.
Jane: Yes you will. I’ll be the one in the blue kicking your ass
Jane: The one in blue in the center circle I mean
Jane: Don’t confuse my with anyone else in blue, that would be awkward
Jane: Cause I assume you don’t have a heated rivalry and secretly hooks up with anyone else from the Metros
Jane: Cause that would just be weird
It’s strange, how much effect a few words on a screen can have, but Ilya feels instantly lighter. He doesn’t even try to fight the smile from spreading across his face. He’s alone, Russians can smile however much they want when no one can see them.
He can almost see Shane in front of him, phone in hand and that pretty blush coloring his cheeks, making those wonderful freckles even more prominent. Shane typing furiously, getting self-conscious about his words, trying to make sense of what he wrote before giving up, putting his phone in his locker with a frustrated groan.
The last message is from ten minutes ago. Shane is probably anxiously biting the nail of his thumb, like Ilya has seen him do when Shane thinks he’s not looking, waiting for Ilya to respond. Maybe he’s trying not to glance at his silent phone on the locker shelf.
Waiting for Ilya to text back, maybe even text first, just like he has been the last few weeks. Being brave, while Ilya was a coward, not wanting to push. Leaving Shane hanging.
Ilya presses the call button before he even realizes he’s decided to do so. It rings for a few seconds before the call is picked up.
“Hello?” Shane sounds hesitant in a way that only breaks Ilya’s heart a little bit. Voice thinner than usual, unsure. Like he doesn’t know what is going on and is desperate not to show how much he loathes not being the one in control.
“Hi Jane,” Ilya says, voice softer than he means for it to be. But what else is he supposed to do when Shane sounds like that? When his own body relaxes by just hearing Shane say those two syllables.
“Hi Lily,” Shane says, sounding more confident and suddenly there’s rustling on the other side of the phone.
“Oh shit, is it Lily!?” Ilya recognizes Pike’s voice and feels a confusing wave of jealousy rush over him. “I didn’t know you were up to making public phone-calls now. Let me say hi!”
“Hayde… No!” On the other side of the call it starts to sound like some sort of struggle’s taking place, voices speaking fast. It’s hard to hear the word over the sudden rustling.
“Give me my phone back Hay-”
“-never talk to Lily, I just want-”
“-not going to talk to you-”
“-why you seem so happy today huh? Got back-”
“-swear if you don’t shut the fuck up right-”
Someone seems to win the battle of the phone and suddenly Ilya hears a heavy breath that is certainly not Shane’s in his ear.
“Lily! Hi! It’s sooooo nice to finally get to talk to you. My buddy Shane here-”
“-going to fucking kill you, you motherf-”
“-has been absolutely miserable the last few weeks. He has been absolutely unbearable. So from all of us on the Metros, we thank you for forgiving whatever stupid shit he did.”
Ilya is so tempted to say something just to hear how Pike would react. It would be so easy, just a simple hello and Pike’s entire world would turn upside down.
But Ilya would never do that to Shane. He’s happy to be Shane’s secret. Well, not happy, but this is already so much more than he could ever hope for, so he dutifully stays silent.
“Hello?” Pike says when he gets no response. “You still there?”
More sound and suddenly Shane’s voice is closer again, but still not speaking directly into the phone.
“You’re to ugly for hi-her to speak to you.” It’s a lame chirp, so Hollander. Ilya’s cheeks hurt from smiling.
“Dude! That’s no way to talk to your best friend!”
“No longer my best friend.”
“Fine, leave and be all secretive with your cool and mysterious girlfriend. But remember we have a game in like 90 minutes!”
“Yeah yeah.”
The voices in the background fades and then completely disappears with the sound of a door closing.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Shane says, voice rushed and a little anxious. “Thanks for staying quiet, he just…”
“Hey,” Ilya says, frowning. “I would never do that, you know that, yes? I would never tell if you are not ready.”
It’s so so important for Ilya that Shane knows that.
“I know.” Shane takes a long breath and seems to manage to calm himself down a little. “Of course I know that. It would be bad for you too if someone found out. Worse than for me probably, with Russia and all.”
That’s not why I kept quiet, Ilya wants to say. To scream at him until Shane understands. Ilya would walk though fire for him. Would go to prison for him, no questions asked. He would do much much more than not out Shane when he isn’t ready. Mustn’t Shane’s bar of Ilya be higher than that by now? What else does he think Ilya capable of?
A flash of his fathers raised hand over his crying mother.
No.
Ilya feels ill only thinking about it. He would never ever do that.
“Maybe,” Ilya lands on, swallowing down the nausea. “But I am in America now. Russia can not touch me.”
Probably. But he doesn’t add that.
“Yeah.” Shane sounds as if he heard it anyway.
The silence between them is heavy. Shane is the one to break it. “Why did you call anyway?”
To hear your voice.
“You were spiraling, with your texts,” Ilya says instead, and that’s not a lie. “Had to stop it. Cannot have you distracted during game, I want to beat you fair square.”
Shane huffs. “Well that’s not gonna happen either way.”
And there he is, the competitive captain Shane. Best player in the world.
“We’ll see about that.” Ilya picks at the cuticle on his left hand. “I would wish you good luck, but I do not want you to have it so I instead wish you bad luck.”
Shane snorts. “Wow, so charming. You really know how to get a guy to like you.”
That burn. Because, fuck, does Ilya want to. So desperately. He wants to have Shane like him so bad. But he’s not charming, Ilya knows that. He’s mean and lazy and too messed up.
“Il- Lily, are you okay?” The sarcasm is dropped from Shane’s voice, replaced by quiet concern.
“Yeah, of course.” But even to Ilya himself, it sounds like a lie. Of course Shane picks up on it.
“Is it… Has something changed or-” Shane sounds so small again. Insecure. So brave that Ilya wants to cry.
“No. Nonono, of course not,” Ilya hurries to reassure Shane. “I just…” Fuck it. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Thought maybe I had imagine everything.”
Shane’s breath hitch. “You didn’t. I promise you didn’t.” Another promise. Ilya has to close his eyes, letting Shane’s voice just wash over him. “I’m here and I can’t wait to be with you again after the game.”
So. Fucking. Brave.
“My brave Jane,” Ilya says, unable to hide the tones of awe.
“Fuck off.”
“No, I mean it. Thank you for being so brave.” It’s both easier and harder to be honest when he’s not able to stand in front of Shane. On the one hand he can’t see the look on his face. But on the other, he can’t see the look on his face.
“Well,” Shane says and swallows. “Thank you for being brave back and being… You know. You. Thank you for being you.”
And fuck, Ilya can’t be crying. Not here and not now.
“You too.” He’s not sure it’s the right thing to say, but all other words seem to have left him.
“See you out there.” Shane lowers his voice into a whisper. “Ilya.”
Ilya’s stomach clenches. “See you soon. Shane.” My Shane.
He hangs up the phone before he says something stupid. He meets his own eyes in the mirror. They’re red and slightly puffy. Fuck.
He washes his face under the tap, scrubs as he tries to make the swelling go down.
When he lifts his head and meets his gaze in the mirror again his eyes are cold and distant. He’s not Ilya, or Lily, right now. Now he’s Ilya fucking Rozanov. Team captain. First draft pick. Stanley Cup winner. And he has a game to win.
—
Ilya doesn’t win. He gets close though, but ultimately misses the last shot of the game, losing with 3-2. Shane made two of the goals. Ilya made both assists for Boston.
