Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Relationship Anxiety, Defining the Relationship, long distance, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Fluff, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Bad at Feelings, Boyfriends, Very light miscommunication trope where everyone is trying their best and no one is being mean, Author likes em dashes but is not in any way ai, Which you’ll be able to tell by all the mistakes anyway

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-26 Completed: 2026-01-30 Words: 8,038 Chapters: 5/5

Different This Time

Summary

Ilya laughed.

“That bothered you?”

”You have no idea. Half the time I use the tiny scraps of information you give me to look them up anyway. But you’re so cryptic. You’re like,” Shane put on a little voice, “‘Ah, we might have a layover in Charlotte, but am not sure, could be Atlanta.’ Infurating.”

”Ok, Hollander, I will send you a calendar invite. This is seductive to you, yes?”

—

It’s been months since the cottage, and Shane is finally coming to visit Ilya. He hasn’t been back in Boston since the day he ran out the door saying he couldn’t do this. Ilya is spiraling, just a little, not knowing where they stand in this new and fragile thing. Boyfriends, probably. He’s never been someone’s boyfriend before.

Notes

Chapter 1: What good boyfriends do

Snow was drifting over Boston. Ilya and Shane hadn’t seen each other in a month and a half. The last time—the first time since the cottage—had been a hotel, not an overnight. It was desperate, dirty in a way Ilya hadn’t been proud of, needy. He had felt the need to prove that this was still happening, like he had wanted to crack into Shane’s ribs and live in there.  

Now, Ilya hadn’t slept in three days. He knew he was crankier than he should be. He was staring at himself hard in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t want to feel like this, to be like this. 

Ilya had been having nightmares. Last night he had dreamed he was fucking Shane (normally his favorite kind of dream), thrusting with all he had and buried to the hilt, gone and desperate. It was perfect, felt perfect, he was so close and dream Shane was… bored. Like he had the angle wrong. Like he wasn’t sexy, wasn’t anything. Like this sex was a favor to Ilya. Like Shane’s mind was wandering off to a grocery list, a hockey play.

Even his subconscious must think the best of Shane, because in his dream he wasn’t even an asshole about it. Dream Shane had held Ilya by the arms, he said he could still come, asked if maybe they could try again later. Ilya could feel panic rising in his chest, powerless to Shane not wanting him. What if Shane was bored, it would all be over if he couldn’t do anything to make him feel good—

Ilya had woken up hard and miserable, running his palms flat down his face. It didn’t take a genius to analyze that dream. Ilya knew what he was afraid of. 

In their perfect summer in the cottage, he hadn’t felt scared at all. It creeped in the months after, when they were apart. Ilya tried, he held tight to the memory of telling Shane he loved him, how perfectly sure he was in that moment that they both felt the enormity of this… thing. I met his parents, he reminded himself. He invited me, the foundation opens next month, he cried when I left in Ohio, I held him, he— Ilya was worrying a hole in his long sleeve like he had worn out all these memories. He’d had so many weeks to fill, promising himself this was real, was happening. 

Over time, his thoughts got corrupted, his brain got meaner. 

When he thought, he said he loved me too, it became, yeah well, not at first. 

He introduced me to his parents, came out for me, became, well, he didn’t have much choice.

He wants me, he thinks about me, he’s planning for us, became, for now.

We’ve only ever been in love with each other, became, aren’t there any nice guys in Montreal? 

He loves me. He tells me all the time, became, Sure. While he thinks you’re strong, thinks you’re the best. What happens when someone beats you? What happens when you’re not the sexiest in the room? He knows he’s gay now. He can just go get a gay man. A nice one. One who knew how to be a boyfriend.  

Which Ilya didn’t, by the way. They had called him a ‘ladies’ man’ in Shane’s family’s kitchen, but truthfully no one had ever asked to grab hold of him for much longer than a night anyway. He supposed he probably didn’t give off the right vibe, at least not for the last however many years where he was desperately seeking Shane. 

It was stupid, all this worry was stupid. Ilya knew it was stupid. It all melted away when he got to see Shane, got to touch him. Even in that last stupid hotel room in fucking Ohio of all places, all his doubts dripped off him like shower water. It was so much harder to tell himself a lie about how Shane was leaving, or he should be leaving, or maybe Ilya should be leaving to protect Shane, or whatever nonsense his brain was spinning when their hands were touching, when Shane was kissing him all over his face. When they were together.

But they couldn’t be, not like they wanted, not yet. And Ilya’s mind was so good at thinking of reasons he was unlovable. He’d had years of practice. Growing up taught him that if something good happened that just meant the bad thing was coming. Shane hadn’t seen how lazy he was, hadn’t seen him lay in bed for three days. Hadn’t watched him down 8 tequila shots to avoid a conversation. Shane had seen how Ilya handled conflict (silence, yelling, saying something shitty, crying) and he couldn’t imagine that Shane wanted to sign up for a whole life of that. Ilya wouldn’t want to. 

How much more would it hurt if Shane left now, with Ilya already out of his Boston contract, already moving, when he had nothing? Risky, stupid his brain supplied, foolish. 

The texting situation wasn’t helping things. 