When the teams are shaking hands after, Shane grabs his wrist rather than his hand, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Good game captain,” he says in a voice that sends a spark down Ilya’s stomach.
“You just got luck. But I have a feeling I will get veeery lucky tonight.” He winks and continues to skate down the line before the look of shock has faded from Shane’s face.
As expected, Ilya gets to Shane’s apartment before he does. Being the captain of the winning team means more interviews, and more convincing of the teammates to not join a celebration out at a bar. Ilya’s answers in the media zone had been short They were just lucky, next time they will not be, as was his answers to his team mates Not really feeling it tonight guys. He had ducked out, ignoring Cliffs knowing smirk.
Ilya takes the elevator up to the right floor and hesitates outside the door. It feels wrong, being here alone. But Shane had given him the code. The longer he stands out here, the bigger the risk that someone will see him and recognize him.
With slightly shaky fingers he types 1919. A light turns from red to green and the lock opening sounds like a gunshot in the empty and quiet hallway.
Ilya walks in.
The apartment is dark and without Shane there it feels like a different space than before. Dark and cold without Shane’s presence. He finds the lightswitch and the hallway’s immediately lit up with a soft and warm light. That makes it a little bit better at least.
Carefully, Ilya steps out of his shoes and places them on the shoe rack before quietly walking further into the apartment. He has no idea why he’s being so quiet, he is the only one here after all, but it feels wrong to just stomp in. He’s been invited into Shane Hollander’s home, been trusted to be here alone. He’ll not destroy or disturb anything.
He moves into the living room and is once again drawn to the pictures on the walls. Young Shane is looking down at him. The really young ones feature big smiles, front teeth missing, but as Shane gets older the smile becomes less genuine. Instead it turns into the smile Ilya has dubbed Shane’s public smile. And that smile is everywhere, because almost all pictures have to do with hockey.
A newspaper cutout of Shane being named captain of the Montreal Metros.
A picture of Shane with the Stanley Cup held high over his head.
Shane at the Olympics.
There are some photos of two older people as well, people Ilya immediately recognizes as Shane’s parents. He has seen them around, of course, at games and on TV. They look kind, and always so proud of their son.
In one photo Shane’s dad has one arm wrapped around Shane, both of them looking into the camera. His mother stands beside them, touching Shane’s arm as she looks at them, mouth open in a silent and forever laugh. It’s a wonderful picture.
Ilya wishes he had a picture of his mom looking that happy. Or almost any picture of her actually.
And he wishes he had any pictures of his dad touching him like that, looking that proud. He wishes he had even memories like that. But he knows that never happened.
What would Mr and Mrs Hollander say if they found out what kind of person their son was seeing? Not only his biggest rival, but also an asshole Russian player. Making Shane’s life impossible more complicated. Would they still be proud of Shane for that decision? Or would their disapproval be what finally wakes Shane up from whatever wonderful fantasy he seems to live in?
Ilya looks away from the picture as if burned by it.
Instead, his eyes catch on a newspaper clip. His heart drops and then starts to beat twice as fast.
Because it’s him. It’s Ilya. On Shane’s wall. It’s their picture, the one from the draft. Ilya in the middle, smiling widely, holding up one finger. Shane is on his right, looking frustrated at the two fingers he’s holding up. Despite this, him looking like that, Shane has put it up on his wall where he sees it on his way from the living room to his bedroom. Does he stop to stare at it sometimes? Does it make him miss Ilya just as pictures of Shane makes Ilya’s stomach tighten with want? Does Shane dream of taking more pictures of them, where they both smile as bright, and put it here, proud to present him to the world? Dangerous thoughts.
The future of hockey is here, and it’s bright! the headline reads.
The future has been bright indeed, for that cocky but secretly so scared 17 year old throwing up the one finger. You’ll be okay, Ilya wants to say to him. You’ll be okay.
The sound of the door opening and closing has Ilya jumping like a scared cat. He hurries towards the hallway, feeling like a child just about to be seen doing something that he shouldn’t.
“Hi!” Shane calls a second before Ilya reaches the hallway and Shane finally comes into view.
“Hey Hollander,” Ilya says before quite violently crushing into Shane, pressing him against the closed door. An adorable sound of surprise escapes Shane’s lips before Ilya presses his own against them, instead managing to draw out a moan. He works his way down, pressing kisses against Shane’s cheek and chin and throat.
Shane tips his head back with closed eyes, gripping Ilya’s overarms hard.
“Missed you,” Shane whispers. Ilya feels the vibration of his Adams apple under his lips.
“You just saw me,” he murmurs back.
Shane makes a noise of disagreement. “Not for real. Not the way I wanted to.”
“Oh? And how did you want me?”
“You know.” Shane is already starting to sound a little out of it, already getting lost in pleasure, voice breathy and rough.
“Naked and inside of you?”
“I mean yeah, but… Also like this. Just close. Touching me.”
A lump forms in Ilya’s throat. “Okay.” I want that too. “Then I will do that.”
His lips leave Shane’s skin and he ignores the disapproving whine as he grips Shane’s wrists and drags him back into the living room. Ilya lays down on the couch and pulls Shane down, who falls on top of him with a little huff. His weight feels so nice on Ilya. He wraps his arms around him, snuggling as close as he can.
“Hi,” he says again, pressing a soft kiss to Shane’s temple. Shane only buries his face further into Ilya’s neck.
“Congratulations, you did two very pretty goals,” Ilya says.
“Thank you.”
“Not as pretty as you of course, but that would be impossible standard to have.”
“Shut up, I’m not pretty.” How blind can Shane be not to see it?
“Oh but you are. The prettiest. Pretty Shane. My Shane.” And fuck, that was not what he was supposed to say. Saying Shane had been too much once, but saying my Shane… Does Ilya really have a death wish? Death by broken heart.
He starts to panic, anticipating Shane’s retraction, but Shane’s whisper is faster this time.
“Yours. Please, only yours.”
And fuck it if that’s not the most wonderful thing Ilya has ever heard.
“Only mine,” Ilya whispers against Shane’s neck.
“And you are only mine?” It’s ridiculous that Shane even has to ask. It’s even more ridiculous that he suddenly sounds a bit insecure about it. As if Ilya hasn’t been only Shane’s for a while now. Or maybe always. Probably always.
“Yes. Of course. I am only yours.”
“Okay. Good. My Ilya.” It’s nothing more than a breath really, but it still manages to light Ilya’s entire being on fire.
Is he really allowed to have this? Does Shane belong to Ilya, just like Ilya belongs to Shane? He doesn’t know. But in this moment, he lets himself believe. “My Shane.”
“Yes. Yours.”
It feels like a promise. Like a forever. Like maybe Shane means it just as much as Ilya does. Like maybe this could actually work.
Not everything is fixed, of course, Ilya is not stupid. There is still a lot to talk about, so many problems that they need to address. About this. About them. About what the fuck will happen now.
He tries to ignore it, instead focusing on the feeling of Shane's warmth against his body and the small, cold puffs of air from Shane breathing hitting him, but his throat feels tighter all of the sudden. Emotions he’s done his best to suppress the last few weeks threaten to bubble out.
The insane affection he feels for the man in his arms.
The fear of thinking he had lost it, destroyed it.
Wondering whether this is real, or if it’s only temporary this time as well.
Shanes opens his eyes, brows slightly furrowed, and turns his head upward to look at Ilya.
“What are you thinking about?” And how does Ilya explain this? They will have to talk about this later, but right now, he just wants to stay in this soft, warm wonderful bubble that is them pressed against each other on Shane's real couch. He doesn’t want to voice these thoughts and pop it yet.
“Nothing.” That seems to be the wrong answer, because the furrow deepens and something similar to his public facade starts to show on Shane's face.
“Don’t lie. Please.” Right. Okay. Talk now it is, it seems.
“Okay not nothing. But nothing bad. Just…” How will he explain this when he doesn’t even have the words for it in Russian? “Just, I have spent so long convinced that those were the last words you would ever say to me and you being this… Forward with your thoughts. It gives me whiplease.”
“Whiplash,” Shane corrects automatically, looking like he’s not even aware he does. “Yes for a while I thought so too, that it would just be better for those words to be the last.”
Just hearing him say that makes Ilya’s heart fill with icy spikes.
“But I just couldn’t stay away, could I. I don’t know if you know, but you’re pretty irresistible.” Ilya huffs out a laugh.
“Oh come on,” Shane smiles, looking relieved at the reaction. “I know this is not you starting to be modest.”
“No no. Just did not think you would ever say that to me.”
“Yeah, well. I’m trying this think called ‘speak my mind as to not fuck up the best thing in my life aga-’.” He freezes before he can even finish the sentence. Ilya does as well. The cold suddenly melts, replaced with something burning instead.
“The…” Ilya’s voice quivers slightly and he clears his throat in an attempt to cover it up. “The best thing in your life, huh?”
Shane groans and turns his face downward again, presses it against Ilya's chest to cover his face. But his ears, quickly turning red, expose him. That makes Ilya smirk. Then it fades into just a warm and genuine smile.
Ilya can’t even describe how happy it makes him. That Shane turns to him when he is scared and embarrassed. Not running away. Not trying to backtrack. Just seeking comfort in the warmth that is Ilya. It’s the biggest honor Ilya has ever had, the most precious thing he has ever been trusted with.
“I mean, obvious. I am best thing in world, so makes sense that I am best thing in your life also, yes.”
Shane mutters something indistinguishable, but Ilya’s willing to bet all his cars that the word leaving Shane’s lips is asshole.
Ilya presses his lips to Shane’s temple. The gesture doesn’t even come close to saying what Ilya wants, but it’ll have to do.
“When is your flight tomorrow?” Shane asks.
“Nine, I think. So need to go to airport at seven maybe.” Ilya doesn’t even want to think about having to leave so early tomorrow. But he has to. He has a team that needs him.
“That’s so little time.” It really is. Much too little.
“Yes, but there will be more.” Ilya does his best to not make the words go up at the end, making it a question, but he seems to be unsuccessful as Shane still answers him.
“Of course. I’m yours. And you are only mine. There will be much more of this.”
Much more of this. Everything Ilya has dreamt of.
He can’t help but kiss Shane’s face again.
“You are too, for the record,” he says, taking a leap. “Best thing in my life.”
Shane tilts his head up and looks at him again. “Really?”
The relieved surprise hurts more than Ilya thought it would.
“Of course, moya lyubov.”
“Some day you gotta tell me what all that Russian means, you know.”
“I know. I will. There will be time.”
Apparently there will be.
Time.
So much time.
After a while they leave the couch for the bedroom. They fuck, slow and warm and with whispered words of affection between them. They both come with each other’s name on their lips. Shane doesn’t mention the tears on Ilya’s cheeks, just brushes them away before he kisses him.
They go to the bathroom and brush their teeth. Ilya uses the new toothbrush that he saw earlier, and Shane is only slightly embarrassed about it. The new wave of blush on his cheeks makes Ilya absolutely delighted.
Ilya is the first one to get into bed, not wanting to distract Shane from what looks like a very detailed skin routine.
He pulls out his phone while waiting and sets an alarm for six before he opens the text thread to Cliff.
Cliff: happy for you bro
Cliff: But DONT be late to the airport
Ilya: Ok
Ilya: Thanks for today
He opens instagram. Scrolls. Likes a picture of the current goal stats (he’s in second, four goals behind Shane). Sends a video of a llama spitting a tourist in the face to Svetlana, writing you. Then a picture of a grumpy cat shows up in his feed and Ilya can’t help but laugh at the likeness between the cat and Shane’s face when he looks sternly at Ilya when he’s saying something inappropriate.
Ilya takes a screenshot of it and texts it to Jane.
A few seconds later Shane leaves the ensuite and turns the light off behind him. Ilya immediately puts his phone on the sidetable to just look at the man in front of him. Sometimes Ilya feels like maybe he doesn’t appreciate enough that Shane is an elite athlete. He’s so fit you could grate cheese on his abs. His biceps are huge and his thighs even bigger.
So fucking strong.
And all mine.
As soon as Shane sits down on the mattress Ilya grabs his wrist and pulls him across the bed until he lays with his cheek on Ilya’s shoulder. Shane yelps, but makes himself comfortable against him.
“I set an alarm for six tomorrow,” Ilya says, feeling slightly nauseous just thinking about how it’ll feel to leave Montreal, this, Shane, tomorrow.
“Okay,” Shane’s voice is also slightly wobbly. “I will do it too.”
He grabs his phone and opens the app.
“You do not have to. You won today, champions are meant to have morning off.”
Shane hits him playfully.
“As if I wouldn’t need to say goodbye to you tomorrow. Waking up alone knowing I could have spent time with you is not something I think I can handle.”
Shane says it like it’s simple. That Ilya is an idiot for even suggesting taking a sleep-in. As it isn’t the kindest thing anyone has said to Ilya in years.
“Oke,” he responds, not knowing what to say with the sting behind his eyes. He watches as Shane sets an alarm for six. And then six o five. And six ten. And six fifteen. Then he turns to the alarm clock on his nightstand and starts to do the same.
Ilya raises an eyebrow at him. “You think there is enough?”
“Fuck off!” Shane huffs and hits him again, but he stops setting more alarms and instead drags down the notice bar to look at the preview of the texts he’s received.
“I like it,” Shane says.
“What?”
“Seeing your name here. Or, well, seeing Lily’s name here. I like knowing you’ve sent a message. It’s stupid, but I went so long without it I didn’t realize how much it meant to have it back.”
“I am sorry I did not text you more, I-”
“No, stop. It’s okay. I really get why you did it, it was my own fault.” Ilya starts to protest but Shane cuts him off. “But just know that from here on out you have my explicit permission to text me as much as you want. Matter of fact, I want it. Please text me.”
Ilya sniffles and Shane kisses his chest.
“Okay,” Ilya whispers, tightening his grip on Shane.
They drift to sleep like that, tightly woven together. As Shane begins to snore slightly, and Ilya is seconds from drifting into sleep as well, his lips find Shane’s warm skin.
“Ya tebya lyublyu.”
—
Ilya should have known that having permission to text Shane all the time would lead to him texting him all the time.
Lily: Leg day *image*
Lily: I have toast with peanutbutter for breakfast, you not jealous when you only drink green smoothie?
Lily: I miss you
Lily: What is the difference between crocodile and alligator?
Lily: Good luck on game today. But do not make too many goals
It turns out that Shane really is the only person he really wants to talk to. And Shane is the person he wants to spend the entire day with.