Ilya had been holding back, before Florida, before Boston, back when they were just… whatever they were. He had texted Shane as little as possible. Utility only. No phone calls. Once that dam was broken… he wanted to Snapchat Shane pictures of his breakfast, tell him every dumb joke someone said in the locker room. Make him send selfies three times a day. Ask him what socks he was wearing. He wanted every tiny dumb piece of information he could get about Shane, wanted to collect them all like a little magpie. 

But Shane hadn’t changed, really. They left the cottage and Shane did text him more, did text him ‘I love you’ (which never failed to make Ilya’s heart jump out of his chest and into his throat, like he was going to cry. Every time. Humiliating. Thrilling. Stupid.) But it wasn’t enough. Ilya had tried at first, and Shane did reply. Shane was just so busy, it was like a tiny rejection whenever it took hours. Ilya hated seeing his side of  messages pile up, no reply. So he stopped. And he waited. He counted. He started every other conversation, no more, no less. 

And, ok, yes, probably that was stupid. Probably, because every time he heard Shane’s voice on the other side of a phone call, a voice note, sending him an emoji, it was like dreary Boston and snow melted away, it was summer again, and he was messing up Shane’s nice couch at the cottage and eating too many burgers. Like a portal. If he wanted to call his boyfriend more, if that would help, he should just call more. But he couldn’t. 

And now Shane was coming here to Ilya’s house for an entire weekend. And Ilya was thrilled, had been counting down the days, euphoric. But it was also the first time since… well. He frowned looking at the spot on the couch where he had sat for hours, stunned, dirty, shirtless. 

Ilya had been prepping his house for days. Well, weeks, if you counted the parts where he was just thinking about it. He’d cleaned out a nightstand for Shane. He’d bought weird gross macrobiotic food. He didn’t need to buy ginger ale, he still had some from the last time, the disaster time. He winced at the memory, so he got new ones anyway. Did ginger ale go bad? Really just for something to do, some way to think of Shane, make him feel close even though he was far away. A reason to think of him in the grocery aisle.

Shane hadn’t texted Ilya for three days until this morning. Ilya had read the text maybe 100 times. 

Jane: I land at 2. I’ll check into the hotel and then I’ll come there? No need to pick me up. 

Jane: I can’t believe how terrible all the Rolex stuff was. They made me damp again. I brought you one, though. 

Ilya had rolled it around in his mind. He didn’t know Shane had booked a hotel room. Was he not staying here?

Was he really going to make Ilya ask him to stay after last time?

And he didn’t want Ilya to pick him up. So, like, an escape plan? This wouldn’t be a breakup, right? Shane wouldn’t fly back to Boston to break up with him the same way he had— 

Ilya pinched his nose. He was losing it. Shane was coming. He got to see Shane. For a full weekend, curtesy of something something Yuna Hollander had covered for. He wasn’t going to ruin this over nothing, over a text he didn’t understand. 

Lily: I am excited to see you 

There, he thought, at least he was trying. He didn’t say what he would have said at 18, which was nothing, or what he would have said at 22, which was a passive aggressive ‘cool.’ He said the truth, the vulnerable truth. That’s what you’re supposed to do, if you are a boyfriend. Ilya thought, at least. 

Shane didn’t reply, just hearted the message.


Ilya leaned over his kitchen island and groaned. 

Chapter 2: Presents

Shane knocked at exactly 3pm. Ilya tucked his curls behind his ears, adjusted his shirt. He felt a little flash of humiliation thinking about last time, opening the door shirtless, doing everything he could just for—

But it hadn’t been humiliating, right? Shane had wanted to stay. He had wanted him. There was no need to be embarrassed. He let out a little exhale, and padded his way to the door in his house slides.

Shane stood anxiously in the snow, little snowflakes on his hat, his jacket, his eyelashes. He had bags. He was so pretty, flushed and smiling so bright Ilya thought he could outshine the sun.

“Hi,” Shane said, looking at Ilya like he couldn’t believe he was real.

Ilya tugged him inside and had him against the inside of the door in seconds, suitcase tossed on the ground. He picked Shane up easily, it was all lips and teeth and joy. Shane’s cheeks were cold from outside. Shane’s legs were wrapping tightly around his waist, Ilya had one arm holding him up and one grabbing his ass like his life depended on it. Shane moaned, and Ilya felt so much better.

This he could do. This he was good at.

God, he loved how open Shane was about wanting him, at least wanting dick. Thank god, he thought if Shane could pretend to be even 1/10th cooler or disaffected by Ilya he would lose his mind.

But no, Shane was hard and whining and moaning into Ilya’s neck already. He gasped into the fabric of Ilya’s shirt, “Fuck,” and Ilya felt a real smile breakout over his face for the first time in weeks.

“Wait- god,” Shane was catching his breath. Ilya let him slide down, and Shane kissed him again, less heated, softer. Ilya tried not to be disappointed. It was less that he wanted to fuck Shane right this second (although, yeah, he really fucking did) and more that he wanted to prove himself. Wanted to see Shane whining and pleading and smiling and all the other things that made Ilya feel like he was useful here, like he could give Shane something. Namely, his dick.

“I have stuff for you,” Shane said, breathless, still smiling at him like he hung the moon. Ilya playfully pushed him against the door again, face first this time. He purred into Shane’s ear. “I know what you brought me,” he slid his hand up Shane’s thigh to cup his dick through his pants and was rewarded with a broken sound from Shane, wanton.

“Fuu-ck.” Shane moaned. “Ilya, oh my god, it’s been so long you can’t do that shit to me I’ll—“

Ilya bit the back of his neck.

“Maybe I want you to cum in your jeans for me, yes? Here, against the door, like you can’t wait. Aren’t you always bragging about speed awards —“

Shane moaned, whiny, then steadied his breath and moved Ilya’s hand off him. He turned around.

“Ok, I want to give you presents now —“

Ilya opened his mouth to reply.

”—Presents other than my ass, is that ok with you?”

Ilya took a step back, gestured to Shane’s bag, as if to say, yeah sure go for it. He shouldn’t feel rejected. He didn’t. He shouldn’t so he didn’t. This didn’t mean anything was bad. They talked to each other now. They didn’t have to fuck to communicate.

“Ok, so first, I really did bring you a Rolex, I asked the girl what the coolest one is, and I have no…” Shane trailed off, looking at the slides by the door.

Oh, yeah. Ilya felt his cheeks heat, just a smidge. Shane didn’t wear shoes in the house. Ilya wore house slides.

He had gotten Shane a pair, deliberately memorized his shoe size when Shane wasn’t looking. They were just like his, only mostly white with black stripes instead of Ilya’s mostly black with white stripes. Ilya liked that, that yin-yang thing they sometimes had. That Shane’s stick tape was black and his was white.

“Are these for me?” Shane asked, grinning, toeing off his sneakers.

“No, those are for whoever. Many people have worn them, probably have a fungus.”

“They’re my size and they have a sticker still on them, asshole,” Shane slid his socked feet into them, grinning.

Shane tugged him closer, kissing him again, slow. Ilya felt himself melting.

“Ok, so first, watch,” he handed Ilya a box that Ilya tucked into his back pocket, “Second—“

Shane dug deeply into the suitcase, “This toque my mom found for you, it’s the original Centar’s logo, you know, from before their graphic design went to shit. I think it was my grandfather’s. I thought it could be cool, you know, now that you’ve signed.”

Shane held it out to him. It was really cute, and soft, and Ilya loved the idea that it was some sort of family heirloom. He took it.

“I like the hat.”

“Ottawa really isn’t going to know what hit them, Ilya, I swear—“

Shane was still rummaging in his clothes, looking for something, but every moment they weren’t touching Ilya felt himself losing his mind. Was he giving him gifts now because he and his suitcase were leaving, later? Back to the hotel? Shane was probably five words into a sentence Ilya didn’t hear when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“How long do we have?”

Shane looked up, confused.

“Hm?”

”Till you leave, how long do we have?”

Ilya knew he sounded irritated, angry. He didn’t mean to. He scratched his nose.

“Oh, my uh, flight is on Monday at 3pm. I sent you the flight information, I think.”

Ilya nodded, tightly, he’d memorized Shane’s various flights to Boston a long time ago, but that didn’t answer his question, and now he had to rephrase, which was even more vulnerable and find even more delicate English phrases.

“And you’re, uh, here. Until then?”

Shane stood up, and he looked baffled, amused. Ilya wasn’t joking! He let out a huffy little breath.

“Rozanov,” Shane started. Ilya flinched.

“Ok, Ilya, are you trying to ask me if I’m staying here?”

Ilya nodded, once, tightly. He tried to shrug like ‘not that it matters’ even though he knew his performance was entirely unconvincing.

Shane took two steps forward, placing two hands on his shoulders, seeking eye contact to force him to look. Bastard, thought Ilya. Followed by, goddamn he’s so gorgeous.

“Ilya, I only have the hotel thing because my mom said it would be safer, if the press… I should have said. I have been like, counting down the days. I couldn’t sleep last night I was so excited. I,” Shane blushed, “I’ve been sleeping in a hoodie you left in the cottage and I had to wash it last week and I thought I’d cry. I’ve been like, jerking off to the thought that I get to sleep in your bed. I’d really, really like to stay, uh, please.” Shane swallowed, like he might actually think Ilya would say no, which was enough to nuke any of the remaining worries in Ilya’s head.

“Ok, you can stay. You know, since you begged.”

Shane’s smiled wobbled a little, and then he laughed. Ilya kissed him, and kept kissing him, and kissed him from the hallway all the way to the bed, suitcase left open clothes strewn down the hallway, Shane’s and Ilya’s and Ilya’s and Shane’s and no distinction between the two.

Chapter 3: Probably

Ilya was pleased to announce that the fucking went great. Shane was leaning on his arm, tracing patterns between his moles on his chest, and Ilya was feeling leagues lighter. They had all weekend, together, just like he’d planned.

In real life, Shane had distinctly not reacted like he had in his dreams, and now Ilya had about 15 more memories of breathless Shane’s pretty polite mouth saying things like “Oh, god, please,” and “Fuck off Rozanov, stop teasing, fuck me,” and “Please, Ilya, please, I’m going to cum for you.” That’d last him at least a couple weeks.

Ilya closed his eyes, let out a happy little hum.

“Did you really not think I was going to stay?” Shane asked.

Ilya cracked an eye open.