When he goes to bed in his own house in Boston two evenings after the long goodbye kiss in Shane’s hallway and checks their texts he realizes he’s already sent 23 texts. That’s more than he usually sends in a year.
That fills him with instant panic again. Give him space. Let him set the pace. Only take what you are given.
But Shane had said I want it. Please text me. What felt so easy in the bed in Montreal suddenly feels impossible.
The next day he restrains himself, forcing himself to not send every single thought that pops into his head, despite his fingers itching with the want to do so. He makes sure to still start conversations and answer all of Shane’s messages, but he stops sending memes and pictures of the ducks he usually feeds on his morning run.
It takes three days of it before Shane brings it up.
They are talking on facetime, Shane has started the habit of calling Ilya just before going to bed. I just want to say goodnight, he said the first time. And who was Ilya to say no to that?
“Have you been busy these last few days?” Shane asks on the call.
“Not really no.” They had a home game earlier this evening and tomorrow he’s flying out on a longer road trip, first LA and then Nevada, but other than that it’s just been his usual practice.
“Oh.” Shane says, and that makes Ilya look up from putting clean sheets on the bed to look at Shane’s slightly pixelated expression though the screen.
“Why?” Ilya asks and he knows something is wrong when Shane looks away from his own screen, not wanting to meet his gaze.
“Nothing. I’m just being stupid.”
“Hey, no. Do not do that. Tell me please”
“It’s just…” Shane hesitates. Ilya stays silent, giving him time to formulate the words in his head first.
“You just texted me a lot, right after you left, and…” It feels like a punch to the gut. Ilya knew it, knew he did too much. At least he caught on fast and stopped.
“I am sorry, I know I can be a too-much texter but-” Ilya starts.
“And then you stopped doing that,” Shane steamroles over Ilya’s words, face suddenly determined. “And I just wondered if I… If I did something wrong?”
“What?” How could he even think that? “No, of course not.” Shane has done nothing wrong in his entire life, of that Ilya is sure. He’s a good person, through and through.
“Then why did you stop?”
Ilya feels so stupid now. The last thing he’d ever wanted was to worry Shane. That face slap makes it easy for Ilya to be honest, the words pouring out of his mouth. “I thought it was too much. I sent so many boring text, more boring than your. Did not want to get you overwhelmed.”
“Ilya,” Shane sighs, tension bleeding out from him. “I meant when I said please text me. I want this to be something. I want to talk to you. I want to know you.”
And Ilya wants that too, god knows he does, but… “I do not want to scare you away.”
“I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you’re too much, that is the one thing I’ll never forgive myself for. I want you, Ilya. All of you. It makes me so ridiculously happy seeing your name on my phone, knowing you’ve been thinking about me. Keep doing it. Please.”
Ilya repeats what has apparently become his slogan when it comes to responding to Shane Hollander’s open and disarming affection, because what else is there to say, really?
“Oke.”
So Ilya keeps texting him. He tries to reign himself in a little, maybe texting slightly less than the first few days, but not so much less that it’s noticeable for Shane again. And he forces himself to be the one to text first a lot of the time. He doesn’t want Shane to feel like he did in the weeks leading up to them meeting again. It kind of breaks his heart each time he thinks about it.
So Ilya makes an effort (not that it’s a hardship) to text first. And Shane texts back. Every time. He’s a quick texter, seems to have his phone in his hand almost as much as Ilya does. Like he too is waiting for it to buzz and to see the fake name pop up on the screen. He even warns Ilya when he’ll be away from his screen for a while.
Jane: I’m doing a photoshoot today
Jane: So you know I won’t be answering as fast
Lily: Oh Mr Big Shoot having photoshoot
Lily: For what?
Jane: Rolex
Jane: They’re putting me in a suit and I just KNOW it’ll be itchy
Lily: Suit 👀
Lily: You will prob look hot
Lily: Send pics plz
Jane: No
Jane: And stop texting me like you’re a child
Lily: i will if you send pic
Jane: No
Lily: BORING
Jane: Fuck off!
Jane: Bye
Lily: Bye
Ilya puts his phone down and goes to practice. When he checks his phone again a few hours later Shane has sent him a picture and his mouth goes dry.
It’s a mirror selfie, because of course it is. Shane is in a suit, dark and tailored within an inch of his life. It fits so well, showing off his thighs and arms. Cause of death: Shane Hollander’s thighs.
Lily: 🥵🥵🥵💦💦💦🤤🤤🤤
Jane: 🖕
Ilya excuses himself from practice earlier than he normally would and goes home to jerk off to the image. He sends a post-shower pic to Shane as a reward, the towel hanging lower than is appropriate by any means. It exposes his happy trail that he knows Shane is obsessed with.
Shane doesn’t even respond to that message, instead calling Ilya as soon as he’s back at the hotel. First to yell at him for sending such a risque picture (What if I had been beside anyone when I opened it!? What if it had been my MOM!?), but it does not take much, or any really, convincing for him to strip and be a very good boy for Ilya.
Ilya’s in love.
He has known for a while, but here, on a bed in a dark hotel room in Minnesota, after having said goodbye to Shane and still coming down from an orgasm that had made him groan in a way he’s not particularly proud of, he actually lets himself say the words out loud in a language Shane does understand.
“I love him,” Ilya tries in the dark. “Shane Hollander, I love you.”
Maybe if he’s so very very lucky one day, he might get to tell Shane himself that.
—
Four weeks since that wonderful day in Montreal and Ilya is absolutely losing his mind.
Logically, it shouldn’t be this hard being away from Shane. They never really spent any time together, not more than a few hours to fuck before one has to head back to the hotel. But Ilya supposes that none of what is happening between them is logical. And besides, since he had first met Shane, Ilya had spent most of his time missing him, even if he had not always known that was what he was doing. So really, it shouldn’t be this hard. He’s used to this.
But that doesn’t change the fact that Ilya misses him. Shane. So bad. So much. To an extent that makes his stomach ache.
“I assume you also got the mail about the All Stars,” Shane says in lieu of greeting one day on their nightly call. Ilya’s so happy Shane has kept doing that because otherwise he would have done a very dramatic, and probably way too big, gesture a long time ago.
“Yes,” Ilya says. He’s on his bed, sitting back against the bedframe. His phone is in his hand resting on his knees, showing him an adorably tired and bespectacled Shane. The day he’d answered Ilya’s call without realizing he had them on, Ilya almost died on the spot. It was a good thing he’d been sitting down, because his knees would have absolutely given out on him.
From that day he insisted Shane wear them every call. Most often Shane resists, saying something about not wanting to look like a nerd. But sometimes, he lets himself be convinced. Those usually end up being the best nights.
“I’m happy we’re paired together this year. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to play together,” Shane continues.
“Two best players on the ice together. We will be unstoppable.”
Shane smiles at him, a real smile.
“Probably. Really sucks to be on the other team.”
“And I will finally wish you a real good luck and mean it.”
“I won’t need it.”
“I know. But I will still want to wish it to you.” They just smile at each other for a few seconds. The corner of Shane’s eyes crinkle slightly.
“And it will be fun,” Shane says, looking away when the eye contact seemingly becomes too much for him, “to have you finally be forced to listen to me for once.”
“Dream on, Hollander.”
“I’m your captain, Rozanov. I think listening to me is in the job description.”
“Hmmm but what if I have better ideas for the ice?”
“Than me? Not happening.”
“I think that if I break captain orders,” Ilya says, lowering his voice suggestively, “I have a good way to make it up to him.”