“Hollander, I am trying to bask.”

“Ok, answer while you bask.”

Ilya sat up on an elbow.

“I thought…probably.”

Shane nodded, mouthed the word back to him quietly, probably, like he was remembering something.

“You know,” Shane sat up, stopped touching him. Ilya frowned. Shane’s hand found Ilya’s hair and Ilya hummed again, finding this replacement acceptable, “We never really talked about what it means. To be boyfriends, I mean.”

Ilya shuffled uncomfortably. He considered hiding under the blankets. Probably not the most mature solution.

“What is there to talk about? We are together, yes?” He hoped the ‘yes’ didn’t sound as pathetic to Shane as it did to him.

“Yeah, Rozanov, we’re together,” Shane was trying to joke but he was so clearly so happy about it he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Ilya couldn’t blame him. It was stunningly good.

“Ok, so, you didn’t like ‘lovers’…” Ilya gestured into the air like, there you go.

Shane wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t like lovers in front of my parents because it sounds like you’re looking for a nice way to say we are fucking.”

Ilya blinked at him. He was.

“Ok! Well! I didn’t want to talk about fucking in front of my parents! But also I think… being boyfriends normally comes with some other stuff. Right?”

Ilya scratched his nose.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been one before. Boyfriend.”

Shane looked shocked.

“Oh, you are surprised, you thought all these years I was cheating on a nice girl who was expecting me home to make dinner?”

Shane raised his hands, in mock surrender, and Ilya was sorry because it meant once again they weren’t touching. He needed to get less pathetic, quickly.

“I just figured, sometime, like maybe when you were younger, or with Svetlana. But, uh, I’ve been a boyfriend before.”

Ilya huffed, crossing his arms. “Yes, I saw.”

Shane nudged him with his shoulder, “Not, uh, very well. And never… never like this,where it mattered to me.”

Ilya looked over at him, he had a hickey forming at the base of his throat where Ilya had bitten him earlier. Good. He was so lovely, and also so much better at all this than Ilya was.

“And, back then, we talked. About what being together would mean. Maybe we should too?”

Ilya would rather pull out each of his leg hairs one by one than openly ask for things from Shane or tell him these things. But Shane was looking at him so openly and with so much trust that he had to say yes. Sometimes when it was like this he felt like he was a wild horse Shane was trying not to spook.

Well, being here, in this house, reminded Ilya that he’d very carefully led Shane through things before too.

“Okay,” he said, as openly as he could. He tried very hard not to pout.

“So,” Shane swallowed. Clearly something that had been on his mind too. He was biting on his thumbnail. “I think… well, to me being together means we aren’t… fucking anyone else. Or like, being with anyone else. Kissing anyone else.”

Shane was holding eye contact, but he looked vulnerable, and Ilya was beginning to understand that Shane maybe thought that would be a big ask from Ilya. A touch confusing, maybe, because Ilya thought they had covered off on this pretty clearly at the cottage, but sometimes Shane liked things laid out in black and white, clean.

Ilya ran his hand up Shane’s arm, over the soft part where his chest met his neck, to find its place on his cheek, rubbing his thumb over his freckles.

“Yes, I don’t want to be with anyone but you, moya lyubov. This is easy.”

Shane nodded, leaning into the touch, like maybe he’d wanted to hear that for a longer time than Ilya knew.

“To be clear. I don’t want to see anyone else either. Obviously. Your turn.”

Ilya didn’t think that was altogether that obvious, but it was nice to hear. He felt a little guilt forming, a little bruise on this perfect thing, thinking that meant Shane might be giving up something for him. Even if that thing was a kiss in a dark club. Even if that kiss would have Ilya sick with grief to think about. He didn’t want to deprive Shane of anything. Ever.

His turn. What could he even ask for? What did it mean to be with Shane? It was too big to say.

What could they even have? Anything he could think of was impossible or stupid. But Shane was waiting so still and focused, like Ilya was about to lay out a power play.

“I would like you to stay here, when you’re in Boston, until I move. And I would like to stay with you in Montreal, and at the cottage in Ottawa when we can, or my house, when I move. I would like it to be… a given.”

Shane grinned at him, wide.

“Done. Absolutely,” Shane was pulling closer like he wanted to rest his head on Ilya, but he never quite made that motion himself.

Ah, thank god, something I can help with, Ilya thought as his hands guided Shane’s head to his chest.

“I want…” Shane trailed off, “I want all your flight information. Like all of it, I don’t care if it’s team flights, I want to know where you’re going and when you land and I want to watch your stupid little plane on the plane tracker. Ok?”

Ilya laughed.

“That bothered you?”

”You have no idea. Half the time I use the tiny scraps of information you give me to look them up anyway. But you’re so cryptic. You’re like,” Shane put on a little voice, ‘Ah, we might have a layover in Charlotte, but am not sure, could be Atlanta.’ Infurating.”

”Ok, Hollander, I will send you a calendar invite. This is seductive to you, yes?”

Shane turned to look up and grinned at him, like, yes it is.

Ilya turned his head away a little for this one. Just to not make eye contact about it.

”I would like to talk every day. On the phone, if we can. Or, text. If we can’t. Doesn’t have to be for long.”

He pointedly did not look down at Shane’s face, but he felt him squirm closer to his chest so at least what he said didn’t seem to be so needy as to be disgusting.

“Really?”

Ilya lifted his eyebrows to mean like, yeah, shrugged his shoulders to mean like, it is what it is.

“That’s very boyfriend-y of you,” Shane said. Ilya could hear the grin in his voice.

“Fuck off, Hollander.”

Shane slid over him to straddle his lap. Ilya’s dick gave a twitch of interest but it was still too soon to go another round. Shane pressed their foreheads together.

“I would love to call you and say goodnight, Rozanov.”

“You are not supposed to mock me now, I read it in a book, makes you an asshole—“

“I’m being so fucking serious,” Shane said, laughing, “I really want to. I wanna call you every night before I go to bed and I want to say I love you and that I hope you have good dreams. Then I want to say good morning the next day and ask you what disgusting sugar explosion you ate for breakfast. I wrote so many text messages and deleted them. I thought you would make fun of me because it was too soft.”

Ilya grinned, despite himself, “Yeah, ok, ok. I get it, I am the soft one.”

“The softest,” Shane smirked, kissing down Ilya’s neck, “for now.” Ilya’s dick gave another valiant jump at that and he moaned low, but it was still too soon, and Shane knew it.

“It is your turn, I think,” Ilya said, bucking up against Shane and making him blush.

Shane leaned back on his heels, to think. He was playing with his lip between his teeth, and Ilya leaned over to run his thumb over it. Shane opened his mouth, pliant, sticking just a little of the pink of his tongue out to brush against it.

Fuck, Ilya whispered under his breath.

“I want,” He seemed to be more confident asking Ilya for things while grinding on his lap. Which was probably fair, there was very little Ilya wouldn’t give him in this position. “Proof this is happening, I guess. With deniability, but like…I want you to have a toothbrush at my house in Montreal. I want to leave one here, like I’m coming back. I want to have workout clothes here, pajamas. And I want one of your shirts to sleep in.”

Ilya scooted over to reach the handle of the nightstand and yank it open without dislodging Shane from him.

“It’s empty.” Shane said, blankly.

Ilya raised his eyebrows at him.

“It’s for my stuff?” Shane asked.

“Yeah for your boring hockey books and your glasses and your dildo—“

“Why would I need a dildo here?” He asked, bewildered.

Ilya grinned, wolfishly, “Oh, I have a few ideas. But yes. For you, for your stuff. Yes, I mean, you can have stuff. And steal my clothes, if you want.”

Shane looked so grateful and thrilled that Ilya felt a little bad. Had he already fucked up so much as a boyfriend that Shane thought he wouldn’t do these small things for him, didn’t want to make space for him? But then again he had just felt breathless by the idea that Shane wanted to text him goodnight so…

He flipped Shane over, quick and fast, pulled his leg up on his shoulder.

“I have things I want, Hollander, just remembered.”

Shane rolled his eyes, but it was undercut but how rapidly he was getting hard under Ilya’s attention.

“I want you to get a little 81 tattoo, just here,” He brushed over the inside of Shane’s thigh, where the softest part met his torso. Shane shivered.

“Fat chance.”

”Ok, you can get ‘Ilya’ instead. In a heart.”

He trailed his fingers from the inside of his thigh over Shane’s dick which was already dripping precum. He traced the vein slowly, pinning Shane’s arms up with one hand when he squirmed.

“No,”

“Nepravil'nyy, your line is actually ‘Yes, Rozanov, please, more’—“

Chapter 4: Off your chest

“I think I died.” Shane said, after, panting, “What time is it?”

”Seven,” Ilya answered, fumbling for where his new Rolex box was on the floor, from where it had landed when it fell out of his pants pocket. He put it on and showed Shane the time, grinning. He was now wearing exactly one item of clothing.

“How has it been four hours, I feel like I just got here,” Shane complained, then he winced, “I am so sticky.”

”Shower,” Ilya nodded to the bathroom, “I made dinner before, I’ll get it ready. Then I’ll shower and we can eat together, yes?”

Shane blinked, and Ilya felt like he could see the little thoughts bubbling under there, Shane’s Canadian politeness fighting against his deeply regimented diet. 

“Um,” 

“And while you are in the shower I will send you the recipe so you can check the macros, even though I have already checked the macros and they are fine.” 

Shane sat up and kissed him. “I love you.”  

Ilya smacked his face affectionately, rolling his eyes, tugging on his underwear, waving his hand broadly at the bathroom. 

He had made a spaghetti squash pasta dish that was actually pretty good for something Shane would eat. He put it back in the oven and calculated Celsius to Fahrenheit on his phone, because god help him he would never memorize that conversion no matter how long he lived here. He started reheating the sauce on the stove, pushing it back and forth with a wooden spoon. 

“You got me a new towel,” Shane said, when he returned, sliding onto a barstool. He sounded smug.

Ilya always liked how Shane looked fresh out of the shower, so clean and soft, hair damp. It used to make him feel a little sad, because Shane being clean meant he was leaving. Meant Ilya needed to stop touching him, couldn’t risk making him dirty again. Like Ilya’s hands were the dirt. 

Now they fell together into beds—their real beds—smelling like soap and each other. It made Ilya ache a little, how much better it was. 