“You think you’ll get away with everything just because the captain might like you?” Hearing Shane admitting to liking him almost sends Ilya into cardiac arrest. Almost.
“I think,” he says. “That I might even be the captain’s favourite."
That’s apparently all it takes to get Shane’s eyes to darken and for his hand to leave the frame as it travels down his abs. “And what would you do to make it up to him, when you’ll ignore his very smart play orders?”
“I think I know how he likes to be treated after all these years, huh? I know just where to touch to make him gasp, and where to kiss to get him to arch his back like a cat.”
“Ilya…”
“I know what to say to make him open up for me so good.”
“What else will you do?” Shane’s voice is breathy.
“And then… Then I will beat him in speed skating competition, prove that I am number one player.”
Shane’s eyes snap open. “You suck.”
Ilya grins, and Shane seems to realise what he’s said just a second too late to take it back.
“I mean-” he hurries, but Ilya’s faster.
“I would do that too. But maybe let him do it first, he enjoys being on his knees even more than me going down on him.”
They stare at each other, then they both burst out laughing.
“How dare you,” Shane laughs. “Sometimes I don’t even know why I put up with you.”
And, okay, that’s a joke. Ilya knows that’s a joke. Shane likes him, he knows this. Shane shows him that with every call and every message and every time he nags about Ilya not eating enough vegetables.
But still.
Those words hurt.
Because Ilya doesn’t know that either, why someone as good as Shane puts up with someone as broken as Ilya.
Suddenly, it’s not funny anymore. None of it. But Shane is happy, looks happy, and Ilya will not destroy that for him. So he keeps laughing, even though it sounds fake to his own ears.
“But seriously,” Shane says when he’s managed to collect himself. “Do you want to jerk off together?”
Ilya almost chokes on his own spit.
“Shane, what the fuck!” he wheezes.
“Sorry! You got me worked up and I didn’t know what to say!” This adorable man. Oh how Ilya loves him.
“Well, almost anything is better than asking to ‘jerk off together’.”
“Didn’t take you to be one to turn it down.” Shane crosses his arms defensively.
“You are perfect,” Ilya tells him, and forces the Sometimes I don’t even know why I put up with you. Out of his head. He tries to lock it in a box together with everything else he’s not supposed to think about, but he knows that it’ll probably pop back out as soon as he presses that red button to hang up and Shane’s no longer with him.
But not now. Now he can still prove to Shane why he’s putting up with Ilya.
“Open your bedside drawer.”
Shane almost falls out of his bed with eagerness.
Fuck, I love you.
—
Ilya starts to notice it after that, how Shane says things like that. As a joke. Probably. But still.
They are small comments.
Ilya choosing not to cook and drive to McDonalds instead gets him an “What do I even see in you?”.
When he sends Shane some lingerie after joking about it he gets a glare and an “You’re the worst.”.
When Ilya says that Canada is a stupid country, much inferior to Russia Shane says “I really thought you would be better than this.”.
After Shane told Ilya he’d bought a new toy that he’d tried that ended in a disaster and Ilya had asked and teased him about it until Shane’s entire torso was red, he received an “God, you’re so annoying.”.
And Ilya knows he’s joking. It’s never about anything serious, and Shane always looks so fond when he says it, even if he’s glaring at the same time. For every time Shane calls Ilya annoying or mean, he says at least five I like you’s. Not those exact words, and never those three words that burn within Ilya just at the thought of him. But Shane shows Ilya that he appreciates him.
When Ilya tells him about his mother and her suicide he gets a “Thank you for telling me, it means a lot to me.”
When Shane tells Ilya about the time he peed his pants when he went to a haunted house when he was fifteen he starts the story with “I trust you.”
When Ilya can tell Shane is anxious just by the way that he texts and immediately calls him, Shane says “Sorry to bother you, it’s just… You’re the only one that seems to be able to calm me down and I’m so fucking nervous right now that I just…”
And each one of those times Ilya can’t help the smile from spreading on his face and the pride and warmth growing in his heart. But he feels a sting of disbelief as well. What does Shane see in him, to trust him this much. To actually like him?
It’s, unfortunately, easier to focus on the negatives.
Six days until they both get on a plane to go to Tampa they are on a phone call while Shane does his meal prep and Ilya folds his laundry.
“Okay but if you actually just put the ginger in the freezer for like twenty minutes before you grate it you don’t get those stringy bits.”
“Where you get all these tips from?”
“The food network. It was a woman showing how to cook authentic Japanese cuisine.”
"Fascinating!"
“Right! She also said… Wait. You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“Me? I would neeeeever! How could you even say that to me?”
“I hate you, you know that right?”
The teasing smirk falls from Ilya’s face in a split second. It feels like he’s been punched in the guts with a knife made of ice.
He doesn’t mean it. He wouldn’t talk to you if he meant it.
But maybe he does. Maybe Shane has already grown tired of him, and is just looking for an easy way to let him down. Shane is too nice to break up with someone over the phone, he’s probably saving it for the All Stars.
And, Ilya reminds himself, Shane can’t break up with him, because technically they aren’t even together.
“I am sorry,” Ilya says. He will reel back. He was making fun of Shane after all, being annoying, borderline mean actually, on purpose, just to hear Shane sigh at him. But he won’t do it anymore, not when Shane gets irritated for real. He wants Shane to never be anything but happy. Except maybe horny.
“What? What are you saying sorry for?” Shane sounds genuinely confused, and Ilya stops in the middle of folding a shirt.
“I was mean,” he says, spelling it out. “I will stop.”
“No you weren’t.”
“Annoying then. It was not fair to make fun of you.”
“But you always make fun of me.”
That’s not good. Shane already knows. Shane has figured out that Ilya is mean and annoying and broken and not even close to good enough. Soon he’ll figure out that he has to leave too.
“I am sorry,” Ilya says, and can only hope it comes across as just as sincere as he means it. “I will be better.”
“Ilya what… What is happening right now?”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry! You’re not even Canadian!”
That makes Ilya huff out a laugh, and he hears Shane exhale through the phone.
“What happened there, Ilya?”
“Nothing, I was just being stupid.”
“Tell me. Please. I don’t like knowing you’re upset.”
“I just miss you.” It’s not the whole truth, far from it, but he can’t put this on Shane as well. Shane has done nothing wrong. This is something for Ilya to fix.
“I miss you too. But soon, yeah? Just a few days and then we’ll see each other in Tampa.”
“My Shane.”
“My Ilya.”
But for how long?
—
Tampa is hot. It’s warm and it’s moist and Ilya kind of hates it. What he doesn’t hate is having only a few more hours before he gets to see Shane again.
He walks into the hotel, immediately greeted and given a key and instructions to room 2481. Fuck, that has to be a sign, right?
In the elevator up he sends a picture of it to Shane.
Lily: You will not believe what my room is
Lily: *image*
Jane: How did you manage that???
Lily: Did not do anything
Lily: Must be sign from the universe
Jane: Yeah, must be
Jane: Fuck I miss you
Jane: Getting in the taxi from the airport now
Lily: See you soon
Jane: Yes you will
Lily: I will be down at bar
Shane gives the last message a thumbs up and Ilya pockets his phone. He looks down at his outfit. He’s wearing a red hawaii-shirt. He’d thought it was hilarious at the time, dressing the part of being in Florida. Svetlana had agreed while at the same time accusing him of cultural appropriation.