“I would prefer you drip dry naked in the middle of the living room like a statue while I watch, but you’d be cold, so.” He turned his back to hide his smile.

”You got my shampoo.” Shane said, shit-eating grin audible in the reply.

Ilya chanced a glance over his shoulder. “So you wouldn’t use mine? It’s expensive. Sveta taught me.”

“Mmhmm,” Shane said, opening the ginger ale laid out for him, “Since when did you start using moisturizer, Rozanov?” 

“Ok, I get it, you’re amazed because I’m such a good host. I’ll teach you how, Hollander, don’t worry. Can you stir this?”

He handed over the spoon and tried to pretend like he wasn’t showering as fast as possible, just to get back to spending time with Shane. 

***

Under the hot water, Ilya took stock. He felt so much better, like Shane had reached in and shut off his thoughts, his doubts. Or maybe because he fucked them out of him, sucked them out of his dick, something.

He didn’t know how to describe it, being with Shane. It was just… right. It was just him. It just was.

He took a deep breath, as if he was even breathing better now that Shane was here, roughly shampooing his hair in a way Sveta wouldn’t approve of. (You’d have nice curls and not this mess if you’d just be gentle and use conditioner, she’d said when she taught him, in a bathtub at a party in Moscow like 8 years ago after some pretty woman had thrown up on him.) 

He wasn’t sure he had ever really felt this way about a person before, safe. Wanting to build… something. He wondered if Shane even knew how much power he had over him, if he wanted it. He had to know, right, the way he said jump and Ilya lapped at the opportunity to say ‘how high’?

He wanted to do a good job. Shane had gone out of his way to tell Ilya he didn’t think he was lazy but Ilya couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something, ruining something. Not worth it, this. He’d never done anything good enough to deserve this. 

He wanted to text Sveta. Wanted to ask her what she thought good boyfriends did. He wanted to ask her if she had ever felt like this, ever been someone’s girlfriend. He couldn’t picture it. She’d never mentioned it, if she had. Her eyes got soft, sometimes, when they remembered a couple of weeks in Moscow where they had been as close as they ever were to something, and Ilya understood. There was a summer where he didn’t hear from her for months and when she came back she had no stories and bags under her eyes, maybe from crying or not sleeping. He had always thought there was someone, then.

She never said, so maybe she never got…here. To be loved, together, even if only they knew. Ilya hoped she would. He hoped everyone good would. 

Now that he’d tasted this he wanted to tell everyone, call them, have a press conference to say soul mates are real. 

Maybe you should ask Scott Hunter for tips to make sure you don’t screw it up, his traitor brain supplied. Ok, wow, he needed to get a grip. 

He dried off, not bothering to do anything elaborate getting dressed, the clothes would be coming off again anyway. He pulled on his same sweat pants, a clean tank top. A white one, which he always felt made him look a little too euro-trash, but he didn’t want to fuck around with finding a better shirt when he could be with Shane.

Shane looked up at him appraisingly, as Ilya slid into the kitchen, still drying his hair on a towel. Shane was still staring at him, like he was curious, maybe about what other tricks Ilya had prepared for dinner. It was surprisingly easy between them. 

He had thought it felt easy in the cottage, and them falling back into it now felt like proof. Like how on the ice, suddenly they were mind readers even with Ilya playing a position he wasn’t used to. Like how in bed Ilya was always asking but Shane was always right there, wanting what he wanted, moving the way Ilya wanted him to move. 

And here, dinner made it to the table, easy, like it wasn’t a fluke. Against all odds, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov worked together, like, everywhere. 

Boyfriend-y, Shane had said earlier, Ilya felt boyfriend-y.

Except that Shane kept staring.

“‘Omthin’ wrong with the food?” Ilya asked with his mouth full, scratching his ear. Maybe he’d over baked it, something.

“What? Oh, no, it’s actually really good.” 

“Actually,” Ilya replied dryly. 

Shane grinned at him, tips of his ears bright red. 

“No,” Shane said, dropping eye contact to his plate, “I was just thinking that you’re… extremely hot, Ilya.” He’d raised his gaze back up to look Ilya in the eye, with the last bit and he he said it in a voice Ilya had come to think of Shane’s ‘reluctantly in love’ voice, like when he said ‘Goodbye, Ilya’ in Florida. 

Ilya looked down at himself in true surprise. Shane had complimented his appearance exactly twice and both times Ilya had to ask for it explicitly. And they were having phone sex in one of them. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Shane was inot him but…

“Now, I’m hot now?” Ilya asked, aghast. He was still damp from the shower. 

Shane looked up, clearly embarrassed but laughing, mouth full of squash. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nodding.

“Well, basically all time but yeah.” Ilya watched Shane’s eyes drag his eyes down his body. He still felt baffled. These were the same pants he was wearing earlier? And then there were no pants, for all the fucking. That wasn’t when he was hot? 

Shane kept laughing the harder the longer Ilya looked confused. 

“I should have been working way less hard,” Ilya grumbled, “if what gets you hard is pyjamas."

“Like you tried that hard in the first place,” Shane giggled out. “But, no, no, I just realized that I could just tell you. That I think you’re hot, that’s like, the first secret of this whole thing for me. I think you’re like, unbelievably hot. I have been like, trying not to say that for like 8 years. First because it meant that I was… well, and then because then you would… this isn’t making sense, it sounds stupid.” 

“No, no. It’s good you got it off your chest, Hollander. Not good to walk around not telling me you’re obsessed with me. Unhealthy,” Ilya grinned, putting his hand on Shane’s shoulder in mock comfort. Shane rolled his eyes, and Ilya finished saying, “I was worried that I was going to have to edge you to find out if you thought I should get a buzzcut.”

Shane’s face was suddenly deadly serious, “Don’t get a buzzcut.”

It was Ilya’s turn to laugh. 

Chapter 5: Staying

Chapter Notes

They had fallen onto the couch together after dinner, fighting over what to watch until Shane pointed out that they were going to talk over it anyway. Shane was slowly scratching circles into Ilya’s hair and it felt like heaven. Was too bad that Ilya was in the mood to piss him off.

“So,” Ilya started, keeping his face totally blank, “who else is hot?” 

“What,” Shane replied, voice flat and slightly wary.

“Obviously, I am the hottest, but you know, who else?”

Shane shrugged, “I haven’t really thought about it.”

”Hunter?” Ilya tried. 

Shane scoffed, shook his head. 

”You are such a bad liar, why do you try?”

Shane huffed. “I was trying really hard to be not gay for a long time! I didn’t exactly have like, posters of Ryan Gosling up in my bedroom.”

Ilya made a face like he ate a sour lemon. “Ryan Gosling? Ryan Gosling is your go-to for generic hot guy?”

”No! I just meant—leave me alone.” Shane scowled. Ilya was rewarded with what he wanted when Shane rolled his eyes, knit his eyebrows together, making his cranky little pouty face. 

“Wow, must have really bad taste.”

“I think that’s been clear for a while.” 

Ilya put his hand over his heart in mock offense, sighing dramatically. He let things simmer for a while, till Shane put his hands back into his hair, till Shane forgot to be on edge.

“Ok, if you won’t tell me who is hot you should at least tell me what it’s like.” 

Shane knew better than to rise to such obvious bait, but on the other hand he could almost never resist whatever teasing Ilya was about to do.

”What what is like?” Shane said, wary.

“Being gay?” Ilya fixed him with his most innocent, wide eyed look. 

Shane glared.

“I think you know, asshole.”

“No, it’s different,” Ilya said, putting on his most innocent expression, “I want you to tell me.” He reached up to touch Shane’s face as he seethed.

Shane shook his head while he talked, like he couldn’t believe he was being forced into this. “I’m attracted to men? And that’s it?”

Ilya nodded, like he was taking this in very thoughtfully, “So you see a beautiful woman, and you’re like, could be a lamp?”

Shane flicked him, which wasn’t very nice. “No, of course not. I can tell women are beautiful I just don’t want to do anything about it. For a while I thought I just had really high standards, like I thought…”

Ilya grinned, “Maybe all these women are just not hot enough for Shane Hollander? Such elite taste, needs a supermodel?”

Shane crossed his arms. Nodded, shortly, looking away. Ilya snickered.

“And then you met Rose Landry, and you thought…?”

“I don’t know. She was very pretty and we got along well. I thought if it would be different with anyone, it would be with her. It wasn’t. I’d rather you suck my dick than Rose. That’s all I know, Rozanov. I’m shitty at being gay.”

“Ah, but she still could suck your dick?”

Shane squinted at him, looking truly pained now.

“What?”

Ilya raised his eyebrows, rolling over to look up at Shane. “Rose Landry sucked your dick. She could. You got hard.”

Shane’s cheeks flushed, and he squirmed. “I mean, sort of. Yes. Technically.”

Ilya couldn’t help the smirk forming on his lips, which would make Shane say he was an asshole, ruin his little game. 

“I like girls, so, that was no problem for me. But I always thought if I was gay, like, completely—“

Shane looked like he wanted to smother him with a pillow.

“—would not be able to get hard for a woman. Like, at all.”

Shane sighed, looking at the ceiling. 

“It was…difficult. I could, I guess. I thought about something else.”

Got him.

“Thought about what?”

Shane shoved his shoulder so Ilya had to sit up, laughing, “You are such an asshole.”

“Ah, you thought about me sucking your dick instead, huh, Hollander? How did I do it, what position?”

“I wish you were sucking my dick right now, because you wouldn’t be able to talk.” Shane said. Ilya knew this wasn’t true, he said things that pissed Shane off while he was sucking his dick all the time. 

“Does she know? Maybe you should text her. Rose Landry, very sorry, so glad we are friends now. Did you know that while you on your knees doing your best—“

Shane was bright red now, and his little freckles made him look like a strawberry.

“She knows!” Shane blurted.

This truly stunned Ilya. 

“Hollander, this was a joke, you really shouldn’t have told that nice woman that while she was sucking you off you were picturing me.” 

Shane sputtered. 

“I didn’t—that’s not what I—oh my god. I just meant that Rose guessed I was gay because of my sexual, uh, performance, because it was horrible for both of us and I guess she had dated guys who turned out to be gay in the past and so she probably knows that I was picturing someone and I really don’t want to talk about my friend this way anymore!”