Now, however, the shirt just feels dumb. He’s about to see Shane again for the first time in weeks. Does he really want it to be while he’s wearing this stupid shirt?
No.
He will dress up for Shane.
And later, hopefully, Shane will help him undress.
He takes out a white shirt from his suitcase, one that is just shy of see-though and tight in a way that shows off his biceps. Better Ilya thinks as he looks at himself in the mirror.
Ilya makes his way down to the bar, greeting players as he moves. A defenceman from Nebraska claps him on his back, wishing him to break a leg in the game tomorrow. A forward from Texas walks up to him with his daughter who nervously asks for a selfie, which Ilya of course takes, big smile on his face. A goalie from South Carolina says he’s studied all of Ilya’s fake-outs specifically, so he needs to step up his game.
Ilya politely talks to everyone approaching him, but his heart is not in it. He’s distracted, constantly glancing at the clock on the wall. It moves slowly, so slowly.
Ilya takes a seat at the bar and orders a beer. He’s about to order a ginger ale as well, but manages to stop himself.
And then…
Then Shane Hollander walks in. And Ilya stops breathing.
He’s absolutely gorgeous. A beige suit and dark sunglasses. He’s had a haircut and he looks confident in a way he rarely does. It looks like he’s finally realized that he’s the Shane Hollander, best player in the whole of the MHL.
Shane looks around. To anyone else it would just look like he’s taking it all in. But Ilya knows what he’s looking for. Who he’s looking for. Please dear god let him be looking for me.
And then he spots him. The dark glasses cover Shane’s wonderful dark eyes, but Ilya can see his face lit up even without it. The corner of his mouth goes up, as does the redness on his cheeks.
Suddenly Ilya regrets the decision to come down here to the bar, not staying in his room to give him a private and proper greeting. But this is safer. Being around other people. Here he can’t jump Shane the way he wants.
Here Shane can’t break up with him.
You’re the worst.
I trust you.
I hate you, you know that right?
Then Shane is moving, walking towards him with eager steps and Ilya’s stunned. He thought that Shane would say hello to him here, sure. But just a passing “hi” or something. The Shane from only a few weeks ago would have a panic attack just thinking about talking to Ilya in public. But here he is now. Walking towards Ilya. Someone stops him, a hand on his elbow and Shane turns to face them, breaking the eye contact between them.
Ilya hurries to look away and breathes.
He can do this.
This is only Shane.
But it’s Shane.
When he looks up again, Shane has removed his sunglasses and hung them by the collar of his shirt. He talks to the person who stopped him, Johansson Ilya thinks, but seems to quickly dismiss him. Then he moves again and sits himself down next to Ilya at the bar.
Ilya is on fire. Shane is so close, just a few inches. It would be so easy to reach out and touch, to finally get to hold him again.
But that might scare Shane. Might make him run.
“Hi captain,” he says instead and tries to keep his voice as even as possible, which is very hard to do being this close to Shane’s freckled face and being the sole focus of his attention.
“Hi teammate,” Shane responds, sticking out his hand for Ilya to shake.
Fuck, Shane wants to touch him too.
Ilya takes his hand and shakes it, holding it for a bit longer than is probably appropriate. But Shane doesn’t let go either, just holds on until Ilya drops their hands. To force himself not to grab hold of it again he puts his fingers around the beer bottle that’s in front of him.
“Flight okay?” Ilya asks, taking a swing.
“Yeah, no problem. You?”
“Was fine. Slept a bit.”
“Yeah that’s probably good. It’s so warm here, I hope there’s good AC in the rooms or I won’t be able to sleep.”
And it’s so dull, this conversation. Ilya wants to ask about what Shane did with the plant in his window that he thinks might die that he talked about on their call last night. He wants to know if Shane packed both the blue and the black sweatshirt, like he thought about, or if he followed Ilya’s advice of not needing two sweaters in the Tampa heat.
He wants to talk to Shane about all the boring stuff again. The stuff that only he knows.
But he’ll settle for talking about the weather and the journey and sleep and hockey and whatever else Shane wants.
Ilya takes another sip -
“But I’m guessing sleeping is not our top priority tonight anyway.”
- and has to really fight not to spit it across the whole bar. He coughs and Shane pats him on the back, looking very pleased with himself.
“Who are you and what have you done with Sh- Hollander?” Ilya asks. Because there’s Shane being brave, and then there’s Shane having lost all sense of subtlety. Ilya looks around to make sure no one had heard it.
“I’m just saying,” Shane says with played innocence, eyes locked on Ilya’s face. “I’ve not seen you for weeks. There’s stuff I want to do.”
God. Ilya too. So much.
Before he’s the chanse to respond an arm is thrown over his shoulder and someone presses in between him and Shane, who has the person’s other arm around him as well. It’s Rytz, a defenceman from LA who’s playing on their team tomorrow. His breath smells of alcohol already.
“Wow, Hollander and Rozanov talking and not trying to kill each other!" (Ilya disagrees, he’s certain Shane’s trying to kill him. Just not in the way everyone thinks.) “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Ilya looks at Shane, expecting him to be tense and nervous, denying everything. But instead he looks amused and rolls his eyes.
“We’re professional, Rytz. The rivalry is on the ice.”
And. Oh.
Shane admitting to them being… What? Friends? At least tolerating each other.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Rytz says, and Ilya decides that he doesn’t like this person. Stop making him question everything! Don’t make him run away again!
Maybe Ilya should say something, not just sit here and make even more questions arise.
“I beat Hollander enough on ice as is, do not need to do outside as well.”
“I’m so glad you two fuckers are on my team this year, we’re going to fucking win!” Rytz says, as if he hadn’t heard Ilya. But Shane looks at him with a soft smile, and that’s all that matters.
“Hey Hollzy!” a voice shouts from behind them, making Rytz drop his arms from their shoulder as they all look behind them. It’s another defence player, one from Washington. Can you all leave us alone!!! Shane was talking to ME.
“Hollzy! Did you bring anyone?”
Ilya catches Shane’s gaze and winks. Shane shakes his head slightly, an amused smile on his lips.
"No."
"Landry couldn't make it?" Something sours sets inside Ilya’s stomach and he drops Shane’s gaze. Just hearing her name reminds him of that day, when he had desperately clung to Shane's promise as if it was a lifeline. It's not real. None of it. I promise.
And it wasn’t.
But it could’ve been.
It would probably have been better for Shane, being Rose’s instead of Ilya’s.
He can feel Shane's eyes burn his face, but he can't make himself meet them.
"Me and Rose, we're not together," Shane says firmly. "And we never were together for that matter."
That makes Ilya snap his head back. Shane looks at him with a determined face. Jaw clenched. He has never denied it before. Publicly at least. That he and Rose were never a couple.
“Damn Hollander, what did you do?” A new voice enters the conversation and Ilya doesn’t recognize who. He doesn’t care. Not when Shane looks at him like that. Like he’s sure. Like he’s made the decision and is sticking to it.
“Nothing, we just didn’t fit. We weren’t compatible.” Compatible. Not fitting together? Ilya makes a mental note to look that word up later. He needs to be sure of this.
“Mind if I hit it then?”
Shane laughs. “I mean, sure. Good luck with that.”
“You don’t think I can pull Rose Landry? You did!”