“Oh,” said Ilya.

“Yeah, oh,” said Shane. 

He turned back to the tv.

“Poor Rose Landry.” Ilya said, sincerely. 

Shane turned to him with the perfectly furious expression Ilya had been aiming for the whole time. 

Ilya beamed, turning back to the TV. 

Ilya really thought that would be the end of it, it normally was with them, so he was surprised when Shane spoke next, voice carefully curious and not at all mad.  

“What’s it like, liking both? Or…you said bisexual, right? Bisexual.” He seemed much more earnest than Ilya had been. 

Ilya opened his mouth to make a joke, he could think of at least 10, but turning up to gaze at Shane he changed his mind. Scratched his nose. Tried again. Shrugged. 

“I guess… ok, I always thought a couple of things, you know?” Ilya started, trailing off, but Shane was attentive now, quiet, like he thought if he moved the wrong way Ilya wouldn’t answer the question. 

“When I was a little kid, it was uh, bad. I have gotten better at—“ Ilya gestured to his body, not knowing exactly how to say ‘being myself without seeming gay’, “But when I was young, people could tell I was... And that was very bad for me in Russia. I had to learn very quickly to seem straight, you know. So, when I got older and liked girls, it was a huge relief, you know? Bullet dodged.” 

Shane nodded, just listening. 

“Then when I was a teen, I thought like: I am better than all these people,” Ilya continued, and Shane laughed through his nose. “Well, like in Russia, you know? Like they are so afraid of this thing they are so, conservative, I don’t know. It felt like everyone’s biggest fear was being gay, always trying to scare people with it. And it’s so stupid, you are walking around terrified that you want to fuck someone? It was easy to see men were beautiful and they wanted each other. I thought, I have good taste, I like sex, I’m not afraid, like that, you know?” 

Shane nodded, like he was keeping up. 

“But, same time… Like maybe something was wrong with me. Like I want everything too much. Sometimes I thought like, like I am maybe broken. Maybe I want too much sex, and more dangerous sex because I’m like… like a bucket with a hole in it? Pervert? I don’t know exactly how to say this. Like nothing is enough. I can’t turn anything down because I didn’t get hugged enough as a child, something.” 

Ilya shook his head, he’d never tried to say that in Russian, much less than English. He thought it was coming out sadder than he meant. Shane was rubbing little circles on his shoulder. 

“Not anymore, though. Now I think it was just uh, luck of the draw? Some people like men, some people like women, some people like freckles…” Ilya reached up and ran his thumb over Shane’s cheek, feeling the blush more than seeing it. 

Shane beamed at him, leaned down to kiss him, soft. 

*** 

Before bed, Ilya leaned against his doorframe. Shane was fussing over the sheets, or something, Ilya never knew what he was buzzing around doing. He was folding something, pulling a softer shirt on over his head, folding his dirty clothes and putting them in a laundry bag to be washed. 

“Shane.” Ilya said. Shane stopped, and turned to him. Ilya kept his face blank, said nothing. Shane blinked at him like he was being weird, then went back to his fussing. 

“Shane.” Ilya said again, and Shane stopped to look at him again. 

“What?” Shane said, annoyed. 

“Just checking.” Ilya said, flopping on the bed, back against the headboard. He knocked over at least one of Shane’s neatly stacked clothing piles. 

“Checking what?”

”Shane.” Ilya said, smirking at him. 

Shane looked up at him, understanding, frowning. 

“Ha ha, ok I get it, hilarious—“

“What? I just figured, if you were going to get scared and run away again it would be better to do it now, while you still have pants on—“

“I didn’t feel great about that day either, you know!”

”—and maybe not covered in cum, this time. Maybe this time I get to keep all my sweatpants. I don’t know the rules, how many times I can say it before—“

”Ok asshole,” Shane said, dropping his pants on the ground unfolded and crawling into Ilya’s lap in just his maroon boxer briefs. Shane put both his hands on Ilya’s face, cradling it. “Does it look like I am going anywhere?” 

“Well, no but—“

Shane’s face was too close and too fond for Ilya to keep the bit going. He sensed he had built a trap for himself, that he’d accidentally given away more than he meant to in this little joke. But he couldn’t bring himself to care while Shane was straddling him, smelling like soap and squash-pasta and holding his face so Ilya had to maintain eye contact with his stupid perfect brown eyes.

”No, it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere?” Shane prompted him. 

Ilya’s voice sounded thick to his own ears, and it was humiliating that this was working, but he felt a swell of emotion rising in him. He placed his palms flat on Shane’s back, pulled him in like there was any space between them to close. 

“You look like you’re staying.”

Shane grinned at him, and Ilya couldn’t imagine how Shane’s face didn’t have a shred of a joke in it now. He wasn’t even making fun of him for being insecure, he just was… here. Staying. Wanting this. Real. Warm. Like it was nothing to assure Ilya of this. It was as simple and honest as Shane always was.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ilya.”

Ilya let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, felt his shoulders give, felt fear and humiliation melt away till there was nothing but them, together, breathing. 

Staying. 

Chapter End Notes

A/N: I thought about calling this chapter ‘Not too gay to fuck Rose Landry’ because I think of nothing but that line delivery but it simply is too earnest to give it a joke title, oh well.