“No, I didn’t,” Shane reminds them, sounding annoyed. “And I didn’t say that, I just said…”
Ilya’s hand finds Shane’s knee under the table. He squeezes. Arguing won’t get them anywhere. Better to just let it be. And Ilya’s desperate to get Shane alone.
He nods his head towards the exit and raises one eyebrow. Shane nods and swallows.
“I’m gonna go,” Shane says and gets up. “Look at some strategies for tomorrow.”
Rytz groans. “It’s just a fun game, Hollander! No need for strategy and all that.”
“I expect you to be sober tomorrow Simon,” Shane says, before walking towards the exit. Ilya has to hide his laugh in a cough at Rytz's shocked expression. He pats him on the shoulders.
“You get to play with two best players tomorrow. Do not fuck up for us, we will be very upset.” Rytz looks like a gaping fish as Ilya downs the rest of the beer and follows Shane. When Ilya reaches the hallway he pulls out his phone.
Jane: 2112
Jane: Hurry
As Ilya gets into the elevator he goes to Merriam Webster’s dictionary. It’s been a long time since he’s needed it, but he’s still very familiar with it. Once upon a time he had to pull it up at least twice a day.
COMPATIBLE · adjective
com·pat·i·ble [kəm-ˈpa-tə-bəl]
capable of existing together in harmony
compatible theories
compatible people
Not compatible.
Shane Hollander and Rose Landry are not compatible.
Are Ilya and Shane?
The elevator stops on the second floor and Ilya moves down the corridor. He stops outside door 2112, takes a deep breath and pushes down the handle. Before he’s even pushed it down all the way it’s pulled open with force and he’s pulled inside by the lapels of his shirt.
“Hi,” Shane breathes, before he begins to kiss Ilya within an inch of his life. Hands are everywhere. In his hair. On his arms. Under his shirt.
Shane kisses him like he’s a drowning man and Ilya’s his only oxygen. Ilya kisses back the same way.
“How are you this hot?” Shane says against his lips. “It’s so unfair.”
“For you,” Ilya says. “I only look hot for you.”
“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane’s moan sends shivers up Ilya’s spine. That someone wants him this much is breaking his brain. That that someone is as wonderful as Shane Hollander is a goddamn miracle.
They kiss and kiss and kiss and kisskisskisskiss before pulling away, both realizing that they might actually need to breathe. They look at each other, panting, foreheads touching.
“You think your plant will survive?” The words leaving his mouth surprise even Ilya himself.
“What?” Shane laughs against the side of Ilya’s nose, sending puffs of warm air onto his face.
“The plant, you thought it was going to die when you are away now.” He feels a bit stupid for asking. It’s clear Shane wants him to tear his clothes off, or for Ilya to tell him to get on his knees, but suddenly Ilya feels the need to just talk to him. Know that it is real, that their time in Montreal wasn’t a fluke. That Shane wants him for other things than his body.
“You want to discuss my plant when we haven't seen each other in weeks?” Shane sounds confused, maybe even a little hurt.
That won’t do.
“No. Of course not.” But it stings, having Shane dismiss him with this.
Still, he doesn’t complain when he pushes Shane down on his knees and feels his eager fingers pull at his zipper. This always feels amazing.
But Ilya can’t help but wonder what happened to Shane’s plant.
Later, Shane lays on his side, resting his cheek on Ilya’s bicep as Ilya’s fingers card through his hair. Shane almost purrs, so much like the cat Ilya jokingly, or not so jokingly, compares him to.
“So,” Ilya starts, feeling more contempt and relaxed than he has in weeks. “You deny Rose Landry for me?”
“Not just for you, for her as well.” Wrong answer.
“Much less romantic. Say it is for me.”
Shane rolls his eyes at him, yet when he speaks there’s not an ounce of irony: “Okay. It’s for you. Everything I do is for you.”
It feels like a punsh to the gut, the honesty, as a large lump forms in his throat. He’s thought Shane would joke back, but he has once again chosen to show his heart on his sleeve and be honest. Ilya has a strong feeling that this honesty is what’s going to kill him one day.
“I looked up that word. Compatible. I thought I knew what it meant but I wanted to be sure. So you and Rose Landry are not…”
“Of course not,” Shane sounds confused that Ilya would even ask him that. “Or not in that way anyway.”
“Not like what?” Ilya needs to hear him say it. Years of guessing what Shane Hollander really means has made him pretty good at it. But this is not something he can afford to get wrong.
And once again, wonderful Shane, gives him what he needs to hear. “Not like us. We are compatible. You and I. The most compatible.”
That Shane thinks so makes Ilya’s heart flutter like he’s twelve again. Only he didn’t feel like this at twelve. Or anytime since. Only Shane. “Yes. Most compatible.”
They lay in comfortable silence, Ilya letting his finger slowly stroke alongside Shane’s spine. Ilya’s the one to break it.. “How many goals will you score tomorrow?”
“Now who’s only thinking about hockey?”
“Hmm still you.”
“Fuck off.”
“No, I do not think so.”
“Fine, you can stay. But I don’t know, like one? It’s not more than a normal game.”
“Pshhhh Hollander, where is your spirit! We will crush other team, I will make at least four goals.”
“Four!?”
“At least.”
“You won’t even get a hattrick.”
“Are you making me a bet Hollander?”
“I mean I wasn’t…”
“Nono, I will accept. I will score three goals tomorrow.”
“What do you get if you win?”
“Let me think.” Ilya taps his finger against his chin. “If I score hattrick tomorrow, then after game I get to make you cum untouched.”
“What? It’s supposed to be a win for you! Don’t you want me to, I don’t know, suck your cock or something?”
It takes so much restraint for Ilya to not throw his head back in a laugh. “Are you saying you will not do anyway?”
“I didn’t…” Shane blushes and drops the sentence, and what is Ilya to do except press a kiss to his lips?
“And also, you think making you cum with my tongue and fingers in your hole is not a win for me?”
“Jesus Christ Ilya.” Shane hides his face against Ilya’s skin as Ilya grins at him.
“I think you want this victory too. Maybe you should just make lots of assists.”
“Dream on, I’ll make the goals myself.”
“You just said you will make one goal.”
“That’s before I knew we were gonna bet on it!”
“What do you want then, if you score hattrick?”
Shane thinks about it. “I get to do whatever I want with your cock.”
Ilya raises an eyebrow at him. Shane’s cheeks are burning red, but he keeps his gaze steady.
“You think this will be punishment for me?”
“You’ll have to be very still for me, let me do whatever. Go slow maybe, if I feel like it. Or fast. Maybe touch you until you beg. Or not touch you at all.”
Suddenly Ilya’s mouth is as dry as sand. He sometimes forgets just how slutty Shane can be. If only people knew… But that is only for Ilya’s eyes. Mine.
“Okay?” Shane asks and Ilya can only nod. Shane kisses him and lays back down, moving around a bit to make himself comfortable.
“We’ll both win tomorrow anyway. The first boyfriends to win together in the….” Ilya’s pretty sure Shane continues to speak but his mind is suddenly filled with a buzzing sound. Because. What?
Boyfriends?
Boyfriends?
Did Shane just casually refer to him as his boyfriend?
Ilya feels as though he’s missed several important chapters here, cause he’s pretty certain he would remember if Shane freaking Hollander had asked him to be his boyfriend.
“What?” he managed to croak out.
“No but like on the ice then…”
“No, not that. Just. Boyfriends?” Ilya can hear the disbelief in his own voice.
“I mean, yeah?” Shane sounds just as confused.
“But… You never said.”
Shane sits up, and Ilya immediately hates all the air between them. But this is important, so he sits up as well. They’re both still naked, sitting opposite each other on the bed, both looking at the other with a perplexed expression.
“Maybe I didn’t, but,” Shane starts. “I thought that was pretty clear?”
“When?”
“Jesus, Ilya, with all the I’m yours and you’re mine talk. Boyfriends felt pretty heavily implied!” Shane sounds upset. He looks upset too. Eyes wide, and a little scared.
“Oh.” It feels like their roles are reversed. Usually it’s Shane who needs clarification for everything, and Ilya who teases him about it. But not now.
“Yeah, oh.” Shane hesitates and when he speaks again, his voice is small. His eyes are trained at his fingers carefully picking at the blanket, intently not looking at Ilya’s face. “You really didn’t think we were boyfriends?”
Ilya doesn’t want to lie. “I saw you as my boyfriend. I just did not think you did.”
Shane nods, still not meeting his gaze. That he’s the same person that just a few minutes ago were talking about making Ilya beg with his mouth on his cock feels ridiculous.
“So you have not…” Shane stops to clear his throat. “You have not been with anyone else?”
“What!?” That is the most absurd thing Ilya has ever heard. “No! Shane, of course not. I am yours. Only yours. Forever if I get too.”
And Shane has been so brave, so incredibly brave this entire fucking time. He’s taken initiative. He’s reached out to Ilya. He’s talked to him in public.
Maybe it’s Ilya’s turn to take a leap and hope he lands in the safe arms of Shane. He takes a deep breath and finally, finally, utters the words that have been stuck in his throat for so long.
“ I… I love you.”
That makes Shane snap his head, staring at Ilya. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, face shocked.
Dark eyes wide open in shock.
That was the wrong thing to say, apparently.
“Holy fuck.”
Shit.
Blyat.
Shane is not there to catch him.
Ilya’s falling to his death.
He must fix this, right fucking now, must say something to keep Shane here. He can’t run away again, Ilya won’t survive it. “I mean…”
“I love you too.”
Wait.
Stop.
Shane’s voice.
Shane’s voice saying the words Ilya had only ever dreamed of hearing.
I love you too.
Ilya can do nothing but look at him for a couple of seconds. Warm, dark eyes wide and scared and surprised, but so so full of adoration.
“Fuck, Shane.” Where did the tears come from?
And then Shane grabs him, pulling him close and close and close. Ilya lets himself be wrapped up in the warm embrace, his heart beating faster than it ever has before. “Oh my god I love you so much.”
Ilya feels warm to his core. It’s like he’s soaring hundreds of feet in the air, burning from within.
“How did we let this happen?” he asks.
“We’re stupid.”
And they are. Or they must be, for this to happen. But Ilya doesn’t feel stupid. Being here, loving Shane Hollander, and apparently being loved back, feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“I love you,” Ilya says again, just because he can, making Shane’s breath hitch slightly. “Ya tebya lyublyu. I love you.”
Shane clings to him before suddenly pulling back. When Ilya groans in disagreement and tries to follow, he's stopped by a hand on Ilya’s shoulder. That sobers him up.
Shane is looking at him with those wide eyes again. Big and dark and disbelieving.
“What did you just say?”
Ilya stares back. “What?” It feels pretty fucking obvious, no? And Shane said it back, didn’t he?
“In Russian. Say it again.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu.”
Shane stares at him before his eyes narrow accusingly. What the fuck is going on? Did Ilya imagine these last few minutes?
“I can’t believe you!” Shane exclames.
“What? Shane, is true. I promise.” I promise please believe me. I love you. “I love you.”
“Not that, it’s just… You’ve said that before!”
“What?” Ilya’s aware he sounds like a broken record, but he’s so confused right now that no other words seems to find him.
“Ye tebl… Whatever you said! You’ve said that to me before!”
“I have no…” Ilya stops himself, because he had, he realizes. Weeks ago. At Shane’s apartment when he just couldn’t help himself but say it.
“You said it meant I want food!” Shane punctuates the words with a finger on Ilya's chest.
“Well I-”
But Shane is on a roll. “You said it to me weeks ago! Weeks! And you didn’t let me know! I wasn’t able to say it back because I didn’t know!
“Wait but-”
“I want to share this with you, Ilya. I want to share everything with you. All our firsts, okay? Don’t leave me in the dark about important things.” Shane sounds so sincere and is looking at him with those damn eyes. And suddenly Ilya feels like a dick. Of course, he wants that too. Share things with Shane. Maybe even a life, if he ever gets to be so lucky and manages not to fuck it up until then. Shane is so brave, and Ilya is a coward, hiding in another language, depriving Shane of their firsts.
“You are right, I am sorry. I love you.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” Shane pulls him back against his chest, and it feels like coming home. “I don’t want to hear you say sorry and I love you that close together again, it breaks my heart. Don’t be sorry for loving me, okay?”
“Am not, I promise.” Sure, Shane’s life would be easier without Ilya in it, but Ilya’s selfish. He’s not sorry for loving Shane. Will never be. He’ll do it long after he’s stopped breathing.
“Je t’aime.” Shane whispers.
“I know that one, you can not keep secrets from me.”
“Damn.” But Ilya can feel his lips smile against the side of his neck.
“It feels like cheating,” Shane says, “That I can’t hide in French but you can hide in Russian.”
“Then maybe you should learn Russian then, yes?”
“Da,” Shane says and that’s too much for Ilya. He grabs him and pulls him down on the bed with a yelp, straddling Shane’s hips while keeping his hands in a firm grip over his head. Shane doesn't fight him, only looks at him with a fond smile.
“You are too perfect,” Ilya breathes against Shane’s cheek.
“I love you,” Shane breathes back. “Ye tebju jublu.”
“Close enough.” If Ilya doesn’t get Shane’s cock in his mouth again soon he’ll spontaneously combust.
But as he starts to kiss down Shane’s ribs a hand stops him.
“No, tell me how to say it properly.”
“Later.”
“No. Now. Please?”
Ilya lifts himself up, holding himself on his forearms on the bed, his face hovering right over Shane’s, their lips just a few centimeters apart.
“Ye-”
“Ye-”
“-tebya-”
“-tebya-”
“-lyublyu.”
“-lyublyu.” Ilya’s heart is so full it feels like it might bust at any second.
“Good. Okay, all together. Ya tebya lyublyu.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu.” It’s not totally correct, the words are too pronounced and wrong. But it’s so close.
“Perfect.” Ilya says again before pressing his lips to Shane’s.
“You will keep teaching me?”
“Yes. Da.”
“I want to understand you Ilya, this is important to me. You promise?”
“Yes, moya lyubov.”
Another promise. One that Ilya doesn’t even think twice before giving. Anything Shane wants, Ilya will move the moon trying to get him.
“Whatever you want.” I'll give you whatever you want as long as you want me.
“You. I want you.”
“You have me. I promise.”
Forever he doesn’t say. But it doesn’t feel like he needs to. The thing between them is a forever.
And as Shane’s head falls back with a breathy moan when Ilya presses into him once again, Ilya can’t help but see a picture flash before his eyes. It’s him and Shane, both in suits, standing opposite each other holding hands. Open and free. Surrounded by their friends and their family. And they won’t say I Do. No, instead they will do it their own way, just like with everything else in their relationship.
Instead they will say I Promise.